The Sound of Seas Read Free Page A

ship’s flipperlike wings rippled atop the envelope, catching the air, turning at the behest of the femora-sitas working the hemp. The tiny, distant deputy commanders were pulling hard. It was majestic, and yet—
    Vilu’s eyes returned to the dying conflict there on the ground. That struggle had power too. Something about it touched him inside; not just fear as he had never known in his young life, but the unfamiliar wildness of the woman and whatever had been compelling her to strike Lasha, to cry out. He had seen people who inhaled dried, burning seaweed act strangely, dance, roll on the ground—but never violently.
    The woman was tired and all but hanging limp in the Standor ’s arms. The larger woman’s face was near her captive’s ear.
    â€œCan I release?” Vilu heard the Standor ask in basic Galderkhaani, since her arms were still occupied.
    Her captive hesitated then nodded.
    â€œFirst, tell who are you and why this anger.”
    The smaller woman was breathing heavily. She was looking ahead, scowling, as though she were trying to solve a problem posed by a numbers scholar. She seemed distracted and was moving her fingers as if they were weaving needles. Side to side, pointing down, tucking and untucking.
    â€œDid you hear?” Standor Qala asked.
    â€œYes, yes,” the woman said. “I—I want to get home. To my son.”
    â€œWhere is home?”
    â€œNorth,” she said after some hesitation.
    â€œYou must be mistaken,” Qala told her. “You cannot dwell ‘north.’ There is no town ‘north.’”
    â€œThere is ,” the woman said, finding renewed life in her arms and gesturing emphatically. “I tried to tell that to this other one—”
    â€œNoose her!” Lasha said, shaking the hemp with fearful enthusiasm.
    â€œQuiet,” Qala said to the pool guardian. She turned her face back to her captive. “You wear the dress of a digger,” the Standor noted. “I will take you to the Technologists, perhaps they should be—”
    â€œNo!” the woman said, then laughed. She moved her pinned arms as much as she could. “My god, the Technologists. This is madness. I cannot be here. I don’t belong here. I must go back!”
    Lasha had made his way around the woman then bent cautiously close to her hand. She was wearing a bracelet carved from stone.
    â€œShe cut my cheek with this,” he said as he studied it.
    â€œYour cheek should not have been so close,” the captive said.
    Qala continued to examine the woman. “No arguing. You seem better now,” she said.
    â€œI can stand, if that’s what you mean.”
    â€œAnd have a conversation,” the Standor said. She bent and looked at the carvings in the stone. “‘To Bayarma from Bayarmii,’” she read.
    The smaller woman shook her head as the laughter turned to tears. “It isn’t possible,” she said. “I—I know that name.”
    â€œWhich name?” the Standor asked.
    â€œBayarmii,” she said. “That was the name of the young girl who tried to bond with the soul of Maanik, a young woman in another—place.”
    â€œAnother place,” Lasha said, snorting. “North, you mean.”
    â€œThat’s right. The girl who perished with her grandmother. Or . . . she will perish.” Caitlin looked at her hands. “I cannot be her . . . the grandmother. These are not old enough. I must be the girl’s mother.”
    â€œYou are confusing me,” Qala said. “Who are you ?”
    The captive looked from Lasha to the glistening pool to the little boy near it. Her expression softened when she saw him and a sob erupted from her throat. Her legs fell from under her.
    The Standor held her upright with strong but comforting arms. “What’s wrong?” Qala asked.
    â€œI left a sweet young boy behind,” the woman