Stone spring

42

‘I tell you that we want to go out into the open sea, as far as we can. When the next wave comes, the deeper the better.’

‘And I’m telling you we’re going home. I’ve got family, Heni. Daughters. A niece-’

‘Oh, and I can’t see straight because my sons are grown and gone, is that what you’re saying?’

‘I didn’t mean that-’

‘You’re not thinking, man. If we go back now, if we’re in shallow water when the next wave comes, we’ll be killed.’

‘How do you know there will be another wave? I never heard of anything like this. Nor have you.’

‘Look. I’ll do you a deal. Just help me paddle out to the deeper water and wait a bit. If no wave comes, fine, we’ll do it your way.’

‘I’m not waiting at all.’ Kirike looked for a paddle.

But Heni held both paddles in his hands. He sat in the stern of the boat, on the hearth board, looking back calmly at Kirike.

Kirike stood, and the boat rocked. ‘Give me a paddle.’

‘I’d sooner break them and chuck them over the side. You know I’d do it.’

‘And you know what my family means to me.’

‘Enough that you paddled across an ocean rather than be with them?’

‘Why, you-’ Kirike stood over him and pulled back his fist.

Heni didn’t flinch. ‘I’m just telling you the truth, man. I know you love your daughters. But when it comes to your family you just run, one way or another. So let me do the thinking.’

Kirike dropped his arm. ‘I can’t fight you. I don’t even want to. You’d probably win anyhow, you always were stronger. Sorry, my friend.’

And, without letting himself think about it, he slid over the side of the boat and back into the sea. The turbulent water embraced him again, horribly familiar.

When he surfaced for his first breath, he glimpsed Heni standing in the boat, waving at him. ‘Come back, you idiot! You’ll kill yourself!’

He turned away, dipping his head in the water, and concentrated on his strokes.

He had always been a good swimmer, long in the arms, with big feet to kick at the water, and a good muscular trunk. He had swum out further than this as a boy, he was sure of it. But now he was no longer a boy, and he had already endured one immersion today. His body felt bruised and sore, and his lungs were strained. And what if Heni was right, what if another wave did come? Well, if it did, he would just ride it home.

None of it mattered, his doubts, his weariness, the treachery of the sea. His decision was made, he was committed. He tried to clear his mind of everything but the smooth clean motion of the strokes. His whole was life reduced to this moment, the swim ahead of him, the next stroke.

Don’t panic, he told himself. Just don’t panic. Don’t panic.

Arga lay on her back, in the sea water. The sky was bright, and the sun was still high, she saw, amazed. Hardly any time had passed since she had been on the shore with Ana and the others. And now she was here in the middle of the ocean.

People had died. They must have. She had seen dead bodies in the water. People had died, people she knew, just in that little bit of time.

But she hadn’t died. When the current had relented, she had at last been able to swim up to the surface of the water, scrambling like an otter up into the air and the light, and she had taken a breath to beat all the breaths she would ever take, alive.

She knew she was safe in the water. You could float in the sea water without taking a stroke. Uncle Kirike had taught her that, and he was the best swimmer she had ever seen. Just lie back and relax and let your body float.

And don’t panic. That was the most important thing of all, Kirike had always said. It was as if the sea could smell your panic, and would use it to pull you down if you started thrashing around and screaming.

But she’d never swum out of sight of the land before. To get home she needed to go south, but the sun was still too high in the sky for her to be sure of which way that was. What if she swam the wrong way, and wore herself out without reaching the shore? Or what if another of those big waves came and broke over her?

Unsure what to do, she did nothing.

The ankle she’d twisted still ached. It eased slightly if she twisted her foot in circles this way and that. She concentrated on the small pain of her ankle, and by doing so was able to ignore the fact that if she died, her aching ankle would die with her.

She saw a shadow, out of the corner of her eye.

She twisted to see, lost her balance in the water, and splashed and got a mouthful of brine before she steadied herself, treading water. What had she seen? Was it the shore, a boat, another wave?

It was a tree branch, complete with green leaves, sticking up in the air out of the sea.

She took a couple of strokes to get closer. She found, not just a branch, but a tree, a whole tree, an alder, with branches and roots to which muddy soil still clung, floating in the sea. It was one of the strangest sights she had ever seen.

She swam closer and grabbed a branch, and started to pull herself out of the water. A bird, some kind of finch, flew away with a flutter of wings. She hoped it would find somewhere else to settle. The climb was hard going, for the tree rolled as she hauled her weight into it. But soon she had pulled herself out and sat, dripping, on top of the branches, near the point where they were anchored to the trunk. The roots at the other end of the trunk were like gaunt fingers.

She imagined the strength that had plucked this whole tree from the ground, as she would pull up a blade of grass.

She shook out her hair and ran her fingers through it, pulling out bits of seaweed. In the sun’s heat her thin tunic soon dried on her body. Her ankle was showing a livid purple bruise. She was ferociously thirsty. She gathered green leaves and crushed them in her mouth. The sap moistened her tongue.

What would she do when the sun went down? How long should she stay before trying to swim to shore? She had lots of questions, but her fuzzy head offered no answers.

Sleep rose up, overwhelming, like another great wave. Lodged in the branches, she lay down so her head was on the trunk, cushioned from the bark by her hands.

She barely stirred when the next wave came, and lifted the floating tree high in the air. Kirike was closer to the shore when the third wave came. He swam, making his steady crawling strokes, ignoring the fatigue, trying not to track the time.

And he saw the wave coming. Suddenly it towered over him, a cliff of water, its face flecked with debris, and the air was filled with a rushing, stormy noise. He stopped, just for a heartbeat, looking up, unbelieving.

Then he swam. He made his strokes desperately now, working the water with his feet and arms. In the last moment, in the shade of the wave, he took a final gulp of air.

The wave slammed down and he was immersed, surrounded by rubbish, dead fish, seaweed, silt, bits of floating wood. He fought to stay upright, to kick towards the surface. But then a current grabbed him, incredibly strong, and he and the fish went plummeting down into the darker deep, incredibly fast and far. The water squeezed his chest and he lost his air, his last precious lungful bubbling before his face.

He slammed into the floor of the ocean. His leg twisted in mud and his head smashed against a rock. Through churned-up silt he saw his own blood, deep crimson red, clouding the water. He fought on, but his leg was a mass of pain when he tried to kick.

Now another current picked him up and hurled him away like a leaf in a breeze. Still he struggled.

But he had to breathe. The water forced its way into his throat and lungs, an agonising intrusion, and he convulsed.

It wasn’t death that he feared but the thought of all he had left undone. He had to get to the shore, to Ana.

But the darkness closed around him. Still struggling, he sank into the welcoming mud.