- Volume 3, The Lasting Song of New Summer. Under the passage, ‘The Passing of the Lord of Waters - Year 60 of New Summer.’
When it’s not soaked in blood or growing crystals of salt, the Ocean is a nice blue.
Hao leaned over the boat’s edge. Each breath brought him closer to the ocean, until his finger dipped below the water’s surface, cutting the reflection of the first moon, the largest of the three. The ripple spread from the first to the second and the third. Smaller, but just as bright. Their light scattered and forms broke apart all the same.
The sight was far more fascinating than looking straight up. Just a ripple of water could change the moons themselves, their shape, the way they moved through the night. Up there, the sky was still unchanging except for the passing of the seasons. The moons coming and going, disappearing when summer came, bringing the complete emptiness of a cold summer night. Hao had seen them enough, knew their marks by heart when they were in the sky.
He drew his finger fast across them, all three falling apart, the reflection slowly becoming whole. They are too small during winter, no matter how close spring is. Hao let the thought come and go, repeating the action.
“Tch,” Hao clicked his tongue, his finger pulled from the water as a crimson drop dyed a corner of the white moon red. The fish that bit him shook its tail. Scales of blue and brown shaking the moon’s far more than he could. It was not the first time he had been bitten doing the same thing. His other hand had the same bite on more than one finger to boot. It only made sense to him. He was always told the people and animals on land were monstrous.
Hao took a step back, just one step towards the crowd on the ship, but he imagined cold eyes like a dagger staring at his back. It made him flinch. It may have just been his imagination, but either way. His feet slid forward again, and he stared at the water, looking for a fish's tail beneath the subtle wave.
“What’s the matter?” A deep voice like the ship’s creaking spoke from his side, the feeling of steam on his elbow nearly making him leap. But the voice he recognized saved him the embarrassment.
“Ah, um,” Hao stopped his gulp, looking at the bowl of brown porridge the boy carried. “Just a bug bite, I think.”
Not much older than Hao, apparently, Zui stood three heads taller, his dark eyes and golden hair burnt tight to his jawline screamed Islander. Hao sometimes wished he looked the same. Not the long, thick turtle-like neck or large midsection, he looked strong, but he imagined he would have to eat his village empty to stave off hunger. It wouldn’t surprise anyone on the ship if he were thrown out of his home and sent away for that reason.
Zui set a bowl of porridge down on the railing, eating half of the first bowl in a handful. “Be careful, this close to land you never know. They say trees grow all the way to the sky. They might have poisonous bugs the size of pearls.”
Hao turned his head, making his voice only so loud as to let Zui hear him. “Nonsense, I’ve never seen a tree much taller than a person.”
The large boy nodded his head, agreeing. Trees were sparse on every Island, not that they had much value; their leaves were used to feed chickens they got from merchants, but not much more. A berry bush, now that was something special.
Zui’s head nod turned to a shiver that went down to his elbows. With one more handful, he finished the bowl of brown porridge, then turned to put his back on the railing. “You can have that bowl, I’m going to go warm up with the others.”
Hao thanked him, and not for the first time. He was one of the rare few on the boat who even let Hao get close without looking at him as if he were a disease. While the others ran from Hao, Zui welcomed him on the ship with a bowl of hot food and a dunce’s smile. Not that he would get that close to Hao, no one would touch a half-blood. Not when the traits were so obvious.
Hao thought one of the few good things about being forced onto the boat would be the people not caring as much about his blood. Most of them were the same as him. They were full-blooded Islanders, but undesirable in some way. Four or five may have gotten on the ship themselves. A few were sent off by their family, tempted by the coin purse dangled by the ship’s master.
But from the first, they knew from his hair he was half blood, so they moved about him, two boys shared one bed because one didn’t want to share a bunk with him, and they were running out of beds. So the floor became his bed when the crowd gathered to force him aside.
The only thing they hadn’t done so far was attack and kill, or put him in a cage. Though which group would do that first, he wasn’t sure. Either the shipmaster and his land people. If they were the monster he heard they could be. Or his people, with whom he shared eye color if not home. If they knew, too, he was a Summer child, they would force him off the boat or dive and swim to shore themselves. Some superstitions transcended the color of hair and eyes.
Hao pushed his finger in the porridge, listening to them talk behind him. Two different groups and conversations. One was the Islands, spreading paranoia one person at a time. The others, the ship’s crew, in silks only merchants wore, though they weren’t merchants, not with swords on their waists and bows on their backs. Spoke entirely of their cargo, kids from the Islands that would get a chance to join the Temple of Water.
At one point, Hao would have been eager, running across the gangplank himself. He would have done anything to leave the Island. To step on land, to become a monk at the Temple of Water. To repay his village for the food which all his life he failed to contribute. If he became a Monk, or a Scholar Monk, he could explore the world and all of its strange lands to see if the land was as strange as it was said to be. He studied for it, learned, proved himself to the Elders, let them teach him, and suffered their abuses. All, so he could return as the Monk at their island’s temple and get the outsider off their Island.
Yes, at one point, for most of his life, he did want that. Even more so after he failed his Breaktide, and was told by the Elders he was not a man, and didn’t earn his father’s name. Ever since then, a year or so ago now, he caused more trouble than help and was often reminded as such.
That was behind him, or so it seemed, but a creeping hesitation pulled on the back of his head like a shell-horn blown in his ear. Envoys from the Temple of Water didn’t walk around with swords. And certainly didn’t use them to threaten a village to give up a child. Hao wondered if they did the same in other villages, not just his.
Hao arrived late to the whole event, but saw his great-uncle dealing with a man even older than himself. His uncle was eloquent, even when drunk, which was an endless state he lived in. And when the old man got back on his ship, the entire village returned to calm for only a moment, then his uncle Fengchao said they wanted at least one child.
When the old shipmaster came back to shore, he held a sword and a coin in his hand. Hao felt courageous and took one step forward, then his great-uncle shoved him the rest of the way, his only farewell a saying his uncle saved for when the village was out of wine and the merchant’s ship was on its way to shore. “Keep your eyes and ears sharp, Summer will be long.”
More than anything in the World, if he had to go, and there was nothing else for it. He wished he had a chance to say farewell to his parents. Even if his mother would not look at him, and father lay still in bed. Just to look at him before he was dragged on board by men with dark hair.
Hao lifted the brown porridge on his finger to his face. The bowl of porridge was hot in his hand, but the wind instantly cooled the mush on his finger. Despite the color and steam. The stuff they claimed was made of wheat had no taste or smell. But before Hao could try it again, he felt the world shake.
“Why! Why do I have to?” A voice from the deepest parts of the boat, the old man, the shipmaster, shouted. It wasn’t the world that shook, but just the boat. It was not the first time he had suddenly screamed, apparently alone in his cabin.
Hao lost the bit of porridge he was about to eat. The fish still swimming in the moon’s reflected light flapped its blue tail, its ring-like mouth appearing above the water's surface as it dashed for the free food. He didn’t get a chance to reach for the bowl again when another screaming voice came.
Higher pitch, quieter but yelling all the time, a voice everyone on the ship knew by now. A boy named Nial, who did a consistent hourly round of screams and yells since he boarded, his Island was the last they visited. And his village was in a worse state than Hao’s. Of course, when he saw Hao, he thought the Sun was going to reach down and drink the Ocean, and the World would die. Since he met the shipmaster, however, he turned his insults and worries elsewhere.
“Do you think they are honest in their promise? Or, or… Do you think they are going to do something to us?” It was the first time Nial had asked the exact thing.
Hao looked back as a small murmur spread among the kids with golden hair. Some snickered and laughed, others looked just as worried as him. Zui, who was sitting at the group’s edge running his hands on his arms, was so blank in the face he could have been counting how many fingers he had.
Of course, everyone turned their heads when the ship crew started laughing, the young man leading them came fumbling down the stairs mimicking a crying child. “Or, or, or.”
The one doing the mocking was another name and face everyone knew. They knew it even if they didn’t want to, a young man named Gils, who made constant self-introductions while flourishing his silk sleeves. He made clear many times what he thought of islanders as well. When he got the chance to mock, he never let it slip.
Gils pretended to cry as he got in Nial’s face, “Do something us? Huh?! What would we do to you? We’re bringing you babies to the Temple of Water!” He turned, looking over everyone, missing Hao, who stood in the cabin’s shadow at the side of the boat.
Hao looked away, he didn’t want to look at Nial’s eyes jumping like a shored fish any longer. Nor did he need to see Gils’s face to know he was just starting.
“You should be grateful. I’ll give you a chance to bow your head and thank this Uncle,” Gils said, his tone half ironic. He was not much older than the Islanders. By a few years at most. But he was taller, the people on land ate well, but the disdain stretching across his face spoke louder than any word he could say. Sadly, the laughter of the crew encouraged him.
Most of what he said was nothing new, there were many things an Islander hadn’t heard from an ignorant merchant’s wife or a new merchant throwing out a stereotype himself. Beast, barbarian, some more ridiculous said they ate the bones of the people that washed ashore and devoured fish raw and whole, bone and all.
Of course, the Gils went about it by mixing in self-praise, talking of his life, his privilege, and the land he grew up on, where there were fields of green grass and golden grain. Of course, no Islander would believe such a thing. Gils didn’t take it kindly when no one took him seriously, he was expecting applause or cheering or something of the like based on the faces he made the first time he told of this ‘Silver Sword Mountain’. When it was obvious, no one believed him, he doubled down.
He must have started tonight in the mood he left off this morning. When that old man, the ship’s captain, gave him a scolding and slapped him without raising his hand. Witches’ magic or something of the like, but that was just perspective, there was no such thing in Hao’s mind. He doubted even the Lord of Water sometimes.
Gils popped off, splattered spit with every syllable, singing when his words were of himself, then back to the Islands, a sour click of his tongue at every word. “You live in shacks of stacked-up sticks and stones, on cursed, soiled, muddy lands. You are a bunch of ugly people with skin dried by salt and sand. That same sand and the Sun have permanently colored all of your heads gold. You mud eaters, you flaunt the beast’s color in your hair! You’re the enemy of humanity.” If he believed most of what he said, he would not laugh when he finished.
Hao let his head bend to the look in the porridge, his hair wasn’t even gold. Parts of it were. Gold strands made waves under a black net of hair. But neither side liked the other more than a glance and a trade. He was both, and on the Island, despised for it. On land, he imagined it would be the same, and if all were like Gils, if not for joining the Temple of Water, much worse.
Hao took in a big breath and blew on his porridge. The little wisps of steam blew out over the ocean, his breath shaking the water just enough to catch his eye. The moons shook and rippled. It made him think, If only I could really change the moons with my breath. He chuckled to himself, imagining flipping the ocean, how easy it would be then to help feed the village. How much would they like him for it?
Before he got his bowl to his mouth, he saw another shake on the water’s surface. Feeling a quake behind him, Hao tried to turn. But far from making it in time, he watched his bowls spin through the air. As all the air was pressed from his lungs and he hugged the railing of the ship, he watched that same fish, then a few more, bright blue tails devour each other, ripping into each other’s flesh just to take a bite of porridge. When one fish died, it disappeared, eaten along with what was proclaimed as wheat.
Hao pushed and pulled, his fingernails digging into the light wooden slats. Think of the porridge as an offering, don’t let me fall in! The Lord of Waters was convenient at the moment, so he made a prayer in his head, but he couldn’t say it. For salt’s sake, he could hardly cough.
When whoever was pushed against him gave him space to breathe and move, he pushed as hard as he could. Saving himself, he took back the prayer. Let the waters take the porridge and the bloody fish too! The water could take anything but him, his mother, and father, and he guessed his great-uncle too, but that depended on how much wine they had on the day.
The deck was not as mean as the waters below, but they were not as soft either. Hao’s head hit the planks and felt one flex, bouncing it like rain off a dry fish’s skin. He would shout if he could, but it came out voiceless like a mud serpent’s hiss when its tail was stepped on.
Hao got himself up and turned around, his feet steady underneath him. A slight taste of iron in his mouth. He bit his tongue in his fall, expecting bland wheat porridge instead. He didn’t even get his knees straight when he got a clear picture of the situation. Zui, of all people, the peaceful giant, got tired of Gil’s constant beratement and decided to start a fight. Islanders were peaceful by nature and law, or so the Elders said before sticking a harpoon through a fish’s gut and cracking a chicken’s egg in their mouth.
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Even more surprised, feeling inspired by Zui, the bulb-eyed fish, Nial joined the tussle, half the size of both the young men, if the two were half their current height. Together, the three rocked until they found the railing and Hao’s back. A burst of laughter and cheer hit Hao’s ears as he found his breath, some words breaking through the sound.
“Careful, you don’t want to get a curse touching him!” Hao thought maybe he was the only one to hear, but the laughs of only the Islander got louder together while the crews’ cheering stayed the same.
He pushed it out of his mind, he had heard it all his life from his neighbor and other kids he could hardly call friends. None of that was important, but a person who showed him kindness, Zui, was punched in the eye by Gils, who had a fist twice as wide as the largest of the Islander children.
Hao couldn’t attack, not another person, not punch or kick, it didn’t seem right, even if his head was splitting and his vision had a hazy, white field of dots from the moonlight. He was his father’s son as much as he was his mother’s, an Islander in his heart. There was a way to peace, so the Elder told him, and great-uncle said otherwise, as life and death were a cycle, and peace and war two sides of the same coin. Whatever that was supposed to mean.
Hao stepped forward, grabbing Gils by the back, finding an elbow in the jaw. His head flipped, and he felt upside down and saw black. Then, when he pulled his head back, the looks he got were aghast. Zui even took a step back. Then, in what seemed like silence in the night, Nial stomped his feet, his beady eyes looking at Hao. It all felt so slow, but his words were loud like a thunder crack, “Don’t touch me, I don’t want whatever curse you have!”
The crowd was still cheering, clapping, and cawing. Gils escaped Hao’s grasp and went back to the stairs that led to the middle cabin’s top. Zui sat down, his back hitting the deck.
Hao just stood and stared. He felt like he could see Nial for what he was, a slimy fish, a coward, who lived by letting the winds push him around. Hao ground his teeth; Until this moment, he lived the same way. His time on the Island, not learning with the Elders or his Uncle, was spent working. Often with the wives who butchered the day’s catch. They could dismantle a fish with a glance and a knife swipe. Boned and skinned, and cooked in a heartbeat.
Hao wasn’t going to kill Nial, he couldn’t imagine killing a person. Not really doing it away. But he couldn’t let the world bind him anymore, he was not a fish to butcher.
Hao had never insulted anyone before, but he was no longer on the Island, and blood was rushing to his head. He pointed his finger at Nial. His finger was sharp, but his tone was sharper. “I’ve never cursed anyone with touch or breath. You… Butcher’s wife!”
The men who worked the ship stood on the central cabin, looked at each other, and down at the Islanders in confusion. Even Gils had confusion on his face, spotless despite the fight. But the boys with golden hair started a murmur, a murmur turned to a wave of laughter.
“A butcher’s wife, Ha, he called you a Hen!”
One of the crew asked in a hushed tone, but the explanation came out in laughter, which everyone heard, and the Islanders laughed even more. “The wives are butchers on the Island. But they also keep a chicken at home that can lay eggs. They keep the chicken close like a jealous husband.” A few of the crewmen laughed with the Islander, looking at Nial as his face sank and went dark. His eyes went from daggers to darts.
Gils was one of the few not to join; he just scowled, pushed everyone away from him, stomping as he went to the stairs that led to the top of the middle cabin. “Stupid Islander jokes. Shut up, all of you!” He shouted as feet started stomping, the crew went silent, and the Islanders kept up. Nial was ready to launch at Hao and was getting encouragement from every other Islander but Zui, whose eye was swollen shut.
Then the boat stopped moving, which shook each person a step, and the ocean seemed still for a breath. A voice like a drifting wood, dry and cracked, made everything else in the world seem quiet as a hook hitting the deck.
“QUIET!” If you make any more noise before sunrise. I’ll throw you all off the ship myself. I only need one of you alive to give to the Temple! They’ll at least know I tried.”
Gils was the first to go pale, and everyone took the hint as his hand half-drew his blade. He would rather let them all loose than get that old man on the deck. Hao had not seen that old man, the master of this ship since yesterday, when he dragged a few children on the boat by their shirts.
After Gils, it was instant; a snap to silence, every noise on the ship but the wind disappeared.
Hao, with his head sore, returned to the room they all shared. Finding his spot on the floor. His eyes closed, but the knot in his stomach kept him awake half the night. His mind churned through every thought it could find.
**
The sound of a gong and shuffling feet woke Hao in the morning. If he hadn’t remembered the meaning of the clatter, he would have found some annoyance with it. Instead, he watched the boys and girls one by one run out of the room, already a wave of. Silent, but the patter of feet.
Today was their last day on the boat, and the signal of the gong was a warning to the village they were to shore at. Or so the crewmen said.
The kids from the Island were more than a little eager to see land. Stories from merchants and old uncles who trade, legends that seemed impossible without seeing them. Half the proof they ever got was paintings that would be waterlogged before they made it beyond an Island’s sand shore. The other half, shiny candies and strange animals with feathers and fur, merchants brought, hoping to grab a few pearls or rare fish scales in trade.
Hao was more eager than the rest. He tried to hide it, but the hop he had in his step and the stupid grin on his face that made it feel sore forced their way out of him. Before his father got sick and his mother stopped speaking to him, most of what they told was stories of land and heroes who saved woman with pale jade-like skin and slayed monsters like dragons that coiled around trees that touched the sun and drank the sun’s essence, making the world fall to a forever night.
He wasn’t a child anymore, and wouldn’t believe such stories, he doubted there were even roads of stone like his uncle claimed.
Hao didn’t have to push to get to the front of the boat. Most everyone with golden hair was frozen, staring out. Joining them, Hao felt his eyes water, an annoyance blocking his vision of the sight across the water.
A shore of gray and white stone, going up and up, leading to a hill of brown. And up past the brown it went to green, and green stretched beyond their eyes, then further still. There were more trees than Hao could count. Something he once prided himself on, he could run his village before the end of the early morning hours and count every tree.
And they go high, really high. They touch the clouds soon… Hao got to the edge of the boat, no one looked at him; they were all mesmerized. Just as he tried to lean over the railing to get a better look, a voice came from behind him.
“Bah, what are all of you excited about? It’s a fishing village,” Gils shouted, giving half the Islanders a start.
Last Night didn’t dampen his mood or attitude. A night’s rest may have made it even worse. He made a dumbfounded face, flicking his long black hair with his hand, then continued. “Or have you already forgotten what your villages look like? No, I guess they are better.”
He turned his back, looking up at the men managing the ship’s sail, their blue eyes the same as his. “I wonder what face they’ll make when they see a road.” He chuckled, getting half a dozen chuckles back.
Nial was not around; either he was still sleeping, or more likely hiding. But Zui was quick to get in front of the young man with a charge, his eye was burning. Only the one, as the other was swollen shut.
Hao watched with incredulous eyes as the long-necked fellow Islander began running in place. His feet were moving with the intent to go forward, but he was still like it was running in the air, and a wall was in front of him.
“Enough!” The older voice was ice water pouring over everyone. The same as the night before, the laugh crew turned to statues before regaining their composure and lowering their heads to work.
The old man let Zui go forward, the boy hitting his chest on the ground as Senior Ran stepped into view. This Old man was the one to step onto Hao’s family’s shore. Hao didn’t doubt he was the oldest man Hao had ever seen. His back was upright despite the frail air he gave off, his robe reinforced the impression, the same as Gils’, but with red stains from picked fingers and nose bleeds.
One hand pulling down on his wispy white beard. His eyes weren’t fully there, stuck on the sky. But slowly it turned, giving the impression of a squeaky door until it landed on Gils, who shivered like he was in a snowstorm. “Everyone should be getting ready to step on land. Instead, you’re playing some games.” Those old eyes regained life, just to stare holes into Gils.
“This little one greets Senior Ran,” Gils said, as he began to bow, his hands near his feet, before the Elder groaned. Then he swiped a wrinkled finger. Only for a second was his hand free of his beard. A loud pop, like a slap that made everyone shiver, traveled through the air. There was no contact, no connection, not even an open hand. But Gils lowered himself further, his face growing redder. Shame was half of it, but the swelling was something else.
The men manning the ship stopped what they were doing and bowed the same, looking relieved when the old man looked back at the sky. Happy they escaped punishment. He looked over the Islanders like he couldn’t see them there, then turned and took a step back towards the door from which he came.
“Gillie,” he wheezed, “check the carriages are ready as soon as we land. I don’t want to be near the water any longer. I want to return to Silver Sword Valley. I want to see them walking in the sky again.” The last part was mumbled, almost impossible to hear, but it was that part that made Gils flinch.
“Yes, Senior Ran.” The red-faced young man said, lifting himself when the man was gone.
As the center of attention now, everyone stared at Gils. He had bragged and insulted everyone who stepped on the boat. But it seemed like a servant to the one called Ran. That was how the Islanders saw it. Hao saw it that way, too. Though he didn’t smirk, like the rest of the group.
Hao turned when Gils did, staring at the land while the young man barked orders behind him. He stared while he could until all the Islanders were dragged back to where they had stayed for the past two days.
Everyone was quick to move after they heard the words spoken by this Elder. The ship seemed to double its speed as it approached the shore. As for Gils, Hao had never seen him run around so fast. With that mark on his face, a clear palm print doubled in size every twenty minutes.
They all had one last bowl of the brown slop before the second part of their journey to the Temple. The porridge was more yellow this time, which made the workers line up to eat. Hao didn’t know why; it tasted all the same. Perhaps it was just the leftover the Islanders got that didn’t taste as great.
But no matter how eager the workers were in trying to convince the Islanders, “It’s just wheat and water,” they wouldn’t believe it.
Such nonsense. Hao would shake his head, but not say it out loud. He had had wheat before, a few times in fact, there was hard bread, which didn’t taste great, and sea bread, which was like stone. Before a big hunt, the men bought sea bread from the merchants who came by. Any leftovers would be given to the young kids for a laugh, and some of the kids would keep them as toys.
How much wheat would you need to feed this many people, anyway? Those who believe this is wheat probably believed all their elders’ stories about the land. Hao shook his head as he ate. Most kids would believe the stories any random merchant would tell them. Hao thought most of it was silly, no one could contest with made-up nonsense like his Great-Uncle. Except for the Monk on his Island’s local Temple.
Hao was quick to eat his food, wishing it were meat, not knowing how it would be until he tasted fish again. He was not the quickest, but among the first to make it back on the deck. He had nothing to prepare before leaving the boat. Not given any time to bring anything. No one gave him anything. Truthfully, he had nothing that was his own. At least I can earn something now.
The mood from the scolding by Senior Ran carried well past the meal and kept the ship quiet. But with the eating done and no excuse to keep the Islanders off the deck, they all gathered, eager to step off this boat. A few were bouncing up and down, keeping quiet, but not silent.
They were whispering exactly Hao’s thoughts. An occasional whisper of a story led to quiet questions of legends and tall tales.
“Do you think there are giant armies and flying fish?”
“I want to see an Immortal that can make and stop great waves.”
“What about a fairy that has the ocean in her eyes?”
Hao was among them, acting like he was ignoring their words, but remembering every single one. He was calm and collected except for that foolish grin he would wipe away.
With a bang, the boat hit the shore, and in an instant, people flooded off. And over them all with a leap, Gils flew, landing on the pebble shore, then he disappeared, dashing by.
Hao was desperate to look where he went to look at the people or the buildings or anything he could find. But heads of hair, either gold or black, blocked his way. He was silent as he stepped down from the gangplank onto the stone. And countless stories he ignored whisked through his head, like a few others, he quietly laughed.
The continent is just like the ocean, stretching beyond sight, but all land with an end you can’t see. Trees stretch to the sky. Houses built from hand-shaped stone. They have villages with dozens of people, and bigger ones called towns with hundreds, and the largest one with a thousand people in one big wall. A place called a city.
Hao covered his mouth, ignoring the pushes he got from behind. Every Islander was still; it was just him. A few were trembling, holding back an urge to run around, eager, nervous, and excited.
None so excited as Hao. As his joy layered, finally, finally, he was standing on land, he saw a chance to contribute to his village that raised him.
That thought rallied him a bit from his long trip, but when his eyes got a chance to scan his surroundings, more than his feet were frozen, he was totally stunned.
Some legends of the Land were already true. He saw the shore before, and the trees in the distance, but here, in this place, Gils called a fishing village, wild thoughts came true. Buildings were built from stones made into squares. And dozens of people, all working, moved around him, talking to each other. Hao couldn’t have imagined it, but it was right in front of him.
Hao got a sudden jolt as someone slammed him in the back, but there was no point in looking behind; the voice gave away who it was.
“Hurry! By the name of Water, hurry!” The mad Senior Ran, with his shriveled eyes, swung his hand as his underlings, all in silky silver robes, shoved others forward.
“What of the Carriage? They should remain ready, yes?!” Senior Ran shouted, getting every head in the village they landed at to turn.
It took a second for anyone to respond. Of course, it was Gils who came running the same way he ran away. His face was even redder than it was before. “The carriages are readying the horses. They will take only a moment, Senior!” Gils bowed his head so low that if he tried to run again, he would knee himself in the nose. He kept that posture, desperately breathing to catch his breath.
This Old Ran let out a grunt like a lidded pot boiling before he shouted again. “All of you! Go help quickly now. That would be faster, wouldn’t it? They will be carrying you, anyway. It still smells of fish and moss here. Hurry!”
Hao was forced to run with the rest of the group, not getting his chance to gawk a little more. Another thing to dislike this old Ran for. Not that he had anything other than dislike for and more every time he spoke. In a constant rush, and the talk of smell, what other smell could there be but fish? But that face the old man made while he stood near the drying racks on the shore in Hao’s village was worth a laugh.
A few of the ship’s workers remained behind. The rest of the group gathered near a strange furred animal, a little uphill from the shore. The animal was big, nearing massive, but nothing Hao couldn’t imagine. Its fur and shape, however, four legs, were odd but not unheard of. A horse, the men called it as they put straps on it, attaching it to a moving house, which they called a carriage. They did it two more times, making three horses and three carriages.
Hao watched the approach of the sunken-eyed Elder Ran, wondering if the distance from here to the shore was the length of his home Island, or a little shorter. He didn’t have much time to think about it as the old man shouted, which made the horses shudder. Hao just about ran away when one kicked. It’s huge eye looking at him like it could see his soul.
“I’ll be taking one to myself,” Ran said. Before the first person spoke, he stared down anyone who could possibly object. There were a few who traveled with Ran, the rest Islander kids, perhaps two dozen for three carriages.
Gils finally stepped up, “There are only three, four-person carriages, Senior.”
The old man carelessly swung his hand as he jumped into the wheel-bound building. “Ho, well, pack all these together. Like a fish in a jar,” He laughed. “You can join them. Keep them quiet.” He nearly whispered the last words, closing the carriage doors to the first carriage behind himself. Gils and those in white silks followed their instructions.
Hao was one of the unlucky ones, packed in with as many other Islanders as they could get into the last carriage. He sat right next to Gils, who sat at the end. Zui and Nial were on the floor, just in front of them. And about eight others burped and yawned as they wished.
There was only one thing for them to do in the carriage. It had one tiny window, no larger than a hand, with a grid that made it smaller. Hao got a few elbows during his round of gawking, but with a yawn, an idea came to him. If he slept now, perhaps he could sneak around while others were sleeping.