Stone Spring Part 31

'Down on the coast all you can see is the problems. From up here you can see the d.y.k.e, the whole thing, as Novu dreamed of it.'

Zesi grunted. ' "Dreamed" is right. But it isn't finished.'

'Well, no. The work is going slower than expected - the snailheads may yet help us, they haven't decided, we never have enough people-'

'I know you don't have enough people. Most of them have been out with me on the northern sh.o.r.es, hunting c.o.c.kles at low tide. We can't eat a stranger's dreams. And we're already past the equinox. You said you hoped to be finished by now.'

'We did. It's going to be harder to work through the days of the higher tide, but it's not impossible. Novu says we can still finish it if-'

'If, if, if. Always "if" with that fool. Never "when".'

Ana sighed. 'This is what you've been saying all winter. Even though n.o.body supported you at the meeting when you challenged me. You've been going around attacking the d.y.k.e, attacking me. Putting people off, word by word.'

Zesi patted the baby on her chest. 'And I'm going to keep on saying it. Just be grateful I was stuck in the house for as long as I was, little sister, or that d.y.k.e wouldn't have been started at all.'

'Look, Zesi, I don't care about beating you. I don't even care if you beat me.'

'Well, that's good, because you will be beaten.'

'All I want is for the d.y.k.e to be finished.'

'It never will be. Get used to the idea. Are we done here? Then let's go find the other idiots, and get this over with.' She crumpled the empty water skin, threw it back at Ana, and began to stride down the trail that led to the mouth of the bay.

Novu was waiting for them at the bottom of the trail. Zesi walked straight past him, ignoring him, and headed to where Dreamer and the priest were waiting further on, at the abutment of the d.y.k.e itself.

Arga was here, working with a heavy sc.r.a.per at the end of a thick log. When she saw Zesi coming she ran to her cousin. Zesi smiled and leaned down, so Arga could see the baby in his sling; Arga made cooing noises, and tickled the baby's face. Her knees were grimy where she'd been kneeling to work.

Ana followed with Novu, more slowly. 'At least she behaves like a human being around Arga. But what's Arga doing here anyhow? She hasn't got the muscles for heavy woodworking.'

Novu shrugged, looking tired, unhappy. 'Look around. n.o.body to collect more logs, n.o.body to work on those we have left. Things aren't going well.'

'Maybe Zesi really is getting to them.'

'Either that, or it's just the turning of the seasons. People have other things to do, in the spring.'

'Well, we must try to speak to Zesi. That's why I brought her here.'

They joined the priest. He waited with Dreamer, who had left her own child at home this morning; she stood tall in a simple smock, her rich dark hair tied back, her arms folded.

'So,' Zesi said, looking around at them all. 'You've got your whole gang here, little sister. Two outsiders, and a priest who's away with the spirits.'

Jurgi just laughed. 'Good morning to you too, Zesi.'

Dreamer stayed as ice cool as her name. 'Outsiders? Were we outsiders during those long nights in the house, Zesi?' When, as Ana knew too well, it had been the priest's medical expertise and Ice Dreamer's patient support that had got Zesi through her labour.

Zesi was too tough to be deflected by that. She sneered and turned away.

Novu said impatiently, 'Zesi, you've come all this way. Let me at least show you what we've built. Come, walk with me.' He led the way out onto the tongue of the d.y.k.e, which pushed out from the sh.o.r.e and out across the mouth of the bay. It was little more than a single pace wide, but it rose up above the water surface, offering firm footing.

The others followed, including a sceptical Zesi. Arga ran ahead of the others, skipping, confident.

Zesi at least seemed intrigued by the construction. 'So this is what happened to all those logs we cut.'

'Yes. Look - they have been driven into the seabed, sharpened end first. It wasn't as hard as it looks for the bed is very soft here, thick with mud. We build two parallel rows, as you can see. We jam them in as close together as possible, and caulk them with tallow, as you would caulk the seams of a boat. Then we drop rocks into the s.p.a.ce between them, gravel and mud and sand and brushwood - anything we can carry, really - to force the water out. And that's the d.y.k.e, and it's waterproof, or as good as. Look.'

They had already reached the end of the d.y.k.e, as far as it had been built. Looking out Ana could see the other side, reaching towards her from the promontory on the south side of the bay mouth. At least people were working over there, hauling big bags of rubble out from the sh.o.r.e.

Zesi patted her baby absently as she looked around. 'The logs will rot in the water. The whole thing will just crumble and wash away.'

'But this is just a start,' Novu said eagerly. 'We can pile on more material, more rocks and mud, over the logs to seal them in. That way they won't rot at all, and even if they did it would make no difference. When the first d.y.k.e is established it will be easy to build on it in future years.' He reached up. 'It can go as high as you like, as we deal with freak tides - or with the sea rising.'

'So when will it be done, brickmaker? You said it would be complete by now. You are no more than - what - a third finished? ' She gestured at the heap of logs, abandoned on the sh.o.r.e. 'Where are your workers? Where, indeed, are your logs?'

Novu sighed. 'You know as well as I do. We made a good start. But in the spring there's hunting to be done, fis.h.i.+ng, boats and nets to be repaired. n.o.body's actually refused to carry on. But they're drifting away. We can't get everything done, and build the d.y.k.e - that's what people started saying to me.'

'And you've dragged me all the way to see this vain joke of yours because-'

'Because we want your backing,' the priest said simply. 'You know, Zesi, you fight for the respect you feel is your due. But you don't need to try so hard. You are respected. You are your father's daughter; you are a strong woman in your own right. People listen to what you say - and it's entirely negative about the d.y.k.e.

'I know it's a difficult year. It will be a long time before we have anything but difficult years. But we have to find a balance between the needs of the present and this plan for the future. For if we don't do this, sooner or later we will have to abandon this place, our ancestors' land, and become rootless, like the snailheads. We are a great people. Remember that, Zesi. We once built the Mothers' Door! And we forgot about it, nearly. We need to be a people who can do something more than just survive-'

'What we need is less talk from you,' Zesi said bluntly. 'If you thought you would sway me with this nonsense, this walk into the sea, you haven't. I'm going to keep on arguing against you until this foolish distraction is abandoned, and we get back to what's important in life. I'm going back.' She held out a hand. 'Arga. You come too. Enough of this.'

But Arga was staring south across the bay. She pointed. 'Look!'

Ana turned. There on the water, coming around the point of the bay, was a small fleet of boats. Even from here she could see that the people paddling them were snailheads. And behind them came what looked like a raft, wide, thick, huge. It was logs, a ma.s.s of them, strapped together and floating on the water.

'I don't believe it,' Dreamer said.

'I do,' Ana said, warm deep inside. 'It's taken a while for Knuckle to come through. But here are the snailheads, coming to help us.'

One of the snailheads was standing on his boat, waving and shouting.

Novu waved back. 'I can't hear what you're saying, if that's you, Knuckle. But I love you, even if you are an ugly lophead!' He grabbed Ana. 'You see what this means? With lumber, with more muscles, we'll get this first barrier finished in a heartbeat. And then-'

Ana had to laugh. 'Yes, Novu? And then? What dreams are you cooking up now?'

'Not dreams,' Zesi hissed. 'More madness.'

She was seething, Ana saw. But while Zesi might be able to talk around some of the Etxelur folk, she had no hold over Knuckle, who hated her so much he would never listen to her.

Novu said, 'Come on, let's help those snailheads get all that lovely wood ash.o.r.e.' He ran back along the d.y.k.e to the beach, shouting instructions out to sea.

56.

The First Year After the Great Sea: Summer Solstice.

Jurgi the priest, in his Giving finery of poppy crown on his head and new flint axe at his neck, waited for the snailhead party on the southern bank of the outflow of the Little Mother's Milk. He had brought food for the visitors, dried fish and hazelnuts, and sacks of drinks.

Kara, wife of Matu, had come with him to set up this small feast. Kara had laced her hair with flowers. She was still thin from the winter's deprivations, as they all were, but she looked welcoming and beautiful.

And here came Knuckle, leading a party of a dozen snailheads down the valley of the Milk, with Eyelid, wife of his dead brother, at his side. They strode easily, smiling in the midsummer suns.h.i.+ne. The country was generous at this time of year, and they hadn't needed to carry much - bundles of spare clothes, a few tools, skins for overnight shelters. Eyelid's daughter Cheek was running around, weaving complicated patterns of her own around the adults' steady plod. She grew more active and confident every time Jurgi saw her.

Jurgi saw how easily Knuckle and Eyelid walked together, their arms brus.h.i.+ng. The company of others was a subtle and consoling gift of the little mothers.

As they approached, the snailheads broke from their walk to fall on the refreshments Jurgi had brought. The children soon found the honeycombs.

Jurgi, smiling, came up to Knuckle with a skin sack. 'Blackcurrant juice,' he said in the traders' tongue. 'I remember how much you like it.'

'Good man.' He took the sack, removed the wooden stopper from the sewn neck, and poured the thick liquid into his throat. 'Honour to have the priest of Etxelur come to meet us.'

'The honour is mine. It's been a hard year - hard for everybody in Northland. But without you we would be much worse off.'

Knuckle nodded, his great misshapen head gleaming with beads of sweat, and he looked down at the children gorging on the chunks of honeycomb. 'In the end we knew you were right - and Ana, your young G.o.ddess. If you had been forced from the coast, it would have been our turn next. Time to take a stand.' 'Exactly. Look, your people are welcome to go on around the sh.o.r.e to the Giving feast. The stand has been set up by the middens as usual.' He glanced up at the sun. 'I think the games will have started by now. But come with me along the river valley, Knuckle. I want you to see what's become of your gift of logs and labour. I think you'll be impressed - and surprised.'

His chin smeared with fruit juice, Knuckle grinned, showing his studded tongue. He turned to Eyelid and his people, and they had a short, jabbered conversation in their own guttural language. The children were keen to get to the beaches, for swimming in the sea was a treat for these inlanders. The younger men and women wanted to take their chances in the contests, the running and throwing, and to see how the crop of Etxelur youngsters - those who had survived the Great Sea - had blossomed in the last year. But Eyelid decided she and Cheek would walk with the men.

So, led by Jurgi, the four of them set off up the valley of the Little Mothers' Milk, heading roughly west.

Away from the estuary the valley soon narrowed, the languid water pa.s.sing between walls of sandstone. The trail they followed was sometimes hard to make out, so high was the bracken around them. The flowers' colours were bright in the midsummer light, and fat bees hummed in clouds of pollen.

'World full of life,' Knuckle said. 'Less than a year since whole place smashed by the Great Sea.'

'But some have not returned. Otters, for instance.' On impulse the priest bent down, rooted at the base of the bracken, and came up with a handful of soil. It was speckled with white. 'And the sea-bottom mud is still here as a reminder. In time it will be hidden, but it will always be visible to anybody who cares to dig down into the ground. Like the extra thickness of a healed bone.'

Knuckle grunted. 'You are thoughtful. Glad I'm not a priest, having to think. Happy to live in the now.' The path dipped closer to the water, where the air was thick and hot. 'How far is this mystery of yours?'

The priest grinned. 'Just a little further . . .'

The valley opened out here and the river broadened, becoming shallower as it ran over its bed of gravel and mud. On the south bank, where they walked, a broad gra.s.sy plain stretched away, studded with tall bright thistles and churned up by the hooves of the cattle that came here to drink. To the north the land rose up into the low hills that divided this valley from the bay.

The priest pointed to the north bank, where a rivulet descended between two green hummocks towards the river. 'See that?'

'A stream. So what?'

'It wasn't there this time last year. We need to cross the river. There's a ford just further down.'

They walked on to a place where the river was wide and very shallow. Following the priest's lead, the snailhead slipped off his boots and walked out across the river's gravelly bed. Knuckle enjoyed the walk in the water, childlike, as he hopped from one stone to the next. He slipped once, and laughed as he recovered, splas.h.i.+ng water over the priest.

Cheek was delighted by the water, and gurgled as she splashed with her mother.

Soon they were all on the north bank. The rivulet, descending from the slope, emptied into an area of marshy land.

The snailhead spread his hands. 'We came all this way to see this?'

'Taste it.'

Knuckle grunted. 'Thirsty anyhow.' He took a healthy scoop of water in his cupped hand, tipped it into his mouth, and immediately spat it out. He looked at the priest, astonished. 'Salt!' The snailhead looked up at the innocent hillside. 'Salt, like the sea!'

'Salt. But it wasn't this way before. Come on. You might want to put your boots back on. We have to climb.'

Cheek and Eyelid decided not to follow. They stayed playing in the stream, while Knuckle climbed after the priest.

They followed the rivulet's little valley, cut into natural folds in the landscape, up the side of the hill. It wasn't steep, but the priest had to take big strides over the long gra.s.s. He walked close to the rivulet, and he could smell the salt of its water, growing stronger as they climbed further.

They were both breathing hard by the time they had reached the summit of the hillock. From here, looking north over the shoulders of rounded hills, they could see the complicated geography of Etxelur, the bay, Flint Island, and the sea beyond. A soft breeze blew from the sea.

'Nice view,' Knuckle said, panting.

'Yes. But I brought you here to see this.' Jurgi pointed at a pond that nestled on the hillock's broad summit.

You could immediately see that the reservoir was artificial. Reservoir: another of Novu's words from Jericho that had become part of the Etxelur tongue. Several paces across, it had been a natural feature, a pond gathered in a dip, but it had been deepened and made neatly circular, and lined with stones and clay and mud to make it waterproof. In a confident flourish two rings of earth had been dug up around its perimeter to make a crude approximation of the three-ring symbol of Etxelur.

And the reservoir was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with water - even though, as the priest indicated to the snailhead, water flowed out of the pond through a breach in the wall to feed the rivulet.

Knuckle tasted the pond water. 'More salt,' he said without surprise.

'It mixes with the natural runoff. I can't imagine it will do much harm to the wildlife of the Milk, its flow is so tiny compared to the river's grander flow. And ultimately, of course, it will be washed all the way to the estuary and out to sea.'

'Fine. But how does salt water get up here in the first place?'

'Come and see.'

The priest led him over the summit to the hill's north face. From here more ponds were easily visible, one, two, three of them, cut in a row down the side of the hill that led to the marshy sh.o.r.e of the bay. Each of these ponds was as neat and circular as the first; each of them had been made by deepening and sealing a natural feature. There were people working between the second and third ponds, two rough lines of them.

The snailhead nodded. 'I begin to see. The salt.w.a.ter comes from the sea-'

'No. From the bay. Behind the d.y.k.e.' Jurgi pointed to the curve of the d.y.k.e, which was now complete and swept across the mouth of the bay at its narrowest point, shutting out the wider sea. 'That's important.'

'So the water is lifted up to these ponds. One after another, until it runs out on the far side of this hill to the river-'

'And then out to sea.'

The snailhead shook his head. 'How is it lifted?'