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The Silat sailed in to Paku’s village an hour later. The men and boys helped bring the catamaran against the floating bamboo structures on which the clan lived upon, lashing it with palm strips to the cleats running alongside.
Some children had gathered by the water, eager to see the catch the Silat had brought in. Their excitement was washed away with frowns as they jumped from the catamaran with empty baskets, having tipped the diseased fish back into the sea.
“But…what about our supper?” a young girl named Yerif asked. “What will we eat?” Her cheekbones were pronounced, her arms and legs as thin as sticks.
Bya-Iam and the rest of the sailors were unable to answer her question. They climbed the bamboo beams up to the main platforms of the floating village.
They knew not what to say, Paku realised. He patted the little girl on the shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. She looked so confused, however.
Any comfort is better than none.
The village of Gywera comprised of half a dozen enormous platforms on which the nomads built their homes, food preparation and communal dining areas, and even a space for the children to be supervised.
Gywera had remained afloat since before Paku was born in what used to be a spot on the Emerald Sea teaming with life. The landwalkers called the village ‘Flotsam’, on account of its simple construction of floating wood, bamboo, palms, and vines.
Paku’s people hated that name. He saw past the driftwood patchwork and dilapidation. To Paku, Gywera meant beauty, serenity… quiet. Gywera had always been his home.
Paku put his hands out to a water carrier, requesting a drink. She had long, braided hair, was bare-chested, and wore a blue and white loincloth. The woman carried a bucket with fresh water collected in rain catchers. With a ladle she scooped some cool water into Paku’s hands.
He eagerly sipped the water and gave his face a quick wash, scrubbing away the sea spray and instantly feeling refreshed.
Paku noticed his nuna seated by herself along the waterside and approached her smiling. The old woman had white braided hair tied behind her head. Her hands were busy weaving something in her lap.
“Nuna,” Paku said, reaching out and giving his mother’s mother a firm embrace. The old woman’s eyes were as white as her hair, taken by blindness years earlier.
“Paku, my boy,” she said with a smile, realising who it was. “I always know it is you by the way you embrace me.”
Paku chuckled. “Nuna, I am your only grandchild! Who else is going to be calling you ‘nuna’?”
“Look what I have made you,” she said, holding out her weaving. The creation was made from browning palm fronds and dried seagrass, folded delicately into a small wreath.
“It is beautiful,” Paku said, taking the wreath into his hands. “This must have taken you-”
“All morning, my boy,” his nuna said. “But what better way to celebrate your fourteenth year upon the seas than with a luck laurel.”
Paku frowned. “A luck laurel? What does it do?”
Paku’s nuna felt for Paku’s hands before taking the wreath and placing it around his wrist like a bracelet.
“Wear it on you, and you will always find good fortune upon the seas.”
If only I had taken it with me on our fishing voyage.
Paku grinned and embraced his nuna once again, kissing her on the cheek. “Thank you, nuna.”
Paku noticed that his crewmates were headed into the centre of the floating village. The other Byas had gathered at the communal area, seated on a raised deck above the growing crowd of Gywera’s people atop large mats of seal hide.
Everybody appeared anxious. Word must have spread of yet another bad catch. Their stores and supplies were running dangerously low.
The village would soon starve.
“I will be back shortly, I am going to see what is going on,” Paku said, patting his nuna’s hand gently.
“Don’t rush back,” his nuna muttered, sitting back calmly in the warm sunlight. “I would rather be nowhere else but here.”
Bya-Iam joined the other six, presenting a gesture of good will with an open palm out to his kin.
Paku and his crewmates melded into the quieting gathering.
“Did you fare any better than the Silat?” Bya-Iam asked the two Byas to his side, Bya-Dera and Bya-Lomu, who had also taken their catamarans out to hunt.
Old man Bya-Dera shook his head sombrely, while Bya-Lomu did not even need to answer. Bya-Iam could see the despair in her sunken, wrinkled eyes.
The crowd muttered to themselves as the Byas broke into a heated discussion of what Gywera should do next.
Paku pushed his way forward through the people, drowning out their nervous voices to try and overhear.
As the Byas brought their heads in together for a private conversation, Paku listened intently, catching only bits and pieces.
“…I do not know, but other Tekawa clans are fleeing their villages…” Bya-Jossi murmured.
“…our food stocks have run dry…” Bya-Dera whispered.
“We cannot abandon this sacred place!”
“…Others have already left…”
“There is nothing left here for us!”
“Yunafa has abandoned us...”
Bya-Iam abruptly stood up. Everyone fell silent, even the other elders; all eyes were on him. The other Byas respected his word the most.
Bya-Iam cleared his throat, rubbing his chin as he thought up what words to speak in such troubling times. “Byas, great people of Gywera. We have an enormous decision in our hands, one that we must not take on lightly.”
A baby whimpered in the rear of the crowd.
Bya-Iam continued with a strong, determined tone despite the nervous look upon his elderly face. “Today, I believe that we have witnessed a sign from Yunafa herself upon the seas. We saw Tehl’toma swimming southward, away
