“Which of you ahlóssa swims the best?” Akumeh prompted.
“Me!” Kuli boasted, then “Ai-ye!” as Laocha whacked his arm and protested. “It’s true!”
She glared at him, then shrugged at her elders. “It is true. But he’s too prideful.”
Akumeh gave a fond tug at her ahlóssa braid. Anahli smirked at Tokela and slipped her hand into his.
This much still lingered:
Eyes meet eyes to waken Spirit. Spirit wakens our Mother’s heart, and Her heart wakens…
“I remember.” Anahli gave a tiny shiver, then as if to deny it squeezed Tokela’s hand and released him. “Is it well?”
He nodded, self-conscious.
“Good.”
And the vista opened out beneath them.
So many places held beauty upon River and Her children, but this particular fall was spectacular. Whether Sun shone or not, the fall foamed and sparkled, a multihued Skybow of fury—and justly so, with Earth and stone attempting to trammel Her. Mists soared upwards, snagging in the dense evergreens, lingering heavy-sweet in the lungs, and laying a dense fuzz upon hair and skin, to lave thick-wet trails when smoothed.
“Is it possible to grow accustomed to this?” Anahli’s murmur was almost lost in the roar and tumble of the fall. “I miss my plains, but this is beautiful, too.”
“I hope not,” Tokela answered. River’s beauty filled his heart and stung his eyes with heat, shivered across his skin and juddered at his heartbeat. There were… melodies, thick and noisome, a clash of not-voices, overwhelming with silent sound.
Anahli walked the edge unafraid, her downwards gaze full of wonder, her steps nimble despite the maze of tree roots fingering and burrowing into bare rock. Akumeh released Madoc and went over to the traces holding the weir. Tokela looked down into the fall, where the weir lay submerged in foam and boil, and took the opportunity to lean his palms hard against his thighs, take a deep breath and clench his teeth, eyes shut.
Not thisnow. Not. Thisnow…
As Tokela opened his eyes again, he found Madoc watching him. Tokela peered back, flat, until Madoc’s gaze flickered aside. Fingers and toes finding purchase on the moss-slick rocks, Tokela crouched, eyes following the play of the well-waxed lines from River to where they were set into the cliff. Akumeh had knelt at the latter, muscles bunching and sliding beneath his skin as he worked the wooden pulleys, assuring their soundness. Tokela let himself enjoy the sight.
“I already checked the traces!” Madoc’s shout was necessary, here atop the falls, but it was definitely aggrieved. “I’m not stupid!”
Akumeh’s only response was a grunt. Tokela didn’t do even that.
“What does She say to you?”
The query gave a painful jolt of surprise. Tokela sloughed his gaze sideways, found that Kuli had come up silent as his foxKin namesake. Squatting on the bank beside Tokela with one thumb between his teeth, he stared down into the water.
“Sometimes,” Kuli said, unusually soft, “I think I can hear Her. River, I mean. It’s almost like She’s singing, isn’t it?”
Memory crashed with thisnow, and if Tokela closed his eyes he could see another ahlóssa with another elder cousin…
That’s Sea’s voice you hear. More powerful than River, even.
Does She whisper your name, too?
Sometimes… sometimes, I think She does. Našobok’s face had been so wistful, as if he knew exactly what he was saying… and as if he wanted it more than anything.
Why would anyone want this?
“Tokela!” Akumeh’s shout carried above the roar. “Do you see anything?”
Tokela tilted his chin in acknowledgment, contemplating the great rush of water. He could—just barely—see part of the weir. It looked to be angled wrong. Perhaps.
His fingertips brushed the cliff, tiny patterns in the damp as the notion came, swift as wingedKin. What if—what if?—he could somehow listen to the fall, try to ken what was wrong? Make this experience safer for everyone?
It thrilled—then chilled. Perhaps that was how Chepiś abominations had begun.
But a’io, River sang. Tokela had, particularly as of late, grown so accustomed to setting the pitch of Her out from his notice. Kuli’s description pulled Her back into awareness.
“Do you hear Her, Tokela?” Kuli said, still soft. “You do, don’t you?”
“Leave Tokela alone, little brother.” Anahli took hold of Kuli’s shoulder and pulled him back. “He’s trying to figure out what we must do.”
Tokela put flattened palms to the edge and leaned out over the roiling water. Here and there flashes of colour emerged—the last of this run of fishKin writhing and surging upwards, climbing their ladder of stone and splash. The sight blurred before his eyes, accompanied by the clashing echo of River’s violence, thrumming through his skull… N’da, through his blood, like a second, spastic heartbeat.
She sounded… odd. Something was wrong below.
A hand latched onto his knife-harness, jolting Tokela back here. “Pay attention, Otter!”
“I am, believe me.” It was wry. He turned to Akumeh, overly mindful of the concerned grip, of Anahli’s keen lookout, of Kuli’s acceptance and Laocha’s puzzlement and Madoc’s relentless, critical gaze. “It has to be in the netting itself. I’ll go down.”
“Hunh. Pay attention,” Akumeh repeated, with a shake of his hand. Then it softened, ran down to linger at Tokela’s nape. “River is running higher than usual this breadth of Hoop, so heed Her well.”
As if he’d any choice. Tokela slid his chin towards the ahlóssa. “Mind them well, ai?”
“A’io,” Akumeh said, and Anahli affirmed it with her own tilt of chin.
Tokela took the few steps to the edge and dove.
He knew this fall well, gauged his descent carefully. Still, he expected his hands to make some sort of contact with bottom silt and stone. River indeed ran high thisnow. At least the currents buffeting him were familiar. They met and matched the noise behind his eyes, as if they made flirting talk, back and forth.
Tokela had to kick down against the current to find bottom, open his eyes to take his bearings, and… and he relished it. Coppery foam swirled about him, smoothing his skin, lit with bright flits of fishKin and light streams. Several of the
