mouth. ‘You didn’t know.’
‘Matu told me. I knew. It’s all right…’ But despite her soothing Arga was crying again, desolately.
‘Poor kid,’ Matu murmured. ‘She’s lost so much. In fact, she’s lucky to be alive, and that’s a story in itself. But at least she’s got you home now, Zesi – and Ana.’
‘Where is Ana?’
Arga said, ‘Out fishing, with Heni.’
Zesi gaped. ‘Fishing? Timid little Ana, fishing?’ And she laughed, something in the shock of the day and the absurdity of the idea forcing the bubble of humour out of her.
But Arga looked confused, Matu disapproving.
Matu said, ‘Yes, she’s out on the ocean, fishing. Things aren’t as they were when you went away, Zesi. We’ve all had to do things we weren’t used to – things we find difficult, or even that scare us to death. We do them anyhow, to stay alive.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m just – this is hard for me.’
He relented. ‘I know. This is the day you learned your father died. Well.’ He glanced at the sky, where the lowering sun was covered by a thin skim of fast-moving cloud. ‘Weather’s turning, and it’s getting late. The boats will probably be coming in soon. Why don’t you go and meet them?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Arga said, eager now. She tugged at Zesi’s hand. ‘We’ll go to the island. Ana will be so glad to see you, it’s been so long… Come on.’
Zesi slipped off her pack and her spear, and the priest added his pack to the pile. As they followed Arga and Matu she said to Jurgi, ‘You know, I expected to be the centre of attention. Home from our adventures in Albia.’ She patted her stomach. ‘With news of my own. Instead-’
‘I know. Whatever happened here, these folk have lived through something we’ll probably never understand. But these are still our people, Zesi. And we are theirs. Just hang onto that.’ Arga and Matu led them around the bay towards the causeway to Flint Island.
Nature was following its course, Zesi saw. The grey seals, plump after the summer’s riches, were arriving for their breeding season on the offshore rocks. They always returned to the same places, as if coming home.
But the seals were an exception, life going on amid the destruction. The beaches and marshes and tidal flats all showed signs of the ruin that the Great Sea had wrought: the dunes smashed, houses flattened, even the mud churned up and studded with dead trees and whole clumps of peaty earth. That awful layer of pale sand and mud lay over everything, thick with stones and smashed shells. There was a stink of death, and of rotting fish.
Everybody looked thin, hollow-eyed, over-worked. They seemed pleased to see Zesi and the priest back. But they were few, terribly few. Not many of these survivors seemed to be seriously injured, but there were few young, few old, and many families with gaps, a husband or wife missing, a child or two. She couldn’t have imagined a greater contrast to the happy crowds of the day of the Giving.
They came to the causeway to Flint Island. People were working out on the line of the causeway itself, doing some kind of repair work with timbers and baskets of gravel; boats stood in the shallow water alongside, laden with supplies. Arga called Novu’s name, and at the middle of the causeway the man from Jericho straightened up, waved, and came back along the causeway, picking his steps with care.
Arga said, ‘The Great Sea made a mess of the causeway. Well, it made a mess of everything. You always have to ask Novu or one of the other builders to help you across, because it isn’t finished yet. That’s the rule.’
‘Whose rule?’
‘Ana’s rule,’ Novu said as he approached, his strange accent thick. He too had changed since Zesi saw him last, the softness of his dark skin gone, his muscles prominent under a loose tunic. He didn’t look like a man of Etxelur, not quite, but he didn’t look like the creature who had arrived here with the trader either. He held out muddy hands to Zesi. ‘It’s good to see you back. Ana will be glad to know you’re here.’
‘So you’re building the causeway?’ It was a strange thing for her to have to say; the people rarely ‘built’ anything more elaborate than a house.
‘Ana asked me to take charge,’ Novu said, with what appeared to be pride. ‘We build things in Jericho. The Great Sea smashed the causeway, so I’m building it back. We’re filling in the gaps with gravel embedded in mud, and then piling logs on the top until you get a surface that breaks the water at low tide.’
The priest asked, ‘Where do you get the logs from?’
‘There are plenty. The Great Sea did a lot of damage far inland. You get whole tree trunks swimming down the river. Or you get trees washed up from the ocean as driftwood.’ He grinned at Arga and ruffled her hair. ‘Like the one that saved Arga’s life.’
Zesi raised an eyebrow at the priest. That was evidently a story worth hearing.
‘Come on,’ Novu said. ‘I’ll take you across. It’s pretty secure at the centre line, but a lot narrower than you were used to. Just tread where I tread.’
So Zesi and the priest crossed the new causeway, treading in Novu’s footsteps, followed by their excited, tearful retinue. It wasn’t difficult, provided you knew where to put your feet.
Arga held Zesi’s hand tightly, as if she might leave again. From the causeway Zesi got a good view of the ocean to the north, for the first time since returning to Etxelur. Something in her heart lifted at its grey hugeness. But she heard the people muttering curses at the little mother of the ocean, which you would never have heard a few months ago. As if in response a storm was gathering far out to sea, and rain fell in sheets that swept across the water.
When they reached the island Novu and Matu led them along the northern beach. At least here the white sea- bottom mud had mostly washed away on the tide. But everything had changed here too – the line of dunes, even the very shape of the shallow bay. Was it really possible that all of this had happened in a single day, as Matu had described?
The priest murmured, ‘Look at the middens.’
By now it was no surprise to discover that the holy middens, too, had been wrecked. A few people were working up there even now, using broad-bladed shovels to heap up the debris, and Zesi saw the gleam of bone, pale on the middens’ upper surfaces.
‘The dead?’ Jurgi murmured.
‘This is the best we can do,’ Matu said. ‘Ana said we should lie them out on the ruins of the holy middens, and then build up the middens around them.’
Jurgi nodded. ‘That was wise.’
Zesi had never heard the word ‘wise’ used about her kid sister before. Of all the strangeness she had encountered today, in some ways that was the strangest of all.
She looked out to sea again. Many boats seemed to be out, but as that storm gathered the boats were coming in, and people were running down to meet them. ‘Everybody’s fishing.’
Matu said, ‘You know how rich the autumn is. But everything’s been mixed up by the Great Sea. The cod are coming inshore, and we’re relying on them. The geese and the swans, they’re around. But the salmon have failed to come up the rivers this year. The eels haven’t come down either.’ Just as the salmon came to the land and swam upriver to spawn every autumn, so eels would swim downriver to their own breeding grounds far out to sea. A failure of these tides of life was serious for the people of the coast. ‘Even inland the hunting is bad.’ Autumn was a key time for hunting too, when the deer and the pigs and the wild cattle were fattest, ready for the winter, and their fur was in the best condition. ‘Either dead already or they’ve fled south. There are some who say we should do the same-’
‘Not me, by the little mother’s hairy left tit.’
Zesi swung around at the gruff, familiar voice. It was Heni, striding towards her from his beached boat. He bore a big basket of shellfish he’d been using for bait.
‘Oh, Heni-’ She ran to him, and he dropped his basket and enfolded her. He was a squat man but powerful, and he smelled of fish and salt and sweat, of the sea. He was the nearest to her father she would ever see again. Yet even now the tears would not come.
Stroking her hair, he murmured, ‘I was with him, you know. Kirike. On the day he died. We were out at sea. I was a coward. I wanted to paddle away from shore, where we would be safe. He wanted to come home, to be with his family. We fought. He jumped over the side and tried to swim in. I-There was nothing I could do to stop him. You know your father. We found his body. He’s on the middens if you want to see him. I was a coward,’ he said, desolate.
