Beyond the Pale: A fantasy anthology by Nancy Holder, Kami García, Saladin Ahmed, Jim Butcher, Jane Yolen, Heather Brewer, Rachel Caine, Gillian Philip, Peter Beagle Page A
Authors: Nancy Holder, Kami García, Saladin Ahmed, Jim Butcher, Jane Yolen, Heather Brewer, Rachel Caine, Gillian Philip, Peter Beagle
Ads: Link
been so from the first.”
“Then she has seen you—”
“No. I take my tribute afterward, when I
leave her, and she never follows then.” The Shark God smiled and sighed at the
same time, studying his daughter’s puzzled face. He said, “What is between us
is hard to explain, even to you. Especially to you.”
The Shark God lifted his head to taste the
morning air, which was cool and cloudless over water so still that Kokinja could
hear a dolphin breathing too far away for her to see. He frowned slightly,
saying, “Storm. Not now, but in three days’ time. It will be hard.”
Kokinja did not show her alarm. She said
grimly, “I came here through storms. I survived those.”
“Child,” her father said, and it was the
first time he had called her that, “you will be with me.” But his eyes were
troubled, and his voice strangely distant. For the rest of that day, while
Kokinja roamed the island, dozed in the sun, and swam for no reason but pleasure,
he hardly spoke, but continued watching the horizon, long after both sunset and
moonset. When she woke the next morning, he was still pacing the shore, though
she could see no change at all in the sky, but only in his face. Now and then
he would strike a balled fist against his thigh and whisper to himself through
tight pale lips. Kokinja, walking beside him and sharing his silence, could not
help noticing how human he seemed in those moments—how mortal, and how
mortally afraid. But she could not imagine the reason for it, not until she
woke on the following day and felt the sand cold under her.
Since her arrival on the little island,
the weather had been so clement that the sand she slept on remained perfectly
warm through the night. Now its chill woke her well before dawn, and even in
the darkness she could see the mist on the horizon, and the lightning beyond
the mist. The sun, orange as the harvest moon, was never more than a sliver
between the mounting thunderheads all day. The wind was from the northeast, and
there was ice in it.
Kokinja stood alone on the shore, watching
the first rain marching toward her across the waves. She had no longer any fear
of storms, and was preparing to wait out the tempest in the water, rather than
take refuge under the trees. But the Shark God came to her then and led her
away to a small cave, where they sat together, listening to the rising wind.
When she was hungry, he fished for her, saying, “They seek shelter too, like anyone
else in such conditions—but they will come for me.” When she became
downhearted, he hummed nursery songs that she recalled Mirali singing to her
and Keawe very long ago, far away on the other side of any storm. He even sang
her oldest favorite, which began:
When a
raindrop leaves the sky,
it turns
and turns to say good-bye.
“Good-bye,
dear clouds, so far away,
I’ll come
again another day....”
“Keawe never really liked that one,” she
said softly. “It made him sad. How do you know all our songs?”
“I listened,” the Shark God said, and
nothing more.
“I wish... I wish ...” Kokinja’s
voice was almost lost in the pounding of the rain. She thought she heard her
father answer, “I, too,” but in that moment he was on his feet, striding out of
the cave into the storm, as heedless of the weather as though it were flowers
sluicing down his body, summer-morning breezes greeting his face. Kokinja
hurried to keep up with him. The wind snatched the breath from her lungs, and
knocked her down more than once, but she matched his pace to the shore, even
so. It seemed to her that the tranquil island had come malevolently alive with
the rain; that the vines slapping at her shoulders and entangling her ankles
had not been there yesterday, nor had the harsh branches that caught at her
hair. All the same, when he turned at the water’s edge, she was beside him.
“ Mirali .” He said the one word, and
pointed out into the flying, whipping spindrift and the solid mass of
“Then she has seen you—”
“No. I take my tribute afterward, when I
leave her, and she never follows then.” The Shark God smiled and sighed at the
same time, studying his daughter’s puzzled face. He said, “What is between us
is hard to explain, even to you. Especially to you.”
The Shark God lifted his head to taste the
morning air, which was cool and cloudless over water so still that Kokinja could
hear a dolphin breathing too far away for her to see. He frowned slightly,
saying, “Storm. Not now, but in three days’ time. It will be hard.”
Kokinja did not show her alarm. She said
grimly, “I came here through storms. I survived those.”
“Child,” her father said, and it was the
first time he had called her that, “you will be with me.” But his eyes were
troubled, and his voice strangely distant. For the rest of that day, while
Kokinja roamed the island, dozed in the sun, and swam for no reason but pleasure,
he hardly spoke, but continued watching the horizon, long after both sunset and
moonset. When she woke the next morning, he was still pacing the shore, though
she could see no change at all in the sky, but only in his face. Now and then
he would strike a balled fist against his thigh and whisper to himself through
tight pale lips. Kokinja, walking beside him and sharing his silence, could not
help noticing how human he seemed in those moments—how mortal, and how
mortally afraid. But she could not imagine the reason for it, not until she
woke on the following day and felt the sand cold under her.
Since her arrival on the little island,
the weather had been so clement that the sand she slept on remained perfectly
warm through the night. Now its chill woke her well before dawn, and even in
the darkness she could see the mist on the horizon, and the lightning beyond
the mist. The sun, orange as the harvest moon, was never more than a sliver
between the mounting thunderheads all day. The wind was from the northeast, and
there was ice in it.
Kokinja stood alone on the shore, watching
the first rain marching toward her across the waves. She had no longer any fear
of storms, and was preparing to wait out the tempest in the water, rather than
take refuge under the trees. But the Shark God came to her then and led her
away to a small cave, where they sat together, listening to the rising wind.
When she was hungry, he fished for her, saying, “They seek shelter too, like anyone
else in such conditions—but they will come for me.” When she became
downhearted, he hummed nursery songs that she recalled Mirali singing to her
and Keawe very long ago, far away on the other side of any storm. He even sang
her oldest favorite, which began:
When a
raindrop leaves the sky,
it turns
and turns to say good-bye.
“Good-bye,
dear clouds, so far away,
I’ll come
again another day....”
“Keawe never really liked that one,” she
said softly. “It made him sad. How do you know all our songs?”
“I listened,” the Shark God said, and
nothing more.
“I wish... I wish ...” Kokinja’s
voice was almost lost in the pounding of the rain. She thought she heard her
father answer, “I, too,” but in that moment he was on his feet, striding out of
the cave into the storm, as heedless of the weather as though it were flowers
sluicing down his body, summer-morning breezes greeting his face. Kokinja
hurried to keep up with him. The wind snatched the breath from her lungs, and
knocked her down more than once, but she matched his pace to the shore, even
so. It seemed to her that the tranquil island had come malevolently alive with
the rain; that the vines slapping at her shoulders and entangling her ankles
had not been there yesterday, nor had the harsh branches that caught at her
hair. All the same, when he turned at the water’s edge, she was beside him.
“ Mirali .” He said the one word, and
pointed out into the flying, whipping spindrift and the solid mass of
Similar Books
