A Door Into Ocean by Joan Slonczewski Page B

now, we’ll drift until—”
    â€œShora, no!” In two months, before winter set in, seaswallowers would migrate southward. A ring of ravenous whirlpools would sweep from pole to pole. In the tropics, the ring would stretch thinnest, and that was where Raia-el must stay.
    â€œThen hunt a shockwraith. Shockwraith sinews held starworms fast for millennia, before traders came.”
    â€œShockwraiths shared a harsher toll.” The scar across her mother’s scalp had been left by a shockwraith, although Merwen had never shared the details with Lystra. An event over which Merwen could not weave words must be unspeakable indeed.
    Yinevra gripped Lystra’s chin, and her own jutted close. “My girl, you’ve said no five times in as many minutes and as many directions. Is that all the young are good for nowadays? When the time comes for Shora to choose, only two streams will flow: to close the Door, or die.”

3
    SPINEL SHIVERED AND rubbed his palms, which were puckered from long immersion. The sun soon dried him except for his trunks, and those began to itch. One thought held him now: when he got back to the traders’ raft, he would stay there, no matter what, until the next moonferry. He would do anything to get off this planet and back to Chrysoport, even if he had to spend the rest of his days chipping tesserae in his father’s basement.
    But first Lystra had to take him to the trader—if she ever meant to in the first place, which he doubted more than ever. He could take the boat himself, perhaps, though how would he navigate? These questions ran through his mind as he skipped down the raft branch after
Lystra. At the far end, just where the branches thinned out and dipped under, there was a boat similar at first glance to Merwen’s. Spinel ran ahead and hopped into the stern. “Hey, where’s the motor?” The sternpost was bare.
    Lystra turned on him. “I’ve never used those noisy stone objects, and you can tell every trader in sight I said so.” She grasped a paddle and raised it so high he thought she would strike him. But the next instant, it plunged down at a raft branch. The boat shoved off gradually, loaded as it was with tied bundles of spun seasilk.
    â€œI just asked,” Spinel said sullenly. “What’ll you do, then? Row this thing out on the open sea?”
    She tossed her head and laughed. “No, I’ll fly away to the Stone Moon. I’ll do that, one of these days,” she mused, half to herself. “And when I get there, Valan, you watch out.”
    â€œLook, if you really hate the moontraders, why do you bother with them at all?”
    â€œA good question.” Vengefully she shoved at the branch again. “I wish more of us were asking it. Ask Merwen: she was alive when the first traders came. But you must know for yourself, trader’s brat.”
    Blood rushed to his face. Spinel clenched his fists, leaned across the seasilk, and shouted, “I’m nobody’s brat, I’m a stonecutter’s son. I’ve got a decent father with a regular trade, which is more than you can say. None of you have any stonesigns; you’re worse than beggars!”
    Lystra eyed him coolly. “Only Valans consider begging a calling. What have you done, since you got here? Who’s been at work all morning, and who will ‘pay’ for your food?”
    â€œI said, I want nothing from you! I’m going home.” He dove out and swam, with no idea where. Blindly he thrashed among the branches, heedless of the squid darting away or the jagged coral fans that loomed ahead without warning.
    Within half a minute, something grabbed him from behind, digging into his shoulder. He choked and twisted around to fight it off. It was Lystra, who hoisted him roughly up a dry branch. Barnacles gouged his chest and arms, and blood trickled down; salt burned into the wounds.
    â€œSit still, for Shora’s