down. Her belly growled. It was a day and a night since the fisherman had abandoned her here with only a waterskin and a couple of dried mullet. Since then she’d eaten nothing but a handful of dusty sage.
On Keftiu she’d never had to think about food. When she was hungry, she simply clapped her hands and a slave would bring whatever she wanted: delicious little fried cheese balls rolled in sesame seeds; roast octopus stuffed with sorrel; fig cakes smothered in crushed walnuts and honey.
But here. There were fish in the rock pools, but whenever she leaned over, they vanished. She’d never expected fish to move so fast. She’d only seen them in paintings or in a dish.
The island didn’t want her. Seabirds screamed at her,and sharp stones hurt her feet. The Sea heaved endlessly in and out of her narrow little inlet, splashing her with spray that stung her burned cheek; but she didn’t dare camp in the big bay on the other side of the headland. She had to stay hidden, in case her mother or the Crows came after her. She missed Userref, although he probably didn’t miss her, as she must have gotten him into so much trouble by running away. She hated being so helpless and so scared. She had no sandals or cloak, which meant no shade by day and no warmth at night; and no idea how to wake up a fire. Sleeping in the open was frightening, with all the noises. The sky was immense and the stars glared down at her. Alarming shadows flitted across them that might be birds or bats—or worse. There was a cave where she went to refill her waterskin, but nothing could have made her sleep down there. Caves led to the underworld. You entered at your peril.
Shortly after the fisherman had abandoned her, a storm had blown up. Miserably, she’d sheltered under a juniper tree, getting soaked. Then she’d experienced what every Keftian dreads: The ground had begun to shake. Cowering under her tree, she’d begged the Earthshaker to stop. Was He angry because she was here, where she didn’t belong?
The shaking hadn’t lasted long, but she’d lain awake all night, waiting for the Bull Beneath the Sea to start stamping again. At dawn she’d thrown her earrings into the shallowsas an offering, uneasily aware that she should have done this earlier.
She shouldn’t be on this island; it was all wrong. She’d told the fisherman to take her to Keftiu, but he’d said it was too far, and despite her protests he’d set her down here. He’d been scared and in a hurry to get away. She hadn’t known why until the next morning, when she’d recognized the shape of the ridge from a hundred Keftian paintings.
The fisherman had left her on the Island of the Goddess.
On Keftiu they told tales of the people who’d lived here in the old times. It was said that they’d grown proud, and angered the gods. Then they’d vanished, never to be seen again. Now the island was a deserted, sacred place, haunted by the ghosts of the Vanished Ones. Only priestesses came here from time to time, to make sacrifices, and perform secret rites to propitiate the Goddess…
The Sun rose higher, and Pirra got hungrier and hungrier. At last she decided to risk a venture into the bay. When the fisherman’s boat had first drawn near the island, she’d spotted a shipwreck farther down the coast. Maybe there she would find something to eat.
Her mind shied away from what would happen if she didn’t. Cliffs barred the way inland; as far as she could tell, she was confined to the inlet, the bay, and the point on which the ship had been wrecked.
After a scratchy, midge-ridden climb, she reached thetop of the headland. Panting and streaming sweat, she stared down at the sweeping arc of the bay.
There was a body on the beach.
Pirra dropped to a crouch and dodged behind a boulder.
The body lay on its front with the foam licking at its heels. Probably some drowned sailor washed up by the storm.
Pirra thought fast. Robbing the dead would be horrible.
But…
It was
On Keftiu she’d never had to think about food. When she was hungry, she simply clapped her hands and a slave would bring whatever she wanted: delicious little fried cheese balls rolled in sesame seeds; roast octopus stuffed with sorrel; fig cakes smothered in crushed walnuts and honey.
But here. There were fish in the rock pools, but whenever she leaned over, they vanished. She’d never expected fish to move so fast. She’d only seen them in paintings or in a dish.
The island didn’t want her. Seabirds screamed at her,and sharp stones hurt her feet. The Sea heaved endlessly in and out of her narrow little inlet, splashing her with spray that stung her burned cheek; but she didn’t dare camp in the big bay on the other side of the headland. She had to stay hidden, in case her mother or the Crows came after her. She missed Userref, although he probably didn’t miss her, as she must have gotten him into so much trouble by running away. She hated being so helpless and so scared. She had no sandals or cloak, which meant no shade by day and no warmth at night; and no idea how to wake up a fire. Sleeping in the open was frightening, with all the noises. The sky was immense and the stars glared down at her. Alarming shadows flitted across them that might be birds or bats—or worse. There was a cave where she went to refill her waterskin, but nothing could have made her sleep down there. Caves led to the underworld. You entered at your peril.
Shortly after the fisherman had abandoned her, a storm had blown up. Miserably, she’d sheltered under a juniper tree, getting soaked. Then she’d experienced what every Keftian dreads: The ground had begun to shake. Cowering under her tree, she’d begged the Earthshaker to stop. Was He angry because she was here, where she didn’t belong?
The shaking hadn’t lasted long, but she’d lain awake all night, waiting for the Bull Beneath the Sea to start stamping again. At dawn she’d thrown her earrings into the shallowsas an offering, uneasily aware that she should have done this earlier.
She shouldn’t be on this island; it was all wrong. She’d told the fisherman to take her to Keftiu, but he’d said it was too far, and despite her protests he’d set her down here. He’d been scared and in a hurry to get away. She hadn’t known why until the next morning, when she’d recognized the shape of the ridge from a hundred Keftian paintings.
The fisherman had left her on the Island of the Goddess.
On Keftiu they told tales of the people who’d lived here in the old times. It was said that they’d grown proud, and angered the gods. Then they’d vanished, never to be seen again. Now the island was a deserted, sacred place, haunted by the ghosts of the Vanished Ones. Only priestesses came here from time to time, to make sacrifices, and perform secret rites to propitiate the Goddess…
The Sun rose higher, and Pirra got hungrier and hungrier. At last she decided to risk a venture into the bay. When the fisherman’s boat had first drawn near the island, she’d spotted a shipwreck farther down the coast. Maybe there she would find something to eat.
Her mind shied away from what would happen if she didn’t. Cliffs barred the way inland; as far as she could tell, she was confined to the inlet, the bay, and the point on which the ship had been wrecked.
After a scratchy, midge-ridden climb, she reached thetop of the headland. Panting and streaming sweat, she stared down at the sweeping arc of the bay.
There was a body on the beach.
Pirra dropped to a crouch and dodged behind a boulder.
The body lay on its front with the foam licking at its heels. Probably some drowned sailor washed up by the storm.
Pirra thought fast. Robbing the dead would be horrible.
But…
It was
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