journey. But no, the chief denied any dream. Rather he pointed to the sky and said it was time to go get—something. A word Glogmeriss had never heard before. But it was clearly some kind of food, because the adults nearby began laughing with anticipatory delight and pantomiming eating copious amounts of—something.
Off to the northeast, they passed along the shores of another small sea. Glogmeriss asked if the water was sweet and if it had fish in it, but Zawada told him, sadly, that the sea was spoiled. “It used to be good,” she said. “The people drank from it and swam in it and trapped fish in it, but it got poisoned.”
“How?” asked Glogmeriss.
“The god vomited into it.”
“What god did that?”
“The great god,” she said, looking mysterious and amused.
“How do you know he did?” asked Glogmeriss.
“We saw,” she said. “There was a terrible storm, with winds so strong they tore babies from their mothers’ arms and carried them away and theywere never seen again. My own mother and father held me between them and I wasn’t carried off—I was scarcely more than a baby then, and I remember how scared I was, to have my parents crushing me between them while the wind screamed through the trees.”
“But a rainstorm would sweeten the water,” said Glogmeriss. “Not make it salty.”
“I told you,” said Zawada. “The god vomited into it.”
“But if you don’t mean the rain, then what do you mean?”
To which her only answer was a mysterious smile and a giggle. “You’ll see,” she said.
And in the end, he did. Two days after leaving this second small sea behind, they rounded a bend and some of the men began to shinny up trees, looking off to the east as if they knew exactly what they’d see. “There it is!” they cried. “We can see it!”
Glogmeriss lost no time in climbing up after them, but it took a while for him to know what it was they had seen. It wasn’t till he climbed another tree the next morning, when they were closer and when the sun was shining in the east, that he realized that the vast plain opening out before them to the east wasn’t a plain at all. It was water, shimmering strangely in the sunlight of morning. More water than Glogmeriss had ever imagined. And the reason the light shimmered that way was because the water was moving. It was the Heaving Sea.
He came down from the tree in awe, only to find the whole tribe watching him. When they saw his face, they burst into hysterical laughter, including even Zawada. Only now did it occur to him that they had understood him perfectly well on his first day with them, when he described the Heaving Sea. They had known where he was headed, but they hadn’t told him.
“There’s the joke back on you!” cried the man in whose face Glogmeriss had thrown dirt on that first day. And now it seemed like perfect justice to Glogmeriss. He had played a joke, and they had played one back, an elaborate jest that required even his wife to keep the secret of the Heaving Sea from him.
Zawada’s father, the chief, now explained that it was more than a joke. “Waiting to show you the Heaving Sea meant that you would stay and marry Zawada and give her giant babies. A dozen giants like you!”
Zawada grinned cheerfully. “If they don’t kill me coming out, it’ll be fine to have sons like yours will be!”
Next day’s journey took them far enough that they didn’t have to climb trees to see the Heaving Sea, and it was larger than Glogmeriss had ever imagined. He couldn’t see the end of it. And it moved all the time. There were more surprises when they got to the shore that night, however. For the sea was noisy, a great roaring, and it kept throwing itself at the shore and then retreating, heaving up and down. Yet the children were fearless—they ran right into the water and let the waves chase them to shore. The men and women soon joined them, for a little while, and Glogmeriss himself finally worked up the
Off to the northeast, they passed along the shores of another small sea. Glogmeriss asked if the water was sweet and if it had fish in it, but Zawada told him, sadly, that the sea was spoiled. “It used to be good,” she said. “The people drank from it and swam in it and trapped fish in it, but it got poisoned.”
“How?” asked Glogmeriss.
“The god vomited into it.”
“What god did that?”
“The great god,” she said, looking mysterious and amused.
“How do you know he did?” asked Glogmeriss.
“We saw,” she said. “There was a terrible storm, with winds so strong they tore babies from their mothers’ arms and carried them away and theywere never seen again. My own mother and father held me between them and I wasn’t carried off—I was scarcely more than a baby then, and I remember how scared I was, to have my parents crushing me between them while the wind screamed through the trees.”
“But a rainstorm would sweeten the water,” said Glogmeriss. “Not make it salty.”
“I told you,” said Zawada. “The god vomited into it.”
“But if you don’t mean the rain, then what do you mean?”
To which her only answer was a mysterious smile and a giggle. “You’ll see,” she said.
And in the end, he did. Two days after leaving this second small sea behind, they rounded a bend and some of the men began to shinny up trees, looking off to the east as if they knew exactly what they’d see. “There it is!” they cried. “We can see it!”
Glogmeriss lost no time in climbing up after them, but it took a while for him to know what it was they had seen. It wasn’t till he climbed another tree the next morning, when they were closer and when the sun was shining in the east, that he realized that the vast plain opening out before them to the east wasn’t a plain at all. It was water, shimmering strangely in the sunlight of morning. More water than Glogmeriss had ever imagined. And the reason the light shimmered that way was because the water was moving. It was the Heaving Sea.
He came down from the tree in awe, only to find the whole tribe watching him. When they saw his face, they burst into hysterical laughter, including even Zawada. Only now did it occur to him that they had understood him perfectly well on his first day with them, when he described the Heaving Sea. They had known where he was headed, but they hadn’t told him.
“There’s the joke back on you!” cried the man in whose face Glogmeriss had thrown dirt on that first day. And now it seemed like perfect justice to Glogmeriss. He had played a joke, and they had played one back, an elaborate jest that required even his wife to keep the secret of the Heaving Sea from him.
Zawada’s father, the chief, now explained that it was more than a joke. “Waiting to show you the Heaving Sea meant that you would stay and marry Zawada and give her giant babies. A dozen giants like you!”
Zawada grinned cheerfully. “If they don’t kill me coming out, it’ll be fine to have sons like yours will be!”
Next day’s journey took them far enough that they didn’t have to climb trees to see the Heaving Sea, and it was larger than Glogmeriss had ever imagined. He couldn’t see the end of it. And it moved all the time. There were more surprises when they got to the shore that night, however. For the sea was noisy, a great roaring, and it kept throwing itself at the shore and then retreating, heaving up and down. Yet the children were fearless—they ran right into the water and let the waves chase them to shore. The men and women soon joined them, for a little while, and Glogmeriss himself finally worked up the
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