Tides of Maritinia by Warren Hammond Page B

through the spirit of the sky and the spirit of the sea. She stitches in the souls of our past and the souls of our future. All of us part of one fabric that spans the centuries.”
    I looked past her to the crowd, patchy lighting from glowgrubs and paper lanterns casting a hazy glow over faceless silhouettes.
    She bowed her head in my direction. “Today we honor a soul of our present.” Touching her heart, she said, “And we honor Mmasa. A soul of our past. Mmasa was a great diver, the greatest diver our world has ever known. And like all the great kelp harvesters of his time, he was invite-­ed by the governor to participate in the games. But these were no ordinary games. These were the games of Governor Greyson the Blacksoul.”
    The name traveled around the crater, and the crowd hissed with displeasure, the earsplitting sibilance making me wince.
     I asked Pol.
    
    
    
    â€œMmasa,” she said, “thrill-­ed the spectators who sat where you now sit. He enchant-­ed the governor, who stood where I now stand. He made them cheer by diving deeper than the squiddies dare, and by staying under long past anybody thought possible. His feats were so spectacular that even his fiercest competition could do nothing but watch and applaud with respect.
    â€œBut like so many of the Sire’s governors, Greyson the Blacksoul was a cruel man. A man who enjoyed others’ suffering. He order-­ed Mmasa to dive even longer. Even deeper. And when Mmasa did as he was told, Greyson order-­ed it again. And again. Always deeper. Always longer. He made Mmasa dive until his lungs could take no more, and he curl-­ed up in pain from depth illness.”
     I asked Pol.
    
    Perhaps, I thought. Perhaps.
    The Falali Mother’s voice turned somber. “Governor Greyson’s spirit was black, black like smoking ash. He watched Mmasa writhe in agony, and still, he order-­ed him to dive. And do you know what Mmasa said?”
    She paused to drag out the moment. “He ask-­ed, ‘Is there no limit to your cruelty?’ ”
    Again, she waited for the words to ripple from crier to crier, waited until she was sure every ear had heard. “Mmasa wasn’t just speaking one man to another. He was speaking to the Empire on behalf of us all. He was asking: Is there no limit to what you’ll take from us?
    â€œGreyson the Blacksoul did not like to be question-­ed, but he was devious enough to react with a polite smile. Then he wave-­ed to the crowd, calling for all who were members of Mmasa’s family. He trick-­ed them by telling them he want-­ed to honor them. Mmasa’s performance was so brilliant, he said, they all deserve-­ed to share in his glory. And the unsuspecting came forward. Twenty-­three of them, including his wife and child. And when they did, Greyson the Blacksoul had them all bound.”
    Slowly, her words spread around the crater, kicking off a barrage of hisses and catcalls. From somewhere offstage, the Falali Mother’s two assistants appeared carrying a small pedestal topped by a large conch shell. They set the pedestal next to the Falali Mother, who beckoned for me to stand, and when I did, one of her assistants passed me a mallet of stone with a handle of mammoth bone.
    â€œAnd once his family members were all bound,” she said, “the Governor order-­ed Mmasa to break the shell.”
    She gave me a nod.
    I stepped up to the pedestal and hefted the weighty hammer. With a quick swing, I brought the hammer down and shattered the shell with a loud crunch followed by the scatter of pieces skipping across the bamboo stage. I lifted the hammer off the pedestal and revealed a jagged collection of rough