literature

A View From Above, Post 24

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    Peotr bolted upright and scrambled away down the length of the canoe. His breath came in sobs, his heart pounding. He looked around wildly. The fight was dying out along with the crew of the fishing boat. The villagers had been ruthlessly efficient, killing with practiced ease. They were now ransacking the other boat of its gear and catch, shoving the dead overboard when they got in the way. More than once Peotr saw the villagers hacking at the dead with knives, taking trophies. Further away the other two boats were busy finishing off the survivors in the water with clubs and harpoons. Grey fins cut through the water here and there. No word of this attack would get back to warn the next fishing crew of the pirates.
     Pirates. There could be no other word for it. Peotr sat in the canoe, hunched over and watching as the villagers transferred their booty back to their own boat. Having brought no fishing gear or bait, they would now be going home with food and goods just as they had so many times before. Pirates! Every sailor frowned and clenched a fist at that word, whatever tongue it was spoken in, and now Peotr found himself living with them.
    Once the target boat was emptied of its wealth, there remained the matter of disentangling the two. Two villagers used the stolen war clubs to smash a hole in the other canoe. Once water was pouring in they scrambled back to the safety of their own ship. One of them came forward and shooed Peotr from his seat. Peotr went back to where Salasar sat, but could not look at him. Within a minute or two the other canoe was low enough in the water that the pirates were able to row free of the wreckage and head for home.
    There was no ceremony when they returned. It was just like any other day, with the boats returning with their catch of fish and the women of the village coming out to greet them. Peotr wondered if the women knew how their menfolk got their catch, or if they even cared. Among the faces waiting was Danni. She was smiling and hopping up and down with joy to see him. When he climbed out she hugged him and chattered about how happy she was to see him. His stomach churned and he had to resist the urge to push her away. By this time his hand was swollen, and Danni took him to see the old healer. She rolled her eyes when she saw the wound and took him to her hut. She plunged his hand into a heady-smelling pot of cold liquid that immediately made the hand numb. After a few minutes of that she bandaged the hand and sent him away.
    Supper held no allure for him. He kissed Danni and told her to go eat, that he wanted to be alone. She nodded and ran off. He struck off for the bush. He wandered the familiar paths, numb in his heart and head. He had seen dismemberment and death before, with men swept overboard during storms and with limbs being crushed in the tackle or sheets. He had seen fights aboard and in port, and had even had a few altercations himself. None of that mattered. He felt sick to his soul.
    He found himself at the graveyard. Looking at the body with the spear in its chest, it all made sense. Pillage and plunder, raid and counter-raid, retaliation and revenge: the people who built the city had been slaughtered, their bodies heaped into a pile and the whole island burned to the ground. It didn't matter if it was Danni's grandparents that had been slaughtered, or who were doing the slaughtering; the violence had lived on.
    Peotr was at a loss for what to do. His entire hope had been pinned on getting to one of the other islands, in the expectation of eventually catching a ride to the mainland. Now it was evident that the villagers would have no interest in taking him anywhere. Even if Peotr could get to another island, he was likely to be killed as a pirate. His heart sank. He eventually just sat on a stone and wept. He stayed there until his tears dried, then continued wandering. He hiked back up the hill to the plaza.
    Atop the hill he found the remains of Bighair's funeral pyre, on the other side of the path from the plaza. Peotr wondered how Bighair had died. He shook with fury at the villagers for allowing a boy to go sailing out to battle. He could imagine many ways the boy could have met his fate. Peotr then recalled the look on the wounded man's face as the shark grabbed him, and he huddled down and wept again. Getting up he wandered tear-streaked into the plaza. Staring at the pillar with the shark-toothed club he knew what the leathery patches were. Lying there with the old, blackened tokens were now some fresh items, recently harvested from the slaughtered fishermen: hands and genitals and scalps. Peotr stared at them for a few seconds, then found himself seasoning them with his own vomit.
    It was dark when Peotr returned to his hut. Danni was already there. She awoke and reached out to him. He stared at her for a long moment before laying himself down beside her and allowing her to wrap herself in his arms. He listened to her breathing slow as she fell back asleep. He knew that there was no way she was complicit in the crimes of her fathers, but her still felt tainted by her touch, and he felt dirty for feeling that way. It was a long time before he could sleep.
    Peotr awoke the next day to the sound of his own name being shouted. He opened his eyes and saw that the sun was just warming the sky. Danni was still at his side. He lay there, still, listening for his name again. He wondered if he had imagined it. Then there were footsteps outside the hut. The curtain door flew open and Danni's father burst in, rage in his eyes and a club in his hand. With an angry yell he reached down and grabbed Peotr by his foot and dragged him out of the hut.
    Peotr was so surprised that at first he did not even resist. Then his indignation arose and he kicked and twisted and clawed at the ground. To his surprise and embarrassment it did no good. He was hauled out onto the beach before the starled villagers. Danni's father was shouting at him, and when Peotr tried to rise he swiped at Peotr with the club. Peotr deflected it with his injured hand and was rewarded with a whole world of pain. Danni's father stomped around in front of the villagers, accusing Peotr of things he couldn't understand. The old healer confonted the man as Peotr tried to get up, but Danni's father lunged at him again, knocking him to the ground again. The healer intervened again, and they argued again. Danni's father strode off to the shark alter and grabbed some colored fabrics. He returned with them and threw them at Peotr. They were his old clothes. Peotr looked at them, shocked, as curses and accusations rained down on him. Where had they been? How had Danni's father gotten them? Why had they not been returned to him?
    The tirade stopped. Peotr looked up. The circle of villagers parted, and there stood Danni's mother. She slowly took in the whole scene, then turned to Danni's father.
    "What are you doing?" she asked in the local tongue. Peotr could understand her words quite well. It occured to him that Danni resembled her mother more than her father in many ways. Her father stood now and glared at her mother. He pointed at Peotr  and the clothes and asked something in a deadly tone. Peotr didn't need to parse the grammar to know that he was asking her what Peotr's clothes were doing in her bed.
    Danni's mother did not answer. She just turned and stared walking away. Danni's father followed, continuing his questions in that same angry tone. She finally turned on him. Peotr could not understand every word she said, but it was obvous that, in her eyes, Danni's father was lacking in many catagories. She continued her stroll up the beach, Danni's father two steps behind. The whole village followed, with Peotr in the rear cradling his outraged hand.
   She admitted freely that she was not faithful to him, she said. Peotr could gather that from her words and her tone. She seemed to feel no need to deny it, or even to own up to a responsability for it. He was outraged, but she was dismissive of his demand of faithfulness. He wasn't the lord of her. She continued her stroll to the rocks, then waded down into the water. Danni's father's tone shifted from accusation to ultimatim. She responded with a haughty look, and he stepped towards her, club raised.
    Danni's mother took one look at him and reached down and touch the fine pattern of scales on her flanks. She said something in a tongue and accent that Peotr had never heard. She dropped down, plunging herself under the water. When she stood back up again, Danni's mother was gone. In her place  was the blue nightmare from the ocean pool. The whole village gasped. Danni's father stepped back and dropped the club. When the creature spoke, it was a harsh, hissing sound that barely carried any human meaning. Nonetheless, even Peotr could understand the gist of what she said. She was leaving them, and she was leaving him. She turned her scaled flank, her wet black hair flipping a spray of drops across the sand. With the grace of a fish she dove into the water, vanishing and re-emerging many body lengths away. Danni stepped out of the crowd, calling out to her. The blue face stared back impassionately for a moment, then vanished again under the waves.
    The whole village stood there, silent while Danni cried out and sobbed. After a minute the old healer came forward and gathered Danni in close, murmuring comfortingly to her. Her father stood in the shallows, motionless. Then, his face a mask, he said something in a stern, detached voice. It was simple, and Peotr understood it. Danni's mother was dead. There was nothing anyone could do. Everyone should just go back to their lives. After a few moments the villagers turned and walked away. The healer picked up Danni and carried the sobbing girl back to her own hut. Peotr walked away with the villagers. He kept glancing back, for fear of pursuit, but Danni's father just stood at the rocks, alone, staring out to sea.
Maybe a bit more drama
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Gorfy622's avatar
"seasoning them with his own vomit" -- beautiful, man!

Seriously, though, exceptionally well-written