ORIGIN

The Gatherers

The rain had let up some time in the early morning, leaving the soft gray haze of an afternoon drizzle. This was tossed by the ocean winds, and touched by the salt of the sea. It was cool, crisp, and it left a slight crust as it dried, so that Toani had to continously pause and scratch at her own skin.

She grimaced, fingers picking beneath the leather spear-sheath wrapped around her forearm. She brushed the hand over her loose sackcloth clothes, then squinted out over the water. She liked the feeling of mud on her toes, but the wind--it was always itchy. When she spoke, her language was something other--something flowing and alien, melodic, all vowels and brief halts mid-word. "Bad weather," she called, to the older boy picking his way along the mud flat behind her. 'Kio tao.'

The other gatherers were ranged around them, all of them spread as they used the sticks and spears to pick through the low-tide rocks. The boy--some eighteen or nineteen, and towering over the younger girl by a couple of rangy feet--laughed. "It is good weather," he protested, holding a palm up to catch the drizzle. "No storm, just enough light, not too wet..."

Toani's grey eyes again cut out over the sea. She shook her head, expression bitter for one so young. Then she looked down again, shaking her head, focused on her task.

The little spear--strapped to her forearm--prodded into the mud, here and there. Other Gatherers were plucking out the occasional crablike creature, or flipping stones to pick out the molluscs hidden underneath. Each find was dropped into a canvas sack. "If I have to be itchy, I would rather be itchy at sea."

The boy behind her sighed. It was a point of contention, always; Toani wished to join the fishermen, but her family held no line of boats, no history of carved hulls and family-crest sails. "You know the fish have not been good..."

She nodded, scowling. "...And the shellfish have been many. And I have been trained for Gathering. And my family has no boat. And there is no place--and, and, and. I hate the mud! It stinks, and I sink. And the crabs bite my toes," she added irritably. But she did not hate the mud--not really. It was only that she loved the sea more.

Buhano laughed quietly behind her. "Stop digging your toes in. You walk with anger," he observed. "They feel you coming."

It was a common argument between them, in part because she (the apprentice) only had he (her guide) to complain to. Bu was the only one who listened, but then, there wasn't a lot to do out here on the mud flats except to talk--or sing. The soft rush of the gray sea was loud enough, here, that talking would soon be difficult--the Gatherers were veering toward it, their route taking them to the very lip of the ocean breakers.

Beyond lay the vast expanse of sea: waves beyond waves, the sea glittering dimly in the light of the low-hanging, cloud-wreathed blue sun.

"Let them feel me coming," Toani muttered. "If they will not let me sail, I will at least bring the most crabs."

"Then a new lesson for you. You are not supposed to use your toes as bait, apprentice," Bu said solemnly, and Toani turned, throwing an empty shell his way.

His good-natured laughter rang across the flats.

_________________

The Gatherers worked along the shoreline, farther and farther, their tawny skins sun-stained and salt-weathered. The tides came in, and so did they, trudging with full sacks back to the village. The homes, all slate- and driftwood-made, were nestled along dreary brown shore in the shadow of the fog-swept mountain. The mountain, legend said, had dragged this island up from the sea back when it had choked smoke and wept molten stone, but now it had slept for millennia.

The moons curled lazily behind the clouds, drifting like ships at sea--even as the ships themselves came into dock, each bearing the unique carvings that told its story, and the colored sails that marked its owner's family.

The nets were hauled in, glittering full of silver scales; and the molluscs were being sorted; and the village huts plumed with chimney smoke as night fell.

This was a quiet place, a peaceful place.

This was Kaiale.

Toani's toes flicked the water. Her feet were dangling off the dock, light catching and sparkling off the droplets she kicked high into the air.

The soft and hollow thud of likewise-bare feet approaching across the sun-warmed wood turned her head. "Bu," she greeted, simply.

"Toani? What are you doing out here? We head back out, soon. The storm was good for the harvest." She did not answer him, instead turning to look out over the bay, palms flat on the dock. But... Buhano could guess her thoughts. "The Sea-Eel was lost," he added, in a quieter tone. She still did not answer. Buhano hesitated. "Even if they rebuild-" he began.

"I am not of their family," Toani finished, with fury in her tone that surprised him. He had expected it. But not this strong. "They will not take me. I know." She spat these words to the sea and then stood, loose wraps whipping in the wind.

Today was brighter. Clearer. The storm had left the air crisp and fresh. But Toani's rage was still a rising wind. "It isn't fair. I can learn! Just because my family-"

"Enough!" The word crashed through, the thunder to her wind, and she turned with surprise. Buhano never raised his voice. He was the easy-going. The gentle. The good-natured. But now he stood tall, and the thunder was in his face, too. A scowl, as he met her gray eyes. "Toani... Ask them. If it means so much to you," and he turned, gesturing back to Soani'ka, "Ask them."

And suddenly, no one was standing in her way.

Somehow, the way seemed harder.

Perhaps it was that now she could take those steps... but she had to find it in herself to do so. She hesitated, at first. "But... I'm not of their family. Our tradition-"

Bu interrupted her again as the heat began to return to her voice. "ASK them. You come with the Gatherers and get mud in your feet from stomping too hard, and you are filled with anger. They need to rebuild. Ask them if you can scavenge driftwood. Ask them to teach you how to raise the rigging and sails when it is built. And ask them, if you do these things, if they will teach you how to sail. The worst they will say is, 'no.'"

A faint frown lined her face. Hope glimmered. Fear sparked. "But..."

"No buts! Go. Ask. Or do not complain."

Toani wavered. Always Bu had been her support, a quiet voice behind her, quite unlike the harsher masters that might slap or shout at an apprentice's misstep. It was never cruel, exactly, but the Elders demanded respect, always. It was just that Bu had never done so--and now he was.

His hand was on her arm, and she found him hauling her back along the dock, dragging her toward the village. "Hey-!" she protested, but he glared back at her, and did not slow his pace.

"We will ask. I will ask with you. Should I tell them you are a terrible apprentice-? That you scare away the crabs and miss half of your mussels, too busy staring after the ships at sea?"

She scowled up at him, gray eyes flashing with anger. But she thought, before she answered--jerking her much smaller arm free, and coming to walk alongside Buhano. "No," she answered, after a moment. "Tell them I am the best Gatherer you have ever seen. Tell them I am wasted on the shore. Tell them I want to sail."

They marched from wooden planks onto village dirt, and Toani's sharp confidence turned to uncertainty. "Do you think they will allow it?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"We can only try," Bu replied. "But I will not tell them you are the best." She started to protest, and he smirked down at her. "A compromise...? I will tell them you would be better at fishing."