Water
to Water
by
Karen A. Wyle
Genre:
Science Fiction
Two
young Vushla questioned what everyone knew about death. What should
they do with the answer?
When the time comes for
Vushla to die, they go into the ocean and are dissolved away. Or so
Terrill has always believed, and still believes after taking part in
his father's final journey. But when he meets a young Vushlu who
lives by the sea, Terrill must confront information that calls this
fundamental belief into question. Will the two of them discover
the truth? And what should they do with what they find?
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The
last taste of dinner was fading from Honnu’s mouth. Even food was different
when the peddler came. This very night, around this same fire, they had roasted
and eaten plump sausages spitting with juice, made from some crawling creature
that pushed through underbrush and rooted in the earth of far-off forests.
Honnu
stretched his arms and upper body to soak in the warmth of the fire, welcome as
the end of hot season brought cooler night breezes. Which of the peddler’s
tales might actually be true? Honnu had never traveled farther than the nearest
market town — far enough away from the shore that the sea could not be seen,
but not too far for its smell to carry, competing with the smell of the fish he
sold and the pastries and spices and flowers in the stalls all around him. Were
there really trees so tall that a Vushlu would have to rear back on its hind
legs and lean against something sturdy in order to see the tops? Did mountains
soar even higher? Did rivers of water pour out of those mountains? Did the
mountains rise above the air itself, so that the air strained and grew thin,
and one could look down and see the thicker air below? Did fountains of fire
leap up from hidden places to consume travelers? Did birds, glowing as bright
as any fire, swarm over the fields in springtime, keeping farmers from sowing
seed until the birds had flown away? Did a species of giants, giants who never
came near the ocean, giants with two legs and two arms like the Weesah but each
limb twice as thick as a Weesah’s trunk, raise beasts for farmers, never
leaving their ranches, requiring farmers to come to them? Were there places
where the sky was always red, and others where the sky was always black?
Honnu’s
family must know the answers to those questions, or to some of them, but his
aunt never wanted to talk about it, and his grandfather changed his story from
one time to the next, and his mother said none of it was true. Honnu refused to
believe that.
Unless
he found a way to go see for himself, he would never know.
Now
he heard sounds of movement and conversation, and tires pushing through sand.
The procession must be leaving, with one of its members gone forever into the
sea. They would probably not go very far in the dark. There was an inn serving
such travelers in the market town. But by morning, they would be on their way
back to wherever they came from. To one of the many, many places Honnu had
never seen.
Character
Interview with Kititit the Weesah Peddler
Q.
How did you become a peddler?
A.
Well, now. That’s a ways to think back . . . . When I was a young sprout, we
had a neighbor who was a peddler, wagon and all. I thought her wagon was about
the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, all painted up as it was. And she used to
let me help load the goods in the back – leastways, helping is what she called
it. Getting in the way is what I’d call it, remembering. And when she’d been
away and came home again, she always had stories to tell about the places she’d
been. I’d never been anywhere, and I got to hankering after a life like she
had.
Q.
Your wagon – did it used to be your neighbor’s?
A.
Right you are! Though by the time she figured she was ready to stay home and
play with her grandchildren and take it easy, the wagon was what you might call
used up – the canopy, anyway. My folks gave me a new one, and I picked what to
paint on it.
Q.
You have a mate and children, I hear. How have you managed to strike a balance
between traveling and family life?
A.
Well, I don’t have just any mate. I made sure to find a lady as liked to hear
stories. I promised to always bring back plenty of stories. And she’s an
independent sort – doesn’t need someone at her elbow all the time, telling her
how to do things. A mate as hung around every day might get annoying for such
as her. So we suit each other. And the longer I’m away, the longer I stay home
and do my bit with the young ‘uns and the beasts and the garden and all. And
now that some of our young ‘uns are grown, she has plenty of help when she
needs it.
Q.
You’re acquainted with Terrill and Honnu, I believe. How did that come about?
A.
I’ve known Honnu a good piece of his life, I’d say. I visit a few different
fisher villages, and he lives – or lived, I’m not sure which is right just now
– in one of ‘em. I was the first Weesah he ever saw, I reckon, and how he would
stare! Anyhow, he’s a curious fellow and always likes to hear my traveler’s
tales.
Q.
That brings up an interesting point. Aren’t you somewhat given to exaggeration
in those tales of yours? Should Honnu believe everything you say?
A.
(laughs) No, I can’t say as he should. But I reckon he knows that. Now, I
wouldn’t say he knows just what to believe and what not to. But if he ever
asked me, serious-like, I’d tell him.
Q.
And Terrill? How did you meet him?
A.
That was luck, if luck is something that happens, as to which I’ve no firm
opinion. His da took ill, and Terrill was one of the funeral party as took him
to the sea. I left Honnu’s village about the time they left to head home again,
and we got to talking on the road. A nice young fellow. On the serious side,
and tending to worry more than is comfortable for a youngster his age. I did my
bit to cheer him up, when I could.
Q.
And how did Terrill and Honnu meet each other?
A.
(chuckles) Well, I’ll maybe let you ask one of them about that. I’d best be
packing up and heading on, pretty soon. Any last questions? Or might you be
wanting something from the wagon before I go? I’ve got some good knives I
picked up a few towns back. Or if you’ve little ones at home, I have toys --
balls for juggling, and these dolls. See the bits of shell that make up the
armor? And of course, I have fish. Always plenty of fish.
Book Trailer:
Karen
A. Wyle was born a Connecticut Yankee, but eventually settled in
Bloomington, Indiana, home of Indiana University. She now considers
herself a Hoosier. Wyle's childhood ambition was to be the youngest
ever published novelist. While writing her first novel at age 10, she
was mortified to learn that some British upstart had beaten her to
the goal at age 9.
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