The Silver Ship and the Sea by Brenda Cooper Page B

better than we did. Although we didn’t know much about his gifts, he had a reputation for inventing useful tools, and seemed well respected. He had been adopted by Akashi and Mayah, the leaders of the West Band. Akashi kept him busy, so maybe he just didn’t have time to sit with us.
    One of the old women who ran the culture guild clapped for people to clear tables. I tipped my glass and finished the last of the beer, enjoying the warm feeling the rare treat left in my stomach.The babble of conversation in the room trailed off. People shifted chairs to find the best view of the stage. Children up to about ten years old settled on the floor in front of the stage, giggling and whispering among themselves.
    Akashi walked up to a microphone at the end of the stage. He was tall and slightly bent in around the shoulders, probably fifty or more years old, and his gray hair hung in a long braid behind him. He wore a red and black performer’s costume, with white and tan beads and shells sewn into the shoulders and along the hem of his loose pants. His dark skin showed the kiss of sun and wind over an olive complexion. His dark eyes sparkled with warm pleasure. Even the children quieted as he cleared his throat.
    “I suppose the first thing you want to hear is the earthquake. I will tell only our story. The East Band will tell their own in its turn.” He paused, looking around the room, gathering attention with his intense gaze. “The day shone bright and sunny, the heat making us sweaty and sleepy and content. We were pulling our wagons through the high summer pastures. Luckily, we rode on a wide flat trail.” He paused. “The ground rumbled, then stopped.” His hands, parallel to the floor, demonstrated the shifting earth and then stilled, opening up. “We breathed a sigh of relief. Then, as if a giant hand squeezed the rocks and path under us, everything twisted and jerked all at once. Our children cried. The hebras who pulled our wagons threw their heads up and pranced. Two took off running, and the wagon they pulled fell.” He pantomimed with his hands, drawing a fast line across the air in front of him and then showing a sudden stop and a sideways jerk. “One of our favorites, Twisted Beard, broke a leg, and had to be killed.”
    The look of pain that flashed briefly across his face reminded me of Jinks.
    “Twisted Beard’s partner, Rocky, kicked so hard in her traces she bruised a leg and we had to lead her by hand for five days. We were scared. We lost much of our data, including direct access to you, and we were afraid for two days that we would find Artistosleveled. The data networks remain shredded. The gaping holes left us feeling vulnerable until we could return here.”
    Bryan and I shared a quick glance. I looked over at Joseph, but he was studying his feet intently.
    Up on the stage, Akashi continued, his voice filled with solemn notes and sadness. “The hard part was getting here. We would have returned a week ago, except we had to move rocks off of the High Road to make a wagon track.” Now he looked down at the ground. “We are sorry for your losses, but grateful that Artistos is now returned largely to itself, and that most of you are here with us.”
    The crowd murmured and shifted, a kind of quiet agreement.
    Akashi brightened. “But of course, that is not all that happened to us. We bring you stories of three new beasts and one new flower, and we bring you wagons laden with meat and dried berries and herbs. Trading of our bounty for yours begins at dawn. But first, let us relay the gifts of our stories.” He looked down at the children just below him. “And which story would you like first? The dragon, the snake, the bird, or the flower?”
    The smallest boy, Jali, threw his hand up in the air.
    Akashi nodded at him.
    Jali drew himself up as tall as his little five-year-old body could go, and said, “Dragon please,” in an awed voice.
    Akashi laughed. “So you shall have the dragon