“Flick… flick…”
Adjaash gently flicked Ashanji’s ear. The horse had been sleeping, but now she softly blinked her eyes open and glanced at Adjaash. Adjaash giggled.
“Alright, I’m sorry… I’ll stop.”
Ashanji closed her eyes again and let out a gruff breath. Adjaash lifted her head off her leather pack and groaned. Her smile faded. Her joints ached.
The Midan highlands had no shortage of caves and rock inlets, hidden behind the vines. For this, Adjaash was thankful. She was even more thankful that it was summertime. The bears would use these dens to hibernate in Wilvalen and Marvalen. But in the warmer months, they often lingered farther down the slopes, in the thick green forests of the river basin, where the water and fish were more plentiful. She always checked and treaded lightly, of course – but this den was empty.
She’d found the cave just before nightfall, on the day of their deadly encounter with the cougar. Then she’d bandaged her cut. But when she awoke the next morning and removed the bandaging, the cut on her wrist was red, clouded, and swollen, and she shivered and coughed. It could’ve been any number of diseases hidden in the wilds. It mattered little. Despite her precautions, she had fallen ill.
Nevertheless, Adjaash prepared for this, just as she prepared for everything. Before leaving the Midan camp, she’d stored medicines. A small flask of water, with the dissolved powder of the raama root inside, would help her body fight the infection. And with luck and rest, it would run its course. She hoped it was a tamer sickness. Some terrible afflictions, even she could not protect herself from.
She decided she’d reserve the day to rest. One day became two. Now it was late again. The crickets chanted in the dark beyond the walls. She promised herself she wouldn’t make it three.
Every now and then, she cursed to herself; she was losing valuable time. By now, the floodwaters might’ve receded enough to traverse the river basin – but she didn’t know if she’d be able to find her way back through the tangles without going off course. She lamented her own lack of patience. Perhaps it would’ve been a better course of action to simply wait.
But at least there was solace in this: She knew where Heror was going. He was going to Pylantheum. That was the only place he would go. She just hoped he wouldn’t get himself killed along the way.
Now she forced out a small laugh. For Heror, that was a lot to ask.
A certain fondness faded back, and she brushed it away. She sat up and leaned against the cave wall, scraping her back against the rough striations in the rock. Her eyes went to the opposite corner, where a lit torch sat perched between several boulders. She’d lit the torch so she could see in the dark and sort through her supplies. But now, as she began to drift off again, its light and its crackling gave off a peaceful ambience.
Now her throat tickled, and she coughed again. Her breath grew lighter, and shivers ran up her spine, and she soon erupted into a coughing fit, hacking and sputtering in the hollow air of the den. Ashanji’s eyes parted open once more, and the horse craned her muzzle forward, grazing Adjaash’s shoulder. Adjaash let the last of her weak, raspy coughs escape. Then she caught her breath, as her hand pressed into her horse’s mane.
“Shit,” she muttered to herself, through another strained exhale.
To combat the tremors and chills, she found herself using her torn blanket – to her surprise and sullen displeasure. Nevertheless, she did her best to make herself comfortable. The rock floor was rough, but the leather pack elevated her head as she laid down. She tucked her legs and let her hair fall over her eyes.
“Tomorrow, we’ll get going again, Ashanji,” Adjaash whispered. “I promise.”
Ashanji bowed her head and closed her eyes again. Feeble breezes crept into the cave from the forest grounds. The chirp of the crickets, the ember-song of the torch – these were the only other sounds.
Adjaash sighed and readjusted her shoulder, and then she slumped onto her makeshift pack pillow. As she did, her shark tooth necklace escaped from her poncho and her blanket, and dropped over her chest.
With tired eyes, she watched it dangle. And then she took the necklace in her hand. She ran the pads of her fingertips against the smooth and slaten backs of the teeth. She poked the sharp points of the denticles. Then she palmed the encased red-orange gemstone at the center – the hearth.
As she felt it, she heard the waves again – an echo of a memory. She closed her eyes once more. And then she saw it.
The waves and whitecaps washed against the sandy shore, on the backs of the boundless wind. Brilliant red arches and pillars towered farther down the beach, capped by deep green snares of vines and trees that seemed to spill over the rocky tops. The sky was a deep blue – the deepest it ever was – as if all of the world’s beauty had pooled to this place.
There was a confluence of color below the tides, as churning ocean blues tried and failed to hide sprawling reefs. Beneath a layer of dancing algaes giving off viridian and skobeloff and aquamarine, corals of pink and red and indigo and marigold linked and clustered, until they winged and climbed out across the shallow ocean floor – teeming with movement and life.
Adjaash felt the wind and the warmth. She opened her eyes and looked down.
Bare soot-colored toes tucked in beneath loose sands. Loose grains kissed her arches and heels.
She was young here. And Ashbashenu was even younger. Adjaash could see her sister hurrying along the shore in her cloth shawl and wrapped dress – kneeling down at every little piece of ocean waste that might have been interesting. Ashbashenu couldn’t have been more than six at this point.
Ashbashenu was young enough that she hadn’t cut her hair yet. Adjaash was old enough to know she had to protect her.
“Ashba!” Adjaash warned in Torwan above the breeze. “Watch out for urchins!”
Ashbashenu might’ve heard her; Adjaash had no way of knowing. The young child crouched down on the soft and wave-sodden beach. Her eyes traced the silt and sand grains with wonder, until wonder became excited recognition. Her hands shot forward. She dug something out of the dust, and then she stood and scampered back toward Adjaash, locks of black hair whipping in front of her face. She held out a small black shark tooth, as bracelets clacked around her wrist.
“Adjaash, see? There’s another!” Ashbashenu exclaimed. “I’m up to ten now!”
“That’s amazing, Ashba,” Adjaash yawned. “You’ve almost caught up to me.”
“You don’t have close to ten!” Ashbashenu scoffed. “You’re barely even looking!”
“Well, I have twelve in my secret stash, so…”
“You don’t have a stash.”
“Yes I do.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
But by now, Ashbashenu’s attention had fluttered elsewhere – as it did so often. Her eyes went to the ground again, and there was another ping of recognition as her shoulders tensed. She let out an unconscious “oh” and knelt down, pinching yet another small shark tooth within her fingers. She launched to her feet, almost too fast.
“Eleven!!”
“That’s great,” Adjaash shrugged. “You almost have as much as me.”
Ashbashenu let out a gruff sigh and swung her arms.
“You do not have a stash,” the younger sibling pressed.
“Yes I do,” Adjaash chimed.
“You can’t have a stash, Adjaash,” Ashbashenu lamented, now addressing the possibility of foul play from her sister. “It’s not fair.”
“Well…” Adjaash shrugged again, matter-of-factly: “… I have a stash.”
Ashbashenu’s next sigh was more annoyed. She leaned to the side and peered past Adjaash.
“Whaea!!” Ashbashenu whined. “Adjaash says she has a stash! Tell her that’s against the rules!”
“Just ignore her, Ashbashenu…”
Ashbashenu let out a final sigh – one of unwilling surrender. And then she turned to Adjaash, closed her eyes, and turned her nose up in defiance.
“I’m ignoring you, Adjaash,” Ashbashenu declared.
And then she turned and joined the hunt again. Adjaash grinned mischievously and cupped her hands.
“That’s not how that works, Ashba!”
But Ashbashenu was gone – back to her archaeological pursuits. Adjaash watched as the young child bounded down the seashore, stirring gulls and orange-billed plovers that fed in the sand.
As the child went, Adjaash’s eyes squinted. Ashbashenu was running fast, and careless. Adjaash stepped forward, and was about to call out again with another warning – when she heard a calming voice behind her.
“Let her be, Adjaash,” the voice said. “She’ll be safe.”
Now Adjaash turned. She had always been told she bore an uncanny resemblance to her birth mother, and in the bright light of day, she couldn’t deny that she saw it, too. As her birth mother stood behind her, Adjaash watched her long brown-silver hair dance in the wind. She saw the bands of iridescence along the strands. She saw the same firm and quiet determination on her mother’s heart-shaped face, that she strived to achieve herself.
Adjaash had many mothers, but her birth mother was her favorite. Ashweban was a slightly taller woman, long and slender – taller than Adjaash and all the other young ones. By now, Adjaash had grown already; she knew she’d never reach her mother’s height in stature. But her mother was a natural at all things. That, at least, Adjaash could hope to emulate.
In the forest and in the villages, Ashweban wore long linens and loose garbs. But here on the beach, she didn’t hesitate to indulge in her comfort. A two-piece linen suit and cloth was much more breathable, and so Adjaash followed her example. Simple comfort wasn’t always smiled upon in the villages. But when she made time for her daughters, Ashweban always made sure to tell them they could be free – even in the little ways.
Adjaash enjoyed sharing this freedom with her mother, but she envied her mother’s necklaces. The adults of the village all carried them with pride. And by now, Ashweban had accumulated at least a half-dozen strings and pendants around her neck. Loops of vibrant beads in intricate hot and cold-colored designs. Painted animal bones strung on thread, to commemorate the cycle of life the foragers respected so. But the most enthralling, in Adjaash’s opinion, was the jeweled necklace that hung lower than the others.
It was a simple thread necklace, with no adornments but a small red-orange gemstone sat locked in an intricate rose gold metal casing, shaped like a sphere of branches and leaves. Ashweban never told Adjaash how she’d gotten it; Adjaash assumed it was from one of the village jewelers. But she wasn’t sure even they could make something so perfect. So detailed, yet so lacking in waste.
She envied it, of course – but she did not want it. Adjaash would have to make her own necklaces. Their secrets of substance, she would have to find on her own. This honor-bound path, she too held dear.
Adjaash sent one last look in her sister’s direction. And then, at the behest of her mother, she forced herself to let her be, and she joined the search. The light was good beneath the early afternoon sun, and with her trained eyes, it didn’t take long for Adjaash to catch up to her sister – honorably this time.
By now, the ancient tides had brought onto the shore a layer of remnants and relics from the ocean floor of the past. And some organisms still lived among them. In a bedding of soft, fine-grained sands, a conglomeration of rippled shells and slick-sided clams and banded tulip cocoons and worn fish bones lay undisturbed. As Adjaash’s feet crunched in the stratus, a whelk extended its legs from a conch and scurried away. She smiled and knelt, picking up a half-inch shark tooth from the ground – feeling its black, slated texture.
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The sun drifted in the deep blue sky-flow. Adjaash traced the shoreline as the waves hummed to her right, eyes every-so-often glancing up to make sure Ashbashenu hadn’t wandered out of sight. As her eyes drifted down again, she caught a glimpse of another sharktooth hiding in the gleaming detritus. It tried to evade her sight beneath two scallop shells, leaving only a sliver of dark for her to see. But it underestimated Adjaash’s sharp eye.
She stowed this one and let her hand fish around inside her pocket, fingers climbing from one tooth to the next as they clacked together. She was up to eleven now.
Now she sensed that her eyes had left Ashbashenu for too long, and she looked up in a rush. But to her relief, Ashbashenu was running back toward her now – a smile on her face.
“Adjaash! Adjaash!” Ashbashenu called, eager to reveal her spoils. “How many do you have now?”
“Twenty-three,” Adjaash chimed; it was only a half-lie this time. “Counting my stash.”
Ashbashenu let out a frustrated groan, then eyed her sister with suspicion.
“I still don’t believe you,” the young girl said with defiance.
Adjaash smirked, as Ashbashenu now made her way past her sister, to her mother who lingered behind them. Eagerly, Ashbashenu gathered her plunder, and she cupped the cluster of dark shark teeth in her hands – lifting them with such vigor that she almost dropped a couple.
“Whaea, look!!” Ashbashenu exclaimed. “I got thirteen of them!”
“I see, Ashbashenu!” Ashweban cooed. “That’s wonderful.”
“I got more than Adjaash even!” Ashbashenu reveled.
“No, you didn’t,” Adjaash teased.
“Yes, I did!”
Ashweban let out a laugh – a soft, heartful laugh that warmed Adjaash’s skin when she heard it.
“You both get so competitive,” their mother mused. “Now both of you, come here…”
Ashbashenu skipped to her mother and stood up straight. Adjaash stepped toward her mother slowly, with curious eyes. Embraced by her closeness, they waited. And then Ashweban held out her cupped hands.
“Give me what you found.”
Ashbashenu was hesitant at first, eyes narrowing in suspicion. But at the insistence of her mother’s soft smile, she begrudgingly handed over her treasure. Adjaash did so without reservation. Ashweban took the shark teeth in her hands, and then she clasped her right hand over her left. And inside the closed cage of her palms, she shook and shuffled the teeth, so that they mixed together with crisp clacks and raps. Ashbashenu’s eyes went wide, as she now realized she wouldn’t be able to recognize her own.
“Wait, but—”
“It’s alright, Ashbashenu,” mother assured her.
For a moment longer, Ashweban mixed the teeth together. And then she stopped. She opened her hands again, and held them out to her daughters.
“Each of you, take half.”
Ashweban held her hands to Ashbashenu, and the young girl meticulously picked out twelve shark teeth, one by one – trying to pick out the ones she’d found. Once she was done, Ashweban turned to Adjaash. Mother’s hands inched closer. Twelve shark teeth sat beneath her fingers. Adjaash took them all and palmed them herself.
“Now, each of these piles, both of you have made,” Ashweban said. “When we get back to the village, carve holes in these teeth. Gather string, and wear these around your necks. And then you will always have each other, wherever you go.”
Ashbashenu was perhaps too young to fully understand the meaning of this gesture; her eyes calculated and consternated over the loss of her bounty. But Adjaash looked down at the mixed teeth with admiration and wonder. This would make her first necklace. And her duty as the elder – the eldest – would be sealed beyond the knot.
Soon enough, Ashbashenu’s focus drifted away once again. And in the late afternoon light, eager her eyes went to the ocean. She set down her shark teeth in a small pile on the sand. Then she brushed a loose, wind-blown lock of black hair from her face and turned back to her mother.
“Whaea, can I go swimming before we leave??” she pleaded.
For the first time, Adjaash saw a blink of worry on her mother’s face. But even when she felt these things, Ashweban was always good at hiding it. As soon as Adjaash saw it, it was gone. And Ashweban gave Ashbashenu a cautious smile.
“Yes, Ashbashenu,” she replied. “Just stay close to the beach. Make sure your feet can touch the bottom.”
“Yes, whaea!” Ashbashenu blurted, already rushing toward the waves.
Now Adjaash and Ashweban both watched her from the shore. Adjaash stepped closer to the shallow tides. The damp sand cooled her feet. Ashweban stepped up alongside her; Adjaash could feel the peace of her presence. Together, they watched Ashbashenu float in the low water, letting the gleamfish tickle her ankles.
“Sometimes I wish she had your focus,” Ashweban remarked, with a sly humorous tone she revealed every so often.
Adjaash cracked a grin and glanced up at her mother. It was then that her mother’s amber eyes scaled down to her own.
“And sometimes I wish you had her freedom of spirit.”
Adjaash blinked, and her grin flattened. Ashweban gave her one last smile, and then her eyes rose again.
From anyone else, Adjaash might’ve considered this an insult. But her birth mother’s guiding hand never left her words, and those words always came from a place of love and care. And so Adjaash stood silent in thought, as the winds and the waves aided her meditation.
Late afternoon became evening. The sun sank just above the arches, and as the light stretched, an fiery glow encroached onto the land. Flames of the hearth emblazoned on the western horizon, rippling just as the waves did. And above, curtains and flows of overlapping cirrus clouds caught the sunlight in shines of pink and cerise and lavender. The wind, ever so slightly, was starting to cool.
By now, Ashbashenu had inched a bit farther out. Adjaash noticed this. But her feet were still beneath her. And so Adjaash tried to relax, still ruminating on the words of her mother.
She never grew wary of the colors of the Torwan shore, and so she let her eyes wander about. Just a touch was permissible, she decided. She loved how the light of the sunset peeked through the tangles of vines and greenery atop the arches. And she loved how the sun’s flame itself seemed to embolden the reds and oranges of the rocks themselves.
Adjaash glanced to the east now. She traced the shoreline, as the rocks fell and rose again and flanked the sands, catching the amber glow on their broad faces. She saw a taller whitecap rushing into shore farther down the way – an unfurling blue, layering and crashing down on the low tides below it. As it so often did for her, wonder soon gave way to suspicion. And her eyes shot out to the sea, searching for what stirred the waters.
And to her fright, her suspicion was not misplaced.
It was just barely noticeable, but it could not escape Adjaash’s eye. In the far distance, on the northeastern horizon of the sea, was a sail. It was a strange-looking sail – not made of flax canvas or cloth – but of what appeared to be flayed reptilian skin, glinting a shadowy, musty greenish hue as it hid from the sunlight. It had the shape of a dragon’s scale or a shark’s fin – sharp on the top, angled and curved on the front. Below the sail, Adjaash could just make out the dark, thick, gnarled wood of a ship’s hull.
“Whaea,” the quivering word left Adjaash’s mouth before she could think, and she pointed.
Ashweban glanced at Adjaash, and then her eyes followed her daughter’s finger. She had to squint where Adjaash did not, but soon enough, she too saw what Adjaash warned of. Adjaash watched as Ashweban’s throat contracted – a sudden anxious inhale. Their eyes fixed on the far eastern horizon for a moment, but as soon as the sail appeared, it was gone – obscured beyond the rising tide.
Ashweban’s concern seemed to fade as the ship did – as if she was attempting to tell herself she was only seeing things. But Adjaash knew what she’d seen. And her eyes were frozen on that darkening horizon – until a cry came from the shore ahead of them. A cry for help.
Adjaash’s eyes lashed forward, and she saw Ashbashenu flailing her arms, screaming inbetween gurgles of water. She was starting to drift out. The ocean current had swept her feet from beneath her. She couldn’t swim like the others could.
Adjaash bounded into the water, splashing and stirring the waves as her legs plowed a path. Ashweban tried to grab Adjaash’s arm, but Adjaash was too fast. She sprinted through the shallows and reached Ashbashenu just before the girl went under again, and she clasped one of her sister’s swinging wrists. And then, Adjaash lodged her feet in the sand and held tight, as the current attempted to tug them both away.
The ocean current was strong, and for a moment, Adjaash felt her feet start to lift. But before it could take them, another hand wrapped around Adjaash’s arm, and as she glanced back, she saw her mother anchoring the two at the shore. The three waited for the current to calm, and then they all stepped out onto the shore again. Ashbashenu fell to her knees and started coughing. Adjaash let the shock and adrenaline subside, and then she fumed with anger – more at herself than anyone else, for taking her eyes away.
“You have to be more careful, Ashba!” Adjaash scolded, emotions inflecting her voice. “You know you can’t go out too far! If you don’t respect the water, it’ll take you under! Don’t be so stupid!”
Eyes glistening, hands scraping in the sand, Ashbashenu nodded feebly. Adjaash let out a frustrated sigh. She opened her mouth, as if to say more – but then she stopped herself and paced away. As she did, Ashweban stepped toward the young girl. The mother knelt down in the sand and placed her hands on Ashbashenu’s shoulders.
“Are you alright, Ashba?” Ashweban whispered.
Though her expression did not show this for certain, Ashbashenu nodded.
“Adjaash is right,” Ashweban went on. “You do have to be careful. But you won’t always be able to avoid the current forever. Do you want to see how I float?”
At the hint of excitement in Ashweban’s voice, Ashbashenu smiled again. And she nodded – this nod of eager anticipation, and not of accommodation.
Ashweban stood, and both Ashbashenu and Adjaash turned to watch her. In the evening light, she stepped into the shallows. Then she sprawled and spread out her long arms. And then suddenly – dramatically – she jumped backward and flopped into the water, sending up high splashes and waves and droplets. At the sight, Ashbashenu started to laugh, and when the water calmed, Ashweban floated on her back.
“You see, Ashba?” Ashweban called, leaning up so no water obstructed her words. “In the shallows, you can float on your back, and you kick with your legs, so you don’t need to rely on your arms.”
Now Ashweban thrust her hands beneath her, and she stood in the dunes below the depths – water at waist-height. She adjusted her soaked, shining hair to clear her face, and then she motioned for Ashbashenu to enter the water again.
“Come on,” Ashweban encouraged. “You try it.”
At the thought of entering the water again, a tinge of fear froze Ashbashenu again. But this fear melted when Ashweban motioned again.
“Come,” Ashweban insisted. “I’ll be with you.”
With precarious care, Ashbashenu stepped into the shallow tides again. She felt the cool rush of the water, and she wandered in further – until she was at Ashweban’s side. She glanced at her mother, and then with a smirk, she jumped back as her mother had done – perhaps a bit more dramatically – and landed with a violent sploosh. When the surges sank, she was floating atop the waves.
Ashweban held onto Ashbashenu’s arm for support and walked alongside her. Ashbashenu kicked her feet. She smiled and laughed – a light laugh that rose above the steady hum around them.
The sun sank ever lower, but it was not yet gone when Ashbashenu and Ashweban left the water for the final time. Ashbashenu gathered her shark teeth – at the insistence of her mother, as she was almost certain to forget. And then they began the journey eastward on the shore, back to the path inland.
Ashbashenu led the way again, her energy seemingly without end. Adjaash lingered closer behind her. In the dying scarlet light of dusk, Adjaash’s eyes scanned the ocean horizon to the far northeast. She looked for the sails. She knew she’d seen them. Some eyes played tricks on their masters; hers did not.
But then Adjaash felt the shark teeth chattering softly in her pocket. And her thought thread collapsed. She’d been so focused on the sails, she’d lost sight of her sister. And she could’ve lost her.
Discontent overcame her – discontent with herself and her failings. Her brow fixed downward, and her eyes and chin fell. Her brown-silver hair drooped over her shadowy face. Her motions were stiff. Her steps were rickety. She sank in the sand with each advance. The wind chilled her bones…
And then a hand ran around her shoulder. Adjaash stopped in her tracks. Her feet sank and dug in. And when she turned, she saw her mother looking down at her. The red glow of the sunlight lined her hair and her face. In the wind, iridescent strands danced across her cheeks. Adjaash felt the comfort of her eyes.
“You can protect her,” Ashweban said quietly. “But you know she must find a way to swim and weather the current on her own. All of us must.”
Adjaash glanced ahead again. Her sister knelt down in the sand – curious fingers reaching for a shell or a whelk or a scampering salamander. Adjaash let out a shallow breath. Her eyes fell. But as her mother tightened her grip, Adjaash looked up at her again.
“You are strong, Adjaash…” Ashweban told her. “…but do not let your strength always be so cold…”
These words, Adjaash heard. Ashweban looked down at her for a moment. There was a sure and steady conviction in her mother’s face.
“… To others… and to yourself.”
And then Adjaash opened her eyes. And all at once, the rush of the wind and the hum of the waves left her. Her mother was gone. Her sister was gone. The chill and silence of the cave settled in and pressed against her skin. The embers of the torch leered at her – a mocking remnant of the warmth long passed.
She sat up, and only then did she feel the pain in her hand. She looked down, and saw that she’d been squeezing tightly the shark tooth necklace – so much that deep indents formed in her palm. She released the charm and let it fall to her chest. And then, in the quiet of the cave, panic breached her mind again.
She heard the tick of the timeflow in her head, as deep as her own heartbeat.
Time, she was losing.
She quickly rose to her feet. Still, she felt the tickle and weight of sickness. Still, it was the dark of night. And still, she rolled her blanket and gathered her things. She slung her bow and her arrow quiver over her shoulders, and grabbed the torch from the corner of the cave. And then she made her way back across the rock to Ashanji. She stirred the horse and stifled a cough. The horse’s head lifted. Its ears perked.
“C’mon, Ashanji,” Adjaash urged, voice coarse. “We’ve rested enough.”
And then she mounted and rode out into the tangle again.
Somewhere, the red light of dawn was kept at bay.