Boots Chapter 9

As he sat, resting his eyes between sips of warm water, Boots felt the trembling in his arms and legs slow as the surges of panic wore off. Beside him Colin let a mighty sneeze and surreptitiously wiped his nose on his borrowed cloak. Below them, along the river, they could hear shouts and exclamations from the villagers as they went about whatever business they had there. Boots and Colin watched through heavy-lidded eyes, not intrigued enough by the sounds and glimpses of movement they saw below to move. 

Then Bridda walked by. She gave them a tight smile and a nod as she passed. Her clothing was still sodden, her hair was a tangled mess of half undone braids, and she was smeared with dirt and blood. Unbothered by this, she was striding towards the river with a determined look on her face, a steaming mug in one hand and a spear in the other. 

Colin and Boots exchanged a look, then by unspoken agreement stumbled to their feet. Near drowning would not keep them from seeing the commander spear a massive sea creature. Leaning against each other for the occasional support, they shuffled and stumbled their way back to the river’s edge. They were unprepared for the wreckage that greeted them. 

The last, largest wave of water had left a wide border of grasses and shrubs washed flat on either side of the river, the wet land was coated in river mud, strewn with debris and dotted with flapping fish. Large pieces of the paddle wheel were jammed across the waterway or washed up on shore. 

No doubt there would be bridges, fields and roads washed out and flooded the length of the village. The bridge was littered with fish, flopping in a desperate attempt to return to the water. Boots had a fervent hope that no one had been seriously injured or worse. 

The island of tangled trees that had saved them was shaken to bits by the giant fish in its frenzy. The beast was still in there. The waterline was still high, and its thrashing and lunging sent waves over the bridge, washing some of the fish to freedom. Other fish drifted away belly up, torn and shredded. Beyond the bridge, the water was running red as much as brown. Boots wondered if the large animal had injured itself and was bleeding also, it seemed like a lot of blood for some bitten fish.  

Boots searched for some tiny speck of sympathy for the animal as it thrashed away but found none. He saw the angled mouth and lidless eye whack the bridge piling, then turn sideways and try to rip at it with bloody teeth. He felt only revulsion and fear. He imagined he could feel and smell its breath when it had lunged at them. He supressed a shudder as the long tail whipped back and forth angrily as the thing tried to wedge itself under the bridge. He hoped it would not somehow jump over. 

If it did, Bridda would be ready. 

Not taking any chances, Bridda had crossed the bridge and was stationed at the lowest point she could reach. She was drinking from her mug, spear point down, the butt leaning against her shoulder. Some men just past the bridge had some bows and some longer farming tools ready to stab or shoot. He looked back at Bridda, at the set of her shoulders, he wondered if she would even have to drop the mug to grip the spear and throw it. There was something about the way she stood – ready. 

“I think I heard someone say it’s a shark,” Colin said. 

Shark, Boots thought the word to himself. He recalled a few stories about the ocean predators that preyed on the ships of invaders and unlucky fishermen. “That’s not really how I pictured a shark,” Boots admitted, “I thought it might be wider. And have bigger fins all around. Maybe it would be more colourful.” 

“Like something from one of your mother’s books,” Colin agreed. “Or the sea creatures on the map painted in the village hall.” 

“Exactly like that,” Boots said. 

Now that they could see it better from where they stood at a safe distance, the shark was a dark grey speckled with black, its skin looked like lichen-covered stone. The fins on its body were not ridged like a fan or ruffled at the end but were the same, dull skin as the rest of the shark and shaped like triangles. The animal was cold and utilitarian, like a tool designed only for killing. The blood that seeped from between its teeth was frothy as the thrashing of its tail and body slowed.  

“But the teeth,” Boots added. 

“Pretty much as expected, maybe worse,” Colin agreed. 

The shark snapped at some logs as they floated by, crunching with those ranks of teeth and tearing at the bark. When its tail unwound like a lash it was easily as long as the river was wide. What would it be like in the open water, to be in a small boat and know that thing was sliding through the dark waters below? 

He asked Colin as much. Colin shook his head. 

“Let’s never find out,” he said. 

Boots and Colin heard their names being called, followed by Meranin’s voice in an unusually strident tone and Colin’s mother, Enid, following close behind. They looked over their shoulders and saw Tale with both women, back at the wagon where they had been sitting and pointing towards where they were standing now. Their mothers strode forward, and Boots and Colin were enveloped in a swirl of warm hugs, gentle prodding and firm scolding’s. 

“Why are you up? You should both be resting.” 

“Thank the gods, what on earth happened!” 

“Your brother is fine at home, but I had to check on you. Meranin, this bump on Colin’s head.” 

“Does it hurt anywhere? Did you swallow a lot of water?” 

“I need to check both of your pupils, look at me.” 

“Enid, can you check Boots’ hand, you know which one.” 

“Make sure you eat something, have you eaten anything? You’re as pale as a sheet. Look at your arm!” 

As Colin’s mother examined his rope-burned forearm, Boots looked over at Colin who was stooped over having his eyes and head examined by Meranin. But Colin’s eyes kept straying towards the far bank where the body of the shark lay. 

“Oh, for the sake of the gods. You really want to go over there?” Meranin asked. 

“Yes!” Boots and Colin said in unison. 

The two mothers shook their heads and exchanged looks. 

“I suppose this is as good a sign as any that you are both well,” Enid said. 

“As foolish as ever,” Meranin agreed, but with a fond smile for them both. She turned to Colin’s mother, “I am headed over there next. At least this way I can keep an eye on them. And you can get back to Shase.” 

“All right. But you two behave,” Enid said sternly, pulling them forward for a final peck on each cheek. She paused and gave Meranin a warm thank you and rushed off. 

“I’m going to take a look at a few more things and send up some food for your two to eat. Finish it, then you can come along to take a look at our fearsome beast. But only if you eat,” Meranin warned. 

Colin and Boots settled obediently back under their makeshift tarp to eat some cooked oats and watch the villagers try to bring order to the chaos. The skies were still cloudy, and rain still fell intermittently, but wan sunlight was peeking through. Wood was being dragged into piles along the banks, as were the fish. Tale and Albo were at the heart of the organizing, a table was set up near them with some food and drink, and runners moved back and forth carrying messages. 

Meranin came to collect Boots and Colin; but would not leave until she had determined they had eaten and had checked their pupils again. When they arrived at the opposite bank, the shark, as it was now accepted that was its name, had finally died. Its limp body had passed under the bridge as the water level dropped down. Using poles and ropes they had managed to steer the body to a shallow part of the bank that was usually a sandier patch and drag it a little way onto the shore. 

Bridda was there, peering down at the head of the creature. Even though the animal was dead, it made Boots nervous to see someone so close to it. Bridda must not have been concerned, she did not have the spear anymore, it was leaning in some bushes at the edge of the clearing. 

“Hey, Luthi’s here,” Colin said, gesturing to a tall, thin man standing apart from everyone else. “What do you think he’s doing?” 

Luthi was a vidari woodsman. Trackers, hunters and healers all had deep ties to the forest, could all claim to read the forest and the land for signs and knowledge. But a vidari bond went beyond that, they did not read the land, the land spoke to them. It was told that they lived longer than other people, growing wizened and tough like the trees around them, until they finally rooted in place and gave over to the life of the land to be part of the great beating heart of creation. 

That was why you always checked certain trees carefully for a face before chopping it down – or well you might be cursed by the vidari spirit housed within. 

Luthi wore his faded hat, it used to be red but was now a pinkish brown that sat on his head like a mushroom cap, a lose vest with no shirt and trousers that were cut off above the ankle – or had slowly frayed away to that length. His soft shoes were set up on a rock, and he was standing ankle deep in the soft mud at the waterline. He was staring at the river as it flowed along. Standing so still, with his tanned, toughened skin, he did look as though he would take root where he stood. 

Meranin nodded at Luthi as she passed by, although he did not react, and approached Bridda where she was near the shark. Boots and Colin drifted closer too. 

“I’ve never actually seen one,” Bridda said as Meranin came to stand by her side. “I’ve heard tales, and traveled in ships far enough offshore, but I’ve never actually seen one.” She sounded a little wistful. 

“They are fascinating animals,” Meranin acknowledged. “Terrifying and deadly, but no less fascinating. I am far from an expert on such things – it is possible Balert could offer some insight -” 

Bridda made a face to show what she thought of that idea. 

“- but I will tell you what I know and suspect. From the size of it, I would say it lives quite deep in the water. Luthi has pointed out its eyes are dull, like a bat or other animal that moves in darkness without the aid of light. I would have to look at a map, but I cannot think of a single water route big enough that would allow this beast to move from the ocean to Holding on its own. What’s more, even if such a route existed, I cannot imagine how this shark would ever willingly leave the comfort of the depths. I would doubt it would survive long in shallower, warmer water. No less without salt water.” 

Bridda picked a clump of grasses and seaweed off of the shark. Boots and Colin held their breath, but the thing did not move. 

“I doubt it came all this way willingly,” Bridda said, inspecting the weeds in her hand, even smelling them before continuing. “Maybe it did get a little too close to shore, but then some other event carried it this way against its will. Or something drew or drove it away from its natural home. Considering the masses of other fish, maybe some sort of giant wave started in the ocean and washed all these fish inland – and the shark was caught up in the current. If there was a severe storm out on the coast it could cause such things.” 

“I suppose it’s as possible as anything else,” Meranin said. 

“True,” Bridda said. “If only there was a way to know for sure. It would be very helpful to know for several reasons.” 

Bridda was using her polite voice again and she looked expectantly at Meranin. Meranin responded by staring intently at the shark and saying, 

“If only there was a way. I’ll have to consider that carefully, commander.” 

 Boots and Colin had been sidling away from the two women. They both had the same idea on their minds. They moved along the curve of the tail until they were somewhat hidden from view. 

“On three,” Colin whispered. 

Boots nodded and they both held out a hand. 

“One, two, three,” Boots whispered. 

They tentatively touched the shark’s skin with their fingertips. And when no one stopped them, lowered their palms against it. The skin was rough, like it was covered in grains of sand. If you moved too quickly, or harshly, it would likely scrape your skin. Boots pressed his hand into the muscled tail. A shudder passed along the limb. 

Boots and Colin both shouted and jumped back as the large tail jerked up off the sand. 

More shouts followed, Bridda jumped back, a knife appearing in one hand, the other flung out to keep Meranin back. Tale had arrived and he was storming over. 

“What are you two doing? What was that?” he demanded. “Haven’t you had enough excitement?” 

“I’m guessing it’s a death shudder,” Luthi said. He was the only one who had not reacted with any alarm. “Usually something like that is followed by –” 

He did not have to finish, there was a foul smell, and something gushed from the middle of the shark’s tail as the thing voided its bowels. Everyone skittered backwards, waving fumes away from their noses. Everyone except for Luthi who turned towards the creature and slowly moved closer. He held his hands out to hover above the animal’s skin without touching it. As he swept his hands the length of it, he closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. He made his way to the head of the shark, his voice crooned out a blessing in an old tongue that few understood. 

“What’s he doing?” Bridda asked. She and Meranin had taken a few steps back, much like everyone else, and they were now all standing and watching Luthi. 

“He’s making sure the spirit is properly freed,” Meranin explained. 

He swept his hands up into the sky as if to usher the animal’s spirit along its way. Then he took a tight bundle of herbs from the bag at his waist and set about lighting the smudge and laying it on a long flat rock that had cleared the water. Soon a thin, steady stream of scented smoke wound through the air. The spirit would be called to the sacred herbs and ride the trail of smoke to the land of the dead. 

Boots could not say exactly why, but it made him feel more settled. On a day with so much uncertainty and danger, so many unanswered questions, Luthi had done something simple and purposeful and very kind for this beast who had died so far from its home. Boots still could not exactly feel sorry for the shark, but he did not begrudge its spirit a safe journey. 

From that moment on, Boots and Colin were drawn into the same purposeful rhythm of setting things to right along with the rest of the villagers. It was agreed that any fish that could not be identified should not be eaten, and those that were edible would be gathered up and smoked in the magister’s stables to be shared out as needed in the winter. Once it was clear they would not go home, Boots and Colin were assigned to help gather fish. Crews were sent out in orderly groups to assess the damage and plan for repairs and skilled craftsmen were sent to assess the damage to the mill. Yuggen returned to the village proper to oversee the smoking of the fish. Tale and Albo remained by the riverside. Bridda had gone to get Shanksey from wherever the horse had been left to bring her back to the village to dry off and have a treat. 

Meranin, Luthi and Jayna conferred near the body of the shark, then Meranin and Jayna went about their business while Luthi held vigil. Boots brought the man something to eat and drink, quietly leaving it on a rock. While Luthi prayed, Meranin and Jayna moved with purpose, gathering items and conferring with each other. When Luthi was done praying he joined the women, waving fresh smudge around the perimeter. 

“What do you think they are doing?” Colin asked when he and Boots were nearby to see Luthi chanting in a circle and Meranin sprinkling something from a bowl. Jayna was busy with a large mortar and pestle. 

Boots’ forehead wrinkled in thought as he tried to put his mother’s teachings that he’d gathered over the years together with the snippets of conversation he’d overheard. 

 “You know how where something is from is almost as important as what it is? So, if I get a rash from poison leaf-down I can always treat it with thistle-milk and chamomile. But if I gather my cure from plants that grow close to the poison leaf-down I got the rash from, I can treat it even better and faster.” 

Colin nodded. “I remember when your mother splinted my sister’s arm with wood from the tree she fell from. My dad was ready to cut the thing down, but she convinced him this would be better.” 

“That’s right. But the bigger the –” Boots searched for the words to explain what he had gleaned over the years “– I think the bigger or worse the illness or the hurt is the more important it is to know the source. There’s always some kind of rule they understand.” 

By ‘they’ he meant his mother, Luthi and Jayna and he nodded in their direction with his chin.  

“It’s always about source, and power and…sometimes intention. But that doesn’t always matter. A plant doesn’t want to give me a rash any more than the tree wanted your sister to fall out of it. But if something causes harm on purpose then things are a little different.” 

They watched the three working; Jayna was now sprinkling something on the sand, Meranin was bending some plants and reeds into some sort of a wreath, and Luthi was standing over the smoke, his face and palms tilted towards the sky. Boots briefly recalled overhearing his mother and Jayna ponder what herbs to use on his hand when they knew nothing of the axe that had severed his fingers. He wondered what that situation meant – surely the axe did not intend him harm, only its wielder, and the man who gave the order. Boots pushed the memory aside. 

 “Everything they are doing here looks like protection – salt, smudge and whatever my mother is making. The shark probably isn’t bad. But they might be worried that something has a malicious intention that sent the shark, or maybe was carried with the shark. Even if it’s just bad luck or bad weather,” then he added, as an afterthought, “or a curse.” 

It should have been a dramatic thing to say; but given the circumstances of the day it seemed as likely as anything else. Colin waggled his eyebrows at the idea. “The wizard’s curse!” he said in a conspiratorial voice. 

Boots dumped another fish on the wagon they had. “You never know. Maybe it is Old King Frederick and his bad old wizard.” 

“How come you don’t help with that?” Colin asked, gesturing at the beach. He grabbed the handle of the wagon and pulled, but the wheels barely moved in the wet earth. 

“What, my mom’s stuff?” Boots asked. He looked up at the beach then back at the wagon; realizing it was probably overly laden with fish he started taking some off. “I help her gather and prepare ingredients. And I know how to make a lot of the simpler things. Like salves for cuts and bruises, a remedy for a sore throat, tonic for a headache. But they never turn out as good as my mom’s or Jayna’s. And if I ever try something more complicated it just doesn’t work as well, or at all.” He put down a fish and looked over at Colin. “You know, sort of like with cooking. I’m just not that great at it.” 

Colin gave the wagon an experimental tug and it moved a little. “You are terrible at making porridge. Which is amazing, because my younger brothers and sisters can make it.” 

Boots shrugged, then placed his hands on the back of the wagon to push. He looked a question at Colin who nodded, and Boots pushed while Colin pulled, and they got the wagon rolling. 

Scented smoke from Luthi’s bundle of herbs drifted by, providing relief from the piles of stinking fish. Boots inhaled the smoke and thought about what it was that gave everyone such different skills. He was uncommonly good with a bow, or he had been. He could almost always outperform someone on their own weapon, and give them pointers, and understand how best to shape one. Because he knew what it was to have a gift for something, he was very aware that he did not have any gift for his mother’s arts. And that was fine. Although, uncomfortably close to that thought, was the thought that he did not have a particular gift for farming either – although that was his intended path. He pushed that thought away. Just because it was not a “gift” did not mean he could not succeed at it. 

They arrived with their wagonload of fish that needed to be sorted according to which were safe for eating and which were unidentified. Balert and Siggu were there, bringing extra knowledge from their travels to help identify different fish. Bridda had also made her way to this station to help, although she professed to not have spent much time near the ocean. 

Tafner’s eyes were alight with excitement as she helped Boots and Colin unload their wagon. “So many of these are saltwater fish. It’s almost certain a wave came inland all the way from the ocean. Can you believe it! The ocean. I would love to see it. Siggu says it’s beautiful.” 

Siggu, came over to help with a broad smile. “It is, although I have not often seen it up close. But one day, I would love to go to the city of Logge, or Lamar,” he named two famous port cities near the ocean, “and stay for a season. Maybe learn to sail.” 

“No son of mine will be a sailor,” Balert called over, irritably. Tafner snorted a laugh and Siggu rolled his eyes. 

“Perhaps I will be a merchant sailor, father,” Siggu called back. 

The afternoon continued to be cloudy, with hot stretches when the sun broke through followed by chill breezes pushing the clouds to cover again. Boots and Colin ranged the length of the river, collecting fish and trading stories. By now word had spread about the shark and the daring rescue of little Shase and everyone wanted to hear the story. With every re-telling they lost some of the fear and gained more excitement, until they enjoyed telling it so much that they had stopped minding that it had happened. The two boys, shaking and vomiting at the riverside were a distant memory; and their story always ended with Bridda striding by with her spear and steaming mug. 

But the storm, the flood, the mill and the shark were not to be the end of wonders for the day, and soon the villagers had something new to marvel about. Strange and fascinating treasures were being found washed up in the storm-swept grasses and gleaming in the muddy banks of the receding river. Nubby creatures shaped like stars, shells in all shapes, colours and sizes, water-worn pieces of wood from ships or unknown origins, sometimes studded or decorated with metal. There were bits of coloured stone like gems or glass, and thin metal vessels light enough to be carried by the water. A few excited villagers thought they had found some in gold or silver which had Boots keeping a watchful eye for anything that gleamed. Children could be seen excitedly peering into each other’s baskets, aprons and hats to compare and trade their precious finds. 

Impromptu shrines dotted the length of the river and villagers decorated them with offerings that had been brought in by the storm. Shells and stones and reeds were twisted and arranged together in a net pattern to represent Ranna of the ocean, or in long, wavy lines as a tribute to Narthi, the river god. 

 Boots spotted Fauna, her cap on the ground beside her, carefully picking shells out to lay them in some pattern. Boots took a few steps towards her but Colin snagged his sleeve to drag him off to their next task. “Come on. My dad wants us to get that bend by the old black oak. You know where the land goes real low? Probably lots of stuff in there.” 

“There’s a lot of reeds there. It’ll be a mess.” Boots protested. 

Colin shrugged. “Then we’ll stare at the reeds for a bit before we turn around.” 

They were turning to go when Boots heard Fauna call his name. “Boots, Colin, wait there!” she called, before dashing off. 

Colin paced impatiently while Boots grinned, watching her move between some people to where there was a bit of a crowd. Then she was making her way towards them, at a steadier pace, bearing two large cups. 

“Bessie’s brought some nice brew to share out,” she said. “Everyone wants some, but I told her it was for you and she said I could take some right away.” 

“Thanks!” Colin said, broadly. 

She made a sort of pinched face and gave him a mug which he slurped from loudly. Then she turned to Boots and raised the cup with both hands, like an offering. He thought she blushed a little when he took it from her. 

“Thank you,” he managed to stammer out, taking care not to gulp it back like Colin. 

“Will you come to the hall later?” she asked. 

“Sure will!” Colin exclaimed at the same time as Boots said, “yes, will you?” 

“I will,” she said. 

“Great, can’t wait,” Colin said. “Come on, let’s go get some fish Boots.” 

They finished their drinks and gave the empty vessels back with a little more blushing from Boots and Fauna and eye rolling from Colin. Then they were off again with their wagon. 

They trudged along towards the old black oak. The remnants of the rain pattered against their backs and arms as they worked. But enough of the summer heat had returned that the light rain did not bother them, even though their once-dry clothing was now quite damp. 

 Far off in the West, the sky was a burnished orange and white as the setting sun threw its rays across the banks of clouds. This elicited a few grumbles of thunder from the darker clouds in the South, but no one was taking them seriously anymore. 

“I can’t believe it’s only just sunset now,” Boots said as he slogged through the wet grasses looking for fish to heave up to Colin. Boots flexed the stiffness out of his right hand as he waded through the cattails and reeds; he absently ran his thumb over the healed skin that was both smooth and ridged. It was strange to him that something so damaged could also feel so new. 

“I know.” Colin agreed. “I’m getting hungry and a little soggy. I want to make it back to that feast at the hall before everyone gobbles it all up.” 

Boots smiled and called back, “I’m sure they will save you a drink or two for today.” 

“They better.” He heard his friend grumble. 

A wind rustled the cattails and a spattering of water droplets pattered from their long leaves onto his bare neck and arms making him shiver. A rope was tied around his waist that snaked back to Colin and attached to the wagon in case another wave came out of nowhere to snatch them away. Boots was about to turn around when he heard splashing up ahead. He hesitated and listened, thinking it was probably a startled frog. 

“Come on Boots! Don’t make me reel you in,” came Colin’s impatient plea. 

Boots did not bother answering. He listened and heard more splashing. Something was in there, and it sounded a lot bigger than a frog. 

“Hang on, there’s something just ahead. It won’t take long,” he assured Colin. 

A few more steps and he came upon a large salmon. No, it was bigger than large, it was huge. Nose to tail, it would probably be up to his chin. It was caught in a dip that had filled with the flooding, leaving a muddy wall of dirt and reeds between it and the river when the waters had receded. It was flopping in a tangle of reeds and shallow water. It seemed to be trying to get over the muddy hump, as if it knew freedom lay that way. 

As Boots stepped out from the reeds the thing stilled and eyed him warily, exposed gills on one side flapping as if gasping for breath.  

Boots edged around the muddy puddle. It was just deep enough in the middle that the fish could still lie fully submerged. But the water would drain out before morning and it would be dead. The salmon gave Boots a long look before flipping back into the deeper part of the puddle. Boots crouched at the edge and tentatively reached out a hand, then placed it on the fish’s head. 

The animal flinched at first, then was still except for its tail and side fins fluttering gently. Boots thought back to the streams of panicked fish slipping through the current all around him while being chased by the mighty predator behind. He thought of the piles of dead fish – all pale bellies and blank, staring eyes – that they had already gathered. 

“I can put you back in,” Boots said quietly, “if you don’t fight me too hard. You’ll just have to slide down the bank a bit, then you’ll be right as rain.” 

He tipped his head to the side, trying to see the fish’s eye. He was intent on the animal and did not hear Colin approach through the reeds. 

“Rig’s balls, that’s a big one,” Colin said softly. 

Boots looked up, his hand still resting on the fish’s head. “I don’t want to take it to be smoked. I want to put it back in.” 

Colin thought it over then shrugged. “It’s not like we don’t have enough fish. And that beast will be heavy to haul back anyway.” 

Boots looked at Colin expectantly. 

“And you want me to help you?” Colin asked, rolling his eyes. “Fine. And to think I managed to stay mostly dry until the very end,” he muttered. 

“All right. Ready?” Boots said when he and Colin were at either end of the fish. 

They hefted it upwards. It was not as heavy as they had expected, but it was still awkward and slippery as the thing bucked and flippered in their grasp. Colin dropped the tail and the salmon flapped in a panic. 

“Easy,” Boots soothed. 

“Got it,” Colin said, getting a grip again. 

They shuffled through the mud until it sucked at their feet and threatened to trap them. They were standing awkwardly, the fish between them, trying to decide how to go the final distance. 

“Sorry about your pants,” Boots said, with a glance at the mud that was now weighing down the hems of Colin’s formerly fresh clothing. 

“They’re not my pants,” he said with a half shrug. 

Then they sort of heaved the fish towards the water. It rolled and slithered and flapped in the guck, and Boots was worried he would have to sludge through the mud to help; but somehow it managed to slither through the runnels of water until it hit the shallows. Then it seemed to snap into action, its tail unfurling and whipping back, kicking up a stream of water as it skimmed away on its belly. 

It slipped into the deeper water without ceremony, its proud tailfin wavering back and forth, keeping its body across the current, as if thinking. Then it turned and powered against the current. Which, Boots reasoned, was actually with the current when the river was flowing in the proper direction and would take the fish back out to the open waters. They watched it until the tail slipped below the surface in a smooth ripple. 

Boots found himself thinking of the legend of the wishing fish, and the afternoon at the millpond. Even as the thought entered his mind Colin said: “Did you at least remember to make a wish?” 

Boots shrugged, “Did you?” 

Colin also shrugged. A breeze rustled the tops of the reeds, sending a spatter of droplets into the mud and puddles around them. With the sky steadily greying over, it was suddenly a little ominous, surrounded by reeds and water with the rushing river just beyond. 

“Look at us,” Colin said, “standing here at the water’s edge, stuck in the mud like a bunch of dummies with no way to escape if another wave hits.” 

“I guess we don’t learn.” Boots said. 

“No. We don’t.” Colin agreed. 

They smiled and made their way back through the reeds. 

Evening found many villagers gathered in the great hall, for Yuggen had indeed planned a feast. The magister broke open a cask of his finer brew and roasted a whole pig in addition to several fish. All of this despite the fact that a large section of roof had blown off the gathering hall in the storm and water had streamed in and covered the floor. The floor was still damp, although a blazing fire was doing its best to dry it. As you sat on the long benches and tables to eat, you could peer up at the skies above to see the occasional star winking through the dark clouds. It made the evening even more memorable. 

Bridda was there and was treated to applause and some apologies in the form of civility, kindness and good-natured conversation. After all, she had plunged into the raging waters to save one of their own, then had been prepared to fight an ocean behemoth with a determine face and a spear. Any suspicion from the gossip Colin had reported seemed to be momentarily forgotten. She made her way over to Boots and Colin to commended Colin for his quick thinking and bravery. 

“It was nothing,” he muttered, “I was just trying to help.” 

“I wouldn’t call what you did ‘nothing’,” she said, her face serious. “I have seen many men crumble under pressure and put others at risk. You are not one of those men. Be proud of yourself. Everyone else is.” 

As she walked away his face slowly split into a wide grin. 

“Are you blushing?” Boots teased. 

“Shut up!” Colin said, but he did not deny it. 

Boots did some blushing of his own as Fauna rushed up to him, red-cheeked and dewy-eyed, to ask if he was all right. She seemed to drift near to him when the story was re-told, and grabbed his arm when he came to the part about the shark. She did it every time the story came up, even though it was no longer a surprise to her, but he was not complaining. He caught Tafner watching them and she rolled her eyes, but she was grinning from ear to ear when she did so. 

When Fauna’s father walked over and clapped Boots on the back to congratulate him on his bravery Boots almost choked on his drink. He had rarely spoken to Fauna’s father; he was even more wary to do so since his brush with the law. But this approval from the man swelled his pride and clouded his brain with sudden possibilities of his future. 

“Gosh,” Colin said, draping an arm around a grinning Boots after the encounter, “with any luck he’ll toss Fauna in a wagon and deliver her to your doorstep tomorrow!” 

“Shhhh!” Boots reprimanded, casting a quick look about to make sure no one had heard. 

“Come on Bootsie,” Colin said, using the annoying nickname to grab Boots’ attention, “I want to get back over to the meats table before Sig gets to fill that wooden leg of his.” 

Boots and Colin ate and drank until their bellies ached. There was a brief moment when Boots thought of the shark shredding bloody fish as his own teeth bit into the meat, but he had another swig from his drink and pushed it from his mind. Fered, and a few others who had not taken too many refreshments, offered to drive the hardworking villagers home in carts as the evening drew to a close. Boots gratefully accepted a ride. He drowsed in the cart, squelching out a burp each time the wagon hit a bump. Colin, who was riding along too, giggled sleepily every time it happened. 

It had been raining on and off during the latter part of the evening. Everywhere glistened with the sheen of water and the night was alive with the chirrup and buzz of insects and the pattering of drips and drops. The air had become warm again, although not uncomfortably so, and the clouds had broken up to show more of the indigo sky. It was difficult to predict what weather the morning would bring. For the moment, all Boots wanted was to be somewhere that was completely dry. 

Boots could not remember the last time he had been so tired as he trudged up the walkway to his cottage. He was surprised to see that the window of his cottage was lit with an orange glow. He opened the door to find his mother asleep on the table, a large map was spread out on the table-top and books were piled all over the place. The fire was still rather high and Boots shuffled things around to help it die down for the night. A rushlight had burned safely down to nothing in its holder on the table, which was lucky. With all the paper, a falling spark or cinder could have been disastrous. It was unusual for his mother to be so careless. 

He roused his mother from her sleep at the table. She muttered something and patted his arm as he walked her to her bed. She was immediately asleep as he pulled a blanket over her. 

Boots went to check the rushlight and make sure it was fully out. He looked over the map spread out on the table in the dying firelight and was pretty sure he was looking at a map of the kingdom. He traced along the coast and noted the fans of squiggly blue lines that indicated where rivers emptied into the ocean. Only today something else happened, the ocean had tried to empty into the river. 

When they had left for the feast, the current was still flowing in the wrong direction and still tasted of salt. He wondered how many other towns and village had been affected, how far along the wave had travelled after it hit them – and what it had been like before making it to Holding. It took him a moment to find Holding on the map then trace the path of their river out to the ocean. 

In the ocean there were pictures of ships – some in curious styles. A few mermaids lounged in the deeps, long tresses covering their chests much to the consternation of Colin and Boots when they had viewed the map years ago. And then there were sea creatures, curiously shaped and armed with spiney fins, snarls of tentacles, bulbous eyes and gaping maws ringed with sharp teeth. Yes, this was definitely the reason he had expected the shark to be more elaborate than it had been. 

Boots yawned and blinked owl-eyed, the day and drink reminding him he needed to get to his hammock or he would also fall asleep at the table. He climbed into his hammock, feeling his body ease into the shape of it like a foot in an old boot. He sighed contentedly, and the last thing he saw before his eyes drifted close was the map on the table.