The Fisherling

CHAPTER ONE

The small boat rocked gently on the open water, the sail neatly furled about its slender mast and its two tiny occupants resting easily against its shallow sides.

They each had a fishing line in the water, and their brightly painted floats were a sharp contrast against the sapphire blue of the sea.

The two were father and son, Sch’nibbits from the isles south of C’allendore, the largest of the eastern lands of A’rehllendore.

To many peoples their appearance would seem somewhat alarming, as they stood little more than three feet in height, with large round heads and spindly limbs.

Their skin was predominantly blue in colour, and varied in tone depending on their age, with older Sch’nibbits generally being a much darker shade, which could range from anywhere between aquamarine to a tone that was almost black.

All bore markings of some kind, symmetrical patterns of stripes and spots of a deeper blue, particularly about the face and upper arms, which almost lent them a quasi-feline quality. Their huge round eyes further enhanced this cat-like appearance, but it was there that any similarities ended, for a Sch’nibbit had no hair to speak of, and its skin had a tendency to toughen and scale as the creature grew older, making it appear more akin to a reptile, or a fish.

Despite their primitive appearance however, the Sch’nibbits were a relatively advanced culture, living in small communities around the coastal regions of western C’allendore. Whereas a few of these communities eked an existence farming the arable lands away from the shores, or raising goats and cattle, the majority of Sch’nibbits chose to live close to the sea, in tight-knit hamlets nestled by the steep cliffs, or in round thatch-roofed huts right on the sand, whereby they might drag their tiny coracles right up to the front door after an evening out fishing for their supper.

These Sch’nibbits were known as the Fisherlings, and they had enjoyed a simple, and relatively tranquil existence, around those shores for over a thousand years.

The older Sch’nibbit removed his floppy goat-skin hat and wiped sweat from his naked brow with one hand. He shook his head with dismay as he watched his son, whose mind was clearly not on the task in hand, judging by the youngster’s wildly bobbing fishing float.

Grohg, he said quietly, but the younger Sch’nibbit appeared not to hear him, lost as he was in some daydream, his eyes squinting off toward the western horizon, one pointed ear twitching absently as a small fly buzzed past.

Guthlom tossed his hat into the back of the boat and stood up. It had been misty when they had set out that morning, and quite cool, but now that the sun was almost at its peak in the sky, it had grown considerably hotter as the day wore on.

Guthlom didn’t really want to spend any longer out here than was necessary, as Sch’nibbit skin was prone to burning when exposed to long periods of sunlight, but with their catch hardly measuring up to expectations, and his dreaming progeny idly letting their livelihood escape its line, he could feel an uncomfortable afternoon stretching out before him.

Grohg, he hissed again, this time louder. He knew that if he shouted too loud however, they would lose that fish for certain, and judging by the way it was fighting to be free of the hook, tantalizingly just below the surface, Guthlom knew it was sure to be an impressive specimen.

If Grohg ever managed to land it, that was.

The line was taut now, several yards from the edge of the boat, and the float had gone under again with no sign of reappearing.

Guthlom rolled his large eyes.

Grohg, heed your line, you’ll lose it if you’re not careful.

His father’s soft, yet stern words of warning gradually filtered into Grohg’s head, diluting whatever musings that were stirring in there with logic. He glanced around lazily, toward the source of the voice.

What?

Your line, Guthlom repeated, his tone becoming agitated.

As if to emphasize the older Sch’nibbit’s point, Grohg’s fishing line, which had been tied to the mast, jerked sharply, this time more forcefully than before, and the small boat rocked alarmingly to one side.

Guthlom lunged forward to seize the line before the boat could capsize, which would have lost their entire catch to the sea, and put paid to half a day’s work. And in the current heat of early afternoon, he had no immediate desire to start over.

Not only did Guthlom have his own family to feed, but the majority of his catch was earmarked for trade with the farmers of their small community, to ensure they had bread and produce to supplement their main diet of fish.

This was a fact his son, however, sometimes seemed to overlook.

Finally shaken out of his daydreaming, Grohg took up the line along with his father, leaning back in the small boat and straining to haul the fish aboard, while the fish in turn seemed intent on tipping the Sch’nibbits’ boat, catch and all, into the sea.

Now a Sch’nibbit’s somewhat scrawny physique belies its strength, and so between them, Guthlom and Grohg eventually won the struggle, and managed to land the largest fish that the older fisherling had seen in a long while. Grohg backed away from it as much as the small craft would allow, as he nervously watched it floundering wildly in the bottom of the boat, before Guthlom brought his club down firmly on its head, killing it instantly.

Had some fight in it, that one, he said, breathlessly.

The two of them sat silent for a few moments, eyeing the huge fish, which was nearly as large as Grohg, lying between them, before Guthlom gave a small whistle through his teeth.

Great bounty indeed, he said softly, looking across at his son, who now sat motionless, the stout line still clutched tightly between his fingers, and to think we almost lost it.

Grohg looked up, unsure whether the comment was intended to provoke a response or not, but his father’s smile told him otherwise.

I’m sorry, I should have been more watchful, Grohg shrugged, I don’t know, I was just…

Daydreaming, his father finished, I know.

Guthlom busied himself extricating the large hook from the creature’s mouth, before spooling up the line between his thumb and his elbow.

Do you think you’re the only one to ever wonder what lies out there, son? He nodded his head toward the western horizon.

Huh?

Across the sea.

No, but…

Here, pull that net in, Guthlom interrupted, I think we’ve done enough for today.

Its not that, Grohg replied, determined to take this opportunity now that his father had broached the subject.

He loved his father dearly, and Guthlom had always been a patient tutor when it had come to showing Grohg the ways of his people, and the ways of the sea, and yet the young Sch’nibbit had always felt like there should be something more that he could be doing, other than just being a Fisherling.

I know there must be lands out there somewhere, he said, maybe even folk like us, fishing like we are… He trailed off, suddenly aware that Guthlom was watching him intently. He shrugged self-consciously, and began drawing in the net from the rear of the boat.

I get this feeling sometimes, though, when we’re out here… He hesitated, trying to gauge his father’s reaction. Guthlom made a small sighing sound, but other than that he said nothing, and so Grohg pressed on.

Its like the sea is pulling me, he said, calling me… He left the words hanging, unsure of how to finish, before Guthlom, clearing his throat, finished for him.

Home, he said with a small nod.

Yes, Grohg said, calling me home.

Guthlom chuckled dryly.

I’ve never known a single Sch’nibbit who hasn’t had that feeling, Grohg.

Really? Then you feel it also?

The older Sch’nibbit fell silent for a while, peering off into the distance. Grohg opened his mouth to ask the question again, unsure whether or not his father had heard him, but his father’s reply, so quiet it was almost masked by the gentle waves lapping at the sides of the small boat, silenced the words in his throat.

I feel it, Guthlom said. But I made my choices a long time ago. This, he patted the side of the boat, this is my home.

But why? Grohg asked, incredulously, didn’t you ever want to sail the seas, or fish the deeper waters? Didn’t you ever wonder if there was something… He waved his hands slightly, unsure of the point he was trying to make.

". . . Something more," he finished.

More?

More than this, Grohg took up one of the fish from the pile at the bottom of the boat by way of explanation, and held it out in front of him.

This way of life, he said.

Guthlom gave a small laugh.

"I am a Fisherling, Grohg, this is my life. It is the same for all our people. These waters are plenty deep enough, believe me, and as for something more.?"

He gave a small laugh and made a broad sweeping gesture with one spindly arm.

I have all I need right here.

Grohg gave a small frown, but said nothing.

Guthlom sat forward with a sigh.

Take this fish, he said, jabbing a finger at the creature in Grohg’s outstretched hands.

I knew where to find it, I knew how to catch it, and I know that when your mother cooks it for supper tonight with a few herbs and some vegetables, that it will taste good.

Grohg made to speak, but Guthlom silenced him with a smile, and a tiny shake of his head that told him that there was more to be said.

I can make and repair nets, he said. I can fix my boat and stitch sails. I can find my way home just by looking at the stars. Your mother can cook, and make fine pots and jewellery.

He gave Grohg a sly smile and a wink.

Your mother and I knew how to make you, didn’t we?

Grohg flushed, embarrassed, and bowed his head slightly, awkwardly shuffling his feet on the damp boards.

Guthlom took the fish from him and dropped it back on the pile.

"All I’m saying is, I know what I need to know in order to live. I know how to feed my family and give them shelter. Yes my father taught me how to fish, and how to string nets, as did his father, and his father before him. Now ask me who showed the first of our kin how to do those things and I have no answer."

You see? Grohg interrupted, that’s what I mean. Didn’t you ever wonder?

Guthlom gave another small laugh, but this time there was no humour in it.

There will always be questions, son, he said, like this monster, for instance.

He kicked the large fish, lying at his feet.

I don’t know where it came from, and I’ve no idea how it will taste, but I don’t think that is important. I certainly won’t be sailing off to look for any more like it any time soon.

Why not?

Guthlom gave a shrug.

"Because he came to us, didn’t he? He said. I think if something is meant to be, Grohg, it will happen. If not, then I see no reason to worry about it."

Grohg saw no point in arguing with his father’s logic, but it just seemed now like he had more questions to ask, and he knew that even Guthlom’s patience had its limits. Instead he settled for nodding his agreement, before stowing the last of the nets beneath his seat.

You know you’re like your grandfather in many ways, Grohg, Guthlom said, making the sail ready for their return journey. He was a great Fisherling; loved the sea, loved the challenge of it, the danger. He said she was a beast that could never be tamed. But it was never enough…

He gazed off to the horizon again, lost in his reverie, and when he looked back at Grohg, his huge eyes were misted slightly. He swiped away a small tear with the back of a large gnarl hand, and tried to hide his sentiment beneath an attempt at levity.

Your grandmother used to say that he was more fish than Sch’nibbit, he said with a chuckle, because he spent more time out here than at home.

He wanted adventure, he wanted to know what lay beyond the sea, beyond the eastern edge. And then one day he loaded his boat with supplies, put on his lucky cap and kissed my mother goodbye.

Guthlom started hauling up the boat’s tiny anchor, and although his back was turned to Grohg, the young Sch’nibbit could hear the slight croak in his voice as he continued.

He gave me a hug then, and told me that he would bring me back something wonderful.

There was silence then, and both Sch’nibbits were lost in their own thoughts. Then Grohg spoke up, and asked the question that he already knew the answer to.

What happened then?

He never came back, Guthlom replied thickly. I never saw my father again.

Grohg had heard the story before, of course, and felt ashamed that he had caused his father to bring up the painful memory.

Guthlom saw the shame in his son’s eyes, and slapped him on the arm as he moved past him to the bow of the boat.

Come on, he said, lets get this beastie home before it dries out. We should get a good trade for it at the market.

Grohg smiled thinly at his father as Guthlom sat himself down on the folded waxed hide that served as a tarpaulin, and then ducked sharply as a fish sailed past his left ear.

Guthlom grinned broadly at him. Take us home, Grohg, and make it quick. You look like you might shrivel up yourself in this heat.

Grohg smiled back as he took his seat at the rudder, flinging the older Sch’nibbit’s hat back toward him as he did so. He glanced one final time toward the horizon, and that feeling of being called home, albeit a home that he had never known, probably many hundreds of leagues distant, gnawed at his heart.

Guthlom saw that brief glimpse of longing in his son’s eyes, so naked and hungry, but he said no more as the small boat ferried them back to the shore. Instead he pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes and thought about how best to cook that huge fish, and how it might taste.

Guthlom had been right about the fish of course, Grohg thought; it had tasted good. But then his father was right about a great many things.

It was late evening now, and he lay in his hammock, hands laced behind his head, the candle in the nearby lantern flickering fitfully for a second as his mother closed the front door for the night. He pondered the events of that afternoon, and of how his father had seemed somewhat distant with him after their discussion in the boat, and he mentally chided himself again for having made Guthlom dredge up memories that were obviously still raw in his heart.

Instead he turned his thoughts to the big fish that they had landed, and of the reaction it had caused amongst the other Fisherlings as they had paraded it through the village on the boat’s tarpaulin.

Guthlom was receiving all the credit of course, and Grohg was quite happy to let him take all the back-slapping and sleeve tugging, just to see the smile on his father’s face.

As for himself, he felt like he was coming home with a conquering hero.

After some consideration, Guthlom had decided that it was probably best to see what they could get in trade for the monster at the market, and maybe get some spare Sheckles into the bargain.

He had taken it to Schy’loh, the trader with the largest selection of wares on the island, and although he was not a native of Guthlom’s village, he was nevertheless greatly welcomed when market day came around and his small caravan of wagons rolled into the village square.

Schy’loh’s huge eyes had very nearly fallen out of his skull at the sight of the large fish Guthlom had caught, and he had been more than eager to take it off his hands. After much bartering Guthlom had agreed on a price, although he had had to throw in several of the smaller fish to sweeten the deal.

Grohg, who had watched the whole transaction from a discreet distance, rolled his eyes as Schy’loh handed his father the goods he had taken as trade, along with a small purse of money. The youngster’s look of disdain was not lost on the fat trader however, and Schy’loh narrowed his eyes at him briefly as his father turned from the stall, which told him that business should be left to the grown-ups.

Come Grohg, come and see what we’ve got, Guthlom said eagerly, obviously pleased with his end of the bargain.

Grohg was not so enthused however, and hissed under his breath.

I think he’s robbed you father, you know that big fish alone was worth twice what he gave you.

Pah, Guthlom snorted. Schy’loh might not be the most scrupulous of traders, Grohg, but he’s no fishmonger. He knows that if he wants to sell it on he’ll have to pay someone else to fillet it for him, and that will cost him.

Grohg was not convinced however, and was still keen to protest at the apparent injustice done to his father.

Yes but he will be able to sell it on twelve-fold, and if it is smoked it will last all the longer. In the end he will make the greater profit.

Guthlom stopped dead and took his son to one side.

Then if he does, that is his business, he said, trying to keep his voice even. That’s how it works, Grohg, or hadn’t you noticed? I think I got a fair price for that fish…

And gave away our supper into the bargain, Grohg interrupted.

Guthlom snorted again and started to walk away, stowing the goods he had bartered into his satchel, which he then slung over his shoulder.

I’m just saying, Grohg called after him, before realizing he was probably still within earshot of Schy’loh’s stall. He hurried to catch up to his father, whose pace had increased somewhat; something Grohg noticed he did whenever he was becoming agitated.

I’m just saying, he began again, Schy’loh’s a fat Sheckle-grubbing worm, and I think he’s robbed you.

So you said, Guthlom replied.

He stopped again and turned to his son.

I understand what you’re saying Grohg, but look around you. He spread his arms to either side, indicating the bustling stalls all about him.

This is a market son, and everyone here wants a fair deal. For what its worth, I think I got one. And If Schy’loh sells that fish on for ten times what he paid me, then so be it. It’s just business Grohg, that’s all.

Grohg grumbled something under his breath, and this time it was Guthlom’s turn to roll his eyes.

Here, he said. He took Grohg’s hand and emptied some of the Scheckles into it from his purse. Grohg started to protest, but his father closed his son’s fingers over them.

You’ve earned these, son, he said quietly. And don’t think I didn’t notice you letting me take all the praise for catching that thing in the first place. After all It was your hook that he was nibbling was it not?

Grohg smiled up at him, slightly embarrassed. He opened his hand to inspect the small, shiny red stones, enjoying the sound as they clinked together in his palm, and marvelling to himself at the thought that these ancient stones had probably been passed from Sch’nibbit to Sch’nibbit for hundreds of years.

And anyway, his father muttered, who’s to say that thing was even edible?

Grohg gave a small laugh, suddenly thinking that maybe his father hadn’t been taken advantage of after all.

Don’t spend them all at once, Guthlom said with a wink, knowing that his son still begrudged the transaction, for some would say that we’ve already been hard done to today.

His smile told Grohg that he was only leg-pulling, but the younger Sch’nibbit’s colour deepened nevertheless.

Now be off with you, his father said, I have to get the rest of these fish home before they sprout legs and flee, but don’t be too long, your mother will be wanting to start supper soon.

Grohg nodded, and Guthlom craftily snatched one of the stones out of his palm before his son could pocket his earnings.

That’s for questioning my bartering skills, he called back over his shoulder with mock scorn.

Grohg resignedly accepted the deduction from his earnings with a sigh, and then looked about himself to see what else the market had to offer, but his father’s whistle caused him to glance back.

Guthlom was smiling again as he tossed the Scheckle back to his son, who caught it more by instinct than by actually realizing what it was that was being thrown at him.

Remember, don’t be late, his father said as he disappeared into the throng of Sch’nibbits milling around the market square.

I won’t, da, Grohg called back, but his father had already gone.

Father and son, fishing

CHAPTER TWO

Market day was always the highpoint of the month in Grohg’s village, attracting Sch’nibbit from many of the neighbouring hamlets due to its sheer size, for as communities went, the village square, which was no doubt originally intended as a place of gathering by the first Fisherlings to settle there, was by far the largest and most impressive on the entire island.

Among its fixtures, nestled around the square’s periphery, were the trade stalls of some of the village’s permanent residents, including a grocer, Nibblihn, who brought in produce and grain from some of the neighbouring farms, and Tamba the Tailor, dealing in fine animal hides and locally made fabrics.

There was Tetha, the Potter, who turned out many of the village’s earthenware cooking vessels, and despite the fact that many Fisherlings preferred to make their own crockery, Tetha’s wares were widely sought after for their superior quality and hard-wearing properties.

There was a boat builder, who specialized in the manufacture of the larger variety of Sch’nibbit coracles, and occasionally undertook commissions to build sailed boats such as the one Grohg’s father owned.

Guthlom was lucky in so much that his own boat had been in his family for generations, and as such hadn’t cost him anything. He used to say sometimes that to buy one brand new from Coarah the boat builder would have cost him several arms and legs.

The square even boasted a Smithy, and although Sch’nibbit rarely used steel for anything other than fish hooks, Brihn the Blacksmith was nevertheless kept busy. whether he was making farm implements for the Sch’nibbit who chose to work the land, or boat hooks and steel rims for cart wheels. He always went about his work with a cheery demeanour, and one could often hear him whistling tunelessly as he hammered the raw steel, imported once a month from the mainland, well into the evening.

Though relatively large in Sch’nibbit terms, Grohg always felt that the village lacked the zest that it really deserved, for whereas it fairly bustled for most of the time, with the comings and goings of many Fisherlings about their daily routines, it was the bustle of familiarity that one could too easily grow accustomed to.

That was why Grohg enjoyed market day so much, for that was the day when the village really came to life.

Every last day of the month, when the moon was at its fullest, was known as Lūhnday, and this was the day on which the market was held.

Sch’nibbits would come from all over the island, and sometimes even from some of the closer, neighbouring isles, to buy or trade at this popular venue, and Grohg liked nothing more than to wander amongst those stalls, through throngs of Sch’nibbit both strange and familiar, and take in the heady atmosphere that made this day so special.

Apart from the stalls and the traders, competing to be heard over the throng of the crowd to ply their wares, drawing folks in with the promise of rare bargains, there were street entertainers, who cart-wheeled or juggled with fire, and there were food vendors selling exquisite pastries or spiced exotic meats.

For one day a month, the market was a plethora of colour and smells that intoxicated Grohg’s senses, and stirred ever more his desire to look for something outside of this simple, safe world that was his life.

He had idly spent the next few hours trawling through the market square, his hand unconsciously rattling the Scheckles in his pocket, eager to be spent.

He had thought about purchasing a new jacket, something warmer for the cooler evenings out on the boat, and at one point he had almost been tempted by a new fishing pole, as the one he had at home was certainly looking worn and could quite easily…

Then he suddenly realized that he was thinking like a Fisherling, and he mentally slapped himself, whilst at the same time hearing his father’s voice telling him, as he had on many occasions, that it was in his blood; once a Fisherling, always a Fisherling.

He smiled at the irony, for so much as he might want something more from this life, he would always be a Sch’nibbit, and thus always be a Fisherling.

We’ll see, he muttered to himself as he jostled through the crowd.

Eventually he found a clearing amongst some of the stalls, whereby he could get his bearings more clearly.

The sun was slipping lower in the sky, and he knew that his mother would soon be preparing supper. He had a notion then that he might buy her something, as she rarely came to the market, complaining that it was too crowded, with too many unfamiliar faces.

Grohg shook his head minutely, thinking about his mother’s excuses, and that it was for those very reasons that he enjoyed coming here, as a break from the often dull routine that made up their days.

Ahead of him was a stall selling brightly coloured garments and fabrics, and jewellery that glittered brightly in the late afternoon sun. He thought that perhaps he would find something there that his mother might like. He edged his way through the crowd for a closer look, his large eyes flicking eagerly over the fine wares shining before him.

His thoughts were suddenly dissolved then, when he realized that he was being watched. He had been so enchanted by the colourful beads and intricate metal-work that made up the various brooches and necklaces, that he had failed to notice the vendor’s similarly appraising look.

The young female Sch’nibbit standing behind the stall smiled at him as he looked up, and he felt his cheeks colour slightly.

See anything that catches your eye? She said brightly.

Grohg felt his colour deepen at the implied allusion, and he tugged absently at one ear, which was something he did whenever he felt uncomfortable.

He found himself dumbstruck for several seconds, and had to clear his throat before he could speak.

I was just looking at your beads, he finally managed to croak.

The young female laughed, clearly amused by Grohg’s discomfort, and leaned forward on the counter, careful not to damage any of the glittering goods displayed there.

My name’s Alayah, she said, looking directly up into Grohg’s face, a broad smile stretching across her face. I don’t think I’ve seen you before, have I?

Grohg, he replied with a nod, and this time when he looked at her face, he managed to hold his gaze, and some semblance of a smile.

My name’s Grohg, he started again, I’m a Fisherling.

He knew how idiotic that must have sounded, but despite the fact that he had managed to establish eye contact, he really had no idea what he was supposed to say. In truth, all he could do now was stare.

She was beautiful, or at least Grohg thought so, for beauty, as is often said, is in the eye of the beholder.

Suffice to say that she was beautiful in Sch’nibbit terms, slender and delicate, and although her pale blue skin, with its perfectly symmetrical darker patterning around the eyes and forehead almost mirrored his own, Grohg still thought that she was the loveliest creature that he had ever seen.

She had hair too, unlike a lot of Sch’nibbits, that fell to her shoulders in loose waves, of a blue that was as deep as the ocean, and her eyes were of a colour that Grohg couldn’t even begin to describe, had they not matched the hues of many of the gleaming stones decorating the bracelets and baubles before him, and they seemed to shine with a warm inner light.

He leaned forward and peered closely at her for a second, before dropping his gaze and picking up a large brooch.

What stone is this? He said, trying his best to keep his voice even.

Alayah looked down.

Its Amber, she replied, from the northern lands.

It’s beautiful, said Grohg, and then almost without realizing, added, like your eyes.

Now it was Alayah’s turn to blush, and despite her small laugh of surprise, Grohg immediately regretted his glibness.

My father thinks they’re more like honey, she smiled, but I think I like amber better,

Honey? Grohg looked puzzled.

You don’t know what honey is?

Grohg shook his head minutely.

Then you have to try it. I don’t have any here, but I think my father has some on his stall some… Her voice trailed off, as if suddenly remembering that she ought to at least try and sell something to the young Sch’nibbit, and she changed the subject.

Do you like it?

Honey?

No silly, the brooch. I could let you have it for a good price if you wanted it.

Oh, Grohg replied, suddenly feeling slightly foolish, I don’t know, it looks expensive. And I only have eight Scheckles.

Ah, Alayah replied, gently—but not too subtly—taking the brooch from Grohg’s hands and placing it back on the stall.

Well maybe there is something else you like?

Mayhap, Grohg replied uncertainly, unsure now whether or not this whole encounter had been a ploy to try and separate him from his Scheckles.

I wanted a gift for my mother, he said, somewhat coolly, and then gestured to one of the linen slips, draped at the rear of the stall.

Or perhaps my little sister.

You have a sister? Alayah said, her previous warmth suddenly returning, how old?

Nine years, he replied, just.

Alayah nodded. "Good, she said, and took the dress down, holding it out over the counter so that Grohg could inspect it more closely.

Then I think this should fit her. Imported from the mainland, you know.

Grohg thought that he had seldom seen cloth as fine as this; accustomed only as he was to the rougher fabrics woven by the Fisherling wives of the village, and the waxed goat-hide waterproofs that made up his usual garb.

The style of the dress itself was fairly plain, with a low, round neck and no sleeves, but there was a quiet elegance in its broad striped red and brown design, with its embroidered gold flowers and beaded hem.

Alayah watched him closely as he kneaded the fabric gently between his fingers.

Nice thread isn’t it? She said, and only six Scheckles.

Six? Grohg yelped. For a slip?

Alayah shrugged. It’s a fine garment, Grohg, she said simply, and then added, even for a Fisherling.

How about four? He said with an attempt at nonchalance. In truth this was his first attempt at bartering with a trader.

Four?

Then at least I will have some spare for my mother’s gift, he shrugged.

Very well, Alayah conceded, almost chirpily, four it is.

Maybe I could get one of these bangles. How much is this one?

He picked up a wide bracelet of finely woven metal, reddish brown in colour. It was quite heavy, and glistened in the afternoon sun as he turned it over in his hands.

Now that would have cost you eight Scheckles, she said, almost absently, preoccupied with folding the dress into a neat bundle.

Six sounds better, Grohg offered.

Alayah laughed.

Well maybe I would have accepted that, but I know you only have four left, she said.

Grohg rolled his eyes. If he had been trying to impress this Sch’nibbit, he was going about it all wrong, he thought.

Well I was going to try and get you down to that… He mumbled.

Alayah suddenly took his hand, and looked at him squarely.

I’ll tell you what, she said, parting his fingers and removing six of the Scheckles he had been holding onto. They had become quite warm, clenched in his sweaty palm.

You give me these, and I’ll let you have one of those rings.

still holding onto his hand, she nodded toward a selection of smaller jewellery, lined up toward the front of her stall.

Grohg sighed resignedly, feeling like he wasn’t really getting much for his money, but not really being in a position to bargain further.

He selected one of the rings, the one that he thought looked the most valuable, which had a large dark stone at its centre. He showed it to Alayah.

Good choice, she said, nodding her approval, I think you’ve got quite a bargain there.

Grohg shuffled his feet uncertainly as Alayah handed him the folded dress.

I don’t know, I’m not really used to this.

Well lucky for you that I like you, then, she replied, or I might have taken all your stones.

She smiled broadly at him.

Now at least you have some to spare.

I suppose so.

Now was there anything else you wanted?

Grohg narrowed his eyes, unsure of her meaning.

You were going to ask me something? Alayah prompted him.

I was?

She gave a huge dismayed sigh and shook her head, her gorgeous blue locks swishing about her face.

You are hard work Grohg, I’ll say that much. Yes I would love to walk with you this evening, after the market closes.

Grohg could only stare at her incredulously, mouth open, unable to speak.

That was what you were going to ask me, wasn’t it?

Alayah seemed to revel in watching the poor Sch’nibbit squirm, and Grohg saw the mischief in her lopsided grin.

Yes, he blurted, after supper perhaps. I could meet you…

Meet me back here, she interrupted, after sundown. But I can’t be too late, my father will want to be heading north again at first light.

Right, Grohg nodded, sundown, then. I’ll see…

Then Alayah leaned over the counter and grabbed him by the shoulders of his waistcoat, pulling him close and silencing him with a kiss on the lips.

She released him just as quickly and jumped back, blushing.

Now run along and get your supper, Grohg, she said with a coy smile, soonest gone, soonest back.

Grohg could only nod as he turned to leave through the throng of Sch’nibbit jostling round the busy stalls, and he glanced back once as he neared the edge of the market square, before the streets sloped down gradually toward the cliffs and his own house, for a final glimpse of the strange and beautiful Alayah.

He could still see her stall, barely, but her face was lowered as she served another customer. With an odd feeling of disappointment stirring in his belly, he turned again and headed for home.

Alayah glanced up from her transaction with a female Sch’nibbit who was trying to haggle down the price of a necklace, and looked in the direction Grohg had gone, but she only caught the back of his head as he disappeared into the throng and was eventually lost to sight.

Smiling to herself, she turned her attention back to selling the necklace.

Give me seven and you have a deal, she said.

Grohg felt like he had new vigour in his step as he almost bounded home, stopping briefly to purchase a large loaf of bread from one of the food vendors at the edge of the market.

This day wasn’t turning out to be that bad after all, he thought as he neared the lane leading down to the cliffs.

His father had apparently got a good deal at the market, and he had managed to buy some gifts for his family, as well as some bread to complement their evening meal. Then there had been his encounter with the mysterious Alayah, the sudden thought of whom caused his stomach to do somersaults.

Grohg had little experience of socializing with female Sch’nibbits of his own age, and although there were many dotted about the village, he had never really had cause to, as most Fisherlings were preoccupied with eking a living for their own kin, and so any gatherings to speak of were purely made up of family members. The thought that she had wanted to meet him later for a walk therefore, both terrified and excited Grohg, and he tried to push it out of his mind for now as he hurried home.

As he passed by the village Elder’s house, something he usually did at a small jog, for the reclusive Elder had always frightened him a little, he never noticed the shadowed figure sitting in the open doorway.

A small cough made him slow in his tracks as he passed within several yards of the hut, secluded from the nearest domicile by a discreet distance so as to establish its significance as belonging to someone of importance within the community.

Dusk was settling in now and shadows were everywhere.

Grohg squinted at the rectangular patch of black, starkly contrasted against the pale dun colour of the walls of the hut, unable to ascertain whether the door was open or closed.

A puff of smoke, following shortly after the small cough, indicated that it was the former, and quickly realizing that whoever it was that was smoking in there would be able to see him a lot more easily than he could see them, Grohg almost jumped in surprise, and started on his way again.

Fisherling, a frail voice said from out of the darkness, causing him to halt again in his tracks.

The voice came from the Elder’s hut, and Grohg cursed himself for having stopped.

I’m sorry, he began, I didn’t realize…

Come closer, the voice interrupted, let me get a better look at you.

Grohg looked about him nervously but apart from himself, the street was deserted.

He stepped closer to the hut until he was within only a few feet of the open door, but still he couldn’t make anything out from the dim interior.

Suddenly a shape appeared in the doorway, and Grohg saw the outline of a male Sch’nibbit’s round, bald head haloed in a second exhalation of smoke.

This time however, it was not accompanied by the sound of a cough.

"That was a Mah’kehrahl you caught today young-ling," the Elder said, finally stepping out of the shadows into the fading light, so that the young Sch’nibbit could see him more clearly.

He was hunched slightly, though still as tall as Grohg, and he held onto a stick to support himself with one hand, whilst cradling a long-stemmed clay pipe in the other.

He wore rags upon his feet, and little else in the way of clothing save for a loin cloth to cover his modesty. He wore several strings of beads and shells about his neck, and on his wrists and upper arms were various cuffs and bangles, most of which looked as old and as weathered as he did.

His face was deeply lined with age, and his skin was of a colour darker even than Alayah’s hair had been, with markings that looked almost black in the gloom of early evening.

Grohg thought about the Elder’s comment, and although the Sch’nibbit had spoken words from the ancient tongue, he knew from his father’s teachings that Mah’kehrahl meant Great fish.

Thank you, he said, lowering his eyes respectfully, how did you know about that?

The Elder gave a small chuckle.

There is not much that goes on in this village that I don’t know about, otherwise I wouldn’t be much good, would I?

I suppose not, Grohg said quietly.

I do not, however, know your name young-ling, The Elder said, making a beckoning gesture. Come closer, let me see you.

Grohg obediently, though reluctantly, took a step closer, and the Elder peered closely into his eyes, tucking the clay pipe into his belt.

What is your name?

Grohg, I…

Hmm, the Elder said quietly, and then quick as a flash, his hand shot out and seized Grohg’s jawline between thumb and forefinger, tilting the young Sch’nibbit’s head from left to right and peering at him intently, as though inspecting the markings on his skin.

Grohg was too shocked to say anything at first, but when the Elder released his grip he opened his mouth to protest. The Elder spoke first however, silencing the complaint in his throat.

It is as I thought, he said.

What?

We are kin Grohg, you and I, The Elder said with another chuckle.

We are? Grohg replied with some surprise, although living on an island, even an island as large as this one, it should have seemed obvious that many of the clans would have shared the same ancestors at some point in their history.

Come Grohg, I would talk with you, the Elder said, turning to walk back into his darkened hut.

Grohg looked about the deserted street again, unsure whether or not he should follow the withered old Sch’nibbit inside.

I’ll light some candles, the Elder said from within, we could break some bread together.

Grohg looked down dubiously at the large loaf clasped under his arm.

Do you have bread? He called into the gloom.

There was a small flash of light from inside the hut, and then a glow, steadily growing in brightness as a candle flickered into life.

You have some with you, do you not? Came the reply, besides, if your family do not yet know of it, they cannot hunger for it, can they?

I suppose not, Grohg replied, and stepped into the hut, closing the door behind him.

The Elder’s home had no windows, and was sparsely furnished, but to Grohg it possessed a kind of quaint charm, like his own home must have looked in the time of his grandfather or great grandfather.

As far as he could tell, it was comprised of only one large, square room, which had a rough tiled floor and a hearth pit at its centre, which was surrounded by several large cushions used for sitting on, the patterning and padding of which had become faded and squashed somewhat over the years. The dun-coloured walls had been painted at some point, obviously many years ago, with a fresco that consisted mainly of fish, but that had also become faded over time.

Lining the walls were several large travelling chests, some of which were draped with tapestries, and all of which were heaped with artefacts and souvenirs from a hundred years or more of selective hoarding. They also held the candles that the Elder was currently lighting, moving about the room with a lighted taper.

There was a second door off to the right, which presumably let onto the Elder’s privy or wash room, and a linen curtain towards the back of the hut which separated the sleeping area from the main room.

Please, The Elder said, waving a frail arm toward the centre of the room, sit.

Grohg looked around uncertainly, trying to ascertain which cushion looked to be the most used, and so would presumably be the Elder’s favoured seat, so that he could avoid it and save himself possible embarrassment.

As all the cushions looked in a similar state however, it was not an easy decision, and so with a shrug, Grohg took pot-luck and plonked himself down on a large striped one that at one time must have looked quite regal, but which now only looked tired.

He had apparently made the right decision however, for the Elder slumped down opposite him across the fire pit, crossing his legs and placing his stick by his side.

He closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh, remaining like that for what seemed like an age, until Grohg, unconsciously tugging at his ear, felt that he should say something.

I will not be able to stay long, he piped up, my family are expecting me for supper.

What? Replied the Elder, as if the younger Sch’nibbit had suddenly roused him from sleep.

No, of course not. I shall not keep you long. Now break that bread and we will talk.

Grohg reluctantly took the loaf and tore it in two, leaning forward and handing half of it to the Elder, who promptly tore it in half again and handed a piece back.

If we are not to be here long, then less bread is needed. he said, and I do not wish to deprive your family of your generosity, for I feel they will fare the better for you bringing them more, yes?

Yes I suppose so, Grohg replied, although we are never in want of food.

The Elder nodded as he took a bite of the bread, to show that he understood Grohg’s meaning.

Indeed, you will have fish for supper, he said, beaming, his eyes glinting in the light from the candles.

Grohg couldn’t help but beam back.

Yes but not the big one, my father traded it at the market.

The old Sch’nibbit grunted through a mouthful of bread.

I thank you for sharing bread with me Grohg, he said, I know how hard it must have been, entering the house of a Sch’nibbit you have only just met.

Grohg gave an almost embarrassed snort, and wondered if the Elder had ever noticed him scuttling nervously past his front door before today.

But you are no stranger, you are the village Elder, he said, you are known to everyone.

And yet you still call me by my title, the old Sch’nibbit replied.

Yes but only out of respect. I don’t wish to…

My name is Ehn’wayen, said the Elder, and you may call me such, that we be strangers no more, Grohg.

Grohg nodded.

How many years are you?

Eighteen, the young Sch’nibbit replied through a mouthful of bread.

Eighteen, Ehn’wayen said quietly as if mulling it over, old enough.

Grohg gave a small frown, unsure of the Elder’s meaning.

Ehn’wayen finished off the last of his own bread, and with the aid of his stick, shakily gained his feet. He crossed to one of the chests by the wall and took a taper from a clay pot.

Do you know how old I am, Grohg? He said, lighting the taper from a nearby candle.

Grohg shook his head as the elderly Sch’nibbit returned to the hearth and began setting a small fire at its centre.

Five hundred and thirty summers will I become, next turn of the moon, he said, with something that sounded to Grohg a little like sadness. He gave a wry chuckle at the young Sch’nibbit’s expression of disbelief as he sat down again, the small fire flaring briefly as he fed it with kindling from the edge of the hearth.

Yes, five hundred and thirty.

The warm glow of the embers lit his face eerily for a moment, making him appear even older.

"Yes I have become gerehn, Grohg, older than I deserve some might say, but I have few regrets but one."

Just one? Grohg said with disbelief, in over five hundred years?

Ehn’wayen chuckled. Well mayhap there were more once, but I forget.

His concentration wandered again for a second until Grohg felt that he should say something, but then a knot of charcoal popped on the fire and the Elder’s fugue was broken.

To my regret I have never crossed the sea, Grohg, never visited a foreign shore, and it is my dearest wish that I should do so before the end.

The end? Grohg wasn’t exactly sure of the extent of a Sch’nibbit’s life expectancy, but Ehn’wayen’s recent revelation about his age had given him hope that he shouldn’t worry too much about becoming too old to follow his own dreams someday.

The old Sch’nibbit nodded. I’ve no doubt the Shining lands will beckon me soon, for I am no fool, but not yet, not until I have crossed the sea.

Why have you not done so before now, why leave it so long?

Ehn’wayen shrugged. I suppose I never had the desire to, until now.

Grohg opened his mouth to speak, but the Elder cut him off with a wave of his hand.

Our ancestors settled these lands many centuries ago, as you may know, and I feel they did so for more reason than to migrate.

I have heard the stories, Grohg replied.

Then you must surely have heard of the calling, felt it perhaps?

Grohg nodded enthusiastically.

Yes, yes I have. Just today I…

Ehn’wayen silenced the youngster’s eagerness again with another wave before continuing.

Then you will know that it is not to these southern lands that we belong, but to the west. It is the western lands that beckon us home.

Then why settle here? Did our people not wish to find their true home?

The Elder nodded sagely.

Why indeed. For surely If you hunger, do you not try to sate that hunger?

Grohg nodded.

"I’m sure there were many Sch’nibbit that searched for those lands, Grohg, yet none would ever find them, for in truth they are no more. That land was destroyed an éhon ago. Our kin knew that, and so travelled south instead, to these islands."

Then what is the point of the calling? Why go looking for something that does not exist? Grohg said, with some frustration. He thought of his own grandfather, and of his futile attempt to navigate the eastern sea, never to return.

Why do we have this… this feeling if we cannot answer it?

Because it gives us purpose Grohg, and without purpose we are nothing, true?

But it’s a false purpose if it calls us to our peril.

Ehn’wayen raised a calming hand as an attempt to stave off any more questions. When he spoke again his voice was lower, and more even.

It is just a calling, Grohg, something all Sch’nibbit feel, and nothing more. It has no ill intent. It is up to each of us to make our own decisions as to whether or not to follow it, and to whatever end that leads us is surely our own making.

The Elder leaned forward slightly and stared intently into the younger Sch’nibbit’s eyes, as if looking for something that lay hidden behind those huge orbs.

Some folk are looking for more than just land, Grohg, he said. There are greater mysteries to be found in this world than the ones we can see with our eyes, or touch with our hands. And there are some answers that can only be found when we are truly ready to accept them. He shrugged simply. Perhaps those travellers who ventured west found what they were looking for, who is to say?

Grohg let this last sink in, and for several moments the interior of the hut was silent, but for the occasional crackle of kindling in the hearth.

So are you saying we should not answer the calling? He said quietly.

Ehn’wayen slowly shook his head.

"I believe it is a test of will, Grohg, and that whatever path you do choose will become your destiny. What is clear however, is that If our ancestors had followed the calling and travelled west, we may well not have been born, and would not have been having this discussion today."

Grohg was silent for a few moments, thinking this over, and then he asked the question that he felt he really should have raised sooner, before his head had begun to hurt.

But what has all this got to do with me? he said, not really grasping the relevance of what Ehn’wayen was telling him, or indeed why he was here.

It was because of your ancestors’ foresight, Grohg, or reasoning—call it what you will—that you now have the chance to fulfil your own destiny, he said, and then, almost to himself he added, and I, mine.

"My destiny? Grohg blurted, What destiny? I don’t think I have one; I’m just a Fisherling."

Oh but you do, Grohg, we all do, whether we realize it or not.

Grohg shook his head, confused, and stood up. Questions upon question clambered around in his head now, and he clapped a hand to his brow as if to prevent them from spilling out. For now though those questions could wait, he thought, all he really wanted to do was go home.

I don’t understand any of this, he said. I only wanted to bring bread home for my family, and here you are telling me all this stuff about destiny and… somehow I think you’re asking me to take you across the sea.

Ehn’wayen smiled and continued to watch Grohg levelly, letting the youngster bluster.

My father doesn’t even trust me out in the boat alone, he said, waving his arms frantically, in case I do something foolish and try to cross the sea like my grandfather did.

Perhaps he knows you better than you know yourself, The Elder offered, somewhat cryptically.

Grohg stared at him for a moment, unsure of his meaning, before shaking his head again.

I’m sorry Ehn’wayen, I have to get home, I can’t be here, he said, suddenly snatching up the bundled dress and the remains of the loaf. As he did so, something slipped from the folds of the garment and clattered to the floor. Grohg jumped back, startled, and Ehn’wayen let out a small grunt of surprise.

It was the brooch that Grohg had originally picked out for his mother, the one he hadn’t been able to afford.

The one Alayah had taken out of his hands and…

A sudden thought occurred to him and he flushed deeply, a strange sick feeling crawling in his stomach.

Ehn’wayen saw the look of horror on his face and guessed what had happened.

I am thinking you didn’t expect to find that, he said,

No, I… Grohg was stunned. What should I do? He breathed, I cannot keep it, it would be like stealing.

It would seem you have a dilemma, Ehn’wayen said with a small chuckle. You could return it, but what if it was a gift?

I bought the ring instead, Grohg said quietly, almost to himself, as I had not the Scheckles to purchase this…

He picked the brooch