At close range she recognised the sentry as Shire, an older man from a neighbouring dormitory. He was holding a sea hare, which was obviously still alive. It was a type of giant slug which was regarded as a delicacy by the people of the Clan and which fed on algae near the surface. Members of ice-gathering parties usually tried to bring some back with them, but Myrah had never seen one roaming free in the deeps.
“Where did you get it?” she said. At the sound of her voice the group rearranged itself to give her access to the centre.
“It just drifted into my hands,” Shire replied, obviously enjoying the attention. “I was on first watch at the Topeast entrance, and it just drifted into my hands.”
“You’re lucky. It should make good eating.”
“Oh, I’m not going to eat it—not yet anyway.” Shire grinned at the encircling faces. “I have to show it around first.”
Myrah nodded and withdrew from the group in case Shire became aware of the pity she felt for him. He was an old man, fortyish, who would probably begin coughing any day now—provided his slowing reactions did not make him fall prey to the Horra, or even some less dangerous predator. All that lay before him was the prospect of dying and being forgotten, all that lay behind him was an unremarkable span of unremarkable years—and yet for the moment he was as happy as a small child. The finding of the sea hare was a genuine high spot in his life, and the realisation of this filled Myrah with a profound sadness. It was difficult to see any point at all in the whole process of being born, living out one’s life in the Home, and then dying and being allowed to drift slowly into the darkness at the centre of the world, where Ka was waiting….
“What’s wrong, Myrah?” The words came from Lennar, another member of the Hunting family, who had taken up a position beside her. He was a little older than Harld and therefore, inevitably, had more scars on his arms and torso, but Myrah liked him for his steadiness and air of thoughtful maturity. It was expected that he would be offered the next vacancy on the Clan Council.
“It’s old Shire,” she said, taking Lennar’s outstretched hand. “He makes me sick.”
“Why?”
“He’s swollen up like a puffer fish—and for what?”
“You should be pleased you’re not like him.”
“But how do I know I’m not? What’s going to be my big achievement, Lennar?”
“Being alive is an achievement in itself,” Lennar said. “It’s enough for me—and I haven’t even the prospect of giving birth.”
Myrah caught his free hand, and they drifted in the air, facing each other. “All right, say I have a baby … say I’m very lucky and have two and they both live … where does that get me? Where does it get them?”
“I don’t know, Myrah.” Lennar gave her a rueful smile. “I only work on problems I think have a solution. Will you swim with me today?”
“If you want.” Myrah let her gaze travel over his body, noting the contrast between the blackness of his hair and the whiteness of his skin, and knew she would like to have a son in the same mould. “When are we going?”
“Soon. Solman wants us to leave earlier than usual because of the new current.”
This was the second time in the space of a few minutes that somebody had spoken to Myrah about a current and it began to dawn on her that it could have some significance. “What’s so special about this current?”
“It’s been moving steadily for three days, which is very unusual.” Lennar freed one of his hands and pointed downwards. “And it’s going that way. The world seems to be changing.”
“You mean the current is flowing into the centre of the world?” Myrah thought briefly about Ka having developed the power to draw bodies towards himself at an even faster rate, but her mind shied away from the vision. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“We don’t know where it’s going—but it’s persistent, and it doesn’t seem to be circular like any other current. I think Solman is worried.”
Myrah almost laughed. “He’s getting too old.”
Lennar showed no sign of being amused. “There’s something not right about it, Myrah—look at the way that sea hare drifted right into Shire’s hands. You never saw that happen before.”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t have noticed. It seems a very trivial event.”
“All right,” Lennar said. “Just take note when we go outside—you’ll see the bubbles sinking down as well.”
“The world is full of currents,” Myrah snapped, appalled by the ideas Lennar seemed to be trying to put into her mind. “Are we going for ice, or aren’t we?”
“Of course—we still have to drink.”
“Let’s go, then.” Myrah turned away from Lennar, caught a guide rope and propelled herself upwards in the direction of the Topeast entrance, the point from which the ice-gathering parties always departed. She was one of the strongest members of the Artisan family, and could travel fast, but Lennar caught up with her at once.
“I’m sorry if I annoyed you,” he said. “Are we still swimming together?”
“As long as you promise to talk sensibly.”
“Promise.” Lennar slid his hand through Myrah’s belt and they made their way up through the vast netted bubble, moving their limbs in a steady rhythm. They passed dark holes which were entrances to some of the individual dwellings which made up the Home. The huge fish-like shapes of the houses could be seen beyond the net, partially obscured by shadows, reflections and offshoots of the root structure to which they were attached. Around the edge of each entrance the material of the net was carefully stitched or glued to the doorway so that none of the air passing into the house would slip away into the surrounding water.
A small child—pale, lonely figure—waved from one of the entrances as they passed by, and Myrah waved back, thinking of her own infancy when she too had sat and watched the hunters and the ice-gatherers as they worked their way up to an assembly point. The adults had seemed wise and strong to her in those days, god-like beings, masters of the luminous blue universe, and Myrah had looked forward to growing up and joining their ranks. That particular dream had come true—here she was, in full-breasted womanhood, setting off on one of the selfsame expeditions—but the purpose, the mysterious and glamorous purpose, seemed to have vanished with so many of her childhood preconceptions. Had they really, those pale-bodied warrior-kings and their consorts, been concerned with nothing more significant than the scavenging of pieces of ice to convert into drinkable water?
If so, if there was no more to it, what was the essential difference between a member of the Clan and any other of the myriad life forms which spawned and fought and died in the waters around the Home?
They reached the upper part of the bubble and went through the folds of fine mesh into the water. Four clean strokes took them upwards to a smaller trapped bubble which surrounded an opening in the outer defensive screen. Two young women, Caro and Geean, were waiting inside the bubble. They greeted Myrah and Lennar and issued them with short, tubular spears and bags made of cowfish skin. Other human figures could be seen treading water outside.
“How many are here?” Lennar folded his bag and tucked it through his belt.
“All ten of us, now that you’re here,” Caro said. “We’re ready to go.”