Singer from the Sea by Sheri S. Tepper

Author:Sheri S. Tepper [Tepper, Sheri S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 978-0-06-197638-4
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1999-01-12T13:00:00+00:00

Supplied with a new anchor and rope, the Unlikely Duck made her erratic way down the Drowned Range, from island to island, giving Genevieve and Garth a chance to view a part of Haven neither had seen before. Since the islands were the rugged peaks of volcanic mountains sunk—and still sinking—in the Inundation, they had no gentle beaches. Here and there a wooded valley might plunge into the sea, and everywhere tiny streamlets meandered from the heights through boulder bound pools. Huts clung to the precipices and round water towers loomed over tiny terraced fields that clung to the sides of the mountains, supported by tall walls of dry-laid stone. All these works of man—towers, walls, and terraces—had been built through centuries of incessant labor.

At this season the terrace tops were furred with golden stubble, horizontal lines of brightness against black rock that towered above ice-glittering, echoing fjords. The journey was mesmerizing. Here great waves swept over the reefs between the islands, sometimes a genüe susurras of ripples, sometimes great shouting geysers of spray that erupted from blow holes on the lagoon side. As nowhere else in Haven, here was the feel of the great sea, the presence of it, the push and sway of it, and, so Garth said, the threat of it as well.

“It’s a big ocean,” he remarked to no one in particular.

“And gettin’ larger,” said Wigham. “These islands out here, they get smaller all the time. People moving up the slope and up the slope …”

“Well,” said Garth, comfortably, “it’s said the poles haven’t melted entirely yet.”

“My pa said they was finished meltin’ when he was a boy. Guess there was ice somewheres nobody knew about.”

Garth shrugged, a trifle uncomfortably. “Monsters out there,” he remarked. “So I’m told.”

“Oh, monsters right enough,” replied Weird Wigham. “I’ve seen a man go looking for his craylet traps to find them broken up, squeezed into scraps.”

“Does it happen often?” Genevieve asked, wonderingly.

“Not so often they stop setting traps,” said Weird. “Often enough to make them talk of killing the creatures, though there’s no weapons along the Drowned Range that would do the job. The Lord Paramount might, maybe, if he wanted, but so far, he an’t wanted.”

“I doubt it would do any good,” mused Genevieve. “If one monster were killed, or two, or a dozen, or a dozen dozen, no doubt there are millions more out there.”

“Is that true?” asked Weird. “Is the ocean that large?”

“The ocean is very large,” said Genevieve in a distant, musing voice. “Its surface is about four hundred times larger than the land area of Haven, and if we were to calculate its depth, its true volume of living space would be thousands of times as great. So for every monster you might find here, at Merdune Lagoon, there are probably thousands more where you will never find them. For every mound of swelling gold, rising like a cloud from the depths, there are no doubt a thousand more that no one sees …”

She caught herself, too late.

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