To the Left of Your North Star by Michelle Peart

Author:Michelle Peart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: scifi, river, alien, sci fi, bees, rafting, new adult, alien plant
Publisher: Manifold Press

Chapter Eleven

I awoke to a bright morning and found myself wrapped in one of the coarse blankets that Treater had donated to us. Without looking, I was aware that grey goo still smeared my hands; I crawled over to the edge of the raft and trailed them in the water.

"Morning," Burn's bright voice chirped from behind me.

Dropping my head on to the deck I moaned, "Is it?"

"Yes. Today is a good day. I know it."

"No Bad Thing?"

"No."

I shuddered. "No rotten-toothed man wanting a piece of my ass?"

"No."

"Good, I don't think my heart can take any more."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

Burn didn't have to say anything as he pointed into the near distance. I knew by the way his finger shook he wasn't pointing at a rainbow. My mind went into overdrive. I could submerge myself under the raft but how would I breathe? I could chuck water at it. With what? I scanned the deck: a barrel, too heavy; a crate, too holey.

Burn nudged my shoulder, pulling me from my frantic thoughts. "It is okay. It is only a shadow." He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

I slapped him around the head. "That's fucking great, Burn."

"Ow, was that necessary?"

"Totally."

He sat with a thump and rubbed his temples. "You have given me a headache."

"You scared me."

"Then, I am sorry."

I sat next to him and picked up his mortar – God only knew what it contained – but it looked like it needed a bashing, so I grabbed the pestle and pounded it into a pulp. Apart from the knocking of wood on wood, all was silent.

"I have remembered a story a wandering troubadour told me," Burn said on a rush of air. "The storyteller's name was Frederic, and he was my favourite."

I flashed him a look.

"No. Not in that way!"

I grinned.

"His tales were always about mystery and magic. One such tale was about a poor man called Cedric Crouch. It is a true story. Would you like to hear it?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes." Burn took a deep breath. "One evening, at sunset, a humble man called Cedric Crouch was spear-fishing in a shadowy bend of the river. He aimed towards dots of light just under the water's surface, which he took to be eyes of the Tumbaga fish. The spear struck its quarry true and Cedric recoiled into the shallows. He tugged his prize on to the shore and nearly fainted at the sight. He had caught a fish which was as tall as a man and as black as night. This was strange, but the strangest thing about the fish was its flanks. On them, catching the dusky light, were thousands of water drops. Even when Cedric ran his hand along them, they never moved or lost their shape. Cedric was not as young as he once was and it took all his strength to heave the giant fish back to his settlement. The next morning, eager to show off his catch, Cedric hung the fish from the gallows in the market place for everyone to see – "

"You hang people?" I interrupted.

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