I boiled with frustration at her invitation. I disliked Kenda. He had loved Nohma before me, being the same age as her, until they had argued and she had chosen me. I feared that one day she might be tempted back to him. He was older than me by two winters, and stronger.
He climbed to our terrace and stood before us, his very posture arrogant. “I’d have difficulty talking sense into Par’s thick skull.”
“Tell him that Old Old Old Marla didn’t really kill a crab and meet blackened people on the mountaintop, Kenda.”
He looked at me. “He thinks that? He believes the lies Old Tan tells? Then you’re a bigger fool than you look, Par.”
I wanted to hit his big smug face, as he stretched out before us, smiling at Nohma. Instead I said, “I suppose you think there’s nothing up there? No dwellings of the old people, no strange blackened beings still living on the mountaintops?”
Kenda stared at me as if I were not worth the effort of arguing with. “Grow up, Par,” he said.
I looked at Nohma. She was smiling to herself. I felt something nasty squirm within my chest, a hatred of everyone, but more than that a hatred of myself.
I stood quickly, picked up my waterskin and returned to work.
Day came.
The heat in the valley bottom increased so that soon it was hard to breathe. Overhead the stars were replaced by white light. The sun blistered over the edge of the canyon, striking the far valley and turning the upper, abandoned terraces to molten gold.
We fled underground, to the cool refuge of the Caves. We shared a communal meal of sliced cacti, a sliver of crab meat each and a cup of pearly-flavoured water as the temperature dropped and we sat around the glow-coals.
Old Tan told of how the first Waterwoman — who wasn’t a Waterwoman back then, of course, just a woman — entered the Caves and descended and eventually found water — a cavern full of the cool, life-giving liquid. He told how she, and the team she led, stood at the edge of the cavern illuminated by the glow-coals they carried, and stared at the silken expanse of water.
He told of how the Waterwoman took a step forward, her advance held in check by her fear that the water would be salted.
She took another step forward, and knelt, and reached out a cupped palm. She dipped her hand in the water and slowly, slowly, watched breathlessly by her fellows, raised the water to her lips and took a tiny, experimental sip.
He told of how she stopped, then stood and looked back at her team and said, weeping, “We are saved, my friends.”
All around me a great cheer went up as fifty throats rejoiced at the very first Waterwoman’s triumph.
“And that,” said Old Tan, “was long ago, over three hundred winters gone.”
I leaned over and whispered to Nohma, “And I suppose you’re going to tell me that that never happened, too?”
She found my thigh and dug her nails into my skin, hard.
Later the gathering broke up and I moved to my sleeping hollow — but Nohma was a long time following me. I lay staring into the darkness, my thoughts racing dangerously, until I heard a breath and felt Nohma’s naked skin press against mine.
“Where have you been?” I hissed.
She did not reply immediately, then said, “To Kenda, to see what he has decided about his Initiation.”
“And what is he doing?” I asked, slipping a finger between her legs to reassure myself that Kenda had not been there before me. Her slit was dry and my heart hammered with relief.
She said, “As I expected, he’s descending Below, but to the western system.”
“And you?” I asked, rubbing her.
She hesitated. “I’ve not decided yet. You?”
“Yes, I’ve decided.”
She took my stalk and slipped it into her. “Tell me.”
“No,” I said, and we made love.
The Elders were three: Old Kahl, Old Jemma, and Old Old Theka, who was so old she was just a bag of bones propped against the rock. Moonlight made their flesh seem even older, etched with deep lines and fissures.
A dozen Initiates sat before the Elders, awed and silent.
Behind us, filling the terrace, our people sat and waited.
Old Jemma told the story of the First Initiate. This was long, long ago when our people lived on the mountaintop, she said, and youths on the cusp of adulthood descended into the valleys to bring back crab meat and so prove themselves.
Now we did not have to return with crab-meat — that was the job of the Meat-Farmers, who scoured the valleys for stray animals and penned them and reared their young. Nowadays Initiates were sent out to prospect for new water courses Below, or sent to the far Valleys to search for edible plants that might be brought back and cultivated.
Then Old Old Theka, in a voice cracked and almost inaudible, said, “One by one stand and say your name, and answer Old Kahl’s question.”
I sat cross-legged, my heart hammering. I wondered if I would have the courage to go through with what I intended when my name was called. I carried the knowledge within me, burning like a dangerous flame.
The first Initiate was called, and she stood before the Elder and said her name.
“And what is your decision, Valla?” asked Old Kahl.
“I will venture Below, to search the eastern system,” Valla said, and a cheer went up from the watchers.
One by one we were called, and the tightness in my chest became almost unbearable.
Then it was Kenda’s turn, and he stood up and swaggered forward — enjoying the attention of the Elders.
“My name is Kenda,” he said.
“And what is your decision, Kenda?” asked Old Kahl.
“I will descend below and search the western caverns,” he said, and returned to the waiting Initiates.
I smiled to myself. Trust Kenda to go for the easy option.
Old Kahl’s gaze found mine and he nodded. I stood, heart thudding, and stepped forward.
I said my name, the sound catching in my throat.
“And your decision, Par?” asked Old Kahl.
I took a breath. “I will climb,” I said, aware of the indrawn breath of my people. “I will climb into the eastern valley and from there ascend to the mountaintop. There I will follow in Old Old Old Marla’s footsteps and return with wondrous stories.”
I felt the Elder’s eyes bore into me as a commotion passed through my people.
Old Kahl inclined his head. “You have decided. So be it,” he said.
I returned to the Initiates and sat down beside Nohma, and only then, as I turned to smile at her — and beheld her shocked, wide-eyed expression — did I understand the full enormity of what I had done.
Then Nohma was standing and approaching the Elders. She told them her name, and they asked her to state her intentions.
In a daze I heard her say, “I, too, will ascend to the mountaintop with Par, and follow in the brave footsteps of Old Old Old Marla.”
Another hubbub arose from the crowd behind me, if anything louder than the commotion that had greeted my decision.
The Elders conferred, and Old Kahl turned to Nohma and said, “You have decided. So be it.”
She turned and strode back to my side, a look of triumph on her face.
Secretively, so that the gesture would not be seen, she reached out and gripped my hand.
If that were not sufficient drama for the day, Kenda then leapt to his feet and approached the seated Elders. “Beg my forgiveness,” he blurted. “But I wish to alter my decision.”
A gasp went up from our people.
The Elders stared at him. Even Old Old Old Theka roused herself and leaned forward, staring at the tall youth.
They fell into a huddle and debated, and a minute elapsed, then two, and a tense silence prevailed along the terrace.
Fear lodged in my belly like bad crab meat.