Words in Progress

Asa rotated underwater until his feet found purchase on the outcropping and then launched himself towards the surface. As he let the water carry him upwards a sea turtle, oblivious to his presence, floated gracefully by. Asa considered swimming along with the turtle, but decided he didn’t have enough air for it. He told himself that he would catch up to the turtle next time. Sea turtles were plentiful in the bay so he could be patient until his next encounter. Asa continue up and surfaced next to the outrigger, where Nala was watching him with what appeared to be annoyance.

“You forgot your basket,” she said, her voice flat. She dangled a weight collection basket over the side to him.

“I was too excited to wait,” he said, unable to keep himself from smiling.

He grabbed onto the side of the outrigger until his arms and chest were over the edge. He let his arms dangle inside and dropped the two oysters into the bottom of the outrigger, where they clattered to a landing. Nala had also stripped down, but while his clothes were scattered around the inside of the outrigger she had folded and stacked hers neatly. She had strapped a knife to her own waist and an oyster collecting bucket hung from her hand.

If you liked this, please check out my historical fiction work:

Avenue of the Dead

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Dark Thoughts Book 1: Hearing Voices

Dark Thoughts Book 2: Deep Water

Dark Thoughts Book 3: Gathering Storm

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“To the cove, are you sure?” he asked. It felt too good to be true.

            “Auntie wants grilled oysters for dinner tonight,” Nala said with a sigh.

Obviously, she would have preferred to head back to shore now, but whatever Auntie wanted, Auntie would get. Asa and Nala were both terrified of her, even though she had never laid a hand on either one of them. She didn’t have to; if they misbehaved or disagree with her, all she had to do was stop and give them that stare of hers and they would fall in line. It didn’t hurt that there were all sorts of rumors of things she had done during the war. Shogiru had told Asa once that his parents had said Aunite had defeated a whole army of the Kyu on her own. When Asa told Nala this she had told him to not believe anything Shogiru said and she was probably right, but still he believed. Everybody in the village treated Auntie with a respect that he couldn’t but think that the stories about her must be true.

Asa didn’t care why they were going to dive for oysters, he was just happy to be going. Asa paddled frantically towards the cove, a smile on his face. With the two of them paddling, they quickly closed the distance to the cove and let the outrigger drift to a halt. As he dropped the anchor over the side once more, Asa glanced over his shoulder and saw all the other outriggers heading for shore. With their work done, the other kids would be playing soon, running around in the fields and chasing each other, but he wasn’t the least bit jealous, this was going to be fun. Asa looked down in the water and noticed it was cloudier than normal, there must have been run-off from the mountain the night before, but he could still see the bottom fairly well. Right below them, probably ten feet down, was a rocky outcropping, rich with seaweed which waved back and forth with the tide.

If you liked this, please check out my historical fiction work:

Avenue of the Dead

Or my serialized science fiction novel in three parts:

Dark Thoughts Book 1: Hearing Voices

Dark Thoughts Book 2: Deep Water

Dark Thoughts Book 3: Gathering Storm

Or

my author page on Amazon

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“We’re not going back to the village yet,” Nala said, surprising Asa.

            “No?” he asked, turning half-around, so he could just see her out of the corner of his eye.

            “No, to the cove first,” she said and a smile erupted on his face.

            Asa knew the only reason they would be heading to the cove was to dive for pearls. The cove was the best place in the bay for finding oysters. There wasn’t another spot where the water was clearer or more calm. The water was so clear you could practically spot the oysters from your outrigger. Normally, Nala didn’t like to dive for oysters, she thought it was a waste of time and effort, but Asa loved everything about it. He loved the sport of collecting the oysters and bringing them to the surface, loved eating the grilled oyster meat, and loved collecting the pearls inside. He knew the pearls were worth money in the outside world, but that didn’t mean much in their little village, unless some traders unexpectedly came through. Instead, he collected them because he thought they were pretty.

If you liked this, please check out my historical fiction work:

Avenue of the Dead

Or my serialized science fiction novel in three parts:

Dark Thoughts Book 1: Hearing Voices

Dark Thoughts Book 2: Deep Water

Dark Thoughts Book 3: Gathering Storm

Or

my author page on Amazon

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Far too soon, he heard her tapping the side of the outrigger with her oar, her signal that it was time to head back. He groaned and pretended he hadn’t heard her, but that would only grant him a temporary respite. Within a few seconds second “tap, tap, tap” reverberated up the side of the outrigger; louder and more aggressive this time. Asa sighed, there was no ignoring her when she was ready to go. He sat up and stretched dramatically; she was going to win in the end, but he might as well eke out every second he could before giving in, and then rubbed his eyes. Nala cleared her throat and he pulled the anchor back up, hand over hand.

Quickly, the three balls emerged from the water. Asa loved pulling the balls from the water. They were quite heavy, but shiny like glass and with tiny tunnels running all through them. The tunnels looked like worms had burrowed them, but Asa knew it they rock had formed with imperfections in it and the water had relentlessly worked on those imperfections over thousands of years until it had made them what they were today.

 The ancient volcano that had created the islands had spewed out hunks of rock and somehow the water had turned them into perfectly formed balls. The power of the water to reform the rocks always amazed Asa. He had collected many pieces of rock from near the mountain and they were ugly, jagged things. The water had the power to turn them beautiful. At the far end of the outrigger Nala tapped her oar again to show her growing impatience. Asa gently place the glass balls and slid his oar into the water of the bay. He started to paddle to turn the outrigger back to shore.

If you liked this, please check out my historical fiction work:

Avenue of the Dead

Or my serialized science fiction novel in three parts:

Dark Thoughts Book 1: Hearing Voices

Dark Thoughts Book 2: Deep Water

Dark Thoughts Book 3: Gathering Storm

Or

my author page on Amazon

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Both boys looked up at her, their mouths agape. Neither one of them had the good sense to look embarrassed about their behavior, but Nala couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for letting her anger loose. Sometimes her tongue got away from her, to her chagrin and wounding the delicate sensibilities of others.

“Now, go,” she said, waving Shogiru away. The slow-witted boy seemed incapable of grasping the message. Finally, he seemed to understand that he wasn’t wanted.

“Bye,” he said to Asa as he turned away and wandered off towards his family’s outrigger. Nala would have thought he would have had the good sense to walk away as if he had been chastened, but he instead strolled away leisurely. Asa didn’t watch Shogiru leave, instead he glowered at Nala. She ignored him and turned back towards their outrigger.

“Get the nets ready,” Nala said over her shoulder.

The outrigger was small; it had been built to hold two to three adults and only carry them around the bay and maybe, if they were feeling brave, into the waterway that led out to the sea. Asa and Nala didn’t take up much space in the outrigger, so there was plenty of room for the nets, a couple of spears, and plenty of catch. There were bigger outriggers that could be taken out to sea, but the village didn’t bother with them much, there was plenty of fish and crabs in the bay and so it was hardly worth the effort of taking an outrigger out to sea.

If you liked this, please check out my historical fiction work:

Avenue of the Dead

Or my serialized science fiction novel in three parts:

Dark Thoughts Book 1: Hearing Voices

Dark Thoughts Book 2: Deep Water

Dark Thoughts Book 3: Gathering Storm

Or

my author page on Amazon

You can also like me on my

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Nala loaded her net, spear, and fish baskets into their outrigger. When she was done, the two boys were still talking, Shogiru was bragging about the giant fish he had supposedly caught the day before. Nala knew the boy was lying; despite his size he was a completely inept fisherman. Of the two of them, she would rather have Asa in her outrigger, at least he could take direction. It was hard for her to imagine that Shogiru would ever bring honor for his family, but with proper guidance Asa just might one day make something of himself. The only problem was that she wasn’t sure she was providing him the guidance he needed.

She wondered how things would be if their parents were still alive. Perhaps Asa would be less lost in the clouds and some of her own burdens would be relieved. It was useless to think like that, though; things were as ther were and nothing would change that. She would have to muster her abilities as much as possible and do a better job of raising her brother. Auntie seemed to think she was doing a fine job looking after Asa, but all the evidence pointed to the contrary, including his lack of discipline. She fumed for a few more moments on Asa’s shortcomings while she waited for the two boys to finish their conversation before finally losing her patience.

“Shogiru, don’t you need to help your mother with your family’s outrigger?” she asked in a tone of voice that should have told him to move along, but obviously was too subtle.

“No, I think she is taking care of it,” he responded dully.

“Shogiru,” she finally snapped. If the boy wanted to be lazy, he needed to do it someplace else and stop being a bad influence on Asa. “You bring dishonor on your family with your laziness. Your mother is working hard preparing your family’s outrigger and you stand around gossiping like an old rooster.”

If you liked this, please check out my historical fiction work:

Avenue of the Dead

Or my serialized science fiction novel in three parts:

Dark Thoughts Book 1: Hearing Voices

Dark Thoughts Book 2: Deep Water

Dark Thoughts Book 3: Gathering Storm

Or

my author page on Amazon

You can also like me on my

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As they progressed down the hill and towards where their outriggers were docked they began to mix in with the familiar faces they saw every morning. Shogiru, Asa’s best friend ran up and joined them for the walk and the two buzzed eagerly about all the fish they would catch that day. Shogiru was only a week older than Asa, but was a full head taller. It wasn’t that Asa was a small child; just that Shogiru was large for his age. He could already manage a large outrigger by himself, something boys five years older struggled with, and looked closer to a man than a boy. Unfortunately, his size didn’t give him any wisdom and he was just as unreliable as her brother.

All along the water’s edge a line of outriggers were pushed ashore and tied in place. A family’s outrigger was a thing of honor and many of the boats were quite ornately decorated, like the dragon boat Zumu and Asa had been working on. Her favorite outrigger was one of the simpler ones, with only a basic pattern carved along the side, but the wood had been lacquered to a fine golden brown and its sheen seemed to glow as if illuminated from within. Their outrigger, Auntie’s outrigger, had a hawk carved down the side, it’s claws outstretched so that when it was in the water it appeared to be snatching fish in its talons. The hawk was the symbol for Auntie’s family and it was well suited for that role. Nala often thought that Auntie resembled a hawk with her piercing stare and predatory stance. She shuddered to think what it must be like to face Auntie in combat.

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When Nala stepped inside, she found an unusual sight. Normally, Zumu carved and Asa watched, but today they were crouched together, seemingly carving together. She stood in the doorway and watched them talk and carve. Seeing Asa so engrossed in the work broke Nala’s heart and made her angry at Zumu. The old woman had to know there was no possibility for Asa to become the village carver, but she led him along anyways. It was cruel, really, to give him hope. Zumu would be better to turn him away so that he could focus on fishing or working in the fields, jobs that he actually had a chance at when he became a man. Finally, she could take no more.

“Asa, what are you doing?” she asked, more to get his attention than anything.

She wanted to ask Zumu why she continued to let all this go on, but she didn’t dare come right out and confront the old woman. Nala knew the hierarchy in the village and Zumu was fairly close to the top of it while she and Asa were, well, there were treasured pets higher than they were. Asa gave a reply, but she was hardly listening, she wanted to get down to the shore before they lost any more time than they already had. Nala thanked Zumu for watching over Asa and then they were on the way. 

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What came next was a team effort in the village; the carving of the tree down to the shape of the outrigger, the hollowing out of the seats using fire, these were tasks that many hands took to complete. Once the outrigger had its basic form, however, it was turned over to Zumu for its ornamentation and blessing. The women of Zumu’s family, men did not have the dexterity or artistry for the job, had for generations owned this work. Nobody in the village was even sure that any other family had ever had the responsibility for carving the outriggers. For Asa, it was quite possible that Zumu was thousands of years old and that she had carved every outrigger since the first oak was felled in the forest beyond the village. Asa longed to carve the outriggers himself one day, but he was not of Zumu’s family and he was a boy, both of which disqualified him from the honor. At best, he could hope to be one of the men tasked with hacking the trees down to the overall shape of the outrigger body with a small hatchet. That still took skill and practice, but it was not the same as Zumu’s work. Before the carving of designs the outriggers were lifeless husks, after Zumu’s work they were living, breathing members of the village, charged with the vital task of carrying the villagers across the water every morning for their food.

            Zumu started her work every morning before the light of the sun rose above the hills to the East and every morning for as long as he could remember Asa was there to watch her hands dance across the body of the outriggers. At first Zumu had shooed him away, suspicious of his motivations, but eventually she had given in and allowed him to watch, and having him help with setting up her tools and cleaning up the wood shavings as compensation for his interloping ways. Occasionally, when she was feeling generous, she would allow him to use her tools to practice designs in the pieces of scrap wood stacked by the side of her hut. Those days were burned into Asa’s memory, both from the exhilaration of handling the tools and from the humiliation of what his hands produced. When he imagined it, his hands worked like Zumu’s, like dancers gliding along a stage, carving scenes of battle and whales jumping through the waves, but in reality, the scratch marks he produced looked more like jagged bolts of lightning then the intricate works of art Zumu produced. To satiate his need to practice he had stolen a carving knife of Auntie’s and whittled pieces of wood at night and he had gotten better, but it was a poor substitute for the real thing.

            Zumu, though, her carving was like magic and the magic was working right now. Where there had once been a formless hunk of wood at the prow of the outrigger, now the head of a dragon emerged. The teeth snarled, the brow furrowed in anger, and Asa could almost feel the heat from the flames billowing forth from its lungs. Asa knew there were dragons off in the mountains but he had never seen one; even still he couldn’t imagine one more terrifying than the one Zumu was conjuring up with her gnarled old hands. Asa leaned in so close to watch that he could feel a breeze as Zumu’s hands rushed by. Suddenly, though, her hands stopped at the end of a particularly long slice.

            “Why did you stop?” Asa asked, leaning back.

“Do you want to try?” Zumu asked, startling Asa.

            “Me? No, Zumu, I couldn’t,” Asa replied, but he hoped she would press him to try. He studied her face for any sign that this was a joke, but her lined face betrayed no sign of jest.

            “My tired old hands need a rest. Come on, help an old woman,” Zumu said, granting Asa’s wish. To emphasize the point, she clenched and unclenched her fingers, the joints popping and crackling like dried up branches under foot.

            “But I’ll ruin your work. No, I can’t,” Asa said. His heart thudded in his chest, in anxiety, but also in excitement at the possibility that he might finally be getting the chance he had dreamed about.

            “Nonsense, here take the knife and I’ll guide your hands with my own,” Zumu said.

She picked up a rounded knife from her carefully organized tools and placed it in Asa’s hand. Asa looked doubtfully at his fingers, which looked fat and clumsy with the knife in them, but before he could object again, Zumu had wrapped her own hands around his. Her hands were boney, but strong, like the talons of an eagle, but they still managed to be gentle.

“Here, we’ll do it together,” she said.

Zumu guided his hand up to the bow of the outrigger, to a point where the wings of the dragon would emerge from its body if her work wasn’t half-finished. Asa grimaced as the knife dug into the wood. He was afraid of digging too deep, but Zumu’s hands wouldn’t let him pull back. With a fluid motion their hands moved together and carved a valley and as the first piece of wood drifted to the floor.

“You mustn’t forget to breathe,” Zumu said.

Asa hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath since Zumu placed her hands on his, but now he let out a jagged breath. As the air left his lungs, his shoulders relaxed as well.  

“Good, now, let your arms relax and the spirit of the dragon flow through you. If you’re arms are too tight the art won’t be right,” Zumu said.

“The ‘spirit of the dragon’?” Asa asked.

“Yes, you must imagine that this dragon is real. See her in your mind, feel the heat of her flames upon your face, touch her spirit; only then can you make her come to life on the outrigger. If you do not believe she is real how can you make the rest of the village believe?”

“Oh. Have you ever really seen a dragon?” Asa asked. He had always taken for granted that Zumu had always lived in the village and as far as he knew, no dragons had ever ventured to Goto.

“Yes, every day. In my mind,” Zumu said serenely.

“No, I meant a real dragon,” Asa said.

“The dragons in my mind are real,” Zumu corrected him, her voice gentle, but firm. “So is everything else I have ever carved. Do you doubt that?”

“No,” Asa said, but he wasn’t sure what Zumu was talking about. All the outriggers in the village had been carved by Zumu and they were adorned by all manner of creatures: dragons, forest spirits, swamp giants. He couldn’t believe they were all real and that Zumu had seen them. People in the village talked about Zumu as if she were crazy, maybe this is what they meant. One time he thought he had seen a fairy in the woods near the village, but his older sister Nala had shown him that it was just a lightening bug. Asa really wished there were magic in the world, but Nala told him he was just being silly and that all the stories were just crazy superstitions.

“Hmmm...” Zumu said, scratching her old, wrinkled chin, “I wonder if you believe that.”

            “I do Zumu, really I do,” Asa said, almost convincing himself.

            “You had better, or you will never be a master carver,” she said and Asa felt a tingle of excitement in his belly. Somebody other than himself had spoken his greatest dream and it was Zumu herself. And she was serious.

            “But Zumu,” he started, trying to guard his emotions, “how can I ever be a master carver? That is only for the women of your family.”

            “Yes, that is true,” she said, “but do you see any of my descendants here right now?”

            “No,” Asa said. He had always wondered what had happened to Zumu’s family, but never had the courage to ask.

            “Well, I won’t be having any more children any time soon.” Zumu patted her stomach gently, with a sad smile on her face.

            “But Zumu, where are your children and grandchildren?” Asa asked before he could stop himself. Her face darkened and he wished he could take back his words.

            “War took them from me and now there will be no more family for me. I pray that you will never experience what war is like, but I fear my prayers will not be answered.” Zumu seemed to meditate on that thought and then her face opened up again. “But now is not the time for dark thoughts and worries, now is the time for carving. I want you to close your eyes and imagine the dragon in front of you.”

            Asa closed his eyes as she had instructed and tried to picture a dragon, but all he could see in his mind was the dragon Zumu had already carved. As much as he tried, he could not force a “real” dragon into existence. His face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to will it into existence.

            “Bah, you are working too hard,” Zumu said and pressed her thumb into the creases in Asa’s forehead in attempt to alleviate them. Asa would not be placated hat easily, however.

            “But the dragon will not come; all I see is your dragon!” Asa said and opened his eyes.

It wasn’t fair, Zumu knew so much of the world, and had been carving outriggers her whole life, how was he supposed to see dragons the way that she was? He threw the carving knife down in anger and immediately regretted it. Asa knew the carving knife had been used by generations of Zumu’s family and was considered sacred; he expected she would banish him from her hut and never allow him to return. Instead, she simply bent down, her body slowed by age and aching joints, picked up the knife, and brushed it off against her carving smock.

“Come, let me guide you,” she said and held out the knife to Asa.

He hesitated taking the knife, fearful that this was some kind of trick. Perhaps he would reach for the knife and Zumu would pull it back and laugh at him. Zumu looked back at him, her brown eyes unwavering, but kind. Despite his misgivings, Asa extended his arm and took the knife.

“Sit down next to me,” she said and he followed her command. Again, she curled her hand around his, her fingers overlaying his own. “You grip the knife too tightly, like it is going to run away from you. Loosen your fingers.”

Asa opened his fingers and the blade immediately clattered to the floor again. He grunted in frustration. This was impossible; when he held it tightly Zumu criticized him, but when he relaxed the knife fell. Maybe this wasn’t for him after all.

“Pick up the knife and try again,” she said serenely.

Her tone frustrated him. How could she remain so calm when he was failing so miserably? He wanted her to be mad at him or to lose her patience. He would never be like her. If he was Zumu he would have run himself off long ago. Still, he bent over and picked up the knife. When he sat up again, her hand was on his as it had been before. He focused all his attention on holding the knife perfectly, not too tight or too loose, but somehow he continued to clench it in his fingers. Just holding the wooden handle of the blade was making him break out into a sweat.

“Zumu, this is never…” he started, but she shushed him.

“Let’s try something else.” Her fingers slid back from his hand and instead gripped him gently by his wrist. “Move your arm back and forth like the waves of the bay.”

Zumu took the lead and swung his arm side to side rhythmically, in a large arc. The movement was hypnotic and Asa stopped concentrating on his hand and the blade so that he could keep up with Zumu’s movements.

“Good, now let the movement flow through your arm.”

Zumu guided his arm up and used his arm movement to glide along the side of outrigger. Almost before Asa could react, wood shavings were floating toward the ground and within minutes more of the dragon emerged. Asa could hardly believe that his hand, guided by Zumu’s, was capable of creating such a thing. Never in all his practice had he accomplished anything close to this level of work. By the time Zumu stopped to let him rest the outline of a wing was forever marked in the wood.

“What do you think of your dragon?” Zumu asked.

“It is amazing,” Asa said. “But it is your dragon.”

“No longer. That wing is not the wing I envisioned, but something else. That is from your mind, not my own.”

Asa studied the wing and searched back in his memory; it was what he had pictured in his mind. He ran his fingers over the carving, checking to make sure they were real. It felt powerful to have taken something from his imagination and given it form, to have made it real. For years to come, the people in his village would ride out into the bay with this dragon on the side. This meant something, but he wasn’t sure what it was exactly.

“Asa, what are you doing?” his sister’s voice startled him from his thoughts. Asa turned to see Nala behind him, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Are you pestering Zumu again?”

“I, uh…” Asa began, but he was too befuddled to complete the thought.

“He was helping me with my carving,” Zumu said.

Asa was afraid of his older sister, but Zumu clearly was not. Zumu didn’t need to be afraid of her, but she could make his life miserable if she wanted. Asa and Nala lived with Auntie and she took care of them, but it was Nala who really watched over Asa. Their parents were long gone, killed in the war just after Asa was born, so Auntie and Nala were the only family he had, but Auntie was too busy with running the village to raise him. So Nala was his big sister, mother, and father all rolled into one, meaning that if he stepped out of line she owned him.

“Were you really helping or were you in the way?” Nala asked. Zumu may not have been afraid of Nala, but the feeling was mutual. Nala was respectful of her elders, but she didn’t buckle under like many of the children of the village.

“Helping?” Asa said, more asking than stating. He looked down at the ground, away from Nala. Nala snorted, clearly disbelieving his answer.

“Whatever you were doing, it is time you were fishing. Time we were both fishing. Leave Zumu to her work and come along,” she said.

“Yes, Nala,” he said. “Bye, Zumu.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Zumu said, a smile in her voice.

“Thank you for watching Asa,” Nala said and turned to leave.

Asa could tell she wasn’t happy that Zumu had told him to come back the next day, but even she didn’t dare to directly contradict an elder. He hoped he would be able to return, but it would depend on Nala’s mood. Asa followed her out of the hut and into the early morning light.

“I don’t know why you bother with the carving, you’ll never be allowed to carve the outriggers for the village. You are wasting your time,” Nala said when they were out of earshot of the hut. Asa didn’t reply, there was no sense in arguing with her when she was in a bad mood.

Every day, it was the same with him; he was obsessed with the carving and nothing could dissuade him despite the fact that he had no real chance to ever be the carver for the village. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a part of Zumu’s family or a girl, both of which were traditionally required to be the village carver. Those two obstacles maybe could have been overlooked, but like her he was an orphan and a hafu, of mixed race, so he would never be truly accepted into the village. Their parents, whoever they had been, were killed during the war and Auntie had taken them in and brought them back to the village with her. Asa was maybe too young to realize it, but a stigma hung over the pair of them and that would be impossible to dispel.

She stepped out of their house and into the early morning mist that still hung over the village. Their house was at the base of one of the mountains and from their door they had an expansive view of all the rest of the homes in the village. The villagers lived in a mix of thatched huts and actual wooden frame houses. Because of Auntie’s role there’s was one of the higher caste families in the village and so they lived in one of the larger houses and farther from the water.

If you liked this, please check out my  historical fiction work: Avenue of the Dead Or my serialized science fiction novel in three parts: Dark Thoughts Book 1: Hearing Voices Dark Thoughts Book 2: Deep Water Dark Thoughts Book 3: Gathering Storm Or my author page on Amazon

Asa could tell she wasn’t happy that Zumu had told him to come back the next day, but even she didn’t dare to directly contradict an elder. He hoped he would be able to return, but it would depend on Nala’s mood. Asa followed her out of the hut and into the early morning light. “I don’t know why you bother with the carving, you’ll never be allowed to carve the outriggers for the village. You are wasting your time,” Nala said when they were out of earshot of the hut. Asa didn’t reply, there was no sense in arguing with her when she was in a bad mood.

End Chapter One

“What do you think of your dragon?” Zumu asked. “It is amazing,” Asa said. “But it is your dragon.” “No longer. That wing is not the wing I envisioned, but something else. That is from your mind, not my own.” Asa studied the wing and searched back in his memory; it was what he had pictured in his mind. He ran his fingers over the carving, checking to make sure they were real. It felt powerful to have taken something from his imagination and given it form, to have made it real. For years to come, the people in his village would ride out into the bay with this dragon on the side. This meant something, but he wasn’t sure what it was exactly. “Asa, what are you doing?” his sister’s voice startled him from his thoughts. Asa turned to see Nala behind him, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Are you pestering Zumu again?” “I, uh…” Asa began, but he was too befuddled to complete the thought. “He was helping me with my carving,” Zumu said. Asa was afraid of his older sister, but Zumu clearly was not. Zumu didn’t need to be afraid of her, but she could make his life miserable if she wanted. Asa and Nala lived with Auntie and she took care of them, but it was Nala who really watched over Asa. Their parents were long gone, killed in the war just after Asa was born, so Auntie and Nala were the only family he had, but Auntie was too busy with running the village to raise him. So Nala was his big sister, mother, and father all rolled into one, meaning that if he stepped out of line she owned him. “Were you really helping or were you in the way?” Nala asked. Zumu may not have been afraid of Nala, but the feeling was mutual. Nala was respectful of her elders, but she didn’t buckle under like many of the children of the village. “Helping?” Asa said, more asking than stating. He looked down at the ground, away from Nala. Nala snorted, clearly disbelieving his answer. “Whatever you were doing, it is time you were fishing. Time we were both fishing. Leave Zumu to her work and come along,” she said. “Yes, Nala,” he said. “Bye, Zumu.” “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Zumu said, a smile in her voice. “Thank you for watching Asa,” Nala said and turned to leave.

“Come, let me guide you,” she said and held out the knife to Asa.

He hesitated taking the knife, fearful that this was some kind of trick. Perhaps he would reach for the knife and Zumu would pull it back and laugh at him. Zumu looked back at him, her brown eyes unwavering, but kind. Despite his misgivings, Asa extended his arm and took the knife.

“Sit down next to me,” she said and he followed her command. Again, she curled her hand around his, her fingers overlaying his own. “You grip the knife too tightly, like it is going to run away from you. Loosen your fingers.”

Asa opened his fingers and the blade immediately clattered to the floor again. He grunted in frustration. This was impossible; when he held it tightly Zumu criticized him, but when he relaxed the knife fell. Maybe this wasn’t for him after all.

“Pick up the knife and try again,” she said serenely.

Her tone frustrated him. How could she remain so calm when he was failing so miserably? He wanted her to be mad at him or to lose her patience. He would never be like her. If he was Zumu he would have run himself off long ago. Still, he bent over and picked up the knife. When he sat up again, her hand was on his as it had been before. He focused all his attention on holding the knife perfectly, not too tight or too loose, but somehow he continued to clench it in his fingers. Just holding the wooden handle of the blade was making him break out into a sweat.

“Zumu, this is never…” he started, but she shushed him.