Sonlo laughed with his shoulders. “He should’ve started after everyone was already inside eating.”
“As long as he makes it,” Leera said. “I always get so nervous.”
“I still remember your swim across, Leera,” Grandmother Surla said.
“I do too,” Pittick said. “That’s when I first saw you, it was right after the Festival of Imn, right as I was going to head home. You swam fastest of all the women that year. And remember the celebration after? I don’t think I’ve ever eaten more.”
“See—if Lapars’s kid does it today, we won’t have to worry about missing the meal. Maybe this is all a genius plan to get more food,” Uncle Sonlo said.
“We don’t have much in the stores,” Akinan said. He crossed his arms, and his necklace rattled. “And today was a slow hunting day. The celebration will have to wait until tomorrow, I think. If they can catch enough.”
“The kid probably won’t even care,” said Pittick. “He’ll be a man after this. That’s why he’s doing this. So his life can start.”
Agapanthus sat down in the dirt, stretching her legs in front of her. Her knees were too tired to continue standing. She imagined herself swimming like this boy; swimming like all children did to become adults—the flowing, transient Waters wrapped around her from all sides, floating, in space; blackness as she closed her eyes, as her arms flew in rhythm with her breath, like the water drums at festivals. Very few exchangers could make the long swim from their own island, Yeela, to the neighboring one, Shre. Some even drowned trying, because it was forbidden to help anyone attempting the rite of passage swim. All anyone could do was stand and watch.
The shore of Shre was clearly visible on the far side of the Waters. It appeared shaded; a dark, dark, red, like the dry skin on the bottom of someone’s foot. Well, not Agapanthus’s foot. A Deeyan foot. Unless, of course, Agapanthus walked barefoot through the dirt to “paint” her feet red. Even then, it wasn’t quite the right shade; the pink of her foot always broke through the dust—glaringly, shockingly, lifelessly.
Against the distant hump of the neighboring island, the swimmer dissolved. First he was there, a bare speck against the churning Waters, and then he was gone. The screams dissipated into muttering. Waves sloppily crested over the rocky shores. They sounded brittle, shattering ceaselessly.
“He’s out of the sight line now,” Leera said. “May the Gods watch him carefully.”
No one said anything back, they just swallowed, or adjusted themselves slightly, or shifted their weight, so Leera continued. “This is the worst part. That place between the islands. No one can see him from that side, and no one can see him from this side, so no one would know if he sunk. He would be completely alone, just slipping down into the belly of the Waters. Completely alone—”
“Oh Leera,” Grandmother Surla said. “No Deeyan has drowned in here for more than three-hundred years.”
“I know, but you just never know when it might happen again.”
“Really, Leera? Swimmers twice a year or so, and you’re still not over this nervous habit?” Uncle Sonlo raised his thin, black eyebrows.
“It’s because she saw her friend almost drown,” Grandmother Surla said. “At the Water Festival, many, many years ago. Roslg Boea. She was practicing for the rite of passage, and she lost her strength halfway through. Thank the all-watching Gods it was only a practice swim. There was a boat not too far from her. They saved her.”
“Why was she practicing at the Water Festival anyway?” Uncle Sonlo laughed.
“So no one would be paying attention,” Leera said.
“With all those boats in the Waters?” Uncle Sonlo shook his head. “Wait, so, what happened, though? Why didn’t she make it?”
“She was just a weak girl. Weak-bodied,” Grandmother Surla said. “Almost as weak as the aliens.”
“Surla.” Leera’s wide eyes fastened to her mother’s strict face. “Most people say ‘exchangers’ these days. You know that.” She glanced down at Agapanthus.
“Why are they ‘exchangers’ if we don’t send anyone over there? What’s the exchange?” Sonlo asked.
“We get their children, and they get honored on the Water Planet when they go back,” Pittick said. “We get them, they get respect.”
After listening to the adults for so long, Agapanthus had the sudden urge to jump into the crooked shoreline of the Waters. Not to test herself; just to swim; just to enjoy the cool brush of the breeze against her wet cheeks. Despite her tiredness, she seriously considered throwing off her clothes into a homely, dusty pile, and bowing gracefully—as gracefully as she could—into the blackness.
“I say we go ahead and eat,” Akinan said loudly. “It’s going to be a while.” He walked off into the crowd.
“I won’t argue with that,” Uncle Sonlo said.
“I’m going to stay and watch.” Leera clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “Aga, go tell Tayzaya and Imari it’s time for the meal.”
Agapanthus stared at her foster-mother, who watched her with unblinking fierceness. Leera really was beautiful; wide-statured, with wide cheeks and a high forehead and thin features. She seemed more skin than anything. Leera was like the edge of a cliff—red, solid, but ready to crumble.
Another wave of exhaustion came over Agapanthus. It felt like she had been asked to rise from the dead. To journey down the hill, into the quavering, warm-moist conglomeration of bodies, to fetch Great-Aunt Tayzaya and Aunt Imari, then to leap wide strides back to the cafeteria? Just getting to the cafeteria sounded impossible.
“But—” Agapanthus began.
“It’s okay, I’ll go,” Pittick said quickly. He lifted Agapanthus by the underarms, bringing her to her feet. His hands felt dry, scratchy from work. Agapanthus laughed.
“Go on with Surla.” Pittick stepped away. “Go on, get a head start. We’ll catch up.”
“Oh yes, you’ll catch up no problem,” Grandmother Surla said. She exhaled, and her eyelids clamped down roughly. They began walking. “You know, Agapanthus, I used to be fast, and strong. I was a good swimmer. I could hold my breath until I reached the bottom of the Waters. Not the deep water, but the shallows. Now look at me. I’m no faster than an alien.” She shook with muted laughter. “Sorry—‘exchanger’.”
The cafeteria was one of the few buildings on the island without the two-winged design. Instead, it was a large rectangle borne of the usual black stone. One room to butcher and prepare the food, and an open hall with skin-draped floors. Half the island sat there at the prescribed daily meal time. The room smelled like food already; metallic, blood-like.
Grandmother Surla and Agapanthus lined up at one of the two doorways where the preparers handed out stone bowls. The lines already stretched the length of the room, even though much of the crowd remained near the Waters.
In front of them stood a girl whose eyes were very far apart. Agapanthus often saw her running in the higher cliffs with some of the other children. They had spoken once, at one of the festivals—the Marriage
