Stone Spring Read Online Free Page A

moon, as if embracing the sea. Windblown snow was piled up in the lee of the middens. The boats that would carry Ana to North Island were waiting here, cupped by the middens.
    But first the priest carried his charm bag to the crest of one of the middens. Here he set out his branding irons, bits of the hard, rusty stuff that, it was said, had fallen from the sky - unimaginably rare pieces, more valued even than the priest’s scraps of gold. These pieces were used for nothing but marking the people with the symbols of their Others, be they otter, fox, snow hare, pine marten - most precious of all the seal, most unwelcome the owl. One of these would be chosen to mark Ana that evening, in a flash of fire and pain, after it became clear what her Other must be.
    Jurgi seemed to hesitate. Then he beckoned to Ana. She made her way after him up the midden. Loose shells slid and cracked under her feet, and there was a rich, cloying smell of salt and rot.
    The priest had laid out the equipment for the fire, bits of false gold and flint to make a spark, scraps of dried moss for kindling, blocks of peat for fuel. He took out the wolf jaw that filled his upper mouth. ‘The fire must be built,’ he said gravely, his toothless speech slurred. She understood; the brand had to be heated in a new fire, started from scratch, not from an ember of some old blaze. ‘This is a role for a man from your house. Your father, your brother . . .’
    ‘I have no brother. My father is—’
    ‘I know. Still the fire must be started.’
    ‘I will do it!’ The call came from the Pretani boy Shade. Without waiting for permission he scrambled up the midden, slipping on the unfamiliar surface. His brother hooted and laughed, and called out insults in his own tongue. ‘I will do it,’ Shade repeated breathlessly, as he reached the crest of the mound.
    Ana glared at him. ‘Why must you push your way in like this? You aren’t my brother or my father. You aren’t even from Etxelur.’
    ‘But I am living in your house. And I am good at starting fires.’
    Ana frowned. ‘There must be another way. Custom decrees—’
    The priest tried to look grave, then laughed. ‘Custom decrees that we are allowed a little imagination. Trust me. But can I trust you, Pretani?’
    ‘Oh, yes.’ But Shade was distracted. ‘This place is so strange, this hill. I don’t know the word.’
    ‘Midden,’ said Ana heavily. ‘It’s a midden.’
    ‘A heaping-up of shells . . . So high and so long - a hundred paces? I will measure it out. Many, many shells.’
    The priest nodded. ‘It has taken many generations to build these middens. They are holy places for us. We bury the bones of our dead here. But, can you see, the sea is taking back the land . . .’
    The ends of the midden arcs where they cut to the coast were eroded, worn down by the sea.
    Shade held out his arms along the line of the midden. ‘Still, they are two bits of circles. Like those on your belly, on the stone flat on the beach, and now here in the ocean. This is how you know yourself. Circles in circles.’
    Jurgi said dryly, ‘Maybe you should be a priest.’
    ‘Oh, shut up,’ Ana said. She’d had enough; this was her night. She started to make her way down the midden. ‘Let him build his stupid fire. Come on, priest, let’s get to the boats before the tide turns.’

    A little fleet of boats pushed off from the island’s sandy shore, paddles lapping at the chill black water. The boats were frames of wood over which hide was stretched, dried and caulked with tallow.
    Ana travelled in one boat, which was paddled by the priest and by Zesi in the place of her father. Mama Sunta sat in another boat with her daughter Rute, Ana’s aunt, and Rute’s husband Jaku. Ana’s eyes were used to the dark now, and she could see them all quite clearly in the misty moonlight. The paddlers all wore heavy fur mittens to protect their hands from the cold. Out on the water in the dark Ana felt small, terribly