to Water
Karen A. Wyle
Science Fiction
young Vushla questioned what everyone knew about death. What should
they do with the answer?
When the time comes for
Vushla to die, they go into the ocean and are dissolved away. Or so
Terrill has always believed, and still believes after taking part in
his father’s final journey. But when he meets a young Vushlu who
lives by the sea, Terrill must confront information that calls this
fundamental belief into question. Will the two of them discover
the truth? And what should they do with what they find?
to Goodreads
A. Wyle was born a Connecticut Yankee, but eventually settled in
Bloomington, Indiana, home of Indiana University. She now considers
herself a Hoosier. Wyle’s childhood ambition was to be the youngest
ever published novelist. While writing her first novel at age 10, she
was mortified to learn that some British upstart had beaten her to
the goal at age 9.
Kititit looked at different Vushla in turn as he told the story about buying a beast from a giant
and tricking the fellow into lowering the price. The Vushla’s armor mostly left their faces bare, so
you could see them drink the story in, especially the young ones. All right, maybe his mate’s
uncle’s cousin wasn’t exactly a giant, but he was big enough that none of his neighbors gave
him any backtalk. Kititit had come out of that exchange well enough to enjoy bragging about it,
even if he did embellish the details a bit for effect.
It was a fine way to spend an evening. It would have been, even if the breeze hadn’t been a
trifle nippy. He’d always liked campfires, but he particularly enjoyed them in villages like this.
Vushlu armor wasn’t exactly reflective, but almost, enough to catch the firelight and play with it a
bit. And while he always liked the smell of a campfire, it mingled especially nicely with the
unique tangy smell of the sea. As for the traces of fish odor, he didn’t mind them. He did
wonder, looking around at the Vushla, how much of it all they could smell with those small holes
in their faces. His big mesh-covered nostrils had to do a better job, unless they somehow didn’t.
He caught the fisher lad’s eye for just a moment before the lad looked away. A bit shy, that one,
but with thirsty ears, always soaking in whatever story Kititit chose to tell. Kititit’s oldest son had
been like that, when he was a good bit younger. And when the boy and his sister had come with
Kititit on his journeys, there had been plenty of time for telling tales.
Naturally the boy, or rather the proud young father, had started staying home now that he had a
mate and little ones. And Kititit’s daughter, once proud to be included, had lately been more like
willing. A good-hearted lass, ready to help her father in case he was too old and feeble to
handle things alone; but it was time for her to live in the center of her own life, and Kititit to go
back to how he used to travel, enjoying his own and the beast’s company.
Still, it was nice to have a youngster or two around the campfire.
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