Celeste's Arc

Chapter 10 of 23

The row of shells pointed across the lagoon. Celeste wanted to follow it. But the light had turned gold and low. Shadows stretched long across the sand. Slate padded up beside her, tail twitching. "Trail can wait," he said. "Dark cannot. You have no place to sleep." Celeste looked at the treeline. He was right. She could not track a trail she couldn't see, and she would not sit exposed on open sand all night. "Then we make a place," she said. "You watch the edges. I will build." Slate slipped off toward the water to hunt. Celeste searched the shore. Near the coral she found a sheet of weathered sailcloth, half buried, stiff with salt. She dragged it free. Along the treeline she snapped four stout sticks and drove them into the sand. She stretched the cloth over the frame and lashed the corners with strips of vine. Then she cut broad banana leaves and layered them thick across the ground inside. She pressed a hand to the leaves. Dry. Soft enough. With the shelter done, she went to find supper's makings. A dense patch of glossy leaves grew at the jungle's edge. She dug at the base and pulled up a knotted bundle of ginger roots, tan-skinned, pale inside. The sharp smell stung her nose. She cut several thin sticks from a nearby guava tree and sharpened each point with her knife. Back at the shelter she ringed a fire with stones. She heaped dried coconut husk and twigs inside and struck sparks until the husk caught. Small flames climbed. The stones held the heat close. Slate returned dragging three sand eels, dropping them at her feet. "Dinner," he said. "You are welcome." "Thank you." Celeste threaded each eel onto a guava skewer. She waited for the flames to sink to embers, then propped the skewers over the glow. Fat dripped and hissed. When the eels turned brown and firm, she pulled them off and blew on them. They ate. The flesh was hot and good. Afterward she laid a knob of ginger on the coals. It smoked and gave off a sharp, spicy scent that drifted into the trees. "Father said strong smells keep animals back," she said. "They will not like this." Slate sniffed the smoke and wrinkled his nose. "Neither do I." He climbed a tree upwind, close enough to see her, and curled into a fork of the branches. "Wake me if the trail grows legs and walks off." Celeste crawled under the sailcloth and lay on the banana leaves. The fire ticked and settled. For the first time since the shrine, she had a dry bed and a full stomach. Tomorrow she would follow the shells to whoever laid them. Whoever knew the mermaid. Whoever might know the way home. She closed her eyes and let the lagoon keep its secrets one more night.