Sable's Arc

Chapter 10 of 18

The hatchling was bigger than last week. One sack of fish no longer filled it. Sable watched it swallow her whole catch in minutes, then open its mouth and wail. The cry rolled down the cliff toward the village. She clamped its jaws shut with both hands. It kept whining behind her fingers. She could not catch two loads a day. She fished the deep channel until dusk as it was, then climbed forty feet with a wet sack. There were not enough hours. Soon the crying would carry all the way to the market, and men would come to look. She went down the cliff and walked to the golden cedar chapel by the crossroads. Its steeple caught the last light. She had never gone inside. But she was out of plans, and Edna Mull was not at her table tonight. Pastor Paul Brightwell was sweeping the front step. He was a small white-haired man, and his eyes crinkled when he saw her. He had led this church forty years. Half the fishing quarter sat in his pews. "You're the girl who feeds the beast," he said. Not a question. Sable's hand went to her sling. "You know too." "The whole quarter knows." He set the broom down. "You look like you haven't eaten." He brought her inside and cut her a slice of cranberry pie. She ate it in three bites. Above the altar, a carved Christ hung on a wooden cross, arms open. She looked away from it. "It grows faster than I can fish," she said. "I catch all day and it still cries. When it cries loud enough, someone climbs up with a rope." Paul was quiet. Then he said, "You've been carrying this alone." "There's no one else." "There's a hundred of us." He wiped crumbs from the table. "My people fish. They fear that dragon. But they'd fear a killing more. Give them work instead." Sable stared. "They'd feed it? For me?" "Not for you." He almost smiled. "For the peace you built. I only ask." He rang the chapel bell. By full dark, twenty fishers stood between the pews. Chromis came last, tentacles curled, arms crossed. Paul told them plainly what the girl needed. He did not raise his voice. He named the fact and stopped. Chromis broke the silence. "I'll set a rotation. Two boats a day to the deep channel. The catch goes up the cliff." Others nodded. A woman offered her son to help climb. Sable's throat tightened. She had guarded this secret so hard it had nearly buried her. By dawn the first boats went out. Fishers hauled sacks to the ledge, more than one hatchling could eat. The crying stopped for the first time in weeks. Sable stood on the cliff and watched strangers do her work. The hatchling was fed. But the whole village now walked its ledge daily. Her secret was no longer a secret. It was everyone's. And anyone who climbed could see the cave behind the roost.