“I presume they are no less desperate now.”
“They could do what we did.”
“We’ve talked about this a thousand times,” the human said irritably. “The ones who could do what you did, did what you did. The ones who were left couldn’t do it. They had offspring who also couldn’t do it. The Thraish could no more eat fish and become flightless today than they could become sweet-natured and stop shitting all over their living space. It’s called selective breeding, and they’ve done it.”
It was only argument, not even addressed to Medoor Babji, but the words rang inside her, setting up strange reverberations. . Why? Something fled across her mind, trailing a scent of mystery and marvel. What? She tried to follow it, but it eluded her. She concentrated. Nothing. At least she would remember the words. Selective breeding. Those who could do it, did it. She would think about those words later.
“You know all about them?” Medoor Babji asked. “How do you know all that?”
“Oh, some of us human islanders sneak back to Northshore every now and then. Young ones of us, boys with time on their hands and adventure in their blood. Some of them go and never return, some go and come back, enough to give us an idea what’s going on. One of the more recent returnees was a slave for the Thraish for five years.”
“And they didn’t eat him?”
“Would have, I suppose. He didn’t give them a chance.” Burg spoke proudly, almost boasting. “My son.”
Silence fell, except for the sloshing of the sculling oar. After a time, Medoor Babji asked, “You came to find my smoke?”
“You could have been one of ours,” said Burg. “Lost. We use smoke signals. It looked like that, one fire each day for three days. We do that sometimes. Or sometimes three fires all at once.”
“Where are we going?”
“Down to Isle Point. West end of the island. You can look across the straits to the chain from there.”
“Who lives there?”
“Treeci, mostly. About a dozen humans, too. Most of our folk are down the chain, on Biddle Island, and Jake’s.”
“How many?”
“A few thousand in this chain. The islands aren’t that big. We have to spread out. Otherwise we’d overfish the River, kill off all the edible animals, the way the Thraish did during the hunger.”
“What edible animals?”
“The ones there aren’t any more of on Northshore, girlie. Did you ever see an espot? Or a dingle? Little furry things? ‘Course not. Thraish ate ‘em all. They’re extinct on Northshore. From what I understand, you’ve no mammals left at all on Northshore.”
“That flier, Esspill, she said they had herdbeasts again. I didn’t know what she meant.”
The white-haired man pulled in his oar and stared at her, mouth working. “Is that possible?”
“A few might have survived,” the Treeci responded. “Somewhere. Perhaps behind the Teeth.”
“If they have herdbeasts again, it’s the end of humans on Northshore,” the man snarled. “You can depend on it. The Thraish will kill them all.”
Medoor Babji shook her head at him. “I don’t think the humans would let them do that,” she said. “I think it might be the Thraish who would end up dead.”
“Hush,” said the Treeci. “Don’t upset yourself, Burg. Northshore is none of our business. Don’t we always say that, generation on generation? Northshore isn’t our business.”
“How about Southshore?” Medoor Babji asked. “That’s what we were looking for.”
“Over there,” said Burg laconically, pointing over his shoulder. “That way. About a month’s travel or more.”
“It’s really there?”
“Was the last time we looked. Bersdof’s kids sailed there last year, just for the hell of it.”
“Is it empty, Burg? Is there room there for the Noor?”
“Room for the Noor and anybody else, far’s I know. Nothing there but animals and plants. No human grain over there, though. You’d have to plant that.”
“Why? Why is it just sitting there? Why hasn’t anyone gone there?” She tried to imagine an empty land, one without Jondarites. It was impossible.
“Well, those of us who fled with the Treeci landed here on the island chain first. Seeing what the Thraish had made of their world, we took it as kind of a religious thing to behave differently. We don’t expand much. Small societies in small places. Closeness. That’s why we haven’t gone to Southshore. As for other people, I don’t know. Maybe the place was just waiting for the Noor.’’