Read Online Gods of the Greataway by Michael G. Coney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael G. Coney
Tags: Science-Fiction
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sun oven craftsman named Peli.
Over the years Peli had built up a reputation for good work, and his sun ovens were things of beauty and utility, able to cook the thickest seal steak to a turn, on a fine day. Peli was proud of his ability and, in his earlier years, not a little boastful. He could afford an orca of his own, on which he traveled to the coastal villages to set up his ovens, bringing back payment in the forms of meat, vegetables and artifacts. He grew rich by the local standards, and his woven dwelling was not far short of a Rider’s tower in opulence.
Thenhis eyesight began to fail.
Possibly this was due to the nature of his work; certainly it seemed to be an occupational hazard with sun oven craftsmen. Sun ovens are built as follows: First, a large basket is woven, hemispherical and about five meters in diameter, carefully aligned with the direction of the sun’s travel so that the sun will shine directly into the basket at cooking time.
Next, the inside of the basket is liberally daubed with a glue made from fish bones boiled in a whale-skull pot.
Finally — and this is where the real craftsmanship comes in — hemitrexes, which are the hard, reflective shells of certain mutated jellyfish, are set in glue. Now the builder must squat inside the basket, with the sun high, and adjust each hemitrex until the focused rays of the sun pass through the central point of the basket where the food will be hung. It is hot, blinding work, and the builder will usually pick a day of slight overcast and arrange for the villagers to keep his body well cooled with water. It is work that demands an accurate eye.
And Peli was going blind.
“Peli’s ovens are not good these days,” people would say. Usually the oven is situated in the middle of a village so that its use can be shared. It was noticed that meat cooked unevenly in them. Ovens need constant attention — realignment according to season and to correct for warping of the basket and the shifting positions of the island itself. After each adjustment by Peli, an oven seemed a little worse than before. But Peli was a proud man and would not admit his infirmity. People asked for his services less and sought out other craftsmen to maintain the sun ovens.
Peli began to spend much of his time sitting on the shore outside his dwelling, idly fingering the stock of hemitrexes that he could hardly see, his mind full of unhappy and bitter thoughts. And here he might have remained for the rest of his days, if a strange thing had not happened one evening as he sat staring into the setting sun.
A rippleappeared in the calm crimson of the sea. A faint melody carried across the waters, a sound like the most beautiful choir of women’s voices, yet without words. The sounds soothed Peli’s troubled thoughts and he felt peace and a quiet joy. It seemed suddenly that he’d led a good life; he’d been respected in his craft, and now he was taking a rest that he’d earned many times over.
And the outline of a girl sat there in the water.
He blinked, peering, thinking his eyes were playing their tricks again.
The music stopped. The girl raised her hand.
Peli stood. She was close, now, riding the water to the very edge of the grass. She clutched at the shore, but the grass broke off in her hands. She uttered a funny little whimpering noise, and Peli realized she was in trouble. He bent down, took her hand, and swung her up beside him.
As he did, he caught a brief glimpse of a great swirling back that glowed indigo in the sun’s last rays, rolling past and down, heaving the shore with the wash of its passing, so that he had to sit down quickly. Then it was gone, but the grass rippled for a long time afterward.
He turned to the girl. She sat beside him, looking out to sea while her hands ran over the grass, feeling it, allowing its tough coarseness to enter her senses and awaken memories. Tears ran down her face, but her eyes were blank.
He asked her, “What’s your
Over the years Peli had built up a reputation for good work, and his sun ovens were things of beauty and utility, able to cook the thickest seal steak to a turn, on a fine day. Peli was proud of his ability and, in his earlier years, not a little boastful. He could afford an orca of his own, on which he traveled to the coastal villages to set up his ovens, bringing back payment in the forms of meat, vegetables and artifacts. He grew rich by the local standards, and his woven dwelling was not far short of a Rider’s tower in opulence.
Thenhis eyesight began to fail.
Possibly this was due to the nature of his work; certainly it seemed to be an occupational hazard with sun oven craftsmen. Sun ovens are built as follows: First, a large basket is woven, hemispherical and about five meters in diameter, carefully aligned with the direction of the sun’s travel so that the sun will shine directly into the basket at cooking time.
Next, the inside of the basket is liberally daubed with a glue made from fish bones boiled in a whale-skull pot.
Finally — and this is where the real craftsmanship comes in — hemitrexes, which are the hard, reflective shells of certain mutated jellyfish, are set in glue. Now the builder must squat inside the basket, with the sun high, and adjust each hemitrex until the focused rays of the sun pass through the central point of the basket where the food will be hung. It is hot, blinding work, and the builder will usually pick a day of slight overcast and arrange for the villagers to keep his body well cooled with water. It is work that demands an accurate eye.
And Peli was going blind.
“Peli’s ovens are not good these days,” people would say. Usually the oven is situated in the middle of a village so that its use can be shared. It was noticed that meat cooked unevenly in them. Ovens need constant attention — realignment according to season and to correct for warping of the basket and the shifting positions of the island itself. After each adjustment by Peli, an oven seemed a little worse than before. But Peli was a proud man and would not admit his infirmity. People asked for his services less and sought out other craftsmen to maintain the sun ovens.
Peli began to spend much of his time sitting on the shore outside his dwelling, idly fingering the stock of hemitrexes that he could hardly see, his mind full of unhappy and bitter thoughts. And here he might have remained for the rest of his days, if a strange thing had not happened one evening as he sat staring into the setting sun.
A rippleappeared in the calm crimson of the sea. A faint melody carried across the waters, a sound like the most beautiful choir of women’s voices, yet without words. The sounds soothed Peli’s troubled thoughts and he felt peace and a quiet joy. It seemed suddenly that he’d led a good life; he’d been respected in his craft, and now he was taking a rest that he’d earned many times over.
And the outline of a girl sat there in the water.
He blinked, peering, thinking his eyes were playing their tricks again.
The music stopped. The girl raised her hand.
Peli stood. She was close, now, riding the water to the very edge of the grass. She clutched at the shore, but the grass broke off in her hands. She uttered a funny little whimpering noise, and Peli realized she was in trouble. He bent down, took her hand, and swung her up beside him.
As he did, he caught a brief glimpse of a great swirling back that glowed indigo in the sun’s last rays, rolling past and down, heaving the shore with the wash of its passing, so that he had to sit down quickly. Then it was gone, but the grass rippled for a long time afterward.
He turned to the girl. She sat beside him, looking out to sea while her hands ran over the grass, feeling it, allowing its tough coarseness to enter her senses and awaken memories. Tears ran down her face, but her eyes were blank.
He asked her, “What’s your
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