Nightpool

Начало книги

It was early dawn when a swimmer appeared far out in the dark, rolling sea. His face was just visible, a pale smear, and his hair blended with the black waves. He dove suddenly and disappeared, then was hidden by scarves of blowing fog stained pale in the moonlight. Moonlight brightened the crashing spray, too, where waves shattered against the tall, rocky island.

The swimmer popped up again, close to the island’s cliff. He breasted the waves and foam with strong strokes and leaped to grab at the sheer stone wall. A foothold here, a handhold, until his wet naked body was free of the sea, clinging like a barnacle to the cliff. A thin boy, perhaps sixteen. He climbed fast, more from habit than from need, knowing just where the best holds were. Above him, the cliff was honeycombed with caves, this whole side of the island a warren of dwellings, but no creature stirred above him. Not one dark, furred face looked out at him, and no otter hunted behind him in the sea; they all slept, after last night’s ceremonies.

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