That Other Kind Read online

  Townmaster released her, pulled off his boots, and flicked the edge of the water with his foot.  “Is the water so deadly?”  

  Oceania blinked.

  He stepped in, ankle deep.  “What’s to fear?”

  “Townmaster, you’ll drown.  You know landstewards cannot swim.”

  “Can’t we?”  He tossed his hat on shore and waded out waist deep, robes billowing.  “Where is the dragon?  The dread monst-“  He slipped.

  Seagren shot out a hand to keep Anemone from diving to the rescue.

  Townmaster surfaced, arms splashing, only to disappear.

  “Townmaster!”  Oceania leaped in.  An arm caught her alongside the head.  She submerged.  Townmaster rose, gulped air, and went under.  Oceania reached.  A foot swept her off balance.  She plummeted.  Up and down they bobbed, water white with action.  When Oceania rose a fifth time, silvery, Townmaster found his legs and waded ashore, Oceania following.

  The multicolor envelope broke and sloughed away.

  “See?”  He smoothed water from his face.

  The woman stood, absorbing what had happened. 

  “Now you can water the land.”  Townmaster took her hand and kissed it.

  “Did you feel the Zest?” Seagren asked. 

  “Yes.  I did.  Yes.  Wonderful.”  She watched Townmaster wring out his robes.  “That night Seagren saw me, I had fallen into the water, but only to my shoulders.  I was so frightened, I didn’t feel any zing.”

  “It has to cover your face.”

  Oceania nodded.  She frowned at Townmaster.  “Look at you.  Your best robes.  That was foolhardy.”

  “Perhaps.  But I knew from watching the children that it was shallow there.”

   

  ***

   

  Water lapped against the children’s plot.  From it Seagren leaned to catch her image that wrinkled and was lost.  She scooped up a hand of liquid and trickled it over her leg into knee-high grass.  A butterfly danced by on erratic wings.  In the reservoir minnows dappled the surface so it sparkled.  A frog leaped with a splash.

  Seagren poised, ready to leap after it.

  “Watersteward!  Hello!”

  Rowing toward her was the young fisher, bringing emanations that muted the gentleness of water.  Yet the emanations were friendly, not draining.

  “I am Seagren.”

  “Greenlund.”  The boat bumped ashore.  The landsteward reached out a hand.  “Want to come aboard?”

  Father had reached a hand like that and commanded her to come aboard.  This hand that stretched out was only a little larger than Seagren’s.  Someday it would be as large as Father’s.  Someday Greenlund would inherit his own parents’ property.  Would it be green by then? 

  “Seagren?”  The hand was still out, not commanding but inviting.

  No one had wanted to be Seagren’s friend in school.  Their big hands had pushed her away.

  “Seagren?”

  “Sure.” 

  Two hands, one square and calloused, one slender and smooth, met and clasped.

  ###

   

   

   

   

  Also by Gloria Piper

   

  Finnegan’s Quest

   

  Train to Nowhere

   

  Long Pig

   

   

   

   

   

  About the Author

   

  Gloria Piper lives in Northern California with her husband, Grayson.  They are both volunteer medical drivers.  In their spare time, they enjoy long walks in the country.

   

  Blog: https://gloriapiper.wordpress.com