A Single Stone by Meg McKinlay Read Free Book Online Page A

ablaze in the sun, which rises from the ocean and drenches the plains until late into the afternoon.
    “I’ll take some too.” Mother holds out her bowl. “That was a good plump bird.”
    “I set the snare again. Maybe I’ll get another tomorrow.”
    “So soon?” Father raises his eyebrows.
    “Maybe.” Lia blows onto her stew then lifts a thick spoonful to her mouth. Though there is no shortage of landbirds on the island, they usually take longer to trap. But lately she has been setting her snare by the mountain, where people seldom go. Perhaps it is that the birds there are less wily, more trusting. Perhaps it is simply that there are more of them.
    Father says that one day he will teach Lia how to loose an arrow, to fell a skybird, but she is not sure she wants to learn. There is something about seeing them soar that makes her heart lift; it feels wrong to bring them down.
    She takes a mouthful of stew, chews slowly. The bird is tender on her tongue, the juices thick and satisfying. She sets her spoon down, slipping it into the broth like a fisherman drops a line into the ocean.
    “Tomorrow,” she says.

SEVEN
    “Three!” Calla clapped her hands. “Can you believe it?”
    She was standing by Jena at the long table where food for the feast had been laid out. Large platters were piled high with spiced yams and vegetables and fresh bread from the bakery. There was baked fish and a heavy pot of rabbit stew. And directly in front of them sat three plump birds, fresh off the spit. As they watched, one of the Mothers took up a knife and began to carve.
    Calla jiggled on the balls of her feet, her gaze fixed eagerly on the meat.
    “Just a little,” Jena cautioned. “We’ll go inside again soon.”
    “I know that.” Calla turned to Jena. “Still … it’s good, isn’t it?”
    Though most would not get to taste them, just seeing the birds made something in you sing. Since their ancestors, accustomed to abundance, had hunted out the landbirds generations ago, skybird had become their most precious meat. A skybird was not like a fish or a rabbit. You could not just set a snare or cast a net and wait for the hapless creature to stumble in. A skybird called for a keen eye, an unerring arrow. To have one at a feast was luxury enough; for there to be three spoke of the value the Mothers placed on this tiny new life.
    Jena watched as the soft slices of flesh fell away from the bone. When she was little she had felt sorry for the birds – one minute wheeling high above, the next plunging groundwards. When one fell from the sky the others would scatter for a moment, circling, and then resume formation, taking up the empty space as if it had never been there.
    There was something sad about that thought, but natural too. A thing gone was a thing gone. There was nothing those that remained could do but observe the loss, fly on.
    “Forty and forty,” Calla breathed. “I can’t even imagine.”
    “Oh, you should see her. She–”
    “Jena? Do you want mash?” The familiar voice made Jena start. Petria stood on the other side of the table, a serving spoon in one hand, a plate in the other. Until last week, she had been one of them, tucked into the centre of the line. Now, it was as if she had always been elsewhere. Her hair hung loose about her face; she scooped yam mash from the pot with an easy confidence.
    Before Jena could reply, the Mother who had been carving began piling slices of meat onto the plate. “Of course she’ll take some, child. And plenty of it.”
    Calla raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were going inside soon.”
    Jena flushed. “It’s not for me. It’s–”
    “I know,” Calla said. “I’m teasing.”
    The others were back at the house. Though everyone loved a feast, Mama Dietz was too tired to come out. Kari was keeping her company while Papa Dietz made soup. With the food Jena brought back, they would have their own feast, just the four of them.
    Once Calla had her plate, Jena turned