the bed is very soft here, thick with mud. We build two parallel rows, as you can see. We jam them in as close together as possible, and caulk them with tallow, as you would caulk the seams of a boat. Then we drop rocks into the space between them, gravel and mud and sand and brushwood - anything we can carry, really - to force the water out. And that’s the dyke, and it’s waterproof, or as good as. Look.’
They had already reached the end of the dyke, as far as it had been built. Looking out Ana could see the other side, reaching towards her from the promontory on the south side of the bay mouth. At least people were working over there, hauling big bags of rubble out from the shore.
Zesi patted her baby absently as she looked around. ‘The logs will rot in the water. The whole thing will just crumble and wash away.’
‘But this is just a start,’ Novu said eagerly. ‘We can pile on more material, more rocks and mud, over the logs to seal them in. That way they won’t rot at all, and even if they did it would make no difference. When the first dyke is established it will be easy to build on it in future years.’ He reached up. ‘It can go as high as you like, as we deal with freak tides - or with the sea rising.’
‘So when will it be done, brickmaker? You said it would be complete by now. You are no more than - what - a third finished? ’ She gestured at the heap of logs, abandoned on the shore. ‘Where are your workers? Where, indeed, are your logs?’
Novu sighed. ‘You know as well as I do. We made a good start. But in the spring there’s hunting to be done, fishing, boats and nets to be repaired. Nobody’s actually refused to carry on. But they’re drifting away. We can’t get everything done, and build the dyke - that’s what people started saying to me.’
‘And you’ve dragged me all the way to see this vain joke of yours because—’
‘Because we want your backing,’ the priest said simply. ‘You know, Zesi, you fight for the respect you feel is your due. But you don’t need to try so hard. You are respected. You are your father’s daughter; you are a strong woman in your own right. People listen to what you say - and it’s entirely negative about the dyke.
‘I know it’s a difficult year. It will be a long time before we have anything but difficult years. But we have to find a balance between the needs of the present and this plan for the future. For if we don’t do this, sooner or later we will have to abandon this place, our ancestors’ land, and become rootless, like the snailheads. We are a great people. Remember that, Zesi. We once built the Mothers’ Door! And we forgot about it, nearly. We need to be a people who can do something more than just survive—’
‘What we need is less talk from you,’ Zesi said bluntly. ‘If you thought you would sway me with this nonsense, this walk into the sea, you haven’t. I’m going to keep on arguing against you until this foolish distraction is abandoned, and we get back to what’s important in life. I’m going back.’ She held out a hand. ‘Arga. You come too. Enough of this.’
But Arga was staring south across the bay. She pointed. ‘Look!’
Ana turned. There on the water, coming around the point of the bay, was a small fleet of boats. Even from here she could see that the people paddling them were snailheads. And behind them came what looked like a raft, wide, thick, huge. It was logs, a mass of them, strapped together and floating on the water.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Dreamer said.
‘I do,’ Ana said, warm deep inside. ‘It’s taken a while for Knuckle to come through. But here are the snailheads, coming to help us.’
One of the snailheads was standing on his boat, waving and shouting.
Novu waved back. ‘I can’t hear what you’re saying, if that’s you, Knuckle. But I love you, even if you are an ugly lophead!’ He grabbed Ana. ‘You see what this means? With lumber, with more muscles, we’ll get this first barrier finished in a heartbeat. And then—’
Ana had to laugh. ‘Yes, Novu? And then? What dreams are you cooking up now?’
‘Not dreams,’ Zesi hissed. ‘More madness.’
She