“Just tell me what she’s saying.”
Josiah shook his head, but he didn’t protest further. “She’s done this whole bit about how Earth was born from Sea and Sky. But Earth was lonely, floating all by herself in the water, and she cried. The tears became rivers, and on the shores of the rivers, plants grew. And from the plants, seeds fell and grew into new plants, and also into animals. All the animals were sort of round and formless and hairless. But one of them fell into the river and began to swim, and it developed fins and gills and became a fish. And one of them was cold and began to dig, and it developed claws and fur and became a mole. And the same happened with all the other animals. But there were no people yet.”
Josiah listened for a moment and went on. “That man asked if people grew from plants, too. Mika says they didn’t. She says Earth was happy about the rivers and the plants and animals, but she was still lonely. She asked Sky, her father, for a child. Sky saw how beautiful Earth was, and he … uh…”
“Impregnated her?” said Freddy, who, thanks to the books on the chair in her kitchen, was not unfamiliar with creation myths.
“Yes,” said Josiah. “She was pregnant for one year. At the end of it, she gave birth to a girl and a boy. They were dead and as pale as ice. Earth cried again, but Sea, her mother, told her the children simply needed to be baked.”
“But there was no fire,” said Freddy.
“But there was no fire.” Josiah nodded. “And neither Earth nor Sea knew how to get any. The only fire belonged to Sun, the son of Sky, and Sky guarded him jealously. So Earth just kept on crying. She cried so much that everything got very wet. The animals were having a hard time finding shelter. They got so uncomfortable that they finally gathered and asked Earth how they could help.”
Freddy said, “I think I see where this is going.”
“I expect,” said Josiah. “At any rate, Earth told the animals that she needed to bake her children but had no fire and no way of getting any. The animals put their heads together, but most of them had no ideas. Then the crow, the trickiest of the animals, spoke up.”
“The crow was white at the time,” said Freddy.
“The crow was white at the time,” said Josiah, casting her an annoyed glance. “She said to Earth, ‘I’ll fly up and steal fire from Sun.’ So the crow flew up into Sky … up and up. She flew so swiftly that Sky didn’t even realise she was there. She flew right up to Sun and plucked a flame from his cloak, and then she turned and fell back down to Earth. She fell for a long time, and she tumbled down onto Mountain and lay still. By this time, she had been burnt black.”
“I knew it,” said Freddy.
“Good for you. Shut up,” said Josiah. “Earth was ecstatic. She cried on the crow and healed her burns, but the crow’s feathers stayed black. Then Earth took the flame and placed it in a clay oven she had fashioned. She put the two dead children into the oven and let them bake. When she pulled them out, they had turned a nice deep brown, and they were alive.”
He listened for a bit before he spoke again. “They were the first people. Earth loved them, and she gave them the fire for their own. The animals loved them less, as they could see they would be meat eaters. Most of the animals fled. The crow stayed longer than the others. She had an egg inside her. When she had stolen fire from Sun, he had been so amazed that any creature was bold enough to approach him that he had fertilised the egg. When she had fallen down onto Mountain, he had been so amazed that any creature could fall so far and live that he had fertilised the egg as well. The crow knew that egg was special. She laid it and gave it to the children, telling them only not to eat it. The children promised, and the crow flew away.”
Josiah had been growing increasingly uncomfortable throughout this last bit. Freddy kept looking over at him. He was sweating again, and his voice was growing muffled. Now he stopped talking entirely.
“She’s still going,” said Freddy. “You have to finish.”
“I … don’t want to,” said Josiah. “I feel ill.”
“You never feel ill. Come on,” said Freddy. “I want to know how it ends.”
Reluctantly, sounding faintly horrified, Josiah continued. “The children grew up in a week, but the egg didn’t hatch. It was cold and black. The children thought it was stupid to waste the egg when food was so scarce. They put it into the fire to cook. The fire was what it had needed. In the midst of the flames, the egg hatched.”
He ground to a halt again. “I … don’t…”
“Finish it,” said Freddy.
“The egg hatched … two children,” said Josiah, gasping. “A boy and a girl. The boy was stillness and constancy and the solidity of mountains; the girl was movement and change and the fickleness of flame. They watched over the two who had hatched them.”
He turned to Freddy. “It doesn’t mean anything. Three tells stories—”
“Look,” said Freddy.
There were two more people near the campfire now.
They stood just outside the ring of firelight, but the moonlight showed them clearly. Freddy saw two teenagers, both dressed in skins. They were holding hands. They looked very alike; both had long dark hair, thin faces, beaky noses, and sharp little chins. It was hard to tell from here, but Freddy didn’t think either looked particularly like the people gathered around the fire.
One of the teenagers glanced at the other. Freddy thought he was male and the other one female. He pulled his hand away from the girl, who grinned at him and tilted her head in an oddly familiar way.
“We need to go,” said Josiah. “We shouldn’t be here at all. This is not—”
“No,” said Freddy.
She had never quite trusted him, but—That’s not really true, is it? You’ve trusted him enough. You take his word for how this works, and you say you’re being Mel and biding your time while collecting clues, but really you’re just trailing after him like … like a duckling. You’re waiting passively for the time travel to end. What if it doesn’t end? You know he’s not telling you everything. You know he’s not even telling you everything about this place. You could be a time-travelling duckling for the rest of your life if you don’t take some initiative.
Josiah stared. “What do you mean, ‘no’? We’re going.”
Freddy said, “I’m not.”
She stepped out from behind the bush.
Josiah hissed behind her. It didn’t matter. He didn’t get to make all the decisions any more. Mika had answers, and Freddy wanted to know what they were. There was a language barrier, sure, but if Josiah wouldn’t help, she would find a way around it. Freddy moved towards the fire. She didn’t think Josiah was following. Cold fingers seemed to be dancing up and down her spine. It was terrifying—and exhilarating—and weird to be setting off into a future Josiah hadn’t seen.