Strange Noises Fiction by Rachel Greenham

It takes a couple of hours to bring Hajarean up to date. He sipped his tea and listened, and asked questions here and there to prod me on. He was especially interested in any details I could relate about life aboard a Neri familyship. I think it’s one world he hasn’t been able to penetrate and learn much about. So I talk about the social life, the music, the dancing, the thrill of hunting with dolphins and feeling part of a beautiful, deadly sea monster.

Finally I tell him of the attack, of being abandoned on the atoll and making our own escape from the slavers and our flight here.

I don’t mention the gyre falcon that led us. I’m not sure why; I just feel I need to not mention it yet.

“You got here from the Western Atolls in ten days?” he says, sounding surprised. “That’s really impressive.”

“Well, we had help. Turns out one of the kids is a windsinger.”

“Oh really? That was fortunate.”

I stop myself. I hadn’t meant to say that. That was the tea doing its job. I don’t have to say any more though. I don’t have to say which one, for instance. “Anyway,” I say lamely, “so here we are. Then we heard you were here and came knocking. I mean, we’ve been asking at every port we’ve been to,” I lie, “but we didn’t know your real name, only Gyrefalcon. Just our luck Jeoda wasn’t on the Satthei’s trade route.”