Bridgetop.  The highest point of Ship.  Sun beats down on me and the breeze huffs and blusters, but my perch is perfectly steady.  Even here, though, there is some life.  Shipmoss clings to windward, while a colony of tiny ants huddles in lee.  I nudge the mound with my foot, watching as it bursts into frenzied activity. 

The smooth metal is warm against my hand.  I wonder where the ants managed to dig out the yellow-white fill they are packing around there hole, or what they eat, but I do not let the thought distract me long. I am watch-keeper. It is an important post, and one I must not fail if I want to be a man. 

I rise to my feet and squint into the distance, turning slowly so I can take in the whole horizon, but all directions are the same.  An endless expanse of clear blue sky above and mottled white sand below.

There is a low susurration in the redfruit trees below and a breath of cool air touches my cheek.  I crouch lower and drop my gaze, my eyes tracing the hull as it slopes away in all directions.  Windward is where the best the redfruit groves are; though much of the windward hull is bare, redfruit grows enthusiastically in those few sheltered nooks that catch dust.  Maincannon also stretches to windward, its broad curve a boulevard that slumps down to meet the sandy wastes below.  

I look up once more and there is a cloud on the horizon. They aren’t common, but this isn’t the first I’ve seen.  I bite my lip and continue my sweep.

A fly buzzes my leg. There aren’t many this far up, but some still manage.  I brush it away absently.  Leeside there are redfruit also, though fewer.  It’s moister, and the shipmoss is thicker there, so the sheep like to cluster on that side.  It’s usually cooler, too, especially at this time of day, when Ship’s shadow stretches out long across the sand.

The cloud is still on the horizon when I look back, and my heart starts hammering.  Straining as hard as I can, I think I can see tiny black specks beneath it.  And maybe, just maybe, flashes of iridescent light.

I settle on the hull and lean forward, focusing entirely on the solitary cloud, watching and waiting with baited breath. It glints again.

They are Caste.

Blood thunders in my veins as I scramble down twisted poles and buckled plating.  Up here the hull is mostly bare, only a few patches of shipmoss able to cling to these arid slopes.  My feet are steady on the silvery metal, nimbly dodging the countless spots where it has discolored and flowed like candlewax.

Not far below bridgetop is flightbay.  Its bright blue waters are cool and inviting in the hot sun.  Rivulets trickle away on all sides, nourishing, gifts of Ship.  Nearest to the bay is a thick ring of bushes and I spot a familiar face collecting berries among them.

"Bo, they’re coming," I shout as I run past, the breath sharp in my lungs.

She is on her feet in an instant, puffs of dirt to mark her passing.  "Who is?"

"Caste."

She nods and runs faster.  She is a year older than me, and her plaited blonde braid bounces ahead of me with each stride.

We cross the shipwing together, feet light on the moss and careful to stay away from the edge.  The herd of sheep shies away from our passage the bells of their harnesses making a chorus.  The shepherd waves, and I wave back, but he is too far to talk.

From there it is only a short way to aftarray and Bo slows, peeling away as we enter the village proper.  Odd Willis cackles at me as I run by, his beady eyes following me as he rubs the stump of his wrist.

Then I am there, but I barely spare a glance at the great half dome of metal protruding from Ship, though I do notice the trickle of smoke out of one end of its tube. The great painted whorls above it stare down on me like eyes, but I am no spirit to be repelled.  The air smells like redfruit, and my mother is at the counter, rolling swirlcrisps.

She takes one look at me and puts them aside.  "What did you see?  When are they coming?"  Her eyes bore into mine. 

"Caste.  Tomorrow or the day after."

She claps her hands together and a dozen heads appear

"Caste are coming.  Peel the skins off of the blackstones and make ready."

My feet itch to join them, but that is no longer my task.  I hurry back out the door and seek out the village hall.



I repeat my story to the captain and my father.  Eldest arrives moments later and they confer in low voices.

Finally, my father breaks into a smile and turns to me.  "You have done well, my son, and today is your day.  Come with us."

My eyes go wide at his words, and my heart hammers in my throat.  I follow along my mind almost blank.

The captain leads the way out of aftarray and across the broad flank of Ship.  Heads turn as we pass but I try to keep my eyes forward, even as my ears prick at the murmur of the others behind us.  

We reached Ship’s main body and I incline my head, but the captain just smiles and claps me on the shoulder.

"You will not have to do that much longer – tomorrow you will be a man."

I smile back, but he must have sensed my hesitation as he only grips harder before releasing.  
He turns to the body as Eldest reaches out his gnarled hand to a dark square patch on one side.  It rests there just a moment before there is a deep clang beneath our feet, and a section of Ship’s body shifts inward.

My father and the captain step forward and brace against it, their muscles knotting as they set themselves on the slippery moss.  At an unspoken signal, I can see them heave and I hear the door creak before slowly falling away to reveal a circle of darkness.

Eldest nods in approval as my father reaches down for one of his torches, handing it to me and waving me in.  As I pass, the captain gives me the quiet sign.  I nod reflexively, careful to keep my mouth shut.

We shuffle ahead like ghosts in the night.  Downward, ever downward.  A faint breeze caresses my face, though I can’t tell where it comes from.  We come to a winding path, a vertical column, where the path spirals down metal stairs affixed to the sides.  

Eldest gestures me down, so I lead the way.  We pass four doors as we descend, all bearing the sigil ‘danger’ in broad strokes, but ones that look crude against the ancient etchings beneath.  Finally, at the fifth door, Eldest holds up his hand and steps ahead, pressing it against a darker patch on the side of the portal.  This one yields easily, sliding away to the side with barely a whisper.  We walk down a short hallway that opens onto a large chamber.

It is a confusing jumble, almost too much to take in.  Like the densest part of the redfruit grove, except everything is straight or edges.  On the walls broad are broad patches of slate, but with a gloss like ice, and some glow, like glowflies that flit around behind a sheet of ice.  Others are stranger; lines of light that march back and forth or in a circle, or just sit in one place and flicker off and on.  There are many colors, too – I see every shade of the rainbow, though it’s mostly red.  

Scattered around everywhere there are places to sit, but instead of a table or craftbench, each faces a plank with studded square beads and smaller patches of the wallslate.  These seats almost all face towards one enormous slate that takes up almost the entire wall, but that wasn’t to where Eldest is leading me.

My father stays at the door, and the captain walks only as far as the middle of the room.  There he lights the incense and begins the ritual chanting.  

I jump as a wailing erupts in the room and bright lights start flashing red.  Redwail.  Like in the tale of breaking.  My muscles tense and I am ready to bolt, but neither Eldest or the captain have moved.  Eldest puts a hand on my arm, but I am still trembling as he pulls me over to the wall.

There is another small wallslate here, and more of the square beads, but this is one of the slates that is alive with light.  Eldest and I abase ourselves before it before he rises and begins touching the beads.

I watch in fascination as the patterns of light dance, seemingly in response to Eldest’s motions.  Mostly, it is gradual, like the inching of a caterpillar, but sometimes the entire structure changes, like a flock of birds resettling itself, except in an instant.

Eldest is locked in concentration, until finally he looks back and motions to me.  My palms are sweaty, and I’m surprised he hasn’t complained about the noise, my heart is beating so loud.  

He motions for my hand and I gingerly extend it.  He huffs and produces a rough cloth and scrubs my palm.  It tickles, but I don’t cry out, then or when the cloth is followed by a thin knife.

I grit my teeth but don’t look away as it descends.  My other hand is a fist and I bite back a hiss at the prick.  

Eldest turns my hand over and nods approvingly as blood drips and pools on the surface below.  He touches the square beads again and then reaches for my once more, gesturing towards a lit square.  I reach for it, but he holds me back gesturing for a single finger.  

I extend it and press it to the patch, my breath catching in my throat.  The surface is smooth and cool, but also gives me tingles, like fingers running down my back.  I almost jump away when it changes color, but Eldest just nods and points to my next finger.

Thumb to pinkie I go, pressing each finger against the square, Eldest using his cloth to make sure each is clean first.  Finally, it is done.  Eldest pushes a few more beads, then has me stand up straight and face the wall.  

There is a sudden flash.  I cry out involuntarily and shield my eyes, spots dancing as darkness returns.  I crouch down, arms over my head, ashamed of my own weakness.  Eldest lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head, beckoning me to rise.  He points at the slate and I gasp.   The glowlight on the slate is not just patterns, now there is a face.  My own.

I want to dance and cry out with joy.  Only a hundred winter taletellings keep my mouth sealed, but inside I exhult.  Ship has taken me into her.

Eldest’s eyes gleam as well, but his are the embers of satisfaction at a job well done, rather than my own blazing triumph.  He stands and walks to the captain, joining in the chant as he beckons me over.  We give thanks for Ship’s blessing before Eldest presses a lit torch into my hands and leads me to another sealed portal.  

He mimes pressing a palm to the dark patch at its side, and my heart is in my throat as I make the motion for real.  There is a moment of hesitation, just long enough for worry to shiver down my spine before a green glowlight winks on and the door hisses open.  Eldest steps aside and I gulp nervously, staring at the black depths beyond.  From here I am  on my own.

I venture forth on trembling limbs, my breathing fast and shallow.  I’m sure to hold my torch high, but its flickering light picks out only smooth and seamless walls.  The door closes behind me and cuts off the captain’s chant, leaving only the quiet flutter of the torch and my own breathing.  

I start forward again my hands clammy and feet feeling like wooden blocks as I stumble forward in the dancing shadows.  Fortunately the floor is clear, with barely a layer of dust atop the rough textured metal.

The hallway is empty, except for more portals set at intervals and lighter, offset patches with more of those twisted sigils from the glowlights.  The portals are dark and foreboding and I pass them by – none bear the mark I seek.

Further on the hall ends at another, but this one bears the mark.  I touch my finger to the patch and it it slides aside like the other.  I venture into the room as timid as a mouse, though I know that here I am alone with Ship.

For all my nerves, the room is almost bare, nothing but chairs around a large, circular table.  But there are also a number of portals, and I stare at one in particular that has been forced open.  It bears the mark of the long spear, and not in the added on brush strokes of previous Eldest, but the original etched metal like the other doors.

I cross the room carefully and duck past the partly open portal.  I  It seems cluttered, filled with boxy shapes, but I cannot make out detail.  The smoke stings my eyes and I wave the torch around, but then jump as more of the red flashing lights appear, bathing the room in an unearthly glow.

I look around the room more carefully.  Many of the boxes are open and empty, but I find one that has been left half full.  Inside are strange metal branches spaced regularly.  This one is not empty, and the metal branches serve to support a hand of long spears.  My eyes widen as I look around the room, and see boxes and boxes that might each contain several more hands of longspears.

My eyes go back to my current box, and I carefully lift the longspear out of its cradle.  It is surprisingly light in my hand, lighter than a normal spear would be, or much that I would imagine this size.  

I remember the instructions and turn and carry it to the altar, another chair with a slate and beads.  There is an indentation for the longspear there, and I set it there, marveling as the glowlights come to light as soon as it touches the altar surface.  

There are more sigils, but I ignore them, instead watching as the base of the longspear lights up, a red dot that grows until it is a line, and then begins shading into amber.

A little of the knot in my stomach unties itself.  This, too is as it should be.  I look for the next step, and see another small patch on the altar.  Emboldened with my success so far, I press my thumb to it.  

The slate lights up with more sigils, and I stare at it curiously.  Between the glowlight and the flashing redwails, I can see that some of the sigils on the glowslate are also written on the square beads.  

This must be some of the learning of Eldest.  The sigils on the glowslate changes and I gulp and flinch away.  This is not part of the ritual.

Nervously, I tap the thumbslate twice, and I can feel a lump in my throat when nothing happens.  

On impulse, I tap it a third time, and sag in relief as the glowslate changes again and a series of blue glowlights light up on the longspear.  My eyes widen as I notice that some of them take the form of yet more sigils, and feel my curiosity stirring once more.  I clamp down on it, though.  I’m almost done – all I need is patience.  

I take another look at the base of the longspear.  The line is no longer amber, and now stretches almost entirely across the base.  Even as I watch, it creeps forward a little further.  In minutes, I will be done, but I look away.  ‘Watched pots never boil,’ mother likes to say.  

I step away from the altar and pace around the edge of the room.  There are many hands worth of boxes, and I realize that not all of them have the same shape as the longspear box.  

I look at a smaller one, grunting as it it barely moves when I lift it.  A seam runs across the middle, but it does not open.  I notice a small thumbpatch and try pressing it.  With a click, the top piece is free.  

Inside, there are metal branches that hold similar black objects, but like the box, they too are smaller.  They look a little like short, stubby branches. Nearby is another box, but much bigger.  Opening it, I find bigger, more complicated objects.  This one has a similar end to the longspear and little one, but the other end is like a bundle of kindling; long tubes tied together in a circle.  I wonder what might happen if I take it, but tradition is clear, and I turn away.  

Returning to my longspear, I find that the green line has grown to its full extent.  Mindful of what it represents, I pick it up, holding it reverently.

The weight hasn’t changed, but it carries a sense of purpose now.  It’s slightly warm, like a living thing, and the handful of blue lightglows scattered about it make it look like it’s been studded with fallen stars.

I’m still curious about the room, but time is starting to weigh on me.  My father, Eldest, and the captain all still await my return, and my torch is noticeably shorter than when I started.  

Eyes wide with the wonders I have seen, I retrace my steps much more quickly.



There is feasting that night, and Bo looks at me with shining eyes as I say the ritual words at evening meal.  I can see the curiosity burning in her gaze whenever she looks my way.  I cannot help her in this.  It is the way of things, and women have their own secrets.

Morning, the Caste will arrive today.  I take a purifying bath before enjoying a breakfast of redfruit and smoked sixlegs.  I’m a little tired, but my limbs are atwich with nervous energy.

The sun is high when a runner comes panting.  I look up as he reports the progress of the Caste, flushed and breathless.  I was in his shoes just yesterday, but already, with my ritual only half complete he looks soft and callow.  I wonder how he will react when his turn comes.

I have little time to ponder, and I ready myself along with the other men, them brandishing their knives while I heft the longspear.  The captain leads the way down the warped maincannon to a clearing at the base of Ship.  

All around Ship, broken fragments jut up from the sand like teeth.  Near the end of the path is an open space and we go there, taking up positions among the surrounding shards. 



The Caste arrive in a cloud of dust.   After barely a moment, a group of warcaste files in one by one.  They form their own circle, outward-facing and then are still.  For each of us a tall, leggy doppleganger of shimmering chitin.

There is a long moment of quiet, then the captain gives me a nod and I step forward.

All eyes are on me as I emerge from the shadows and take two long strides towards the largest warcaste.  There I stop, raise the longspear to the heavens, and pull the nub.  Its emerald bolt pierces the sky with a crack of thunder.  I am proud not to wince.

As its echo dies away, a strident ululation leaves rises from the warcaste.  Their drizzies wave in the air and the thoughtcaste and workcaste come forth, bringing out shimmering pieces of carapace, pods of honey and a hundred other things.  Our own women descend, bearing baskets of longberries, bolts of wool, and our own tradegoods.  The crowd mingles, except for an open space in the middle where the captain huddles with the warcaste I had stood opposite.

Behind him, a warcaste instar catches my eye, his wings and carapace flashing iridescent in the light.  He can’t be much past his second molt, and I wonder if this is his first journey.  His drizzies flick back and forth, tasting the wind, and in return for my gaze, I see that his own eyes are glued to the longspear I carry.  

There is a warbling cry and the captain and warcaste step away from each other, bowing.  The instar rushes forward and I release the longspear as his tarsus wrap around it, lifting it up and cradling it like one might a newborn.  I’m breathing quickly as I take a step back.

A scarred block of wood thunks into the sand by my feet, and I look over to see my cousin stepping back with a relieved grunt.  His wife hurries up behind him, her satchel holding several long strips of cloth, imbued with yellowsap.  It’s happening too quickly for me to think.  I don’t want to think.

Then Eldest is beside me, guiding me to kneel where the wood is rough against my skin.  I focus on my father’s hand on my shoulder as I stretch out my wrist.  The captain raises the heavy knife.  It flashes in the sun as it descends.

The pain is like none I’ve ever felt, but there is no shame in crying out.  The yellowsap is soothing, and I drift, as if in a dream.

I wonder of the instar.  Where will the sands take him?  To what ends will that part of myself venture?  

Groggy, I can’t even shake my head.  For me, a different challenge awaits.  The men gather together, their own knives glinting in the firelight as they thread the last straps onto mine.  Is that a glint of approval I see in Eldest’s eye?  The sigils – that ember of curiosity still burns within me.  Bo looks at me differently as well.

I am a man, now.