***
They had to rush the preparations, as Taba had been warned. There would only be a small feast, since no other children were going through the ceremony at the moment—normally, they waited until the full moon in Pamolun for the summer festival. But the festival had passed, leaving Taba behind—or so she’d thought.
Nie painted her forehead with the fish blood and kelp paste, then continued the patterns on her back and on the tops of her breasts, as well as on her legs. The clan’s writing, indicating who she was, the names of her grandmothers and great grandmothers, and the allegiance of them all to the great mother, the ocean. She would have to swim against the tide, dive for a pearl-oyster, and swim back with the oyster. If it had a pearl, she would be an adult. If not, she would have to do it again until she came back with a pearl. The oysters were usually in deepish waters, and the trick was always a matter of holding one’s breath long enough to retrieve one and return with it.
The pearl would be placed in a small pouch embroidered with adulthood symbols, a mark representing one of the three genders—woman, in her case—and her name. The pouch would be put around her neck, and a wreath of saltflowers set on top of her head. Normally, there would be dancing, music, all sorts of courting nonsense—but not tonight.
“Pay attention,” said Nie gently. “Beware the riptides. Are you ready to leave your childhood on the shore?”
Taba nodded. “I am, auntie.”
“Good luck,” said Nie.
Taba looked past her, took a deep breath, and waded into the water. Currents of warm and cold water flowed over her skin, chilling and warming her in turn. The water sparkled like fireglass chips, the kind they chipped into knives back in the old days—the kind that held an edge better than the Northern steel. This was a cut, too. She could still turn back—until she plunged underwater. Then there was only failure.
Taba took a deep breath and dove in.