Bay of Sighs
Page 11
She stood, didn’t bother with the running start but seemed to fold over like water from a pitcher.
“Tight, tight in the center,” she said as she tucked, rolled. “Keep tight, knees go loose to push up.” Fluidly, she flowed up to her feet, shot one leg out, one arm. Held the pose like a statue.
“Can I just throw rocks at the bad guys?”
“Sometimes.” Annika smiled. “But you can do this. I’ll help you. Tight, tight,” she repeated. “Like squeezing. Try.”
This time, though she stayed on her feet, Annika moved with her—gave Sasha a tiny nudge on the roll. “Squeeze! Tight! Tight, tight, and push!”
Sasha landed—wobbled, but landed. Regained her balance, executed the kick and backhand.
“Good! So good.” Annika applauded again.
“I tipped left again. I could feel it.”
“But not so much as before.”
“You pulled it off,” Riley told her. “Do it again.”
“Okay. Okay. Don’t help me this time. If I fall on my face, I fall on my face. But I’m going to get this bastard.”
“That’s the spirit.” Riley slapped her on the shoulder.
She did it again, wobbled again, nearly overbalanced, but pulled back.
“Together,” Annika decided. “All three.”
“Oh boy, okay.”
“Tight. A fist in the belly.”
Riley nodded. “On three. One, two, three!”
Sawyer stopped at the edge of the lemon grove. “Check it out.”
With Doyle, he watched the three women spring, roll, spear up. “The brunette’s got speed and form,” Doyle commented. “The blonde’s got game, and she’s coming along. But the mer-girl? Makes it look like a stroll on the beach.”
“You’d think there’d be an adjustment for her—moving in water, on land. But either way, she just flows.”
“Great legs.”
Doyle started forward again as the three women discussed something with Annika gesturing with her hands. And stopped to watch when Riley shook her head, but backed up. And laced her hands into a basket.
Annika ran toward her, jumped to hit one foot in that basket, and as Riley pushed up, flew into a perfect backflip to land in what Sawyer thought of as the Superhero Lunge. Low, one knee bent, the other leg cocked out, one hand resting on the ground.
“I should be taking videos,” Sawyer added.
Then Annika spotted them, leaped up to run forward.
“Come practice with us!”
“I could practice the rest of my life and not pull that off.”
“I can teach you.”
“Bet you could,” Doyle put in, “but we need to take a hike, get a better sense of where we are, our position, our weak spots.”
“Agreed.” Riley nodded, then looked up at the wide blue sky. “But that’s a big weak spot.”
“We’ll need to be ready for it.”
“Bran’s working on it, and could probably use a break from that. I’ll go tell him we’re heading out. Ten minutes?” Sasha asked.
“Works for me.” Sawyer smiled at Annika. “You’ll need shoes.”
They set out with light packs, taking the narrow road up its steep incline first. The day, already warm, offered a baking sun over their bird’s-eye view of sea and sand, of houses jogging down the long slope in their soft roses and whites and umbers.
As they walked, Sawyer drew maps in his head. He was good at maps—had learned at his grandfather’s knee. The compass—a gift, a charge, a legacy—required knowledge of place and time. The hand that held it, the traveler, needed more than luck and magicks.
They passed groves of olives, of lemons, and he added them to his mental guide. The gardens, the houses with shuttered windows, the ones with windows open to the air.
From their high view, Riley pointed toward the mainland.
“Capri used to be part of the mainland, and was peopled during the Neolithic age. Colonized by the Teleboi, then the Greeks of Cumae. The Romans took it over in 328 BC.
“But Augustus—ninth century—developed it. Temples, gardens, villas, the aqueducts. Tiberius, who came after him, built more. And the remains of his villa are on top of Monte Tiberio. We’re heading that way, though it’s a hike yet.”
“Have you been there?” Sasha asked her.
“Yeah, it’s been a while. I came with my parents. Hell of a place, Villa Jovis, even now, and more than worth exploring if that’s what we’re after.”
“A god might enjoy having her own HQ in what remains of a Roman emperor’s villa,” Bran speculated.
“Yeah.” Riley thought of it while they continued the steep climb. “It’s got some grandeur left, but it’s a long way from private. You see people going up, like us, people coming down? That’s likely the destination. It’s a big draw on the island.”
“The island’s potholed with caves,” Doyle pointed out.
“It is.” As she walked, Riley sent him a curious glance. “Have you been here before?”
“I have. Longer ago than you. Petty wars. The English and French wanted Capri, fought over it.”
“In 1806—French occupation overthrown by the English. In 1807, French take it back. Which side were you on?”
“Both.” He shrugged. “It was something to do. It’s changed in two hundred years. The roads, the houses, the funicular. But the land takes longer to change. I know some of the caves, the grottos.”
“Tight, tight in the center,” she said as she tucked, rolled. “Keep tight, knees go loose to push up.” Fluidly, she flowed up to her feet, shot one leg out, one arm. Held the pose like a statue.
“Can I just throw rocks at the bad guys?”
“Sometimes.” Annika smiled. “But you can do this. I’ll help you. Tight, tight,” she repeated. “Like squeezing. Try.”
This time, though she stayed on her feet, Annika moved with her—gave Sasha a tiny nudge on the roll. “Squeeze! Tight! Tight, tight, and push!”
Sasha landed—wobbled, but landed. Regained her balance, executed the kick and backhand.
“Good! So good.” Annika applauded again.
“I tipped left again. I could feel it.”
“But not so much as before.”
“You pulled it off,” Riley told her. “Do it again.”
“Okay. Okay. Don’t help me this time. If I fall on my face, I fall on my face. But I’m going to get this bastard.”
“That’s the spirit.” Riley slapped her on the shoulder.
She did it again, wobbled again, nearly overbalanced, but pulled back.
“Together,” Annika decided. “All three.”
“Oh boy, okay.”
“Tight. A fist in the belly.”
Riley nodded. “On three. One, two, three!”
Sawyer stopped at the edge of the lemon grove. “Check it out.”
With Doyle, he watched the three women spring, roll, spear up. “The brunette’s got speed and form,” Doyle commented. “The blonde’s got game, and she’s coming along. But the mer-girl? Makes it look like a stroll on the beach.”
“You’d think there’d be an adjustment for her—moving in water, on land. But either way, she just flows.”
“Great legs.”
Doyle started forward again as the three women discussed something with Annika gesturing with her hands. And stopped to watch when Riley shook her head, but backed up. And laced her hands into a basket.
Annika ran toward her, jumped to hit one foot in that basket, and as Riley pushed up, flew into a perfect backflip to land in what Sawyer thought of as the Superhero Lunge. Low, one knee bent, the other leg cocked out, one hand resting on the ground.
“I should be taking videos,” Sawyer added.
Then Annika spotted them, leaped up to run forward.
“Come practice with us!”
“I could practice the rest of my life and not pull that off.”
“I can teach you.”
“Bet you could,” Doyle put in, “but we need to take a hike, get a better sense of where we are, our position, our weak spots.”
“Agreed.” Riley nodded, then looked up at the wide blue sky. “But that’s a big weak spot.”
“We’ll need to be ready for it.”
“Bran’s working on it, and could probably use a break from that. I’ll go tell him we’re heading out. Ten minutes?” Sasha asked.
“Works for me.” Sawyer smiled at Annika. “You’ll need shoes.”
They set out with light packs, taking the narrow road up its steep incline first. The day, already warm, offered a baking sun over their bird’s-eye view of sea and sand, of houses jogging down the long slope in their soft roses and whites and umbers.
As they walked, Sawyer drew maps in his head. He was good at maps—had learned at his grandfather’s knee. The compass—a gift, a charge, a legacy—required knowledge of place and time. The hand that held it, the traveler, needed more than luck and magicks.
They passed groves of olives, of lemons, and he added them to his mental guide. The gardens, the houses with shuttered windows, the ones with windows open to the air.
From their high view, Riley pointed toward the mainland.
“Capri used to be part of the mainland, and was peopled during the Neolithic age. Colonized by the Teleboi, then the Greeks of Cumae. The Romans took it over in 328 BC.
“But Augustus—ninth century—developed it. Temples, gardens, villas, the aqueducts. Tiberius, who came after him, built more. And the remains of his villa are on top of Monte Tiberio. We’re heading that way, though it’s a hike yet.”
“Have you been there?” Sasha asked her.
“Yeah, it’s been a while. I came with my parents. Hell of a place, Villa Jovis, even now, and more than worth exploring if that’s what we’re after.”
“A god might enjoy having her own HQ in what remains of a Roman emperor’s villa,” Bran speculated.
“Yeah.” Riley thought of it while they continued the steep climb. “It’s got some grandeur left, but it’s a long way from private. You see people going up, like us, people coming down? That’s likely the destination. It’s a big draw on the island.”
“The island’s potholed with caves,” Doyle pointed out.
“It is.” As she walked, Riley sent him a curious glance. “Have you been here before?”
“I have. Longer ago than you. Petty wars. The English and French wanted Capri, fought over it.”
“In 1806—French occupation overthrown by the English. In 1807, French take it back. Which side were you on?”
“Both.” He shrugged. “It was something to do. It’s changed in two hundred years. The roads, the houses, the funicular. But the land takes longer to change. I know some of the caves, the grottos.”
