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It had been over ten years since Gort last heard that, chanted by children. Scare-song. Shiver at night: Stey who stripped a whole island of its flesh, Stey who wore it all and danced and finally tore off her own skin, Stey who was ripped to shreds, Stey who still stalked the islands. Teeth in the wind!
But Gort was thinking of other stories, heard over the years, that talked about Stey. That gave her a face.
—Yes, you are a poisoner, just as Folau was. Two kinds come as seekers to Isatabu: healers and poisoners. Only the poisoners come to where the swamp-witch is. The man who made the rattan bride—he, too, came here.
—What will she do? She will love you, and she will eat you. No, you can't cut through the reeds.
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—What will she do? She will love you, and she will eat you. No, you can't cut through the reeds.
From the Archives:
I had hoped to tell you the first story in the summers to come. It is my sorrowful task to tell you all three, instead.