Word from the Mariner

It was three days after Enola's birthday party that sails were spotted on the horizon. The call went through the village, and simultaneously some of the Community prepared to greet the visitors while others prepared to fight against them if that became necessary.

Enola did what she always did on the occasion of new visitors: she hurried up to the highest point on Dryland, where she and Helen had found the Word Stone the day the Mariner had left so very long ago.

There atop the hill, a watch station had been constructed. It wasn't much, just a shack with a bed, fire pit, and telescope that the Community had gotten from a Seafarer in a trade for fresh food and horse meat.

For almost three hours, she watched the approaching boat, hoping beyond hope for sight of that whom she so missed. Gregor joined her at some point -- she had barely noticed -- but he did not speak to her about the approaching people. Speculating upon the make up of the approaching boat's crew would only result in his suffering her wrath.

As it turned out -- as it had always turned out -- the Mariner was not aboard the boat, which finally reached shore just before sundown. The Enforcer, Helen, and a few others met the newcomers. They included an elderly woman, a sickly man who looked twice his true age of a quarter century, a pair of 'tweens', and three of something no one on the island had ever seen before, dogs.

The newcomers were welcomed, given food and water, and invited to the fire circle to talk about their time on the World Sea. An hour or more had passed without a let up in the conversation -- there was so much to talk about -- when Enola finally wandered into the Village.

Her face was filled with a disappointment familiar to Helen and the others. Her 'mother' waved Enola to her, sitting the 'girl' on the sand between her and the fire. She repeated a few of the more entertaining details of what the newcomers had told them, but Enola's lack of interest was obvious.

One of the newcomers -- the old woman -- had been staring at Enola from the moment the youngster sat down. Finally, leaning forward a bit and smiling as best she could with only half of her teeth remaining, she said softly, "Ulysses misses you."

Enola simply stared at the woman, not a hint of understanding in her eyes. Helen had never told Enola about giving the Mariner that name upon his departure a decade earlier. How could she? She'd given her son the same name. Enola had been crushed by the Mariner's departure. How would she have lived with her 'mother' calling her son by that name day in, day out?

"Where do you know that name from?" Helen said, shock in her voice. "Where did you hear that name?"

The old woman looked to Helen, still smiling, then turned to the young boy who had arrived with her and spoke to her in one of the many Seafarer's dialects. The boy rushed off into the night toward the boat in which they'd arrived.

"How?" Helen insisted. "How do you know that name?"

"Do you still draw, my dear," the old woman asked, her gaze back on Enola. the question only caused more confusion in the young woman's eyes.

Helen looked about the camp circle, to those who had arrived with her so many years ago. They all had the same thought in their heads, but none was ready to speak it out loud.

"Ulysses is my brother," Enola said softly. "I do not understand what you mean."

The boy who'd run off returned, short of breath from his rapid run. He held out an object wrapped in cloth which the old woman took with a soft thank you. She looked back to Enola and unwrapped the cloth.

Enola's eyes widened as the newcomer lifted the lid of and turned the handle on the music box Enola had given the Mariner a decade ago. As the tune competed with the crackling of the fire for Enola's attention, the old woman repeated, "Ulysses misses you."