Mosscap smiled at this. “I remember, yes.”
“Well, I didn’t know then,” Dex said, “and I still don’t. But what I do know is … you help. You’re helping me figure it out. Just by being here. You help.”
“Then we have the same answer,” Mosscap said. “I don’t know, either. But you are my best help, Sibling Dex.” It looked at the fire built of the last of the driftwood, dying more quickly than the ones that had come before. “What if that is enough, for now? What if we’re both trying to answer something much too big before we’ve answered the small thing we should have started with? What if it’s enough to just be…”
Us, Dex knew Mosscap meant, though the robot didn’t finish. “Then we tackle the rest when we’re ready,” they said. “However long that takes.”
Mosscap started to say more, but its attention was captured by something else. “Look!” it cried, pointing toward the sea.
Dex looked. The last of the day’s light had faded, rendering the water an inky void. There was no dividing line between ocean and sky any longer, no horizon separating here from there. Motan’s stripes still hung in their comforting curve, and stars were waking by the handful, but at first, all Dex saw below these cosmic constants was emptiness.
Their eyes adjusted, and as they did, color and shape appeared. A gentle wave broke, and would have been invisible, were it not for the blue glow that blossomed in the crest, a vibrant splash winking in and out, quick as breath.
Dex and Mosscap each leaned forward, eyes fixed on the shore. Another wave came, right on cue, and with it, another burst of blue.
“I’ve heard of this,” Mosscap said in a hush, “but I’ve never seen it for myself.”
“Same,” Dex said. They stood up. “Come on.”
The two hurried down to the water. The sand beneath Dex’s bare feet became wetter with every step, squishing up around their soles. The edge of a wave ran over their toes, caressing them with a liquid hello. Dex looked down and saw a blue swirl outlining their feet like ink in the process of being spilled.
“It’s bacteria, right?” Dex said. “Or plankton, or something?”
“Phytoplankton, yes,” Mosscap said. “Tiny little not-quite-plants.” The robot bent itself in half, bringing its face close to the water. “And aren’t they beautiful.” It reached out its hand, making contact with things too small to be seen alone.
Dex crouched down and did as Mosscap was doing, tracing their fingers on the surface and summoning light in their wake. As they did so, a more spirited wave snuck in and splashed its way up Dex’s trousers. “Agh,” Dex said, taking a few hurried steps in retreat.
Mosscap looked over. Its eyes glowed in the dark, a different shade of blue. “Should we go back?” it asked.
“Not a chance,” Dex said. They did what they should’ve done at the start and stripped their clothes off, piece by piece. They left their garments in a heap on the sand a safe distance from the water, then turned and ran full tilt into the waves, whooping like a little kid. They gasped as the water crashed into their naked body, cool and enveloping, spraying salt in their mouth and filling the world with light.
Mosscap ran after them, laughing in harmony. There was nothing more that could be said in words. There was only shouting, cheering, cries of delight as the two of them jumped and played and marveled at the spectacle that would’ve existed whether anyone was there to witness it or not.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
What a difference a year makes.
I finished A Psalm for the Wild-Built just before lockdown started; A Prayer for the Crown-Shy was handed in three months before I was eligible for my first jab. To say that getting these books done was a challenge is a massive understatement, and I couldn’t have done it without help.
Thanks to Lee Harris, Irene Gallo, Caroline Perny, and the entire team at Tordotcom for being such a powerhouse of support. Thanks to my agent, Seth Fishman, for always having my back and making sense of the messy details. Thanks to Feifei Ruan for the cover art that continues to make me swoon.
Thanks to Susana Polo for being there for whatever bullshit I’m currently on. Thanks to Greg LeClair for existing. Thanks to Rollin Bishop, Kate Cox, and Alex Raymond for the story that got us all through it, and for helping me remember how to write. Thanks to the Waymoot for being such wonderful, wonderful humans. Thanks to my family and my friends for loving me even when I’m all over the place. Thanks to my wife, Berglaug, for being so indescribably easy to love back.