Between the hum of the sea and the cawing gulls, the breeze carried a faint voice across the shore. From where? She couldn't tell. It didn't matter, because she would ignore it. Probably just the wind howling as it passed through the rocks.

Shaking a fringe of seaweed from her foot, she ambled along the beach, her white tunic shielding her from the sun. No sign of the boat she'd been told of. Either the trader was full of shit, or he got the location wrong. Maybe he got bad information. False rumors of treasure-hunting opportunities were a familiar nuisance for Pickers. She was looking for the wreck of a boat that had been defeated by the rocks during an unexpected storm. The details were vague: "a few miles downshore from the cliffs on the west side of the island". Not much to work with. In these cases, she just had to walk and hope for the best.

She kicked up sand and grumbled, "Nothing but broken shells and skate eggs. That low-life Kul. Useless, grifty little bastard."

The voice came again, this time tinnier and more distinct. Fishers nearabouts, she guessed.

Paka was a skilled Picker. She had good sources for leads (Kul was a deceitful barnacle of a man, but helpful for figuring out where to look), and knew where people tended to stash things of value. People are alike, especially if they're hiding something. In normal circumstances, she'd be trotting back to town by now, satchel heavy with viable merchandise. These last few weeks were not so prosperous. Something felt amiss, and not just to Paka. Murmurings about town, though not uncommon, usually consisted of general gossip and tales drifting in from traveling sailors. Lately, it felt different. Tenser. Her grandmother sensed trouble, and told her so at dawn when she headed out at dawn. "Best keep your eyes open today, child."

Hungry, light of pocket, and inclined to discount superstition, Paka rolled her eyes recalling Grandmother's warning.

An hour passed, then two. It was nearing the peak heat of the day and she thought it best to duck into the shade and rest. She headed for the little cave tucked away over the rocky patch up ahead. Hopping rock to rock, she reached the mouth of the cave. The voice came again, not from outside on the shore, but from inside the cave. That tinny sound, like someone locked in a box. She stuck a finger into each ear, gave them a wiggle, and paused to listen. Nothing. The coastline is peaceful, but full of sound, and it's not unusual to mistake roaring winds and crashing waves for a mysterious call.

She removed her tunic and balled it up into a pillow, and rested against the cave wall. She closed her eyes and paced her breathing to match the shhhhhhh of the waves, and soon drifted off to sleep.

A cool mist on her feet woke her with a jolt. She'd slept all through the remainder of low tide, and the water was making its way into the mouth of the cave. She cursed her own idleness, hurriedly dressed and grabbed her satchel. She heard a noise, and whipped around. The same voice, but this time, with audible words.

"Hello! Helloooo!"

Paka rubbed her eyes and stood , wondering if she was still asleep. After a moment of consideration, she said, "Hello?" No response.

Slowly, she tip toed towards the back of the cave. Approaching the darkness, she called out again, "Hello? Someone there?"

The high, echoy voice shouted back, "Oh thank gods, get me OUT of here!"

Paka remembered her grandmother's words of caution. She always had some inkling of one thing or another. Old women and their suspicions.

She crept further into the cave. The water-worn rocks at the entrance gave way to a flat ground and the walls gradually opened into a larger space, darkness ahead. She moved further in and noticed a recess in the middle of the floor. She approached cautiously. It looked like a small hole bored into the stone floor. As she stepped up to it, she saw it was filled with sand an inch or so shy of the edge. She bent down to get a better look, and the sand shifted abruptly. It took shape: a face.

Startled, she fell back onto the floor. The face grunted, "Oh, I've never been so relieved! I've been calling and calling and no one came. I can't see you! Come here, will you?"

She sat frozen for a moment, still not convinced she wasn't still asleep at the mouth of the cave dreaming this anomaly into existence. 'If this is a dream,' she thought, 'whatever it is can't hurt me." She approached again, peering into the hole. It was about two feet wide with a raised edge. The face stared back with a friendly smile. It was like an old bust carved out of marble, but made of the same coarse sand of the beach outside. The eyes were large, the cheeks round like the moon, and the lips small and defined. Paka gestured a greeting, tongue tied.

"I'm sure this is a shock. I'd really just like to leave. I'll make it worth your while. Your name, dear?"

"Uh... Paka. My name is Paka. What--who are you?"

"Ah, that's a long story. Well, I assume it is. I don't really remember. I've been here for ages!"

"You don't remember who you are?"

"No. Not the particulars, anyway. Name and all that. Someone put me here, I think. A long time ago. Certainly longer than you've been alive."

Paka furrowed her brow. "So, you don't remember your name or how you got here? What are you, then?"

"What am I? An excellent question! I'm an old woman, child, these things fade with time. The sands go deep, you know."

Paka shifted her weight, her frustration with the conversation was overtaking her initial fear. "I don't see what this has to do with me. If you won't tell me who you are or why you're here, how am I to know you're not dangerous? Maybe we're all safer with you in that hole."

The face sank a little, "I hadn't thought of that. I don't feel dangerous! I mean, I haven't a boiling rage or anything like that. I don't feel angry or lustful or vengeful. I feel... what is it I feel? Lonely, I suppose. Lonely, trapped."

Softening slightly, Paka sighed. Bizarre as it all was, the face didn't seem dangerous. She seemed forlorn and desperate. Pitiful, but strangely hopeful for someone trapped in a dark cave hole long enough to forget her own name. She shivered at the thought. Then she said, "Alright, I'll go and find some rope and I'll pull you out. But... do you have hands?"

The sand-woman made a face like she was digging for a coin in her pockets. "No, I suppose I don't. I can't feel hands. Now that I think of it, I can't feel a body at all."

"If you haven't got hands, you can't grab a rope. Ah, I'll dig you out! Wait here."

"Oh, yes, I'll just wait here," the face said, sarcastically.

Paka ran out to the cave opening and fished a old metal trowel from her satchel, which she used for digging up treasures and clams. Returning to the face, she plopped onto her knees and pressed the tip of the trowel into the sand.

"OW!"

She pulled her hand back, dropping the trowel. "Sorry! I'm sorry."

"It's alright," said the face, wincing. "You couldn't have known. I didn't know. Until a few moments ago, I didn't even know I was body-less!"

"It doesn't make sense," said Paka. "You're all sand! How can sand feel pain? I don't understand. Even if we get you out, how will you stay... together? How will you walk? I suppose I could fetch a wheelbarrow--"

"That's not necessary, dear. I've remembered something! Here, take this." The ground rumbled and the face began to roil and heave as if to vomit. Paka stepped back. The sand settled after a few seconds, and the face opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. On the tip was the largest, most lustrous pearl Paka had ever seen. The dim light of the cave reflected off the surface, revealing swirling streaks of translucent pinks and yellows, and a glow of warm white underneath. In all her years as a Picker, she'd never encountered anything like it. She reached out and took it. It was cold and heavy in her hands. "Where did you get this?"

"No idea," The face chuckled. "Take it with you."

"And do what with it?"

"Take it home. Keep it somewhere safe. And don't go showing it off! It's quite valuable, you know."

Paka examined the pearl briefly before tucking it carefully into here pocket. "It's beautiful, but I don't see how this helps me free you from that hole."

"It will, if all goes well. Trust me. Now skitter on home, child, before it gets dark!"

Paka turned reluctantly towards the cave mouth, grabbed her satchel, and began the long walk back to town. The sun had set by the time she arrived home. Her grandmother was waiting for her, boiling a pot of fish-bone broth. Over dinner, she told her grandmother about the face in the cave hole and the unusual pearl.

Her grandmother, listened attentively with an occasional "Mhmm!" between spoonfuls of broth. When Paka finished her tale, Grandmother leaned back in her chair, pushing away her empty bowl. She said, "I've never heard of such a thing. Then again, the sands and seas hold many old mysteries. Seems you've stumbled into one. What to do with this pearl of yours? Let's have a look!"

Paka pulled the pearl from her bag and unwrapped it from the worn cotton cloth she'd secured it in. Grandmother's eyes widened and she held out her hand. She inspected the surface of the pearl, gazing at it curiously.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a sound came from near the window, like a snapping branch. Paka and Grandmother whipped around and saw a head of straw colored hair duck down beneath the edge of the window. They hurried outside and around the side of the house, but upon reaching the window, the figure was gone.

Paka lay in bed, wide awake and unsettled, the pearl a rounded lump under her pillow. Here grandmother snored on the other side of the room. Who was this eavesdropper? What did they hear? After a while, she drifted off into a troubled, shallow sleep.

She woke with a start and dressed in a rush. She grabbed the pearl from her bed and a strip of dried fish from the larder. She left quietly before her grandmother awakened. The dawn was just breaking over the cliff edge of the eastern side of the island. Her mind raced as she walked along the dirt road into town. The pearl, heavy even for its size, weighed down her pant leg, but it was safer to have it on her than to leave it unattended in the house. If the eavesdropper had heard everything or seen the pearl, they would surely come back, and her grandmother, hearty as she was, could not readily defend herself against an intruder.

Tearing a piece of fish with her teeth, she wondered about the sand face and what to do with the pearl. The face had said to simply keep it safe. If she couldn't, she worried that the face would spend eternity alone in that cave. She shuddered. The sky was greying, a brisk breeze whisking the grass as she passed through the fields on the edge of town. Rain was coming.

Arriving at the market that ran along the edge of the docks, the smell of fish and fire smoke filled her nose. Paka walked along the cobblestones and stopped in front of a doorway covered with a tattered blue drapery. The fabric was embroidered in silvery thread. Images of fish, boats, oysters, and ocean waves danced across the surface as the salty wind began to whip through the town. She pushed the drapery aside and stepped into the dimly lit room. Shelves lined the walls, filled to the edges with books and other wares. It smelled of candle wax and incense. From the doorway leading further in, she heard a shuffle. A moment later, a tall figure swept into the room.

"Ah, Paka! What's the news on yesterday's excursion?"

Kul held a pen and a stack of paper in one hand, a gold chain in the other. His red-brown robe was old, but fine, true to his status as a trader of found (and stolen) treasures. He flashed a smile, revealing the little black pits where his bottom front teeth used to be.

"A waste of time. Spent all day on the beach and came up with big sack of nothing. A lot of help your lead was."

"A shame!" Kul said, tilting his head. "My most dependable Picker. The young have such sharper eyes than I, at my age." He wasn't old, about forty. Still, he preferred poor children to do the difficult work of Picking, paying them a fraction of what their haul was worth, and selling the rest at an unreasonable profit. He didn't like to get his hands dirty. "Truly, Paka, nothing at all? Not even a coin or two?"

"The boat you had me hunting wasn't there. There was nothing there. Just hot sand and seaweed."

Kul walked across the room and took a seat at the small wooden table in the far corner. "Well, even empty-handed, you've always been my favorite. Let's have some tea and we'll work out what you can do to make up for lost time. Sit." He beckoned Paka to the chair across from him.

"'Make up for lost time'? I'm the one who lost time! It's not my fault you got bad information."

Kul's smile faded to a look of disdain. "I bring you leads, you bring me what you find. That's the arrangement. That time you spent on the beach is my time. Sit."

Paka was annoyed and tempted to storm out. But his expression was ominous. Bottom-feeder though he was, he could turn from friendly to cruel in a split second when it suited him. She sat stiffly in the chair. Kul pulled a small handle on the wall behind him. A muffled sound of a bell came from behind the wall. He shuffled through his stack of papers and pulled out a sheet with a list. His Pickers' names, and an itemized list of their finds. He ran his finger down the list, landing on hers with a tap.

"Ah-hah. It does seem to be a trend with you these days. You've brought in less and less every week for two months! Maybe you're losing your edge. Should I be worried? As much as I like you, Paka, I can't have any weak Pickers in my employ. It's a demanding business."

Her eyes narrowed. She was about to argue, when a pair of small hands placed a tray on the table: a pot of tea, two gilded cups, and four small biscuits. Kul waved his child-servant away with a hand motion like lightly slapping an invisible face. He poured tea into both cups and handed her one. "Here." Paka kept her arms folded in front of her chest.

"So," he sneered, "you come here with nothing to show for yesterday's Picking, insult me and question my integrity, and now refuse to take tea with me out of spite? Seems your grandmother has passed on her boorish manners. It's crude and impolite not to show gratitude to a generous host. Perhaps they don't teach you that in the outskirt villages. Drink!"

She seethed at his mention of her grandmother. For all his affect, he was little more than a low-born charlatan himself. Despite that, Paka couldn't afford to lose out on work, especially with so little earnings over the last few weeks. She placed a biscuit on her saucer and took a reeluctant sip of the tea. It was bitter, over-steeped. Kul's scornful expression turned to a soft smile. "Now, as I was saying: compensation for lost time. I suspect you haven't been entirely honest with me that you came away empty-handed. We'll have to deal with that, too."

Paka felt her stomach drop and tighten. Did he know? It couldn't have been him in the window! He rarely leaves town, and when he does, he goes by cart with a servant, never by foot–too lowly for his image. They would have heard him coming, and he wouldn't have been able to disappear so quickly. Suddenly, she felt heavy and tired. Her vision began to blur at the edges of her eyes. She panicked.

She pushed her chair back and tried to stand. She wobbled and the room spun around her. Losing her footing, she tipped back into her chair, dizzy and nauseous. Her sight dimmed and, unable to hold herself up, she slumped out of her seat and onto the floor, looking up at the ceiling. As her vision faded to black, she saw Kul's face standing over her, and someone else. A little boy with a dirty face and stringy, straw-colored hair. She tried to call out, "You! You little thief! You dimwitted little urchin!"

But no sound came, and everything went dark.

The shhhhh-shhhhhh-shhhhh of the waves came softly from far away. Then closer. Closer. Then loud.

Then, cold. Wet.

Paka opened her eyes. At first, all she saw was a blur of blue and grey. Something was hitting her face. Rain. It was coming at her sideways from a strong wind. She tried to move, but she couldn't. It was freezing. She called out, but her voice was deadened by the crashing waves and howling wind. Her mind felt murky and she strained to remember where she was before. A pain crept into her awareness. Before long, her head throbbed like she had been hit with a bat. Had someone attacked her?

Then she remembered. Kul and the child! The tea. Rage warmed her whole body.

Finally, her vision cleared and she managed to roll herself onto her belly. Sand stuck to her arms and hands. She was on the beach. She craned her head up to look around. Dark grey clouds loomed over the ocean as it churned, a storm making its way towards land. All along the shore, bits of broken board was scattered in the sand. She squinted through the rain. A few yards away, she could see the remnants of a medium sized boat. It looked familiar.

Paka roused herself to a seat. Her legs felt heavy. Looking down, she saw a single shackle closed and locked around her right ankle. Attached to it was a large stone at the end of a chain. "Shit." After pointlessly banging a stray piece of wood against the chain links, she decided to look for something to pick the lock with. Slowly and laboriously, she dragged herself towards the remains of the boat's hull. Her head, clearer now, still throbbed. The sand scraped against her legs. An object came into view. It looked reddish and soft, like fabric.

Inch by inch, she moved closer. It was a man's body. Horrified, she froze, wondering whether it was worse if he were dead or alive. She swallowed and pressed forward. When she reached the body, she saw it was mangled. The man's limbs were broken, bones piercing through the skin, and his face was half-smashed. The nausea rose up again in her belly and she vomited forcefully into the wet sand. She took a moment to compose herself, and realized she recognized the clothing. It was Kul. This was Kul's boat.

For some reason, she cried. She wasn't sure why. He was a lying, crooked leech and she hated him, but she cried all the same. After a few minutes, she patted his robes and searched his pockets looking for anything she might use to pick the lock. As if by a miracle, she found a ring of keys in the breast pocket, along with a little bag of walnuts. Her hands were numb from the cold, and the metal even colder. She fumbled and cursed, but finally, the key sunk in the lock and turned, stiff and rigid. She pulled the shackle off and stood herself up.

Her legs were shaky. She looked around, trying to discern her location. The clouds shrouded the sky, obscuring the time of day and direction. There was still enough light to be early evening, but it was going to be dark soon and she needed to find somewhere to wait out the storm. To her right, the beach stretched into the horizon. To her left, a cluster of sharp rocks amongst the waves and a rocky wall.

It dawned on her. She knew exactly where she was.

She tried to run, but couldn't muster the strength, so she trudged towards the rocky outcropping. Still wobbly, she got down on hands and knees, ambling carefully over the slippery rocks as the icy waves lashed at her exposed skin. Finally, she reached flat ground and dove into the mouth of the little cave.

She sat down just beyond the reach of the water at the edge of the entrance and leaned against the cave wall, limp and panting, collecting herself. Outside, the wind picked up and the rain came down in sheets. Beneath the howling of the storm, she heard a faint noise from further inside the cave.

The face!

She rose and went further in. It was darker than before, and she could just barely make out the raised edge around the hole in the center of the cave. She squinted to see over the edge. No sand, no face, but something was bunched up at the bottom of the dark pit, about three feet down, she guessed. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw movement below.

"Hello?"

Through the blackness, a face turned up to look. Not the sand face, but she recognized it. It was the little boy from Kul's place. Paka felt a flash of anger shoot through her at first, but then, pity. He was soaked, seated with his arms wrapped around his knees in a tight little ball. His eyes were wide and tearful.

Realizing who she was, he cowered, burying his face in his knees. "It's alright," said Paka, "It's not your fault. Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. She motioned for him to stand. He got up. Paka reached her hand out and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the hole. He was scrawny and weighed next to nothing, like a soggy little bird. They sat for a few minutes at the edge of the empty hole in the darkness, cold and exhausted. She spoke to him again.

"What's your name?"

"Ibris," mumbled the boy, not meeting her eyes.

"How old are you?"

"Eight."

"Are you hungry?"

Ibris looked at her and nodded. Paka pulled the little bag of walnuts from her pocket and handed it to him. He took it hesitantly, untied it, and ate quickly. It wasn't much, but he seemed to relax. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault," Paka repeated.

"But what will you eat?"

"I'll be fine." She smiled. "When the rain lets up, we'll go find some food."

He paused for a moment, seeming to consider. Then, shivering slightly, he reached his bony little hand into his pants pocket, clutching something in his fist.

"What's that?" she asked.

He opened his hand. In it was the pearl, round and luminous in the darkness of the cave. Paka was sure she heard a faint chuckle echoing in the cave. But it was probably just the wind.