Howling Stones (19 page)

Behind her, the chants of the singers and the steady
rhythm of the musicians was an unvarying drone in her ears. Her head was pounding. Heat and perspiration were no longer uppermost in her thoughts.

Dropping to their knees, the two stone masters placed both open hands on the ground, above the buried stones. They seemed as oblivious to her presence as to the singing and the music. The recorder caught it all.

Faintest of the faint, a pale green light emerged from the earth beneath Jariill and Ululiapa’s hands. Like ink in water, it spread out across the carefully prepared field, seeping beneath walking paths and retaining walls until it covered the entire planting.

Fawn barely had presence of mind enough to check on the recorder. It continued to function efficiently and independent of her attention. By now the entire upper third of the mountainside was lit from within by the dissipating lime-green glow. Looking down, she could see it trace an olivine arabesque of mysterious beauty beneath her sandals.

That’s when she recognized the pattern in the earth. It was a restatement of the intricate scrollwork that dominated the overall design of the Parramati arbors and trellises.

Her feet had begun to tingle through the soles of her sandals. It felt as if she were standing in a shallow, carbonated bath. A glance down revealed that her toes were not glowing green. At that point, it would not have surprised her.

Jariill and Ululiapa continued to kneel, their hands pressed to the earth, their heels high in the air. They must be feeling the tingling much more strongly than she, Fawn knew.

The efflorescence persisted for another five minutes before it finally began to fade. As it vanished, soaked up
by the intensifying sunshine, the chanting slowed and finally ceased altogether. The musicians put up their instruments. The two female big persons rose solemnly from their kneeling positions, wiping dirt from their three-fingered hands. Fawn reached for the controls on her wrist recorder, then hesitated.

Let it run, she decided. Despite the look of things, she might miss something.

Jariill was beckoning to her. Uncertainly Fawn moved forward, treading lightly on the soil as if it might without warning turn amorphous beneath her feet. She felt as if she were in a trance. Long lips rippling, the two big persons indicated that the tall human could join them if she wished. The invitation concluded, both bent and began to dig at the spot where they had buried the two stones become one. Restraining the hundred questions she had already formulated, Fawn joined them.

Soundlessly they dug. No music accompanied them now, no enthusiastic dirge. Not far below the surface they uncovered the stone. The glow had nearly vanished, as if its brief sojourn in the earth had drained it of some inherent inner vitality. In the vicinity of the misshapen mass the soil was dark and moist.

“Pick it up, F’an.” Ululiapa gestured encouragingly. “You are female. You should be comfortable with all things that are of the earth and of growing.”

Taking a deep breath, she reached down and picked up the stone. A surge of warmth promptly coursed through her whole being, from her fingers down to her toes. Startled, she dropped the mass. Jariill caught it in one smooth gesture before it could hit the ground.

The xenologist felt foolish. What harm could it do to hold the object? It was just a rock—wasn’t it? Sure it was. A rock that changed shape and tingled to the touch and infused an entire hillside with energetic green light.

Okay, so it was more than just-a-rock. What the hell
was
it?

When she reached out, smiled, and made the proper gesture, Jariill freely handed the stone back. Holding it up for a closer look, Fawn found she could see partway into the vitreous mass. The interior was highly stratified, suggesting organization of a type only nature was capable of imparting to the interior of an ordinary rock. If, she found herself thinking, it was an “ordinary rock.” But what else could it be?

Her eyes widened and she brought the mass closer to her face. Was that something moving, deep within the stone? Coils and flashes of energy, fluctuating lines of force? Were they lingering echoes of the green radiance that had suffused the field, or the cause?

The big persons, the wondrous isle of Torrelau, the cradling sea, Senisran itself: she held all of it in her cupped palms. The sensation of life force, of prodigious fecundity, was overpowering. It enveloped her whole being. While her mind reeled, her body felt more alive than when she was making love. That was exactly what it was like, she thought dazedly. She was making love to the earth, and the earth was responding. Nurturing, giving back, through the power of the stones.

She stumbled slightly and blinked, the delicious fog that had blanketed her thoughts vanishing. Looking down, she saw that she now held two stones, one in each hand. They were the original stones, inert and immutable. No light, green or otherwise, emanated from their irregular, glassy surfaces.

Gently the two female big persons retrieved their stones. Wiping at her eyes, Fawn turned to examine her surroundings. No remnant of the radiance remained. Bathed in early-morning sunshine, the cleared field and surrounding gardens shone only with natural color. No supernal
hues attached themselves to growth or soil. The world was as it had been before.

Looking down, she found that she was unable to see into the interior of either stone. When separated, their surfaces were opaque and impenetrable.

“What—what was that all about?” she heard herself inquiring of Jariill.

The smaller female gazed unblinkingly up at her, both eyelids fully retracted. “When a growing stone and an earth stone are put together, it ensures a good crop. The continuity of life is preserved.”

Continuity. That seemed inadequate to describe the sensations that had raced through her when she’d held the commingled stones. She felt a touch, looked down to see Ululiapa resting a threefingered hand on her wrist. Slitted alien eyes peered up into her own.

“Are you all right, F’an?”

The xenologist put a hand to her forehead. “I think so. I—I saw some things. I feel fine. I’m just a little confused about what I saw. Or what I think I saw.”

“You saw life.” Reassured, Ululiapa stepped back. “The life the stones give.” She gestured downward. “Look at the earth. Look at the ground beneath your feet.”

Fawn complied—and her jaw dropped.

Where moments ago there had been only bare, freshly turned soil, green shoots were now poking their heads through the surface. As she gaped, they coiled upward, seeking the sun. Uniform neither in size, shape, color, nor speed of growth, they represented more than two dozen cultivated varieties of fruits, vegetables, and tubers. Lifting her gaze, she saw that the entire field was involved, alive with new growth that was maturing at astounding speed.

Within minutes, the first burst of new life had manifested itself and slowed. The frenzy of growth moderated.

But the stones had done their work. The formerly bare field was now covered in healthy green, yellow, carmine, and brown shoots and stalks.

It was insane, she knew. There wasn’t a fertilizer or growth-stimulant known that could turn a naked hillside this fertile in mere minutes. Yet it had happened, and with her standing smack in the middle of it. There was chemistry at work here beyond the comprehension of Commonwealth agronomists.

“We are done.” Ululiapa put an arm around Fawn’s waist, having to reach up to do so. “Now you are one of us.”

“One of what?” Allowing herself to be guided, she gazed down at the kindly seni. “A stone master?”

“No.” The female big person barked gentle laughter. “A human person could never be a stone master, could never understand or channel the energy of a stone. What you are become now is a Torrelauapan female person.”

“I’m honored, but you say I could never learn how to channel a stone’s energy. How do you do it?” Nearby, the musicians were packing up their instruments.

“The knowledge is passed down through the generations, from mother to daughter.” Ululiapa gestured eloquently as she spoke. “It is a way of handling and of touching. A way of believing and of seeing. Every stone master learns these things at the feet of those who have gone before. How a stone is to be manipulated, how it is to be cared for, what are its limits.”

She didn’t press the issue. Unless something unforeseen went terribly wrong, it was all there on the recorder, available for study at leisure.

Of one thing she was already certain. The stones of the Parramati weren’t “stones.” They were something more, much more, and it had nothing to do with autochthonous magic. Physics and chemistry of an unknown order, yes,
but not alchemy. During her stay on Torrelau, Senisran had revealed many of its secrets. Now it was clear that the stones of the Parramati contained the deepest secrets of all.

Not all indicators of technologically advanced species took the form of towering obelisks and extensive tunnels. Important artifacts could be small, even tiny. Who had been on Senisran before the seni? Before humanx and AAnn?

No, not magic. There was science in the stones. She needed to get one or two into the lab and under instruments capable of providing answers.

The Parramati could help—if they were so inclined. How many effective stone combinations were there? Did other amalgamations produce different results, or were stones useful only for stimulating new crops? What revelations did the stones contain that she couldn’t even imagine?

What of all the other stones? How did, for example, a fishing stone work? Or the love stones, or the weather stones, or the stone that supposedly helped its master to think more clearly? From her time spent among the Parramati, she knew of sacred stones with at least a hundred different, specialized designations. What multiplicity of combinations were possible? Could a thinking stone be put together with an earth stone, and if so, what would be the consequences? Or a fishing stone with a weather stone?

Treaties no longer seemed important. Neither did geology, or a host of other disciplines she was supposed to be practicing. The demonstration in the field had opened up an entirely new avenue of research for her and Pulickel.

Pulickel. He was ignorant of what she’d just experienced, knew nothing of the revealed wonder of the stones. She had to tell him. He wouldn’t believe a word of it, of
course. She’d be disappointed in him if he did. But she had the recording.

Anxiously she checked the compact instrument. It appeared to have worked perfectly, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she had played back and checked every centimeter of the visuals. Despite her concern, she deferred the replay out of fear of offending or upsetting her escorts. It might be considered improper, or disrespectful. She would hold off until she got back to the station.

Even if the images were insufficient to convey the wonder of what she had seen and experienced, she knew she would convince Pulickel somehow. She had to. After the truth of the stones, everything of consequence that had been learned about Senisran paled to insignificance. Understanding the stones was vital not only because of what she had seen but because of what it implied.

Did the AAnn have an inkling? Did they know anything of the real nature of the stones, or did they continue to believe, as she had until the episode in the field, that they were no more than inert ingredients for primitive aboriginal ceremonies? The latter seemed more likely, or she and Pulickel probably would have heard otherwise by now. Commonwealth intelligence was very efficient.

No, this was something new, a discovery unique to her and soon to be shared with her associate.

How could they obtain a sacred stone or two for lab work? No stone master would part with one, much less if they knew it was going to be subject to bombardment by strange radiation or immersion in alien liquids. The notion of breaking one open to examine its insides would fill the least pious Parramati with horror.

To surrender a stone for study, she knew, would be akin to giving up access to a road. It would leave the stone master thus deprived feeling blind and stranded in
space. No gift, no revealed knowledge, would be sufficient to persuade a stone master to part with his or her legacy.

She lengthened her stride in order to keep pace with the long hops of the Parramati. Everything depended on acquiring at least one stone for detailed study. Perhaps Pulickel would have some suggestions. He always did.

Back at the station, her colleague and companion listened patiently to her rushed, out-of-breath description of what had taken place on the flank of the mountain above the village. From time to time he had to remind her to pause and catch her breath; not only so that she wouldn’t hyperventilate or fall over in a dead faint, but so that he could understand her.

“I don’t know how it works or what kind of physics are involved. I only know what I saw, and what I saw is impossible.” She leaned back against the couch and chugged half the mug of cold carbosugar drink he’d brought her. “It happened, Pulickel. I didn’t imagine it.”

“No one’s saying that you did.” He indicated the wrist recorder that was lying on the table between them. “I must say that I’ll be more inclined to believe you after I’ve seen it for myself.”

“Can’t blame you. I’d feel the same.” Finishing the last of her drink, she snatched up the recorder and led the way to the lab.

Removing the recording sphere, she popped it in the playback unit. It turned on automatically, filling a corner of the room with light. Reduced in size but fully three-dimensional, the field blessing ceremony played itself back for an audience of two.

The recorder had worked perfectly. It was all there: the
snake dancing, the chanting, the music, and, climactically, the melding of the two sacred stones and their consequent astounding effect on the newly planted earth. Pulickel sat up very straight when the green glow suffused the ground, then muttered something under his breath when plant shoots began to erupt from the soil with preternatural celerity. At the conclusion of the recording, he turned unhesitatingly to Seaforth.