Howling Stones (26 page)

Frustrated and less than reassured, Fawn debated whether to call a halt to the ceremony and have Pulickel returned to the station. Assuming he’d shown no improvement by then, she’d have no choice but to call for a medevac. Her options were limited by his condition.

She ducked back into the longhouse, waving at the pungent smoke. His color was unchanged, which meant that it was still not good, but otherwise he appeared physically healthy. While this could not be allowed to go on for days, recalling the effectiveness of the planting ceremony convinced her to give the Parramati healers until the following morning. At that time she would have no choice but to have Pulickel evacuated to Ophhlia.

Meanwhile she could only try to contain her frustration and nurture a hope that she didn’t feel. With a start, she realized how much she missed Pulickel’s quiet confidence, his assurance that any problem could be solved, any obstacle overcome. What she had initially perceived as blind stubbornness she now saw as conviction born of experience and knowledge.

Maybe he wasn’t the liveliest or most entertaining of companions—but he was human. Once more she had only aliens for company. She found that she’d grown used to conversing in terranglo again. She even missed his implied insults.

She doubted if analysis of the stones he’d taken would
have provided any clues to his present condition. It did not matter in any event because they had been returned to their respective stone masters. By now she’d seen many of the sacred stones. Irrespective of function and while differing in size, all were similar in shape and composition. Even had they been available for analysis, she doubted they would have provided the necessary answers.

Night had crept in quietly and the Torrelauapans had prepared and consumed the evening meal. Too troubled to be interested in food, she had declined polite invitations to join them. Bathed in torchlight, she stood outside the longhouse listening to the chanting from within. It did not seem to have changed much, if at all. In her mind she had begun to compose the evacuation request that would have to be sent to Ophhlia in the morning.

She forced herself to chew a couple of concentrate bars and drink some supplement-enhanced juice. It wouldn’t do Pulickel any good to let her own system run down. A glance at her chronometer suggested it was time to make yet another check on the xenologist’s condition. Knowing in advance what it would be, she took a deep breath and bent low to reenter the longhouse.

She’d grown semiused to the smoke, and it no longer stung her lungs as badly as the first couple of times. What she saw through the lingering haze snapped her out of her lethargy faster than any energy bar.

Ijaju and Solinna had moved. Instead of squatting at Pulickel’s head and feet, they now faced each other across his chest. Each held arms straight out toward one another, the fingers not quite touching. Ijaju’s trembled slightly but did not falter.

Resting beneath their hovering hands on Pulickel’s chest was a single vitreous mass: their respective healing
stones fused to become one. From it emanated an intense halo of pinkish-green incandescence that had spread out to infuse the motionless xenologist’s entire body. The light was brighter than that of the torches outside, brighter than that put out by the portable illuminator she carried in her backpack. So intense was it that his features were partly obscured, as if by a translucent pink-green wave. The concentrated effulgence cast strange shadows on the squatting bodies of the attendant stone masters.

Afraid of disturbing them, she tiptoed inside and edged slowly along the interior wall until she found a place where she could see everything clearly. As she stared, Pulickel’s body twitched sharply. Not adrenaline shock, she decided, but something else, something much deeper. He began to moan then, and it was the most horrible sound she’d ever heard emerge from a human throat. A shiver ran like ice water down her spine, and it took a considerable effort of will for her to keep from rushing forward and terminating the ceremony. All that stopped her was the realization that the stone masters had managed to induce a reaction, albeit a terrible one.

The moan changed to a high keening, sharp and measured. It was repeated at unpredictable intervals as the chanting rose to fever pitch. She stood motionless, unable to decide whether to rush forward, reach for her medikit, or flee. Ascela’s warning loomed at the forefront of her consciousness. If she interrupted, the stone masters might have to start all over again. She didn’t know if Pulickel could take that. Hell, she thought, she didn’t know if
she
could take it.

Several Parramati big persons pushed their way into the room with uncharacteristic abruptness. Usually they were unfailingly courteous, but this time they ignored her
as if she weren’t there. So intent were they on their purpose that she was convinced they would have shoved her aside had she been blocking the doorway.

While Solinna sustained the chant, Ijaju leaned forward and grasped the conjoined stones with both hands. As he did so he barked instructions to the new arrivals. At that moment he seemed not ancient, but young and vigorous.

The Parramati clutched Pulickel’s flailing arms and legs and held him down. One did her best to keep his head from banging against the thick mat and the floor beneath. Meanwhile that hideous keening continued to issue from the xenologist’s throat.

As Fawn stared wide-eyed, the wailing began to soften and fade, the violent thrusting and thrashing of limbs to lessen. Pulickel’s movements grew less pronounced, the terror in his throat less compelling. Then, with a deep sigh, his entire being seemed to relax and slump back against the mat.

Solinna bent forward and put her six fingers on the stone. The radiance vanished and the mass came apart in her hands, separating once more into two dull green lumps. Taking hers, she rose and moved to the right side of the longhouse. Ascela and Massapapu helped Ijaju to his feet while Osiwivi reverently picked up the remaining stone.

Something wonderful had happened in the longhouse, Fawn knew. Something that had very little to do with burning herbs and traditional chants and a great deal to do with a couple of seemingly static bits of rock.

Approaching tentatively, she confronted the exhausted senior healer. Ijaju responded with the Parramati equivalent of a smile, more subtle than the analogous human expression but distinctive and recognizable nonetheless.
He continued to lean on the two Torrelauapan big persons for support.

“Your friend will be alive now.”

She blinked uncertainly. “I don’t understand. He’s been alive all along.”

The venerable healer turned to look at the prone form of the xenologist, whose eyes were closed for the first time since the Vouneans had brought him back into the station.

“No. He was not alive. His form was here, but the part of him that constitutes life was elsewhere, lost between here and the bad place where he was.” Wizened slitted eyes gazed up at her. “He had started back down the proper return road, but somewhere along the way that part of him slipped off and could not find its way back on. Solinna and I had to help him back onto the road.”

It didn’t make any sense, Fawn thought. But then, very little had since Pulickel’s signal had vanished from the skimmer’s pickup. Stepping past the healer, she knelt close to her companion and put a hand on his right shoulder.

“Pulickel? Pulickel Tomochelor, can you hear me?”

There was an extended moment of awful nothing. Then he blinked, opened his eyes, and turned his head toward her. For an instant, the briefest of instants, she felt that his gaze focused not on her but on something behind her. Behind his eyes there was a flash of panic the likes of which she’d never seen before. Then it was gone, replaced by fond recognition, and she knew he was looking only at her. He smiled weakly.

“Hello, Fawn Seaforth. It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you, too.” She squeezed his shoulder. “What happened?”

“Where am I?” Pushing himself up on his elbows, he surveyed his surroundings.

“Torrelauapa. I had to bring you here to bring you back.”

With her hand at his back he was able to sit up all the way. “Do they know about the stones I took?” he asked in terranglo.

She nodded. “They’ve taken them back. I never saw either one, but they say they were responsible for what happened to you. When they brought you into the station you were completely comatose.”

“When
they
brought me in?” He blinked at her. “You didn’t pick me up in the skimmer?”

“I looked but I couldn’t find you. Even your emergency locator was down.” She fumbled with her backpack, seeking the medikit. “You still haven’t told me what happened. The Parramati say that you used the stones to travel down a bad road.” She handed him a couple of energy tablets, which he promptly chewed up and swallowed.

“I was seen taking the second stone. They came after me, and I ran. I remember tripping and falling. The stones must have been thrown together when I fell, because I remember a light coming from my backpack. I remember …” His voice trailed away, his eyes unfocused, and he shook himself back to awareness.

“I’ll tell you everything when we get back to the station. At least, I’ll tell you as much of it as I can recall.” A shudder passed through him.

“Cold?” she inquired solicitously. Within the long-house, the temperature matched the humidity.

“Only spiritually. I saw—I saw some things I’m not sure I want to tell you about. Or try to remember. There are events I’d rather forget. That I’m going to have to work hard at forgetting.”

“While the Parramati were using the healing stones on
you, you made some—sounds. I’m not so sure I want to know what inspired them either.”

“Healing stones. I didn’t know …” He winced, his face contorting. His expression was drawn. “I don’t feel so good.”

“I’m not surprised. Can you stand?”

“One way to find out.”

With her assistance he rose shakily to his feet, but he was able to stand and take steps without help.

“You can’t walk all the way back to the station. Not in the shape you’re in.” She was unshakable in her opinion of his condition. “You haven’t had anything to eat since the day before yesterday.”

“Two days.” He pondered this.

“I’m sure Ascela and the others will be willing to carry you back. Or I can go and return with the skimmer.”

“You’re right. I’d best not rush anything.” He eyed the attendant Parramati. “Maybe I could get something to eat besides energy tablets and concentrate bars.”

“Sure. Meanwhile you’d better take it easy or you’re liable to keel over and hurt yourself.”

He licked dry lips. “I don’t feel like racing any of the village sprinters, if that’s what’s concerning you. But there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with my appetite.” Again the gentle, familiar smile, which she appreciated now more than ever.

“Funny,” he told her as she put the request for food to Ascela, “how in spite of whatever trauma the mind may suffer, the body responds with its own demands. Hunger, thirst, the need for warmth: some things are beyond shock. What have you got there?”

She held out her hand to him. “More concentrates.” She urged him to take them. “Until real food arrives.”

He nodded and took the thin, foil-wrapped bars. When his bare fingers touched her own she started slightly.

“You’re cold, Pulickel.”

“Too few calories and too much emotion.”

Her lingers wrapped around his and he smiled as he squeezed back, but the usual wiry strength was absent.

They spent the night in the village. Pulickel ate everything that was placed before him and asked for more. Fearful of overloading his stressed system, Fawn rationed his food and drink accordingly.

It had been a long time—a very long time—since he’d been mothered, and while he had a hard time thinking of Fawn Seaforth as maternal, he found himself warmed by the attention nonetheless.

Not until midmorning of the following day, and not until after he’d demonstrated to her satisfaction that he was capable of sustained physical exertion, did they start the long hike back to base. He snacked on concentrated field rations all the way and ran half a dozen programs through the food processor as soon as they entered the station. Just when it seemed that his bulging belly was about to explode, he declared with great satisfaction that he was finally sated.

Retiring to the main lounge, he settled into the same couch on which he’d lain comatose the previous day and tried to give her some impression of his experiences.

She listened to it all. Initial disbelief gave way to gradual, awed acceptance. It was too fantastical for her prosaic associate to have imagined, too rich in detail for him to have invented. Outside the realm of logic and reason, it hewed consistently to a frenzied, crazed internal logic all its own. For more than an hour Pulickel played the caterpillar and she was Alice.

“They were some kind of traveling stones.” In contrast to his desperate downing of liquids earlier that day, he sipped judiciously from the mug on the table in front of him.

She eyed him cautiously. “So what you’re saying is that they transported you to another part of Senisran?”

He found that he was able to laugh. “No, not to another part of Senisran.”

Her incredulity was boosted. “You’re not saying that they sent you offworld?”

Leaning forward, he crossed his arms over his lap. “I’m not only saying that they took me offworld, I’m saying that they sent me to worlds that seemed to have no place in the normal scheme of existence.” For a brief moment his eyes looked haunted. “And once, to a place that not only wasn’t normal, it wasn’t even a world.”

Slowly she sat back in her chair and regarded him silently. “Even if the stones aren’t stones,” she said finally, “and are something more, they’re not big enough to contain the power to do something like that.”

“I agree. They must key or otherwise activate a larger device somewhere else. Buried beneath the village, perhaps, or on some other part of the island. It has to be the same for all the other stones. They only activate specific functions. The actual instigating mechanisms must be sited elsewhere. Maybe not even on Torrelau, or within the boundaries of the archipelago. There’s an awful lot of Senisran that’s yet to be explored, and I’m just thinking of islands and atolls. The extensive shallow submerged plains have hardly been touched.” He shifted his position on the couch.