Silent Songs (22 page)

When she came to on the dry riverbank, both aliens were conversing animatedly.

K'heera sensed when they realized she was still alive. Their conversation changed, and suddenly they pulled garments out from under a shrub and donned them quickly. The Simiu wanted to moan in dismay. The clothing had to have been manufactured. These were
not
a primal people.

The aliens clumsily carried her down the trail, heading farther west. This caused K'heera more agony, but breathing took up so much concentration, she could not waste the energy to even sigh in pain. After a moment, the female realized K'heera's faithful

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sled was following her, as she'd programmed it to do before their disastrous encounter. Within seconds of their discovering the anti-gravity device, they'd placed the Simiu on it, and using it as a stretcher, guided the sled through the forest.

K'heera barely had time to dwell on their casual acceptance of such advanced technology when they pushed through the trees and into a wide riverside clearing.

Her breathing turned into ragged gasps. Prefabricated buildings dotted the clearing, with what the humans would call catwalks connecting them. A-grav devices, different from hers, but with the same function, were common.

Dozens of aliens wandered everywhere, some having different body styles or coloring. Even in pain and confusion, K'heera knew a new colony when she saw one. She thought of the silent satellite and Meg's and Szuyi's absence, and the Interrelator's nervous concerns. Then she thought of the probe--the probe that had worked like one of the feather lures the Interrelator used to catch her fish.

The female alien bleated loudly as she pushed the sled toward the colony, and other beings raced over to them. They surrounded K'heera, singing rapidly and producing technical equipment. They attached things to her, prodded and poked her. The two aliens that had captured her (that was the only way she could think of it now, as being captured) disappeared in the crowd. Someone slapped a patch on her flank, and her stiffened body relaxed. Another patch was stuck on, and she felt her lungs expand more evenly. Finally, she could blink her dry, painful eyes.

K'heera began to think she might actually live. Was that good news? She waited for a drug that would free her from the frightening paralysis, but that didn't happen.

The crowd (a medical team?) acted more casual now, examining her curiously. One of them peered-in her eyes, another pried open her jaws.

Then one of them searched through her sodden crest and found the sound nullifiers tangled in her fur. The alien ripped the nullifiers free and showed them to the others.

The medical team walked K'heera's sled toward one of the buildings.

Distantly, in the background, she thought she heard the distant calls of Grus in flight. Her heart lifted--was it the cohort? It had to be. They'd followed her, they would see her, they would tell the others! The sound tickled her ears like a promise. The aliens drew near one of their buildings, and K'heera panicked as she realized they would probably have her inside before the cohort ever had a chance to see her.
Wait! Wait!
she begged them in her mind.
They have to see me!

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The calls grew louder, more irritating, and K'heera struggled to identify individual voices. She thought she could hear Hurricane, who had the deepest, loudest voice . . . but he hadn't been with them. ... To her relief, the medical crew slowed down as they, too, heard the avians. They conversed, looking for the birds, oblivious to K'heera's helplessness.

A wave of painful sound rippled through K'heera as the Grus flew even closer, eating up the distance with their enormous wings. Only then did she realize the approaching avians couldn't be the cohort.
It has to be Gray
Winds traveling over the river,
she thought with a sickening rush. That was why they always kept the nullifiers around their necks, because of the Gray Winds. Whenever they crossed the river, they called frantically, frightened that River Spirits would pluck them from the sky. Where were her nullifiers?

Two of the crew were discussing the little instruments, disassembling them, laying the parts near her head on the sled.

No!
thought K'heera.
No! I need them!
She projected the thought wildly, screaming it in her mind. Didn't
they
need protection from the sound of the Grus?

Their buildings must be soundproofed,
she thought. But they were moving toward the shelter so slowly! The cascading sound was so loud now it rocked her spine, and made her ears ache.
HURRY!
K'heera's mind shrieked at the aliens.
GET ME INDOORS! PLEASE, PLEASE HURRY!

They were only steps away from the building's entrance when the family group flew over, calling loudly, crossing the river as quickly as possible. The sound waves ripped through K'heera in an explosion of pain. Her eardrums and the capillaries lining her ear canals burst under the barrage of sound.

But only her mind screamed. Her helpless body never moved.

The medical team, unaffected by the onslaught of sound, stopped to watch the avians' flight. They didn't notice the blood trickling from K'heera's ears and nose.

As she struggled with her inner agony, K'heera realized that she was deaf, as deaf as the Honored Interrelator herself. This, then, was an appropriate punishment for a dishonorable person, to be as afflicted as the person she'd unfairly criticized. What an appropriate First Contact for the dishonored Harkk'ett clan.

As the medical team finally led K'heera's sled into their building, she took one last glimpse at the World. For just a second, she thought she saw a lone, immature Aquila in one of the tall trees.

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But this time she didn't hope that it might be Thunder. She'd learned her lesson.

Then K'heera was swallowed by the alien building and could see nothing but bustling aliens, bright lights, and what had to be a fully equipped hospital.

Or,
she thought fearfully, as they lifted her off the sled and onto a platform, strapping her limbs in place,
could it be.. . a lab?

Father Sun had set and the dim light of dusk waned as Tesa stared into the forest, waiting for Lightning. No matter how foolish K'heera might be, Tesa knew she could trust the Grus youngster. He knew he had to return to camp before dark. She folded her arms and shifted her weight, her eyes boring into the darkening woods, as if wishing would bring them out. Behind her, the entire cohort clustered together, shifting from foot to foot.

A hand touched her shoulder. "None-So-Pretty was right," Bruce signed, coming around to face her. "Her sled's gone. I should've looked earlier. I feel really responsible."

"Stop blaming yourself," Tesa ordered angrily. "K'heera knows better than to take off on some wild excursion."

"Tesa," Bruce signed patiently, "she's done what any kid would do. She's gone off to show us she doesn't need us."

"She's a Simiu
female,"
Tesa signed angrily. "They're trained from infancy to accept more responsibility...."

Bruce's mouth turned up. "Why, Tesa, that's sexist! I'm surprised at you.

She'll come back when she's good and ready."

Tesa nearly exploded. "Suppose she can't! She's in an unexplored wilderness, Bruce, not a manicured Simiu courtyard!"

He patted her arm. "You're worried about Lightning."

Angrily, she blinked tears away. "I told him to stay with her! No matter what she does, he'll do what I asked!"

He paused, finally signing, "We could call K'heera on the voders ... or go out on our sleds... ."

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Tesa chewed her lip. "No. We'll wait." And she and her cohort watched the forest as shadows swallowed the undergrowth.

Jib needed to come out of the water; his feet were almost numb. Taniwha, however, couldn't understand how such warm water could make Jib so cold.

The calf bumped him, enticing him to swim some more.

To the herd, the World consisted of warm water, easy travel, and good food.

Through them, Jib had seen their River, traveled their ocean, tasted a hundred water plants, and drunk the rich, cream-laden milk of Taniwha's mother. He'd wallowed in so many mental flavors, he had to be reminded to eat real food. The herd's songs washed over his mind like a gentle, seductive touch.

Communicating with the Singers was nothing like talking to the Shadgui.

Those telepathic people could speak and had been in touch with verbal-based languages for generations. Doctor Blanket could think in language as well, since seloz had learned that skill from Mahree Burroughs and the young Simiu, Dhurrrkk'.

But the Singers were different. To Jib, much of their mental music was still nothing more than a flood of chaotic but pleasurable emotions. Day and night they flooded his mind, making him drunk on their mental caress. There were times when he knew he was falling into a dangerous telepathic euphoria, but he couldn't stop. Rob and Doctor Blanket had warned him, but he hadn't believed them . . . and now he couldn't make himself care.

Dazedly, he realized it was nearly dark and waded away from them reluctantly. His time sense was gone, since time meant nothing to the Singers. They dozed fitfully if at all, and their wakefulness disrupted his sleep.

"I was just coming to get you," Bruce drawled softly from the edge of the beach.

Confused, the Maori forgot for a second how to speak. He began sloshing his way toward the weatherman.

"You all right, son?" the older man asked. "Your feet look like blue prunes."

Jib blinked, then scanned for Tesa, finally realizing something at the camp wasn't right. "Where is everybody?"

Bruce sighed. "Looks like K'heera took off on her sled, against orders.

Lightning's with her, wherever they are."

He hadn't even thought of K'heera for hours, he realized guiltily. "So, we're going out to search for them now?"

"Tesa doesn't want to use sleds," Bruce answered slowly.

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Bruce's words startled the younger man into anger. "She's watched too many of Dr. Gable's old movies; she's seeing
Invaders From Mars
everywhere! We should search, now!"

The weatherman raised his hands placatingly. "Tesa understands the danger K'heera might be in. But she's concerned about that probe, and it's been my experience that her instincts are not to be ignored. I'm willing to wait."

Things would've gone differently here if I'd done my job!
Jib thought. "Does Tesa know where they might've gone?"

"They followed the animal path west, along the river. Why?"

Jib turned toward the beach. "The Singers could 'listen' for them. They're planning to go in that direction, anyway."

Bruce seemed interested. "Lightning will probably sleep near the River.

They should be able to find him. Ask them."

The young Maori thought of Taniwha as he watched water spouts circle near the shore. Picturing the River as it wound its long way westward, he then pictured K'heera and Lightning, concentrating on his concern for their safety.

Soon the herd's silent songs permeated his mind, and he felt their sympathy.

Their music changed, the tones rearranged, as they picked up his cadence of concern .. . and his guilt. Fascinated, he realized they were altering their music to reflect his thoughts. The new song sounded eerie and beautifully haunting. Suddenly the water spouts turned west.

"They
heard
you," Bruce said. "They're going!"

The music soared through Jib, captivating him, making him ignore what Bruce was saying until finally, the lilting melody diminished. Slowly, Taniwha's tenuous mental touch dissipated as the calf became entranced with the journey. Jib felt hollow as the contact ended and the wonderful music faded away. He almost regretted asking for their help.
You should be
thrilled,
he scolded himself,
now, you can get a good night's sleep!

"This'll make Tesa feel better," Bruce said.

Jib watched the Singers swim away, wishing he were with them.

Taniwha swam hard beside his mother, pumping his fluke furiously to keep up with the herd. They'd been traveling for a long time, and it was dark now, but the youngster was still exhilarated. Where were they headed? When would they get there? Would there be anything good to eat?

His mother absorbed the barrage of questions, but like mothers everywhere, only countered with her own. Are you tired? Cold?

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Can you see? Are you hungry? The last question stilled his thoughts, and he nuzzled against her side.

She lifted her right flipper, giving him access to the small nipple beneath it.

While he nursed, the warm, sweet milk coursing down his throat, his mother propelled them onward.

Spontaneous adventures were a delight to the eternally hungry, curious creatures, but to touch an unusual mind was a thrill. Their new friend had sung a song that was not-of-the-World, but yet they'd understood it. The unWorldly friend sang poorly, but he and his people had helped one of their calves, and that favor must be repaid. So the herd swam west, searching for a missing White Wind, a solitary Hunter, and a furred, four-legged being.

What an adventure!

Of course, the River of Life was hardly new. They'd lived in it for generations, swimming to the sea when summer came and the ocean warmed, then

returning in the winter when the ocean chilled again.

The summer had just ended and it had been a good season; the seaweed had been lush, and not once had they been preyed upon by the Great Hunger. It had been years since that monster had savaged them, so long ago that none of the herd had ever seen it-- but its memory lived among them. Every summer they ventured out to the sea cautiously, the fear as sharp as yesterday, and rejoiced when the season passed and none had died to feed it.

It had been the violent assaults of those predators countless generations ago that had forced the Singers to expand their minds. Even though their fear of the vanished terror was still keen, they'd allowed the method of its defeat--their powerful mental abilities--to fall into disuse. Now, they only needed to keep the Wind people from building their shelters, confuse the Hunters and large reptiles that might attack a newborn calf, and keep the massive Quakers out of their River. If they could only learn to baffle the weather, they would not have a care in the World.