Silent Songs (25 page)

Tesa turned back to the Hunter. "Is it possible that these creatures were only helping K'heera? Maybe she was ill?"

The avian stared at Tesa full-faced. "They attacked and overpowered her.

When they carried her into that shelter, she saw me. Her eyes said what her hands couldn't. She was in pain, and helpless. I am not mistaken about that."

Bruce turned to Jib and indicated the space probe. "Tesa's instincts were right. It
was
sent by the invaders from Mars."

"Now, wait a minute," Jib interrupted. "If we
have
stumbled onto another space-faring species, we can't assume the worst."

"Believe me," Tesa signed, "I wish this were nothing more than a StarBridge diplomacy exercise, but we sent two people to our space station two days ago and haven't heard from them since. These aliens have a
colony
--they could've been here for months ... maybe ..." a sudden flash of dream-memory danced behind her eyelids, "... maybe waiting behind the Moons.. . ."

"If they're antagonistic, then why didn't they capture the
Norton
when K'heera and I were dropped off?" Jib asked pointedly.

"I don't know," Tesa admitted.

"You can't just assume these people are
invaders,"
the young man argued,

"because of what happened to K'heera. And we don't know why we haven't heard from Meg and Szu-yi." He stared pointedly at Bruce. "And what's the difference between invaders and
colonizers,
anyway? We need more information."

"I don't know the difference between invaders and colonizers," Lightning admitted suddenly. "But I know what a predator is. Thunder, tell them about the Singers."

Tesa's stomach lurched at the same time Jib's expression went slack. "What about the Singers?" she asked.

"A pod of Singers swam up the River and discovered the alien settlement,"

the Hunter began. "Before the Singers could react,

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the aliens trapped them with power beams. Then they killed and ate them.

One group managed to escape, but the others were only herded farther west up the River, cut off from the sea. They can be taken whenever the beings hunger for them."

The bleached skeletons from Tesa's dream swam before her eyes; she swayed dizzily. Lightning and Hurricane moved beside her instantly, supporting her with their bodies. She touched them, felt the cohort gather closer to give her strength and take some in return. She drew a shuddery breath.

Jib's face was ashen. He stared out over the deceptively calm River. "That's my dream. I remember now ... I only wish I didn't. The Singers were . .. being killed .. . but the killers .. . weren't aliens .. . they were us. Me, Tesa, and Bruce. . . . But it can't really have happened ... it was a dream!"

"It
happened,"
Thunder told them, bristling her thick feathers. "The River turned red, and their mind screams nearly knocked me from my perch.

Once"--she swiveled her head around, blinking nervously--"I thought I heard K'heera keening, begging me to go for help. It was a night to make me want to never hunt again. .. unless it's those un-Worldly aliens I hunt. . .."

"They aren't out there. .." Jib signed, staring across the River. "Not Taniwha, or his mother... or... any of the herd." He stared at Tesa and Bruce as though just realizing this. "I can't
hear
them at all. They're
gone."

"Did the aliens have machines?" Tesa asked Thunder.

"They had flocks of small flyers like yours, and several bigger ships like the shuttles. They have weapons."

"Taniwha! Did he survive?" Jib moaned, sinking down onto the sand, "I
sent
him, I sent them all, to look for you."

None-So-Pretty approached the young man and draped a wing around him.

"You couldn't know," she signed to the Maori.

"They
think I did," Jib signed. "I saw it in my dream. They think we're all the same. They'll never trust us again. I can't explain ... or say I'm sorry ... or help them."

"We can't worry about this now," Tesa signed abruptly. Jib seemed shocked by her reaction, especially when Bruce agreed.

"She's right, son," the older man signed. "What's happened to the Singers is terrible, but it's only the beginning."

"They must have Meg and Szu-yi," Tesa decided. "And the space station ...

and the camp.... My grandparents."

"Our people would have fought them," Lightning suggested.

"That's true," Tesa agreed, feeling a moment of hope.

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"Unfortunately," Thunder interrupted, "these aliens suffer no ill effects from the voices of the Wind people."

There was a long silence as the group thought about their friends and loved ones and their possible fates.

"We can't do this now," the Indian woman decided. "We can't sit around mourning. If those Anurans have the space station, it's only a matter of time before they translate everything in it-- including all the information about the CLS. What they can do to Trinity is bad enough, but that information could help them overrun other planets, or even the League itself."

"I'll tell you something else," Bruce added. "They won't let the next ship that arrives get away."

The small party stared at him as the realization hit them.

"Bruce," Tesa asked, "that ship's bringing our new staff, who knows how many passengers, and a full ship's crew--not to mention all the hardware needed to enlarge the
Singing Crane.
How many days before the
Brolga
arrives?"

"Roughly, I'd say twenty. If we can't get a message to it before it enters our solar system, it'll be just a fly in a web."

"Then let's say fifteen," Tesa signed. "We've got fifteen days to find some way to send a message to the CLS, and stop the
Brolga
from entering this solar system."

"That's a pretty tall order," Bruce commented. "Our best equipment's on the
Crane.
All we've got is stuff to transmit to the station." His eyes strayed over to the probe.

"We've got to get out of here," Tesa decided. "At least we know where
they
are. We'll pack out on foot, and follow that branch of the River that goes north. We'll hide everything we leave behind. . . . Jib, are you paying attention?"

The young man turned, his youthful face suddenly aged. "On the
Norton .. .

K'heera was so worried about coming here. ... I kept telling her... we wouldn't have to save the World. . . ."

It was almost dark when Taller's feet touched down on russet- colored meadow grass. The land here was, unlike his own, dry, peppered with water-filled potholes instead of marsh. It was Gray Wind terrain, inside the boundary of the Land of Confusion.

Weaver backwinged to a landing beside him. "It's too bad we can't finish this trip today," she signed.

The Grus leader glanced at the two elderly humans as they eased their sled to a halt. He and Weaver and a small escort flock of juveniles had left their people as they gathered in the north. The elder Grus had decided to move ahead because the trip

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was taking its toll on Teacher. Once they arrived at his partner's campsite, the old woman could be made more comfortable.

The avian leader stood tall as he examined his surroundings warily. Flying with the two humans sharing one sled meant the Grus could never gain much altitude. This was not a place where your eyes were enough. He would have liked to travel higher, to see farther, to search for ...

He listened to the hums and chirps of insects, the distant calls of Gray Winds two days' flight away, the chatter of lesser avians. He strained to pick up any un-Worldly sound. There was nothing. Realizing the others had finished drinking from the pothole, Taller scooped water up with his bill, then tipped his head back to swallow. He did not want to think about the aliens and their invading ships, their terrifying weapons.

"It's warm here," Teacher signed to Weaver. "Dry, too."

Old Bear was watching the woman solicitously. "How are you feeling, Mrs.

Lewis?" he asked politely.

"The same as you, Mr. Bigbee," she answered, smiling. "Tired. Creaky."

The old man laughed and started to reply when one of the youngsters bleated an alarm call, making the humans wince.

Taller turned as another White Wind bore down on them, startling the old leader. Could it be a messenger from the north? Had there been more trouble? The avian, a two-year-old, landed on the other side of the pothole and cal ed a greeting.

The aged leader recognized the voice. "Flies-Too-Fast, is that you?" he signed as the young male approached, head lowered.

"Travelers told me you were near," the young male signed. "I was so sure they were wrong. What's happened?"

"Our territory has been overrun by un-Worldly aliens," the leader responded.

"We had to escape."

Flies-Too-Fast stiffened. "Good Eyes was right." He faced the humans.

"Where are the Healer and First-One-There?"

"Aren't they with Good Eyes?" Old Bear asked.

"No," the young White Wind signed. "We were hoping they were still at home." The two humans looked at each other, until Teacher shook her head and silently turned away.

'Tomorrow," Taller told Flies-Too-Fast, "you'll take us to Good Eyes."

"Of course. Have you seen any aliens since you left?"

"No ... but I've been uneasy." The avian scanned their surroundings suspiciously. "It's a different wind that travels the World now. These beings have changed even the currents of

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the air. It's not our World any longer." He dropped his head suddenly, apologetic. "Forgive me. Let's eat, then sleep. We'll need to be fresh."

The small group said little as they foraged in the dusk. Taller watched the Child Sun hover near the Moons. It made him think of Lightning staying with the three humans.

Standing in the shallow pothole, Taller preened, yearning for sleep, suddenly conscious of the weight of his years. A breeze ruffled his tertial feathers, and he bent to smooth them.

Then his head snapped up. There was a wrongness in the air, something he could
feel.
He blared out an alarm call, then another, his powerful voice startling his small group.

Before his call died, an enormous flying thing, twice the size of the human's large shelter, crested the horizon, moving with a Night Flyer's eerie silence.

Weaver sounded her own call, as the humans scrambled for their sled. The youngsters took to the air, Flies-Too-Fast in the lead. Recklessly, the two-year-old flew straight at the monster.

It was no accident that their enemy was bearing down on them now, Taller knew. They were too far from their people to secure any help. They were full of food and exhausted.

"Hurry!" he urged the humans.

Old Bear pulled Teacher onto the flyer, abandoning all their goods in their haste. Taller and Weaver took to the air, keeping the humans between them.

As they sped away, Flies-Too-Fast and the other juveniles mobbed the behemoth, harassing it the way the Blue Cloud people did predatory avians.

But even as they circled the thing, Taller knew they were as helpless as the soft-winged night insects that beat themselves to death against the humans'

artificial lights. He called to his mate to fly faster. Old Bear kept up as Teacher was forced to hug him tightly to stay on the speeding sled.

The invading ship ignored the escort flock, easily overtaking the humans.

Hovering over them, the ship forced the sled and the White Winds to skim dangerously low to the ground. Suddenly an orifice on the belly of the ship opened over them like a gaping, ugly mouth. Weaver moved between the ship and the humans, as though to protect them with her own body.

Taller blared a warning, as a beam stabbed through the twilight, enveloping his mate and the humans. Before he could react, the outer edge of the beam knocked him aside, just as the others were pulled into the maw of the ship, Weaver's cry of fear ringing in Taller's ears. He regained his balance and swerved up to fol ow

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his mate, but the opening slammed shut behind the captives. The ship rose into the atmosphere and headed south as the White Winds flapped futilely to catch up.

As the ship dwindled to a tiny spot, the juvenile escort surrounded him, Flies-Too-Fast on his right, ready to follow Taller even in darkness. But finally, the ship disappeared and he realized how helpless they were. His body screamed with fatigue. He'd only die if he insisted on pursuing something he could neither catch nor conquer. He was as insignificant to that machine as the shimmerings were to him. Morosely, Taller stumbled to a landing, unable to muster the energy to even lift his head. How could he call, with no partner to answer his cry? What point could there be to a life without Weaver?

"We'l leave at dawn," Flies-Too-Fast signed quickly. "Good Eyes must know what's happened. Our only hope is . . ."

The condition of Taller's dull, shrunken crown stopped the youngster.

"Hope?"
the leader signed. "How can we escape that voracious thing?

There's no hope for us, or the humans, either."

There was a long uncomfortable pause as the startled cohort stood, tense, while their leader yielded to sorrow and defeat. Flies-Too-Fast stepped between them and Taller, blocking the sight of his grief from the others.
He'll
challenge me,
Taller thought,
and I'll surrender. He's young and full of
courage. That's what my people need now.

"Taller," the youngster signed nervously, lowering his head to match his leader's, "I grieve with you . . . but. . . Good Eyes, Lightning ... all of us ...

need your leadership, your experience."

The elder stared at him incredulously. Most males his age would have used this opportunity to strike out for power without thinking twice. He lifted his head slightly.

Flies-Too-Fast kept signing. "From my first flight, I've wanted to fly at your side. I thought it would be years before I could work my way there. I ask for that privilege now."

The humble request touched Taller's heart, and he raised his head higher, forcing his crown to a strong crimson. "You've earned that right, Flies-TooFast. Tomorrow, you'll take your place on my right. . . ."
Where my mate once
flew,
he thought.