Silent Songs (45 page)

It's not even dawn."

"You haven't slept at all," she sang.

He'd dozed, but whenever he did, he heard mournful, alien music and jerked awake, searching for it futilely with his keen hearing. When had he last slept the night through? Oh, yes-- before he'd demoted Dacris. Before the humans had escaped. Before he'd wil ingly released two more.

The First reached for his garment. He'd eat something. He never did get dinner last night, with the emergency Council meeting. ...

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Leaving the sleeping room, he padded quietly into the pantry. The Council had decided to wait twelve hours. If the humans didn't agree to negotiate by then, Atle would have to take action. He didn't mind moving against the humans and their avian allies-- he'd anticipated that from the beginning.

What concerned him was the willingness of the Council to accept the argument that the humans would only respond to greater force. This time, he would have to kill some.

It'd been hundreds of years since they'd approached war with this attitude.

But the humans had opened a floodgate of anger with their wanton brutality, and the Council felt that they had to assert their power now, to make the humans yield.

Atle had agreed, but the escape of the avian and a handful of humans had weakened his position. If he didn't gain it back through strength, he could be removed. Dacris was still his successor. What Atle needed was to successfully subjugate the humans with as few deaths as possible--that would turn this into the success it was destined to be.

The Interrelator could still follow her training and negotiate. That would solve everything. Several prominent members of the Chorus were waiting to begin the negotiations. Once they began, he would have time to pinpoint her position, and capture her. Without her, the avians could not support an organized resistance, and the other humans would lose heart.
She
was the key. The perfect persuader.

When he entered the brightly lit pantry, Arvis and Lene were there, packing food into a case. She was heavy with egg, her lovely back brilliantly colored with the glow of impending motherhood. Both jumped, startled by his sudden appearance.

"Arvis?" he asked. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

His son blinked nervously, and Lene spoke for him. "The Simiu wasn't allowed to leave the hatchery last night. . .."

"I know," he stopped her. "After the escape, her staying here wouldn't look right."

"Arvis wants to bring her something to eat. I told him he shouldn't worry about her anymore, but. . ."

"That's fine, Lene," Atle assured her. "He's just being responsible. She has special dietary needs, and she's a valuable commodity. It wouldn't do for her to become ill."

He patted Arvis' shoulder. "Go feed your servant, son. Make sure she's well cared for, so she stays productive."

Arvis relaxed. "Father, can I fix something for you? Lene

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should eat, too, but she insisted on helping me."

Could this ambitious female have actually developed some affection for his son? Or was she merely trying to keep him out of trouble? She hadn't picked the best house to be allied with, after all. "Why don't you prepare both of us something to eat, Arvis? After all, daughter"--he turned his marbled eyes on her--"your body must stay strong to protect my grandchild."

Happy to be of service, Arvis bustled about the pantry, pulling out fresh eggs and his father's favorite marinade. Lene sat beside the First, obviously pleased to share a meal with him, despite his tarnished reputation.

Tesa opened her eyes in the dark. Her dreams had been remarkably peaceful. There were no bloody Rivers, no floating corpses. Instead, she'd dreamed of music, hearing it inside her mind as clearly as if Doctor Blanket had sent it. There'd been the phrases of popular songs she'd only ever felt the bass to, snatches of symphonies, and of course Mozart. She'd even heard the lilting melodies of the
siyotanka,
the Lakota courting flute. There'd been Navaho chants and, not surprisingly, war dances. What a curious dream.

Easing out of Javier's arms, she peered out of the shelter to see the stars.

Around oh four hundred,
she realized. She should get up soon. She had things to do. Preparations to make.

Glancing outside the shelter, she saw Flies-Too-Fast keeping watch among the clustered cohort, the others either lying on the ground or standing on one foot, heads tucked, asleep. She ducked back inside and edged closer to the only other occupant. She'd been amused when the rest of the humans revealed their own quickly assembled lean-tos, assuring her privacy again.

She was sure, however, that her cohort wasn't yet sanguine about her newest roommate. Tesa shifted, trying to settle back down, but finally had to admit she was too wired to go back to sleep.

Javier opened his eyes, then pulled her against him, as if to make her stop moving. "Time?" he signed. She held up four fingers and he grimaced. "I'm too old to get up this early."

She raised an eyebrow. "You weren't too old to spend half the night.. ."

"Never mind," he interrupted, smiling.

"Did you dream?" she asked.

He paused, thinking, then his brow furrowed. "No."

Tesa gazed around the lean-to for a minute, then finally asked, "What kind of predator would the Quakers have?"

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He thought about that, then shook his head. "Time. Injury. I don't know. Is that what's keeping you awake?"

"If there was something big enough to prey on the Quakers, we might be able to simulate it. Scare the Quakers into ... I shouldn't be thinking like that.

Just because the Quakers aren't cooperative doesn't give me the right to manipulate them. . . ."

He watched her for a moment, then asked, "You're worried?"

"Shouldn't I be? I'm asking the Grus and the Aquila to do something they've never done--fight as a unified force."

Neither of them said anything for a while, and she knew they were both remembering Jib's warning.

Tesa, this is wrong.' You're changing their culture. That's not what an
Interrelator is supposed to do!

She remembered, too, his final prediction.

If you go through with this, they'll be killed. It'll be your responsibility!

She might've backed down then, except for Taller. The Wind people, he'd announced, were ready to take back the River of Fear from the invaders--

from the very Spirits themselves if they had to. If Good Eyes refused to lead them, he would do it himself.

"I think we've got a good chance," Javier signed.

To tweak the giant's nose?
she thought. Everyone except Jib had been enthusiastic, ready to act. Tesa closed her eyes, trying to shut out her regrets. Javier pulled her close again, and she wondered, would they be here, together, in twenty-four hours?

Finally, she sat back up. "We've got to get ready. We can't wait till dawn. . . ."

"I know," he agreed, sitting tailor-fashion and scrubbing his face with his hands. "When this is over ... is there a chance . . . we might be able to spend some time together . . . alone?"

His optimism raised her spirits and she wondered if that was why he asked.

"Depends on what you mean by 'alone.' Without humans? Or without the Wind people?"

He laughed lightly. "I know better than that. I meant other humans."

"Oh, we'll have lots of privacy back home, in the marsh. I have my own shelter... it's next to Taller and Weaver's. . . ." She grinned at his expression.

"Be patient! Taller will get used to you in time. Next spring, we'll go to the caldera. . . ."

"Where you raised Thunder? I'd like to see that."

We'll have the whole World to explore,
she thought wistfully, if
we live
through today.
Digging around in the corner of the shelter for her small woven basket, Tesa pulled out her battered hairbrush

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and her face paints. Running the brush through her long, dark hair, she tied it back tight, then laid out her paints. She glanced up, feeling Javier watching her.

"Ever have your face painted?" she asked. "No," he admitted. "During ceremonies, I just observed." "You sure you're not an anthropologist?" she teased, and then colored his face, using her own pattern. Except for the scar on his cheek. She painted that white, the lightning mark prominent against the black covering most of his face. Tesa wanted the Spirits to see it, so they would protect him.

Jib stepped off the alien sled, slipping the sound nullifiers from his ears. The sudden rush of River noise was disconcerting and his ears popped.

"I don't like leaving you here," Meg complained in her thick Slavic accent. It would be an hour before sunrise. The Moons all hovered low over the water, painting it with their dim light.

"That makes us even, mum," Jib agreed. "I don't like
any
of this. Isn't there
any
way to change her mind?"

"If Tesa doesn't act," Meg said patiently, "she'll have a hard time holding the Grus back. At least this way, she can orchestrate them, get them to work together...."

"It's not right," he insisted.

She shook her head. "We'll just have to hope...."

"And what'll
you
be doing when everything hits the fan?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "My best."

"Right in the middle of it, eh, mum?" He tried not to sound recriminating, but he couldn't help it.

"It won't be the first time. You're sure they'll come?"

'The Singers ... ? Yes, they'll come."

"And you'll be safe with them in the west end of the River?"

He shrugged. Tesa wanted him to take the captive Singers as far from the action as he could get them. She was afraid they might panic if things went badly. Their mental emanations might not have any effect on the Anurans, but their terrified thoughts could adversely affect humans, as well as any creature of Trinity.

"They'll go if I urge them," he said noncommittally.

"If we knock out the force-field, we'll let you know, and you can guide them through to the sea."

Another temporary refuge. When winter came, the sea would be too cold for them. They depended on the warmer River, then.

"Jib," Meg said firmly, pulling his attention back.

"Yes, mum?"

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"Be careful, dear. I'll be worried about you." As they hugged good-bye, he thought,
Not as worried as I'll be about you.

"Bruce! Bruce! Wake up! Please, wake up!"

The voice in his ear was tinny, like bad radio reception. He rolled over on the hard pallet.

"Bruce,
please]"

He blinked, turned back, felt a warm body, and wrapped his arms

comfortably around it. "S'okay, darlin'," he mumbled. "We're not late. Let's sleep a little longer." A sharp pain shot through his thigh and his eyes snapped open. Szuyi was pressed up against him, staring at him wild-eyed.

She'd pinched him to wake him up. "What's the matter?" He peered past the doctor and saw Tesa's grandmother, Nadine, hovering nearby.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, I tried to keep her still," Nadine apologized. "The poor dear hasn't slept a wink al night."

"What's the matter, Szu-yi?" he asked gently. There wasn't much left of the stern, no-nonsense doctor Bruce had once known. He never thought he'd miss that person, but this pathetic, terrified creature broke his heart. He stroked her hair gently.

"They're coming! Oh, Bruce, they're coming! It's terrible, so terrible. They're coming to get us. . . ."

"Sssshhhh," he soothed. Szu-yi suffered from repetitive nightmares. "I won't let them take you."

"Not
them."
she hissed, then glanced around. The locked, guarded room was empty but for the three of them.
"Tesa's
coming, with the Grus! They'll be killed. .. ."

Nadine and Bruce stared at one another. He'd learned long ago not to discount the power of dreams . . . but a madwoman's?

Suddenly Szu-yi pulled herself together. "Our nullifiers. Will they last? Are they good enough?"

"I checked them yesterday," he assured her. "They're fine."

"Good. Good." She tried to act businesslike. 'They're coming for us. . . ."

"Then, we'd better be ready," he told her. She nodded and Nadine did as well.

"Bruce," she said in a childlike voice, "why do I keep hearing music?"

"You mean, like the Anurans' voices?"

She shook her head.

"She's been hearing music for days," Nadine explained.

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"It's so sad, it breaks my heart. Beautiful, sad music." Szuyi turned away, obviously listening.

Bruce remembered
hearing
that music once, a few lifetimes ago. He hugged Szu-yi and made her lie down. "It's the River Spirits, darlin'. They want you to rest."

"The River Spirits? Oh, good. They're from Trinity." She shut her eyes, while Bruce and Nadine lay awake, waiting.

K'heera stood on her hind legs to peer out the narrow windows in the room she'd been sequestered in. It was dawn, and Father Sun was streaking the sky with color. She'd been locked in this tiny room with the once handsome Kh'arhh'tk and his two surviving drum dancers, but she might as well have been left alone. Shorn of their hair and painfully thin from being forced to eat animal protein, the dancers stayed as far from her as they could remove themselves, even keeping their backs to her as they slept. Oddly enough, that didn't bother her. What did bother her was that they'd been brought to work in the hatchery as it was about to fail. They'd be caught in the backlash, and blamed along with her.

Her purple eyes searched the tree line, searching for Thunder, but could see nothing. Desperate, she signed anyway.

"The hatchery has been irreversibly damaged. All the eggs will die. In a few hours, I will no longer be able to hide the problems. This may be the last time I..." Feeling a gust of air on her back, she quickly sat down.

But it was only Lene and Arvis. The dancers were watching the two red-and-blues suspiciously, but when the Anurans gestured at them to leave the room, they obeyed. K'heera glanced quickly over her shoulder toward the window, then followed the others.