Part 20 (1/2)
”Yes, friend Zakodny. That we will.”
The forests of Metaneira are among the most lovely in the entire Universal Song. They cover two-thirds of the land with a living carpet of simple-minded trees who sing not only with the Inner Voice, but also with sound, so that every breeze wafts a gentle harmony through the warm air.
We ground in a large clearing atop a squat hill; Fadil Tormity's landing is so gentle that it does not snap even the smallest branch. Each of us steps out of the s.h.i.+p, then we stand together, transfixed by the music and the rich earthy smells of a brand-new world.
”Where do we find the Virgans?” whispers the geneticist, Osteva Rul.
They, a telepath answers, will find us.
My sister and I are content to stand, feeling the infinite subtlety of alien soil beneath and around bare feet, hearing the eternal pulse of life's inner song beat around us. After the long journey in Virgo Mariner's hold, it is a relief once again to see real sunlight and feel unfettered wind. If only, I think, my sister and I could root ourselves here! Metaneira is a completely unfamiliar world, with an ecology and biosphere totally strange to us; it would take a forest of Hlutr Human millennia to come to an understanding and appreciation of the planet's myriad subtleties.
The longer we stand, the more we see. These soaring trees, these thick vines and airy filaments that stretch between them, the just-glimpsed movement of shy creatures as in endless columned halls- all begin to resolve themselves into a greater pattern. I feel surprise and awe blossom in the minds of my companions, as one by one they come to the same realization: the forest follows some ancient pattern, interleaved ovals ranged around the hill on which we stand, as if grown on the ruins of some even more ancient architecture.
The trees sing of lost times, and just for an instant I glimpse a great city of eons past, itself built up from structures even older.
There is movement in the forest, a quick and almost-imperceptible movement that blends with s.h.i.+fting shadows and the rustle of leaves; were I present in my Hlutr body I could not miss it, but it takes Human senses longer to notice the ma.s.sing of dozens of strange, alien forms in the wood.
They are arrived, whispers the telepath.
In the Scattered Worlds, the different types of life are nearly numberless: nine times seventy times itself and more. And we Hlutr are familiar with all these kinds of Little Ones. This familiarity is bred in our genes, it is sung in concert across the Galaxy, it follows us wherever we go. Even when a lifeform is totally unknown to us, at first sight and smell, instantly and effortlessly, we know its place in the scheme of life.
Not so on Metaneira.
The Virgans move toward us in a slow polonaise, accompanied by the hushed music of the trees, and I do not know what they are. Faintly vegetable yet animate, all dissimilar, they are a mystery to my senses. Some are like Hlutr saplings, some like the small predators of Tcherlatha, others like the Dawn People of Sebya. Most are like all these, and more.
What shape is the wind, or the stream? What form has the inexorable creep of time, or the heart of the summer storm? These were the Virgans...these and many others beside.
One of them approaches, one who perhaps is somewhat less strange than its companions. It stands before us, then speaks in perfectly accented, though slightly archaic, Coruman: ”The Twilight Dancers bid fair welcome to our friends and cousins of the Scattered Worlds.”
Mal Arin answers, speaker for us all. ”Fair welcome bid indeed, to speak our tongue. Where hast thou learned the language of our folk?”
”A child of ours, Jel Haran, once did fly and sojourn long amid your distant stars. When briefly he returned unto his home, he told us of your ways and of your tales. His love, fair Lirith, did instruct a few to speak your tongue, that we might understand the databanks that they had brought along.”
”We are grateful for your friends.h.i.+p and your words- for we have traveled far through lonely s.p.a.ce, and are refreshed by kindly fellows.h.i.+p.”
One or two among our team are not versed in the Ancient Speech; the machines have been translating for them. A tall, slender Virgan listens, then says, ”Perhaps not all among you comprehend our words. Might we invoke another tongue?”
”Our current speech is ceremonial; I fear you do not know our common tongue.” Mal Arin lifts one of the small translaters. ”These cast our words into Imperial.”
The first Virgan reaches forth a limb, at the same time exuding a pungent scent of curiosity. ”Permission to examine this device?”
The Captain hands it over instantly. Two Virgans converge on the one who holds the device, and together the three of them raise it high.
Music, which has whispered constantly in the background, rises now and for a few instants I almost feel that I am listening to the concert of the Hlutr- but listening from outside, as a Little One would, hearing the melody but missing the meaning. Before my sister and I can but grasp the barest seeds of that marvelous song, it is over.
The Virgan returns the machine to Mal Arin, then speaks in the flat tones of Human language. ”If this mode of speech will make you feel more welcome, then we shall use it.”
Zakodny shakes her head. ”How did you do that?”
”We consulted the translater's dictionary. It contains full definitions and linguistic equivalents for the Imperial standard vocabulary, plus grammar and usage guides.”
Osteva Rul, the youngest of us here, glances at her own translater. ”You're trying to tell us that you absorbed over two gigabits in the s.p.a.ce of a few seconds?”
”Child, it required but a thousandth of a second for us to read the dictionary. Fully understanding its information took far longer.”
”But you did that without instruments ”
Mal Arin raises a hand, silencing her. ”I'm sure we can discuss information retrieval later. First, there is much else to learn.”
”Indeed.” The Virgan folds in upon himself, then expands to his full size. ”In your language, we call ourselves the Twilight Dancers. My own name means 'Song of the Eventide Wind'. Your vessel was detected in the central galaxy, and I received the message; so it is my happy duty to be your host. Any of my fellows can help you as well as I but should you wish to see me directly, simply speak my name on the breeze. I will hear, and come to you.” He laughs, and his laugh is the sweet taste of spring rain. ”Now tell me your names, and of your interests.”
We go from one to the other, and my sister and I go last. ”We are the Hlutr, and we bring greetings from the Eldest of us all to Her cousins in the Great Ring of Stars.” Unexpected and unbidden, a tremendous song blossoms within us, and we cast it forth on the waves of the Inner Voice. Until this moment, neither of us knew that we carried this message from the Eldest- even now we do not know exactly what it says.
The being called Song of the Eventide Wind laughs again, and answers in a song that is both like and unlike the Hlutr Inner Voice: ”Brother and Sister, you gladden us, that once again we hear the song of this youth, this cousin, whom we feared lost forever.”
Youth? The Eldest?
”I see that you are all perplexed. Osteva, so many questions beat in your mind that you cannot decide which to ask. Even my friends the Hlutr are disconcerted.”
”No easy feat,” mutters Fadil Tormity.
Song of the Eventide Wind shows no sign of hearing. ”We have made ready to answer your questions. Will you come with us?”
Mal Arin nods.
We walk in the direction of the pale red sun, and the Twilight Dancers walk with us. They move elegantly, in great patterns whose complexity is lost on us. At first, nothing changes...then slowly, gently, the wind rises and stirs the trees about us.
The wind is the music, and the music is the dance. And the dance...the dance is that which alters the forest itself. First only a flicker on the edge of sight, a leaf changing color or the swift blossoming of a bright bloom then a s.h.i.+ft of limbs, a movement of roots, a slow descent of ground or the swelling of a hillock. Soon the entire forest is in flux, and the Twilight Dancers move in, out and around us as if unconscious in the progression of a stately gavotte. Only Song of the Eventide Wind remains constant, a few steps before Mal Arin.
The dance slows, the music diminishes, and the wind becomes the merest touch of breeze. And we are within a temple.
I cannot call it else. For all that we are surrounded by sky, trees and the living folk of the forest, we are within a sacred place- there can be no doubt that each of us feels the solemnity of this sudden grove.
Song of the Eventide Wind faces us, and raises his many limbs. ”I must beg your indulgence for a bit of a story. When it is over, each of you may accompany some of my folk to learn more, or you may return to your vessel, or you may stay and tell us your own stories. But I think you will find these essentials interesting enough to justify your great journey.”
He waves, and suddenly we are swimming in the dark of endless s.p.a.ce. Shocked, I withdraw for an instant to my place on Virgo Mariner's mid-decks. All is well, the Humans' artificial sun burns bright. What occurs on Metaneira, then, is but illusion.
The dark is lit by tiny, intense points of light. We approach one of them and it swells, burning with a fierce inner fire.
”Fifteen billion years ago was the age of the quasars. Instruments have shown us a frightening h.e.l.l of radiation, and few elements beyond simple hydrogen and helium; no life of our sort could have existed then. Only when the quasars cooled, becoming galaxies, would our kind of life be possible.”
The bright spot fades, expands, and takes on a familiar spiral structure. From nowhere, I hear Doctor na-Pekah gasp in delight.
”Five billion years pa.s.sed- the lifetimes of generations of hot blue stars- before third- and fourth-generation planetary systems formed with enough carbon, oxygen and nitrogen for the chemistry of life. Larger, more violent galaxies were favored spots.”
Now the spiral became more cloudy, developing a larger nucleus and more scattered stars in the periphery. ”Our home galaxy was both large and violent. Life began on our homeworld ten eons ago...long before most of your planets had even formed.”
The galaxy expands, clouds resolve into single stars, and then a lovely yellow sun swims in crowded s.p.a.ce before us. Around it is a tiny, dark world.
”The million dying suns in our galaxy's core drove biological evolution at a frantic pace. False starts abounded, but finally replicating molecules grew strong enough to resist destruction, while flexible enough to change. You are all familiar with the progress of simple compounds to cells to photosynthesis to oxygen-breathing life- the process which alters forever the very atmosphere of a world.”