Earthfall (Homecoming) Page 18

“See? You said it yourself—a distant concert.”

  “What if someone is watching us?”

  “What if they are?” Chveya had answered him. “Let them watch. The Keeper is also watching them.”

  Naturally, all those who believed in the truth of dreams were watching for the winged flyers and the burrowing rodents—what had Hushidh and Luet called them? Angels and Diggers. But in all Oykib’s listening, in all of Chveya’s glimpses of someone’s threads of loyalty and concern, they heard and saw nothing to tell them which of the strange species they had dreamed of their watchful neighbors might be. If it was either of them.

  Whatever or whoever these strangers were, though, Oykib had been getting more and more disturbed by the dreams and desires coming into his head. The desire to eat something warm and salt-blooded, still quivering with life—when he first understood that one, it set him to retching with self-revulsion that he could desire such a thing. And even though he knew that the desire came from outside him, it still haunted him as if it had been his own desire. For the warm and salt-blooded something that he wanted to eat alive was, he understood, a soft, tender infant. There was something confusing in his image of it—a dazzle of sky, a leathery crackling blanket. Like all the communications between the Keeper and these strangers, nothing was every really definite. But this much Oykib knew: It had been a prayer from one of these creatures to the Keeper of Earth, and the prayer had been for the living flesh of a youngling.

  What kind of monsters were these people?

  I must tell someone, he thought; but he couldn’t. To tell anyone but Chveya would be to let them know that he had been overhearing all their most secret communication with the Oversoul for many years. It would make them all feel spied upon, robbed, violated. And to tell Chveya would be to terrify her about the safety of their firstborn child, already growing in her womb; about the safety of the little children she was teaching in the school every day.

  So while he could tell her most of what he overheard, he couldn’t tell her the worst things; for this past week, he couldn’t explain to her why he woke up sweating and gagging in the middle of the night, or why he had grown silent in the past few days, barely speaking to her or to anyone.

  Tonight, though, tonight had answered so many questions. For when this bat with its leathery wings came down and landed on the roof of a nearby storage tent, Oykib had sensed a different kind of being entirely. This creature, too, was getting an almost continuous stream of communication from the Keeper in yet another unfamiliar language of desires; but it was brighter and clearer, though more fearful as well. There were questions, and they were formed in ideas that Oykib could understand; best yet, they were linked with language. He didn’t understand the words, but he knew that the language could be learned.

  The desires, though, he understood very well indeed. A wish not to disappoint others; a desire to protect his wife and children; a hunger for secrets.

  Hunger for secrets. Into Oykib’s mind, as he watched the creature there on the tent roof, came an image of whose secrets the flyer was trying to decipher. Two pictures came into his mind almost at once. A vague image of a human head made of unfired clay, large and monstrous; and then, much more clearly, the image of Nafai in the flesh. Only it wasn’t Nafai. It was a creature just like this one, only with patchy hair and tattered wings, unable to fly, and yet respected, being listened to by all the others.

  It was Nafai, but it was also not-Nafai.

  Then, suddenly, he understood. It’s this creature’s word for us, for human beings. Old man. Old people. We’re the old people.

  But that would imply that they knew that humans had once lived on Earth before. That was absurd. Nothing could possibly be remembered for forty million years. And how could they remember anyway? As far as he knew, these creatures had not yet evolved into sentient beings when humans last walked upon the Earth.

  Then the creature leapt from the tent and swept quickly over the clearing to the base of the starship. There, as he touched the metal, then rapped upon it with his fingers, he was speaking to the Keeper—no, singing to the Keeper, so rapturous was his mood. Oykib felt as if this creature’s awe and rejoicing were inside him. He had a thought, as clear as if it were his own thought: “The Old Ones still put music into the things they make.”

  He had understood it, even though the words attached to the idea were in a language he had never heard before. No real sound had been uttered, and yet he knew inside his memory what this creature’s voice would sound like. High and musical, rich in subtle lingering vowels, but with no sibilants or nasals or even fricatives. The only consonants were plosives and stops, and yet they were no less musical than the tonguing of a flautist, making fluttering interruptions in a tune. T’s and K’s, G’s and P’s, B’s and D’s, and a guttural consonant that Oykib knew his own throat could not possibly make. Sometimes these consonants had an extra puff of air; sometimes they were stopped. It was a beautiful language.

  More important, though, was the fact that the desires were not dark and violent, and the Keeper did not seem to be struggling to restrain this creature. Rather than distracting him, the Keeper was encouraging him, reinforcing his desires. The contrast came as such a relief to Oykib after all these weeks and days of confusion and darkness that he spoke aloud. “At last the Keeper has brought a friend to us,” he said.

  He had forgotten how careful and watchful the creature—no, the angel—had been. He hadn’t realized that the angel hadn’t seen him there in the darkness. But as soon as he heard his own voice, he knew it was too loud, too sudden. The angel leapt almost a man’s height into the air and then beat his wings in a frenzy to rise higher, out of harm’s way.

  But terror didn’t rule him. He flew back, swooping around as if to get a good look at Oykib. Well, look to your heart’s content, said Oykib, standing with his hands open and spread wide. I’ll not harm you, Oykib tried to say with his body.

  And then to the Keeper he said, Help him to know I’m not his enemy.

  As usual, there was no answer. Others could get their dreams and their whispered silent words of guidance; Oykib could only overhear them, never receive them directly for himself. For once, though, with the memory of the angel’s language and desires still fresh, Oykib did not regret the lack. Perhaps it was the better gift, to hear others.

  When the angel winged its way into the night sky, heading up the canyon in moonlight, Oykib walked around the starship and headed back to his house. He could see the flash of the lantern. Who was on duty tonight? Meb? Vas? One of the Elemaki, at any rate.

  Obring, that’s who it was. Obring always swung the lantern as he walked, making it impossible for him to see any strange motions, for the lantern itself created moving shadows that would mask any real movement that might take place. Oykib had heard Elemak remonstrating with Obring about it once. Obring had only laughed and said, “There’s nothing to see, Elya. And besides, it’s Volemak we all obey now, not you, remember?”

  Elemak remembered. Oykib knew that. And while Elemak never spoke to the Oversoul in prayer or conversation, he did curse, and when his curses had real intent behind them, their very intensity moved them into the pattern of communication with the Oversoul, so Oykib could hear him. Silent curses, but nothing said aloud. The man was controlling himself. And at the end there was a prayer, or perhaps only a mantra: I am no wordbreaker. I will keep the oath.

  Oykib had no doubt which oath he meant—it was the oath to Father, to obey him as long as he was alive to rule over them. Better than anyone except Hushidh and Chveya, who could see the loyalties of the colony laid out like a map before them, Oykib knew that peace in the colony was only skin deep. Everyone knew who the Elemaki were, and who the Nafari; everyone could see that the village was virtually divided down the middle, with Nafari on the east and Elemaki on the west. The colony was not united and never would be. Health to you, Volemak. Health and long life. Let there be no war among us before my children are safely born and grown. Live fo
rever, old man. You are the only cord that holds this harvest together in a single sheaf.

  So there was Obring, on watch but worthless at it, while Oykib was aware of dark mutterings and savage prayers out in the darkness and dared not speak to anyone about it.

  And tonight, was there some new urgency about it? Some sense of triumph tinged with fear? Daring, that’s what it was. Someone was daring something that they had not dared before. And the Keeper was sending a constant stream of distractions. Something’s happening. What is it? Speak to me, Keeper! Speak to me, Oversoul!

  Chveya was asleep when he came into the house. It was often this way. Up at dawn, Chveya worked hard all day, as if her pregnancy should make no difference in her schedule. Then she would come home and fall asleep without undressing, wherever she happened to sit or lie down. Once Oykib came home and found her asleep standing up, not leaning on anything, just standing like a flagpole in the middle of the single room of the house, her eyes closed. Breathing heavily—had she been lying down, it would have been a snore.

  Tonight she was on the bed, but fully dressed, her feet still dangling to the floor. He wanted not to waken her—but her legs would be asleep in the morning and it would cause her much discomfort, especially if she woke up needing to void her bladder in the night, and her legs wouldn’t support her.

  Besides, it was important. What had happened tonight, the angel coming to him, or at least to the ship, touching it, and the clarity of his voice to the Keeper and of the Keeper’s voice to him. The fact that Oykib could hear his language and understand it. And the murmurings and stirrings of the other, darker beings who surrounded the village.

  He moved her feet onto the bed. Chveya awoke.

  “Oh, again?” she murmured. “I meant to wait up for you.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Sleep when you can, you need it.”

  “But you’re upset,” she said.

  “Happy and worried,” he corrected her. Then he told her all that had happened and what he thought it might mean.

  “So the angels are starting to come to us,” she said.

  “But you know that it tells us who the others we’ve been seeing are. Those rat-creatures. Out there in the dark.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Chveya.

  “Didn’t Hushidh have a dream of them stealing her children?”

  “And you feel as though something has broken tonight?” asked Chveya. “I think we have to give warning. Put on extra watches.”

  “And tell them what? Explain what?” asked Oykib.

  “Explain nothing. When we ask Grandfather to double, triple the watch tonight, he’ll do it even if we tell him it’s just a feeling. He has respect for feelings.”

  They headed for the door, but no sooner had they opened it than a scream sounded from the Elemaki side of the village. It came from a human throat, and all the grief of the world was in it.

  Ten

  Searchers

  Eiadh was the one who had screamed. In moments the adults were gathered around her. She wasn’t screaming now, but it took great effort for her to control her voice as she explained.

  “Zhivya’s gone!” she said. “The baby. Taken from her crib. I woke up to see them, like low shadows, running.” Now she did lose control, the horror of it filling her voice. “They were holding the four corners of her blanket. My baby was stolen away by animals!”

  Elemak had been—somewhere. Not in the house with her, that was certain. Now, though, he was on his knees in the doorway. “Look at this footprint,” he said. “An animal made this. Coming in and going out—two animals, actually. And heavily burdened when they left.” He got up and looked at them. “I saw a flying creature go down into the fields, then up onto the food storage tent, and then down behind the ship. A moment later it took off, flying up the canyon. No doubt it went to get its friends.” He touched the footprint. “That…thing…could have made this print. I’m going to follow it up the canyon.”

  But Oykib looked at the footprint and knew that Elemak was wrong. The angel’s feet had been like hands, or perhaps more like powerful visegrips. These footprints came from a creature with flatter feet and long heavy-clawed toes. The feet of a runner or a digger. Not a creature that flies, that clings to branches.

  “The angel didn’t make this print,” said Oykib.

  Elemak looked up at him with steely hatred in his eyes.

  Nafai at once interrupted. “Elemak is the one who knows how to read the tracks of animals, Oykib.”

  “But I saw the angel—”

  “So did Elemak,” said Nafai, “and it’s his daughter.” He turned to Elemak. “Tell us what to do, Elemak.”

  Chveya turned to Oykib and, for a moment, silently buried her face in his shoulder. It was the way she responded when Nafai said exactly the wrong thing—which was surprisingly often, for a man as bright as he was. Nafai was correct as far as he knew; it was quite proper for everyone to defer to Elemak’s judgment in this matter. But he should have known by now that Elemak would not be grateful to prevail because Nafai told everyone to let him have his way.

  Besides, Elemak should not prevail, because he was wrong. Oykib knew that angels hadn’t taken the child. The kidnappers were no flyers. They had to be searched for on the ground. Worse, those who did take Zhivya had among them at least a few who hungered to eat the living flesh of an infant. There was real urgency in the search, and it would be a criminal waste of time to go off trying to track flying creatures who didn’t have the baby.

  As if she could hear his thoughts, Mother put a hand on Oykib’s shoulder. “Be patient, my son,” she said. “You know what you know, and you’ll be heard in due time.”

  Due time? Oykib looked down at Chveya. Her lips were pursed; she was as worried as he was, and as frustrated.

  Elemak was organizing his search party, assigning men where to go.

  Volemak spoke up. “Are all the adults gathered here? Who’s watching the children, when we already know that they aren’t safe in their homes?”

  At once the women with children began rushing out of the house, back to their homes.

  “Elemak,” said Volemak. “Leave me a few men here, to protect the village while you’re gone.”

  Elemak agreed at once. “You keep Nafai and Oykib here—he can tell you his theories to his heart’s content. Give me the other men, though.”

  “I’m a man,” said Yasai.

  Oykib restrained himself from saying, “Yes, if a dandelion is a tree.” This wasn’t the time for teasing. And Yasai was a man.

  “If there’s an attack,” said Volemak, “we’ll need more. Perhaps the younger men.”

  Now Elemak dug in his heels. “Nafai has the cloak. If you need more, you have the older boys. We’re trying to track creatures who fly. I can’t do it without as many men as possible.”

  “I can protect the village,” said Protchnu, trying to look older than his nine years.

  Elemak looked at him with a serious expression. “You’ll have to. Obey your grandfather without question.”

  Protchnu nodded. Oykib could not help but think that if Elemak had ever followed his own advice, everyone’s lives would have been a lot happier over the past few months.

  Moments later Elemak was off, leaving behind, of the men, only Nafai, Issib, Volemak, and Oykib.

  “Welcome to the ranks of the useless,” said Issib wryly.

  “Useless? I hardly think so,” said Volemak. “All right, now, Oykib. Tell us what you know.”

  “I saw an angel tonight,” said Oykib. “The same one Elemak saw. But he was only a couple of meters from me, and I saw his foot. It couldn’t possibly have made this print.”

  “Who, then?” asked Nafai.

  “There are others,” said Chveya. “I’ve caught glimpses of them. Never anything I could see clearly, but enough that I’ve begun to make connections. Hushidh has got some hints of this, too. They’re all around us. But they’re low, in the underbrush. Like Eiadh said, lo
w shadows. Sometimes in the trees.”

  “You know this, and you haven’t seen them?” asked Issib.

  “I see the connections among them. Faintly.” Chveya smiled grimly. “It’s the best we’ve got.”

  “Not enough,” said Nafai. He fixed Oykib with a cold stare. “Stop playing games, Oykib. What do you know?”

  For the first time it occurred to Oykib that maybe he hadn’t kept his secret as well as he thought. “What I know is that there was no malice in the angel. In his mind we’re the Old Ones, and he’s filled with respect and awe. But there are other minds, and they’ve been watching us for months, and some of them….” He glanced at Eiadh, realized that he had to be careful how he said it. “Some of them might be dangerous to Zhivya.”

  “The ones that we’ve been calling diggers,” said Nafai.

  Volemak nodded. “And they live nearby.”

  Issib laughed. “What, we get shovels and start digging?” He waved his arm to show the vast area they’d have to dig up.

  “Burrows have entrances,” said Nafai.

  “We’ve been exploring all around here,” said Protchnu. “We’ve never seen any holes.”

  “Why don’t we do the obvious thing?” said Oykib. “The thing that Elemak would have done, if he hadn’t been so sure that the kidnappers could fly. Follow the footprints.”

  The diggers’ prints were lost almost at once in the mess that their own feet had made when they ran in response to Eiadh’s scream. It didn’t help that Rasa was leading the women in gathering the little children out of their beds and into the schoolhouse. Despite the tumult, though, Volemak managed to get lanterns distributed to the men and the older boys, and in a few minutes Protchnu gave a cry. “Here!” he shouted. “They weren’t dodging or anything, they just ran in a straight line.”

  It was true—the trail picked up just where it might have been expected from the direction the diggers first ran upon leaving Elemak’s and Eiadh’s door. The others ran to join Protchnu, but stayed behind as he led the way toward the edge of the woods.