Gama and Hest: An Ahsenthe Cycle companion novella (The Ahsenthe Cycle)

by Razevich, Alexes

  Gama got up and went to the door. She lay her arm over Frarm’s shoulders, gently turned him around and walked him back to the others.

  “You need to tell Reln,” she said. “He needs to know. Everyone needs to know.”

  Frarm nodded. “But what does it mean?”

  Five

  Voices buzzed inside Community Hall, everyone trying to keep the sound down but the accumulated noise still as loud as standing inside a giant lair of angry insects. More soumyo poured into Hall. The buzz became rushing water, then wild, rock-strewn cataracts. Gama gave up trying to voice-talk to Hest at all. Others had abandoned speech as well, judging by the thought-grains flying around.

  Hall’s closed doors swung open, banging softly against the walls. Reln strode in and headed straight toward the dais at the rear without a glance or word to anyone. Soumyo began to settle down as he walked by, everyone falling quiet by the time he climbed the steps to the platform. They were silent when he faced the kin and sat near the edge, his legs crossed beneath him — an unusual pose. Speakers stood. It was the way it was done. Reln sitting, Gama noticed, made everyone pay more attention, pull their spines straighter, lean forward.

  Reln splayed his fingers on his thighs. “We’ve all heard what Gama and Hest saw in the meadow yesterday. Disappearing brez! It sounds almost like a hatchling’s excuse for not having done their work. But Gama and Hest are no hatchlings and never has either of them been known to slack. Now there’s something new to add.”

  He nodded toward the center of the hall. Frarm slowly pulled to his feet and walked to the dais. Gama knew he’d tell of the disappearing birds. Frarm was as hardworking and trustworthy as she and Hest. The kin wouldn’t find comfort in his story.

  As Frarm stepped up onto the platform, Reln stood, so that the two were side by side. Frarm told the incident in his usual, plainspoken way. No one broke the silence when he finished, though Gama saw thought-grains passing between some kin. Reln waited long moments for someone to ask a question, voice an opinion, maybe stand and tell something they had seen as well. He waited so long that the quiet began to weigh them down, stifling any words they might have said.

  Is there history of these sorts of things happening — maybe log ago? Hest sent to Community Hall, and let Gama hear. Are we worried for nothing?

  Let me look, Hall sent.

  Gama and Hest waited while it searched its long memory for anything that had ever occurred that might be close to beasts and birds disappearing right in front of someone. Hall was nearly as old as Wall. The two of them kept the corenta’s history stored in their grains.

  No, Hall sent finally. There’ve never been happenings like this.

  A tremble ran across Gama’s shoulders. Hest sighed quietly.

  Reln seemed to have run out of patience with the long silence. He turned his hands palms up. “If no one has anything to say, best you go back to your dwellings now. Sometimes our minds work better alone than in a crowd. All are welcome to come to my dwelling if there is something private to share.”

  Everyone came to their feet, some jumping up and heading for the doors quickly, others pushing up slowly, as though through a thick stew — no one speaking. Gama and Hest walked more slowly than normal, no words or thoughts between them. Her stomach felt queasy. She wished that Hall had remembered something. It would be comforting to know others had similar experiences, and to hear how they had gotten through it. Instead, they were alone now in an unknown territory, with no history to guide them.

  She heard running feet and turned to see Frarm standing at her shoulder.

  “Can I stay with you tonight?” he asked, a little out of breath.

  Nerves, she thought. Nerves and fear stealing the air from his lungs.

  Frarm glanced at the soumyo around them and dropped his voice low. “Before we came to Community Hall, I told my dwelling-mates what I’d seen. I don’t think they believed me. I think they’re afraid to believe me, or maybe they suspect something’s wrong with me — seeing birds disappear in the sky. Maybe they want to believe something’s wrong with me.” He pulled anxiously at his hipwrap. “You saw what happened to the brez. I know you believe me about the birds. I’d be more comfortable with you two tonight.”

  Gama could see how comforting it was for others to think that she, Hest, and Frarm had made up their stories or to believe they’d eaten insanity-causing villisity or that stickerbrump had drilled into the soles of their feet — that what they said wasn’t real, however much they might believe it. She’d spied it on their necks. It was easier for them to not be around those who had seen strange things with their own eyes — constant reminders that something was going wrong. Gama understood, but she didn’t like it.

  Home, she sent as they drew near it, we’ll have a guest with us for a while.

  They crossed the last open space between Home and their closest neighbor, but Home didn’t open the door like it usually did as they approached.

  Why is Frarm with you? it sent.

  He’s going to stay with us tonight.

  Then my door stays shut.

  Hest pulled to a stop. Tell me why.

  Home didn’t answer.

  Gama put her hand on Hest’s arm. She thought she should have touched Frarm instead. He was the one she wanted to distract from wondering why they weren’t going inside. “I’m hungry. Can we go to the communiteria before settling in?”

  Hest shot her a subtle look — he knew she’d eaten before they went to Community Hall — but he always backed her in anything, same as she would for him.

  “I could eat,” he said. “How about you, Frarm?”

  Frarm shrugged uneasily. “I’m not hungry, but I’ll keep you company.”

  A few other corenta-kin were in the communiteria when they arrived. No one was cooking this late after evening-meal, but cold dishes waited for any who might want them. They’d found a table by the door. Hest sat quietly and devoured a large awa fruit. A bit of juice dribbled onto his chin. Gama reached over and wiped it off, then pushed aside the bowl of vero she’d made herself eat, to keep up her pretense of hunger. Frarm hadn’t wanted anything, and stared at nothing in the center of the room. The silence at their table felt louder to Gama than any of the conversations going on around them.

  She sent a thought back to Home and let Hest hear it. Will you say why you don’t want Frarm inside?

  Disappearing birds! Home sent. I don’t believe him. He’s stirring up disharmony.

  Do you believe Hest and I saw brez disappear?

  Even though your blood and sweat isn’t in my mortar. I know you would never say what you didn’t believe to be true.

  Usually a newly emerged member of the corenta would work with her or his dwelling to build it, so that both were happy. But doing that meant tearing down an old dwelling or other structure for materials — destroying that structure’s personality. Gama and Hest had chosen instead to move together into Home, which was empty since its occupant had Returned to the creator almost a year before they emerged. Others had done the same before, in other dwellings, with good results. The three of them weren’t as close as they’d be if they’d built the dwelling together, but the arrangement had worked well so far.

  Frarm believes what he says, too, Gama sent. You should let him in. Who better than you to protect him at this difficult time? Frarm could have gone anywhere. He chose to ask us — because of you — for shelter. Please don’t deny him just one night under your roof.

  Gama didn’t know where Home had gotten the inflated sense of self it certainly possessed — likely from its original builder, but sometimes dwellings developed personalities quite different from the soumyo who’d built them. Flattery always worked with Home, and she was not above using silky words when needed.

  There was a long silence, then Home sent, All right. Only for tonight. But you’d all better do a lot of talking. I want to hear the whole story from Frarm. I’ll judge the truth of things from that.

  -=o=-

/>   Gama supposed Home felt a little sorry for its attitude, because it listened without interruption to all that Frarm had to say.

  I don’t know, Home sent when Frarm finished, but it let all three of them hear its thoughts, and that was a good sign. Things are wrong here.

  In Frarm’s story? Something you don’t believe?

  No, Home sent. Here. In the world.

  -=o=-

  Hest grumbled under his breath. Gama shot a quick look at his neck. Whatever annoyed him wasn’t irritating enough to raise a color on his emotion spots but she knew him well enough to know when his grumbles should be ignored and when he needed to talk.

  Gama shifted the wood yoke on her shoulders and jabbed him lightly in the ribs with her elbow. The water buckets on either end of the yoke swung with her movement. “Might as well say it loud enough for everyone to hear.”

  “This.” Hest twisted his body slightly so that the empty buckets on his yoke swung like heavy fruit in a strong wind. His gaze swung across the landscape of stubby brown grass to the river. “If we’d stayed at the meadow, by now it would have rained enough to fill the reservoirs and we wouldn’t be out here fetching water by the bucketful.”

  Frarm and Prill were with them, and Iya and Vonti. Gama was happy Iya had been assigned. She was practical, honest, and not a complainer — three traits Gama appreciated in a workmate. Other units would be making the journey down to the river and back as well. It took a lot of trips to make up for one good rain. But this, with the possible exception of Prill, was the exact crew she would have chosen if it’d been up to her instead of Reln.

  “I’d rather be hauling water,” Iya said, “than be by a meadow or stream where beasts and birds disappeared into nothing. That meadow made me shiver.”

  “Not the place itself,” Hest said.

  Gama finished his sentence, knowing what he was thinking. “The cause.”

  “What is the cause?” Iya shifted her yoke on her shoulders. “Either strange things are happening, or my sisters and brothers are imagining things that aren’t real. Neither is a good thing.”

  “It’s real,” Gama said.

  One spot lit blue-red on Frarm’s throat and he put up a hand to hide it. Maybe to conceal the color from them, but maybe to pretend to himself that he didn’t feel nervous. Gama sent him a supportive smile, but she wished he’d be firmer in his stance. He’d seen what he’d seen with the birds. Better to stand up and face the truth than wish — or pretend — it hadn’t happened.

  “I don’t like it,” Iya said. “It needs to stop.”

  Hest laughed without humor. “I agree.”

  They reached the stream and one by one set down their yokes on a stretch of sandy bank and unhooked the buckets. The water ran quickly here, and deep below the bank. They lay on their bellies, hanging over the side and reaching the buckets one by one down into the water. Iya grunted at the effort to lift the filled bucket, and long-armed Vonti leaned in to help her pull.

  No one spoke while they worked. The quiet made Gama nearly as nervous as thinking about what caused the disappearances — a silence born of fear.

  Iya set her last filled bucket on the ground, careful not to spill any water, and said, “Who has a guess at what happened?”

  Vonti was on his knees near her, hooking his four filled buckets onto his yoke. He didn’t look up from his work. “I don’t mean offense, but honestly I don’t think Hest and Gama saw what they think they did. And neither did Frarm.”

  Gama felt her neck warm. First Palu, and now Vonti. Frarm’s dwelling-mates hadn’t believed his words either. They’d all known each other since they were hatchlings. Why would anyone think she or Hest or Frarm had suddenly taken up false speaking?

  “Why don’t you think they saw anything?” Prill said, one spot lighting with hope.

  Vonti looked up to answer her. “It’s impossible for beasts to vanish from a meadow and birds to disappear from the sky.”

  “I know what we saw.” Gama said, kneeling on the rough riverside sand, hooking her own buckets to her yoke.

  “What you think you saw.” Vonti leveled the yoke across his shoulders and stood, swinging his shoulders, the yoke moving with them.

  A bucket nearly hit her head. Gama jumped up, precious water sloshing from her own buckets. “Might want to be a little more careful, Vonti.” She felt a few spots lighting brown-yellow with annoyance. She saw Vonti’s gaze settle on her throat and was glad he could see exactly how she felt. “Neither Hest nor I are prone to fancies. You know that. I’m surprised you would insult us with your suggestion.”

  “Then how do you explain what you saw?” he said. “What happened to the brez?”

  “They disappeared. Plain and simple as that. I can’t explain how. The ground could have opened up and swallowed them for all we know.”

  “Like a sinkhole?”

  “Maybe.” She dropped to her knees again and hooked the third bucket to the yoke. “A sinkhole would explain it. The brez were far enough away that we wouldn’t have seen a hole.”

  Vonti steadied his yoke with one hand and placed the fist of his other hand on his hip. Gama reasoned he was thinking through the possibility.

  Prill nodded, her eyes shining. “A sinkhole makes sense.” She turned to Hest. “Do you think that’s what it was?”

  “Only we didn’t see them fall,” Gama said before Hest could answer “We didn’t see them slip into the ground or hear them call out in fear. The sky shimmered and the brez were gone. That’s all.”

  She caught the pinch-mouthed look on Hest’s face. Leave it, he sent to her. Let them have an explanation that soothes them. Don’t stir things up with truth just for the sake of it. How can we solve this if we are out of harmony?

  Gama didn’t know which annoyed her more — Vonti’s disbelief or the fact that she understood Hest’s point. Her sisters and brothers needed explanations they could believe, reasons to not be afraid. But pretend reasons wouldn’t help find the real cause, and they certainly wouldn’t give them a way to stop the strange happenings — if they could be stopped. And what if they couldn’t? Would all the plants, beasts, and birds of the world disappear one by one? She covered her throat with her hand, to hide the muddy-brown of fear lighting on her spots.

  Vonti trained his gaze on Frarm. “What about the birds you saw disappear?”

  Frarm drew a deep breath and huffed it out. He looked suddenly exhausted. “Maybe it was the light. Or the birds flew behind some clouds and I just thought they disappeared.” He considered for a moment longer, then nodded. “That must be it. Clouds.”

  Prill’s spot changed from the color of hope to the white of satisfaction.

  The beasts in the meadow hadn’t been hidden by clouds, nor had they fallen into a sinkhole. The brez had been coming towards them one moment and were gone the next. Gama was sure of that. She was sorry now she’d mentioned the sinkhole. She didn’t want to be the cause of her sisters and brothers grabbing onto a false security.

  Don’t let Vonti upset you, Hest sent her. I know what we saw.

  “What we need,” Iya said, hefting her yoke onto her shoulders and standing, “is a song. Hest, you lead us off.”

  As if a song would make everything all right, Gama thought. She was wise enough not to say it though. In truth, a song was a good idea — a welcome distraction. A way to not think about what crowded everyone’s minds. Sometimes a good distraction was just the thing to clear the mind and let new thoughts come in.

  Gama lifted her yoke onto her shoulders and stood. “The Water Song seems fitting.”

  Hest nodded, took a few steps, cleared his throat, and sang,

  “I am the clear water

  That glistens in sunlight.”

  I fall from the sky

  In light and in dark.”

  They all joined in, Vonti, Kis, and Prill singing loudly. Gama couldn’t work up the same enthusiasm, even though she thought singing was a good idea. Frarm, she noticed, hardly sang at all. Th
e brez were gone. The birds were gone. No amount of cheerful songs would make that different.

  “Falling, falling

  Kisses on dry land

  I am sky’s beauty.”

  Hest gulped for breath between verses. Gama knew he’d been singing but thinking, too. Hest never lost breath when he was focused on a song, but if he let his mind wander, he’d need to stop and suck in air. She turned toward him and raised her eyebrow ridges — a clear question. He could think-talk to her if he had something to say. He shrugged and began the second verse as they approached Reev.

  “I am the dark cloud

  That brings the clean water.

  I sail the sky

  In light and in dark.”

  Hurry! Hurry! Wall sent as they drew close.

  They all stopped singing on the same note.

  Gama’s scalp prickled with sweat. What’s wrong? What’s happened?

  I can’t say, Wall sent. It’s too horrible. Just hurry.

  They couldn’t hurry and risk spilling their precious water, but they sped their steps as much as they dared — their necks all lit with the dark-gray of worry. Gama wanted to throw off the yoke and run.

  Wall threw the gate open. Go to Community Hall, Wall sent. Everyone is there.

  Just inside Wall, Gama slipped out from under her yoke, being as fast and careful with the buckets as she could. She ran toward Community Hall, Hest and the others alongside her. Gama hardly saw the structures she rushed past.

  Hall opened its doors for them but didn’t say anything.

  Reln stood on the dais. The soft-green-yellow of relief bloomed on his throat. “We’re very glad to see you.”

  A shiver of nerves ran up her breastbone.

  “I don’t know any way to say it but plainly,” Reln said. “The carding house is gone.”