Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  "It's gone. Faded away. I hate bad dreams." His expression changed, as though he finally realized how odd it was for them to be there. "Did I yell loud enough for you to hear me?" he asked Tesa wryly.

  She held his gaze with her own. "It was more than a dream."

  The young Maori turned gray. "Yeah, it was a bloody mess of a dream, that's what. That's enough, isn't it?"

  "Did you see the Moons bleed? Did you see the Mate Kai?"

  Jib tensed and Bruce stepped between them, giving her a warning glance.

  "Come on, Tesa," Jib complained, "you always look for answers in dreams.

  You stayed up till all hours waiting for your lambs to come home, and when they didn't you went to sleep full of worry and guilt. Did you think you wouldn't have bad dreams?"

  He was fully awake now and Tesa could see that he didn't want to believe that their shared dream had any significance. Could he

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  be right? After days of direct mental contact with the Singers, their minds could simply be reacting to that absence. Beside her, Bruce said nothing.

  "Dreams don't give me answers," Tesa told Jib finally, "but sometimes they give me ... suggestions that I'd be foolish to ignore. If you'd listen to your primal self. . ."

  "My primal self only knows that it's hungry," Jib signed peevishly, "and that it didn't get enough sleep."

  Before the Indian woman could counter his argument, a huge winged shadow passed over the tent. Looking out, Tesa saw Thunder's dark outline silhouetted against the bright sky. She darted outside as Lightning parachuted down. Seconds later, the Hunter dropped, her powerful wings blowing sand into small tornadoes. The cohort flew over to join them, heralding their friends' return with their raucous, juvenile calls.

  "Thank the Suns you're here," Tesa signed, throwing her arms around Lightning, nearly knocking him off balance. He spread his wings to steady himself, then encircled her fondly. When the Hunter approached, Lightning surrounded her with his other wing and the three enjoyed a private moment together.

  Bruce and Jib emerged from the tent. "Where's K'heera?" the young man asked.

  Lightning ducked his head low. "It's all my fault," he began regretfully and explained the chain of events that led to K'heera's leaving him. "By the time I realized she wouldn't return, it was too dark to come back to camp."

  "I followed her," Thunder continued the story, "along the River, until she stopped to eat. That was when she discovered the new creatures that are not-of-the-World."

  Tesa watched the Aquila make her flat statement with a cold detachment, as though she'd been waiting to see those signs all along. But for the others, the news was shocking. The entire cohort, including Lightning, stood tall in surprise, their crowns shrinking up hard. Bruce and Jib framed quick questions, but Tesa held her hand up so Thunder could finish.

  "The aliens attacked and overpowered K'heera, then placed her on her own sled and guided it inside a building. It was nearly dark then, so I had to wait until morning to return."

  "A building?" Bruce asked quickly. "Were there others?"

  "Yes. Many." Thunder quickly described a cluster of alien structures, and ongoing construction.

  "Were these humans, Thunder?" the Interrelator asked.

  "No, but they walk upright with two arms and legs."

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  "Heeyoons?" Tesa asked. The avians were familiar with the many races associated with the CLS.

  "No. They didn't appear like any of the people you've shown me. Their skins were hairless but shining, as if moist, and very colorful. They reminded me of distant cousins of the circle- swimmers. Even the strange trilling notes they used for language seemed similar. And like the circle-swimmers, I thought. . ." she hesitated, as though embarrassed, "they looked delicious."

  "Ever hear of beings like that?" Tesa asked the humans.

  Bruce shook his head. "Sounds like they evolved from amphibians. They could be Anurans."

  "The CLS hasn't met any beings like that," Jib insisted.

  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.

&nbs
p; "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 t
iny 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.

  "Until Weaver returns," Flies-Too-Fast signed hopefully.

  Szu-yi slept fitfully on the floor of the dimly lit, tiny cubicle she shared with Meg. While the heat and humidity of the garishly painted, unfurnished cell and the unyielding floor did not lend