Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  "The Wind people call it 'blood-of-the-World,' " Old Bear signed. "They say the Sun Family sent it, and eating it honors them. When

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  I first came here, I ate it out of respect. But after a while I realized that eating something makes it part of you, so eating this plant could make me part of the World."

  "Don't you miss Earth, Old Bear?" Javier asked. The Lakota, like traditional Navahos, had strong ties to their homelands.

  "Yes. I miss my home, the Black Hills, my family." He thumped his chest.

  "But I brought them with me in my heart."

  Javier had nothing of Earth except the memories of other people's lives.

  "Know what a heyoka is, son?" Old Bear asked.

  "Yes, a contrary. You're a heyoka?"

  The elder grinned, his lined face youthful for a moment. "That's probably what keeps me here, when most men my age would rather be retired, taking it easy. My granddaughter's one, too."

  He stared at the elder, surprised. He knew the Interrelator followed the old religion, but. . .

  "Worst thing about it is," Old Bear confided, "you always end up approaching everything the wrong way. You say what you don't mean. Walk away from the very thing you should walk toward. Sleep in the arms of someone you never thought of making love to. We can't help it, that's just the way we are."

  Javier watched the old man's signs, trying to figure out what he was really saying.

  "You'd think Tesa would be out there with a young, handsome buck wrapped up in that blanket with her. But no, she's running this thing around and around her head, carrying it alone. . .."

  It was a huge burden, Javier thought, to be the only Interrelator on an invaded planet. .. .

  Old Bear moved away then, and tugged on Meg's elbow.

  Before leaving, she stood on tiptoe to kiss Javier's jaw. "Want to know what to offer Tesa? How about your strength?"

  The old Lakota looped his arm through Meg's, and together they

  disappeared into the feathered crowd.

  For years Javier had believed there was no point in letting others get too close when there'd always be barriers, physically and emotionally. He'd never been Deaf, and he would never be Hearing. He'd spent his life searching for something he couldn't find, couldn't even name, a sense of belonging, of being part of something. It was too improbable that he might stumble onto it on this distant planet, long after he'd given up searching.

  Glancing about, he suddenly realized he wasn't alone. A group of White Winds had gathered casually around him. They seemed to vary in ages, one obviously just a yearling, the others of

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  indeterminate years. Except for one. The tallest avian flanking his right had a dusting of cinnamon around his head. "You're Lightning," Javier signed confidently.

  "Yes, First-Light," the youngster responded.

  "And you are ... ?" he asked an older one on his left.

  "Flies-Too-Fast," the avian signed, lifting his head.

  "I am None-So-Pretty," a small female near Lightning told him. "And this is Frost Moon"--she indicated the yearling with her bill--"Snowberry, Hurricane, Winter Bloom, and Scorched."

  Interesting, thought Javier, as he struggled to memorize their subtle physical differences. This was the Interrelator's cohort, the avians she flew with, her most loyal companions. "It is nice to meet you," None-So-Pretty told him.

  Frost Moon jostled the little female and stared at her oddly. "How do we know that!"

  "We don't have to know it," Scorched signed, ruffling the gray tertial feathers that gave her her name. "Good Eyes told us to say it to new humans. It's a human policy."

  "You mean courtesy," Lightning corrected smoothly, and they all peered at him, their crowns spreading, acknowledging his superior knowledge.

  The group walked together for a while until Javier asked, "Where are we going?" They were clearly steering him.

  "Weaver wants you," Lightning signed.

  "It's nice to be wanted," Javier agreed, making the youngster's crown shrink.

  "Good Eyes said you fixed Weaver's severed feathers," FliesTooFast commented. His signs implied that he'd discounted the story as propaganda.

  "She said you made Weaver fly again."

  "I helped," Javier told him.

  "That's good, to be able to fix broken feathers!" the big male, Hurricane, told Lightning, as though this talent had just elevated him into the ranks of sentient beings.

  Lightning seemed to reserve judgment, asking instead, "Is your mate dead?"

  Every member of the cohort stared down at him.

  "Excuse me?" Javier responded, nonplussed.

  "You're a mature human. You should be mated. Is she dead? Or did you abandon her on Earth?"

  "Wait a minute," Javier begged. "I've never had ... a mate. I've had friends.. ..

  You know about human friends?"

  "Of course!" Lightning signed haughtily, as the cohort's attention returned to him. "I grew up with humans. I understand their relationships thoroughly.

  Before I was hatched, First-One-There

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  had a friend, Puff. Now, Old Bear's her friend. And Good Eyes has had lots of friends. Jib, for example."

  "He still is her friend," Flies-Too-Fast reminded him.

  "Yes, but at StarBridge, he was such a special friend, he and Good Eyes shared a shelter] Of course," he addressed this to Javier, "humans share shelters casually. Good Eyes has often shared shelters--with Jib, Relaxed, the Fisher.. .."

  "Really?" Javier asked, intrigued.

  "Don't forget First-One-There, the Healer, Teacher, and Old Bear, too!"

  Snowberry chimed in.

  "And what about all those strangers sharing her shelter last night!" Winter Bloom added.

  Oh, Javier thought, finally remembering how many different relationships the Grus sign "friend" covered.

  The entire group suddenly seemed quite disapproving as Lightning stared at Javier. "Usually, only the cohort shares that shelter with Good Eyes. .. ."

  Threw you guys out of bed, did we? He mulled over the Interrelator's many

  "friends," and wondered if any of them were really special. Then he wondered why he should care.

  "We're Good Eyes' most special friends of all," Flies-Too-Fast insisted. "She flies with us!"

  "It would be hard to beat that," Javier admitted.

  "Haven't you ever flown with anyone?" Lightning asked.

  "No, afraid not."

  The cohort exchanged private signs, probably pitying him, he thought. Never having mated, never having flown with a loved one. He should have been amused as they defined his sudden innocence, but instead he felt surprisingly despondent.

  "But Good Eyes says you're old!" None-So-Pretty announced with an impatient ruffle of feathers. "You must have had a mate once. Don't you know how to court?"

  "I thought the people only mated when they found the one partner in all the World that was right for them?" he asked. The cohort agreed that that was true. "Well, humans can be like that, too. That's why I haven't mated."

  The avians discussed this among themselves.

  "Did the Interrelator ask you to find this out from me?" Javier finally asked them, trying not to seem hopeful.

  Lightning fluffed out, shedding a tiny cinnamon feather that drifted lazily toward the ground. "Oh, no! She says humans think we're 'prying' when we ask personal questions. We . . . have a difference of opinion on this."

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  "Taller wanted to know," Flies-Too-Fast volunteered.

  Lightning seemed alarmed. "I don't think you were supposed to tell him that."

  The older avian seemed confused. "What difference does it make? He doesn't have a mate. That's all that concerned Taller."

  Suddenly the youngsters stopped and Javier found himself facing Weaver.

  Her beauty filled his heart. Good work, kids.

  Taller preened nearby, as if he had no interest in this human, but the leader's casual actions cov
ered a keen eye that stayed trained on the human.

  "First-Light, what a surprise!" Weaver signed, as if she weren't responsible for his arrival here.

  Helplessly entranced by her, he dug in his pocket for a gift. Wrapped in a broad, sturdy leaf were two delicate flowers he'd found. Wonderfully fragrant, the tiny, trumpetlike jewels were a rich purple brightly accented with a splash of yellow.

  "Oh," she signed, genuinely surprised, "they're lovely!"

  Suddenly the entire cohort and Taller were staring at them.

  "These are too beautiful to eat!" Weaver insisted.

  "Not too beautiful for you," he signed brazenly.

  As Weaver touched the blossoms, her mate stabbed the ground, flinging sod in the air. Javier pretended not to see that.

  "You'll get us in trouble with your courting, First-Light," Weaver scolded halfheartedly.

  "I'll be more careful," he promised with equal insincerity.

  "You need to turn that romantic charm on someone worthy of your attentions," she told him. "Some unmated female."

  "You think I give my heart away so easily?" he asked.

  Ignoring that, she folded the protective leaf around the flowers. "I know someone who might name this plant for you."

  He thought she meant one of the Gray Wind healers as she wrapped her wing around him, then turned them around. When she dropped her wing, he saw that they weren't in the center of the huge flock, as he'd thought, but on its rim. A vast, autumn-colored savannah stretched before him, empty.

  No, not empty.

  Herds of large animals grazed in the distance. Between the flock and the herd stood something colored like Trinity, but different... brighter. With a start, he recognized the familiar star quilt. The Interrelator was out there on that grassy plain, wrapped in her blanket, struggling to make her difficult decisions. Her aloneness tugged at him.

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  "Good Eyes could name your flower, First-Light."

  "Weaver," he signed flatly, "this won't work."

  The avian didn't respond, simply stared at him.

  "She doesn't want me."

  "She doesn't know what she wants," Weaver assured him.

  "We're too different. . . ."

  "Are human males and females supposed to be the same?"

  He grew exasperated. "Our ages . . ."

  Her head shot up; she was annoyed. "I'd heard humans were peculiar, but really, First-Light, you insult my partner!"

  "Weaver, please, try to understand. . . ."

  "I understand this. Taller and I have lived with Good Eyes, raised a child with her, perhaps our last child. She could not be closer to us if she hatched from our own egg. Her spirit suffers from loneliness and the burden of her station, a condition we can't relieve."

  "I know. But..."

  "And all those days you and I spent together, enslaved, the nights we passed in conversation. . . . Did you think I learned nothing about you in all that time? Do you think that my people are simple because our wings can't leave our World?"

  He'd offended her, and that hurt him. "I wouldn't have come here to learn from you if I thought that. . . ."

  "Do you find Good Eyes unattractive?"

  "No! She's very attractive!"

  "And brave] Don't you think she's brave?"

  He sighed. He had lain in the dark the night she'd leafleted the camp, asking Weaver question after question about the Interrelator. When the woman herself had actually appeared later, he'd wondered what primal magic the avian had called on to bring her to them. "I would be a liar if I said her courage didn't win my heart the first day I saw her."

  "I knew that!" the Grus signed triumphantly. "I just wanted to see you say it.

  Then, why won't you .. . ?"

  Suddenly Taller loomed into view. "Friend of mine, are you begging this stranger to approach our partner?"

  "I'll handle this!" she snapped. The Grus leader stepped back, stunned.

  Oh, great, Javier thought. With a little more effort I could create both an interspecies crisis and a marital spat!

  Weaver stared at Javier full-faced. "The World could be home to you, my friend, and all the people your family. Or you could live here forever and still be as rootless as the empty man who left Earth not so long ago."

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  Her words cut into his soul with cruel insight.

  "Weaver," Taller addressed her again, this time gently, "come along. You've done what you could."

  She stared at Javier for a moment longer, then finally turned her back and let Taller preen her. Javier wanted to say something, make her understand, but as usual, when he most needed them, words dried up on him. The cohort huddled together, but when they saw him watching, they, too, turned away.

  Javier gazed around the savannah, at the Grus huddling together in pairs and cohorts, at the humans who had formed relationships and allegiances even under the worst circumstances. The only two beings on this plain who stood alone were himself. .. and the Interrelator.

  He exhaled in a rush and stopped thinking, finally allowing his body to do what it had wanted to all along, and walked toward the solitary figure draped in an autumn-colored quilt.

  Tesa's head told her to follow Jib's advice. The worst that would happen is that they would lose some time and Jib would be captured. The best might mean a reasonable end to an unreasonable situation. An end without bloodshed. Why did she find that so hard to believe?

  Too easy, she thought for the hundredth time.

  Jib would be a good negotiator, he'd had excellent training. She could picture him standing firm before the invaders, presenting the White Winds'

  demands, making the Anurans accept their terms.

  That's where the image started cracking around the edges.

  The Wind people would be waiting for the invaders to leave, but they wouldn't. Not while negotiations were stil going on. They'd hold on to Tesa's people, and the days would drag on, with tiny concessions to keep them hopeful, keep them busy.

  When the CLS finally arrived they'd take over with more experienced diplomats. Could they make the invaders leave? How? Sheer force? For all Tesa knew, the invaders were evenly matched with anything the League Irenics might carry, they were just loath to use their power to kill. She couldn't see an end.

  I can't do it, she thought. I don't know enough. I can't tell those people how to save their World. I don't know how! Her chest tightened up so hard she could barely breathe.

  Shutting her eyes, she willed her fear away. Blanking her mind, she watched the herd of Quakers she'd been halfheartedly observing as they placidly devoured entire fern trees at the edge

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  of the grassland. Their massive size and the incredible confidence they exuded as they went about their everyday activities helped calm her. They didn't care about the Anuran invaders. To the huge orange and tan animals, each enemy was nothing but a bump on the landscape to be trampled.

  Tesa imagined the huge herd storming through the Anuran colony, flattening buildings, crushing ships, laying waste valuable equipment, creating chaos and irreparable damage just like the malleable Leaf-Eaters had so obligingly done to the small camp she'd raided. Unfortunately the Quakers weren't nearly as cooperative. They considered anything that interfered with their enormous food requirements an annoyance. Nothing short of an aerial bombing raid would motivate them to move from wherever they were currently feeding. If there was any way to communicate with them, the Wind people had no idea what it was.

  Where do Quakers sleep at night? Tesa wondered. Do they take cover in the forest, or just settle down in the open? The matriarchs stayed on the outside, with the younger herd members pushed toward the center where they could be protected. The few bulls that hovered around the fringes might've seemed like heads of the harem, but Tesa had been watching long enough to know that the matriarchs kept them there, that no male was allowed near a female, except by the oldest female's approval.

  Where does a Quaker sleep at night? She smiled,
remembering the ancient joke. Anywhere she damned pleases.

  Suddenly the herd lifted their heads to gaze in her direction, so she turned to see what they were watching. A human had emerged from the flock and was approaching her. Tesa was startled when she realized it was First-Light.

  What now? She knew that the humans she'd rescued last night were dead against negotiating. Had they sent him out here to argue the situation further? She felt the pressure like a physical force crushing her, as heavy as a Quaker. How long had it been since she'd felt buoyant on Trinity?

  She turned away from him just as he moved beside her. It was rude, but she couldn't help it, she couldn't stand another litany of complaints, demands, or a new piece of bad news.

  When he didn't try to get her attention for several minutes, her curiosity got the better of her. Whatever it was wouldn't go away by wishing it. "What's the matter?" she signed brusquel y.

  He

  stared at her as if he had no idea what she meant.

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  "Why are you here?" she clarified. "Are you bringing a message? Does somebody want me?"

  He paused for a maddening amount of time before carefully answering, "I didn't come to bring a message."

  She exhaled wearily. "Then why are you here?"

  He paused, as if talking to her was harder than anything he'd done in a long time. "I'm here ... for you."

  She blinked, totally confused, completely missing the point.

  "You looked like you could use a friend," he explained.

  A friend? "Is that what you're here for? To be my friend?"

  "If you want, Interrelator."

  She shook her head; that title was still so foreign to her. "Don't call me that. I don't feel like an Interrelator right now. I feel. . . totally unqualified ... to do what they want me to do. . .." She stopped herself. She shouldn't be admitting this to anyone. The humans needed to have confidence in her.

  "Who would be qualified to deal with invading aliens?" he asked. "The CLS

  has never faced this problem before, so all you can do is what seems right to you. Your best guess will be as good as anyone's."

  His simple statement seemed to clarify the problem, if only for the moment.