Silent Songs

by Kathleen O'Malley

  She changed the subject. "Call me 'Tesa.' No one calls me 'Interrelator.' "

  "You were named after White Buffalo Woman, from Lakota legend," he signed.

  "Yes, that's right," she agreed, surprised that he knew.

  'To the Grus you are 'Good Eyes'--because your eyes are like theirs?"

  "That started it. I kept the name because Taller said . . ."

  His words came to her as though he'd signed them yesterday. Good Eyes, you see what others can't, you see the truth, even when it's upside down, even when it's backward.

  "He said ... I'd earned it...." She forced down the lump in her throat, and blinked until she no longer felt on the verge of tears. "But... I can't... see the answer to this. . . ." Why did she say that? Because he was here? Because the only time she'd felt any respite from this nightmare was a pleasant moment when she'd accidentally found herself in his arms?

  "What do you want to do?" he asked suddenly, his piercing, predator's gaze holding hers intently.

  "I think, probably ... we should try to do what Jib .. ."

  He stopped her. "No. What do you want to do? In your heart. What do you see yourself, all of us, doing?"

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  Tesa searched inside herself, and her hands answered without hesitation.

  "We need to hit them hard, take them by surprise on so many fronts they'll be too divided to deal with everything."

  "Fight?" He seemed surprised.

  "You asked me what my heart wanted," she reminded him. "Well, my heart remembers old invasions and broken treaties and eloquent leaders who traveled far and spoke for days and died of broken hearts when they could not save their people. My heart doesn't want to talk ... except to say, 'Leave the World.' "

  Javier thought about that.

  "I can't just follow my heart," she assured him, sorry she'd been so blunt. "I didn't spend all that time on StarBridge to resort to brute force the first time I'm confronted with a difficult problem. . . . But... if we send Jib ... they'll take him, I know it. They've already got my friends, my grandmother. . .. Jib's like a brother to me. . . . They'll use him. . . ." She was back to the circular argument, like a snake eating its tail.

  He'd signed nothing while she rambled on, and finally her signs trailed away. First-Light waited until she was still, then finally asked, "You're a heyoka. What does your medicine tell you to do?"

  Her medicine?

  That simply, it became clear to her. Tesa would have realized it herself, but she'd been too busy trying to be too many different people for everyone who needed her. She was a heyoka. Her conflict stemmed from the fact that what she wanted to do-- wage a futile war--was the exact opposite of what she should do--negotiate. That was the source of her turmoil. His question reminded her of what she should have never forgotten. Why hadn't her grandfather said anything to her? Because he was a heyoka, too, of course.

  "Do you follow the old ways?" she asked.

  "I respect them, but I wasn't raised with them."

  "How much do you know about the Lakota?"

  "I earned my doctorate studying the use of traditional Lakota medicine herbs."

  She glanced at him sideways, the way the Grus did. "You're not an anthropologist?"

  He smiled slightly and spelled, "Ethnobotanist."

  Yes. She remembered Rob talking about him.

  "Good Eyes," he prodded her, "what are you going to do?"

  "Follow my medicine," she told him.

  He nodded. "Then we'll fight."

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  A great calm settled over her. There was a lot to do. "I'll fight. I have to."

  "You won't fight alone, Good Eyes. The Wind people won't let you. And we won't let you, either."

  "I can't ask anyone else to follow my path."

  They were face-to-face, signing as privately as if they were surrounded. To her left, the massive Quakers moved on, the ground, even at this distance, rumbling beneath her. To her right, the Wind people went about their business, studiously ignoring the two humans, but Tesa knew most of them were covertly watching, especially Taller and Weaver. She stared into the dark eyes of this stranger, noticing again the gold earring.

  He'd followed her eyes. "I can remove it."

  She furrowed her brow. "Remove it?"

  "You can sever the mechanism. It's not hard. ..."

  "But then you'd be ..." He'd do that... for her?

  When she didn't continue, he reached up to his ear, but she stopped him, her hand covering his. "No! I mean ... I don't want you to. It's not important." As soon as she'd signed that, she knew it was the truth. She hung on to his hand, feeling his warmth, the same warmth that had surrounded her last night.

  Tesa found herself staring at the jagged scar cutting diagonally across his cheek. Impulsively, she released his hand to touch it. "How did you get this?"

  "Eagle," he signed succinctly.

  She jerked her hand away as if she'd been burned. "Eagle?"

  "A Hopi raptor rehabilitator, who was also a medicine man, wanted to release a recovered golden eagle," he told her. "I went with him. When he let the bird go, I was filming. She came at me, right for my face, for the gold patch on my cheek. At least, that's what I thought. She cut me, then took off.

  The medicine man said the patch had nothing to do with it, that she'd marked me for something special."

  "The scar looks like... lightning. A sign of the Thunder Beings...." Her dreams of the mythical creatures had made her a heyoka. Had they marked him for her?

  Javier moved closer. "Whatever your decision, Good Eyes .. . let me be part of it."

  She reached for the mark on his face again, then stopped her hand. Her indecision was gone. In answer to his question, she opened her arms, inviting him inside her blanket. He understood immediately what that meant; she could see the surprise, then the delight, on his normally staid face.

  He moved inside the circle of her arms, sliding his own around

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  her, pulling her to him in a strong, sure embrace, pressing his lightning-marked cheek against hers.

  She wrapped the quilt around them like wings, absorbing the hidden force of his desire, taking strength from it. When his mouth finally joined with hers, the weight that had been pressing down on her changed into energy. Her spirit was electrified, as if the Thunder Beings had given her their lightning power to use against her enemy.

  Tesa and First-Light clung to each other in the privacy of the blanket, tracing words on each other's back, sharing something neither of them had ever known, while the gathered flocks of the Wind people and a small scattering of humans went about their business, pretending not to see.

  Except for Taller, who called to the skies, proclaiming his mate as the finest matchmaker of all their people. Who else had ever brought about the pairing of such a difficult species?

  Weaver joined him, and the others took up the call, pair by pair, until the entire plain vibrated with the power of thousands of avian voices. The other humans reeled under the onslaught, but Javier and Tesa never noticed, thinking only that the strange feeling rocketing through them came from within.

  CHAPTER 22

  By Dawn's Early Light

  Atle pulled himself out of his pool slowly, trying not to wake his wife, but he'd barely set foot on the ledge before her eyes were open. "Go back to sleep.

  It's not even dawn."

  "You haven't slept at all," she sang.

  He'd dozed, but whenever he did, he heard mournful, alien music and jerked awake, searching for it futilely with his keen hearing. When had he last slept the night through? Oh, yes-- before he'd demoted Dacris. Before the humans had escaped. Before he'd wil ingly released two more.

  The First reached for his garment. He'd eat something. He never did get dinner last night, with the emergency Council meeting. ...

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  Leaving the sleeping room, he padded quietly into the pantry. The Council had decided to wait twelve hours. If the humans didn't agree to negotiate
by then, Atle would have to take action. He didn't mind moving against the humans and their avian allies-- he'd anticipated that from the beginning.

  What concerned him was the willingness of the Council to accept the argument that the humans would only respond to greater force. This time, he would have to kill some.

  It'd been hundreds of years since they'd approached war with this attitude.

  But the humans had opened a floodgate of anger with their wanton brutality, and the Council felt that they had to assert their power now, to make the humans yield.

  Atle had agreed, but the escape of the avian and a handful of humans had weakened his position. If he didn't gain it back through strength, he could be removed. Dacris was still his successor. What Atle needed was to successfully subjugate the humans with as few deaths as possible--that would turn this into the success it was destined to be.

  The Interrelator could still follow her training and negotiate. That would solve everything. Several prominent members of the Chorus were waiting to begin the negotiations. Once they began, he would have time to pinpoint her position, and capture her. Without her, the avians could not support an organized resistance, and the other humans would lose heart. She was the key. The perfect persuader.

  When he entered the brightly lit pantry, Arvis and Lene were there, packing food into a case. She was heavy with egg, her lovely back brilliantly colored with the glow of impending motherhood. Both jumped, startled by his sudden appearance.

  "Arvis?" he asked. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

  His son blinked nervously, and Lene spoke for him. "The Simiu wasn't allowed to leave the hatchery last night. . .."

  "I know," he stopped her. "After the escape, her staying here wouldn't look right."

  "Arvis wants to bring her something to eat. I told him he shouldn't worry about her anymore, but. . ."

  "That's fine, Lene," Atle assured her. "He's just being responsible. She has special dietary needs, and she's a valuable commodity. It wouldn't do for her to become ill."

  He patted Arvis' shoulder. "Go feed your servant, son. Make sure she's well cared for, so she stays productive."

  Arvis relaxed. "Father, can I fix something for you? Lene

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  should eat, too, but she insisted on helping me."

  Could this ambitious female have actually developed some affection for his son? Or was she merely trying to keep him out of trouble? She hadn't picked the best house to be allied with, after all. "Why don't you prepare both of us something to eat, Arvis? After all, daughter"--he turned his marbled eyes on her--"your body must stay strong to protect my grandchild."

  Happy to be of service, Arvis bustled about the pantry, pulling out fresh eggs and his father's favorite marinade. Lene sat beside the First, obviously pleased to share a meal with him, despite his tarnished reputation.

  Tesa opened her eyes in the dark. Her dreams had been remarkably peaceful. There were no bloody Rivers, no floating corpses. Instead, she'd dreamed of music, hearing it inside her mind as clearly as if Doctor Blanket had sent it. There'd been the phrases of popular songs she'd only ever felt the bass to, snatches of symphonies, and of course Mozart. She'd even heard the lilting melodies of the siyotanka, the Lakota courting flute. There'd been Navaho chants and, not surprisingly, war dances. What a curious dream.

  Easing out of Javier's arms, she peered out of the shelter to see the stars.

  Around oh four hundred, she realized. She should get up soon. She had things to do. Preparations to make.

  Glancing outside the shelter, she saw Flies-Too-Fast keeping watch among the clustered cohort, the others either lying on the ground or standing on one foot, heads tucked, asleep. She ducked back inside and edged closer to the only other occupant. She'd been amused when the rest of the humans revealed their own quickly assembled lean-tos, assuring her privacy again.

  She was sure, however, that her cohort wasn't yet sanguine about her newest roommate. Tesa shifted, trying to settle back down, but finally had to admit she was too wired to go back to sleep.

  Javier opened his eyes, then pulled her against him, as if to make her stop moving. "Time?" he signed. She held up four fingers and he grimaced. "I'm too old to get up this early."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You weren't too old to spend half the night.. ."

  "Never mind," he interrupted, smiling.

  "Did you dream?" she asked.

  He paused, thinking, then his brow furrowed. "No."

  Tesa gazed around the lean-to for a minute, then finally asked, "What kind of predator would the Quakers have?"

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  He thought about that, then shook his head. "Time. Injury. I don't know. Is that what's keeping you awake?"

  "If there was something big enough to prey on the Quakers, we might be able to simulate it. Scare the Quakers into ... I shouldn't be thinking like that.

  Just because the Quakers aren't cooperative doesn't give me the right to manipulate them. . . ."

  He watched her for a moment, then asked, "You're worried?"

  "Shouldn't I be? I'm asking the Grus and the Aquila to do something they've never done--fight as a unified force."

  Neither of them said anything for a while, and she knew they were both remembering Jib's warning.

  Tesa, this is wrong.' You're changing their culture. That's not what an Interrelator is supposed to do!

  She remembered, too, his final prediction.

  If you go through with this, they'll be killed. It'll be your responsibility!

  She might've backed down then, except for Taller. The Wind people, he'd announced, were ready to take back the River of Fear from the invaders--

  from the very Spirits themselves if they had to. If Good Eyes refused to lead them, he would do it himself.

  "I think we've got a good chance," Javier signed.

  To tweak the giant's nose? she thought. Everyone except Jib had been enthusiastic, ready to act. Tesa closed her eyes, trying to shut out her regrets. Javier pulled her close again, and she wondered, would they be here, together, in twenty-four hours?

  Finally, she sat back up. "We've got to get ready. We can't wait till dawn. . . ."

  "I know," he agreed, sitting tailor-fashion and scrubbing his face with his hands. "When this is over ... is there a chance . . . we might be able to spend some time together . . . alone?"

  His optimism raised her spirits and she wondered if that was why he asked.

  "Depends on what you mean by 'alone.' Without humans? Or without the Wind people?"

  He laughed lightly. "I know better than that. I meant other humans."

  "Oh, we'll have lots of privacy back home, in the marsh. I have my own shelter... it's next to Taller and Weaver's. . . ." She grinned at his expression.

  "Be patient! Taller will get used to you in time. Next spring, we'll go to the caldera. . . ."

  "Where you raised Thunder? I'd like to see that."

  We'll have the whole World to explore, she thought wistfully, if we live through today. Digging around in the corner of the shelter for her small woven basket, Tesa pulled out her battered hairbrush

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  and her face paints. Running the brush through her long, dark hair, she tied it back tight, then laid out her paints. She glanced up, feeling Javier watching her.

  "Ever have your face painted?" she asked. "No," he admitted. "During ceremonies, I just observed." "You sure you're not an anthropologist?" she teased, and then colored his face, using her own pattern. Except for the scar on his cheek. She painted that white, the lightning mark prominent against the black covering most of his face. Tesa wanted the Spirits to see it, so they would protect him.

  Jib stepped off the alien sled, slipping the sound nullifiers from his ears. The sudden rush of River noise was disconcerting and his ears popped.

  "I don't like leaving you here," Meg complained in her thick Slavic accent. It would be an hour before sunrise. The Moons all hovered low over the water, painting it with their dim l
ight.

  "That makes us even, mum," Jib agreed. "I don't like any of this. Isn't there any way to change her mind?"

  "If Tesa doesn't act," Meg said patiently, "she'll have a hard time holding the Grus back. At least this way, she can orchestrate them, get them to work together...."

  "It's not right," he insisted.

  She shook her head. "We'll just have to hope...."

  "And what'll you be doing when everything hits the fan?"

  She looked him straight in the eye. "My best."

  "Right in the middle of it, eh, mum?" He tried not to sound recriminating, but he couldn't help it.

  "It won't be the first time. You're sure they'll come?"

  'The Singers ... ? Yes, they'll come."

  "And you'll be safe with them in the west end of the River?"

  He shrugged. Tesa wanted him to take the captive Singers as far from the action as he could get them. She was afraid they might panic if things went badly. Their mental emanations might not have any effect on the Anurans, but their terrified thoughts could adversely affect humans, as well as any creature of Trinity.

  "They'll go if I urge them," he said noncommittally.

  "If we knock out the force-field, we'll let you know, and you can guide them through to the sea."

  Another temporary refuge. When winter came, the sea would be too cold for them. They depended on the warmer River, then.

  "Jib," Meg said firmly, pulling his attention back.

  "Yes, mum?"

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  "Be careful, dear. I'll be worried about you." As they hugged good-bye, he thought, Not as worried as I'll be about you.

  "Bruce! Bruce! Wake up! Please, wake up!"

  The voice in his ear was tinny, like bad radio reception. He rolled over on the hard pallet.

  "Bruce, please]"

  He blinked, turned back, felt a warm body, and wrapped his arms

  comfortably around it. "S'okay, darlin'," he mumbled. "We're not late. Let's sleep a little longer." A sharp pain shot through his thigh and his eyes snapped open. Szuyi was pressed up against him, staring at him wild-eyed.

  She'd pinched him to wake him up. "What's the matter?" He peered past the doctor and saw Tesa's grandmother, Nadine, hovering nearby.