by Susan Kite
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
World Castle Publishing, LLC
Pensacola, Florida
Copyright © Susan Kite 2015
Print ISBN: 9781629892283
eBook ISBN: 9781629892290
First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC April 15, 2015
http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com
Licensing Notes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
Cover: Karen Fuller
Editor: Eric Johnston
{Gregor Johann MENDEL was an Austrian monk and biologist whose work on heredity became the basis of the modern theory of genetics.}
Chapter One
It was a small place with hard, sharp corners. What bothered her most was the smell. It was the smell of death.
The old one beckoned with a skeletal finger. The air wheezed in and out of the old man’s chest. The breath was death; the dry, wrinkled, spotted skin was death. The beeps, hisses, and chirps that flew at her from everywhere in the cold room were death. Even the air felt dead. Nothing in the room lived except Corree and the old one, and he was almost dead.
“Come here, girl,” the dying man croaked.
Corree didn’t move, but something pushed her forward. The wheezing filled her ears.
“Remember.”
“Re-remember what?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. She was shivering now. Goose bumps looked like mountains on the smooth flesh that was protected by the pelt she had now. The old one didn’t say anything for a long, long time. “Remember?” she began again, trying to coax the old one.
“Remember you are human. Always you are human.” It took in a shuddering, wheezing gasp. “You…are…human.”
What a silly statement, Corree thought. She was a girl. She was with lots of other girls. There were also boys. All of them in sharp corner rooms, some big and some small. They had lived forever in the place with cold, hard corners.
“Whatever happens to you, you are human….”
****
Corree’s eyes popped open and she saw darkness. There was no hard place and no old man. She shivered in her arboreal nest as she came to total wakefulness. Raising her head, she sniffed the air. Normal scents. The death that crossed her awareness now was natural. A ground dweller, most likely a snake, had fed a swooper. Her high, rounded ears pivoted. A tiny butterfly crawled under a nearby leaf. An orange-spotted cheeper rested on the edge of her nest, calling for a mate. It had no fear of her, despite its tiny size. Its skin was toxic.
The moons were not up, so the dark was thick. Corree listened more carefully and detected nothing nearby that would harm the group. She leaned out of her nest and listened for the others. Soft snoring sighs told her they were asleep. Tanna whistled softly from a limb below the group’s nests, signaling everything was well.
Except for the dream. Corree shivered again. They were coming more often now. Each time she saw a little more. Each time she remembered more. Now she wondered at the old one’s words. Human. So what was that anyway? She was human, but she was not the same as she had been in the dream. Was that what the old man meant? Did that mean she was no longer human? If that was the case, what was she? What were they all? They had changed so rapidly, but that hadn’t been bad. That was the only way they could survive in the forest. She had understood that from the first.
Why did the old man tell her those things if she wasn’t supposed to change? Didn’t he know what the forest was like? Did he know Migo had died because he didn’t adapt? Corree pulled herself away from the place her thoughts were going and focused on the sounds of the forest. The rustling of fringe leaves usually soothed her, but it was difficult to focus on anything other than the memories and dreams.
Before this season, Corree would have figured she was having one of those strange fantasy dreams; the ones where she could fly above the canopy or where something horrible was chasing her. She knew these latest dreams were real. As weird as it seemed, it was something that had happened to her long ago. While she dreamed, Corree remembered more and more from the before time. It was as though she had been in a fog of forgetfulness for the past five years and now it was lifting. She knew now what she had only guessed before—she and her group had not always been in the forest.
With a gentleness that belied the iron-hard strength in her long, calloused fingers, Corree stroked down the velvety smoothness of the gray-green pelt that covered her body. The darker places blended with the lighter like the rippling waves of a gentle stream. The downy-soft fur was just long enough, the width of her index finger, to repel the stinging rains of the hot season and protect her against the humid chill of the brief cold season. It also reflected the intense rays of the blue-white sun when she ventured near the top of the forest canopy. Only on her head was it longer, a green and black streaked length tied out of her eyes with a strip of scaled whistler skin.
Corree thought back to the girl in the dream—her. She had been covered in soft white under-skin that wouldn’t have protected her from the sun or the rain for long. Her eyes had once been a bright blue. Now when she ventured close to a pool, she noticed they were deep green. What had made her change? Where was that place of death she had dreamed about? Who was the old one? How had she gotten from the hard place to their comfortable forest?
Vague answers formed even as she thought the questions. She remembered the pod that had sustained all of them except Migo. Migo. Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away. She knew he was supposed to be her nest mate, but he had died shortly after their pod came to the forest. Pod? Ah, it was a pod that had brought them from the sky; from space. That sudden revelation startled her.
Like the dreams, she knew it was true. The pod had been their home at first; a safe refuge until their bodies had changed and they learned the secrets of the forest. Once their eyes became strong enough to see what lurked in the gloom of the dense forest understory and their ears adapted to pick up the tiniest sounds, she had led them away. Corree could not stay in the place that had been the death of her nest mate.
By this time, she had the skin flaps that allowed her to glide from one twisted forest giant to another. Her fingernails had lengthened and strengthened to allow her to climb any tree quickly. She, as well as the others in her group, was more agile, stronger and tougher. Each member developed a sense of balance that made it almost impossible to fall.
Why had the old one sent them here? If she was supposed to be human, why had she changed? In her dream, she remembered many other kids in that place of hard corners. What had happened to them? Were there other groups in the forest? They had seen no others in all the time they had lived here. Of course, they hadn’t explored beyond the territory they had lived in for the past five years. Corree shook her aching head. A howler screamed above her in the canopy. The first moon would soon rise. She tried to settle back down in her nest to sleep until both moons were up, but the dream wouldn’t let her.
When the dreams began, so too did the pulling restlessness. The group was headed toward the place where the great river met the mountains. Why? That was a place of danger. The little voice in her mind that liked to argue with logic piped up. Why is it a place of danger? Just because it is, she mentally snapped. Because you are afraid of the place where Migo died…. Corree ignored the annoying voice this time.
Regardless
of the danger, she was following the call and the others were following her. The answers to her questions and the dreams were in the place they had fled from. She shivered and curled up, her arms and skin flaps trying to keep out the fear that made her cold.
As the second moon rose, so did Corree. She dropped to Tanna’s limb. He studied her with luminous blue-green eyes. In the light of the twin moons, it was hard to see anything but his eyes. His pelt was darker than hers, but then his under skin had been darker, too. Now mahogany-colored fur covered his body. His tool belt had been woven together from the skin of a scaly brown tree snake. He had killed it himself. The belt not only wrapped around his hips, but he had fashioned straps that extended up from his belt over his shoulders and down his back. Anything he made or found that was useful was attached to his belt.
The rest of them also had belts, but none were so intricate or heavily laden. They had made their own, however. Corree remembered the forest cat that had attacked their group one night. She had killed it with a sharpened stick and a great deal of luck. Its pelt now fit snugly around her hips, a spotted trophy attesting to her courage and her dedication to those who followed her. Her arms belt, not as wide as Tanna’s, had been fashioned from the skins of several sinuous water skimmers, their food of choice.
“We keep going to the mountains,” Tanna said. It had ceased being a question several nights ago.
“I think we can get there by the time the sun rises.”
“What will we do then?” he asked.
She shrugged. “See what our dreams are leading us to.” They had all experienced the dreams, although none as strongly as Corree.
“I think we’re better off here in the forest.”
“How long do you think we could ignore what is in our heads? If for no other reason, I want to get rid of the annoying insistence that we be there now.”
“I know, Corree, but after all this time, why now?”
“Hmm. That’s only one of the questions I have been asking myself,” she replied. “Perhaps we’ll find the answer to that, too.”
“I hope so,” Tanna growled. “I’m getting tired of the weird dreams.”
Corree laughed. It was true. Life was so much simpler before the dreams began.
****
“What is it?” Breka asked, staring at the vine-covered mound below them. She was about three years younger than Corree, as was Joshee. Tanna was a year younger than Corree, who figured she was fourteen now. Mora, Tanna’s nest mate, was almost Tanna’s age. Kollin and Mendee were the youngest, five years younger than Corree. Years. That was another of the words that had come recently. Not from the dreams but suddenly in her mind. Before the “word,” the concept of spaces of time was a little vague and based on the dance of the moons around their world, as well as the sun’s journey across the sky. Day. Why had they been able to talk with each another from the beginning and yet some words had been hidden in their memories for five years?
“What is it?” Breka repeated.
The thing sat just beyond the edge of the forest. It was too perfectly uniform to be anything natural. The center was peaked, as though it was pointing to something in the sky. Beyond the sharp-cornered mound, the ground rose sharply into heights wreathed in clouds. A great river tumbled in front of the building, forming a miniature canyon. Building. Like a pod, only much bigger. A living place. Corree knew it was made of the same material as the hard-cornered thing of her memories. There was no sign of the pod they had arrived in. She was relieved, while still wondering what had happened to it.
“It’s scary,” Joshee said, squeezing between Corree and Breka.
“It’s all covered with forest and mountain plants, but it’s not natural,” Tanna observed. “I wonder how long it’s been here.”
“I would guess a couple of years,” Corree answered. “Those kuzu plants grow quickly.”
“Do you think there are others inside?” Mora asked.
Corree considered and then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, but it wanted us to come.”
“How could a thing like that,” Joshee protested, “want anything? How could a thing even know we’re here? That’s like saying a rock could tell us what to do.”
“Why would a building want us?” Mendee asked.
Corree started. So the strange words were coming into the others’ heads, too. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
They continued to stare at the silent mound as the small blue sun rose behind them. Its light shone onto the mound and everyone gasped as bits and pieces of the building seemed to erupt into blue-white fire.
Corree gasped in pain and threw up her hand to shield her eyes.
“Get down!” Tanna ordered. They all squatted low on their limbs, behind screens of thick foliage. Kollin and Mendee dropped to the next limb. They all stole glances through thinner leaves as light continued to dance and flash.
“It’s like the hard cold place we came from, isn’t it?” Breka asked, her voice trembling.
Even though they had all been having dreams, the younger members of the group had not said anything about the times before the forest. They had only admitted to dreaming about the hard times when they were all changing. “What do you remember?” Corree asked.
“A cold, hard place,” Breka replied. “With shiny halls.”
“What else?”
“Hairless people.”
Corree looked at each of the others. Kollin, Mendee, and Joshee shook their heads.
Tanna shrugged. “I dreamed about lots of hairless people. I was without my pelt, too.”
“Me, too,” Corree admitted. “I remembered the pod in someplace far away. I also remember how hard it was getting to the forest from space. Now I am remembering much more.”
“Do you think that’s the big pod?” Tanna asked. “Where we grew up?”
Again, Corree considered. “It could be. That’s probably why it’s calling us.”
“Maybe that’s why we came, too,” Kollin added.
Corree realized no one had argued with her decision to come here, despite the fact they all feared being away from their home place deep in the forest. “I think it wants us to go inside,” she thought out loud.
“Why?” Joshee asked.
“I don’t know,” Corree admitted.
“Are we?” Mendee asked.
“How do we get in?” Tanna, the voice of reason piped in.
Those were good questions, Corree thought. She didn’t have any good answers.
The building still sparkled as the sun rose, but it was no longer reflecting in their eyes. Corree studied the situation. They all felt the compulsion to go inside, but it would be a stupid move. “I’ll go down and check it out. The rest of you wait here,” she finally said.
Tanna protested. “No! You shouldn’t go alone!”
“I’m the leader,” she began and saw Tanna bristle. “Besides, the rest of you are nest-mated.”
Tanna scowled.
When he opened his mouth to say something else, Corree shook her head. “We’d be idiots if we all went in at the same time. Or even two of us. One of us needs to check it out first. Then if it’s safe…” She pulled off her bow from where it hung on her back and handed it to Tanna. The small quiver of arrows followed.
Mora snorted. “I don’t see how you’ll get in.”
“I don’t either, but it seems crazy to entice us here and then leave us to stare at it.”
There were multiple nods.
“Maybe I’ll see something from the ground. Tanna, you and Mora are in charge until I come back. If I can get into the pod, I’ll check everything out.”
Kollin looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He was the one who needed to know everything, but Corree didn’t have any answers to his “what if” questions now.
She pulled on her thin leaf goggles, then extended her arms and leaped out from the limb, dropping toward the riverbank. Air filled the skin flaps and slowed her fall. Her legs were tight t
ogether and worked the same way a tail did for the monkeys that lived in the canopy. Corree curved her body and gathered her legs beneath her as the ground approached. Her landing was automatic, learned from cautious experience and from watching the other forest dwellers. None of the group members thought about it anymore, except for Joshee who loved to try acrobatics when he was gliding.
Corree’s feet made only a whisper of sound as she landed on the open, pebbly surface. She crouched and studied the area near the plant-covered building. The sounds of the forest seemed muted. It was like she had walked a long distance from the edge of the great trees. Only the river seemed to have voice. It gurgled and splashed below her. Walking to the edge of the bank, Corree saw that it would be impossible for her to wade across the wild water, nor was there room or wind enough for her to leap or glide across this time of day.
Stymied, Corree paced along the edge of the riverbank. She signaled for Tanna and the others to remain in the trees. At that moment, she heard a whining sound, like a horde of angry honey wasps. She stared at the oversized pod as two pieces of the building split apart to form a doorway. It stopped and Corree shaded her eyes, trying to see into the strange, yet familiar structure. Nothing happened for several minutes.
Without warning, a strip of metal began sliding toward her. Corree backed up, watching the ramp. Ramp. Another new word that popped out of that deep place in her mind.
Tanna whistled a warning. Corree signaled an okay back to him without taking her eyes off the ramp. It stopped with a grinding thump on the bank near her feet. She waited, not knowing what else to expect. Nothing happened. The sun beat down, and her eyes smarted in the glare, despite her goggles. A trickle of sweat ran down the middle of her back. She knew what she was supposed to do, but she was afraid. Rustling behind her was motivation to make some kind of decision. The group was getting restless. Corree sucked in her breath and stepped onto the ramp. It was cold against her calloused feet. She didn’t hesitate as she crossed the river. Water splashed over the rocks, sending spray up against the bottom of the ramp.