Ecotones: Ecological Stories from the Border Between Fantasy and Science Fiction

by Ken Liu

  And free.

  But at least his charge was still safe. A small mercy. Anxo smiled again.

  Monteverde closed around him.

  A tree falls in the forest. Perhaps no-one hears. Its passing tears a hole in the once ceaseless canopy. The sun shines unimpeded on the forest floor for the first time in decades.

  But a clearing is not a natural zone of the forest. Not for long. After waiting in the shadows of their towering parents, young shoots break through the mulchy, fertile ground and stretch into the warmth, race each other to claim the light, and life. The fallen giant is slowly wreathed in moss and fungi, its death a transformation, feeding the soil that once made it strong.

  At last, years later, the first amongst those little equals towers amidst its new peers, denying the light to those below, and the canopy is made complete again. The clearing is no more.

  When Anxo departed the clearing, the crater was a blackened pit in the earth’s crust. As night fell, it was hidden beneath a thick carpet of new moss. Only a small, almost perfect circle of black-scorched earth remained exposed at its centre, the fringe of growth creeping inward just fast enough to be detected by the naked eye, were there anyone present to see.

  All around, infant care tigre and ceibo trees were rising, some already as tall as children, thronging a space entirely empty just seven hours before. The edge of the clearing was still a ring of fallen trees, but at its south-most point—the point at which Anxo had crossed into the old, slow jungle, black particles falling from him with every step—the moss lay thick, overlapping between his footprints, small shoots struggling, but rising, even in the shadow.

  Clusters of fungi layered the fallen trunks like scales, their caps broad and thick, their spores already preparing to release—carrying with them an alteration.

  Anxo did not know what was happening in his wake. But after he found a place to rest, after he gave himself over to the utter unconsciousness that followed the hours of stress—an unconsciousness he’d not known since his last experience of true combat, years before—in the morning when he woke, then he’d see.

  Jungle was returning.

  The First Feast

  Victor Espinosa

  Victor Espinosa is a fan of animals, pretzels and attractive words. Born and raised in Naples, Florida, after trying out a variety of careers he settled on education, and currently teaches kids physics and engineering principles via the medium of Lego. Plans to apply this strategy to the field of adult learning are ongoing. He is the author of a self-published fantasy novella, with a sequel and a full-length novel in the works, and this year his short fiction appeared in Nonlocal Science Fiction magazine.

  Not every ecotone need be a matter of geography and nature. When cultures make contact a similar process might take place, with rival interests clashing, struggling for supremacy—or, perhaps, developing symbiosis and finding a state of equilibrium. The presence of very different ways of life can bestow advantages upon both sides...

  “Hurry, they are about to start the ceremony!”

  Doraini raised his head to see several of the younger elves unbow from their prayers and hurry out of the Sanctuary. The elders said nothing, nor did they move. Doraini bowed again, tracing his fingers across the spiral design upon his chest as he asked the Great Banueren tree for wisdom in the time ahead, then made his way from the Sanctuary as well.

  For his tribe’s contribution to the Fellowship Feast, and his duty escorting the goods through the entire trip, Doraini had been invited to eat in the Grand Hall, located at the city’s keep, symbolic twin of the Banueren Sanctuary beside it. Elves and humans alike crowded the first floor and the stairs leading upward, but none forced their way through, they stood and chatted amiably with each other.

  It was Doraini’s first time to the Fellowship Feast, and he was still having a hard time not staring at the hundreds of human faces all around. It amazed him just how different each could look from the others, and he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around the styles of hair they wore. Some men even had hair growing on their faces like rough patches of dead grass.

  He spotted a brother of his tribe near the bottom of the stairs and moved to join him. “Hey, Doraini,” Torein said, and clapped him on the shoulder—a surprisingly potent gesture, and one he saw humans replicating. “What do you think? Pretty incredible, right?”

  “It is more than I thought it would be, that is for sure,” Doraini replied.

  Torein laughed. “I told you. There really is no way to describe this place until you see it for yourself.”

  “Is this your first time?” a man next to Torein asked. Doraini nodded and other feast-goers around perked up.

  “Welcome!” a woman said, and grabbed Doraini’s hand. She moved it up and down in the air before releasing him.

  “Thank you,” he said, hoping it an adequate response.

  “You are going to love it here,” said an elf from a different tribe.

  “Just wait till you try some of the food,” a man said with a smile.

  Doraini nodded politely, but couldn’t bring himself to engage those around him in conversation. His nervousness at speaking publicly aside, the words and warnings of the elders continued to swirl inside his head, and he still felt the need to guard himself from too much exposure to humans.

  Torein patted him on the shoulder, more softly this time. “There is nothing to worry about, Doraini. Relax. When you are in the Grand Hall all these people will not be so close, and there will be music, food and drinks. You will have fun!”

  Doraini nodded, trying to put the elder’s words about humans and their ways from his mind.

  The line moved forward and people began to empty into the Grand Hall with excitement. When Doraini reached the top of the stairs he was stunned by the sight, blocking the entrance until Torein ushered him to a section of the hall filled with small potted trees where several brothers and sisters from their tribe had gathered. Doraini let himself be guided, taking in as much of the scenery as possible.

  The Hall was made of intricately carved stone, much more impressive than the other buildings of the city, and was completely open to the elements. Long wooden tables with benches lined the area, while in several places there grew small groves which Doraini could see tribes of elves gathering in. The Hall had a raised wooden stage at one end flanked by two large braziers, and a wooden balcony extending from three of the four sides. Doraini realized they were actually on the rooftop of the keep, and gave a nod of appreciation to the human’s accommodation of his kind’s needs.

  At first he had thought the elders were right in saying that he would have to eat and sleep inside places of stone during the entire Feast, that being the humans’ preferred way to live. But the green areas where his brothers and sisters stood in comfort, exposed to the wind and sun, gave Doraini much needed confidence.

  Torein walked them into the welcoming aura of the nearest trees. “Are you sure you are going to be okay, Doraini? You are acting like a sapling.”

  Several of their tribe brothers and sisters smiled and Doraini flushed. He shook himself out of his stupor and let the song of the trees wash over him. He put his warrior face on.

  “I will be fine,” he said. He placed a hand on a young pine and felt the comforting roughness of its bark. He looked out at the polished stone floor and long tables, the protests of the elders echoing in his head. They had been right about one thing: what he was experiencing would likely change him forever.

  He gazed out past the edge of the distant balconies at the rooftops of the city, the sun hanging in the distance. “I cannot believe where we are,” he murmured.

  “Do you mean in the Ashern, The Sacred City?” Torein asked.

  “Yes, but also where we are right now. On the top of a stone-built creation. Up here we are higher than most of the Dweller Trees back home.”

  “It is spectacular,” Torien agreed.

  “And humans normally eat inside of places like this, not on top?”
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  “They do a good job of making the insides fairly comfortable, though, do they not?” asked another brother from their tribe, Formein.

  “Yes, though it is strange that they would wrap themselves in hard rock only to bring wood and fabrics inside to make their furniture,” Torein said shaking his head in amusement. Doraini agreed. “You have been to a real human city have you not, Formein? Not a half-way city built by both races.”

  Formein nodded. “One of the strangest experiences of my life.”

  “Why did you go?” Doraini asked.

  “To see what I was missing. To find out what their culture had to offer.” He let out a sigh. “Needless to say, I went back to Gorsynth after just one moon’s turn.”

  Doraini nodded, glad that Formein had returned to their lands and not stayed with the humans in theirs. The elders considered that one of the greatest of offenses. Staying in Ashern was one thing—the city at least had Banueren sanctuaries, and was surrounded by forests—but human cities were said to go on for as far as eyes could see, with countless people crammed into small dwellings to live and serve under a handful of masters.

  Just thinking about such a place made Doraini grieve.

  “Tyler, is that you?” Torein said as a human man passed by their wood. He wore clothes that made him look smart and able, and held the arm of a woman who struck Doraini as both beautiful and impractical. The man waved in their direction. “I will be right back,” he said, walking away from the trees.

  Doraini watched Torein and the man move their hands together in the human fashion, as the woman had done to his, then let his attention wander. Many more humans and elves had populated the rooftop since he had arrived and the benches were almost full. He noticed a group laying out cloth sacks behind the raised stage, a mixture of both races.

  Wind swept over the rooftop suddenly, carrying a cool a breeze and scents Doraini had never known.

  “This is wrong!” The shout carried over the rooftop as all other conversation quieted.

  Doraini turned to see a tall human next to Torein and his friend. He stood with a threatening posture and wide, panicked eyes. Torein took a step back, but his friend and several other humans stepped forward, converged, and ushered the tall man away. The buzz of conversation resumed a few moments later.

  The man was led to the edge of the hall by a contingent of other humans wearing heavy metal plates upon their chests and limbs—armor, Doraini knew it to be called. The tall man’s expression signified anger, and he walked with energetic steps as he left the rooftop. Fearful beings, he thought.

  Torein returned to their tribe a minute later, and Formein placed both hands on his shoulders. “The perspective of that human shouts of his ignorance. Not all reflect his feelings.”

  Torein nodded. “My friend said something similar just a moment ago. Perhaps a bit more like a human, but you both speak wisdom.” He smiled, but it faded quickly.

  The rooftop had grown quiet again, and Doraini feared more anger was building. He looked past the trees to see feast-goers hurrying about, but on reflection sensed only anticipation in the air. He understood why when two figures hopped onto the wooden stage.

  “Welcome to the Fellowship Feast!” one shouted. He was a young human, a boy, while his partner was an elf child of similar stature, no doubt a dozen times the other’s age. The humans cheered and slapped their hands together in response—collectively, the sound they made was almost like that of the wind rustling a forest’s canopy. Doraini let himself get caught up in the moment and slapped his hands together a few times as well, but hearing it more clearly he found it a strange noise, and the action hurt his palms.

  “How many years has there been a Feast?” asked the elf, whose voice was strangely loud, as though he sought to project it all the way across the city.

  The boy shrugged. “More than I have lived, I’m sure.”

  “What was it that brought us into Fellowship?”

  “That’s easy,” the human said. “One day a bunch of humans and a bunch of elves were really hungry, so they got together and ate a humungous meal.”

  The crowd laughed and Doraini smiled—surely not, he thought.

  The elf put his head in his hands, a strange, un-elven gesture. “That’s not it at all,” he said.

  Doraini leaned to Torein and whispered, “Why do they speak so?”

  “It is called ‘acting’,” his friend replied. “Think of it as a life song, but with many singers who each behave as though they have been enveloped by a spirit of the past.”

  Doraini processed this for a moment. “In what way is that like our life songs? We do not—”

  “Quiet. Just watch them,” Torein said.

  Another human boy had walked onto the stage with grand, exaggerated steps, dressed in patchwork robes and a crown of yellow-painted wood. The elf child introduced him as High King Damien, and began to unravel the story of the first Fellowship Feast. But as he spoke, narrating the play with the human boy, Doraini found it harder and harder to watch the actors instead of the elf child.

  He spoke the common tongue with clarity and used the forming of two words together, the way humans often did in their language, with ease, yet he also maintained the air and posture of an elf raised in Gorsynth. His ears came to a point, but they weren’t as sharp as they should be. His eyes were slanted and edged, but also a great deal rounder than normal. He was a half-elf, child of both human and elf parents.

  Doraini had heard of half-elves, but he didn’t expect to see one paraded in front of him at the Feast. A small part of him, the part nurtured and educated by the elders of his village, was appalled at how he was presented on stage. But as the performance continued, and the child’s joy in his performance became clear, Doraini found such feelings unworthy. What better way to celebrate the union of both races than by showing off their impressive result?

  Doraini had become so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed when the play ended. The actors, all of them children, came to the front of the stage and bowed to the applause and praise of the crowd. Doraini admired their costumes more closely while he had time. A small girl was dressed as a Gragesh mage, and made him chuckle with delight when she waved and one large, fake green hand too big for her own fell into the crowd.

  Then the two narrators stepped forward and bowed in human fashion, and Doraini once again clapped his hands to produce noise for them.

  “Let the Feast begin!” the actors chorused, and cheers and shouts rose from everyone present.

  The wind carried into the hall the sounds of distant celebrations, and Doraini looked out over the city to see other gatherings on rooftops, even humans dancing in the streets. But his attention was soon drawn to the flurry of woman and men carrying out food and drinks on large trays. They circled the human tables and entered the small elven gardens, passing out their contents with impressive speed.

  Doraini accepted a cup and saw Torein down the contents of his almost immediately.

  “I missed this stuff,” he sighed, and happily accepted another.

  An elf came by next with a platter of leaf wraps that Doraini recognized. He wanted to try some of the human food before he left, but would start off with something familiar first. He raised it to his mouth, but paused at the smell coming from it.

  “Try it,” Torein said through a full mouth, without shame.

  “What is inside?” Doraini asked, sniffing it again.

  “One of the ingredients is called chicken, and the other cheese,” Torein said. “I asked what those are once, but received different answers. All I know is that it tastes great. Trust me.”

  Doraini was about to protest, but Torein hadn’t let him down yet. He nibbled on a corner of the wrap. Hot flavors swirled into his mouth. His next bite was much larger than the first, his second and third put an end to the delicacy. He was in awe.

  “I told you,” Torein said, holding out a goblet brimming with a shimmering liquid.

  Doraini sipped at the d
rink, surprised to discover another flavor he had never experienced. He was beginning to enjoy the Feast far more than he thought he would.

  As more and more servers moved about the hall, Doraini accumulated a piece of food or drink from each, keen to sample everything. Not everything was to his taste, but he soon accumulated a pile of second portions beside him that he was compelled to defend from Torein’s predatory attentions.

  Several elves left their groves to stand by human tables. Doraini saw humans invite them to sit, and was momentarily shocked when the elves took the invitation, bending to press themselves against the benches and accepting morsels of food. But once again, Doraini knew that his shock was an old part of him, too similar to the elders of his tribe. He was not going to be as closed minded or resentful as they were, and told himself to get over such a sight.

  What shocked him more, however, was when humans rose from their benches and made their way to stand with elves in their tiny forests. Doraini thought for sure that the trees would stop singing in protest at such a thing, but the trees of his grove continued to sing despite the human’s presence.

  Doraini chewed another piece of food. He decided he didn’t need to think about the how or why, he just needed to enjoy the fellowship taking place. So he wasn’t insulted or judgmental when Formein said goodbye, and left to sit next to a human woman at her table. Nor was he put out when Torein waved over his friend from earlier to join them.

  The man was accompanied by two other human males, each as different in appearance from the others as could be imagined. One had hair growing only on his chin, the other’s features made him seem sad yet hard at the same time, while Torein’s friend smiled often and seemed a man who would be comfortable almost anywhere.

  “Welcome, Tyler,” Torein said. “Who are your friends?”