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

by Ken Liu

  “This is my brother Gavin,” Tyler said gesturing to the man with hair on his face, “and Walter, a fellow enlisted man.” The other human raised a hand.

  “Welcome,” Torein said, then in Turish “Ash’va den tow.”

  To Doraini’s amazement, both humans raised their hands when Torein did and returned the greeting in Tursih, “Ash’vados da.”

  “I am Torein, and this is my tribe-brother, Doraini,” Torein said. “Doraini, close your mouth.” Doraini snapped his jaw shut, but continued to stare. “Please excuse him, this is his first Feast.”

  “Really?” Tyler asked. “What did you say to me the first year we met, Torein? ‘Fir quethrotah’?”

  “Yes, very good,” Torein said. “I’m glad you remembered.”

  “How is it that you know Tursih?” Doraini blurted.

  Tyler smiled. “I don’t know that much, just a few phrases. Your culture has fascinated me since the first time I was exposed to it. My father took me to a Fellowship Feast when I was a teenager, and I’ve been coming every year since. I’ve interacted often with your people, but Torein is the first I can call a real friend.”

  “I met Tyler during my first year here. He explained to me what I should expect, much as I have been doing to you.” Torein frowned at Doraini. “Now, are you going to return his words or not?”

  Doraini blushed. “Of course. Yon fir soy’went.”

  Tyler wore a half smile. “I actually don’t know that one.”

  “Oh, I am sorry,” Doraini said. “It would translate to, ‘It is good that we have met’.”

  “I see,” Tyler said. “The same to you as well.”

  “Let us sit here, amidst our grove,” Torein said, and Doraini watched with apprehension as his friend lowered himself to the ground. He flinched as all three humans seemed to fall upon their feet, but despite their speed they did so without apparent pain, their legs extending like felled trees, or crossed beneath them as though deadwood set for a fire.

  Torein finally touched his torso to the ground as well, looking very pleased with himself. Doraini took a deep breath then copied his technique. At the last moment he placed one hand upon the tree trunk behind him as though for balance, but he kept it there even after the soles of his feet left the circle of earth, taking comfort from its touch.

  “You speak our tongue well,” Gavin, the chin-haired man, noted.

  “Thank you,” Doraini said, but he had a vague sensation that speaking was difficult in this strange new position. He drew another dish of new food closer and began scooping bits of it into his mouth, hoping to witness the conversation more than participate further. Torein had said the word “cake” many times in reference to it, and Doraini gave it his utmost approval.

  “So, what do you think of this year’s Feast so far?” Tyler asked.

  “Much the same as every year, my friend.” Torein looked around the hall with bright eyes. “I love it.”

  “Here here,” said Walter, and took a large gulp of his drink.

  “Though there was a slight problem earlier,” Torein said quietly.

  “Stupid oaf, he was,” Tyler said. “I thought Rowan had met elves before, I didn’t know he was so set against you.”

  “He is only one man. The majority welcome us.”

  “I wonder how he would have taken the performance,” Gavin said.

  “I doubt he would have sat quietly,” Tyler said.

  “Tell me more about this ‘wife’ of yours,” Torein said, eagerly changing the subject. “You spoke of no such thing last celebration.”

  Gavin barked a hard laugh, then as Tyler narrowed his eyes tried to pretend it was a cough. Tyler looked away from Torein as he spoke. “Ah yes, Gweneth. You’ve heard of politics, yes? Tedious administration and law, all the affairs we try to get away from by coming to this Feast once a year? Well, our marriage is all about politics.”

  “Marriage,” Doraini said, “that is your union?” Tyler nodded. “Politics must be horrible if they force you into a bonding. To give up such control over one’s life is frightening.”

  “You have no idea,” Walter said, and Gavin laughed again.

  “Do you even like her?” Torein asked.

  “Of course,” Tyler said. To Doraini, it seemed almost like his response was more of a reflex. Tyler looked at Gavin a moment, then added, “I mean, no one is perfect. I guess, if I’m going to be forced to marry for my family, it could have been worse.”

  “That’s the truth,” Gavin agreed.

  “I would have her meet you, but it’s her first Fellowship Feast as well. Let’s just say she isn’t handling it as well as Doraini is.”

  “Me?” Doraini asked. “I will be honest, I am quite overwhelmed at this event. I feel for your bonding partner and wish I could help console her. I, too, am constantly baffled at everything there is taking place here.

  “The food,” he said, holding up his next choice, “the people, the… look at where we are sitting right now. We are raised up high above the ground, surrounded by stone actually shaped by human hands. And we are safe! The floor is not going to give way, or at least it hasn’t yet—” the others laughed, Torein too “—even the stairs leading up here impressed me. Words are not adequate, to be certain.”

  “Just the fact that you can speak about it at all shows how well you handle it, Doraini.” Tyler threw up his arms. “Gweneth just shivers and says she wants to go home. When I ask her why or what’s wrong, she only repeats herself. She doesn’t even like the food, which is beyond me.”

  “So,” Gavin said with an eyebrow raised to Doraini, “what do you think of the food?”

  “Not only does my mouth rejoice in its discovery, but my entire body is sharing in the experience. My head swims in the delight and I feel pleasurable throughout my body.”

  “Here, here,” Walter said, and raised his cup.

  “Well said,” Gavin agreed.

  “Did you bring any wood creations this year?” Tyler asked. “Gweneth can say what she will about the Feast, the whole reason she wanted to come was because I showed her the wooden soldier you made for me. She decided she had to see more.”

  “I have one or two,” Torein said. “What about you, Doraini?”

  “I did also, like you told me.” Humans found their manipulation of Banueren wood something of a rarity, and Torein told him it had become common practice to bring figures along to the Feast for trade. Doraini had not known what he might trade his creation for, but knew he would be happy to exchange it for more chicken wraps and cake.

  “What did you bring this year?” Tyler asked.

  “Just these,” Torein said, withdrawing a bird and a five pointed star from his tunic. Both were well made and the humans all murmured their admiration, but Doraini was surprised at his friend’s lie—these were old and he knew Torein had been creating others for the Feast, pieces he had been reluctant to let Doraini see.

  When pressed, he would say only that Doraini would learn in time. Now, Doraini thought of the gift he had prepared and felt a twinge of embarrassment.

  “Very impressive,” Gavin said, eying Torein’s work. “I have a large Banueren carving myself. I watched its maker start working on it the first night of the Feast three years ago, and he finished before we left. Hangs in my bedchambers. I offered him an ingot of pure silver for it.”

  Tyler rubbed his chin, then harumphed. “That’s a fair price, I think. What did the elf think?”

  “It’s what made him work so well so quickly. I let him have it the first day, and he had it beside him every day after. I’m not even sure he did anything with it, he just liked the shine of it.”

  “Before you ask,” Torein said, reading the expression on Doraini’s face, “Tyler, could you show my brother what silver is?”

  “I have some,” Tyler said, reaching under his shirt, “and some gold too.” He removed a bright chain from under his shirt and handed it out to Doraini, who held out his hands as if about to cup water, not even aw
are that he had let go of the comforting tree at his back. The chain pooled in his palms, sparkling in the sunlight and cool to the touch. His eyes grew wide staring at it. It was probably the most beautiful material he had ever seen.

  “You wear this?” Doraini asked.

  “As a sign of wealth or status,” Tyler said. “Here, this is a gold ring I wear ever since marrying Gweneth.” He took the chain from Doraini and passed him a small object, dense despite its size, and even more beautiful than the previous. It shone like a small sun in his hands, and as he examined it he could see his own reflection.

  “How do you make such a thing?” Doraini asked.

  “Much the same way that we harvest Banueren or Ryker trees for their wood and leaves,” Torein said, “humans work deep within the ground, and find the gold’s light shining in the rocks they make their homes from.” Both elves stared at the ring as though hypnotized, and neither saw the smiles passing between the humans.

  “It is incredible,” Doraini managed after a time.

  “It certainly is.” Tyler looked pleased, and was content to let him hold the ring for a while. When he finally held out his hand again, Doraini relinquished it slowly. “You should see Gweneth’s,” he continued. “It’s twice the size of mine and with a good sized diamond set in it as well.”

  “Amazing,” Torein said. “It’s a shame not more of our elders come to the Feasts. What if we could learn to manipulate the ground as we do the trees?” All the young people of the tribes had listened to the elders give excuse after excuse as to why they couldn’t travel to the Feast. Both elves knew it was pointless to even ask.

  The conversation lulled, and the group stood listening to the commotion of the Feast around them for a few moments.

  “Have you been out to the balconies yet, Doraini?” Tyler asked.

  “I have not.”

  “Well, you should,” Tyler said. “The sun is setting, they’ll be lighting the lanterns soon. That’s when the balcony is the place to be.”

  “Very well,” Doraini said, standing and luxuriating for a moment in the feel of his weight returning to his feet. “I shall discover these balconies now.” He grabbed a cup of red liquid from his pile of accumulated food and drink, and took several steps away from his new friends before realizing he didn’t know where he was going. He turned to ask, but saw them all smiling and pointing in the same direction.

  “Thank you,” he said. And with that, Doraini left the comfort of the grove and crossed the grand feast hall. Alone.

  He watched other Feast-goers sitting on benches and enjoying each other’s company as he walked. It was encouraging to see such friendships between humans and elves, and to know that his own new friendships contributed to this new whole.

  At the edge of the stone rooftop he found a wooden balcony that extended out above the city. Walking on it was like being back amongst the treetops once more. Hyrian flowers were set along the railing and stained glass lanterns hung every few feet, as yet unlit.

  He came to a man stood by the railing, leaning over it, and Doraini decided he would make his first contact with humans on his own. He approached the man. “Greetings to you, friend,” he said. “May I ask, are you enjoying the Feast?”

  The man turned, and Doraini saw that it was the tall human who had shouted at Torein earlier. He felt a chill. The man gave him a hard look.

  “What did you ask? If I’m enjoying the Feast?” He spoke with varied intonations and emphasized strange parts of his speech. “You think I’d enjoy something like this? With half-breeds running around like they belong here. You think I’d enjoy this, this… Crime? Because that’s what it is, a crime!”

  Doraini took a step backwards, holding up his hands. “I am sorry, friend, I meant no offense at the question.”

  “Friend!” the man shouted, turning on him. “Who in the hell do you think you are? You’re a freak, with no—”

  The man was cut off as metal-clad guards rushed past Doraini from behind and took hold of him. They twisted his arms in a manner that seemed to limit his capacity for speech and made him easy to lead. He shouted partial sentences and obscenities as he was escorted down the stairs, presumably this time for good.

  Doraini wanted to dismiss the confrontation as easily as Torein and Formein had earlier, but he found it hard to stop his hands from trembling. He felt exhausted, and rested his weight against the balcony railing, breathing deeply till his heartbeat relented in its pounding.

  Sharp footsteps approached from behind and he turned, hoping that Torein had come to join him. Instead he found a human woman. She bobbed low to the ground for a moment then raised to her full height. Not knowing the proper response, he stuck out his hand in an attempt at the human gesture he’d witnessed earlier.

  “On behalf of everyone here, I wanted to apologize for the way Rowan treated you,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the stairs. “He is a stupid oaf.”

  Doraini let his hand fall unnoticed. “It is gracious of you to offer an apology for him.” He spoke slowly, determined not to stammer his words. He was abruptly aware that none of Torein’s human friends were female, that her nature was not the same as theirs—nor quite like that of elven women.

  She smiled, and Doraini’s heart began to pound anew, as though it had forgotten how to function properly. She wore a simple dress of white, yellow, and green, but the fabric and the way it folded over her body was unlike anything Doraini had ever seen. Her hair was like the bark of a healthy oak, her eyes were the green of its leaves. Her appearance took Doraini’s breath away.

  “I do not want you to regret attending, so I…” she hesitated, suddenly not so confident, then continued, “I want to give you this.”

  She pulled something from a fold in the middle of her dress and held it out. It was a smooth, round stone with a swirling design carved into it. Doraini gasped when he saw it. Though lacking the correct intricacy, the design was clearly meant to be the same as that upon his tunic, the formal pattern used to decorate formal robes throughout his tribe.

  “How could you know of this?” he asked.

  “I saw the pattern on the clothes of visitors at the last Feast, and copied it to make a gift this year. When I saw your clothing now I knew it was a sign. I only brought one thing with me to trade, what are the chances that you would wear the same pattern?” She spoke in a soft, melodic voice, but Doraini could hear nervousness.

  As he took the stone his fingers brushed against hers, and he felt the barest flash of emotion at the contact. But something caught his eye as he held the stone to his chest. The woman wore a silver chain around her neck, much the same as Tyler did, except hers had an ornament at the end of it. A rosebud, mid-bloom.

  With one hand still clasping the stone, Doraini reached into his tunic and withdrew the gift he had prepared. It was a piece of Banueren wood, taken from a branch that fell from an aging tree. He had smoothed away its bark, the wood beneath shining through dark and lined.

  An elven gift, but a traditional gift, one that would have little meaning here.

  He closed his eyes, putting the distractions of the Feast from his mind, putting all thought of tradition from his mind, putting even the image of the woman from his mind—and thought only of the rosebud.

  He felt the form of the wood flowing beneath his fingers.

  When he opened his eyes, the piece of branch had become thin and fragile along its length, but at one end had swollen into an imitation of the ornament the woman wore. He blushed at its rough simplicity, the work of seconds an unworthy gift. But when he finally looked up he saw astonishment, recognition and delight in the woman’s expression.

  He presented it to her.

  “I too only brought one thing to trade,” he said. “It seems we were meant to meet.” He did not think that her eyes could sparkle any more than they had already, but as she took the rose from him they did.

  Around them, servants moved to light lanterns, replacing the light of the setting sun.
Stained glass in dozens of different colors illuminated the twilight.

  The effect was dazzling, but not enough to take Doraini’s attention away from her.

  Compatibility

  Ken Liu

  In 2015, Ken Liu really needs no introduction (and yet here I go). Past winner—uniquely—of the Hugo, Nebula and World Fantasy Awards for the same short story, he is now stealth winner—as translator, in only the second such occurrence—of this year’s Hugo award for best novel. His first novel, The Grace of Kings, continues the fine trend of work inspired by non-western cultures which is invigorating the fantasy mainstream, and has been praised not just for its beautiful prose but also for simply offering up an engrossing adventure on an epic scale. For what that’s worth.

  In this sourly comedic short, we’re reminded there are other environments than natural ones, and competition for prized resources is no less fierce in the marketplace. Corporate rivalries are also red in tooth and claw, and whenever competing systems come into contact, the fur—or sparks—will fly…

  “Good morning, Mr. Russell!”

  The cheerful, not-at-all-computery voice belonged to a model TXHG-770—better known under the marketing name “Bara the Companion”—which was specifically designed and manufactured for the elderly by weRobot. Its chrome, cartoonishly large head swiveled from left to right as retractable lenses scanned for signs of movement from the bed.

  “It is another beautiful summer day!” the robot added hopefully.

  As though in response, the alarm function of the bed engaged, and the mattress buckled and folded as it attempted to maneuver its occupant into a sitting position. “Wake up. Wake up,” the speaker embedded in the headboard gently urged. “Mr. Russell, let me play your last decipherable utterance before falling asleep last night, in case it helps you to productively continue your thoughts this morning.”

  “Call Alain and Suzie and ask them how to turn these damned robots off!” Mr. Russell’s petulant voice issued from the speaker.

  The voice triggered the always-listening Tilly, the Internet assistant from Centillion living like a genie in the black, bottle-shaped smarthome appliance sitting on the nightstand. A soothing and mellifluous voice wafted through the air. “It’s too early to call your son on the West Coast, Mr. Russell; his Tilly is set to block all calls unless it’s from a client. Your daughter is trying to meet a deadline and has asked her Tilly not to bother her with personal calls unless it’s an absolute emergency. Is this an emergency?”