A SHAFT OF OPEN AIR
© Dana W. Paxson 2005
Story threads back to scene BEFORE YOU CAN SAY COME AND GO: |
Story threads back to scene THAT MUCH I CAN REMEMBER: * Jeddin Present |
Story threads back to scene TRACED THE ZIGZAG SCARS: * ANDREW'S ROAD |
Story threads back to scene THE CHOICE I JUST MADE: |
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A SHAFT OF OPEN AIR 1563 4D Two days later, Andrew stood, awe-struck, with Ezzar beside him, and stared up into the darkness at midnight. The great trees of the Northern Range towered into evening gloom overhead. Warm air brushed his cheek, and the terpene scent of the broad-leaved evergreens made him draw in a sharp, electric breath. Tonight they were far from the City. The ship towered a few strides away in a clearing, a night-dark egg balancing on its sharp end. He and Ezzar and Jeddin and Marra and Deen had flown north from the City, looking for good land, breaking the relentless press of business. Voices came from the ship’s open bay door in its belly: a few words of an old song, then two womens’ voices rising in argument, a man laughing. Jeddin, Marra and Deen loved the night, and they loved each other. The sounds of their voices trailed off and stopped. Qaqanhialh is complete. We have done well. It is time now for a long rest. Turiosten‘s voice came low and slow, more male now than female, Andrew thought. “You mean you’re leaving us?” Andrew looked at Ezzar, knowing she heard the same thing from Arhnhashokha, and Jeddin and Marra and Deen from their inner partners. No. We’re just going inward, but this time for ourselves. The ship will work for you, without our attention. We won’t need feeding for a long time, this way. The great crossing-place is now past. We’ll come back to visit you after a while — when we get hungry. A chuckle. “On that point, you’ve got to find a way to substitute something less repellent to us than our own flesh.” Well. Back on your ancient Earth, we experimented with plain old red blood, taken compassionately from a neck vein. Unfortunately it led to a great deal of unpleasantness, and some bad reputation for several families of your kind. A pity your grudges are so much longer than your lives. “There must be something else.” We have found that the bodily secretions produced during sexual intercourse are suitable. And your kind seem more than agreeable to— “I’d have to think over the social implications,” Andrew interrupted, flustered. Ezzar suppressed a laugh, glancing at him; he added quickly, “Let it wait. But what about my— the child, the kharshfainh? Is it gone too?” We can’t tell. Until it came to you again at the North Line, after the others of our kind had turned back through time, it had long stayed hidden from us. Maybe it’s moved on, maybe it’s just singing the way it’s done for uncountable ages. Our kind and yours are the melodies it sings, our sheaves the harmonies of its stories. Turiosten paused. You make a powerful distinction that we do not, between the utterances of your words and the utterances of your bodies. Are not your children the stories of your bodies, your genes? Are not your stories the children of your souls? And do not your children and your stories beget each other? To us, story is all there is, and we are all in and part of it, and it of us. We will leave you to yourselves now. Then we’ll be free of the prison of your language and thoughts, your future-blindness, your needed crutch of hope. “Goodbye,” Andrew breathed, wonder, regret and relief mingling in him. There is one other thing. “What?” You freed me from imprisonment. I wish to thank you with a gift. “There is nothing I need now — I can only hope to find my children again, and that is beyond you.” True. But this is not. Andrew‘s skin, so deeply gouged and plowed and mangled by Arlen‘s tormentors, began to itch and tremble. He pulled back a sleeve; the ugly piebald marks roiled and shuddered, and disappeared into the smooth rich bronze-brown he had once had. Bit by bit, his collechi inscription rose to the surface as words rising out of deep water. “Oh,” Andrew said, surprised and abashed. “Oh,” said Ezzar. She put one hand over a now-swelling breast, where one had long ago been ripped away. Turiosten said, And so Faorhnin has done for your son, and daughter. So now your waters are still again. We cannot take back the damage of the tides and the winds, but this we can do. “My daughter? You mean…" Yes. Your heart told you the truth. Andrew‘s joy overflowed. “How do I thank you for this, and everything else you’ve done?” Remember me well. We leave now. “I will. Goodbye.” And to you, goodness… and your hope. Within Andrew‘s mind came a withdrawing, as if a breath blew itself out into the darkness pulling at his body, and a soft emptiness grew where the breath had been. He started to whisper goodbye again, and stopped. There was no need. Peace filled him. The nightmares that had devoured his sleep now seemed far off and harmless. He turned to Ezzar. “The air is fresh and the trees are beautiful. Would you walk with me here for a while? We can keep the ship’s bay door in sight.” Ezzar smiled. “Don’t worry about seeing the door. I have something special to tell you. Let’s just walk.” As they walked slowly into darkness on spongy broadneedles, he looked at her. The silence lengthened. “What?” Ezzar‘s smile showed even in the shadows. She savored the words. “Arnashoka or Arhnhashokha, the alien Jeddin gave me? She told me I’m pregnant. It’s Rennie‘s.” “Grendel?” Andrew‘s head spun. “You’re going to have his baby?” “It’s a total surprise. The headsmith mutant must have activated his sperm. I can’t believe yet how happy I am.” She put her arms around Andrew and hugged him tight. He returned her embrace, a bit stiffly, remembering she had come to lie next to him and soothe him when he had cried out, each of the last two nights. “What a wonderful thing,” he said softly. They released each other, turned, and kept walking. Ezzar‘s arm stayed around Andrew‘s waist. “It makes up for, when I… when I ran away at the end.” She looked down. “He knew you had to. If you hadn’t, then all three of you would be dead.” She nodded, cradling her regrown breast wonderingly. “Arhnhashokha said I’d need both of these.” She laughed softly, then her face became serious. “There’s so much for us to talk about.” “There’s a lot to talk about,” he said, nodding rapidly, not certain what she meant, but enjoying very much the sound of her voice. His knees kept shaking. Everything lay ahead, unknown, unexplored, but it didn’t matter just now. They turned their backs on the glowing patch of doorway, and wandered among gigantic tree trunks. A clearing sketched itself in charcoal against velvet. “Look,” he said, “We can see upward from there.” From the darkness under the trees, into a tall shaft of open air they emerged, and then they saw the stars. |
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Story threads leading to scene THE SINGULARITY: * ANDREW'S ROAD |
Story threads leading to scene BETRAYAL AND DESERTION: |
Story threads leading to scene DEATH AT NIGHT: |
Story threads leading to scene FINER THAN A HAIR AND SHARPER THAN A BLADE: * Arhnhashokha Present |
Story threads leading to scene MANY JOININGS DONE: * Marra Present |
Story threads leading to scene THE VAT: |
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