Descending Road - THE HISS OF THE FOREST by Dana W. Paxson

THE HISS OF THE FOREST

1560 4D

I tilt my head back in the deepening darkness. The continuing hiss is softer now, as if it is linked somehow with the light of the sun. The softness of the sound makes me nod with sleep, once, twice; I think about standing up but then I realize: where would I go? Sleep seems a good idea, so I find a softer place in the moldy soil and settle on my side, curled up, my head resting on my arm and my small bundle of food. Maybe morning will show me east and west in the stars of the leaf-gaps. I fall asleep.

A maze of rivers runs beneath me. I hang suspended in a cloudy sky. The maze fills with reflected sunlight, sparkling in currents of brilliance back and forth along the water until they seem wires carrying messages back and forth in a pulsing network of meaning. The sky buoys me without touch; I bob up and down a little in the undulant winds.

I spread my arms and begin to move forward like an arrow. Lower my arms forward, and I climb; raise my arms back, and I dive. A shadow flicks over my vision.

As I turn my head to see above me, huge dagger claws stab my sides, and my heart stops.

Blackness. I feel no heartbeat. No breath. I try to stir, but nothing moves in me. I hear the hiss of the forest again. It begins to rise into an edged ultrasonic shriek so strong that pain stabs my head. Here and there, blackness lightens to charcoal.

The shriek fades upward. Shadows in my staring field of vision begin to move as if the day is passing more and more quickly. The movement accelerates into a flicker of light and dark, which soon becomes so rapid that it seems only a continuing grayness. This is a dream, I think, and I relax and let the grayness fill me.

“Ingailanai.” A slow voice croons these syllables in my head. “Ingailanai naialaiji suunim…" it continues, more sounds coming in what seems a kind of song, polytonal and counterpointed in a range from from bass to alto, in organized inflections of tone I don’t recognize.

Little by little, the sounds change, and I grasp meaning here and there as if a small window of awareness lets me see gleams of sense. As if it is tuning itself to me, the voice simplifies, concentrates, and I hear words and phrases. Then, “You are in myself.”

This dream fills me with dread. I fight my way to waking, or so it seems – maybe I was awake when it started. The claws still stab me, but I see and feel nothing except my clothing, untorn, in a blanketing dark in which I lie. I can’t move. “Who are you?” I whisper.

“Come,” it says. “I will show you.”

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	THE HISS OF THE FOREST 1560 4D I tilt my head back in the deepening darkness. The continuing hiss is softer now, as if it is linked somehow with the light of the sun. The softness of the sound makes me nod with sleep, once, twice; I think about standing up but then I realize: where would I go? Sleep seems a good idea, so I find a softer place in the moldy soil and settle on my side, curled up, my head resting on my arm and my small bundle of food. Maybe morning will show me east and west in the stars of the leaf-gaps. I fall asleep. A maze of rivers runs beneath me. I hang suspended in a cloudy sky. The maze fills with reflected sunlight, sparkling in currents of brilliance back and forth along the water until they seem wires carrying messages back and forth in a pulsing network of meaning. The sky buoys me without touch; I bob up and down a little in the undulant winds. I spread my arms and begin to move forward like an arrow. Lower my arms forward, and I climb; raise my arms back, and I dive. A shadow flicks over my vision. As I turn my head to see above me, huge dagger claws stab my sides, and my heart stops. Blackness. I feel no heartbeat. No breath. I try to stir, but nothing moves in me. I hear the hiss of the forest again. It begins to rise into an edged ultrasonic shriek so strong that pain stabs my head. Here and there, blackness lightens to charcoal. The shriek fades upward. Shadows in my staring field of vision begin to move as if the day is passing more and more quickly. The movement accelerates into a flicker of light and dark, which soon becomes so rapid that it seems only a continuing grayness. This is a dream, I think, and I relax and let the grayness fill me. “Ingailanai.” A slow voice croons these syllables in my head. “Ingailanai naialaiji suunim…" it continues, more sounds coming in what seems a kind of song, polytonal and counterpointed in a range from from bass to alto, in organized inflections of tone I don’t recognize. Little by little, the sounds change, and I grasp meaning here and there as if a small window of awareness lets me see gleams of sense. As if it is tuning itself to me, the voice simplifies, concentrates, and I hear words and phrases. Then, “You are in myself.” This dream fills me with dread. I fight my way to waking, or so it seems – maybe I was awake when it started. The claws still stab me, but I see and feel nothing except my clothing, untorn, in a blanketing dark in which I lie. I can’t move. “Who are you?” I whisper. “Come,” it says. “I will show you.”