Descending Road - THE DEADLY WOOD by Dana W. Paxson

THE DEADLY WOOD

1560 4D

Jeddin stood outside Joovlie’s narrow entrance, Zalles on his mind. He’d adopted the habit of diving deep in innerspace and summoning up his memories of her to comfort himself, but it was never a comfort, only an aching corroding loss. He hesitated.

Andros and humans pushed past him into the bar as he stood, uncertain. They laughed, joked, in anjive and human speech, excited, and he wondered what drew them. The place was called Joovlies, with a sharply female accent to its appearance, and although Jeddin knew of it, he had never been inside.

He stepped through a passageway into the main room, a semicircular space packed with chairs and a few tables. A small stage hugged the back wall on the right. Jeddin stayed near the entrance, watching the others in the room carefully, but no alarm registered in his most sensitive awarenesses. The militia and corpos rarely came here. Zalles would have loved the dark low ceiling with its undulations.

His mind flashed an image of the stars sliding behind clouds on the night of his last awakening from death. Dizziness washed through him – his eyes closed. A surge of noise brought him back: the stage now held several musicians, a naked, skindressed andro girl at the front with whited-over eyes. She raised one finger, crooked it in the universal call for a drink, and her first song began.

Her voice seized him as if she would eat him whole. He never could recall the music or lyrics of that first song, but the resonances of her polytonal larynx drew him into pain and loss, and he staggered back, the stone wall behind him under his fingers, knowing immediately and finally that Zalles was gone forever. He sobbed.

An andro man beside him put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and the notes from the stage poured across him, purging him, cleaning him, piercing every illusion he threw in their way. He closed his eyes and let it all run through him.

Song after song held him in unbreakable bonds. The first set finished, and he eased his way left around the wall and backstage to see if he could thank the musicians and find out who they were. He wondered why he had never heard of them, until he remembered his frequent and lengthy absences from so many zones of the City. A large man stopped him: the syntrell player.

“Where are you going, friend?”

“Who are you?” Jeddin‘s voice shook. “Your music–“

“Tell me who you are first,” the man said, “and then we have something to talk about.”

“My name is Jeddin. My work is to help andros any way I can. You can talk to Allashani to find out more about me.” The name Allashani usually got Jeddin where he wanted to go.

“You’re not Jeddin. I know who Jeddin is, and you’re not him.”

“I just wanted to know who your singer is, because everything she sang hit me so hard that I thought I would die again.”

The big man paused. “Just a minute.” He turned his back. “Win! Some little guy here is pretending to be Jeddin. Says he likes your singing.”

The girl’s face appeared from behind the big man’s arm. “Oh. It’s him, I think.”

“It can’t be. He’s too small. Jeddin‘s a big man.”

She came around to face Jeddin, wearing nothing more than her stage skin. Her eyes were normal now. Her hand came at Jeddin‘s face like a hammer.

His hand blocked, cradling hers, and he said, “Please don’t do this.”

Her hand warmed his. “He’s big enough,” she said to the syntrell player. To Jeddin she said, “I’m Winjilles Thringe. This is Drasstar. We’ve got two more sets to do. Will you stay?”

“Yes,” Jeddin said. “I can’t leave when you play and sing. I’ve never heard anything like this.”

“If you stay, we can talk afterward,” she said. “Come on, Drasstar, we’d better get back on stage again.”

Jeddin listened closely to the next two sets, both played as if there would never be another night for music. An undertone of tragedy and loss ran through every song, and some of the tunes and words told Jeddin that more was coming. At the end of the last song, the audience gave one long sigh, and he braced himself inwardly for the upcoming conversation, thinking, Her clock is running. Andro life was so very short.

As if reading his mind, she announced, “We’ll do Clock now.” The room swelled with noise and shouts, and then the panpan player kicked off a fast rhythm. The song, all about short andro existence, tore the place apart, with answering shouts in every verse, and at the ending beat Jeddin sidled through the excited crowd to go backstage again.

She sat exhausted, her skindressing now beginning to fade. Drasstar sat protectively next to her. His big hand massaged her neck. Her eyes stared straight ahead.

“Do you play here every night?” Jeddin asked.

Drasstar answered. “Most nights this month. We’ve got a few private gigs – they’ve got our dates here posted out front. You plan to come back?”

“He’s coming back,” Thringe said. “That’s Jeddin. Come here, little man, I want a quick headblast.”

This invitation to a brief skerrish took Jeddin by surprise. He approached slowly.

“Come on, cock, don’t wait until I fall over from malnutrition.” She staggered to her feet and came to Jeddin.

“Win, don’t–” Drasstar tried to steady her.

She seized Jeddin‘s head in her two longfingered hands and put her forehead against his, shutting her eyes as he did the same, and they fell into

A deep forest surrounding them both, and before Jeddin could move or speak, she said, “You’ve got to help me here. This place is killing me. I can’t sleep without– yes. Here it comes.”

Roots and branches pierced her limbs as she stood before Jeddin, tendrils and barbs snaking and stabbing into bleeding flesh, and she began to turn as brown as a human and wither into dryness, her face twisted in horror.

Jeddin conjured creatures that tore away the vegetation, healing her as they crawled softly over her damaged body. He wove himself into a clinging garment of armor for her, soothing her, healing her. She sighed. “You’re Jeddin, all right. Okay, get off me now.”

“But this is a nightmare. How do you live with this terrible-“

“That’s my life. I deal with it. Now I know you’re who you say you are. That’s better, just let that go. Time to get back to Joovlies.” She stepped away and vanished.

Jeddin opened his eyes to the backstage curtains. “I’d love to be there for you when this happens, but-“

“But of course there are other andros to save too, aren’t there?” Her words bit him. He started to apologize, but she cut him off again. “I know – I do that too. But you’ll be around for a while, won’t you? We’ll need you for a few things in the next few days.” She drew near and whispered, and her words to Jeddin did not leave him feeling at all happy for her.

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	THE DEADLY WOOD 1560 4D Jeddin stood outside Joovlie’s narrow entrance, Zalles on his mind. He’d adopted the habit of diving deep in innerspace and summoning up his memories of her to comfort himself, but it was never a comfort, only an aching corroding loss. He hesitated. Andros and humans pushed past him into the bar as he stood, uncertain. They laughed, joked, in anjive and human speech, excited, and he wondered what drew them. The place was called Joovlies, with a sharply female accent to its appearance, and although Jeddin knew of it, he had never been inside. He stepped through a passageway into the main room, a semicircular space packed with chairs and a few tables. A small stage hugged the back wall on the right. Jeddin stayed near the entrance, watching the others in the room carefully, but no alarm registered in his most sensitive awarenesses. The militia and corpos rarely came here. Zalles would have loved the dark low ceiling with its undulations. His mind flashed an image of the stars sliding behind clouds on the night of his last awakening from death. Dizziness washed through him – his eyes closed. A surge of noise brought him back: the stage now held several musicians, a naked, skindressed andro girl at the front with whited-over eyes. She raised one finger, crooked it in the universal call for a drink, and her first song began. Her voice seized him as if she would eat him whole. He never could recall the music or lyrics of that first song, but the resonances of her polytonal larynx drew him into pain and loss, and he staggered back, the stone wall behind him under his fingers, knowing immediately and finally that Zalles was gone forever. He sobbed. An andro man beside him put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and the notes from the stage poured across him, purging him, cleaning him, piercing every illusion he threw in their way. He closed his eyes and let it all run through him. Song after song held him in unbreakable bonds. The first set finished, and he eased his way left around the wall and backstage to see if he could thank the musicians and find out who they were. He wondered why he had never heard of them, until he remembered his frequent and lengthy absences from so many zones of the City. A large man stopped him: the syntrell player. “Where are you going, friend?” “Who are you?” Jeddin‘s voice shook. “Your music–“ “Tell me who you are first,” the man said, “and then we have something to talk about.” “My name is Jeddin. My work is to help andros any way I can. You can talk to Allashani to find out more about me.” The name Allashani usually got Jeddin where he wanted to go. “You’re not Jeddin. I know who Jeddin is, and you’re not him.” “I just wanted to know who your singer is, because everything she sang hit me so hard that I thought I would die again.” The big man paused. “Just a minute.” He turned his back. “Win! Some little guy here is pretending to be Jeddin. Says he likes your singing.” The girl’s face appeared from behind the big man’s arm. “Oh. It’s him, I think.” “It can’t be. He’s too small. Jeddin‘s a big man.” She came around to face Jeddin, wearing nothing more than her stage skin. Her eyes were normal now. Her hand came at Jeddin‘s face like a hammer. His hand blocked, cradling hers, and he said, “Please don’t do this.” Her hand warmed his. “He’s big enough,” she said to the syntrell player. To Jeddin she said, “I’m Winjilles Thringe. This is Drasstar. We’ve got two more sets to do. Will you stay?” “Yes,” Jeddin said. “I can’t leave when you play and sing. I’ve never heard anything like this.” “If you stay, we can talk afterward,” she said. “Come on, Drasstar, we’d better get back on stage again.” Jeddin listened closely to the next two sets, both played as if there would never be another night for music. An undertone of tragedy and loss ran through every song, and some of the tunes and words told Jeddin that more was coming. At the end of the last song, the audience gave one long sigh, and he braced himself inwardly for the upcoming conversation, thinking, Her clock is running. Andro life was so very short. As if reading his mind, she announced, “We’ll do Clock now.” The room swelled with noise and shouts, and then the panpan player kicked off a fast rhythm. The song, all about short andro existence, tore the place apart, with answering shouts in every verse, and at the ending beat Jeddin sidled through the excited crowd to go backstage again. She sat exhausted, her skindressing now beginning to fade. Drasstar sat protectively next to her. His big hand massaged her neck. Her eyes stared straight ahead. “Do you play here every night?” Jeddin asked. Drasstar answered. “Most nights this month. We’ve got a few private gigs – they’ve got our dates here posted out front. You plan to come back?” “He’s coming back,” Thringe said. “That’s Jeddin. Come here, little man, I want a quick headblast.” This invitation to a brief skerrish took Jeddin by surprise. He approached slowly. “Come on, cock, don’t wait until I fall over from malnutrition.” She staggered to her feet and came to Jeddin. “Win, don’t–” Drasstar tried to steady her. She seized Jeddin‘s head in her two longfingered hands and put her forehead against his, shutting her eyes as he did the same, and they fell into A deep forest surrounding them both, and before Jeddin could move or speak, she said, “You’ve got to help me here. This place is killing me. I can’t sleep without– yes. Here it comes.” Roots and branches pierced her limbs as she stood before Jeddin, tendrils and barbs snaking and stabbing into bleeding flesh, and she began to turn as brown as a human and wither into dryness, her face twisted in horror. Jeddin conjured creatures that tore away the vegetation, healing her as they crawled softly over her damaged body. He wove himself into a clinging garment of armor for her, soothing her, healing her. She sighed. “You’re Jeddin, all right. Okay, get off me now.” “But this is a nightmare. How do you live with this terrible-“ “That’s my life. I deal with it. Now I know you’re who you say you are. That’s better, just let that go. Time to get back to Joovlies.” She stepped away and vanished. Jeddin opened his eyes to the backstage curtains. “I’d love to be there for you when this happens, but-“ “But of course there are other andros to save too, aren’t there?” Her words bit him. He started to apologize, but she cut him off again. “I know – I do that too. But you’ll be around for a while, won’t you? We’ll need you for a few things in the next few days.” She drew near and whispered, and her words to Jeddin did not leave him feeling at all happy for her.