The Color of Distance (19 page)

“But I would blame myself. Before he died, Ilto taught me how to find and clear out the new creature’s taint without hurting myself. Let me check and see if you are clean. If you died because of my inaction, I would feel indebted, and my village would carry that debt,” Anito said. “Please, en, let me try. I don’t want you to be sick because of my atwa. You are too important to me. If I am wrong, then I am the one who looks silly. If I am right, then you would be spared sickness and death.”

Ukatonen looked at her, his skin a muddy blur of conflicting emotions. At last he held out his arms, asking for allu-a. “Thank you, kene.”

The two of them settled themselves in a corner. Anito linked with him. She searched through his body, and found nothing. Apparently Ilto had successfully blocked the new creature from tainting others.

“The new creature didn’t make you sick, en. Please forgive me for doubting your abilities.” Anito looked down, embarrassed.

Ukatonen touched her shoulder. “It’s all right, Anito. Thank you for being concerned. I will ask you before I link with Eerin again. Where is she, anyway?”

Anito looked around. The new creature was gone, along with a gathering bag and its talking stone. Anito rippled puzzlement and irritation. “I’d better go and find it.”

“I’ll come with you.”

It was raining hard by the time they reached the coast. The new creature was huddled under the deathstone tree, talking in its noisy language to its invisible new creatures. Several deep cuts ran across one shoulder, red and angry underneath a strange, translucent foam. Those wounds needed to be taken care of, or the creature would get sick. Anito felt a flicker of irritation at its carelessness.

She beckoned the new creature into the forest and, after considerable argument, persuaded the new creature to allow her and Ukatonen to heal the cuts. When they were done, they went back out to the deathstone tree. Ukatonen questioned the creature. “What is this?” he asked, pointing to the talking box.

The creature’s face tightened in thought. “I talk to my people. My people very far. This box sends talk.”

“I show,” it said. It began making noises at the box.

Ukatonen watched intently, ears wide, then asked if he could talk to its people. The new creature fiddled with its talking stone and then guided the enkar so that he stood in front of the talking stone. Then she nodded.

Ukatonen introduced himself, and explained that the village was angry at the new creatures for burning down their forest, and asked them how they were going-to bring everything back into harmony.

The creature looked uncomfortable and unhappy. She glanced from the forest to Ukatonen and back to the box that talked to the other new creatures. Then it sat down in front of the box, and began making noises. Anito listened carefully, but nothing in the stream of guttural sounds made any sense at all.

The creature finished the message. Anito and Ukatonen watched the box intently for a reply.

The creature touched Ukatonen on the shoulder. “My people are far,” it said, gesturing skyward, as though its people lived in the clouds. “They not speak—” The creature paused, searching for words. “It be night when they speak back to us.”

“Where are your people?” Ukatonen asked. “How do they hear you?”

The creature thought for a while, as though searching for words. Finally it set a large round pebble on the ground, touched it, then pointed at the sky. “Rock is,” it said, pointing again at the sky.

“Rock is clouds?” Ukatonen suggested.

The new creature shook its head, and tried again. At last Ukatonen understood. “Rock is sun,” he said, and taught the creature how to form the word. The creature picked up a second rock. After more discussion, it declared that rock to be the ground they sat on. Another stone became the place where its people were.

Anito shook her head. What the creature was saying made no sense. It was saying that its people lived in the sky like birds. But the new creature couldn’t fly. It was even afraid to climb trees. How could her people live in the sky?

“Not can be,” Anito said, mirroring Ukatonen’s words.

The discussion got even crazier after that. Not only did the new creature claim that its people lived in the sky, it also claimed that they traveled from star to star. It told them that the stars were like the sun, which made no sense at all. They were smaller and you could only see them at night.

Not that Anito was crazy enough to stick her head out of the canopy at night, where a bael could hear her with its keen night-ears, and catch her. The creature claimed that its people were on their way to another star, and that they couldn’t turn around and come back. They would return a long time from now. It wasn’t clear whether Eerin was talking months, seasons, or years, but it was a long time. By the time the sun came up tomorrow, her people would be too far away to hear her words.

The creature’s story was impossible, and yet Anito had heard it talking to the box and heard the box talk back. She had heard equally impossible stories about the new creatures from the villagers. If it really was from another star, then that would explain why its body was so strange. What if the stories were true? What if the new creature’s people really could travel between the stars?

The venom lines tightened along Anito’s back, but she didn’t let her fear color her skin. She got up and walked into the forest, leaving Ukato-nen to talk to the new creature. She needed to feel the forest around her, feel the reassurance of familiar things, while she thought this out.

Anito climbed high into the branches of the biggest tree in the area. She settled herself in a crotch and thought of nothing at all, letting the gentle sway of the branches soothe her. At last she was calm. What kind of atwa had she taken on? If Eerin’s people really could travel between the stars, what did that mean for the Tendu? Could they come back and burn down the rest of the forest? What could her people do to stop them? Suddenly, the harmony of Anito’s world seemed very vulnerable. Even this great tree with its broad branches and massive roots seemed as fragile and easily destroyed as a bird’s egg.

A rustle in the branches made Anito look around. It was Ukatonen. He settled himself next to Anito.

“Your sitik died too soon,” he said after a long moment of silence. “Things are becoming very interesting. Your atwa is going to be very important to all of us, Anito.”

“I am not worthy of it, en,” Anito said. “Please, find someone else who knows more than I do, someone who can do a better job.”

“There is no one, kene. You know more about the new creature than anyone else.”

“But I know so little about anything else,” Anito said, bright orange with fear. “I’m just out of werrun.”

“Then you must learn, kene,” Ukatonen told her. “You must learn.” He swung off the branch and was soon lost in the canopy, leaving Anito alone.

Juna tilted her head from side to side, stretching out the kinks in her neck as she tried to focus on what the villagers were saying. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, after her farewell to the
Kotani Maru,
but she had to pay attention. Her life might depend on this conversation.

The villagers were discussing what should be done about the destroyed section of forest. Anito had explained to her that the villagers were Tfery angry and wanted to punish her for the forest’s destruction. Ukato-nen would listen and decide what should be done.

Anito told her that the villagers were describing in detail what they had lost, and suggesting suitable punishments. Most wanted to keep Juna as some kind of slave, but a few of the suggestions involved pain, injury, and even death.

At last the villagers were done speaking.

Ukatonen looked at her, ears raised. “You speak now?” he asked.

Juna stood, feeling very alone. “I understand your anger. I apologize for my people. We came to learn about the things living here. We gathered plants and animals and looked at them to see what we could learn. We afraid that we might make the forest sick, so when we go we burned the forest to kill any sickness. If we had known you were here, we not do. We look for people, but we not find you. When my people come back, we try to make right what we hurt. It easier if I am alive to help you talk to my people.” Her arguments seemed very insubstantial in the face of their anger. She wished she knew more skin speech.

The aliens regarded her with their cold, inhuman eyes, skins still and neutral, watching her speak. If she thought that her arguments sounded inadequate and silly, what were they thinking?

Ukatonen waited till she was done. He turned to the assembled villagers. “What do you say to that?”

The stocky alien that Juna thought was the village chief moved to the small mound that the villagers spoke from. It glared at her, flushing red with anger.

“How many anang till your people come?” the chief asked.

Juna looked at Anito. “I don’t understand. What is
anangl”

Anito looked at Ukatonen, a flicker of lavender uncertainty rippling over her skin. “
Anang
is time. There are three seasons per
anang.”

Juna frowned.
Anang
seemed to be their word for year. She consulted her computer, which agreed with her.

“My people return in five to seven anang,” Juna told the alien.

The chief elder said something, which Anito translated. “Too long to wait. Need help now.”

“I help until my people return,” Juna offered.

Anito laid a hand on Juna. “No. I need to go back to Narmolom. She comes with me.”

The chief spoke rapidly to Ukatonen in angry hues. He replied in soothing blue tones. The rest of the village began speaking. The room was a rippling rainbow of argument and comment. Ukatonen held up his hands and the colors died away to a neutral “silent” green.

“I have heard enough. I go think. I tell you my decision
dog”
Ukatonen announced.

The gathering broke up. Anito beckoned to Juna to follow her, and they returned to their room. Ukatonen joined them. Anito and Ukatonen talked together for an hour. Juna couldn’t follow their conversation, but her name sign kept appearing. They were discussing her. Juna watched anxiously, knowing that her future, and possibly her life, were at stake. Eventually Ukatonen broke off the discussion. Anito left, dark red flickers of subdued anger breaking out on her skin. The discussion must not have gone the way Anito wanted it to. Ukatonen watched Anito leave, then sat facing the wall, a sign that he didn’t want to be disturbed.

Juna took out her computer and tried to work with her linguistic programs, but she was too worried to concentrate.

Ukatonen got up and squatted in front of her. Juna put down the computer.

“What is it?” Juna asked.

“All others tell me what they want,” Ukatonen said. “What do you want?”

Juna thought for a minute. “I want to live. I want to return to my people. I want to go—” She paused, unsure of-what the correct word for home was. At last she used
narmolom,
the word Anito used to refer to her village, unsure whether it was the word for home, or a place name.

“You not want to stay here?” Ukatonen asked.

Juna shrugged. She didn’t want to live in a village full of hostile aliens. However, she needed to come back every six months or so to radio new discoveries or observations to the Survey satellites orbiting overhead.

“I not want to stay here, but I must come back to this place two times every three seasons to talk to my people.”

Ukatonen’s ears widened. “I thought your people not hear you.”

“I leave words for my people to find if I get sick and—” She paused, not knowing the word for death. “If I no longer here, the way that Ilto is no longer here, then my people know what I learn.”

Ukatonen thought over Juna’s words. “I understand. You leave talk for your people, so if you
nurrun,
they know what you do.” Ukatonen turned a reassuring dark blue, “Don’t be scared. Anito and I take care of you. You listen to us, you not
nurrun.
Understand?”

“Villagers not
nurrun
me?” Juna asked. She was certain enough that
nurrun
had to do with dying to use it in a sentence.

“No. I not let villagers hurt you. However, your people hurt villagers. Something must be done to bring harmony.
You
must do something to help bring harmony to village.”

“What can I do to help?”

Ukatonen shook his head, a human habit he used when talking to her. “I don’t know. You, villagers, Anito, me, your people; all must be brought into harmony. I must find way for this to happen. I not know how. This very difficult.”

Juna nodded and flickered agreement. “I understand. Not do all now. Wait. My people come. Talk to them. I help now, but cannot speak for my people. What can I do to help bring harmony to this village until my people come?”

“I go think. I tell my decision after dinner.”

Juna sat back against the wall with a sigh of relief. There were still many unanswered questions, but at least she knew that Ukatonen would not let them hurt her. She picked up her computer and called up the linguistic program. She felt a lot better after talking to Ukatonen.

About an hour after dinner, a deep, booming noise reverberated through the tree.

Ukatonen stood. “It is time for the meeting.”

Juna followed the two aliens into the great central meeting area by the pool at the bottom of the tree. The villagers were already assembled. They rose at their approach, ears stretched wide, necks craning for a better view. Flickers of comment, shaded in tones between pink and lavender, showed the curious, anticipatory mood of the village. They were, Juna thought moodily, looking forward to the sentencing.

She stood, letting the aliens have a good look at her before Ukatonen announced his decision. She refused to let her inner nervousness show. At last a formal pattern flared on Ukatonen’s chest. The villagers’ skin speech stopped, and they sat down, waiting attentively for the proceedings to begin. Anito put a hand on Juna’s shoulder, guiding her to sit down as well. The head oT the village stood and spoke. Its words were too complex and formal for Juna to understand.