The Evolutionary Void (18 page)

With that she pulled the backpack out of the pannier, settled it on her
shoulders, and set off along the streambed. That at least she didn’t have to
think about; it was the right way.

In less than an hour her boots were starting to sink into the sand, which
was becoming damp. Grass was growing on the banks. It was still night, and her
enriched vision couldn’t make out much, but the desert had ended, she was sure
of that. Then she caught sight of trees on the edge of her vision.

Water started to fill the imprints her boots left in the mushy ground.
The streambed wasn’t sand anymore; it was fine soil. The stones on the banks
were coated in moss and lichens. She scrambled up out of the gully and began to
walk alongside it. Cooler air made her shiver, and she reset the thermal fibers
woven into her fleece to keep more of her body warmth in. Not much farther on a
thin trickle of water was running along the middle of the streambed. Far
overhead huge dense star clusters filled the sky, imperial patches of
silver-white scintillations so much more impressive than anything visible from
anywhere in the Greater Commonwealth. Araminta smiled at that.

The water in the streambed grew deeper and wider as she walked on,
turning from a rivulet to a broad current gurgling merrily around
half-submerged rocks. Trees closed in, throwing tall branches up into the
night, curtaining the starfield. Another stream merged into the one she was
following. That was when she heard the first strands of song. The Silfen were
somewhere close by; she could feel them as much as hear them. Simple harmonies
slipping across the sylvan land, as much a part of it as the air. She halted
and listened, drawing the melody down as she might sample a particularly
pleasant perfume. It was enchanting, rising and flowing in its own rhythm and
far higher than most human throats could reach.

Like a birdsong
, she thought,
a flock of birds singing a hymn
.

Smiling pleasantly at the notion, she set off again, keeping to the edge
of the stream, which was now almost wide enough to be classed as a river. The
contentment growing in her mind was almost narcotic. This time she was going to
meet them. It was inevitable.

The sky slowly lightened above her. Tall waving branches on either side
of the surging watercourse transformed to black silhouettes against a pale gray
pastel. The grand star clusters faded away in deference to the dawn sun. Dew
began to coat the grass and small ferns, splashing off on her boots. Araminta
couldn’t help the smile on her face, even though she knew any relief here could
only be temporary.

The trees gave way abruptly, and she gasped in delighted astonishment at
the vista before her. She was high up on the edge of a plateau that swept away
into a wondrous primordial landscape. Perfectly clear air allowed her to see
for what must have been over a hundred miles. Snowcapped mountains fenced the
scene on two sides, and ahead of her the ground undulated away with hillocks
and dells adorned in lush woodland. Morning mist eased gently around the
slopes, blanketing the deepest hollows and basins like a living liquid. Threads
of stream water sparkled and glistened down the sides of the mountains,
thousands of tributaries lacing together into broader, darker rivers.
Waterfalls tumbled hundreds of meters down rugged cliffs and clefts in the
rocky foothills.

“Oh, my,” Araminta murmured in admiration. There she waited patiently for
her escort while the big red-hued sun rose up into the empty sky, throwing vast
fingers of light through the mountains to sweep across the magnificent
landscape.

The madrigal grew louder, swelling to a crescendo. Araminta looked around
as the Silfen rode out of the forest all around her. There must have been forty
of them, mounted on huge shaggy-furred beasts. She gazed at them, enthralled
with the spectacle. Elves right out of the deepest human folklore. As tall as
legend had them, with long limbs and a torso that was proportionally shorter
than the human version. Flat faces with wide feline eyes above a slight nose
had a simple circular mouth without a jaw; instead, three concentric circles of
sharp teeth flexed steadily, shredding food as it was pulled back into the
gullet.

They wore simple togalike garments that glimmered with a metallic sheen.
Gold, jewel-laden belts were pulled tight about the waist, and the shoulder
strips were held together with large broaches whose gems glowed an eerie green.
On top of the togas were waistcoats made from some kind of bright white mesh.

Their voices broke into a ragged chorus of joyful undulations as they
rode around her. The earth trembled with the impact of the beasts’ feet
cantering about. One of the Silfen, wearing a scarlet mesh waistcoat, halted
his mount beside her and bent down, offering his arm. Without hesitation
Araminta reached up.

He was incredibly strong. She was lifted up and over into the big saddle
in front of him. One arm stayed protectively around her. She glanced down to
see his four-fingered hand resting against her abdomen. He flung his head back
and emitted a piercing warble. The beast lurched forward with such abruptness
that she laughed at the sheer outrage of it. Then they were thundering onward
into the trees ahead.

It was a bizarre and wonderous ride. The size of the beast meant that
every movement seemed ponderous, yet it was fast. When her senses calmed down,
she noticed that it had a hide of reddish-brown fur that was thick like knotted
lamb’s wool. There were six fat legs, which meant every motion of its gait was
exaggerated, swaying her back and forth.

The rest of the riding company spread out behind her, still singing among
themselves as they rushed forward in what was close to a stampede. They
splashed through rivers and charged up slopes without slowing. It was a wild
exhilarating ride, and she clung on for the duration, laughing away at the
experience.

Eventually they came out of the woods close to a vast loch. Tendrils of
mist rose above the calm surface. Small conical islands were mirrored on the
silverish shimmer, with skinny trees clinging to their wrinkled mossy sides. A
little way around the shoreline, a waterfall gushed in from an overhanging
crag. The scene was quiet perfection, making her glad simply to know such a
place existed.

But right in front of her, on the sprawling grassy bank, the Silfen camp
awaited. There were thousands of the strange aliens, along with a dozen types
of exotic riding beasts. Tents of glowing fabric were pitched everywhere. As
she watched, one rose up: seven individual sheets of fabric, each one a primary
color, growing higher and higher until they were twenty feet above the ground,
where they curled over to knot themselves together with a looping bow. The
edges of the sheets fused together, and there it hung, suspended on nothing,
like a solidified rainbow. Between the tents, fires were burning, and rugs had
been spread out in readiness for what looked like the galaxy’s biggest picnic.
Silfen unpacked vast silver and gold platters of food from huge baskets slung
over various animals. The food looked fabulous, as did the crystal bottles
filled with liquid of every possible color. A great many Silfen were already
dancing around the fires, voices raised to chant at their own tempo. Their
limbs might have been long and spindly to her eyes, but they were certainly
agile and most likely double-jointed. Half the energetic moves would have been
impossible for a human.

It was a shame, she thought as the Silfen on whose mount she’d ridden
proffered his arm again to get her down. She would have liked to join in. As
her feet touched the ground, the aliens surged toward her, and she started
back. Peals of laughter shivered through the air. Not mocking: sympathetic,
encouraging. Welcoming.

Araminta gave them all a nervous bow. They returned the formality en
masse, the action spreading out like a ripple. Of course, with their
flexibility and grace it was a lot more elegant than hers.

Two of them stepped forward, their circular mouths open in what she
thought was a smile, though all they were doing was showing an awful lot of
those off-putting spiky teeth. They were female, though it was hard to tell.
All the Silfen had thick long hair that was adorned with beads and jewelry.
Lengthy braids swirled as the womenfolk held out their arms to her. She allowed
herself to be led forward. Their minds shone with warmth and kindness, so much
so that it was impossible not to experience the same emotions. Food was
offered, intricate crumbling cakes wrapped in verdant leaves. She nibbled away,
and the crumbs fizzled as they went down her throat. “Oh, gosh!”

The Silfen laughed at her enjoyment. A crystal bottle was tendered, and
she drank deeply. Definitely alcoholic and then some. More food: perfectly
sculpted pastries and confectionaries dripping with honeys and juices that
tasted as good as they looked.

Somewhere a group was trilling a fast tune. Araminta started to sway to
the beat. One of her women hosts took her hand and danced with her. Then she
was lost amid dazzlingly colorful alien bodies, all swirling and whizzing about
her.

More food, snatched from group after group. Drink. Plenty of that. It was
intoxicating but never enough to blur her senses; instead, it intensified the
whole wondrous festival. Dance followed dance with dozens of Silfen until she
was giddy with joy and every muscle was shaking with exhaustion.

She knew that this was all crazy, that she should be getting to some
Commonwealth world to do what she could with her unwelcome heritage. Yet
somehow she knew this was also the right thing to be doing. Her body and mind
needed the blissful suspension of the festival to recover and calm from the
events of the past few days. They were helping her, these Silfen, showing in
their own bizarre fashion that she wasn’t alone, reinforcing the communion she had
with their precious Motherholme.

“I have to sit down,” she told them after some indeterminable length of
time. They didn’t speak any human language, she knew, nor had they ever shown
any interest in anything other than their own peculiar tongue, with all its
cooing and warbling and trills that conveyed only the shallowest meaning.
Commonwealth cultural experts assigned to the world-walking aliens found it
hard to follow their whimsy. Allegedly it indicated a neural process completely
different from that of blunt human rationality.

Nonetheless, her hosts knew what she asked and guided her into one of the
rainbow tents, where there was a nest of cushions. Araminta flopped down on
them in relief as six or seven Silfen gathered around to attend her. Such pampering
was luxurious, and she surrendered to it without protest. Her boots were
removed, producing a sympathetic chorus of nearly human cooing when they saw
the artificial skin sprayed on her feet. Strong fingers massaged her shoulders
and back. They didn’t have the same physiology, but they were plainly expert in
human bone and muscle structure. She groaned in relief as the tensions were
soothed out of her flesh. Outside, the festival continued unabated, for which
she was glad. One of the female Silfen presented her with a bottle carved from
a golden crystal. Araminta drank. It was almost like water, chilly and full of
bubbles, and certainly refreshing. Two more Silfen were waiting with platters
of that delicious food.

“The clubs back in Colwyn were never like this,” she said with a
contented sigh.

“They’re most certainly not,” someone said in heavily accented English.

Araminta jumped with shock, then rolled over to see who’d spoken. The
three benevolent masseurs withdrew their ministrations, kneeling patiently in a
circle around her.

A Silfen with leathery wings was standing in the tent. He had a dark
scaly tail as well, which slithered about as though agitated. His appearance
sparked a frisson of concern in Araminta’s mind. This shape was also contained
in human legend, but not a good one.

“Who are you?” she blurted. “And why have you got a German accent?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” another Silfen said, “and completely
misunderstands our psychology.”

Araminta jumped again, feeling foolish. A second winged Silfen was
staring down at her. He wore a copper toga robe held in by an ebony belt. His
hair was auburn, with grayish strands creeping in around the temples. His tail
was held still, curving up so it didn’t touch the ground.

“Hey, fuck you, too,” the first winged Silfen groused.

“I apologize for my friend,” said the other. “I’m Bradley Johansson, and
this is Clouddancer; the Silfen have named him a human friend.”

“Uh—” was all Araminta could manage.

“Yeah, pleasure to meet you, too, girlie,” Clouddancer said.

“Uh,” she said again, then: “Bradley Johansson is a human name.”

“Yes, I used to be. Some time ago now.”

“Used to be …?”

He opened his circular mouth, and a slender tongue vibrated in the middle
as he produced a nearly human chuckle. “Long story. As a human I was named a
Silfen Friend.”

“Oh.” Then some memory registered, associated with Mr. Drixel’s awful
school history class. “I’ve heard of Bradley Johansson. You were in the
Starflyer War. You saved us all.”

“Oh, brother,” Clouddancer grumbled. “Thank you, Friend’s daughter. He’ll
be insufferable for a decade now.”

“I played my part,” Bradley Johansson said modestly. His tail tip
performed a lively flick.

Araminta sat up on the cushioning and folded her legs. With a happy
certainty she knew she was about to get answers. A lot of answers. “What did
you call me?” she asked.

“He’s referring to your illustrious ancestor,” Bradley Johansson said.

“Mellanie?” It could have been imagination, but she was sure the singing
outside rose in reverence for the name.

“That’s the one, all right,” Clouddancer said.