Six Moon Dance (57 page)

During all of this, the ground shivered and subsided, shivered and subsided. They were all overcome with weariness, cold, and hunger by the time the last few interviews were concluded.

Evening brought dark and a chilly wind accompanied by stronger tremors, wave after wave, like a rising surf that brought falling rocks and a hail of gravel. Corojum told them to take refuge in a nearby cave, where the Timmys brought firewood and cooked up roots and greens, producing the same savory smells that had delighted Mouche at House Genevois.

D’Jevier and Onsofruct sat a little apart from the others. D’Jevier murmured, “Where’s the green-haired one? The one that enchanted Mouche.”

“I haven’t seen it. And why do you care. What is it with you and this Mouche?”

D’Jevier flushed and did not answer.

“You’ve been going to House Genevois!” said Onsofruct, in whispered outrage. “You’ve been …”

D’Jevier shrugged. “Someone has to play the part of patroness during their training. It’s our system. We’re responsible for it.”

“At your age!”

“I’m not dead yet, Onsy. And I like Mouche. Sometimes, talking with him—and mostly we just talked—you’d swear there was a sage inside that young head. Something’s affected him strangely and wonderfully, and I don’t think it was Madame, or not entirely, at any rate. What that other boy did to his face was inexcusable.”

“Spoiled it for you?” sniped Onsofruct.

“No,” snapped D’Jevier. “Nothing could.”

Onsofruct merely shook her head, more annoyed than amused. D’Jevier was younger than she, but not that much younger. If anyone was entitled to a little fun, it should be she! She said as much.

D’Jevier responded, “Well, cousin, the pleasures are there. Do not blame me if you would rather feel hard-used than enjoy them.”

When they had eaten, Questioner summoned them all together, including the Corojum.

“Corojum,” she said in a measured, respectful voice, “during our questioning of the Timmys, they have spoken of fitting together. Please tell us how the Timmys can join together.”

“Not so well, now that they are shaped like mankinds,” he said, as though puzzled. “All Kaorugi’s parts have seams that open and join together, seam to seam. Some are like tunnelers, end to end, or like Joggiwagga, making a circle around a middle piece. Timmys used to be shaped to make big things.”

“So a lot of them all together, they could become a rather massive shape.”

Corojum nodded. “They must keep airways open, but yes, they can make big assemblies with legs to move them and arms on the sides.”

Questioner turned to Ellin. “That would explain the lack of grace, would it not?”

She turned back to Corojum. “And Joggiwagga. Do they get very large?”

“Some Joggiwagga are very large, you would say huge, to do heavy things, like raising up very large stones to mark the rising of the moons.”

“Have we learned anything?” asked Madame in a weary voice.

Questioner replied. “One of our basic problems was how such small creatures, relatively speaking, as the Timmys could be observed in the dance. We have learned they used to be shaped differently and could mass together. We have also learned that the dance, as described by the Timmys, moved repetitively, in a quickening tempo. And, we have learned that the dance was done in the chasm, yonder, where the Quaggima is. All of this is more than we knew before.”

“We have also learned there were no costumes or sets,” said Ellin dispiritedly, “which makes it unlike any dance I was ever involved with. Even minimalist ballet had something by way of setting or lighting.”

“We have learned something of the music,” said Bao. “Singing by Timmys and drumming by Joggiwaggas, little ones and very big ones, on great singing stones set in the chasm. Some singing was by Bofusdiaga itself. Bofusdiaga is remembering the singing, which could be good clue if there were being words. It is being unfortunate there were no words.”

“We have to go down there,” said Ellin. “We have to see it, her. We can’t work on the dance at all until we see and feel where it is to be performed.”

“This is important?” asked D’Jevier.

“Oh, Ma’am, yes,” cried Ellin. “I remember the first time I encountered a raked stage! I had always danced on a flat stage, with the audience tilted up and away for good views of it, but I was transferred to another History House where they had a raked stage, higher at the back, slanted toward the audience, and, oh, the whole time I felt as though I would fall into their laps! It is also more laborious, for much of the time one is running uphill or plunging down!”

“Also, partnering,” said Bao. “With raked stage, partner is being upstage above, or downstage below, and every motion is being changed longer or shorter depending on location.”

“I see,” murmured D’Jevier. “Well, then, those of you who know something about dancing should go. I can’t imagine the rest of us would be of any help.”

Corojum, summoned, received this intention fatalistically, saying only, “You have little time.”

“Corojum, we know that,” cried Mouche. “Believe me, we’re doing everything we can as fast as we can!”

As though to underline this comment, the ground beneath them shook once more, and stones plummeted from above to splash into the Fauxi-dizalonz. Corojum looked up alertly as several Timmys came flashing into the firelight, hair wild and eyes wide.

“They come,” called one. “The jongau! The bent ones! Dozens and dozens!”

“Where?” asked Questioner. “On the road?”

“On the road, off the road, rolling, hopping, squirming, flowing, along the road.”

“When will they get here?” Questioner demanded.

Corojum said soberly, “Now is dark, only the one little moon rising will make them slow down, but they will come soon, for Bofusdiaga calls to them.”

“Why?” cried Ornery. “Why just now? Don’t we have enough to worry about without them?”

“The bent ones are not finished,” said the Corojum. “They wouldn’t go back through the Fauxi-dizalonz and get finished, so they’re only part done. Part-done things do not last well. They lose cohesion, and their substance longs for the Fauxi-dizalonz, whence it came. If they do not come now, they will disintegrate.”

“Interesting,” said Questioner. “Since they caused this mess, why don’t you just let them disintegrate?”

“Because Bofusdiaga does not waste material. Bofusdiaga alloys, changes, refines. You will see, very soon.”

“Then we must not delay,” Questioner said. “Let us go to the chasm.”

The Corojum fussed, “It is dark in the chasm….”

“Never mind that. I can light the place adequately. Let us go now, before we are overtaken by events.”

They went, Questioner and the four young people, accompanied by a small horde of Timmys trotting and Joggiwagga writhing and Eigers flying overhead and Corojum riding in the crook of Questioner’s arm. When they had gone a little way down into the chasm, a huge mooing sound began in the chasm below them, much akin to that mooing Questioner had heard in the recording.

Mouche and Ornery both sagged, stricken with such sadness they could barely move. It was the feeling each had felt before, Mouche on the bridge, Ornery in the tunnel, a terrible melancholy, an aching terror, as of something despairing over aeons of time.

Questioner turned on her lights. The area around them leapt into visibility. Across the chasm, the coal-dark drapery of Quaggima’s wings quivered against the rock wall, as though in response to the sound coming from below. As Questioner had understood the intent of the cry she had heard recorded, so she understood the plaint of this one, a fractious whine: “Oh, I am in pain, I am without ease, time drags, living drags, can no one help me, can no one help me. I want out, I want out, I want out.” The plaint had an odd reverberation, an almost instantaneous echo, as though spoken slightly out of sync by more than one voice.

With the light, the voice stilled. Mouche took a deep breath and staggered to Ornery, helping her up. Ornery put an arm around him, and they supported one another.

“She is very restless,” said the Corojum, pointing to the movement in the wings, now clearly discernable to them all. “The egg has been moving under her and she has been getting worse for days and days.”

“Sticking to this track will take too long,” said Questioner to the Corojum. “If we have as little time as you say, we must get there more rapidly.”

Corojum whistled. They looked up just in time to see the talons of the Eigers that snatched them from the trail and plunged with them into the depths of the chasm, Questioner and the Corojum held by one great bird, each of the others borne singly, along with a cloud of Timmys who flung themselves into the air, circling and soaring on flaps of skin that joined their arms and legs, like larger versions of the swoopers in the tunnel. Even stranger were the several Joggiwagga that flattened themselves into spiked disks that sailed downward, like spinning plates.

The Questioner’s light surrounded them as they circled, slowing as they neared the bottom. There they were deposited gently one by one on the circular floor, smooth as glass, black and glossy.

“Obsidian,” observed Questioner, brushing herself off, dislodging a few fluffs of down in the process. “Now, where is she?”

Corojum gestured, head down, bowing to something behind Questioner. She turned and stared into an immense, faceted eye the size of a building. Several more such eyes were arranged symmetrically below three tall, flickering antennae that rose like feathery trees. Below the eyes was what could be a mouth, complicated and surrounded by ramified angular structures that twitched restlessly. Below that, laid sideways along the floor, partially enclosed in the glassy floor, was the long, striated, dully gleaming body of the Quaggima, twitching, vibrating, waves of motion rippling down it from the head, away into the darkness.

Though the creature gave no evidence of seeing them, they all bowed. Questioner abated her light, dimming it to a softer, rosier glow, and muttering commands to her troops.

“Mouche, pace off the length of the body. Take a data head and get every inch of her recorded. Ornery, take another data head and go bit by bit over the upper body and head; be sure to get good, clear views. Ellin and Bao, I’d like to test for a reaction, so would you two do something in the way of a pas de deux? I’ll give you some music and atmosphere—anything you’d prefer?”

The two dancers looked at one another. “Debussy,” said Bao. “ ‘La Mer.’ “

Questioner flipped mentally through her catalogues, found the appropriate references, and began to emit the music, along with shifting watery lights that poured like a tidal flow across the dark glass beneath her….

From within which, something watched her. She bent over and beamed her light down, disclosing another faceted eye above a shifting, shadowy depth of moving wings, and beyond the wings, far down, far, far down, another eye….

“This is the egg!” she said to Corojum, without moving or interrupting the music.

“Of course it’s the egg,” said Corojum. “What did you think it was?”

“When the wing moves, I can see far down past it, far, far down. There’s more than one in there.”

“She told Kaorugi, always they have at least twins,” said Corojum. “One male, one female. Each Quaggima mates only once. If they are not to go extinct, she must produce at least two offspring. Sometimes they have four.”

“Are the ones in the egg aware?”

“They are more aware than she is. Long ago, before the egg grew so big, she was awake all the time. She used to cry until the whole world sorrowed, so Kaorugi talked more with her, and when she could talk with someone, she was not sorrowful, but when the egg got bigger, she began to be agitated again, and talking with Bofusdiaga was not enough. That’s when the dancers put her to sleep. Sometimes, like now, when the moons pull and pull, her children move and she feels them moving. What wakes her most is when they cry like they were doing. She hears that!”

“That crying wasn’t from the Quaggima? It was from the egg?”

“From the egg, yes, though it is like her crying. And if Quaggima wakes up and hears them crying to get out, she will break the egg for them and so die. And so will we, Corojum and Timmys and Joggiwagga, Bofusdiaga and Kaorugi, all, dead. And you, too.”

“Maybe Kaorugi shouldn’t have healed her.”

“It is Kaorugi’s nature to heal. So Kaorugi says, it is the nature of all life to heal, no matter where it arises. Creatures that do not heal are not natural to this universe, they come from outside. This one wanted to die at first, but after Kaorugi made her well again, she did not want to die. She was then, as you mankinds say, on a dilemma. So she said to Bofusdiaga, let me sleep, let me not think about it.”

“And since then she’s been asleep.”

“More like how do you people say it, hypnotized, dreaming. What is word? Entranced. I think she sees you as a dream, but she is watching Bao and Ellin.”

Indeed, the glittering eyes did seem fixed on the dancers, and the antennae turned toward Questioner, hearing the music. Drawn by the sound, the Timmys also began to dance, forming a moving backdrop for the two Old Earthers.

The egg shivered, the world moved. Reeling and teetering, Ellin and Bao went gamely on with their extemporaneous performance. Beneath them, the eyes moved to follow their steps.

“How would she break the egg?” Questioner asked the Corojum.

“Down at her far end, there is a kind of tail that is very heavy and stiff. And from there going deep, deep down to the end of the egg are capsules, like a … a … string of beads, bigger the farther down they go. Bofusdiaga says they hold heavy metals. The egg puts out roots, says Bofusdiaga, and it brings the metals bit by bit out of the world, atom by atom. And when she is ready to break the egg, she hits those capsules with her tail, and the first one drops into the next, breaking it, and so on, each bigger and bigger, going down and then something in the last one mixes with it, and it goes up, all at once, like a volcano exploding.”

“And?”

“And she is blown to pieces, but the baby Quaggi are in the shell, and the shell is in a rock tube, and the way it is shaped, it gets exploded far out into space, and then they fly.”