A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [243]
125
FATHER REYNALD
After eradicating all life on Corvus Landing, the hydrogues took less than two weeks to find the main worldforest. And no one on Theroc was ready.
With crowds of his eager subjects, Father Reynald had climbed a comfortable platform atop the canopy to celebrate the Festival of the Butterflies. Once each year, thousands upon thousands of chrysalises hatched simultaneously. Swarms of short-lived butterfly analogues broke from their metamorphosis cocoons, shook out delicate wings of amethyst purple and sapphire blue, then took flight for their one glorious day before death.
Naturally timed to coincide with the mass hatching, dozens of species of epiphytes spread their petals to be pollinated, filling the air with a dizzying perfume. Predatory avians swooped down to meet the first waves of emerging butterflies, gorging themselves on a great feast.
Many Therons took positions atop the interlinked fronds to watch the spectacle. Treedancers bounded from bough to bough, doing somersaults and pirouettes in an artistic interpretation of the poignant first and last flight of the butterflies. Children laughed and played, confident in their balance as they ran barefoot across the upper branches, trying to catch the butterflies.
Green priest acolytes studied the sight, memorizing every detail, then recounted their perspective to the worldtrees. Reynald’s grandparents sat on a platform side by side, playing an impromptu song on handmade musical instruments—
And then the hydrogues came.
Though he did not have access to telink, Reynald sensed a shudder through the whole worldforest. The attentive green priests turned their faces upward to stare, mouths gaping in disbelief and horror as diamond-hulled warglobes hurtled down from the zenith. Cruising low, they seemed inscrutably confident, like predators circling a new victim.
Reacting quickly, instinctively, Reynald bellowed loud enough to break through the frightened chatter of festival spectators. “Everyone, get down to ground level! Take shelter.”
Alexa looked at her eldest child—her only surviving son—and moved automatically, as if she had always followed his orders. She urged a group of children toward ladders and small lift platforms. “Come! Listen to Father Reynald.”
Uthair looked at Reynald, keeping his raspy voice low. “Will that do any good? We know what the hydrogues are capable of.”
Reynald squared his shoulders, looking like a true Father. “Theroc has more worldtrees than any other planet in the Spiral Arm. Let’s pray the power and intelligence of this forest can offer us some protection. Down under the canopy, maybe some of our people can survive.”
Old Lia took her husband’s elbow. “Come on, no good standing here.” People who had gathered for the festival began scrambling through the branches and leaves, climbing down the scaly bark.
The whole worldforest shuddered again, indicating both dread and anticipation. Boughs rustled and fronds scraped together as if in a defensive hiss.
Moaning, the green priests clutched the leaves, drawing strength and reassurance. “Father Reynald, hydrogues have appeared across all the continents. It is a massive attack.”
He grabbed the nearest green priest. “Contact Nahton in the WhisperPalace, send a message to my sister Estarra on Earth. Or Sarein! Tell the King we need warships as soon as possible. Contact Rossia and Yarrod in the EDF battlegroups. Call them all to Theroc immediately.” He blinked, desperate for options. “Even the Roamers! Speak with them if you can. See if they’ll offer help. Do…Do we have any green priests in the Ildiran Empire?”
“We will send the message everywhere.” The green priest groaned in despair as the nearest trio of hydrogues hovered overhead, pulsing and building up energy. “But no help can get here fast enough.”
The trees rocked and swayed like stubborn animals, pushing their nervelike roots deeper into the ground, anchoring themselves and preparing for the worst.
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