Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [69]
Vel follows a path down to the river, no more than an area where the vegetation has thinned from frequent passage. Rain sluices down his back; he isn’t wearing protective gear. No need when you’re already armored. Beneath my shirt and slicker, Baby-Z2 wriggles around, a testament to his fortitude.
Almost there, little guy.
The hike is miserable. Neither of us complains, however. At the swollen stream, Vel reaches for my hand, and we cross together, fighting the current. It rushes at my legs, trying to topple me, but with his help, I push onto the other shore. He stands for a moment in the rain, face upturned.
“Did you know, Sirantha, that my people cannot weep?”
I didn’t, actually.
He continues, “We have no tear ducts. Instead, on Ithiss- Tor, there is a mourning song, uttered by every surviving member of the clutch.”
“Do you only sing for clutchmates?”
“Or progenitors.”
“Never for friends or partners?”
He shakes his head, water dripping from his mandible. “It is not done. But here, it is as if the whole world weeps.”
“Teach me,” I say impulsively. “Teach me, and I’ll sing with you. For Adele.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Please.”
And so I learn the mourning song. It is full of clicks and hisses and long-held low notes, sounds I could never make without my vocalizer. Though I know it’s imprecise at best, the chip in my head translates it thus:
Oh, though you are gone beyond all knowing
We will join you one day
Many become one
In the wholeness of the Iglogth
Away, away, far you are becoming
We are less with your loss
Away, away, our song sends you safely
But we keep you always in our minds.
Away, away,
Away.
The last note stretches for an unbearably long time. I’m sure I would find it painful, were my throat doing the work. All around us, the jungle falls quiet. And then the most extraordinary thing occurs. The insects in the wetlands echo the sounds back to us, imperfect, but mimicked, as if they recognize the gravitas of this moment. For a glorious, astonishing moment, it’s as if a whole clutch mourns Adele properly.
Vel reels with it, stumbling back to brace against a rain- slick tree. His posture communicates such raw pain that I’m helpless as to how to help. And then I realize he’s shaking, not from cold, but the Ithtorian equivalent of silent tears. I pull him to me because that’s the human way, and he’s lost a human love. Surely it will offer him some comfort.
He rubs the side of his face against the top of my head. It’s not a kiss like he gave Adele, cheek to cheek, but it’s more than he’s ever done before. So I guess I’m doing something right. His claws dig into my back, hurting me a little, but it’s a pain I’ll bear gladly. Endless moments later, he steps away, composed once more, and now the rain is only rain.
“Better?” I ask.
Vel responds with a quiet inclination of his head. He is not prone to such emotional displays, but that doesn’t mean he feels nothing. “Shall we continue?”
The rest of the journey passes in silence. As before, I glimpse the settlement through a tangle of trees. This time, however, the mounds are not dark and silent. Small lights are set all around; they look to be some natural-glowing lichen, and there is movement, the Mareq going about their daily lives. My stomach coils into a knot, and I touch Baby-Z2 reflexively. The hatchling makes a quiet sound beneath my hand, a little trill. He’s still there, still whole and healthy, my offering to those from whom I stole. Mary grant it’s enough.
CHAPTER 22
No point in further delay. It won’t get easier.
I step out of the jungle and into the village. Immediately, five nearby Mareq surround me. But they don’t appear hostile; instead, they seem fascinated. I’ve only seen images of them, captured by Fugitive scientists, and here I am, up close and personal. This is it—first contact. I haven’t done this in such a