Dark Matters_ Ghost Dance (Book 2) - Christie Golden [61]
Besides, contacting the Alilann was the only way he and Tom could possibly contact Voyager and return home.
And yet, this place felt like home now. It had been several days since their official welcoming ceremony, and he and Tom had been put to work as constructive citizens of Sumar-ka. It had been good, simple work, physical labor in the warmth of the suns that left muscles pleasantly aching at day's end. Massages were given as a matter of course to all those who had worked hard-soothing, calming massages with rich oils to moisturize the skin and strong hands, male or female, to unkink knots in the muscles. The food was strengthening but light, and Chakotay felt physically better than he had in a long time. Real, pure food, prepared simply and with care, hard work, sound rest, friendly companions. It was a world away from the intellectual puzzles, recirculated air, and replicated food that comprised life on a Starship.
Even as he thought about his time here, Chakotay realized that it was over. They would leave in the morning. He was certain the villagers would protest, but they were not barbarians. They would not prevent him and Tom from leaving if they really wanted to.
Sighing, Chakotay finished the glass of water and returned to his cot. He turned from the window and closed it, and in so doing, missed the slight movement at the edge of the jungle.
Matroci couldn't sleep. He was edgy and nervous, and couldn't imagine why. Chakotay and Paris had accepted their initiation as citizens of Sumar-ka, and
they were proving themselves stalwart members of the community. He liked them, different as they were, and their presence here merely reinforced the words of the Grafters, who told the Culilann to welcome Strangers.
And yet, something was nagging at him. Something was not right. He wanted to sleep, but he heaved a sigh, rose, and donned his formal robes. A consultation was needed.
He opened the shutters and went about preparing the Sacred Plant. Lighting it from the small bed of coals he kept burning ,in a clay jar, he fanned the flames with his hand to increase the smoke.
Matroci coughed. As always.
He forced himself to inhale as much as he could and opened his mind to the will of the Grafters.
Something was not right. The sounds of the jungle ought to be louder. Now, even the night beasts were still. There were no more birdcalls.
Without knowing why, Matroci tasted fear. Why were the beasts of the forest so quiet? He knew he needed to finish the meditation, but he couldn't help himself. He got to his feet and padded to the window. He gulped in the fresh, cool night air and looked around. He had no idea what he expected to see. The larger predators such as the iislak disliked the bustle of the village and seldom approached, save in lean times. Still, his gaze searched. Finally, Matroci sighed and turned around to complete the meditation.
The woman stood before him. The moons' light spilled in through the opened window, but did nothing to soften the ice in her eyes and the hardness of her face, of her strange clothing. She was of his kind, but as different from him as she could possibly be. And even as his mind made the identification, as his lips moved to form the word "Alilann," she lifted something, pressed it to his chest, and squeezed.
"Use the chamber pot, Paris," Tom muttered to himself as he stepped carefully on the moist earth. "If you have to go out, take a lamp, Paris. You could get lost out there at night, Paris. Damn, I hate it when he's right."
Used to all the comforts provided by Voyager, Paris found that using the small stoneware pots to relieve himself