The Fecund's Melancholy Daughter - Brent Hayward [75]
Only without wings.
He chose to hop forward, landing on a surface flatter and harder than he had imagined.
Anu bobbed with his weight.
The power was large, and clean, extending back farther than hornblower thought possible, with rows of small yellow lights either side and room for a dozen people, at least. He focused on what could only be a seat, and to this he clung. The material he gripped was soft, certainly not carved from the meat of the world or woven from her leaves. When hornblower risked a quick glance about, he knew that Anu was made of unfamiliar materials. Polymers, the teachings said, but the word seemed pale and hollow in the face of these marvels. Most of the yellow lights he had seen when he first jumped inside appeared now to be writing, and this writing floated in the air. Tiny figures danced and shimmered. Hornblower held onto the chair as if nothing could ever pry him out of it again.
Outside the mouth, he saw the array of dead padres, sprawled on the branch. Red sap ran in rivulets from their ears and noses. Their faces were contorted with final agony. So easily had Anu killed them all. Every padre had been wiped out with a thought or quiet word. Except for him. Hornblower choked back fear for his own future, wanting to cry out, to shout questions, but knowing he’d best remain silent unless he wanted to end up like his brethren.
Farther along the branch, peeking from their huts, several members of the settlement watched. He saw the two girls he had planned on visiting after the funeral standing agog before their hut, and he wondered if they would try to help him. Should he call out to them? But this might also anger Anu, so he merely nodded, to reassure the girls, and gave them a desperate wave: they retreated from sight.
Perhaps the people believed that Anu had called for him, and had devoured his body because he was devout, the best padre ever, the only padre to achieve this miraculous honour—
With a quiet whir, Anu’s mouth closed.
His view of the settlement was cut off.
Dimmer inside now, but the intensity of the yellow lights rose, and images crackled and spun, flickering strange characters at him, passing right through him. He tried to touch them as they swirled but could not.
Careful not to hyperventilate, hornblower pushed farther back into the seat. He wanted to vomit as the sky power began to sway, expecting to be chewed any second by hidden teeth, or digested by a flood of stomach enzymes.
When nothing like this occurred, he risked longer looks around. A series of odd noises, accompanied by the occasional distant voice, crackled through the short wall at his knees, though this voice spoke in words he could not understand, and as if from a terrible distance.
The smell in the power was like the sky right before clouds got dark.
Rocking back and forth, waiting for any clues, trying to be humble and devout but not sure what to do with his hands, hornblower came to the conclusion that he really could not make his situation much worse. Cautiously, slowly, he began to explore. Mere visuals at first, staring with growing awe at the treasures. Someone such as himself, though nevertheless a padre—a powerful padre at that—was surely not meant to understand or perhaps even lay eyes on such incredible wonders.
Hornblower touched Anu, so lightly, reverentially with the tips of his fingers. The flesh of the power was warm and tingling. His hand passed through the dancing yellow lights—
And a tiny slot opened before him.