Skyfire

As the escape pod rocketed away from the exploding mother ship, the single occupant struggled to control his fear. Far below, the inhabitants of the unknown terrestrial planet of Ana-Nayi went about their lives unaware of the deep space battle that raged above them. Some noticed strange flashes of orange and white-hot skyfire and many wondered if the spirits of their ancestors were angered over some misdeed of the common folk. Gathered under the protection of their ancient Giantwood Forest, small groups watched the light show, gossiping about the probable cause and some predicted an ill omen would bring dire changes.

As the lone survivor hurtled towards the planet, he lurched roughly in his seat finally losing consciousness moments before the escape pod crashed through a forest of enormous trees. The pod came to a shuddering halt, wedged in a massive fork, just below the canopy of the dense forest. A plume of purple smoke rose into the sky and was soon dispersed by a stiff breeze.

Inside the pod the emergency shutdown sequence had commenced and as the young man slumped unconscious in the pilot chair, the engine automatically closed down and the hatch unlocked but remained closed. Silence returned to the forest and all went back to normal, save for a silver blue pod high in a giant tree, looking inharmoniously like an oversized egg.

*

As the first rays of a new day crept through the dense forest, tingeing the ancient Giantwood trees a luminescent green, villagers awoke and went about their morning chores. A few shot wary glances at a dwelling high above them, all wondering on the strange events of the previous night for many had seen the flashing lights that lit up the midnight sky.

Word had spread quickly that a party of able bodied men, under instruction from Somna, revered Chief of the Trelorian peoples, had gone out on a night mission to investigate the strange object that had crashed into their trees some distance away. They knew a stranger had been plucked from the belly of the object before it hurtled down to the forest floor, little else was known, except that the badly injured stranger who was obviously not one of their own was now being cared for by Dena, wife of Somna and his daughter Gilla. The villagers did not like this; strangers were a rarity in Trelore, a large village in the north of Ana-Nayi, and had always meant trouble to the quiet peace loving Trelorians.

Within the cool shadowy dwelling that nestled close to the thick canopy of Giantwood trees, Gilla assisted her mother with silent grace. She was fascinated by the tall stranger, there had never been a visitor to Trelore in her lifetime of twenty-five years and she had always been carried away by fanciful dreams when the elders told legends of other races living far away from the security of their treetop village. Gilla knew about the Dackor, of course, marauders from the far side of the Great Lake who periodically kidnapped young women for their brides. Her own father’s mother had been taken when he was but a babe and was never seen again and the hunting party that had gone in search of her never returned. Many ancient tales spoke of the Dackor marauders and mothers used the tales as a warning to their children not to stray from the safety of the inner platforms that hung suspended from the overlapping branches of their sacred Giantwood forest.

Gilla knew this stranger was not Dackorian; he did not have their pale skin or the raven black hair that was common amongst them. Nor did he have the harsh look that had been ingrained in her mind by the ancient tales, for the elders painted a grim picture of the Dackor that sent chills creeping along the spine of all listening. This stranger was a warm brown like pale wood; his hair was short, and similar in colour to his skin although at the moment he was bathed in glistening perspiration with blood gummed to the side of his head and deep lacerations along one arm. His clothing was badly torn, looking burnt in parts and as Gilla helped her mother attend his wounds she wondered where he had come from and how it came to be that he fell from the sky in the hideous object that now rested on the forest floor.

As Dena smeared the man’s gashes with salve she looked at Gilla and sighed, ‘I can do little more for him then I have done,’ she silently communicated with her daughter. ‘I will dress his wounds then I must attend the Meeting of Elders, you will need to stay here and spoon small amounts of Pendi draft into his mouth against the pain.’

‘As you wish mother’, Gilla replied, ‘but you will return with the elder’s verdict’ she begged, ‘please don't let them turn this poor man away’.

‘He is going nowhere’ Dena replied, ‘although they may forbid me any further treatment then I have already administered’.

'We can't just let him die,' Gilla was horrified.

Dena smiled at her impetuous young daughter, dutiful yet wilful at the same time, ‘I will do my best’ was all she communicated then disappeared with a swish of her long corn silk grey hair.

As Gilla sat forcing minute amounts of Pendi draft into the stranger’s mouth, she hoped her mother’s calm wisdom would prove superior to the Elders and their strict adherence to the old ways.

*

As Dena entered the Elders Circle she caught Somna's worried expression and noticed his relief on seeing her arrival. The members of the Elders Circle were seated on a large platform that adjoined the market square. It was obvious that Somna had been trying to speak in the strangers favor, but the Elders were not often capable of being swayed or diverted from a course and many looked down on Somna for his progressive philosophy and adventurous nature. Although when all was said and done, Somna's word was law and could not be contested.

‘What say you Dena’ Tosci's words rudely interrupted Dena's inner thoughts without so much as a greeting. Tosci was newly appointed to the roll of village Elder and the youngest in the assemblage. He was terse and obstinate, often condescending, little liked or respected by those in the Elders Circle, but when his father had passed away the previous winter it had been the old man’s last wish that his son take his place in the Circle when he was old enough. Although Tosci had not yet reached the Age of Wisdom he was allowed to sit in on meetings, as a form of training, but his words carried no weight.

Dena looked at him with barely concealed contempt. ‘It is obvious to even a novice that the stranger poses no immediate threat’ Dena’s mindspeak could be very cold when she so wished it and she sent her words directly to Tosci so he suffered the full blast, while the others Elders received a lesser backwash, although her words still stung with a slight chill. ‘He is badly injured and may not even survive; besides, he is not Dackor and has not come from the far side of the lake. Our scouts found him in the opposite direction. I fail to see what all the fuss is about’.

Tosci sat back silently, rebuffed by Dena's use of the term novice; he scowled sulkily but added no more to the debate.

‘He is a stranger in our midst’ Wheyan interjected, ‘and our people fear for the safety of their children’. Wheyan had been an Elder for some time although he was second youngest and was often seen conspiring with Tosci, ‘What say you Somna’.

‘Aye what say you, what say you’ others in the group demanded to know.

All eyes turned to Somna, up till now he had watched the proceedings with quiet consideration. Somna was widely thought of as a wise and just leader, he had been well schooled by his father to inherit the role of chief and while some found his ideas too innovative, all trusted his word and revered his place in the village.

‘The stranger poses no threat to your families in his present state’ Somna sent the words in a deep reassuring tone, ‘not only is he severely injured he is further enfeebled by the Pendi draft, my own daughter tends him without guard, and as Dena has attested he is not of the Dackor’. Here Somna paused surveying the faces before him, ‘if it makes you feel safer we can set a guard, perhaps Tosci, being the youngest might volunteer for the first watch’.

Tosci's scowl deepened, ‘If you wish, my most revered chief’, Tosci sounded petulant in all minds save his own, ‘however I agree that the Pendi draft will be safeguard enough, at least for the present moment’.

Tosci rose to his feet sweeping off to the nearby market square where he poured a large draft of ale, Wheyan soon followed and the meeting dwindled to a close.

When the members of the Elders Circle had all departed Somna looked fondly at his life-partner; he and Dena had been paired since they were young adults but had known they loved each other for as long as they could remember. Each knew the others moods and fears, their weaknesses and strengths and now with an injured stranger in their midst both worried that the anarchy smoldering in Tosci and his followers would burst into a raging flame that would be far more dangerous than any the stranger presented.

Tosci had long coveted the role of chief, which had belonged to Somna's ancestors for many generations and could only be bestowed on another if there were no living relatives of Somna's line left. Tosci was uncharacteristically aggressive, demanding that action be taken to stop the next Dackor raid, which all knew could come at any time, a sneak attack in the depths of night, most times not even noticed until the morning. Tosci's betrothed had been taken many years ago and he beside himself with grief had demanded a hunting party accompany him to rescue her, but Somna and Iken, Tosci father, had forbidden it.

Tales of the missing hunters from when Somna’s own mother was kidnapped painted a picture of the grief stricken families left without fathers and life partners and this had always been enough to stay any further hunting of the Dackor

‘Tosci boils for revenge even after all these years’ Somna said silently, weary from the nights activities and lack of sleep.

‘The stranger is not Dackorian, my love’ Dena soothed, ‘all will be well, we cannot turn this man out from the village, he would surely die, and I will not have that on my conscience’.

‘Always the healer’ Somna smiled, his arm curling around her shoulders affectionately.

Dena kissed him lightly on his bearded cheek, ‘I must check on Gilla and our patient’.

Somna watched as Dena swung easily along the swinging bridge that led to other parts of the village, admiring the graceful rhythm of her body, then sat down heavily on his hand carved wooden seat, his thoughts on Tosci and his unquenchable thirst for revenge.

Blurred Reality

The man felt a moment of panic as he tried in vain to open his eyes, aware of a throbbing pain that pounded dully in his head. His side ached with a constricting tightness as if it were closely bound. He tried to move but found his limbs refused to obey his dazed commands and felt supple bonds looped around his wrist and ankles securing him to the bed. He attempted to call out but his throat tensed and no cry was forthcoming. He wondered briefly where he was, who he was, for that matter, before finally giving up his struggle to regain consciousness, falling deeper into oblivion

Gilla watched his brief struggle, concern etched on her face as she swept her long hair out of the way to drizzle more Pendi draft between the man's swollen lips. She heard her mother return, the almost inaudible whisper of movement and slight fragrance of wild jessamine signaling Dena’s arrival.

‘What say you Mother, how did the meeting go?’ Gilla sent her thoughts in tumbling mindspeak without looking up.

‘What say you daughter of mine’ Dena responded in kind, ‘how goes our suffering patient?’

‘He is restless and tormented by pain, a fever takes hold’ Gilla gently sponged the stranger’s feverish brow. ‘What was the outcome of the meeting mother, do you keep something from me?’

‘The stranger is safe for now but Tosci starts anew’ Dena rested a motherly hand on Gilla's shoulder; ‘he is recklessly determined to find a reason for a raid on the Dackorian Stronghold’.

‘Then that will be his undoing’ Gilla uttered scornfully.

*

For days the outsider struggled to recognize a familiar thought, he strained to recall who he was, where he was. Pain and fever tortured him, mind, body and soul, as he floated between hallucinations, delirium, and deep silent unconsciousness. For five moons the fever raged and finally on the sixth morning the it eased allowing the him to slip into an untroubled sleep.

Dena and Gilla worked tirelessly, dressing his wounds, forcing Pendi draft and watered juice into his mouth at regular intervals. Gilla wiped away the fevered perspiration and when the chills took hold and she rubbed his arms and legs with hepac, a thin solution which had wonderful healing properties that was squeezed from grey moss.

On the fourth night as Gilla sat by the man’s bedside his eyes briefly fluttered open, looking at her in wild surprise, then his eyelids slid closed. Although Gilla could not sense his thoughts, she knew that he was semi aware of her in the room and while she did feel a slight tickle in her mind, she could not understand where his thoughts lay. Soon he drifted into a deep sleep, his breathing settling into a steady rhythm, and Gilla curled up on a nearby cot falling asleep almost as soon as her eyes closed.

In the strangers brief moment of cognizant thought he felt a rising panic swell up in his chest. Where am I, he thought, who is that woman, how did I get here and from where. Who the hell am I, even my name escapes me. And once again he slipped quickly back into the healing vacuum of sleep.

The man periodically regained consciousness, briefly taking in scraps of his surroundings, enough to know he seemed to be safe. He did not know where he was, for if this is earth it is no earth known to the men of his time. Although so little could he remember of anything other than this rustic cabin he found it difficult to trust his own mind. The people of this place seemed oddly familiar and if he was with strangers or friends he couldn’t recall. Through pain glazed eyes he noticed they seem of an average height and all appeared to have either russet gold or silver hair flowing in soft cascades two or three feet in length. Their features are elfin and all have lean muscular bodies, even the females are solid, although he realized his contact with them has been limited to only a few, so his assessment may not be accurate. Twice he had been conscious enough to notice a man look in on him, perhaps a guard or healer, he was not sure.

The people are a gentle seeming race who have shown great care towards him during his illness and he realized he must of sustained injuries of a serious nature considering the pain that wracked his entire body. His left arm appeared to be very weak for it is with great difficulty that he lifted it from the bed. His vague recollections of how he came to be here were as distant as a dream and not to be relied on. While the throbbing in his head was an indication of injury, he could not recall how the damage was caused and had lost all sense of his past, for even his name escaped him, leaving him with a great aching sense of loss.

In his fragmented moments of consciousness he became aware of his surroundings, a soft green filtered down through slats in the roof and at times different sounds drift in, that of water gurgling, as if rushing over pebbles in a distant stream, the laughter of children at play, the squeak and rustle of branches and leaves. He heard many voices rise up in a lilting form of word-less supplication, eerie and beautiful. Which was the only time he had heard any form of verbal communication from these people. They tend to him in total silence, studying him with gentle grey eyes. He wondered how long he had been here, who had he left behind, he felt at odds with this world, and its people, big, clumsy, and foreign, I don't know where I belong, he thought, his mind and heart clouded with pain, but I know it's not here.

The stranger woke to find it already morning, light lay green fingers over the simple wooden furnishings and dust motes danced and twirled in the shimmering air. He wondered who had disturbed them when he was rewarded by the sight of a food-laden tray resting on a large polished tree stump that served as a table. The almost inaudible sound of silken curtains moving announced the arrival of Dena. She never spoke, but simply went about her tasks with graceful silence, a look of ancient wisdom in her eyes.

A few times the man had tried to speak but both women had silenced him with a finger to their lips, but he soon realized speech was beyond him, little more than a dry painful croak came out when he tried. He had little chance to speak for he tired quickly usually falling into a deep sleep as soon as his meal had been feed to him by the infinitely patient Dena. Although several times while his wounds were being dressed he had attempted to make verbal contact, the words came out as a strangled whisper. But he sensed his body was mending, he could move his limbs and felt that a little of his strength had returned.

This particular morning the silver haired woman was not accompanied by her younger companion and did not bring the food to the bed, as has been the custom until now. Instead, she pointed to the stranger and then the table. Eagar for the chance to leave his sick bed the young man rose to a sitting position, but when he swung his legs onto the floor a slight dizziness clouded his vision. He waited for his head to stop spinning and progressed unsteadily to the table. Assorted fruits and nuts filled one bowl, as well as strips of dried fish and a raw fish dish soaked in something like limes and served with cold greens. There was also a plentiful supply of fresh water and a rich honey wine.

The woman sat on a nearby stool, watching the man eat and he wondered where her thoughts were at this moment. Am I a burden to this regal woman? Were there places she would rather be, people of her own kind she would rather be caring for? He was startled out of his daydreaming by the first spoken word since he regained consciousness.

‘Dena’, the word floated around the room like a single tingling note of music.

‘Dena’ the woman repeated, pointing to herself, and then pointing to the stranger with an inquiring smile.

The man blinked foolishly, the food suddenly dry and wooden in his mouth, slightly taken aback was he, at hearing someone speak. It was then a familiar name came to mind and before he lost it or even had time to consider if it was his own, he had spoken it.

‘Linkin, he muttered awkwardly.

The woman’s face lit up with delight, as she pointed to him and repeated the name, ‘Lin-kin’…Linkin!

Hearing her so clearly pronounce his name, for it did have a familiar ring to it, released a barrage of questions that up until now had remained unasked.

‘Where am I, where did I come from, what is this place’ Linkin asked in anguished tones.

Far from answer them, Dena pressed her hands to her ears and fled, hair flying in silver streamers behind her hastily departing form. Suddenly alone and quite confused Linkin ate the rest of the morning meal with mixed feelings on whether any progress had been made.

Some time latter Dena returned, pointed to herself and said ‘Dena’ but she stayed only long enough to collect the food tray, and then quickly left. As he sat wondering if ‘Dena’ was a word of greeting, the younger woman appeared, pointed to herself and said, ‘Gilla’.

That simple spoken word sounded like a waterfall singing, so lyrical and full of life. He felt enchanted or bewitched one or the other, perhaps both. Her eyes were like the sparkle of gems in a pebbled stream, her hair moved like golden cobwebs that seemed to have a will of its own, flowing down her back in sweeping waves, moving and shimmering of its own accord.

The moment was shattered however, when he opened his mouth to speak, for she took a step back readying her hands to cover her ears. He felt loud and oafish in her presence. Softly he said ‘Linkin pointing to his chest as he had seen them do, and then took a step back to await a response

As they eyed each other with open curiosity she allowed her body to resume a more natural pose, hands slipping to her sides, her breath sighing from her perfect lips as she softly whispered, ‘Gilla’.

Trying what he hoped was a charming smile the man said, ‘Linkin, pounding lightly on his chest in a self- mocking fashion. Gilla let fly with a musical little laugh that lit up her face with innocent beauty. She left then, taking with her the light, warmth and music he had felt in her presence. Left to his own thoughts he started wondering whom he may have known before this and it distressed him to discover that he could remember no one. Linkin slowly paced the confines of the cabin using the simple furnishings to steady his faltering steps; he tried the door behind the curtain but found it locked and the only window offered a view of dense foliage and a scrap of blue sky. He tired quickly, returning to rest on his bed, but woke several hours later without realizing he had fallen asleep.

Later that evening both women entered the hut, smiled and spoke their name in greeting, Linkin returned in kind longing for a more fulfilling means of communication. While Dena redressed his wounds Gilla hovered over her shoulder giving him the most meaningful look he'd ever seen and suddenly he was worried that perhaps his injuries were not healing as they should. Did Gilla's look of concern imply something amiss? Linkin twisted to see his injured arm, relief flooding his face to examine two gashes sewn neatly and healing well. He looked up in confusion just in time to witness Dena and Gilla in what appeared to be a deeply serious discussion, except that no words were being spoken and he finally realized that these people could mindspeak and while it came as a surprise, it did not seem a completely foreign concept to him.

He silently cursed his failing memory before sinking back onto the bed with unexpected exhaustion. Gilla was at his side in an instant, feeling his brow, offering water, but Dena made a sleeping gesture, sweeping Gilla out of the room as she went.

Left alone Linkin closed his eyes; only intending to rest them, but fell into a deep sleep that took him through to the next day.

The following evening Gilla bustled in with barely concealed excitement that sent her gold tresses swirling about her muscled thighs. She could hardly contain herself as she watched Linkin eat what he had come to know as the evening meal, since it immediately came before the evening’s musical ritual and the lights change from green to fading grey. Dena sat as always, but fidgeted in her chair, playing with strands of her long silver hair. Gilla danced about the room, flitting back and forth like a golden butterfly, urging him to eat. Linkin found he had more desire to watch her than eat. Indeed, he was growing more agitated with each passing moment, wondering if a great celebration was at hand or perhaps some less desirable custom. Gilla hurried him along by removing the wooden bowls before he had finished eating. Surrounded by such excited haste he lost all desire to eat and sat back with a small wooden goblet of honey mead.

The two women bustled Linkin to his feet prodding him towards the doorway where the same man who had called in to check on his progress waited to greet him.

‘Somna’, the older man said with a commanding note to the tone of his voice.

‘Linkin, the stranger returned in greeting, his own voice a strange, strangled whisper.

The man was obviously leader, chief, head elder of Gilla's people, his hair was of the finest silver imaginable and he held himself regally erect, to the extent that he appeared taller and much more solidly built than the women. His long hair was twisted into a rope like plait with the help of supple green vines that Linkin would soon find all the men favored. Somna studied Linkin with great intensity as if he was trying to enter his head, to probe his inner thoughts. Then the Elder looked him over, taking in the large frame and short hair with a hint of silent amusement.

Linkin was led out onto a platform, with Gilla giggling quietly and prodding from behind. What surrounded him left Linkin amazed and breathless, for he found himself immeasurably high in an immense forest, thick vines hung everywhere, criss-crossing to form intricate passage-ways, woven baskets hung suspended from a multitude of platforms, large wax like flowers trailed in fragrant bunches from the branches of every tree. The slanting rays of the setting sun sliced through the canopy of thick leaves, washing everything in a luminous, soothing green. Gilla and Somna pushed Linkin on and with their urging he shuffled forwards to discover many more platforms below, many with wooden dwellings such as the one on this level.

The luminous green light of day was slowly fading as Linkin looked around in wonder, amazed by the complexity of this incredible tree city. Hundreds of people gathered on platforms of all sizes, dangling from vines or standing in suspended baskets that hung on sturdy ropes looped around massive branches. Gilla and Somna had left him to join Dena on a nearby platform and with a flourish of Somna's staff the air suddenly filled with the sweet heady music he had heard every evening since his awakening. He stood enthralled by all he saw and heard, his skin tingling with unexplained tranquility as he let the lyrical voices of these gentle people wash over him.

What wondrous creations they had fashioned from the very forest in which they lived, while no damage had been done to the trees in the process, instead clever use of branch, leaf, vine and other natural materials had resulted in many artistic and useful designs. Platforms and huts stretched as far below as they reached above, the rustle of the wind stirred branches added to the musical voices, and somewhere far below in the darkness he could hear what sounded like a gurgling stream as it rushed over pebbles.

As the song faded over the treetops the light dimmed to a pearly grey and for a moment a hushed silence enveloped the forest. People began to disperse, some joining others with cheerful greetings, children clambered about in laughing groups, swinging from baskets and branches with practiced ease. Many men and women looked to him with open welcome, calling out their names in greeting and he almost felt as if he had returned home, others looked less sure of the stranger. He knew this was not his home, he differed from these people in every way possible and yet for the most part they seemed to accept him into their world without question or explanation.

Suddenly Gilla was at his side, flushed of face with a sparkle in her eyes that snatched his breath away. He gave her a smile in return, hoping it reflected his enthusiasm and admiration for all he had witnessed, but the smile fell short of its intention, for the light went out of her eyes, replaced with a look of concern.  As she gently steered Linkin towards the doorway of his room, he paused to take one last look around before retiring for the night.