Gladly she would travel faster, but she is not alone. Her friends Marockee and Issalin flow alongside, equally impatient. They must all keep to the slow pace of the unskilled Fathers they bring with them.
She and the others are returning from the great mind-dream of Tyree, or Tyree-Two as the humans call it. They are escorting Father Daagan and Mercil to confer for a last time with Eldest Heagran. Behind them all comes the big life-field of Father Ustan. And thanks to the winds he was with us, Tivonel thinks; Ustan had remained outside the dream-world to ensure they would be able to pull free.
“Whew, that was strong. Again, thanks, Tivonel.”
It is Marockee’s mind-touch. Marockee had almost lost herself in the beauty of the dream-winds, the magic of remembered life. Tivonel had to pull her to Ustan’s grasp. And all three of them had to use their strengths to help break out the two young Fathers who had stayed so long in the powerful multiminded fantasy of home.
Tivonel herself had reveled in the false Tyree, in the zestful illusion of flight and her visit to the rich recreation of Deep where the Fathers and children stay. With so many orphans, the surviving Paradomin and any others who wish to try are caring for them under the supervision of real Fathers. They’re doing a pretty good job, too, Tivonel thinks, but of course the children don’t grow. It’s good practice, they’ll all have to do it when they go to that new world.
But she herself hadn’t been trapped in Tyree-Two, not to forgetfulness.To her it had remained a lovely mirage, a tiny island created by living minds in a corner of huge dark reality.
I’ve changed, she thinks. I used to be just like Marockee, all female action and fun. It’s because of Giadoc; I’ve caught something from him. And maybe my time with that kind, funny alien, Tanel. But I’m not getting Fatherly, I don’t care about status like the Paradomin. And it isn’t sex—yearning for Giadoc, either. Not anymore, not here.
She chuckles ruefully to herself, acknowledging that she will never know again the ecstasy of physical sex in the Wind. Marockee told her that some couples tried that in Tyree-Two. But of course it didn’t work. With no egg, what could you expect?
No, it’s not sex, what she feels for Giadoc. It’s the Hearer part of him I’ve caught, she thinks, gliding effortlessly onward in the strange, exciting dark. Yes, and it’s more than that too, it was the waiting and thinking of him, it made me understand more. And when I found him so near death and we merged. Things like that never ordinarily happened on Tyree. Males were just exciting to have sex with until they became Fathers and you sparcely saw them again. I know Giadoc in this deep, funny way, she thinks, not understanding that her language has no word for a yuman sense of love. She wonders briefly if old Omar felt something like that for Janskelen. Whatever, she will stay here with Giadoc no matter what the others do. She suppresses the mixed tingle of fear and excitement the thought brings.
“Are you really staying in the Destroyer when everybody goes out to that new world?” It’s Marockee again.
Tivonel notices that they have outpaced the slower males, and checks.
“You mean the Saver. Yes, I am.” Again the slight shiver.
“How can you, Tivonel? What’ll there be to do?”
“Oh, there’ll be plenty of adventures among the Companions. Ask Giadoc or Tanel. Besides, how do you know they’re going to like being big white plenyas, or whatever those bodies are?”
“But they’ll have real bodies and real winds. And the Great Field of Tyree will be with them.” Marockee’s mind-tone is full of ambiguous longing. Tivonel knows her friend is in agonies of indecision whether to go or stay. Well, she’ll just have to make up her own mind about that. She replies only. “We’ll have Heagran. He’s the spirit of Tyree, too.”
“Well, I’m staying here,” puts in Issaliri firmly. “You wait, when they get out there the males will take all the eggs again, just like Tyree. Even if those bodies are supposed to be combined male and female, they’ll find some way. And I know the mind that works with the Saver is female, so I’m staying with you.”
“Well said in friendship,” replies Tivonel. Privately she considers that Issalin’s head is a little wind-blown if those are her reasons, but she’s glad of the company.
“If we ever find the yuman world where Avan went maybe I’d go there,” Issalin goes on. “I’ve been talking a lot with that female-Father Winona. I’d see they got the status!”
“More power to you. Speaking of things to do,” Tivonel interrupts herself, “There’s Sastro and that wild alien, over that way. I’m going to check on them. Father Ustan!” she sends politely. “I’ll rejoin you later. Eldest Heagran will want news of what they have found.”
And that’s a fact, she thinks, shooting off at high speed while the others continue on their decorous way. But the real fact is I’m curious.
From this distance she can just pick up the calm life-signal of big Sastro, one of the elders who are staying with Heagran in the Saver. His signal is modulated by the uncanny flickering emanation of the creature they had picked up out of space. The pulsations were thought to be fear by those who first went out to help him, but now it’s clear that his life-energy is periodic in this odd way. Weird!
As she approaches she picks up also the emanations of one of tlhe Saver’s pictorial nodes or screens, which for some time now have been showing scenes of the world the Tyrenni will go out to. The group seems to be clustered around it. And now Tivonel can recognize another big life-field—the yuman Valeree with whom she’s had many friendly contacts. Valeree is trying to learn the alien creature’s language—good luck to her. Beside her in the queer flicker of the alien’s field are two other Tyrenni energies; a male and female Tivonel doesn’t know well, from Tyree-Two.
“Greetings, Father Sastro and to you all.” She extends a decorous receptor-node, ignoring the alien.
“Hello Tivonel,” Valeree replies. “Listen, try touching it carefully. I think it will answer.”
Winds, they must have really calmed it down! Cautiously, Tivonel extends a tentative probe. “Greetings.”
“Gree—tin” it sends faintly, accompanied by such a flash of mental green that Tivonel jumps away.
“It’s scared to death! Why haven’t you fixed it?”
“Do not be foolish,” Sastro reproves her. “Do you imagine a Father does not know his work? It appears, young Tivonel, that on this being’s world the color you sensed is the hue of harmony and life.”
“It’s a good color on ours too, Tivonel,” Valeree adds. “Your people may have to get used to some strange effects when they go down. I see that world as your colors of pain and fear, but on ours they mean fair winds and joy.”
“Whew.”
Tivonel slides onto a node near the projection and studies the mental picture again. It’s a beautiful scene, even if it’s at wind-bottom. Great mounds or crags are looming way up into the wind. She can sense feathery spume whirling by. Far below is a great wet foaming surface, what the yumans call an ocean or sea. A huge, pale six-limbed flying form plummets down past her to snatch something from a floating raft, then soars up to perch on solidity, eating the thing from its claspers. High overhead a dozen others are soaring, evidently rejoicing in the gales. The scene is radiant. It does look like a suitable home for life. Of course if all that is going to turn out to be green and blue the Tyrenni will be in for an adjustment. Well, maybe the bodies’ sensors will take care of that.