by P P Corcoran
Thankfully, for me anyway, most of the lambs had already been born, and there were only a few stubborn holdouts in the hills, which became my job to watch. So, on the morn of the Rest Day, I trekked into the hills with my bag on my back, and our dog Saf frolicking at my heels. Our bothy was an hour away, and the neighbor who was there was expecting me.
The weathercast I heard before I left the house was the second sign of trouble. There was the promise of rain, and a bit of wind. Dad had listened, sucked his teeth, and then shook his head.
“Ain’t be listening to that,” he told me. “Twill be a storm, and a bad one. City folk don’t understand our weather. You take care of yourself out there, lass. Wouldn’t ask this if twerent important.”
I trusted my Dad’s weather instinct more than I trusted the soft voice over the air and made sure to take my waterproofs and a few other things to make my life easier.
Our neighbor was not one for conversation, so as soon as I arrived, he departed without even a goodbye. I didn’t take it personally, left my bag in the bothy, and set off to check the sheep. None were in labor, or looked anywhere close to being in labor, so I returned to the bothy to wait.
Every hour I did another tour of the flock, every hour I checked the weather again. Every hour I could see the clouds boiling over the mountains. Dad had been right.
As the wind started to gust, and the clouds started to move down the slope one of the ewes decided this was the perfect time to go into full labor. She was Dads prized ewe, had lambed a dozen times with perfect results. I knew he'd want me to watch her closely to make sure nothing went wrong. And so, I, in my infinite young wisdom, brought her inside while the rest of the herd clustered on the leeward side of the building.
Saf, our dog was rather confused about this, but tolerated the wooly interloper in front of her stove, settling beside the heat, one eye on the door, and one on the ewe. Barely had I closed the door when the full fury of the storm hit.
The building was sturdy and solid, and the wind howled outside the door but inside we felt no chill. Rain thundered on the windows, but we were dry and warm. The ewe was laboring away herself and required no intervention. I was slumped in the old chair, half asleep in the heat, when Saf raised her head.
She made a noise, not quite a growl, not quite a whine, and her tail twitched.
“What is it?” I asked.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The third trouble.
Three knocks on the door, hardly heard over the thundering storm. If it hadn't been for the attention of Saf, I might not have heard anything.
No one should be out in a storm like this. All our neighbors were at least as weather wise as my Dad, and none of their lands were anywhere near us. Saf didn't think there was a threat, the ewe was busy with her own business, and no one should be out tonight.
I stood up from the chair, crossed to the door and unbolted it, bracing myself as I opened it. The wind screamed as it gained entrance, racing inside and sending loose objects flying. Rain poured down, splashing over the threshold and leaving puddles behind. However, I wasn't paying attention to the vagrancies of the storm. Outside was a figure, tall, lean and wrapped in a dark cloak for protection against the raging downpour. I couldn't make out his face.
“Shelter,” he rasped in a low growl/hiss, and I saw from the corner of my eye Saf cocking an ear in attention, but she still wasn't growling.
Old stories told on dark nights sprang to mind, and I simply stepped to one side, opening access to the room without speaking a word. The man needed no words and he stepped inside, ducking to avoid the lintel.
Saf sniffed at his cloak as it passed her nose, before laying her head on her paws again. Reassured, I forced the door shut against the wind slamming the bolt home.
I was used to tall men. My Dad was tall, old William in the village was taller still, but this stranger towered above them all. Beneath the thin cloak, his figure was slender, and he moved with a strange gait as he crossed to stand in front of the stove.
“You picked a bad time, stranger,” I told him as I took up my seat again. “What brings you out here?”
The stranger shook his head and did not answer. Some people were like that, I knew. Maybe he was as wary of me as I had been of him.
“Tis a wicked night for walking, but it should blow over by morning.” I tried to make conversation again, and again, silence met me.
This time I chose to honor the strangers need for silence and kept my mouth shut, begging my mother's forgiveness for not offering hospitality. Maybe when the man warmed up a little, he would be better tempered.
We sat in silence for some time, until the wind caught the door a heavy blow, rattling the iron hinges so as to make you think they were about to shatter. The noise in the silence was so abrupt it startled the stranger. He whirled around, and his garment began to slither free. With concealed hands he tried to stop the movement, but failed, and the fabric fell away from his form.
It froze, revealed to my disbelieving eyes for the first time.
Under the cloak it had passed for human, but without the concealment...it looked like a huge insect, standing upright and staring back at me with huge multifaceted eyes.
It had three fingers on each hand, and the cloak hung useless and forgotten from one hand, black against the shiny green of its hard skin. A pair of gossamer wings fluttered frantically from behind it, and it stood as if to run on its three jointed legs.
I was shocked, yes, but not horrified. With the scream of the wind outside, it made my world hold an unreal quality, emphasized by the figure in front of me.
The sheep lying beside the stove chose then to groan, a tearing sound that set fire to all the instincts my Dad had trained into me. I darted up from my seat and to her side, ignoring the creature. It skittered out of the way, claws clicking on the floor as it dodged away.
Luckily for me the ewe was just being a drama queen, and was still laboring away quite happily, requiring no intervention from me. Just as well, as my mind was still grappling with the reality of the being which was currently trying to blend in with the stonework. As it was green, it wasn’t doing such a good job.
Now my initial shock had passed, I could easily take in the creature. It was like nothing that I had ever seen before, whether in person, or in books. Nothing like it had been mentioned in the stories passed down through families, or the stories passed around in the tavern. It pressed tight against the stonework as if trying to hide and was hunching over as if to conceal its true size from me. And, looking intently, I could see it trembling. That would never do.
I moved away from the fire, towards the wooden cupboard on the wall feeling its eyes watching me cautiously. The door creaked as it opened, causing the creature to flinch once more. Inside the cupboard, I blessed my mother again, before pulling out a well-worn patchwork blanket. I draped it over my arm and turned back to face the creature.
“You must be freezing,” I told it calmly, in the same way I talked to the sheep, walking towards it, unfolding and holding the blanket out in front of me. With slow footsteps, I approached the creature as non-threateningly as I could. It didn’t move as I got to within arm’s length, and to my surprise allowed me to wrap the blanket around it. I had to stand on tiptoes to reach its shoulders even with it hunched over. It held the edges of the blanket in its three fingered hands, and I could see it relaxing into the warmth.
“Come back to the heat,” I suggested gesturing it forward, moving back to my seat to give it space. When it moved, it moved with slightly less hesitation, crossing to the stove and crouching down to get the most heat. It was hard to read, but I thought maybe it was relieved.
I leaned back into the seat and took a deep breath. I was trying to work out what to ask it. ‘What are you?’ seemed to be far too rude to ask a guest, but it was only thing I really wanted to know.
“I thank you,” the creature saved me from thinking too hard as it pressed
a hand to its chest and spoke in that same growl, almost hiss it had spoken in before. “Regret disturbance. Weather unexpected.”
“No disturbance,” I told it. “I was here, and it certainly isn’t a night for being out.”
It made a peculiar clicking noise as it took in my words, before turning away from the fire somewhat in order to face me. “Curious,” it said. “No fear. Good, but why?”
“Why should I be frightened?” I asked it and could hear the confusion in my tone. It clicked again, and I realized it was laughing at me.
It gestured to itself, and then pointed at me. “Strange,” it hissed. “Fear expected. Unknown. Different. We are not like you.”
I could see what the creature was saying, but I couldn't help but shrug. “Not that different.”
It clicked with laughter again, and looked around, seeming to be far more relaxed as it took in the bothy. I didn't think I had said anything special. Saf decided now that the creature was more settled, it was worthy of investigation. She rose and padded across the floor to sniff curiously at it.
The creature tilted its head to watch, before carefully reaching out a hand. Saf, ever keen for attention, insinuated her head under those three fingers, closing her eyes in pleasure as the creature tentatively scratched her ears.
If anything, I felt that proved my point.
From in front of the fire, the ewe let out another bleat, and this time, there was something I could see happening. A pair of hocks were protruding, and the ewe was pushing busily. The creature noticed the shift in my attention and looked over.
I wasn't skilled at reading it, but in this, curiosity was visible. As I moved to kneel beside the ewe, bringing an old blanket with me, the creature came to stand behind me.
The ewe required no help in labor, and I caught the lamb as it was born, setting it down on the old blanket. There was another one following close behind, and I laid it down beside the other. The ewe was already up and turning to tend her new babies, and I caught the afterbirth as it was delivered before it could land on the floor.
The creature leaned over my shoulder, making a strange noise, like the crickets in the fields. It reached out over my shoulder to touch the mass with a three fingered hand, and then withdrew again.
“Curious,” it noted quietly.
I smiled at it, and moved to the door, bracing myself before opening it.
It was still raining outside, although it was a softer rainfall, silvery in the moonlight. The wind had died down to a gentle breeze as the storm moved on. The world smelled clean as without us realizing it, the tempest had passed.
I buried the afterbirth in the wet soil beside the bothy and checked on the rest of the sheep. None of them were in labor themselves, and so I returned to the bothy to wait out the rest of the night.
The creature was now kneeling in all its strange glory beside the ewe, petting the new born lambs with a gentle hand.
When it turned to look at me, its multifaceted eyes were sparkling with an emotion I couldn't read. Rising to its full height, its beautiful gossamer wings spread open to their full extent, glittering in the candlelight.
It hugged me.
It was all sharp angles and smooth plates and smelt of dusty soil and static. It shivered as I raised my own arms to hug it back, churring nonstop, almost like a cat’s purr. We stood together in the middle of the room, and just...held each other.
#
My grandchildren are mesmerized by the story. Little Ruth has fallen asleep, and now lies in my arms. Nocturne and his friends have abandoned their pose of indifference and chatter.
Although I didn’t know it then, I was the first to meet them, these aliens from another world. My friend had been with the diplomatic corps his ship having been blown off course in the storm. He returned to his fleet after the disturbance had passed, and they had made their grand entrance to the city under their peace banners.
My friend had done his duty then, bridging the gap between our species, working out the details of the peace treaty that still holds to this day. And then, he had come in search of me.
When the ship had hovered over our small yard, my father had stared slack-jawed for but a moment, before he had been calling orders to my mother, myself and my siblings. Even here, in the wilds, we had heard of the K’has’vor and this strange new peace that was descending. But my father was always cautious.
In my heart of hearts, I knew it was my friend coming back to me, and had stepped forward to greet him, even as my father yelled at me to step back. Saf had emerged from the house, her tail held high as it wagged in delight.
As I fall silent now, my tale told, there comes a fresh knock at my door, and I can see my grandchildren looking curiously at each other. This is something new. As if an old lady can’t have friends!
“Enter,” I call, and rise to my feet, shifting Ruth to rest in the crook of my arm.
His carapace is blackened with age now, and one of his eyes no longer sparkles, but my friend of the K’has’vor is very much the same as when I met him so long ago. Bright colorful handprints decorate his abdomen, and his wings are sheathed in glimmering jewel tones, ready for the Carnival.
We hug each other, in our familiar routine. He cannot come as often as he would like, or as often as I would like to see him. But I know that within eight Rest Days, he will be here.
We’re getting older now, as time passes, and one of these days our friendship will come to its physical end, and we will dance at Carnival for the last time. Nonetheless, when I go to meet my Maker, and he travels the Desert of Stars, we will always remember each other, and that night within the storm.
- THE END -
About Beth Frost
Born in England, raised in Scotland and now living in Northern Ireland with her husband and a space-mad child, Beth Frost always knew that she wanted to be a teacher. Which is why she now works as a secretary by day, and author by night.
Raised on a diet of fantasy books by the likes of Anne McCaffrey and David Eddings, Beth started out by writing fanfiction, and then moved onto creating her own worlds and characters. She hasn't stopped since.
She has dabbled her toes into the waters of self-publishing, having shifted genres into paranormal romance for a number of years, but now is heading back to her first love of fantasy & science fiction.
Besides doing accounts and writing, Beth enjoys crochet, taking long walks in the nearby forest, and firmly telling her plotbunnies to stop multiplying.
Connect with Beth here:
www.castrumpress.com/authors/beth-frost
Songs Sweeter Still
by David M. Hoenig
Fim dropped the rock she carried into the hopper, then lifted her face to eat some of the tasty snowflakes falling from the sky. She moved on to allow the next person to drop their rock in, and listened to the peculiar sound as it banged down to follow hers. She ate more of the snow which came down, rich and wholesome and nutritious, and considered her feelings.
Rocks didn’t make such a sound anywhere other than when they went into the strange boxes of the hot ones. She’d been hearing the noise all her life, but today, she realized, the sound was wrong in some way. This odd feeling persisted and grew stronger, to the point where she could not simply dismiss it as she usually did. Instead of returning to get her next rock, she ate a few last flakes and moved towards one of the hot ones.
‘Gray’ walked amongst her people as she did most days, asking questions of them, all the while tapping at something she held in her hands.
When Fim reached the hot one, she tapped it on the arm to get its attention. “Why do we give you our rocks?”
Gray turned quickly, as though surprised, and Fim saw the odd face of the creature, similar to, but so different from her own. “Oh! Hi there, Fim.” The voice came from a patch on its neck which seemed to gleam in the same way as the hopper did, though the hot one’s mouth seemed to be moving so as to fashion the words. “What did you ask?”
“I sai
d: ‘Why do we give you our rocks’, Gray?”
The hot one looked down and tapped the thing in its hand before responding. “That... is a very interesting question. I’ll trade you: an answer to your question for an answer to one of mine. Agreed?”
Fim considered before she nodded agreement.
“Well, because we need the ‘rocks’. It’s one of the main reasons we’re here at all.” Gray waited a few moments, but Fim remained quiet so the hot one went on. “My question is this: Why did you call the rocks ‘ours’?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Gray?”
The hot one’s lips drew thin. “No. Please tell me why you think they are.”
Fim moved her arm in an all-encompassing gesture. “The rocks are part of this world, yes?”
“Of course.”
“We are part of this world?”
“Also true, but...”
“But you and your boxes are not, Gray. Nothing like them exists in all the rest of the world. They are unnatural.”
The hot one remained silent for a few moments, and when it spoke in a monotone. “Your point?”
“You are not of this world; the rocks are not yours. They’re ours because we are.” Fim turned and walked away.
She did not hear the hot one murmur behind her. “Fascinating.”
#
Doctor Maya Agramonte hurried from the airlock storage compartment where she had left her suit and was halfway down the corridor into Titan Base before her handheld unit buzzed for attention. She tapped it. “Agramonte.”
The voice was unwelcome. “Doctor, this is Jim Baylor. I need you to report to my office right now, please.”
“Later. I must log the most extraordinary devel...”
“Negative. The situation is urgent. Robertson and Watanabe are here, but we need you, too.”
Agramonte scowled. “Fine, I’m on my way.” She switched off the comm and at the next intersection, turned left towards Administration. A few minutes later she arrived at the Commander’s office, where she tapped a panel by the door and identified herself.
