The Howling Stones

by Alan Dean Foster

  Let it run, she decided. Despite the look of things, she might miss something.

  Jeriill was beckoning to her. Uncertainly Fawn moved forward, treading lightly on the soil as if it might without warning turn amorphous beneath her feet. She felt as if she were in a trance. Long lips rippling, the two big per­sons indicated that the tall human could join them if she wished. The invitation concluded, both bent and began to dig at the spot where they had buried the two stones be­come one. Restraining the hundred questions she had al­ready formulated, Fawn joined them.

  Soundlessly they dug. No music accompanied them now, no enthusiastic dirge. Not far below the surface they uncovered the stone. The glow had nearly vanished, as if its brief sojourn in the earth had drained it of some inher­ent inner vitality. In the vicinity of the misshapen mass the soil was dark and moist.

  "Pick it up, F' an." Ululiapa gestured encouragingly. "You are female. You should be comfortable with all things that are of the earth and of growing."

  Taking a deep breath, she reached down and picked up the stone. A surge of warmth promptly coursed through her whole being, from her fingers down to her toes. Startled, she, dropped the mass. Jeriill caught it in one smooth gesture before it could hit the ground.

  The xenologist felt foolish. What harm could it do to hold the object? It was just a rock‑wasn't it? Sure it was. A rock that changed shape and tingled to the touch and infused an entire hillside with energetic green light.

  Okay, so it was more than just‑a‑rock. What the hell was it?

  When she reached out, smiled, and made the proper gesture, Jeriill freely handed the stone back. Holding it up for a closer look, Fawn found she could see partway into the vitreous mass. The interior was highly stratified, suggesting organization of a type only nature was ca­pable of imparting to the interior of an ordinary rock. If, she found herself thinking, it was an "ordinary rock." But what else could it be?

  Her eyes widened and she brought the mass closer to her face. Was that something moving, deep within the stone? Coils and flashes of energy, fluctuating lines of force? Were they lingering echoes of the green radiance that had suffused the field, or the cause?

  The big persons, the wondrous isle of Torrelau, the cradling sea, Senisran itself: she held all of it in her cupped palms. The sensation of life force, of prodigious fecundity, was overpowering. It enveloped her whole be­ing. While her mind reeled, her body felt more alive than when she was making love. That was exactly what it was like, she thought dazedly. She was making love to the earth, and the earth was responding. Nurturing, giving back, through the power of the stones.

  She stumbled slightly and blinked, the delicious fog that had blanketed her thoughts vanishing. Looking down, she saw that she now held two stones, one in each hand. They were the original stones, inert and immutable. No light, green or otherwise, emanated from their irregular, glassy surfaces.

  Gently the two female big persons retrieved their stones. Wiping at her eyes, Fawn turned to examine her sur­roundings. No remnant of the radiance remained. Bathed in early‑morning sunshine, the cleared field and surround­ing gardens shone only with natural color. No supernal hues attached themselves to growth or soil. The world was as it had been before.

  Looking down, she found that she was unable to see into the interior of either stone. When separated, their surfaces were opaque and impenetrable.

  "What‑what was that all about?" she heard herself in­quiring of Jeriill.

  The smaller female gazed unblinkingly up at her, both eyelids fully retracted. "When a growing stone and an earth stone are put together, it ensures a good crop. The continuity of life is preserved."

  Continuity. That seemed inadequate to describe the sensations that had raced through her when she'd held the commingled stones. She felt a touch, looked down to see Ululiapa resting a three fingered hand on her wrist. Slitted alien eyes peered up into her own.

  "Are you all right, F' an?"

  The xenologist put a hand to her forehead. "I think so. I‑I saw some things. I feel fine. I'm just a little confused about what I saw. Or what I think I saw."

  "You saw life." Reassured, Uluhapa stepped back. "The life the stones give." She gestured downward. "Look at the earth. Look at the ground beneath your feet."

  Fawn complied‑and her jaw dropped.

  Where moments ago there had been only bare, freshly turned soil, green shoots were now poking their heads through the surface. As she gaped, they coiled upward, seeking the sun. Uniform neither in size, shape, color, nor speed of growth, they represented more than two dozen cultivated varieties of fruits, vegetables, and tu­bers. Lifting her gaze, she saw that the entire field was involved, alive with new growth that was maturing at astounding speed.

  Within minutes, the first burst of new life had mani­fested itself and slowed. The frenzy of growth moderated. But the stones had done their work. The formerly bare field was now covered in healthy green, yellow, carmine, and brown shoots and stalks.

  It was insane, she knew. There wasn't a fertilizer or growth‑stimulant known that could turn a naked hillside this fertile in mere minutes. Yet it had happened, and with her standing smack in the middle of it. There was chemistry at work here beyond the comprehension of Commonwealth agronomists.

  "We are done." Ululiapa put an arm around Fawn's waist, having to reach up to do so. "Now you are one of us."

  "One of what?" Allowing herself to be guided, she gazed down at the kindly seni. "A stone master?"

  "No." The female big person barked gentle laughter. "A human person could never be a stone master, could never understand or channel the energy of a stone. What you are become now is a Torrelauapan female person."

  "I'm honored, but you say I could never learn how to channel a stone's energy. How do you do it?" Nearby, the musicians were packing up their instruments.

  "The knowledge is passed down through the genera­tions, from mother to daughter." Ululiapa gestured elo­quently as she spoke. "It is a way of handling and of touching. A way of believing and of seeing. Every stone master learns these things at the feet of those who have gone before. How a stone is to be manipulated, how it is to be cared for, what are its limits."

  She didn't press the issue. Unless something unfore­seen went terribly wrong, it was all there on the recorder, available for study at leisure.

  Of one thing she was already certain. The stones of the Parramad weren't "stones." They were something more, much more, and it had nothing to do with autochthonous magic. Physics and chemistry of an unknown order, yes, but not alchemy. During her stay on Torrelau, Senisran had revealed many of its secrets. Now it was clear that the stones of the Parramati contained the deepest secrets of all.

  Not all indicators of technologically advanced species took the form of towering obelisks and extensive tun­nels. Important artifacts could be small, even tiny. Who had been on Senisran before the seni? Before humanx and AAnn?

  No, not magic. There was science in the stones. She needed to get one or two into the lab and under instru­ments capable of providing answers.

  The Parramati could help‑if they were so inclined. How many effective stone combinations were there? Did other amalgamations produce different results, or were stones useful only for stimulating new crops? What reve­lations did the stones contain that she couldn't even imagine?

  What of all the other stones? How did, for example, a fishing stone work? Or the love stones, or the weather stones, or the stone that supposedly helped its master to think more clearly? From her time spent among the Par­ramati, she knew of sacred stones with at least a hundred different, specialized designations. What multiplicity of combinations were possible? Could a thinking stone be put together with an earth stone, and if so, what would be the consequences? Or a fishing stone with a weather stone?

  Treaties no longer seemed important. Neither did ge­ology, or a host of other disciplines she was supposed to be practicing. The demonstration in the field had opened up an entirely new avenue
of research for her and Pulickel.

  Pulickel. He was ignorant of what she'd just experi­enced, knew nothing of the revealed wonder of the stones. She had to tell him. He wouldn't believe a word of it, of course. She'd be disappointed in him if he did. But she had the recording.

  Anxiously she checked the compact instrument. It appeared to have worked perfectly, but she knew she wouldn't be able to relax until she had played back and checked every centimeter of the visuals. Despite her con­cern, she deferred the replay out of fear of offending or upsetting her escorts. It might be considered improper, or disrespectful. She would hold off until she got back to the station.

  Even if the images were insufficient to convey the wonder of what she had seen and experienced, she knew she would convince Pulickel somehow. She had to. After the truth of the stones, everything of consequence that had been learned about Senisran paled to insignificance. Understanding the stones was vital not only because of what she had seen but because of what it implied.

  Did the AAnn have an inkling? Did they know any­thing of the real nature of the stones, or did they continue to believe, as she had until the episode in the field, that they were no more than inert ingredients for primitive aboriginal ceremonies? The latter seemed more likely, or she and Pulickel probably would have heard otherwise by now. Commonwealth intelligence was very efficient.

  No, this was something new, a discovery unique to her and soon to be shared with her associate.

  How could they obtain a sacred stone or two for lab work? No stone master would part with one, much less if they knew it was going to be subject to bombardment by strange radiation or immersion in alien liquids. The no­tion of breaking one open to examine its insides would fill the least pious Parramati with horror.

  To surrender a stone for study, she knew, would be akin to giving up access to a road. It would leave the stone master thus deprived feeling blind and stranded in space. No gift, no revealed knowledge, would be suffi­cient to persuade a stone master to part with his or her legacy.

  She lengthened her stride in order to keep pace with the long hops of the Parramati. Everything depended on acquiring at least one stone for detailed study. Perhaps Pulickel would have some suggestions. He always did.

  Chapter Eleven

  Back at the station, her colleague and companion listened patiently to her rushed, out‑of‑breath description of what had taken place on the flank of the mountain above the village. From time to time he had to remind her to pause and catch her breath; not only so that she wouldn't hyper­ventilate or fall over in a dead faint, but so that he could understand her.

  "I don't know how it works or what kind of physics are involved. I only know what I saw, and what I saw is impossible." She leaned back against the couch and chugged half the mug of cold carbosugar drink he'd brought her. "It happened, Pulickel. I didn't imagine it."

  "No one's saying that you did." He indicated the wrist recorder that was lying on the table between them. "I must say that I'll be more inclined to believe you after I've seen it for myself."

  "Can't blame you. I'd feel the same." Finishing the last of her drink, she snatched up the recorder and led the way to the lab.

  Removing the recording sphere, she popped it in the playback unit. It turned on automatically, filling a corner of the room with light. Reduced in size but fully three­ dimensional, the field blessing ceremony played itself back for an audience of two.

  The recorder had worked perfectly. It was all there: the snake dancing, the chanting, the music, and, climacti­cally, the melding of the two sacred stones and their consequent astounding effect on the newly planted earth. Pulickel sat up very straight when the green glow suffused the ground, then muttered something under his breath when plant shoots began to erupt from the soil with preternatural celerity. At the conclusion of the re­cording, he turned unhesitatingly to Seaforth.

  "One thing is immediately obvious. The sacred stones are not stones at all. They may look like stones and feel like stones and behave like stones ninety‑nine percent of the time, but they are not rock. They are devices, indi­vidual components that when joined in specific combina­tions have remarkable consequences. What is your take on this?"

  "I haven't thought about it much. The whole business is so unbelievable that I've spent most of my time work­ing to convince myself that it actually happened. Up to now my main concern has been convincing you."

  "You don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm con­vinced." He indicated the now‑empty corner of the room where the recording had played itself out. "Whatever you saw, it wasn't the result of some clever Parramati sleight‑of‑hand. It was real. The stones contain some kind of stored energy, or..." His voice trailed away.

  "Or what?" she prompted him.

  "Or I don't know." He spoke to what he did know, or what he thought he knew based on what he'd seen. "It's clear that single stones have no power to affect their sur­roundings. They only function in combination. You saw them change shape. The natives don't even need to know how to fit the stones together. The appropriate adaptive mechanism is inherent in the devices themselves."

  "How do you program a rock?"

  "I told you; I don't think they're rocks. For all we know, their internal composition may be as malleable as their shape."

  She found herself nodding agreement. "I tried to take a closer look at these. Their internal structure is complex. My first thought was of fracture lines, cleavage planes, and weathered striations ..."

  "Naturally," he commented approvingly.

  "But obviously there's more to it than that."

  "What about their composition?"

  She pondered. "You saw the recording. These two look just like all the other sacred stones. It's that same volcanic­glassy material we've seen before. For what it's worth, they didn't feel any more ductile than they look. Smooth and hard, both of them."

  "We can freeze and enlarge individual segments of the recording."

  Her energy restored, she rose and began pacing the room. "I know, but they were throwing off so much light it's going to be damn hard to manage a good look inside. I don't know how much structure we'll be able to see."

  He smiled encouragingly. "I'm pretty good at manual enhancement procedures. We'll give it a try, anyway." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "It could be an en­tirely natural phenomenon, but the more I see of it and the more you tell me, the more inclined I am to think of these stones as machines. As things that were made, not formed."

  "But who? What species?"

  "What species indeed?" he murmured. "Either the Par­ramati have fallen to their present circumstances from a great height, or else‑" He stared evenly at her. "‑some other race has called this world home at some unguessable time in the unimaginable past."

  "In the absence of any large‑scale ruins, I think we have to incline to the latter."

  "Will you be still?" Her endless pacing was making him nervous.

  She plopped herself into a lab chair and threw her long legs over one plastic arm. This did not make him less nervous so much as it changed the nature of his unease.

  "What kind of civilization manufactures devices like the stones but leaves no other sign of its presence, much less its passing? No buildings, no tools, no nines or other marks on the earth."

  "There's a lot of erosion here," he pointed out. "Wind, rain, the sea."

  She was less than convinced. "You're reaching. Pulickel."

  "Don't you think I know that?"

  "No crumbling towers, no ruins, no corroding sub­aqueous constructions: nothing but the stones." She made a face. The woman was a ferocious attacker of puzzles, Pulickel knew.

  "The stone, the whole stone, and nothing but the stone. I wonder if weather stones let you manipulate storms." He half grinned, because he was only half joking.

  Based on what she'd seen on the mountainside, Fawn was ready to entertain the most outrageous speculation. "Hell, how do we know? Maybe the weather stones are responsible for
the mastorms."

  He frowned. "I don't think so. The mastorms cause too much damage. I admit that in light of such a discovery it isn't easy to be restrained, but let's not get carried away here."

  "Get carried away?" She threw him a don't‑make‑me ­laugh look. "We have found what may be the final relics of an unknown, technologically advanced civilization, of unknown potential, and you tell me not to get carried away?"

  Under her enthusiastic assault he backtracked slightly. "All right. You can get carried away a little."

  She snorted. "That's better. But you're right. If the weather stones were capable of anything like that the Parramati would surely use them to prevent storm dam­age to their villages. Although‑" She turned suddenly thoughtful. "‑if you think about it, considering the fe­rocity of your average mastorm, the Parramati communi­ties really don't incur that much damage."

  Placing both clenched hands together, he leaned his chin against them. "One's imagination reels. I wonder, for example, what a health stone does in proper combi­nation with another? Can it cure a revavuaa bite? Heal necrotic tissue?"

  She laughed; a little unsteadily, he thought. "Why think small? Maybe it can resurrect the dead." Her ex­pression turned sober. "You're right; I'm getting carried away. Plenty of Parramati die, of everything from drown­ing to old age. Whatever the health stones do, they don't convey any special protection against natural demise."

  "They appear to utilize the stones only on special oc­casions. It seems reasonable to assume that whatever energy powers them is finite. If as we suspect they are ancient, then restricting their use may be a way of pre­serving their useful life. Perhaps letting them lie fallow, as it were, allows the devices to recharge somehow." He eyed her hard. "You realize that we must now redirect our efforts here."