The words hit him hard, and he blinked away sudden tears. After all, he’d come here for the wrong reasons himself. Duncan had brought him here, had given him a reason to stay, but Peter had come to the same realization that she had.
Huginn was home. He didn’t understand the place, he couldn’t yet explain it, but he belonged here anyway.
“Peter,” she said suddenly. “What about the degassing compound? What will happen to the forest?”
“Mark and I are trying something.” Her eyebrows shot up and he raised his palms in self-defense. “I know, I’m working with the enemy. But I can’t just quit. The forest needs me.”
She took a deep breath, and he braced himself for her anger. It would be completely justified.
“So what are you trying?”
He blinked at her, surprised by her equanimity. “I found this fungus,” he said. “It’s a terrestrial fungus, and it competes with other terrestrial fungi, even powder mildew. It extrudes some kind of chemical that impedes the growth of that stuff. It’s a risk, of course — it’s an armillaria species, and they can kill trees. But I’ve got a predator that eats it, so that’s something.”
He was talking too fast. She probably didn’t understand a bit of what he said.
“A predator?” She leaned in. “But I thought nothing from Huginn could eat anything from Earth, and vice versa.”
Her interest made him grin. “Well, the predator is a caterpillar from Earth. But somehow the tree scooters have found a way to milk the caterpillars for an additional food source, and they’re all living together in this weird pattern. Like I said, it could all throw off the balance of Canaan Lake’s ecosystem, but it’s our best chance.”
“Tree scooters and caterpillars, working together. It’s like a message, isn’t it? That we can find a way to work with Huginn instead of just paving over it.”
“Yeah, I think so.” He paused. “We keep forcing Huginn to be like Earth. We describe it like it’s Earth. We name things like they’re Earth things. But this isn’t Earth. It’s totally different. I feel like these organisms, this fungus, these caterpillars — they’re part of a new story, a Huginn story. And if we can make sense of the story, then we’ll find a way to fit into it.”
Peter had thought about all of this a lot since the disaster at the office, but this was the first time he’d told anyone else about it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the stories they told themselves about Huginn, and about themselves, made a real, physical difference.
He kept dreaming about that vision he’d had when the explosion had deafened him.
Transubstantiation, a voice inside him kept whispering, a voice that sounded something like his grandmother’s. Sometimes he caught himself wondering if Believers could really become dogs, terrorists really become part-plant neo-humans, wine really become blood.
He had downloaded several years’ worth of scientific reviews to his hand unit for the nights when these thoughts woke him.
“A Huginn story.” She gave a little laugh. “I like it, Peter.”
He put his arm through hers. “Is there anything else making you look so happy? I mean, new meds and free money is pretty great, but that can’t be everything. I kind of thought you’d be angry. I mean, Songheuser’s not really paying for what they did.”
She paused again. She looked from him to the big headstone marking off the Believers’ graves from the others. They were very nearly to Matthias’s burial site. “There is something. It was a big surprise.”
“What happened?”
“Shane Vogel came to see me while I was in Space City. The Believers have talked it over, and they want to give me Matthias’s house. I’m going there after the funeral.”
“Do you think you’ll be OK living there? I mean, won’t it remind you of him?”
“Yeah, but that’s the weird thing. It ought to hurt, thinking about Matthias. He was my friend, and now he’s dead. But somehow, I’m not sad. It’s not like denial, either. I feel like I skipped over the stages of grieving or something. That’s impossible, right?”
Peter put his arm around her shoulder. The sun had baked her black jacket, and it felt comfortingly warm beneath his arm. “It’s Canaan Lake, Standish. Impossible things happen here all the time.”
THEY WALKED to the grave site and waited for the pall bearers to carry the coffin through the cemetery’s twists and turns. Standish kept her hand on Hattie’s head. This was the last time they would bury Matthias Williams. She was certain of it.
Standish looked up at the sky, which was cloudless and blue. She felt almost fine looking at all that space. Almost fine.
Of all the impossible things, that was the one that surprised her the most.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book could not have been written without the help of Maggie and Charlie, two of the best dogs I have ever met.
I am tremendously grateful to Robyn Lupo, who not only read the first draft of this book and caught my errors about assistance animals, life with dogs, and mental health (the errors that remain are all mine!) but who then encouraged me during the entire revision and submissions process. Robyn, you’re a tremendous friend, and Huginn wouldn’t be the same without you.
More thanks are owed to my extremely supportive writing group. Mask tips to all the Hucksters, but especially Dale and Jen, who beta read this book when it was a lot uglier.
More plot holes were fixed by my agent, Evan Gregory, who also found it a home with the wonderful crew at Angry Robot. Marc, Phil, Penny, Mike, Nick, Paul, and also Simon: thank you for taking such good care of my book!
Big thanks to John and Fiona for putting up with me while I worked on this project. I know I was a little extra nutty, and I’m sure you’ll be glad to stop hearing about Huginn. Thanks as well to all the folks at Lightspeed and Nightmare who were neglected while I doted on my own work. JJA and Christie, you’re the best.
But the biggest thanks go to Alice and Ico, fur-friends extraordinaire. I promise someday I will write a book about cats.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WENDY N. WAGNER is a full-time science fiction and fantasy nerd. Her first two novels, Skinwalkers and Starspawn, are set in the world of the Pathfinder role-playing game, and she has written over thirty short stories about monsters, heroes, and unsettling stuff. An avid gamer and gardener, she lives in Portland, Oregon, with her very understanding family.
winniewoohoo.com • twitter.com/wnwagner
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