Howling Stones (31 page)

“They can take only the stones,” someone commented from near the south wall. “Not the space they occupied.” A murmur of assent rose from the assembly.

“But still.” The representative big person from Ataap did not try to conceal his distress. “Seven stones!”

Leuwaramau blew through the end of her long snout. “Two stones open two roads and their permutations. Difficult but not impractical to follow. Seven stones weave a trail far more than seven times tangled. Impossible. Too many roads crossing too many intersections. We must face the fact that these stones are gone. So are those who foolishly made use of them.”

Huril’ila of the island of Rerenik rose. “Stones will be shared. If any need be replaced, Rerenik will share.”
In response, the longhouse shook to shouted offers of assistance.

Leuwaramau gestured for silence. “Thanks be to our Rerenik brethren, but this is not necessary. The loss is of course irreplaceable, but we of Mallatyah are rich in stones. We will not suffer.” She drew herself up.

“But this must not be allowed to happen again. If enough stones are taken from us, the links between some roads could be lost forever. We could lose control over our own space.”

Angry voices echoed throughout the meeting place. For all their inner peace and melodious speech, it had not been so very long since the Parramati had fought with their neighbors. Because they chose not to war did not mean they were ignorant of its ways.

“What are we to do?” a big person from Tassai wondered aloud. She had a big belly and, for a seni, a booming voice.

“Kill them all,” another delegate suggested. “Soft- and shiny-skinned ones alike. Feed them to the apapanu.”

From the center of the room, Ascela rose to turn and disagree. “That will not work. We know both peoples well enough to know that if these die, more will come to take their place. They are like kikau weeds in the gardens. Better to deal with those who are here now, with those that we know.”

“We are not afraid of the aliens,” another insisted. “Let them come as many as will. We will use the war stones against them!” This proposal was greeted with cries of support—but not many. A larger number of delegates expressed reservations.

It had been generations since the war stones had been employed to repel a large and especially vicious invasion from another archipelago. If the histories were to be believed, the entire attacking force had been destroyed by
means too terrible to relate—together with nearly all the defenders. The war stones were not like growing stones or fishing stones. Those charged with their care had a greater responsibility than nearly all other stone masters. Such stones were few in number, and as a precaution no more than one was kept on any single island. The old stories warned that bringing them together could pose as great a threat to the users as to the enemy.

“I do not think that is a good idea. There must be a better way.”

“Then propose one!” shouted a representative from the far side of the longhouse. This suggestion met with considerably more support than its predecessor.

Ascela was not intimidated. “The humans are intensely curious. Not only about the stones, but about all aspects of Parramati life and of kusum. Kill them, and others will come, curious to learn what happened.” A three-fingered hand gestured toward the longhouse ceiling. “They drop from the sky, and the sky is full of them.”

“Ah-weh,”
old Leuwaramau whispered. “Then our purpose should be to keep their numbers among us as few as possible.”

“Can we convince them to go elsewhere?” Huril’ila wondered. “Persuade them somehow to leave us and study the Eolurro? Let them set their strange longhouses among our neighbors instead of here.”

There was an outburst of barking laughter. “More interesting to study the dirt than the Eolurro,” someone declared, provoking welcome amusement.

Ascela continued to hold the floor. “That is exactly why it will not work. Like that of many other seni, the kusum of the Eolurro has been debased by contact with both humans and AAnn. These humans are so interested in ours because it remains pure.”

“Can we keep it so?” someone asked from near the
west wall. “If these aliens are allowed to remain among us, will their influence not begin to dilute traditional kusum? The young in particular are always susceptible to new and interesting ideas.”

Jorana rose to stand alongside Ascela. “There are no stones for seeing into the future. We cannot predict what may happen. But we can try to convince the humans that kusum should not be threatened and that the Parramati should be left alone. There are only two of them, and they insist that they want only what is best for us.”

“The shiny-skinned ones say the same.” Oresivi let his gaze rove through the crowd of attentive big persons. “Perhaps that is part of the problem. These humans and AAnn both want only what is best for us—provided they are the ones to determine what that is.” A surge of universal approval rose from the assembled. “Let us decide what is best for Parramati kusum and tell
them
.”

“How can we convince those who are so interested in us to leave us alone?” another wondered aloud.

“Kill them,” exclaimed a small but persistent minority. It was a collective voice that was disturbingly persistent. Jorana chose not to acknowledge it.

“Perhaps we should consult the stones and let them show us the way. The most
important
stones.” He surveyed the crowd. “We could have a Goggelai.”

This astonishing and completely unexpected proposal provoked immediate and vehement discussion in every corner of the meeting place. It did not die out completely even when Leuwaramau staggered again to her feet.

“A Goggelai has not been held in living memory. It opens the road to the unknown. There are great dangers in the unknown.”

“But also answers,” Jorana argued. “Do not these visitors also bring unknowns full of dangers? These aliens are a big thing that has come among the Parramati. It
requires a big thing to counter them.” He spread his arms wide.

“We want no treaties with them, yet without an answer, they will not go away. We do not want war with them, because they will keep coming back. So I say, let us see what the stones show us. Let us see what roads the Goggelai opens and how the humans react to them. Perhaps among all the roads we will find one that leads to understanding.”

General discussion ensued. Those who argued for the use of the war stones to kill the visitors made some headway and swayed a few opinions. But it wasn’t nearly enough to convince the majority, who opted, albeit with reluctance, to convene the Goggelai.

Debate continued until the small hours of the morning, but in the end Jorana’s proposal prevailed. There was undeniable excitement among the delegates as they filed out of the meeting house. After all, though they knew it well from legend and story, none of them had actually participated in a Goggelai.

It was decided to hold the ceremony as soon as possible, on the slopes of sacred Mt. Erirota on Torrelau. Without divulging the full significance of the ritual, Ascela and Jorana would invite the humans to attend at the last moment.

Discussion continued as the big persons drifted off to their assigned sleeping quarters, walking or hopping to huts and longhouses that had been prepared for them by their honored hosts. The ramifications of a Goggelai were many, and not all necessarily benign. But these were portentous times for Parramat. Radical problems required radical solutions.

Stones had been lost. The protection of those that remained, and of the roads they guarded, had to be ensured.
The roads could not be damaged, of course, but access to them could be lost.

So they would see what paths the Goggelai opened. Perhaps even, as Leuwaramau pointed out, the road to enlightenment.

“A multistones ceremony?” Fawn turned to Pulickel, wondering if she’d heard correctly.

They were standing by the river just above where it poured over the cliff into the shallow inlet lagoon below the village. The noise of the waterfall just downstream was constant but not overwhelming. Nearby, middle and lesser female persons were washing household items and preparing food in the crystal-clear water.

Jorana had come up behind them and politely requested a moment of their time. That in itself was unusual. Normally it was the visiting humans who had to interject themselves into Parramati conversation.

Pulickel confirmed her translation. “This sounds like something we should see.”

Jorana’s slim fingers traced lithe patterns in the air. “Your presence will add to the significance of the Goggelai.”

Fawn fluffed out her blond tresses. “I’ve made notes on quite a few Parramati ceremonies, but I don’t remember writing down anything about a Goggelai.”

Jorana looked up at her. “One has not been held for a long time. For quite a long time.”

“So why now?” There was something odd in the big person’s manner, Pulickel thought. He ran through his mental catalog of seni postures and expressions. Not discomfort, not anger or upset, not nervousness. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it or a name to it.

At least he knew that Jorana was not displeased with them. Otherwise he would not be inviting them to attend this special ceremony.

“The decision to hold the Goggelai is bound up with your coming among us.” Pulickel continued to wonder at the big person’s manner, which was at once deferential and demanding. “Important decisions will be made afterward.”

“The treaty,” Fawn hinted.

Jorana indicated agreement. “About the treaty, yes. And about other things. The Goggelai may tell us if your road and that of the Parramati coincide or diverge. It may tell us all manner of things. No one knows for certain because it has been such a long time since one was held.”

“So if it develops that our roads converge,” Pulickel pressed him, “then the Parramati will sign the treaty?”

“Perhaps.” Jorana looked away. “I cannot speak to such matters now.”

Fawn asked the inevitable follow-up. “And if they diverge?”

The big person studied her out of long, dark eyes. “Space is vast, F’an, and there are many spaces within it. Each holds different responses to different situations.”

“But even if there are an infinite number of spaces, the number of roads is finite,” Pulickel countered.

Jorana favored him with the seni equivalent of a smile. “You have not been long among us, friend Pu’il, but you have learned much. Everyone hopes that the road followed is the right one. You are so interested to learn about kusum. Now you will have the opportunity to contemplate one of its most sacred foundations.

“As to which road will be shown, I know no better than you. It is not like the bringing together of growing stones or weather stones. The Goggelai is the biggest thing there is.” He turned to depart.

Both Pulickel and Fawn were reluctant to let him leave. “When you say that this is a multistone ceremony,” she
queried their visitor, “do you mean that stones from all over the island are brought together in one place?”

The long skull turned back to her. “Not only from all over Torrelau, but from the length and breadth of the Parramat. I said this was a big thing.” He turned apologetic. “Remember when you asked me, friend Pu’il, if more than two stones were ever brought together at one time and I said no? I lied. This is the one time when many are gathered. It is a great and important secret, one that you will now share with the Parramati.”

“Sounds like it.” Pulickel found himself wondering why the native had lied earlier. Perhaps the infrequency of this particular ceremony explained it. Jorana might have been saying that no more than two stones were brought together at any one time under normal conditions. Clearly this Goggelai was an exception to the usual rules. That made it only the more intriguing.

“Are all the stones from all the islands used?”

The big person eyed him as if perhaps he hadn’t learned so very much after all. “Of course not. What would be the point of combining earth and weather stones, or healing and fishing stones? No, the Goggelai requires the bringing together of more stones than any other ceremony, but they are all of one kind. It will take awhile to assemble them because they are used for nothing else but the Goggelai and have not been used in such a long time.”

Fawn hoped that a description of the stones under discussion might offer a clue as to their function. “If they’re not healing stones or earth stones or any other kind of stone that we’re familiar with, then what are they?”

Jorana’s reply was evocative without being informative. “They are the howling stones.”

“So you bring all these howling stones together from
all over the islands,” Pulickel noted, “and then what happens?”

“No one can be sure,” the big person replied maddeningly, “except that roads are opened.”

“How many of these howling stones are there?” Fawn noted that even though the busy villagers could easily overhear, all were studiously ignoring the conversation.

Pulickel deduced from Jorana’s reply that this time the native was being honest with them. “I do not know.” Delicate hands fluttered. “I do not think that anyone knows for certain, not even the senior big persons of the outer islands. The howling stones have been held and watched over and unused for many generations. Only when all have been assembled in one place can they be counted and the answer to your questions known.”

“Well,” Fawn told him, “we’re flattered that you’re doing this for us.”

“We are not doing it for you,” Jorana corrected her. “We are doing it with you. To try to show you the depth and importance of preserving our kusum untrammeled.”

That didn’t sound like someone anxious to sign a treaty of mutual aid and cooperation
, Pulickel thought. But he did not comment. Perhaps he was misinterpreting.

“There could be some danger. Or nothing at all may happen.” The big person was watching both of them closely.

“We’ll take our chances.” Fawn smiled down at him. “You know that Pu’il and I aren’t afraid of a little danger. When is the ceremony to be held?”

“In five days time, on the western slope of Mt. Erirota.”