The Farpool (49 page)

The beauty of the
vishtu
was that it encouraged great physical
exertion. That was good in itself but it also helped unblock other
channels of communication like scent and gave them a chance to
work. Sharp disputes often arose on roams but the
vishtu
seemed to blunt them.
Something happened to kelke who roamed in
vishtu
; they were more congenial and flexible.
It was the physical beauty of the landscape, in the opinion of
many, that accounted for this. Others insisted that it was the
muscular exertion involved—the body and the mind were one and
sustained effort was needed to ease the roamer into a trance where
he could merge his personality with his fellow roamers. More
likely, the magic of
vishtu
was due simply to what was called
t’shoo
, a feeling of sliding through the water,
brushed by currents and tingling from beak to tail, spiritual
orgasm it might be called.
Vishtu
was all these things.

The Metah had called for
kelvishtu
, to discuss and decide on
what Omt’or, and eventually the other kels, could do about the
Umans and their war machine. To set the right tone for the roam and
the difficult decisions ahead, Iltereedah had decreed that the roam
would begin with a reciting of the Tillet Songs. In the earliest
days of the Sound, most of Omt’or’s tillet and pal’penk pack
animals had scattered to the boundaries of the Omt’orkel Sea in
fear. In order to attract and gather them again, a great roam would
be put together, a roam lasting several days. All the kel would
join in singing the Songs which drew the beasts from their hiding
and enticed them to return. Pakma, because she was possessed of a
beautiful singing voice, was given the task of instructing all
nonkelke in the forms and rituals of the Song. It was expected that
all would accompany the kel.

Chase wasn’t so sure he could keep up with
such vigorous and efficient swimmers as the Omtorish.

“We may have to take some breaks,” he told
Pakma and Kloosee. “I’m not as good a swimmer as everybody
else.”

“Not to worry,” Kloosee told him. “If you
tire, we’ll hitch you to one of the tillet. You can come along for
the ride.”

Omt’or’s millions soon began gathering near
the base of the seamount Shooksh’pont, this despite the deadening
drone and beat of the Uman sound from up north. Other kels had
asked to join in and Iltereedah had relented. They made the journey
from across the Orkn’tel, from as far away as the Eeskork and the
icewaters, from the Pulkel and from breakaway em’kels near the
Skortish boundary. The sea darkened with kelke, loud and boisterous
and anxious to be underway. For several days, the kel assembled its
people, until they swarmed in such multitude that the din could be
pulsed around the world and the other kels knew Omt’or as a single
powerful echo.

Only the Ponkti decided not to
participate.

When at last the full kel had gathered
and the seamounts of the valley were lost in the immense tide of
people, the Metah sent her Kel’em councilors among them with the
protocol of the roam. There were moments of great excitement and
disappointment, waiting to learn how the em’kels would be arranged,
who would roam with whom, who would be separated, who favored, who
would roam nearest the Metah and who at the tail. The clattering
of
potu
pearls changing hands
was quickly followed by the buzz of the prodsman’s prod, to keep
the bribery within bearable limits. When it was done, Kloosee took
Chase aside with a beaming smile on his face.

“Iltereedah has honored you with a flank just
one beat behind hers. You’ll be able to hear and pulse everything
that is said. I hear from some of her servlings that she thinks you
can deal with the Umans better than anyone. She may even ask you to
roam with her for a time.”

“You’ll be up there with me, I hope,” Chase
said.

“One flank ahead, along with Longsee
and some of my em’kel. It’s a great honor to have Putektu
there...we do know important things about the Notwater. There are
so many big decisions we have to make. But
eekoti
Chase, you must be pure and candid in
your echoes. Iltereedah demands that. Remember what I’ve taught you
about
shoo’kel.”

“Steady as she goes,” Chase repeated. He knew
he still had a lot to learn about all this pulsing business.

The great day came and Iltereedah made
her appearance with her full court in tow. The
vishtu
formed swiftly as she paddled serenely
toward the head of the roam. A hush rolled through the crowd like a
strong current and there was furious commotion behind them as the
kelke pulled themselves together. Kloosee stole a pulse at the
magnificent sight: the flanks curved out of range around the end of
the valley and spread out into the Omt’orkel itself, in evenly
stepped divisions. He imagined it as a massive seamother, poised to
strike. A prodsman tapped him on the dorsal and told him to face
the Metah with all pulses. From now on, he was expected to remain
in flank with Longsee.

They set off at a slow pace, allowing
the crowds behind them to catch up. The Metah led them through a
dense bed of brilliant blue
ting
coral that marked the end of the valley, though it was partly
obscured by the ever-present rain of silt. Beside each flank, a
cluster of servlings hovered, ready to swoop in with pods of food.
Kloosee ate them as soon as they could be replaced. Chase, not be
outdone, wolfed down everything put in front of him.

Shookengkloo Trench dwindled behind
them; ahead, the southern limb of the Serpentines could barely be
pulsed. Once out of the valley, good
ootkeeor
water could be felt for hundreds of
beats in any direction. That would make the discussions and the
decisions easier. The
vishtu
murmured in anticipation and Kloosee noticed that all of the
servlings had now vanished.

A high ringing shriek from the Metah
was the signal. The sound channel magnified the shriek into a
crescendo of shrill notes, pealing away in the distance. Another
shriek met the first overtures of the full
vishtu
, deep, melodious harmonies building
majestically to a deafening bellow, a wail sliding across the
ocean, reverberating around the world, the kel’s way of saying
“Here we are.” Tillet and pal’penk could never mistake the sound,
even as it clashed with the Uman noise.

The first call was soon repeated, with
higher pitch and the waters shook with the cries. From the bottom,
eelots and scapet and kiplet stirred and listened carefully; great
schools massed beneath the
vishtu
, following it across the sea. The first
melodies of the Songs were repeated, once, twice, three times,
lamenting the kel’s loss. Omt’or mourned the days of loneliness,
with sorrow and pain. Her lost herds would hear the moans and
return to still them forever.

The overtures lasted for the better
part of a day and by the time the
vishtu
had reached the first slopes of
Eeskorkloo Trench, Chase was exhausted trying to keep up. Kloosee
took pity on him and lashed him side-saddle to a lumbering tillet,
who managed to keep up barely and seemed increasingly annoyed to
have such a dead weight on its back.

The next part of the Songs dealt with
the history of the kel; it was a necessary interlude to the
kelkemah
, the story of Omt’or’s
response to the crisis of the Umans. Kelkemah was a detailed
rendering of the kel’s daily activities…the coming of the great
Sound, the destruction, the shield, its failure. Through this, it
was believed, the missing beasts would pulse how important they
were and come back to their duties. After kelkemah, the refrain of
the laments would follow.

And the stage would be set for what was sure
to be a vigorous discussion of what to do next.

To Chase, it seemed lengthy and involved but
it had a beauty and dignity that was way beyond pounding out some
decision in a conference room back home.

But first, the
vishtu
would eat. The roam curved along the
spine of the Trench and Kloosee could pulse far into the canyon,
reading the outlines of a rugged floor strewn with boulders and
fallen lava domes. He got echoes of a massive school of elongated
animals—
peektots
, from the
strong bounce of his pulses—and wondered if they would rise from
the Trench to investigate what all the noise was about. A servling
streaked in front of him and Kloosee reached out, snatching a pair
of eelash pods from him. He bit into one and swallowed hungrily.
Chase was right behind, busily chewing on a tough
spiderstalk.

“At least, we don’t lack for things to eat,”
Chase said between bites.

Pakma was alongside Kloosee,
effortlessly kicking and stroking her way along. Chase could only
envy them the beauty of their stroke. “You’ve never roamed in the
Omtorish style, have you,
eekoti
Chase?”

“I’ve never roamed period. Back home, we talk
walks sometimes. But nothing like this…I can’t imagine all of
Scotland Beach going for a stroll on the beach. There’d be too many
fights.”

“Ah, we have that as well,” Pakma
admitted. “Other kels do
vishtu
differently. Some say all the furnishings distract from a
good roam. Enhanced scents and echopod narratives and argument add
nothing to it, according to others. But we Omtorish like our way
best.”

“So do I,” Chase agreed. “You get to see a
lot.”

Soon enough, the kel finished eating and
began the Echoes of the Histories. Chase began to wonder if the
Metah would ever raise the issue of the Umans and their machine;
that was ostensibly the whole reason for the roam.

They don’t exactly dive
right into a meeting
, he thought to himself. Kloosee
had told him the formalities would help the set the tone for the
discussions. Chase figured the Omtorish just liked to have a good
time, while they still could. With the Uman menace growing, no one
knew if such a thing as
vishtu
would ever come again.

So the songs went on. From the birth of
the Omt’orkel Sea to the metamah of Tekpotu, the life of kel Omt’or
was celebrated. Metahs were praised, the greatest scents described,
famous repeaters remembered. The Eep’kostic Aggression was retold
and the
mah’jeet
plagues and
the beginnings of potu culturing. The kel sang to itself a litany
of the ages, romantic and sad, bold and adventurous, all the
thousands of mah of remembered history gathered together in an
intricate ballad. Nothing was forgotten and to help refresh its
memory, servlings cruised up and down the fringe of the roam with
open scentbulbs. Chase found the scents cloying, even overwhelming,
but others around him seemed to enjoy them. The rich, tangled skein
of odors soon engulfed him with feelings he had no words
for.

Maybe I’m becoming more and
more Seomish
, he realized.
If
only Angie could be here, to see and experience all this.
But that only made him sad.

The
vishtu
continued its swift procession through
the cold icewaters of the south Orkn’tel. Somewhere beyond the
pulse line of the ice floes, the Eep’kostic lived, burrowed into
caves carved from the ice itself. They drifted with the polar
currents, an enigma to the entire world.
The land of the k’orpuh
, Kloosee told Chase.
Treacherous and bleak. Just the thought of an ocean of
tchor’kelte
water made him
numb.

A shout erupted from behind them and Kloosee
turned to see. He pulsed the reason almost immediately.

A long, ragged bank of weary animals
was rising from a ravine a few beats south of them. Hungry tillet,
coming home. The kel exploded in a great outburst of cheer,
shouting at them, coaxing them, momentarily frightening them until
the strong, clear voice of the Metah was heard, drawing them back
into the Songs. The beasts listened for a few moments, as the kel
slid by, then gradually fell into formation with the
vishtu
, forming new flanks above and
below them, content just to pulse something familiar.

Even as he watched this, Kloosee and Chase
pulsed more tillet schooling around them, on all sides, rising from
the seafloor many beats below. He pulsed down and thought the floor
was alive; waves of silt and mud rolled by, giving way to more
waves of tillet and pal’penk and stek’loo and all manner of
Omtorish domestics. The water was thick with them and the kel had
to slow to make its way.

The beauty of the Song was soon lost in
the din of the reunion. The
vishtu
itself threatened to break apart, as thousands of beasts
sought out and found their old masters. Chaotic pulses screeched
around them. Only the prodsmen were able to restore order, darting
in with their weapons to push away the delirious animals. To Chase,
it looked like a football Saturday in Gainesville or Tallahassee,
only noisier. The prodsmen managed to form a precarious barrier
around the roamers, while the tillet skipped along the edges,
probing, bumping, jostling, pressing in to join them. The confusion
went on for hours but gradually a form of order was
restored.