Semiosis Read online

  “They’re afraid of us,” Roland said.

  “Too afraid to hurt us, hmm?” Kung said.

  “Too afraid to let us go, too. Too afraid to touch us. They’re afraid of each other, some of them. The workers are afraid of certain majors.”

  “They hit them,” I whispered. “It’s not right.”

  “No, it’s not,” Marie hissed.

  “Can we escape?” Cedar said.

  “Can you outrun them?” Roland answered, and of course we couldn’t.

  Plaid Blanket didn’t like us to talk, so we didn’t say anything more, but I wanted to. I would have stood up and yelled at him. I stared up at the overcast, black sky. The Glassmakers weren’t talking, either. The silence annoyed me to sleep.

  The next day we hiked down a windy ravine into a forest of trees with square trunks. Tree fippokats with green spots in their brown fur chattered in the branches. Bats called but I didn’t understand them at all. They had a different language.

  Ahead, the leaders whistled and kakked and stopped in front of a little stand of rainbow bamboo, probably just ten or twenty years old. Our explorers planted Stevland’s seeds everywhere. It reminded me of home, of family and friends and Bead girls who ignored me. They were all probably thinking nice thoughts about Glassmakers right now.

  The majors screeched orders. Workers hurried to gather deadwood and stack it around the bamboo. Marie looked at them, and her face and hands were moving, and I knew what she was thinking. It was like watching the Glassmakers getting ready to hit us. I had to let them hit me, and now I had to let them hurt someone else. I crossed my arms to keep my hands still.

  She was almost crying when they struck a spark to the wood. I didn’t love Stevland, but I would never hurt him, and I wouldn’t let him be hurt, but I had to. She had to. We all had to.

  I whistled like a Rainbow City bat: “Fire. Bad.” I think she heard me.

  The bamboo was still smoking when we started marching again. The Glassmakers must have been the ones who burned Stevland at the waterfall. They must have destroyed the houses, but they didn’t have to do that. They didn’t have a reason. I had promised to be nonviolent, and they weren’t like me.

  We marched fast. By nightfall, Cedar said we had gotten two-thirds of the way down the mountain. It was foggy and damp. We settled down to sleep. Even the ground felt like a relief because I was so tired. Kung handed out dried fruit, and I was so hungry I almost swallowed mine whole.

  “Hunger makes the Glassmakers hurry,” Roland whispered. “They want to go a lot faster.”

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  No one answered for a while, then Marie said, “Learn what you can.”

  I tried to fall asleep. I’d never been that hungry before, or that angry. I wasn’t learning anything.

  We began marching again as soon as it was bright enough to see through a cold drizzle. I walked with my blanket wrapped around me over my coat. The rain made a sad rhythm echoing on the bare stone. The path changed from stony to muddy, which was better for wide human feet than narrow Glassmaker hooves, and then it got stony again. At one point we were on a narrow switchback against a cliff, so narrow that the Glassmakers’ baskets scraped against the rock. Drizzle made the path slick. We all had to walk slow and careful. I tried not to look down at the long drop just a sidestep away.

  Roland shouted, and we all turned, but as I did, I knew someone had fallen. Not him, I hoped selfishly, just because he was one of us, one of our team, and we were all alone on this side of the mountain. I turned so fast that I slipped and for a terrible moment thought I was going to fall, and at the same time realized his voice came from down, not behind.

  I knew what I would see before I looked down the face of the cliff. Roland was falling. His body bounced off a rock outcrop, his shout ended in a loud grunt, and he kept going down, arms and legs flopping. He landed on the path far below and a crunch echoed up. I waited, listening for a groan, watching for a twitch, for anything, but he lay facedown and still on the wet stones like a doll. Then he moved. No, it was the kat in his backpack peeking out. It inched out, green like his hair, limping, and nuzzled his face.

  Glassmakers were already running down the path. Marie followed as fast as she could, and I could only stand and watch.

  Marie examined Roland. It didn’t take long. She turned to us and shook her head. She was too far away to see the expression on her face. She picked up the kat. The Glassmaker leaders shouted at each other and made a lot of gestures at Marie. They took off Roland’s backpack and took out his blanket. Diagonally, it was big enough to wrap him. Plaid Blanket called over a worker, the one it had hit back at the waterfall, I think, and had it take off its baskets, and they laid Roland across its back, tricky to do on the narrow path, and then we all began walking again.

  Roland was dead. I had hated him over a lot of stupid reasons. He had all the sex he could handle and important work while I burned my hands in the ovens and could barely get a woman to take me seriously. That didn’t matter anymore. I had known him all my life, and he was annoying, but he never hurt me. I couldn’t imagine him wanting to hurt anyone. He wasn’t clumsy. It wasn’t his fault he slipped. It was the Glassmakers’. They were making us march too fast.

  We hiked down into a valley. Moths nipped us. Packs of little grunting birds with feathers in the shape of twigs ran through the brush, like little dried weeds scooting around. A warm wind blew up the mountains and condensed into fog. Bluebirds barked and dashed between our feet. The leaves on the trail became slick and slippery from the fog.

  I was too tired to do anything more than put one foot ahead of the other. None of the Glassmakers seemed to be much better, but the majors seemed too tired to hit anyone, at least. The sky got clear, then cloudy again. We reached a meadow with lacy weeds that smelled like celery, and I felt hungrier than ever. Roland’s body was moved to a different worker’s back.

  The path became more level, and I glanced back. Mountains stood behind the forests, and the red rock looked like walls holding up the clouds, with valleys like cracks in the walls. It had been an endless descent from Lief’s Waterfall, and it would be an endless climb back up there from where we were. If we ever went back.

  We crossed some little streams and scaly moss grew on everything. I worried about slugs, but saw only swimming beetles and lots of aquatic birds. The Glassmakers wanted to go faster, but when Marie asked us to speed up, Cedar just said, “I’m trying.”

  I wasn’t going to whine like Cedar, but I couldn’t go faster, either. A few Glassmakers raced ahead, making whistles and kaks and snaps like wood breaking. They were answered with calls that got louder and settled into a chant: “Kongareee, kongareee…” Drums kept time. We were there, wherever we were going.

  The path got wide, with tree stumps on either side. A Glassmaker village, maybe a whole city, couldn’t be far away. There would be food and water and a chance to rest and wash. Someone would be able to read and write, and Marie could do her diplomatic mission. Someone might know how to play a flute. Someone would explain why they burned Stevland, why they destroyed the houses at the waterfall, why they made us march so hard that Roland fell and died.

  I didn’t think that any reason would be good enough.

  And there in a field was the Glassmakers’ village. It was small and drab, so ugly that at first I thought maybe it was just a workshop area, but it was where they lived, two dozen tents shaped like the domes at Rainbow City, but they were little and made of bark and hides and cloth and straw mats, all worn out and poor. There were no colors, no rainbows. A bluebird reef was built better than their city.

  Kung said, “Oh,” and shook his head. There was nothing else to say.

  Glassmakers were waiting for us, maybe fifty of them. They ran toward us, waving their arms and chanting so loud my ears hurt, and some were banging on drums. We marched through a field of green weeds covered with white bugs like big snowflakes. The wind carried a strong Glassmaker rotting stink
at us. With every step, the chanting and drums seemed louder. Soon, like Cedar, I had to cover my ears. The kat clamped its ears shut and covered its nose with its paws.

  As they got closer, I saw a couple of females, and they were big, with heads almost at my eye level. A few Glassmakers were even smaller than the workers, with eyes barely above my knees. Children. Lots didn’t even have blankets over their backs, and a few limped or looked sick. The ones who weren’t singing kept jabbering at each other, and two of them pushed each other in some sort of argument.

  Not wise, not magnificent, not civilized. I kept looking around, but I don’t know what for. I guess I hoped that a real city was hidden somewhere.

  We were marched toward a tent that was bigger and nicer than the rest, with sapling poles that arched to a dome taller than we were. Marie guessed it was their Meeting House. The dirt floor had a few bark mats and leaves on it. The worker dumped Roland’s body near the door. It was stiff.

  “I hope they feed us,” Cedar whined.

  Soon, three females arrived with Plaid Blanket. I guessed one female was old because her fur looked thin and she limped. They all wore newer, clean blankets.

  They stood and looked at us, and we looked back.

  I wanted to sit down but didn’t dare. Plaid Blanket launched into some kind of explanation, pointing at us and Roland a lot. The whistles and kaks meant nothing to me, but Marie interrupted. She squawked, “Cheek.”

  Everyone stared at her, including the Glassmakers outside peeking in through the open doors. Plaid Blanket repeated what it had said. Marie squawked the same sound. Then she tried to describe with gestures and a few sounds the fact that we came from Rainbow City. At least that’s what it meant to me. Then she used her canteen to ask for something to drink.

  One of the younger females said something in return, Plaid Blanket talked more, then they yelled at each other; finally the young one seemed to get angry and they all left. Guards stayed at the doors.

  “You talk Glassmade, Marie?” Kung sat on the ground far away from Roland’s body.

  Marie looked for a place to sit. I had already sat down on a mat, almost fell, really, I was so tired, and moved over for her.

  “I listened while we marched and learned a few words. I said ‘attention’ or ‘listen,’ I think. Something like that.”

  Ten workers came to take away Roland, still wrapped in his blanket.

  “Shouldn’t we stop them?” Cedar said.

  “What would we do with him?” Marie said.

  The Glassmakers lined up four on each side of the body, one at the head and feet, seemed to count to three, heaved him up, and left.

  Marie repeated the count quietly. Buzz, croak, gurgle. She looked the words up in her dictionary. “I think the writing is phonetic. I hope so. That would be a big breakthrough.”

  “Ask for food,” Cedar said.

  “I asked for water. When they bring that, we can all ask for food.” She tried to smile, but she was too tired. She nodded off soon.

  I think I slept, too. After a long time, I thought I smelled meat cooking, maybe mountain bear. I couldn’t tell. Stinking Glassmakers. But they’d brought us water.

  “Hmm. Maybe a feast after a funeral,” Kung said.

  “An execution,” Cedar said. The kat dozed on her lap. “These are violent people.”

  “I’m dying of hunger,” I said.

  Marie had woken up. “Try to survive.” She took a comb from her backpack and fussed with her hair. “We don’t want to offend them. Unnecessarily, at least. They have odd habits and probably odder rules.”

  “They’re violent and primitive,” Cedar complained.

  “Yes, they are. It’s worrisome.”

  “There have to be real Glassmakers somewhere,” I said. “This must be a subgroup. They got lost from the main group or something.”

  Marie nodded. “Maybe. These are very disappointing. But they are Glassmakers, and we have our job.”

  We looked out the door, but all we could see was guards and the wall of the next tent.

  “Funerals,” Marie said. “That will be a test.” From the look on her face, she was going to pass the test, no matter what.

  “These Glassmakers, look at their shoulders,” Kung said. “They move up and down, not sideways, not like this.” He motioned to throw. “Two elbows. Their arms aren’t strong. Can they dig to bury him? Or do we dig, hmm?”

  A couple of Glassmakers walked past the tent carrying firewood. “I’ve read,” Marie said, “that some Earth cultures burned their dead. We’re here to make friends. They don’t seem to have much experience at that, so we will have to provide the example. Music, a few words—you can say something if you’re moved, of course. I will. Our goodbyes, our memories, our friendship. Set an example.”

  “Can we cry?” Cedar asked, challenging Marie again.

  “Please do.”

  When Lux set, a group of workers marching in time came to get us, carrying spears and led by Plaid Blanket and a drumming major, and I grabbed my backpack with the flutes. They took us to the edge of the village, where everyone had gathered, and five females stood in the front of the crowd. The stink almost overcame the scent of cooking meat.

  I had looked into the doorways of huts as we walked past. The biggest thing I saw were looms for making blankets, no furniture or much else except a few pathetic boxes and baskets.

  Two mats waited for us, one almost new and the other one heaped with green leaves. “Sit,” Marie said, pointing, and we arranged ourselves on the bare mat. I thought about which flute to play and what song. The unmoving Glassmaker faces surrounded us. Someone began drumming, and the sound came from the direction where the food was being cooked.

  I picked out the flute with the lowest register and played a sad song by old Uncle Higgins that had words about living a day too long and seeing failures you couldn’t prevent. Perfect. Marie began humming along. On the second time through, Cedar and Kung joined us. “Once more,” Marie whispered. I did, with more feeling. I had never liked Roland, and I would miss him for exactly that reason. I set down the flute.

  A female with curls of dark fur down her back, the one that had argued earlier, repeated the opening bars to the song in a hoarse whistle, almost a squawk. I played the first seven notes again, then held another flute out. She stepped forward and took it. I held mine up to my lips. She copied the gesture, though her mouth was vertical. I blew and made a note, fa. She blew and made a breathy note. She did it again. I covered the first hole and blew to make a different note, mi. She copied me. One by one we copied the notes, then, together, a duet, we played the seven opening notes in order, fa, mi, do, mi, re, do, re.

  Finally, finally, I had played a duet with a Glassmaker!

  I lowered my flute and bowed solemnly. But I didn’t feel solemn. I wanted to jump and shout. I had shared music. If we could do that, we could do anything. They were willing, they just didn’t know how, like Marie said, and we would have to provide the example. We had a lot to teach them. More than they could imagine.

  The Glassmaker stared at me with those big, blank eyes. She handed the flute back, but we would play again, I felt sure. These Glassmakers weren’t all bad.

  If this was a funeral, it was time to bury Roland, but we didn’t know where he was. We didn’t have shovels. We needed a place to dig. The smell of cooked meat came on a wind, and I was so hungry I couldn’t think about anything for more than a moment.

  A drum started beating again in the direction of the cooking area. People made way for something large. Clouds of steam rose from it. A roast, a very large animal, maybe a fippolion. I had never smelled anything quite like that, but it was delicious. I glimpsed it again through the crowd. Maybe it was a small lion.

  “Bear,” Kung murmured.

  I got a better look. Not a bear. It was a large animal with a round head and a flat torso like no animal I knew, and the skin was grilled crisp and golden and shining with fat. The crowd opened up, and I got a cl
ear look. Not a lion, not with such long legs.

  Cedar wailed, hid her face in her hands, and turned away. The head lay facedown, and I recognized a crisp and golden ear, a human ear.

  My mouth filled with saliva, not from hunger, but the rush before vomiting. I got to my feet and ran, hand over my mouth, away from the crowd, and dropped to my knees. Marie had said again and again to set an example. I had to, somehow. Glassmakers were watching me. I tore off a chunk of moss from the dirt to make a hole and puked into it. There was nothing in my stomach but bile, bitter yellow slime, spasm after spasm. Every time I thought I was through, a whiff of … a whiff made my muscles jerk again.

  Finally, the bile burned my nose and destroyed my sense of smell. I waited, panting. I was done, empty, completely empty. I put the moss back over the slime and used my tears to wash my face with my sleeve. The salt on my lips cleared my mouth a bit.

  I stood up. The Glassmakers squeaked and whistled. Cedar had her head in her hands. I stumbled toward Roland. Maybe this didn’t mean what I thought it did. No, I knew what a roast looked like. This was supposed to be food. Kung stared at the ground. Marie stood up and stared at Plaid Blanket and tears dripped down her face. I had never seen her cry before. Never.

  The female who played music came to stand beside Plaid Blanket. Arms spread, she said something to us, and waited for our response. Behind her, Glassmakers jabbered at each other. She said it again, and I looked at Marie. She sighed.

  “Thank you very much,” she said gently, although her face said something else. She faced the Glassmakers. “Numbers are a measure, and we are less now.

  “We came in peace,” she continued. “We will remain in peace, regardless. My job now is to praise Roland. He was what a fippmaster should be, enticing and gentle and always, always confident, a lion among men. He was what a member of this mission should be, ready to give everything to create a good first meeting between our people. He gave everything.

  “I am going to assume,” she said in a strong voice although she was still crying, “that you mean well. In fact, I am sure you have behaved respectfully. We can’t accept your kindness, but we thank you for it. Roland will not rest in peace, I think. I will not, not for the remainder of my days, whatever their number. I can only hope that we will achieve something from our many misunderstandings. I am sure we have mystified you. We will continue to do so.”