Refugees

  Chapter 21

  Trees - Brina

  My whole family was lined up in their flowing white cloaks on the terrace outside our home, prepared to attend the celebration of Klala’s life. As I came down to join them, they all turned and looked up at me. Their faces reflected a mixture of feelings that ranged from nervous excitement to deep concern. Ceila had never been to a funeral before, so she did not know what to expect. By contrast, my older brother Leifen had lost a friend in an accident several years ago. I knew he understood the deep sadness permeating the occasion, even though it was also a celebration. My mother hovered about me with concern. I silently grabbed a white cloak and joined the others. I had not had time to prepare, but my offering would be from the heart.

  We glided in twos to the meeting place. It seemed strange that I had only just been here several hours ago. As we neared the hall, I heard the soft melodic sounds of harps, pipes, and lyres playing sweet lullabies like those songs my sister Glorna sometimes played to help me sleep. The notes repeated in a way that reminded me of the gentle rocking of a pod hammock. The music was not sad, but soothing. Everyone danced in pairs that glided around the room, each pair moving in small repeated circles that in turn moved in a large circle around the room. I was glad that Barque moved quickly to my side for the dance. His hand on my back was strong and steady. To keep from getting dizzy, I just gazed into his brown eyes. I wanted to ask him if he had volunteered for the colony, but the words stuck in my throat. Now was not the time.

  When the dance was done, he thanked me and returned me to sit with my family on the benches around the walls. Klala’s family sat on the inner benches, which were normally reserved for the council. Klala’s body had been sewn into a giant mesmeringa pod, which now hung from the ceiling over the spot where the tree stump stood, ironically the same place the cat rider had been lowered in his net.

  A hush fell over everyone in the room in anticipation of the musicians beginning the tale of our people. Even now, the anticipation gave me a sense of purpose, awe, and hope. The song started out in quiet tones with two male singers taking turns as if they were conversing, but their voices slowly grew. Then more male voices joined in. Acrobats leapt from the eight upper windows, wearing capes that were covered in cloth scales and carrying brightly colored ribbons, as they weaved in and out past each other until reaching the floor. I think everybody pictured the original people a little differently, but for some reason, I pictured them like the flying creatures that I rode through the sky in my dreams. Next the stringed instruments joined in. Then women appeared at each of the eight windows, joined their voices with the men and leapt into the room, their ribbons streaming behind them. Throughout this portion of the presentation, new singers with ribbons kept appearing at the windows and taking off into the room. The speed of the music continued to build, filling me with anticipation. Wind instruments joined in. The ribbon acrobats scaled the walls and returned to the windows, where they walked along ledges that connected the windows. Then all at once, they jumped off the ledges and soared while singing:

  “Long ago, before time, in the air, without ground

  Long ago, kept in time, with a care, came a sound

  Breathed a breath, flowed a flow, formed a form, sang a song

  Soaring up, breathing out, floating on, all along.”

  “Great Creator gave us movement, gave us motion

  In a voice, inspiring life, for great devotion

  Beings made for dynamic soaring on long flights

  Webbed feet to reach the depths, and wings to rise to heights.”

  “The best for water, air, and earth, we did not lack

  Ascending and descending scales ran up each back.

  A Capella, ascending outward, granting lift

  Teaching us to glide on His melodious gift.”

  “Dipping, trilling, rising, lilting along the scale

  Guiding as we gather in groups in which to sail

  Notes turn into chords, lone voices join in chorus

  Swooping, rising, as the world unfolds before us.”

  “Drifting, dancing, ever-shifting to cede the lead

  All in rhythm, the tempo changing, with our speed

  A melody of love, a harmony of flight

  Like newborn stars circling in the sky through the night.”

  “Each flier composing while still staying in tune

  Choreographing a flight like the sun and moon

  Always aware and caring for the choir and troupe

  Returning in time to the refrain and the loop.”

  “A hymn sung in freedom, bound only to the key

  A flight danced in grace, synchronized but still free

  Smiling, laughing, giving other fliers the gift

  Passing on the encouraging song, creating lift.”

  We joined in the chorus with all our hearts. The percussion instruments joined in too, with the tambourines jingling and the drums booming:

  “Glory be to our Creator, gave to us life-giving trees;

  Hypnotized us, mesmerized us; gave to us our song of peace.

  Harmonize us as we praise you, free from discord when we die;

  Hearts so thankful you will raise us, fly us up into the sky.

  Sing oh Sing oh Mesmeringa, reach your voices to the stars.”

  As the chorus ended, all the other instruments stopped and just the percussion instruments sounded, quietly at first, but becoming louder and louder. All of the singers kept humming the melody from the chorus, while one man with a deep bass voice sang the words. The other instruments slowly joined in, all playing off key, in a cacophony just like in the song:

  “One flier, the liar, claimed he was better than all

  He started to mumble, with a spirit of gall

  Mumble turned to grumble; grumble went off key

  Grumble, a loud jumble, which drowned out melody.”

  “Banging noise, blasting sound, screeching in a clamor

  Building his fame, loudly proclaiming his glamour

  Off key and off beat, the groups all started to whirl

  Faster and faster each band started to swirl

  The whirlwind sucked the fliers down in a spiral

  The loud mumbling and grumbling had all gone viral

  And they fell.”

  And in that magical moment, timed just right, the room went silent and the Gliders, who had somehow managed to float until the right moment, all let themselves fall to the ground. As they landed, they folded into balls and rolled, their ribbons wrapping around them. They stayed rolled up on the ground. The pageantry had actually made me forget my troubles, but when they hit the ground, I remembered Klala. She had fallen, but she had fallen for real, and she was dead. Klala was not a mumbler or a grumbler, and she had not deserved to fall. Why? Why did it happen?

  But the next stanza was starting, and the rolled up people somersaulted in reverse to unwrap. As they landed on their feet, they began dancing on the floor, weaving in and out in lines, but dragging their ribbons along the ground, with their arms down.

  “Blessed Creator, he provided trees with branches

  With arms outstretched to catch, giving second chances

  So those who clung to lush green foliage did not die

  Found their refuge in the Forest, but could not fly.”

  “No more flapping, no more fluttering to the sky

  Sadly down to the ground with no sound but to cry

  Through the sobbing, moaning, wailing, we heard the voice

  Of the Forest singing to tell us: we had a choice.”

  A special group of singers joined in from up on the window sills, imitating the calls of myriad birds singing in the dawn. The people on the ground flapped their ribbons, climbed up the tree trunks built into the sides of the walls, and at the right moment leapt again:

  “Birds were trilling, whistling, twittering, and tweeting

  We saw them flying as they sounded their greeting

  Saw a mother
bird nudge a fledgling from the nest

  It glided from the treetop to a place of rest.”

  “So we followed the birds to the tops of the trees

  Unfolded our wings and then jumped into the breeze

  Gliding, soaring, floating again from tree to tree

  Free once more, our spirits lifted so thankfully.”

  And with the dancers now all standing on ledges around the room, their arms lifted and their ribbons drifting, we all stood and joined in the final chorus:

  Glory be to our Creator, gave to us life-giving trees;

  Hypnotized us, mesmerized us; gave to us our song of peace.

  Harmonize us as we praise you, free from discord when we die;

  Hearts so thankful you will raise us, fly us up into the sky.

  Sing oh Sing oh Mesmeringa, when at last we reach the stars.”

  As we sang the final chorus, the pod holding Klala’s body was lifted to the ceiling high above. Then one by one, people stood and took turns saying a few words about Klala’s life. Her father started with a cute story about the first time she ever tried to glide. I immediately knew which story I would tell. Each story had to be only a few lines, because many people wanted to speak. I rose when there was a pause, after the family was done, and a few friends had spoken. I noticed several people nudging each other when I got up to speak, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.

  “The second time my troop ever had archery practice, I forgot to bring my bow.” I held up my bow to clarify that I did not mean “friend” since one word covered both. “We were just little kids. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid my bow would be taken away from me for good. When Klala realized what I had done, she handed me her bow, and offered to take turns with me, which would mean that for some skill tests she would be without a bow and would also risk having her bow taken away for good. I tried to tell her not to do it. But she insisted. So all through practice we took turns, with her left out one round and me the next, as we passed the bow back and forth. Klala and I had played together before that, but on that day we became best friends for life.”

  By the time I finished speaking I had tears streaming down my face. The stories made us laugh and they made us cry. As each person spoke, a scribe recorded the story by twisting knots into rows of strings that hung from Klala’s bow. Klala’s body pod was to be returned to the forest, where it would hang from the top of a tree. But the stories recorded in strings would be housed in the Tree of Stories so that anyone who knew how to read knots could find them and read them. Suddenly I remembered that I would be leaving and would not be able to visit the Tree of Stories any more. How I would miss the stories in that tree! I focused even harder on every word being said, so I could implant in my mind everything about Klala, my best friend, and take her with me forever.

  When the appointed time for the speakers came to an end, one of the elders stood and said, “The Forest celebrates with us the life of Klala. Now we return her to the birds at the treetops so that she may join the flight of the stars in the land of the Creator.”

  As the closed pod carrying Klala started to move along the vine that led from the hall, all the acrobats stood on the ledges and waved their ribbons, while all of those on the ground raised a hand and waved goodbye to Klala. We sang the chorus one last time as we waved:

  Glory be to our Creator, gave to us life-giving trees;

  Hypnotized us, mesmerized us; gave to us our song of peace.

  Harmonize us as we praise you, free from discord when we die;

  Hearts so thankful you will raise us, fly us up into the sky.

  Sing oh Sing oh Mesmeringa, til with Klala we join the stars!”

  I had to believe that I would see her again someday, when we would race between the stars, just like we had raced between the trees. I would never stop missing her until that day.