The Howling Stones

  Following Jorana's departure, the two xenologists spent the rest of the morning studying and recording native ac­tivities along the river. Their thoughts, however, were on the earlier meeting and not on cultural explication.

  "What do you make of all this?" Fawn asked her col­league. "Of what Jorana said. Was he telling us every­thing, or was he being selective?"

  "I'm sure he was being selective. Or evasive. That bit about not knowing anything about what happens during the ceremony? I don't think I buy that."

  She made a face. "I guess we're going to find out. You don't think they're inviting us to a big gathering so they can get rid of us?"

  "Why should they? If they wanted to dispose of me, why would they go to the trouble of bringing me back from the road the transportation stones took me down? They could have left me out there, wherever out there was, wandering around forever trying tog

  et back on my own."

  "Maybe that wouldn't have been in accordance with kusum." She watched the females working on the river­bank, but her mind wasn't on it. "As you know, when it comes to collective decision making, the Parramati are more obtuse than anyone else on Senisran."

  "Five days. We'll want dual backups on all systems, and we'll want to check them out at least a full day in advance."

  She nodded without replying, knowing that he was talking more to himself now than to her. It was an aggra­vating habit, but one she found she was becoming com­fortable with.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The ceremonial locale on the far side of Mt. Erirota was more attractive than impressive, a pristine grassy clear­ing high up on the slopes of the extinct volcano. Beyond the clearing the native vegetation grew thickly, reflect­ing the high rainfall the area received. Either the grassy sward was carefully maintained, Pulickel decided, or else it lay in a slight but significant rain shadow.

  It was early evening and Senisran's compassionate sun lingered on the distant horizon, pausing briefly before its daily disappearance to paint scattered clouds with streaks of gold and crimson. Sunset was the only time of day that could reduce sea and sky on this world to insignificance, he mused as he soaked in the spectacular panorama.

  Irrespective of the incipient ceremony, the gathering it­self was most impressive. It looked as if every big person in Parramat and not a few of their attendants had as­sembled in orderly fashion on the edge of the clearing. Recorders humming inconspicuously, he and Fawn stayed where Ascela and Jorana had left them. They had an ex­cellent view and felt no need to roam.

  The assembled Parramati had dressed for the occasion in their finest regalia. Colorful woven skirts vied for attention with flamboyant headdresses and elaborate neck­laces. Snouts, cheeks, eye sockets, and ears were deco­rated in vibrant facepaint while rings hung in profusion from long fingers and tails. Shoulder garlands of the rarest and most exotic flowers the archipelago had to offer filled the air with wild, confused perfume.

  Yet the gaudy spectacle belied the attitude of those present, which was solemn rather than celebratory.

  Having been made ready earlier, torches and standard­-borne bone lanterns were brought forth and lit, their in­dividual lights strengthening as that of the sun faded. Querying Ascela as to the ceremony's duration, Pulickel was told that it would take as long as it took, a response that grated on the xenologist's sense of the precise.

  The Torrelauapan was not being cryptic. It was simply a fact that no one knew how long a Goggelai should last. The ceremony would define itself, the visiting humans were told. They would have to be satisfied with that. An­cient oral guidelines, Fawn pointed out, were inherently obscure.

  As the last of the torches and lanterns were lit, the dusky peak of the volcano glowed bronze in the final light of the setting sun. Drinking in the sight both natural and synthetic spread out before her, Fawn Seaforth found that she didn't care if the Goggelai produced any pro­found revelations about Parramati culture or not. The spectacle was sufficient unto. itself.

  In addition to the unprecedented display of color and design, there was music in abundance. Flutes, stringed instruments, and an astonishing assortment of barbaric percussion filled the evening air with energetic melodies interspersed with eruptive bursts of jagged rhythm. Un­able to resist the seductive ostinatos, many of the as­sembled dignitaries were soon chanting and dancing in place. While Fawn occasionally found her own body twist­ing and arching in time to the alien tempo, Pulickel was apparently immune to all such melodic blandishments. He remained stolidly in place, his recorder whirring, doing his best not to stare disapprovingly‑or otherwise‑in her direction.

  As for the mysterious, revered howling stones them­selves, their actual appearance was something of a letdown. Carried in woven bags or brought forth in intri­cately patterned baskets, they looked no different from any of the other stones the visitors had seen. Irregular lumps of green volcanic glass, some were larger than the growing stone whose use had been demonstrated to Fawn, while others were even smaller than the two stones so briefly borrowed by Pulickel. Several were so big they had to be carried in on hardwood litters supported by four Parramati apiece.

  One by one, the stones were removed from their trav­eling containers and placed before a big person standing along the inner rim of the great circle that now enclosed the modest meadow, until the grass was ringed with a fine of sacred stones. Each stone, Pulickel noted, rested no less than half a meter from its neighbor. None was al­lowed to touch.

  Even when the ring was complete the procession con­tinued, until two concentric stone circles and part of a third lay gleaming on the ground. The two humans were given free rein to wander in and among the stones and stone masters, musicians and attendants, recording what­ever they wished. For the most part even those Parramati they knew, like Ascela and Jorana, ignored them. All were enraptured by the ceremony.

  When Pulickel accidentally tripped over a particularly long stone, no one so much as twitched. As for the stone, it rocked back and forth a couple of times and lay utterly still, a big dark green rock that differed only in color from the igneous escarpment that backed onto the meadow. If it and the several hundred others that had been so laboriously brought together embodied any significant powers, Pulickel reflected, these were being held efficiently in check.

  From Jorana's original description, he and Fawn had supposed there were no more than a few dozen of the howling stones. The presence of hundreds was therefore the biggest surprise of the evening so far. Judging from the expectant attitude of the assembled, there promised to be more.

  By the time the last vestige of sunlight had fled from the horizon and the scene was lit entirely by torch and lantern light, the chanting and music‑making had risen to such a pitch that he had to shout to make himself heard above the noise. The relentless Parramati percussion in particular gave new significance to that part of the ear known as the tympanum. While his recorder could adjust automatically to the rising din, he had to struggle to toler­ate it.

  The rolling artificial thunder boomed down the slopes and echoed through the valleys. Fortunate wildlife fled, but he and Fawn had no such option. With luck, he winced as an especially loud burst of music assailed his ears, it would all be over soon.

  Fawn's thoughts were stumbling down the same dis­cordant path. "I wonder if this is going to go on all night? If so, we could probably return in the morning for the big finish."

  He checked his chronometer. "No one's said anything to me about time. We probably ought to inquire. For all we know now, the ceremony could take days."

  "I suppose we should wait it out awhile before asking. Our presence here is something of an honor, and we don't want to insult anybody by making it look like we want to leave early." She smiled encouragingly at him and he nodded reluctantly.

  It was well after midnight when he checked the time again. The music and chanting gave no sign of slacken­ing, the assembled participants no indication that they were running out of steam. If anything, they sang and
played louder than ever. Torches and lanterns burned as brightly as at sunset. Fawn's notion of leaving for a while and returning later was looking more and more attractive. The activity, as well as the hour, was exhausting.

  Those stone masters who dropped out of the inner circle promptly had their positions assumed by others. No such reinforcements waited in the wings for the two tired xenologists. Pulickel found his thoughts drifting more and more often to his room back at the station. His quiet, soundproofed room.

  Without any warning, signal, or fanfare, the music ceased. Chanting fell to a sustained murmur. Several big persons representing the outermost islands of the Par­ramat Archipelago stepped forward and raised three­ fingered hands skyward. The music resumed, only this time it was pointed and brief.

  Words were uttered that neither xenologist recognized, though from their inflection Fawn knew they were ar­chaic. But though those who spoke them might be igno­rant of their meaning, they enunciated each one carefully and with great respect.

  Supplicating hands were lowered. Selecting them from the innermost circle, several big persons brought the first stones forward. The two speakers accepted the offerings, placed them on the ground, and pushed them together. Their fatigue now forgotten, Pulickel and Fawn double­ checked their recorders and tensed.

  Contact was achieved between stones. Green sparks flew from an emerald flash. Fused, the conjoined stones emitted a steady, soft green glow.

  "What now?" Pulickel whispered aloud.

  “I don't know. Remember, the Parramati haven't per­formed this ceremony in a very long time. They probably aren't too sure of the consequences themselves."

  Two more stone masters removed their respective bur­dens from the circle and brought them forward. Others were preparing to do the same from the opposite side of the ring. One at a time, they added their stones to the lambent green mass in the center of the ceremonial encir­clement. With each additional stone the irregular shape added to its size.

  Pulickel watched as a stone as big as his head was placed against the near side of the burgeoning aggrega­tion. Vibrating noticeably, it slid up the side of the mass and rotated several times before slipping neatly into a slot in the top of the heap. Other stones similarly maneu­vered themselves into position, displaying an inner ani­mation none of the sacred stones the Parramati used in everyday life had previously exhibited.

  There was no formal organization, no apparent rhyme or reason to the process. The natives merely dumped the parts in a pile, Pulickel realized. Whatever the growing green mass night be, it was putting itself together. It was apparent that in addition to assorted helpful powers, cer­tain stones were possessed of something very different but equally impressive.

  Memory. Memory ancient and, so far, inscrutable.

  By now the refulgent green lump was taller than an adult seni and had assumed a roughly rectangular shape. It sustained its baffling growth as more stones were brought forward and added to the enigmatic structure.

  Fawn leaned close. Even above the excitement and noise, the sights and the pungent presence of hundreds of highly active Parramati, he could still smell the perfume of her.

  "Somehow I don't think this is intended to make the po­horoh grow bigger or the river run clean," she whispered.

  The ceremonial stone rings continued to shrink as more and more of the glassy green pieces were added to the growing puzzle. It was far taller than any seni now, but individual stones continued to maneuver themselves up the uneven flanks and fasten themselves to the top, steadily adding to the height of the luminescent mystery. The as­sembled Parramati were as entranced by their handiwork as were the visiting xenologists.

  By this time the object was putting out so much light that it was impossible to look directly at it for long. In ad­dition to the meadow and the softly chanting circle of na­tives, it illuminated the surrounding jungle as well as the looming flank of the mountain. Yet heat remained a by­product of the reaction notable only for its absence. The intense green radiance was entirely cool, allowing sup­plicating stone masters to touch the product of their ef­forts with impunity. From its apex, a meter‑wide shaft of coherent green light suddenly shot skyward to pierce the night sky.

  From the time the first two stones had been brought to­gether, a distant hum had been audible. With the addition of each new stone, this had grown steadily in volume and intensity, until now it vibrated within teeth and bones. It was a whine, a single high mechanical note, an antedilu­vian call, the song of something endlessly dormant and only now slowly reawakening.

  A howling.

  Few stones remained, and these were piously added to the pile. Pulickel saw Fawn shielding her eyes as she tried to follow the activity. Meanwhile, except for suffus­ing the meadow with light and sound, the impressive green agglomeration had done nothing. The world hadn't shifted on its axis, the ground beneath his feet remained stable and the solid, grassy growth common to Senisran still cushioned his sandaled feet.

  Even if whatever it was managed to complete itself, he realized, that didn't mean that anyone present would know what to do with the final result. He wondered if any of the orbiting surveillance and survey satellites put up by the Commonwealth and the AAnn were presently in position to detect the green beam and, if so, what they would make of it. Couldn't worry about that now, he knew.

  The last stone was brought forward and reverently placed against the mass, which by this time was the size and approximate shape of a Parramati longhouse. The stone efficiently slid up and around the right side to settle itself into and fill one remaining gap. Pulickel and Fawn tensed, but nothing happened. Together with the Parra­mati they found themselves confronting a substantial struc­ture that put out a vast intensity of green light, and it in turn confronted them.

  But nothing happened.

  A few uncertain mutterings began to be heard among the assembled. Pulickel found himself echoing them. Was there anything to be learned here, or was it all a colossal bust? Perhaps the device was designed simply to put out a shaft of green light, possibly as some kind of unknown navigational aid. Or maybe it was no more than an elaborate marker.

  Frustrated, he walked up to it, shielding his eyes from the evanescent glare. No one stopped him.

  Up close, he found that he was able to see into the mass to a surprising depth. A network of complex inter­nal striations was clearly visible. They appeared to link slightly darker masses buried deep within the body of the construct. Reaching out with one hand, he lightly traced the lines nearest the surface. Like the light it put out, the object itself was pleasantly cool to the touch.

  Behind him he heard Fawn call out sharply, "Watch yourself, Pulickel. There's something coming out."

  As he stepped back, the construct began to exude some­thing very like a large, transparent egg, as if the glow­ing green lump was giving birth. The voices of the assembled big persons rose in unison, chanting loudly.

  Approaching this new and unexpected phenomenon with caution, he saw that in contrast to the rest of the mass, the protrusion had a faint reddish tinge, like an ex­cited fiber optic. He was unable to gauge its thickness or even if it was hollow or solid. Already, three‑quarters of it had emerged from the howling green lump. Indifferent to urging or chanting, suspicions or hopes, the remainder resolutely refused to ooze free of the construct. From a tactile standpoint it felt no different from the rest of the green mass.

  Fawn joined him, along with Ascela and Jorana. As they inspected the faintly reddish ovoid, the curving, ta­pered end facing the circle suddenly opened. There was no door, no hatch. One moment the end of the object ap­peared solid; the next, it displayed an opening.

  Together, Pulickel and Ascela peered inside. The inte­rior of the ovoid was floored with what seemed to be a layer of dense fog. Ignoring Fawn's admonitions, he reached in and down. His fingers sank a centimeter or so into the frothy substance before encountering an unyield­ing surface.

  He straightened. "Interesting stuff.
It looks like you could brush it aside with one hand, but it doesn't move. There's initial give, and then it turns solid. What do you suppose this thing is?" His ears were filled with Parra­mati chanting and the high‑pitched whine of the construct.

  Hands on hips, she studied the mysterious protrusion. "Your guess is as good as mine. I'm inclined to think that anything that has a floor, walls, and an entrance is de­signed to be entered." Blue eyes speculated on the pro­trusion. "The big persons have been saying all along that the Goggelai is supposed to open a different sort of road. This could be some kind of transportation device."

  He nodded contemplatively. "Uh‑huh. Or an oversized alien food processor. Right now we are somewhat lack­ing in information."

  She was studying the ovoid intently. "If it's a means of transport, it's odd that it didn't emerge completely from its surroundings."

  "Is it? When did we become specialists in alien trans­portation systems?" Bending low, he put both hands on the exposed rim of the ovoid and leaned inward.

  "And where the hell do you think you're going?" she challenged him sharply.

  He glanced back with that fey, confident smile she'd come to know so well. "Not there, I pray. Hopefully just down another road, as the Parramati would say."

  She was less than encouraging. "I'd think that after your last experience with the vagaries of stone‑impelled transport you wouldn't want to try it again. The Parra­mati might not be able to bring you back a second time."

  He tapped the ovoid's outer rim. It gave back no sound. "We're not dealing with a couple of loose stones here. If this is indeed some kind of device intended to transport individuals down a particular road, then it quite likely is designed to also transport them back. Otherwise why de­sign and build something this elaborate? Why not just use a couple of the transportation stones? I don't think it's unreasonable to assume that the more intricate the de­vice, the more complex and varied its function."