This was the sense of Bondri’s message, though these were not the words. The words had other meanings – leader to troupe, experienced singer to novices in the presence of a Prime Priest of the people – and there were implications of the time of day and the season, modifications of language required by the site in which the words were spoken. When one of the Companions of the Gods quoted another, there was no need for the hearer to ask when or to whom the words were spoken or in what weather or circumstance. The words themselves said it all. The word taroo – go – was sung in the early morning. It became tarou at midmorning and tarouu at noon. It was itaroo sung in sunlight and etaroo sung in light mist. Atarouualayum conveyed the going of a mated pair, sans giligee, at midmorning in driving rain, somewhat north of the Shadowed Cliffs … in spring.
So now, Bondri’s words conveyed a chill autumn evening in the vicinity of the North Watcher during which a familial troupe of viggies – males, females, giligees, and young, all, except the very newest trade daughters, sharing the same thought patterns – had approached the Great One to deliver a message but could not get past the skin to deliver it and were putting themselves in peril if they didn’t move. Bondri felt compelled to reissue the warning to which Prime Priest Favel had not yet harkened.
‘Your (autumn chilled but most valued) perceptiveness? The (mighty but not quite trustworthy) Presence in whose (arbitrary and sometimes simply vengeful) decisions we trust grows (dangerously and maliciously) agitated. Best (imperative) we depart.’
The priest flicked his elbows in agreement, and Bondri made the wing sign in turn to the pouchmate pathfinders of the troupe, who slithered off at once down an almost invisible track along the side of the North Watcher. This was a proven track on which movement was possible without alerting the Great One. The crystalline structure beneath it had no fractures, no vacancies, no dislocations, no planar defects or interstitials – none of those deviations from uniform crystalline structure that in the Presences served the function served by neurons and neurotransmitters in fleshly creatures. Not that the viggies, or as they called themselves, ‘etaromimi,’ knew that. They did know that the track was solid, stolid, and without sensation. In a few hundred yards it would debouch upon a pocket of safe soil where a small grove of trees provided a place to rest. The Prime Priest was very old and needed surcease.
‘Is far enough?’ hummed one of the troupe. ‘Silver-seam can make great destruction, very far.’
Bondri was by no means sure it was far enough, but it was as far as the Prime Priest was likely to get, given the state of his legs. They had been broken in his youth and had never healed properly. While they were broken, he had been captured by the Loudsingers and held captive long enough to learn their language. Much later one of the young Loudsingers, blessed be his familial patterns of thought forever, had kindly released Favel to his people. That Loudsinger’s name was Lim Ferrence, and his was one of the names of honor whose patterns were recalled by Bondri’s troupe during times of recollection.
Behind them on the slope, several of the Great One’s fingers blew their tips with a crash and volley of tinkling glass.
‘ ’Lings,’ murmured Favel, giving the fingers their human name. ‘ ’Lings.’
None of the debris came near the viggies, and Bondri sighed in relief. The Great Ones were not always sensible about assigning fault. If a viggy did something to displease them, their skins or fingers might kill quite another viggy in retaliation. It was almost as though the skins did not know the difference between one individual and another. Or did not know there was a difference. They were the same with the Loudsingers. Sometimes the Great Ones would incubate annoyance for a very long time, exercising vengeance long after the original culprit had gone away or died. At least, this is the way it seemed to Bondri, even though the Prime Priest told him otherwise.
‘It is the difference between their insides and outsides,’ panted the Prime Priest, making Bondri realize he had been vocalizing. The surfaces of their minds are shallow and quick to irritate. They slap at us as we twitch at a woundfly, unthinking. In the Depths, where the great thoughts move at the roots of the mountains, they are slow to reason and, I believe, largely unconscious of us. I have often thought there is little connection between the two parts of them.’
‘Except for the way Silver-seam behaved tonight,’ caroled Bondri. ‘Strangely.’
‘Strangely indeed! It seemed well aware of us, did it not? As though some midmind had come awake.’
It had indeed seemed quite aware of them, a very uncomfortable thought. ‘Blessed be (all Presences, large and small, their fingers and skin-parts) they,’ said Bondri, antennae erect and curved inward over his head, warding away any ill fortune that the priest’s remark might otherwise attract.
‘Oh, by all means,’ sighed Favel. ‘Yes.’
‘May I assist your (aged and infirm and overly chilled) perceptiveness?’
‘If you would be so (gracious in this season) kind, youngster. I get creakier with every moon.’
‘We would be honored to carry you.’
‘That much is not necessary. A shoulder to lean on would be welcome.’
The troupe sped down the track, moving as quickly as possible consonant with the requisite care. Dislodging bits of crystal trash often made the Great Ones very angry, particularly if it was done noisily. Pieces had to be picked up gently and set aside, and that took time, but long practice made the troupe both quick and silent.
By the time dark fell, they had reached the grove of trees.
‘Where are we?’ the Prime Priest asked, settling himself into a soft pocket of earth and fluffing his fur to
