Awakeners by Sheri S Tepper

“Just what you said. It’s illegal.”

In her corner, Medoor Babji stirred uneasily. This was evocative of something she had heard before, something Pamra Don had said. Something.

Burg roused her sometime later, and they walked together to the shore. There was a strange youngster waiting with Sterf, wide-eyed and frightened looking.

“Treemi,” Sterf introduced her. “Coming back with us to Isle Point.”

“Will Cimmy and Mintel be staying here long?” Medoor Babji asked. “Will I have a chance to see them before I leave?”

The question somehow went unanswered in their bustle to load the boat. She did not ask it again. Taneff met them back at Isle Point. Taneff was carrying flowers for the visitor and was unwontedly silent. He did not even answer Medoor Babji’s greeting.

There were other visitors. All the youngsters seemed to be paired off, one local and one visitor, the locals wandering around a good part of the time with the visitors in attendance. Taneff, who had not let Medoor Babji alone in his demand for stories, now seemed almost to avoid her.

“All right, Burg,” she asked, seeking him out and peering around to be sure they were alone, human to human. “What’s going on?”

He shook his head at her, making a taciturn, pinch-lipped face.

“No, don’t give me that. I know it’s a taboo subject, but you’ve got to tell me what’s going on or I may transgress. I don’t want to do that.”

He sighed. “I suppose you’re right, Medoor Babji. It’s Conjunction, that’s all. Conjunction in a year in which some children in the community reach mating age.”

“Breeding age?” she asked, suddenly remembering something Pamra Don had said. “Couldn’t they put it off a few years? Gods, they’re only children.”

He shook his head. “No, actually, they’re at exactly the right age. Biologically speaking, that is. Or so my friends over at the lab on Jake’s tell me.”

“So the visitors are what? What was it Cimmy said, ‘brides’?”

“Yes. Cross-island mating, to prevent inbreeding. Do you know anything about that, Medoor Babji?”

“I know you breed champion seeker bird to champion seeker bird if you want the traits passed on. I know if you breed too close for too long, though, sometimes the chicks don’t live.”

He nodded. “It’s the same for all creatures. Inbreeding intensifies characteristics, both desired and undesired. With seeker birds, you can destroy the faulty ones. The Treeci wouldn’t approve of that, so, Cimmy and Mintel went over to Jake’s Island to meet a couple of the young roosters over there, and little Treemi came back here to meet Taneff. That’s really all there is to it.”

It was not all there was to it. There was a great deal more to it than that, but someone came to the door of Burg’s house, and the conversation ended.

As she was walking back to Saleff’s house, she met Taneff on the path.

“Hear you’ve got a new friend,” she called, teasing him a little.

He looked at her, head down, wings slightly cocked. “Friend,” he said. His eyes were glazed, dull, as though a film lay over them. The visitor, Treemi, came out of the woods and took him by the wing, her fingers caressing him as she cast a quick, warning look at Medoor Babji.

“I’ve got fan fruit for you, Taneff,” she said. “Fan fruit.”

“Fan fruit,” he said, turning toward her, feet dancing, wings lifting.

“Fan fruit,” she sang, leading him away, half dancing. Arbsen came out of the wood and followed them, at some distance, her eyes wild and haggard.

Medoor Babji stood looking after them, more troubled than she could explain. Of the three children, Taneff had been her favorite. Taneff, as he was, not this strange, withdrawn creature who talked in monosyllables. She shook her head, annoyed at herself.

That night she was wakened by voices. She rolled from her mat on the floor and went to the window to close it, only to stop as she recognized the voices coming from the room below her.

“I want you to give it to Taneff.” Arbsen’s voice, husky with pain, anguish. “Saleff, you’ve got to.”

“Arbsen, you’ve been eating Glizzee, haven’t you.”