Awakeners by Sheri S Tepper

“Neff,” she called, unable to let him go. “Thank you for the flowers.”

“We give them like that,” he called. “We Treeci. To our sisters.”

So then, she thought, half in amusement. I’m one of his family. So much for the old woman’s distinctions. If he thought of Pamra as a sister, then it would be all right to talk to him. They did talk to their sisters.

That night she got out the puncon jam. Jam seemed to loosen Joy’s old tongue. Forbidden subject or not, Pamra wanted to learn about the Treeci.

“The young ones,” she said casually, “all appear to be about the same age. I didn’t see any babies.”

“No, there won’t be any babies for almost a year. They only breed one year in ten. My brother used to say it had something to do with keeping the population in balance. They don’t have any more than the island can keep. Sensible of them, he used to say.”

“I didn’t see any males among the children.”

“You probably did. Far as the Treeci are concerned, children are just children. Can’t tell male from female till they get to be about fifteen.”

“So the one that came here, with his mother, he was over fifteen?”

“Nineteen,” said Joy, burrowing into the jam pot. “Nineteen last Conjunction.”

“You know that? So exactly?”

“Well, of course. I know all Werf’s children, have for years. She used to bring Neff and his sisters here from the time they were just hatchlings. I used to feed them nut cookies and play hide and go find with them in the woods.”

“But now you don’t talk to Neff? After being his friend when he was a child?” She could not keep the outrage from her voice.

The old woman pushed her chair back from the table, stood to confront her accusing look. “Girl, you’re my guest and I’ll give you guest rights, but don’t lay your voice on me for things you don’t understand. I never said I couldn’t talk to Neff, being almost his mother and him as dear to me as my own ever were, I said you couldn’t. I said to you before, they’re not people. Not human people. You’ve got to give them their own way!”

There were tears in the old woman’s eyes, and it was that which softened Pamra. If she was already grieved over whatever it was, there was no point in adding to her grief. So. Pamra bowed her head in submission, making her apologies, promising not to bring up the matter again. It did not change her mind. Cruelty was cruelty. If Neff got pleasure out of making her an honorary sister, why, then she would be his honorary sister.

At the end of thirty days, she began to make regular trips at dusk each day, looking for Thrasne’s signal fires. More and more often during these excursions, Neff appeared, though he never did when one of the old people accompanied her. At other times during the day she would find flowers strewn in her path, a necklace of bright petals strung on grass, bouquets of herbs smelling of damp woods or sunny meadows. She began to look forward to the evening walks, began to slip away early without inviting Joy or Bethne or Stodder to come along.

“Your man, he’ll be back for you,” said Joy.

“I know he will. He said it might take a long time.”

“Thought you might be worried. You’re spending so much time alone.” This with a sidelong, questioning look.

For several nights thereafter she invited the oldsters to come with her, paying particular attention to being chatty with them. Thereafter she included one or more of them every few days, merely to allay their concern, she told herself. No point in distressing them.

“Tell me about the baby,” said Neff. He would hold Lila for hours, fascinated by her leisurely, graceful movements. Pamra saw him trying to mimic them in dance, long, stretched extensions of wing and leg as though he would reach himself through into Lila’s timeless world and make himself a place there. Often he danced for Pamra, without music, humming to himself in a strangely moving, unmelodic way.