“Pass bar to the right,” cried Mouche.
“So, go to right,” murmured the Corojum.
Nothing more was said until they had passed the pillar on the right, at which point the Timmys burst into song once more.
“Bofusdiaga! Embai t’im umd’dol/zan’ahsal diza didom … “
Again the Corojum translated. “ … Bofusdiaga! From deep dark strong one flings/fiery loops that make a snare … “
“Next sign is a loop,” said the Corojum. “Like a noose.”
They passed pillars that bore other signs, wave forms, squares, triangles, four yellow circles with green dots in the center. “The Eiger,” said the Corojum, pointing this one out to them. “Four eyes, the Eiger, but that is someone else’s voyage.”
Finally, the loop came into view, a sign like a hangman’s noose. As they passed it, the Timmys sang sadly:
“ … ersh tim’ elol lai … “
“For weaker one’s bright wings,” said Corojum.
“So the last sign for that verse will be wings again, right?” asked Mouche. “With an egg, to show it’s what you call the weaker one.”
“Correct,” said the Corojum, hugging Mouche’s leg. “You learn quickly.”
“Why am I hungry?” asked Mouche.
“Because it is half a day since we had food,” answered the Corojum. “Next pillar we will stop. Six verses to the song, each at least half a day’s sail, even in the old days, when there were many to set the sails and sing the song, time was the same.”
“How far … “ Mouche started to ask.
“Hush,” said Ornery, grinning. “It’s as far as it takes.”
“I merely wondered,” Mouche said between his teeth, “whether we might not be traveling around and around in here, like in a maze, before we get out. How do we know this is the most direct route?”
“Oh, it is not,” cried the Corojum. “No, no. Why would anyone come to sea of Kaorugi to take direct route? Dance voyages are for thinking, for planning, for learning. During voyage, we recalled the reason for dance. Also on this voyage, when there were many Corojumi, we talked of dance, remembering it in all its details. We decided who would dance which part, and who would make singing and music and when it would start. We spoke of moons and their power, and when that power approached at last, we were ready to go down into chasm, where dance must be done.”
They went wordlessly on, until the next pillar was reached, at which point they lowered the sails, and lay rocking slowly to and fro while the Timmys brought them large, shiny leaves spread with an assortment of fruits and breads, traditional, so said the Corojum, to this voyage alone.
The Questioner left the railing, found what looked to be a hatch cover, and sat down upon it.
“Come,” she said to the Corojum. “I have withheld my own questions, we all have. But now, while we have our lunch, surely questions can be asked and answered. The dance must be done, you say, but you are the only one left, and you do not remember the dance.”
“Only a tiny piece,” said Corojum sadly. “I remember the Timmys assembling. I remember a tiny, early part of the dance, and then standing upon the rim of the abyss singing. Some Timmys remember some, some Joggiwagga, some others. And Bofusdiaga remembers only the song, for Bofusdiaga left it all to us!”
“Then let us start with what we have,” said Questioner, beckoning Mouche and Ornery to sit beside her. “Now. Tell us about the dance.”
The Corojum said, “The dance. So, long ago the Quaggima was caught, you know, the song says.”
“I saw her,” said Questioner. “Lying on an outer planet. I thought she was dead.”
“Not dead.” The Corojumi shook his head sadly. “Not dead, but very … wounded. Maimed? These Quaggida, when they mate, they lure weaker-one with their song, they capture them, but while mating, they almost kill weaker-ones. That one is left on the far-off mating place, all alone, while the egg grows inside.
“Then, when the egg has grown too big for Quaggima to keep it warm, Quaggima searches for womb fires. A warm place, you know? It is instinct. No one taught Quaggima, Quaggima merely knows. So, here in this world, closer to sun, were womb fires. Timmys, sing verse of falling!”