Under a Starless Sky novel Chapter 18

Shen walked the edge of the Sleeping Forest going towards his cave. He was considering testing whether or not his gift truly made him immune to the sleeper effect. There was his crude platform and ropes near the last Irk nest he had found. He would likely be safe to take a nap there. Tying himself to a tree limb in an emergency had always been a risky venture. He feared the rope would break, the limb would break, or the hook wouldn’t catch, or the length of rope would be insufficient, or he would accidentally hang himself, and or he wouldn’t be secure before the Irk hit a tree near enough to sleep him. Finding Irks first wasn’t too hard, as there were always tells, but also they always announced their presence prior to attacking. They preferred to shepherd prey into an opening, as opposed to chasing through the forest. Shepherding was collaborative affair.

His procedure to avoid sleep had been effective enough. In an emergency, emergency meaning the presence of an Irk, he climbed high enough not to be pecked to death then tossed a hook to the nearest branch. It was a very crude hook. The weight of the hook usually took it around the branch a couple times. If he saw it catch, he would mentally applaud himself, ‘batman!’ Several times he woke hanging from a tree, as the other end was secured around his torso. The first time he discovered his harness was secured improperly, and he woke ‘head down.’ He had a headache, but he was alive. It was night, the Irks’ had given up. He managed to right himself and climb the rope to the branch. He imagined himself a batman piñata.

He had yet to master climbing a rope as good as Cirque Du Soleil aerial performers, and he suspected their vertical ropes were much better qualities. There were some places he expected Irk traffic and had secured a dozen ropes, and a couple weight trapped ropes to ascend faster. After that incident, he avoided Irks and sleeping trees as much as possible, which was impossible near his cave home; he remained alert to the signs of Irks. Tells included fresh poop, footprints, odd chirps sounding the forest, and pitch. The chirps suggested they had ‘click sight,’ but he had not seen them navigating at night. When they announced their presence, there was always one who was chosen to scare the prey; this was usually the oldest one, but he still didn’t know how the one was selected. The scary one would come out of the shadows and screech, head feathers would fan out, flightless wings would extend. He called that the embrace; it could extend from tree to tree in the forest, blocking an out. Clearly, they were the top predators, not afraid, and so everything ran the opposite way of the one assigned to scare. If he stayed put, the scary one approached, and would likely eat whatever didn’t run.

Shen’s first Irk kill had been a clever device, and an overabundance of hubris. He knew the nest. He knew the clearing he would likely be shepherded to, and highly suspected the path the scary one would take. The Irk didn’t come from precisely the angel he had assumed, but close enough. It screeched. He held his held his ground. The Irk took steps towards him, and screeched again. It swayed to and fro, wings extended blocking the path. The dance to incite run was almost comical. It came forward, head tilting, uncertain, it clawed the ground, picking up leaves and dropping them. It could sleep him, and drag the meal, but they were lazy. It lowered its head and attacked. Shen directed its head into a noose, pulling a knot from the tree behind him. A bag of rocks came down. The Irk shot up into the tree.

Shen wasn’t clear if the other Irk’s understood, but after that, two other Irks came out of the shadow, coming at him hard and fast. He released the second tie, and he, too, shot up into the tree. An appropriately weight bag of rocks descended the tree, but lodge in a branch. He was out of their reach. He applauded himself for having assumed greater Irk intelligence, because the hanging Irk’s weighted net was on the ground. They attacked it. It was unclear if they were just mad and attacking the rope, maybe because it smelled like him, or because they intuited the thing. Ultimately they broke the rope. Their fellow Irk fell, crashing over top of one of them. The fallen Irk was dead, the other brushed off the fall, and they ate their dead sister. Others came to join. It was awkward for them eating in the enclosed place, and they fought each other. One of them jumped up but Shen was out of reach. Someone kicked a tree and he slept. On waking, they were gone. He recovered feathers, and enough meat for a couple days. This particular pack of Irks gave him a wider birth for a while. He wondered, short term memory was good, but long term not so good?

Nests didn’t last long, and the Irks tended to roam. One could also discern movement because of their poop trails. Dung beetles preferred the older, dried poop. If it weren’t for the balls being rolled with pitch, they might have given the trees the appearance being snow frosted at the base. One could make a reasonable estimate of area activity by the accumulation of fresh dung balls stuck to the trees. It had a particular odor as well. Fresh dung smelled awful. By the time the beetles were rolling it, it was more appealing, the kind of aged fruit smell, with a blend of tobacco. Dried and stuck to a tree, it was surprisingly sweet, and bees would walk it looking for pollen. If they got stuck in the pitch, they were eaten by larvae of a roamer beetle. Terry Pratchett would likely love how many beetles populated this planet.

In his walk, holding the gift, he came upon a tree with an above ground root complex which was easier to navigate walking the root. Some of the patterned opening were packed with ‘snow’ and pitch, handiwork of a beetle that got their ball stuck and simply filled in around it. A larger opening had a hole in the ground and the beetle that emerged would collect fallen leaves and draw it down into its nest. The purple tree was dropping its leaves, small petals, purple flowery things that fell so heavy it was like purple snow, and berries would drop. He found the berries unpalatable, but Irks would eat them, and so he tolerated them on occasion until once he ate too many and vomited. He never at that again. The flowery part reminded him of Cherry Blossoms. The tiny seeds made nice little pellets, and if he had a BB-gun, they would probably be just as affected, as they were nuts to crack. He suspected the Irks needed the seeds to help with digestion, as they also ate gravel.

He climbed over the root, touching a sleeper tree with his right hand as he began his passage over the root complex.

He was suddenly seeing out of someone else’s eyes. He heard laughter and talking, and he was pretty sure the voice was Lanore’s, only- it was qualitatively different. He understood immediately: this was how she heard her own voice. He was in her head! He was familiar with her outside voice, and if he played it on a tape recorder she would know it was hers and likely hate it, the same way he hated hearing his own voice. He wondered if actors hated hearing themselves when watching movies.

He backed off the tree. Lanore went away. He touched the tree. He could hear Lanore talking, but the vision was not so good. He stepped back up. Apparently, being off the earth, or full on the tree, made a difference. She was talking about Candace, moving up in rank. They had colored her hair orange.

“Did you ever wonder why they call it the rainbow path?” Tell asked.

“Not since I visited Sinter,” Lanore said. Shen’s vision split. To the right he had memories as clear as seeing a present day scene with his eyes, while, to his left he saw Tell and Neva, listening attentively. He smelled the fire, something cooking over the fire; a stew. He felt affection for her; at the same time, her felt her love for the forest in her memory. She was trying to convey love of the forest. He felt the warmth of fire on her back. He could see Lanore’s legs, lotus position, holding a board with art. He was embarrassed at feeling the stirrings of lust for her and nearly disconnected from the experience. They were all drawing- he focused on this. Sitting on pillows, near the hearth of her study. She described the rainbow path, a place were a variety of flowering trees, with every color one could imagine. The path was not a path. It was simply a forest of trees, and the apprentice found their own way through the forest. They had to collect colored petals. Intermixed in the forest was the occasional sleeper tree. They were marked. Some had elaborate ribbons, or stone plaques. Eventually one came to the thick of the Sleeping forest, which lined the shore of Sinter.