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Sweet blossom scents hung in the air
along with Caraff, and the chirping of the
birds filled what otherwise would have been
an aural void. A blanket of quiet fell upon
the group, but Soloman's inner storm still
raged. Caraff could feel the strong emotions spinning
within the alien. They reminded him
of the frequent whirlwinds during windstorm
season. No one could do anything except hide
and wait them out, but the plyths and kilps
never waited alone. They stayed in family
groups, or with friends, reassuring each other
that the environmental turmoil would soon be
over.
Caraff longed to reach out to the alien,
to reassure him in some way, but he had no
idea how. As he grappled with the problem,
their moment of quiet passed, done in by
Ellingsworth.
The plyth cleared his throat and asked,
"What is a 'warp'?"
The effect upon Soloman was profound.
Caraff felt it, the shock inside the alien,
but he didn't have to tell Ellingsworth.
The plyth could see it for himself, as Soloman snapped
to and turned to stare at him.
"Wherever did you hear that word?"
"You said it. Yesterday."
"I did?" He put a hand to his forehead
and groaned. "I did."
"What does it mean?"
"It means you have a very good memory."
"That is not what it means. It has
something to do with how I got here."
"And it also has something to do with
why you must go." His voice was steady,
controlled, unlike the churning inside him.
"But I cannot. Not without answers."
Ellingsworth got louder. "That is why I
came here."
The alien rose and pointed his flute
at the plyth. "I cannot help you," he
said. "This is out of my control. It would
only lead to trouble. You do not understand."
"Then tell me! Help me understand!"
After a beat, Soloman shoved the flute
back into his sash and turned away. "I
cannot." He left the rock and went into
his gardens.
When Ellingsworth could no longer see
him, he looked up at Caraff. "I will find
the answers myself," he decided.
Surprised, Caraff inquired, "How?"
"I do not know." That said, he went
the opposite way of Soloman, across the
pagoda bridge and into the gardens there.
His determination to learn something led him
about from mid-day until evening. He smelled
blossoms, tasted berries, tried a variety of
roots, and gazed up at fruit-laden branches of
alien trees too tall for him to reach. In all
this, however, he found little satisfaction.
He knew there had to be an answer to every
one of his questions, an explanation for
every mystery confronting him here in this fascinating
place. Yet, try as he might,
he couldn't discover enough clues to demystify
anything. Caraff joined him for a while on
the bridge, where the discouraged plyth sat
gazing at the stream. He would drop the tip
of his tail down into the water from time to
time, then pick it up and watch it drip.
Soloman was sitting on his rock, playing
his flute again as daylight dimmed, and Caraff
tried to explain to Ellingsworth what he knew.
"He is troubled."
"How can you tell?"
"It is different than with you, but I can tell."
The melody Soloman played was slow, low,
and sweeping.
Ellingsworth preferred to keep the subject
focused on his own misery. "Can you tell why
he will not answer my questions?"
"It has something to do with why he is troubled.
Ellingsworth, I have been looking
about--"
"So have I."
"No, not in this little forest, but in
the dens. There are others, not just the one
Soloman lives in."
"I know. I can see them." From the
pagoda bridge, a great bit of the caldera's
wall could be seen, with steps and caves
between climbing vines.
"But I went inside some of them,"
Caraff continued, floating closer to the
plyth, as if to punctuate. "They are much
the same as Soloman's. His people used to
live in them."
Ellingsworth's head snapped up. "What?"
"Other people like Soloman used to live
here."
"Where are they now?"
"They are gone." Caraff paused, as if
double-checking. "Definitely gone."
"Where did they go?"
"Ellingsworth, how would I know that?"
The plyth sighed and went back to staring
at the stream. "Well, I know he won't tell
me." Where, he wondered, could other people
like Soloman be hiding? Where, for that
matter, had Soloman come from? Had he always
lived here? Why had his people never been
noticed by the plyths, or, even more
astounding, by the kilps? The plyth moaned
under the burden of his lot, "I have more
questions now than ever."
"Come and get something to eat," Caraff
suggested. "It is almost night."
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