Earth's Song

By Dennis Fowler

“I’ve seen the shapes of endless space,
The boundless curves of midnight lace
That cradle stars in soft embrace,
That steer the spheres and set their pace.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684706952

Dennis Fowler

A freelance writer for over 40 years, I have written hard-core erotica, a gothic (The Ladies of Holderness, published by Berkley 1976), five romances (Jove 2nd Chance at Love books under the pen name Lauren Fox) numerous articles for computer publications and short fiction on the Internet under various pen names.

Book preview

peace.

CHAPTER 1

"I’ve seen the shapes of endless space,

The boundless curves of midnight lace

That cradle stars in soft embrace,

That steer the spheres and set their pace."

She was a chip in a maelstrom, swooping, soaring; an exhilarating, awe-filled flight; breathless, tingling; nothingness sensuously stroking flesh that was hers/not hers.

"I’ve danced the Milky Way’s bright path,

In time with Terpsichore’s math,

I’ve braved the comets’ baleful wrath,

Climbed the joyous spectral lath."

The lush music engulfed her, singing along her nerves, she resonated with the joyous anthem.

"Seen sands of Mars, and Saturn’s rings,

Stars to grace the crowns of kings,

Coronas, bright encirclings,

Shining, jeweled, stellar strings."

Faintly, discordant beneath the music, soft voices – mournful – desolate – despairing. Urgent.

"I’ve seen it all; the planets far,

The birth, and life, and death of stars,

I’ve browsed the lanes of the sky’s bazaar,

Raised my glass at heaven’s bar."

Voices, calling. Calling to her?… Calling for her?

"My bones are tired of endless trips,

My soul breathes now through weary lips.

So drink a toast with spectral sips,

As I this mortal coil let slip."

The Voices, louder, discordant, sour! Why couldn’t they sing happily? They should sing joyously!

"Glowing now upon my hearth,

The fading stars have lost their warmth.

I return to the world that gave me birth,

That cool blue gem, that place called Earth."

She tried to silence the voices, tried to add hers to the joyous chorus to drown out the discord! She tried drawing a breath, but there was no air.

She tried to scream, lungs burning, icy talons tearing at her throat … and awoke, panicked, gasping, sucking in air so frigid it seared her tongue.

Moaning softly, she sank back, fought to return to swaddling sleep, trying to recapture the music. Curling tighter in the pile of tattered blankets she breathed her own unwashed scent, mercifully warmer than beyond her covers. Too cold to shiver, she twitched, joints protesting, chilled to the core, bruised and sore from another icy night on a cold, hard floor.

Irritably, that cat curled against her belly stirred, squirming free, rejecting her warmth, flowing sinuously over her protective arm, tunneling from beneath the blankets. The movement and intrusion of icy air scattered the last fragments of sleep. She grabbed for the shreds of her dream, only to have them evaporate, vague memories slipping through her grasp like morning mist melting in the sun, leaving her with a only desperate longing for … for what?

She couldn’t remember, and the forgetting left her only more desolate.

The blissful oblivion of sleep gone, grumbling, she pushed herself up, wrapping herself in the blankets, arms clutching her shins, forehead braced on her knees, huddling against the frigid dawn.

Kapu curled to lick himself, the rocking of his haunch against her hip making her raise her head to look at him. As if commanded by some unseen stage manager, a shaft of sunlight, hot and white, pierced a gap in a boarded up window, spotlighting him, washing over the smooth, glistening satin sweep of the cat’s jet black fur.

Clever cat, Hale commented, her voice rusty, stroking his sleek head, the touch filling some hollow place in her. How swiftly the sun had warmed his pelt.

He purred, a smug, throaty rasp punctuated by his licking.

Then a sliver of sunlight caressed the back of her own neck with welcome warmth. Tugging off her thick knit cap, Hale bowed her head to savor it, still too cold and stiff to do more.

I’ll never be warm again, she mourned, picking through sleep muddled wits to figure the season. The day.

PreVernal; a season tantalizing and teasing, warm sunny days that faded into bitter, bone chilling nights, or worse.

SixthDay; Payday! A good day for busking. A busy street corner at midday, a feast tonight!

But a season to be careful. She picked at the peeling tip of her frostbitten nose, a painful reminder from scant days ago, when a lethal midday blizzard had crushed a temptingly sunny morning like this, burying the city in seconds.

She’d survived by blindly leaning into the snowy gale, finding a nearby doorway, crouching down, Kapu curled in her embrace. Swiftly smothered by an insulating blanket of snow they huddled, shivering, the wind howling through the streets like a pack of ravenous snarch seeking blood.

Somehow they’d survived. The next morning the fickle sun was once again blazing down, softening the snow to slush that bit her feet even through her boots. Kapu on her shoulder, she’d stumbled, tripping over the stiff corpse of someone who’d fallen and frozen to death only paces from Hale’s sheltering doorway.

Shaking the memory, warmed by hot, white sunlight, she shed her blankets layer by layer, carefully bundling and tying them to her pack.

Flinching from a motion in a dark corner, she realized it was her own reflection, her silver irises dilated with fear, her burnished platinum hair, bristling from the burst of adrenalin, a nova burst in the gloom.

For a moment she studied her likeness in the shard of broken mirror, a diminutive figure bundled in so many layers of ragged clothes as to be sexless, so slight she looked younger even than her seven H years – thirteen or fourteen Earth Standard years. As she watched her short hair slowly settled back on her scalp, forming a gleaming cap.

Freak! she thought, grimacing self-consciously, her steaming breath catching the light, a rising nimbus over her. Catching the hot sunlight it reminded her of the glow framing the angelic portrait of the Blessed Virgin that graced the wall of the orphanage’s cavernous sleeping hall.

Sacrilege! she thought sarcastically, a ghostly memory raking her flesh, her mental tone mimicking Sister Stephanie’s ugly nasal alto.

Shuddering, she straightened her legs, rubbing her scarred wrist. Seeking a distraction from ugly memories, her hunger and the lingering chill, she unpacked her guitar.

Hunching over, still stiff, she softly plucked the strings, tuning it, working the stiffness out of her knuckles before toying with the tune she’d heard the day before, humming softly, her usually sweet, pure soprano rusty at first, then warming and smoothing, cheering her. Fearful of being overheard, she tried singing softly, but her mind wandered, reaching out for memories that hung just out of reach, and she lost the tune in a jarring chord.

Impatiently shaking herself out of the disturbing reverie, she glanced around at the shelves of the long abandoned shop, bare of all but dirt and debris. The gloomy expanse of cold hard floor was strewn with shattered display cases and rubbish. Nearby, a corroded clothes rack leaned drunkenly. A tilted, battered, naked mannequin stared mournfully at the rack as if seeking clothes to cover its shame.

How long had it been since she’d eaten? Long enough to be beyond hunger. An ominous lassitude threatened. She had to eat if she was going to survive another frigid night. She summoned her reserves to move.

Against her hip Kapu suddenly twitched, snarling softly, hackles rising, his long tail flicking nervously. Fear goading her into action, Hale checked belongings already bundled, casing her guitar. What is it Kapu? she asked softly, quickly donning her dark glasses and cap.

With a soft hissing growl, the cat uncoiled, stood, black fur bristling, then flowed, merging with the shadows. Hale didn’t hesitate, gathering her few belongings, following him, trying to move as silently as he did.

A distant creak froze her and she listened intently. There were voices, grating footsteps. Someone invading her solitude? Who? She slipped toward the sounds, keeping to the darkest shadows, trusting her mental map, wary of jostling anything that would betray her.

Here?

Her blood ran cold.

"Ae, Barry! someone answered softly. I seen her come in here, nehinei, late, dusk."

Barry cursed. Yesterday! She’s probably gone by now!

I din’t see her leave!

Spread out, Barry ordered softly.

Four days ago, a single, passing encounter, cold, pale eyes crawling through her like slither grubs, seeking out all her secrets.

Barry the Hammer; he used his namesake tool to extract tithes from the dealers, beggars, pimps and whores on his turf. Refusing him meant crippled hands, or worse.

Feet scuffled on the ‘crete floor. Hand lights flickered, doused as the gang boss cursed their stupidity. Someone kicked something toward her. Rattling out of the darkness, a head came to rest in front of her, accusing blue eyes glaring up at her. She bit back a scream. It was only a mannequin’s head, but something about the sight made her skin crawl and her empty stomach clench.

Shoving pack and guitar under a counter she swiftly slithered after them. Feet came down the aisle, inches from her face, kicked the mannequin’s head away into the darkness.

She flogged her panicky mind into action.

In the dark, Kapu could evade mere humans easily, but not she. She brought up a mental map of the store’s aisles and racks, desperately plotting an escape route through the littered maze.

By the sound of it, Barry himself guarded the door where she’d left her staff.

She cursed herself for being so stupid.

She needed a distraction.

A shout made her twitch. Oi! A cat!

That’s hers, Barry called, She’s got to be here!

A light flickered. There!

"Kulikuli! No lights, idiot! Listen for her!" The direction of Barry’s voice shifted – he was moving.

Not for the first time, Hale wondered if Kapu read her mind. Grabbing pack and guitar, she squirmed from beneath the counter, moving like a whisper toward the door.

A few precious meters from bright sunlight she hesitated, heart in her throat. A motion in the shadows. Kapu strutted boldly out of the shadows into the sun and Hale followed, snatching her staff on the way.

Cold air bit her frost burned nose. Spurred by a shout she broke into a run, crossing the alley, dodging around the stripped and gutted carcass of a ground car. She pitched her pack and staff through a basement window, Kapu following. Carefully lowering her guitar after him, she dove through head first, rolling quickly to her feet, snatching up her staff, Kapu leaping to his place on her shoulder.

Across the way Barry appeared, sweeping the alley with cold blue eyes all the more striking because of his coppery Poly complexion. A gleaming hammer dangled from his belt.

Cursing, he struck out to his left, donning his dark glasses, his minions tumbling out the door after him. Somewhere down the alley a whistle shrilled and the gang scattered, vanishing. Hale flinched back as hard boots pounded past her basement hideaway, more whistles sounding in the distance.

Peacekeepers! Barry and his friends may have been getting too bold with their extortion, their trade in drugs and sex, triggering one of the headknockers’ periodic sweeps to round up what the newsies called street scum.

Either way, it was time to go. The peacekeepers meant a return to the orphanage, the workhouse, or worse. They had their own uses for the pretty, the young, or the exotic.

If she was caught by Barry?

Better not to think of that! Better the caves, thank you! Picking up her guitar, dragging the pack, she crept through the cellar, grateful for the fading Everglows that still discouraged slithers. The stink of the charred building was sour in the back of her throat. On her shoulder, Kapu tensed at rustlings from the dark corners, his claws biting into her.

Not now, Kapu.

Reaching a panel pried loose for just this need, she sent Kapu ahead into the darkness, following him with her staff, pack and guitar. She then slipped into the dark grotto herself, senses keyed high, and pulled the panel back into place behind her.

Kapu crouched, testing the air, the gloom broken by distant pools of light from storm drains. Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness she bound the guitar to the pack, extracting a dying Everglow pried from a basement wall as she did, shrugged her arms into the pack’s straps, heaving and wriggling to get it balanced. Finally she gathered up her staff and pitiful light, forced into an awkward half-crouch by the low ceiling.

Her Everglow was not living up to its name. She shook it and it flared slightly brighter, only to fade out completely. Exasperated, she threw it aside, left only with occasional grates providing welcome oases of light, grateful her strange eyes worked well in the near blackness.

The caves honeycombed the plateau. Some in the uppermost level had been converted into cellars like the one she’d just left, most were used merely as drains and sewers. In the Home she’d shuddered to the lurid, whispered stories of doomed souls wandering alone in the dark, lost forever in the endless maze, dead of starvation, drowning, entombed or crushed by cave-ins, eaten alive by slithers.

Despite legends of vast treasures hidden in their depths there was enough truth to the stories to guarantee the caves were avoided by all but the mad or the desperate.

And which category do I fit into? she mused wryly, warily probing the floor ahead with her staff.

Kapu ranged ahead, a darker shadow in the musty gloom. She stepped cautiously, her staff steadying her on the uneven floor. Down here a twisted ankle could be fatal.

Kapu’s hunting snarl froze her in her tracks. It was answered by a feral hiss that set her scalp prickling. More snarls and a shriek, then an aching silence broken at last by Kapu’s soft growl of triumph. Moving warily, she found him standing over a slither’s carcass. As she watched, the meter long body convulsed, spewing a half dozen squirming embryonic young from the end of its long, naked tail. Reflexively, her gorge rising, she mashed them into slimy smears with the butt of her staff, then carefully sluiced the gore off in a nearby trickle of icy water.

After a brief lick to clean and smooth his ruffled fur, Kapu abandoned his kill to move onward. He preferred rats to native prey, especially slithers.

Giving the twitching carcass a wide berth, Hale still had to jump aside when the dead beast struck at her, venom loaded fangs barely missing her calf, its primitive reflexes reacting to her body heat.

She trusted Kapu with her life. The first time she’d ignored his warning she’d stumbled over a bloated human body. It had convulsed, perhaps still half alive, young slithers bursting from its distended belly in a gush of foulness, sending her fleeing in panic, blundering blindly into a cul de sack before she regained her senses.

Another time, exasperated at being blocked by the cat, she’d stamped forward and the seemingly solid floor had crumbled beneath her foot, tumbling into a swirling maelstrom. For a perilous moment she’d teetered on the brink of the torrent. If she’d emerged at all it would have been a thousand klicks to the east, gushing from one of the waterfalls, to fall a thousand meters into the sea battering the cliffs.

After that she never ignored his warnings, grateful for what seemed an uneven partnership. Without him she wouldn’t have survived. All she offered in return was companionship, body heat, and an occasional special treat like a bit of meat or some sim-milk from a carelessly discarded container. These Kapu accepted with grave dignity, though they both knew he provided well for himself.

Pausing to rest and sip from her water bottle, Hale pondered the urge that dragged her ever westward. Years before, driven by a dare, she’d climbed steps and ladders in the cathedral’s bell tower. From there, the highest point in DarwinCity, she’d seen what lay that way. Far in the distance, crouched like a huge beast on the horizon, were the dark contours of forest cloaked mountains, the taller peaks snow-capped even during the height of summer.

Years before, somewhere up there she’d been told, she’d been found, a thousand klicks from the nearest habitation, wandering the lonely, crumbling highway.

What was it that called her there?

Irritably shrugging off the mystery, she continued her wary trek through the tunnels. West was as good a direction as any, as long as it led away from the Cathedral, the church that rejected her, and its grim orphanage.

Hours later, legs aching, back spasming from her half crouch, she began looking for an outlet. Her nose was running from the relentless, damp chill. Her neck ached as she probed the sealed openings into building basements and storage places, praying for a relatively safe refuge.

She was getting discouraged when a plank finally yielded with a soft groan.

Leaving her things behind, sniffling softly, she crawled wearily after Kapu into a cellar lighted by the bilious, ever-glowing slither lamps. Stifling a groan, she straightened up. The trek through the caves had done nothing to warm or loosen her aching joints, or fill her belly.

Neatly stored brew kegs and condiments and appetizing aromas suggested a restaurant or tavern overhead. Traffic down here was probably high, making it a risky refuge.

Moving quietly, she shifted a crate to stand on to look out the basement window, polishing the grimy glass with her sleeve so she could see. The sun was low in the west, slanting into the street. Bright trim on the buildings did little to relieve their boxy monotony. Two stories tall, shops on the lower level, apartments above, they were the drab, utilitarian structures thrown up in the early colonial years. Bare window boxes awaiting spring only accentuated the utilitarian architecture.

But, rather than a wasteland of abandoned shops and apartments, most of the buildings looked occupied, and tidy. This neighborhood clung to a prosperity lacking in her past haunts.

If she ventured out on these streets the headknockers would be on her like snarch on a wounded smoose.

She was dismally contemplating a cold, hungry, dangerous, probably sleepless night back in the tunnels when a rattling at the door at the top of the steps sent her scuttling for cover beneath the stairs. An overhead light went on, and the steps groaned. Holding her breath, Hale huddled in the shadows as feet descending past her face.

CHAPTER 2

Well, hello, cat! It was a woman’s voice, a rich, warm and fruity alto. And glad to see you, too, am I!

Hale tried to make herself even smaller, watching as Kapu treacherously stroked himself against the woman’s leg, his tail high, purring.

Great! This time instead of avoiding someone you decide to make nice, she thought at him, shifting nervously, her boot making a scraping noise.

All right, come on out, whoever you are, the woman ordered firmly. But I warn you, I got a roomful of Peacekeepers upstairs, so forget the rough stuff.

After a moment of indecision, Hale crept out, deliberately trying to look harmless and even younger and smaller than she was.

Why, you’re nothing but a little sprout!

Hale ventured a look. The voice belonged to a large, a very large woman. The strings of the apron she wore strained to reach around her girth, cinching in a billowing, flowered dress the size of a tent. The tight, silvery curls of her hair, almost brushing the ceiling, contrasted sharply with the coppery skin of her moon shaped face. And who might you be? And how did you come by a real, live cat?

Please, ma’am, I’ll leave, Hale offered. And I’ll take Kapu, though he’s not really mine.

The woman waved a big, ring be-decked hand dismissively, bracelets rattling and clinking on her wrist. Earth cats don’t belong to anyone. Kapu? ‘Taboo,’ in the old tongue? Fitting name for a black cat. The woman looked kindly on the feline. And you? The look Hale got was more suspicious.

I’m Hale, she answered, pronouncing it Hah-lay. Well, I mean, that’s what I call myself, she admitted.

Well, then, I’d say that was your name.

Hale bobbed her head, relieved that the woman didn’t press her. She’d left Hoa Hele behind at the Home, along with too many bad memories.

So, how did you come to my cellar? And I’m Mrs. Jake, by the way, and the establishment upstairs is Jake’s Place.

Hale gestured in the direction of the tunnel, the board still ajar.

Mrs. Jake looked surprised. I thought I’d gone soft headed and left the window unlatched! You survived the caves?!

Kapu protects me, Hale asserted stoutly.

I’ll bet he does, Mrs. Jake agreed, watching the cat prowl the basement. Then she spied the hand carved flute that dangled from Hale’s belt. A busker, are you?

Hale nodded. I play my whistle, and sing and play the guitar. For food and shelter? she hinted.

I’ve got a singer, Mrs. Jake noted, tipping her head back slightly, her eyes half slitted as she gazed down at Hale, who squirmed under the scrutiny. Hungry?

Hale scuffled her feet. Yes’m, I am, she admitted. But I was just looking for a safe place for the night. I’m not a beggar or thief. I’ll work for scraps and a place to unroll my bedding.

The big woman thought for a moment. If you’re willing to wash dishes I’ll feed you and give you a place to doss down for the night.

Oh, yes, Hale agreed quickly, washed with relief. And I can help with cooking, peeling veggies and the like.

Mrs. Jake nodded crisply, her full, round cheeks bobbing. Where’s your bindle?

Right here. Hale dove for the tunnel entrance, wriggling far enough through to reach her things. She backed through, dragging them with her, trying not to bump the guitar case.

Kapu! Mrs. Jake announced to the cat again stroking her stocky calves below the billowing hem of her mu mu. Are you a good ratter?

Kapu blinked his golden eyes up at her and meowed affirmatively.

Then as an advance against your efforts, perhaps a saucer of milk would be appreciated? the woman suggested.

Please, Ma’am …. uh … Mrs. Jake. He’s a very good ratter, and he would like that! If you could spare it, that is, Hale ventured, scrambling to her feet and dusting herself off, embarrassed at being so shabby and grubby.

I offered, didn’t I? Mrs. Jake turned toward the stairs, the hem of her dress billowing. She led the way upwards at a brisk pace, lighter on her surprisingly dainty feet than her size would suggest.

As she followed Mrs. Jake out into the kitchen, warm, savory smells engulfed Hale, making her mouth water, her stomach roil, and her knees go weak.

Henry! Look what I found in the cellar!

The lanky black man presiding over the stove managed a welcoming nod that made his tall chef’s hat flop around before turning back to his pots and pans. Another victim, he commented cryptically, poking at something with an unhappy shake of his head, as if the contents of the pot were just another in a long string of disappointments.

Oh, pshaw! I forgot what I went down there for! Put your things here for now, Mrs. Jake directed, indicating a nook beside the cooler as she got out some milk and poured a generous amount in a saucer. Take this down for Kapu. She frowned at the cat who had followed them upstairs and was eagerly testing the air’s rich scents.

Afraid the woman would take offense at the cat invading the kitchen, Hale scooped him up to her shoulder and gave him a reassuring stroke.

Then bring me up one of those big jars of sweetener from the shelves on the back wall. Can you read?

Yes’m, Hale agreed, resenting the implied insult.

After you’ve done that you’ll need to clean up … can’t work in a kitchen like that!

No’m, Hale agreed, not sure whether to stay or hurry on her errands.

Well, go on, child, Kapu can sup downstairs. Best he stays out from underfoot during the rush, Mrs. Jake ordered, bustling around the kitchen. Oh, and push the boards back over the tunnel, and hurry back. Evening rush will be setting in and we’ve got to get you cleaned up.

Yes’m, Hale agreed. She hurried down the steps, balancing the saucer of milk carefully to avoid spilling, Kapu dancing on her shoulder, purring lustily at the scent, his claws pricking her. He jumped down as she set saucer on the ‘crete floor. She paused a moment to stroke him as he sniffed the offering warily before lapping at it eagerly.

Now you do a good job, Kapu, she suggested softly, the simple hope of a warm meal enough to overwhelm her usual restlessness. I’ll wash dishes and maybe, if we make ourselves useful, we can stay here, for a while, at least.

Kapu chirped his purr-meow at her, licking his chops before returning to drink noisily.

Well, yes, she seems nice, Hale agreed, carefully shoving the boards back in place and bracing a crate against them to seal the tunnel. Mercifully, slithers and other cave dwellers avoided lighted basements, but it was wise not to give them an opening. We’ll just have to see. It will be nice to have someone to talk to. I was lonely, not that you weren’t good company.

Hale? Mrs. Jake’s call from upstairs spurred her into action.

Coming, ma’am, she assured her, quickly finding the sweetener she’d been sent for and hurrying back up the steps, carefully turning off the