Peter Hamilton - The Evolutionary Void

Their voices broke into a ragged chorus of joyful undulations as they rode around her. The earth trembled with the impact of the beasts’ feet cantering about. One of the Silfen, wearing a scarlet mesh waistcoat, halted his mount beside her and bent down, offering his arm. Without hesitation Araminta reached up.

He was incredibly strong. She was lifted up and over into the big saddle in front of him. One arm stayed protectively around her. She glanced down to see his four-fingered hand resting against her abdomen. He flung his head back and emitted a piercing warble. The beast lurched forward with such abruptness that she laughed at the sheer outrage of it. Then they were thundering onward into the trees ahead.

It was a bizarre and wonderous ride. The size of the beast meant that every movement seemed ponderous, yet it was fast. When her senses calmed down, she noticed that it had a hide of reddish-brown fur that was thick like knotted lamb’s wool. There were six fat legs, which meant every motion of its gait was exaggerated, swaying her back and forth.

The rest of the riding company spread out behind her, still singing among themselves as they rushed forward in what was close to a stampede. They splashed through rivers and charged up slopes without slowing. It was a wild exhilarating ride, and she clung on for the duration, laughing away at the experience.

Eventually they came out of the woods close to a vast loch. Tendrils of mist rose above the calm surface. Small conical islands were mirrored on the silverish shimmer, with skinny trees clinging to their wrinkled mossy sides. A little way around the shoreline, a waterfall gushed in from an overhanging crag. The scene was quiet perfection, making her glad simply to know such a place existed.

But right in front of her, on the sprawling grassy bank, the Silfen camp awaited. There were thousands of the strange aliens, along with a dozen types of exotic riding beasts. Tents of glowing fabric were pitched everywhere. As she watched, one rose up: seven individual sheets of fabric, each one a primary color, growing higher and higher until they were twenty feet above the ground, where they curled over to knot themselves together with a looping bow. The edges of the sheets fused together, and there it hung, suspended on nothing, like a solidified rainbow. Between the tents, fires were burning, and rugs had been spread out in readiness for what looked like the galaxy’s biggest picnic. Silfen unpacked vast silver and gold platters of food from huge baskets slung over various animals. The food looked fabulous, as did the crystal bottles filled with liquid of every possible color. A great many Silfen were already dancing around the fires, voices raised to chant at their own tempo. Their limbs might have been long and spindly to her eyes, but they were certainly agile and most likely double-jointed. Half the energetic moves would have been impossible for a human.

It was a shame, she thought as the Silfen on whose mount she’d ridden proffered his arm again to get her down. She would have liked to join in. As her feet touched the ground, the aliens surged toward her, and she started back. Peals of laughter shivered through the air. Not mocking: sympathetic, encouraging. Welcoming.

Araminta gave them all a nervous bow. They returned the formality en masse, the action spreading out like a ripple. Of course, with their flexibility and grace it was a lot more elegant than hers.

Two of them stepped forward, their circular mouths open in what she thought was a smile, though all they were doing was showing an awful lot of those off-putting spiky teeth. They were female, though it was hard to tell. All the Silfen had thick long hair that was adorned with beads and jewelry. Lengthy braids swirled as the womenfolk held out their arms to her. She allowed herself to be led forward. Their minds shone with warmth and kindness, so much so that it was impossible not to experience the same emotions. Food was offered, intricate crumbling cakes wrapped in verdant leaves. She nibbled away, and the crumbs fizzled as they went down her throat. “Oh, gosh!”

The Silfen laughed at her enjoyment. A crystal bottle was tendered, and she drank deeply. Definitely alcoholic and then some. More food: perfectly sculpted pastries and confectionaries dripping with honeys and juices that tasted as good as they looked.

Somewhere a group was trilling a fast tune. Araminta started to sway to the beat. One of her women hosts took her hand and danced with her. Then she was lost amid dazzlingly colorful alien bodies, all swirling and whizzing about her.

More food, snatched from group after group. Drink. Plenty of that. It was intoxicating but never enough to blur her senses; instead, it intensified the whole wondrous festival. Dance followed dance with dozens of Silfen until she was giddy with joy and every muscle was shaking with exhaustion.

She knew that this was all crazy, that she should be getting to some Commonwealth world to do what she could with her unwelcome heritage. Yet somehow she knew this was also the right thing to be doing. Her body and mind needed the blissful suspension of the festival to recover and calm from the events of the past few days. They were helping her, these Silfen, showing in their own bizarre fashion that she wasn’t alone, reinforcing the communion she had with their precious Motherholme.

“I have to sit down,” she told them after some indeterminable length of time. They didn’t speak any human language, she knew, nor had they ever shown any interest in anything other than their own peculiar tongue, with all its cooing and warbling and trills that conveyed only the shallowest meaning. Commonwealth cultural experts assigned to the world-walking aliens found it hard to follow their whimsy. Allegedly it indicated a neural process completely different from that of blunt human rationality.

Nonetheless, her hosts knew what she asked and guided her into one of the rainbow tents, where there was a nest of cushions. Araminta flopped down on them in relief as six or seven Silfen gathered around to attend her. Such pampering was luxurious, and she surrendered to it without protest. Her boots were removed, producing a sympathetic chorus of nearly human cooing when they saw the artificial skin sprayed on her feet. Strong fingers massaged her shoulders and back. They didn’t have the same physiology, but they were plainly expert in human bone and muscle structure. She groaned in relief as the tensions were soothed out of her flesh. Outside, the festival continued unabated, for which she was glad. One of the female Silfen presented her with a bottle carved from a golden crystal. Araminta drank. It was almost like water, chilly and full of bubbles, and certainly refreshing. Two more Silfen were waiting with platters of that delicious food.

“The clubs back in Colwyn were never like this,” she said with a contented sigh.

“They’re most certainly not,” someone said in heavily accented English.

Araminta jumped with shock, then rolled over to see who’d spoken. The three benevolent masseurs withdrew their ministrations, kneeling patiently in a circle around her.

A Silfen with leathery wings was standing in the tent. He had a dark scaly tail as well, which slithered about as though agitated. His appearance sparked a frisson of concern in Araminta’s mind. This shape was also contained in human legend, but not a good one.

“Who are you?” she blurted. “And why have you got a German accent?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” another Silfen said, “and completely misunderstands our psychology.”

Araminta jumped again, feeling foolish. A second winged Silfen was staring down at her. He wore a copper toga robe held in by an ebony belt. His hair was auburn, with grayish strands creeping in around the temples. His tail was held still, curving up so it didn’t touch the ground.