Lawrence Schoen - Barsk - The Elephants' Graveyard

“Maybe I scared some maturity into you. I confess, I was angry for days. But you actually did me a favor. I caught a boat headed to Zlorka and threw myself into my studies. I wouldn’t have had the career I did if you hadn’t broken my heart. But it’s all crumbled leaves, eh? It’s good to see a familiar face here. Not that any of us expected to see another soul.”

“What is this place, Phas? How long have you been here?”

“Time makes little sense anymore. The day goes on and on. The night comes and goes in less time than a midday nap requires. The company is depressing and the food’s terrible. And the outsiders, they’re the worst. The Feln aren’t so bad, they look down on everyone, but the Ailuros are indifferent and the Taxi are flat cruel. Not that any of it matters to most of these Fant, they’re so wrapped up in their own heads about having set off to die that not much gets to them.”

“And what makes you so different?”

Phas laughed. “A lifetime spent with the dead. I was a historian, and all of this feels like just another story to me, the only difference being I’ve been cast in the events this time around.”

Before Rüsul could respond, the young Lox from the ship approached the older pair of Elephs, trunk down and ears still, like a reluctant child presenting himself after having shattered some bit of crockery in an ill-conceived game that should never have been played indoors.

“Excuse me, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I thought I recognized your voice and I heard you say you were a historian, yes?”

Phas stumbled back, clearly startled by the presence of the young man even as her gaze locked onto his tattooed forehead. Rüsul saw recognition flash into his former lover’s eyes.

“Jorl ben Tral! What in the world are you doing here?”

The Lox shrugged and relaxed as he came closer. “In a way, I’m here because I went looking to ask you about a text, only you’d sailed off a season earlier. I tried to Speak to you, and couldn’t. And that put me in mind of Margda’s prophecy about the Silence and—”

Nodding her head and fanning her ears, Phas interrupted. “And you’re the newest Aleph, of course.” She swept her trunk toward Rüsul. “Allow me to perform some introductions. Rüsul, may I present my colleague, Jorl ben Tral. And Jorl, this is Rüsul ben Shel, the boy that got away and whom I blame for a life spent in academia.”

Rüsul opened his mouth to speak then stopped.

Jorl nodded and sighed. “I’m sorry. My mark notwithstanding, it’s fine if you’re not comfortable talking to me.”

“It’s not that,” said Rüsul, eyes focused over Jorl’s shoulder. “I was just distracted by that person rushing toward us.”

Jorl turned around to see, recognizing the woman who sped up as she now clearly recognized him as well.

“I might have known! Jorl ben Tral! No surprise to see you showing up when there’s oddness. You oaf, what did you do this time?”

Phas’s head spun as she stared first at the swiftly approaching Lox and then to Jorl. “This is your doing?”

“No, of course not,” said Jorl.

“You said he was a colleague. I thought you meant a fellow historian, not that he also had a history of erratic behaviors,” said Rüsul.

“What are you implying?” Phas’s trunk coiled defensively. “Erratic? I was scorned, and I—”

“Oh my,” said Jorl. “Kembü?”

“Kembü?” repeated Rüsul and Phas together.

“The mother of my best friend. He and I, uh, used to get into a lot of trouble.”

“Hrumph!” said Kembü, as she stopped her charge just short of knocking Jorl over. “My boy got into trouble. You, on the other hand, sowed chaos with your every breath. I swear, they gave you that mark for being contrary, if for anything at all. Now tell me what you did to cause all of this!” She threw out an arm, encompassing the entire yard.

“Honestly, none of this is my doing. I doubt I know more of what’s going on than any of you.”

“I don’t think that’s quite true,” said Phas. “The ship that abducted each of us, it’s a Patrol vessel, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you served in the Patrol. And then there’s the matter of Margda’s prophecy of the Silence.”

“Yes, but I—”

“Relax, Jorl, I’m not accusing you of anything, but we both have studied too much history to ignore coincidence. Come on. There’s some folk I want you to meet. They’re not so deep being dead as most of the others here. I suspect you’ve a story to tell, and I want them to hear it. Rüsul, and uh, Kembü, you’re welcome to come, too.”

Rüsul shrugged. “I’ve only got one other place to be, same as the rest of you, and I don’t imagine this will slow that trip one way or the other. Let’s go.”

They made their way a short distance to a corner where two of the barracks halls met. Three other Fant, a woman and two men, sat on shallow cots, heads bowed in quiet conversation. Phas trumpeted at them as she approached, causing all three to lift their heads.

“Seems my day to be doing introductions. The lady is Mlarma, the fellow on the left is Tarva and the other is Abso. This handsome devil here is Rüsul, whom I haven’t seen since the world was young, and this woman is Kembü, whom I’ve only just met. The youngster, who is being ignored or shunned by all the right-thinking Fant in the yard is Jorl, a former colleague.”

“You’re not Dying,” said Abso. He sat shoulder to shoulder with the other man, trunks lightly entwined. “Everyone else here was picked up on their last journey. How did the Dogs grab you?”

Phas had vanished into a barracks while Abso spoke and reappeared now dragging a pair of cots. Rüsul set them up for himself and Kembü and Phas went back for more.

Jorl captured his attention as he explained about how he had set out for the final island. He elaborated on the prophecy that Phas had mentioned, backtracked to explain how he’d acquired his mark of passage. Rüsul almost lost the thread of the story as the youngster rambled on about serving in the Patrol, but eventually he tied it all together and brought it through to the present moment.

Mlarma nodded and said, “Phas has been telling us tales out of Barsk’s past and earlier before the Fant were brought all together. It seems to me, that the most unlikely events almost have to happen, or life would just be dull and no one would write anything down. Your experiences are no more bizarre than these two.” She jerked her trunk at the two men who responded by smiling at her.

“Forty and some odd years ago, I was a poet,” said Abso. “I wandered over half of the islands of both archipelagos, finding inspiration in the strangest of places and never dreaming I might stop and settle down. Then I met this one and realized I’d found the muse I hadn’t known I’d been seeking.”

Tarva blushed and picked up the tale. “I taught math,” he said. “Not the most popular of fields, nor the easiest. But it suited me. I’d also wandered, even more than him. There was always something in me that would not let me stay still. But I managed, for a time, after meeting Abso. It was wondrous, but after three seasons together I just couldn’t stay. You know how the wanderlust gets for some? And yet, in all the rest of my life’s wandering, I never met another person who spoke words to rival the beauty of mathematics.”

“Nor I, anyone who let me see things in such miraculous ways.”

Phas made a rude noise with her trunk and everyone started. “So here we sit, two hundred-some Dying Fant, and these two act like it’s some deliberate act of the universe set in motion for no better reason than to bring them back together again. I’ve known other poets and fictionists with big egos, but who knew mathematicians thought so highly of themselves?”