CLOUDSCAPE
Kerry Lindemann-Schaefer
R'hyledd drifted in the breeze, fully unfolded and nearly transparent. While skimming above the cloudfields, dropping down occasionally to absorb a choicer fleck of moisture-coated dust, he watched the roiling top of a fresh bulge of greenish cloud as it poked its way ominously through the opaque gray haze below. Such an upwelling could mean danger, storms brewing in the lower levels. And sometimes darters hid in such places, their denser bodies less likely to be damaged by the turbulence. A darter could be a threat, even to a full grown adult like R'hyledd.
Thinking with resigned irony that the best grazing always seemed to be in the most dangerous spots, R'hyledd settled down on the ridge of atmospheric density defining the top of the misty blue-gray cloud pasture.
Trying to judge how much flexibility remained in his aging body, he stretched. Yes, with a little more moisture to act as ballast, it might be possible to swoop down again, joyously cleaving through the rich atmosphere of the lower clouds to return coated with nutritious particles of all kinds. The youngsters would flock around him then, anxious to partake of the harvest brought up by their elder. Their approval would be warm and pleasant to feel, and their bodies, fragile almost to the point of invisibility, would sparkle brightly against his as they fed.
For just a little longer, R'hyledd might be able to believe there was still something to look forward to in life.
Foolish, foolish, he told himself sternly. Attempt to dive again, and you may well have no more life to look forward to. Do not invite your death before its time.
A long ripple of resignation fluttered through his outstretched drifting veils. Wiser by far to dismiss all thoughts of diving again. Oh yes, far wiser.
Better to cling to what remained of life. Let some other more robust adult feed the young. The segments he had ruptured in his last dive had only now healed and begun to function properly. He chided himself yet again for having taken such a chance.
Keeping at a safe distance from the bulging green cloudtop, R'hyledd fed swiftly, not so much hungry as thirsty for the moisture condensed around the individual solid particles. The blue-gray cloudfield stretched endlessly around him in all directions, here and there rising in contorted configurations that slowly changed their shape as pressures and densities shifted in the turbulent atmosphere.
This was the world R'hyledd had known all his life, ever changing and yet ever the same. Dimly he remembered how exciting it had seemed, with new possibilities to be found in each cloud, new tastes and textures. He tried to recapture the sense of freshness and beauty he had felt so long ago, his first impressions as a truly self-conscious adult after combination, just emerging from the group consciousness of the young-flock. So marvelous it had been then!
A tiny tremor ran through his extended veils. Life no longer seemed so new, and yet it was precious still.
R'hyledd let himself drift closer to the greenish cloud. Grazing was good here. He swooped through the sweet-tasting mists, keeping several eyes trained on the threatening upwelling as he fed. When he finally noticed the sparkles of a young-flock in the distance, he knew it was too late to avoid them.
Well then, let them come. He would refuse to hear their pleas. He had his own life to consider.
Feeding voraciously on the thin dust, the young-flock flitted quickly, jerkily, amongst the blue-gray clouds. They were hungry, very hungry, their fragile bodies thin and brittle with near starvation. They were conscious of nothing save their frantic search for food, their sense of group desperation. They had found no adult to feed them for a long time.
They saw R'hyledd, and knew fresh hope. They had not enough awareness to realize he was old; they merely knew he was a large one. He could dive, and bring them the food they needed. No other consideration mattered to the group mind.
Sparkling with anticipation, they flitted toward him.
Inside the swirling turbulence of the green upwelling, the darter waited, its body drawn together to protect itself from the currents, watching, gloating. Its prey was almost near enough to attack, but the adult was too close. The adult might lure them away. It would wait. Perhaps the adult would move off, and the young drifters would come nearer.
Resigned to an encounter he would have preferred to avoid, R'hyledd went to intercept the young-flock, preparing to herd them away from the danger of the spreading green cloud. They were young; they wouldn't have the sense to keep at a safe distance. It was his duty to protect them. They were fragile and beautiful with the promise of life. He felt himself expand in instinctive response, aching to be able to feed them and feel their warm glow on his failing body. But it would be dangerous to yield to that temptation. He would lead them away from possible danger, that was all. They'd have to find another adult to feed them. Hadn't he already decided that?
The young-flock saw him coming, but ignored his warning flutters. Not comprehending their danger, they clustered around his huge body, begging, entreating, their need for food clearly to be felt.
R'hyledd knew he should get them to move farther from the greenish cloud, but they felt so good rubbing against him, so warm and full of vitality. Their anticipation ached through every fiber of his diaphanous body. His drifting veils quivered with sorrow, because he knew he dared not attempt to feed them.
Enough. He only prolonged the inevitable frustration and rejection by allowing them near.
He shook himself, whipping the clustered multitude of young away from his veils, warding them off with cautious flicks as they sought to come to him again.
Find another, he thought resignedly. I cannot help you.
But the young-flock ignored his silent plea. Their rudimentary intelligence unable to comprehend even the concept of individual being, they sought only to impress upon R'hyledd their corporate need.
Through the shifting curtains of greenish mist, the darter watched, growing impatient at the delay.
R'hyledd looked at the young-flock fluttering persistently around him. This flock held promise. It was large and bright. He hated to abandon it to possible starvation. The youngsters seemed almost bright enough to combine with another flock soon, if they were properly fed.
What kind of an adult would he be, if he abandoned such a promising flock? The last flock he had produced would be about this age by now, although he was sure this wasn't it. Young-flocks always showed a distinct aversion to contact with the adult that had spawned them. These had greeted him eagerly.
Frustrated, R'hyledd gathered himself tentatively inward, shortening and folding his veils as he assessed his physical condition. His sac held almost enough moisture. He could dive, but it would be tricky. His body might be old, but it would stand the strain, if he wanted it to. Just this one last time.
What was life worth, without those few sharp-edged moments of impossible joy? What else gave meaning to the endless grazing and drifting? Without the sublime satisfaction to be derived from feeding the young, he might as well be a particle of dust, tumbling aimlessly like the cloud particles on which he fed.
He almost had second thoughts, but then he glanced once more at the sparkling young-flock. Their brilliant anticipation simply hurt too much. He couldn't bear to disappoint them. He had to try.
He would try.
R'hyledd continued to fold his veils, slowly, carefully, lest he tear something. In youth, it had been a quick and easy process. Now, there was need for caution.
As he drew in the extended veils, he began to sink. The gray-blue mists of the cloud pasture closed around him, blocking the youngsters from his sight. They couldn't dive. They were much too fragile to withstand the pressures down below.
R'hyledd couldn't see, but he could feel the growing increase in pressure as he fell lower. He sampled the particles surrounding him. Tasty, but nothing special. He would go lower still. Since this might be his last dive, let it be an exceptional one.
He tilted the edges of his contracted veils, driving himself deeper into the atmosphere. Blue faded gradually into green, and he even thought he could make out a hint of yellow not far below. Yellow was especially good. Thick, nutritious particles permeated the low yellow clouds. If he could reach the yellow, he could unfold and collect those particles. They would adhere to him easily.
But he mustn't get overanxious. The pressure had increased considerably. He felt it pressing in on the hollow, air-filled segments of his body. He was stiff and inflexible with age. It wouldn't take much to crush those segments. With too many destroyed, he would never rise again.
The terror of an endless fall into heat and intolerable pressure was almost enough to make R'hyledd seek an updraft immediately. What was he doing down this far anyway? He was an old fool. Unfold now, gather what you can, and return to safety, he told himself.
But the yellow tempted him lower, rich, delicious, always favored by the young. A bit further. Just a bit further. It wasn't as if he'd never gone this deep before. Hadn't he even touched red once? He trembled with the thrill of that memory. It had been hot and terrible and marvellous, but he had returned, the outer edges of his veils scorched and seared, two segments crushed beyond hope. Two separate young-flocks had come to him to feed, a rare happening. Many combinations had taken place.
You were young then. Flexible and strong. You had only just combined yourself. You cannot do today what you did then. The truly wise know their limits.
An upwelling of yellow engulfed him. He tasted. Oh, yes, this would be fine.
R'hyledd unfolded cautiously, buffeted by the fierce gale. He jettisoned some of the moisture he carried, becoming lighter as a result.
The yellow cloud swirled upward and R'hyledd rode it happily, feeling the juicy particles clinging to his outspread veils, sticking to his main body segments. He ate a little himself, but he wasn't very hungry. The youngsters would be hungry. Youngsters were always hungry.
The upwelling began to dissipate as its heavier particles sank back down toward their normal levels. R'hyledd released more of his remaining moisture, rising above the turbulence. He unfolded to his fullest extent in an effort to gain altitude. A downdraft caught him, swirling him suddenly deeper. He fought to get clear of it.
A small segment ruptured, unable to tolerate the rapid pressure change. No matter, he could live without it. He had lived through minor ruptures before. Only if he couldn't get free of the current would he be in real danger of being crushed. He fought the buffeting winds, but his reactions were slow, his body ponderous and weary, lacking the responsiveness of youth.
The young-flock danced happily along the top of the cloud pasture. The large one had gone below. Soon they would eat. They skimmed and sparkled in short, jerky flights, drifting slowly towards the yellow-green cloudtop as they tasted the richer particles around it.
The darter unfolded its stubby segments, preparing to swoop.
Tenaciously angling his veils against the fierce current, R'hyledd worked his way to the side, slipping out of the threatening downdraft and once again making his way upwards. He had certainly lost some of his precious coating of particles in the struggle, but that couldn't be helped. He would still have enough.
The mists shifted to greens, then blues. Soon he would come out on top of the cloud pasture. The young-flock would see him, and welcome him. He was not too old, after all. He had succeeded. His ruptured segment ached sharply, but it would heal.
Brimming with anticipation, R'hyledd sailed triumphantly out of the blue-gray mist, seeking for the flock in expectation of imminent ecstasy.
They would eat of the rich harvest he had brought up. They would sparkle with joy and warmth as they gathered around him. Perhaps they would awaken a spark of life inside his old body, and he might even prepare to spawn again. There were so many possibilities now. They –
They had not heeded his warning! They had moved closer to the dangerous yellow-green cloudtop! A darter flew among them, devouring them as effortlessly as they devoured dust particles, its hideous maw opened wide.
The youngsters stayed together, as any young-flock must, easy prey for the creature that fed upon them. They could not scatter, since they weren't even aware they were all separate entities. In mindless panic and shock, they flitted here and there, but not fast enough to escape the darter's swooping flight.
R'hyledd's veils sagged in bitter despair. The flock he had meant to feed, destroyed, dying.
As he watched in limp horror, another youngster disappeared into the darter's maw, fluttering helplessly. And he could do nothing to stop it.
Nothing? R'hyledd thought, catching sight of one of his yellow-encrusted veils. Darters seldom fed on adults if there were youngsters to be had. They didn't seem to like the adults' tougher skins. However, they had been known to pursue an adult carrying a harvest. Perhaps he could tempt this one, lure it away from the flock?
R'hyledd drifted, quivering with indecision. A darter could be dangerous. If it closed its jaws on one of his veils, it could tear it to pieces, ripping the tenuous tissues beyond repair and sending him plummeting into the depths with no way to cheek that fatal plunge.
He shivered at the thought. Old he might be, but he had no wish to die. He would go in search of another flock to feed. There were others, after all. They had not cared for his safety when they had urged him to dive. Why should he care now about them?
R'hyledd began a slow turn, his body heavy under the thick food particles. He turned his eyes away from the remnants of the young-flock, trying to turn his thoughts away also. The youngsters should have obeyed him and stayed away from the upwelling cloudtop. They should not have expected him to dive. It was their own fault.
But R'hyledd couldn't quite bring himself to believe that. After all, it was the nature of the young to be thoughtless. No one could expect a youngster to be otherwise, not until after it combined to become adult. Then it would begin to think and reason, but certainly not before. Prior to that, it wasn't even a separate individual.
There would be others. Leave these to their fate.
(And yet, how many other healthy young-flocks had he seen recently? Surely, there had been more when he himself had been younger, hadn't there? And how many adults had he encountered, in all of his long life? Not enough. Certainly not enough.)
He couldn't simply desert them.
R'hyledd cut sharply down in front of the darter, coming between it and the flock. At first it ignored him, munching on its latest catch as it angled around to make another pass over the confused youngsters. R'hyledd snapped the edge of his longest veil, shaking loose a puff of yellow food particles just in front of the creature. It couldn't help but notice that.
The darter whipped itself around with the horrible speed that made its kind so feared by drifters like R'hyledd. As it twisted, R'hyledd swooped into a graceful arc, gaining altitude, luring the beast higher. He played with it, letting it almost catch him before he flew into an updraft. The underside of the white death-clouds that formed the upper limit of R'hyledd's world were close above him now. He'd never dared to float this high before. The pressure dropped as they climbed, and the world grew colder.
The darter became afraid. It hesitated, drawing its body together to ward off the cold. The youngsters flickered far below, still tempting. But the adult would be good to eat, covered as it was with all those particles. It was moving slower now, probably tiring. The darter would catch it first, and then return to graze on the flock.
R'hyledd slowed down, feigning exhaustion. He fluttered one of his veils almost within reach of the darter's maw, luring it on. With unexpected cunning, the creature lurched forward, catching the edge of the veil.
R'hyledd struggled loose, tearing off the part of himself caught by the darter. He should dive, plunge down to the cloud pastures, bury himself in their mists for safety. The darter would not follow him into the mist. It would give up and go off in search of other prey.
He looked down, hoping against hope that the young-flock had fled by now. His torn veil was a raw edge of pain, leaking precious moisture.
The youngsters grazed, oblivious to everything except their burning hunger, moving closer to the subsiding green upwelling. All thoughts of danger had been forgotten. Occasionally, they would turn their eyes upward, wishing for the food-laden large one to return to them.
Ah, to be young again, and not to know! R'hyledd thought with poignant longing as he watched them from the freezing heights. He returned his thoughts to the present problem. If he dove for safety, the darter would go after the young-flock. He watched the creature chewing, the torn edges of his ripped veil gradually being drawn into its mouth. It swerved abruptly up towards him, evidently wanting more.
Higher then. He would go higher.
With reckless disregard, R'hyledd lured the darter into another updraft. They were lifted, tossed almost into the icy fringes trailing beneath the death-clouds. R'hyledd felt one of his segments rupture outwards in the reduced pressure.
Less able to tolerate pressure changes, the darter twitched violently, trying to pull itself together into a ball, hoping to sink. Its mouth opened and closed, belching out bits of what it had eaten. Its fierce hunger was replaced by sudden fear.
R'hyledd struggled not to look at the mess the darter had disgorged, fragments of his own veil mixed with chunks of delicate flesh from the devoured young. As he tried to fight free of the updraft, he felt another of his veils rip in the cold wind, sharp agony cleaving almost into one of his main segments.
The darter couldn't free itself from the updraft. It was tossed higher, almost into the white clouds overhead. It exploded in a sudden burst, ripped segments whipped further upward in the wind, torn and shredded. Even as R'hyledd watched, the bits of the darter's body began to sink down, heavier than the thin atmosphere supporting them.
The young-flock saw the rain of drifting particles begin to descend. They flitted joyously, racing to be beneath it when it would reach their level. They never thought to wonder where their unexpected bounty had come from.
The darter was gone. The young-flock would be safe.
But R'hyledd drifted just below the high clouds, fluid leaking slowly from his ripped veils and torn segments. He might be able to regain the comfortable regions of his familiar cloud pasture, but he would surely never dive lower again, not after such injuries. He would drift awkwardly for what was left of his life, crippled and vulnerable.
Turning his eyes downward, R'hyledd surveyed the cloudfield spread out beneath him. How could he have spent all his life down there and not realized how beautiful it was? Off in the distance, he could just make out the happy sparkling of yet another flock of young drifters, no doubt attracted by the unusual commotion.
The youngsters would no longer gather around him. Their gentle flashes of gratitude and approval would warm his torn and ragged body no more, for he could never hope to dive again. He had thought he'd gotten used to that idea once before, but he realized now that he would never be able to accept it.
Descend from these soaring heights to that bleak and lonely prospect of a useless, shredded life? What for?
No. Better to let it end now, here, alone.
Alone. As an adult was always alone, in life or in death. Only the young could fool themselves into thinking otherwise, caught up in their flocks, dazzling against each other. And yet, they too were alone in the end. When a darter's cruel maw crushed their tender bodies, even the young died alone.
Was there not, after all, a time for dying? And was not this the time? Without at least the possibility of ecstasy, what was life worth?
R'hyledd let himself drift higher, his depleted mass making it all too easy to gain altitude. With sudden decision, he jettisoned the last remaining bit of his moisture. He couldn't sink now even if he wanted to.
The raw hurt in his torn segments began to fade into numbness as he floated through the trailing crystalline fringes. Far below, the ugly greenish eruption in which the darter had hidden was barely visible. The youngsters he had saved were lost from sight, but probably still there. They would have forgotten him by now, with the typical short memories of the extremely young. No matter; their memories, like their shallow and fleeting emotions, would grow long and deep in time.
In time. In the time he would never have, now. But that was as it should be. He had done his part. He had given them a chance. (For the first time, he wondered if some other adult had once done as much for him, before his own individual memories began.)
R'hyledd caught an updraft, letting it carry him through icy mists glowing with an impossible brilliance. He could hardly feel his frozen body, except for an occasion twinge of pain as the more vulnerable sections shattered outward in the rapidly decreasing pressure around him.
Lifted in the rising column of air, he floated at last above the enveloping clouds. For an amazed moment, R'hyledd stared down at its top, where colors reflected in bright rainbows from the cloud's crystalline dust motes. There was something else above the top of the world, where he had thought to find only clouds! Fighting the pain that lanced through his body as more segments ruptured, he turned his eyes upward, straining to see.
Death came, not with the darkness and crushing pressure he had always expected, but in a burst of fierce light.
R'hyledd's body flew apart in a shimmer of frozen particles, each one sinking down again toward the cloud pastures below, becoming drifting motes of organic dust, gathering moisture as they fell into zones of warming temperatures.
The flock of youngsters saw the rich fall of dust and headed joyously toward it. In the distance, another flock approached also, drawn by the prospect of good grazing. Together, the youngsters swooped and gathered nourishment, sparkling with enjoyment and vitality.
For the last time, R'hyledd fed the young.