Chapter 17
ELENA
Dr. Ardruc Husiorithae was an arrogant, brilliant, selfish, beautiful bastard, and he’d made me miserable for four whole damn months.
And since I’d survived being burned, being near him had made me more content and aroused than I’d been in a long, long time.
He’d apologized for what he’d said and done, and I knew in my heart he was deeply sorry.
I also felt so profoundly instinctually comfortable with him I could almost believe I could move past all that hurt.
But all it took was a reminder, like his sudden fascination with all things fungi, to bring back that anger and pain.
It doused my contentment and desire like a bucket of icy water.
As he warmed up and played scales on his lat’sar, I scoured an analysis of a sample of a lichen I’d named farodiorma petacellatum.
I was looking for any indication of unusual hyphae or mycelial networks that might signify unexpected forms or methods of communication—and any explanation for the nearly overnight growth of fungi within the station, a process that by all rights should have taken years or decades rather than hours.
All the samples of fungi I’d examined since my arrival had shown perfectly predictable behaviors, but clearly the fungi of Hyderia were far from what anyone would call predictable. What had everyone who’d studied here before me missed? What had I missed?
A sweet chord, followed by a beautiful, simple, lilting melody, made me look up from my datapad.
Ardruc’s eyes were closed as his bow danced across the double layer of strings on his lat’sar. His warm-up and scales had been so structured and regimented and so expertly played that once he moved on to playing music, I’d expected him to choose an extremely difficult and technical piece.
Instead, he’d either chosen the airiest, most emotionally charged song he knew, or he was taking inspiration from our situation and surroundings and actually improvising.
My datapad forgotten, I coaxed Forux into my lap, ran my fingers through his thick, soft fur, and listened while my arval purred.
Gods above, Ardruc played beautifully. When the breeze picked up, he played more quickly and loudly. When it faded, the music grew so introspective and quiet I had to strain to hear it. Heartache ebbed and flowed in melodic lines in minor keys.
Unexpectedly, I recalled afternoons spent in my father’s art studio during my childhood before he deemed my presence “distracting”—and long before he began traveling from planet to planet creating art installations inspired by the native cultures and natural beauty of those worlds, with no time for his daughter.
He’d let me sit in a corner or by the window with my datapad and stylus sketching fungi I’d found in the woods earlier in the day.
My own artistic abilities were limited to drawing my favorite fungi from memory or a new specimen I’d brought home in my pocket, while my father created wonders seemingly out of thin air.
He’d worked in many artistic forms then, from the most modern material fusion and immersive anamorphosis to primitive forms like paint on stone and hand-worked sculpture made with manual tools.
He liked to defy expectations and rules of form as much as my mother liked the rigidity of physics and its laws.
That they even tolerated each other, much less loved each other, had mystified me even from a very young age.
Especially when I was young, the way my father created art seemed more like magic than study and practice to me. When I’d asked what inspired him, his explanation was for a child frustratingly unhelpful: “I listen and remember.”
Only later did I realize I did the same thing when I ventured into the forest: I listened to the flora and fungi around me and the wind and even the sounds of animals to understand my environment.
That habit had continued into adulthood and throughout my studies and travels.
Sometimes I listened as Dr. Regis, a scientist, and sometimes as wide-eyed Elena.
And that was why I knew right now Ardruc was listening to Hyderia’s beauty as well as his own emotions and mine to create this music.
A few days ago I would have bet any amount of money Ardruc could only look on Hyderia as data points and charts. And yet in this moment he was playing a duet with the wind—while revealing his wonder, joy, and pain in a wordless way that echoed my own conflicting feelings.
I was hurting, but so was he. And not just because he knew he’d wounded me with all his indifference and harsh words. His pain felt deeper than that.
My analytical brain pivoted from the mystery of Hyderia’s lichen to the mystery of Ardruc Husiorithae.
Something made him push me away. The thought floated into my head seemingly out of nowhere. It was part logic, part intuition, and part interpretation of the music he played.
I was no expert in Fortusian biology, much less the physiology of true mates, but what I did know was the call of a true mate was extremely powerful. So why would Ardruc try to alienate his mate to the point of driving them off the planet? What could be stronger than the strongest need of all?
Fear. Fear of being hurt. Maybe fear of being hurt again.
Someone very well might have wounded him and made him want to take refuge in his work while rejecting a true mate and the possibility of true happiness—actions that went against every instinct in his body.
How badly had he been hurt to make him do what he’d done to me? To do what he’d done to himself?
It didn’t excuse his choices and I didn’t forgive him yet, but my heart softened. My anger, meanwhile, found a new target. I wanted to know who’d hurt him and why.
In the medbay earlier, Ardruc had actually recoiled when I’d mentioned the prospect of visiting his home planet, though he’d tried to hide his reaction. I could guess where the source of his pain was. Not that I felt any better about the prospect of returning to Fyloria for any length of time.
I looked up from scratching Forux’s head and froze.
Six tendrils of plasma—two red, two orange, and two blue—hovered just beyond the edge of the upper roof behind Ardruc. How long they’d been there, I wasn’t sure. So much for being an observant scientist, Elena Regis.
Crackling quietly, they swayed and dipped in tempo with the music. Even from this distance, my skin prickled with the force of their energy. Forux watched the korae too, but rather than try to attack them or snarl in warning, he stayed at my side and only leaned his ears toward them.
Ardruc’s expression changed. Maybe he’d noted my reaction, or maybe he sensed the korae’s presence. Or both. But he didn’t open his eyes and he didn’t stop playing.
I slid a glance over to confirm all the scanners were registering and recording the korae. They were.
As ridiculous as it might have sounded, I almost didn’t care if our equipment was recording this.
All the gods above and below, the plasma tendrils were dancing to Ardruc’s music.
Hyderia was home to living plasma. I was looking at a life form utterly unknown to science, at least as far as we could tell.
The wonder of it made my heart race. I had to force myself to breathe slowly.
Two more korae appeared from the forest to dance: one red and one green. Then another blue. And then two more orange with a small red one between them. They swayed, bobbed, and even undulated in rhythm as Ardruc played.
Within a few minutes, a dozen more tendrils in all colors arrived, hovering around the perimeter of the roof. Ardruc’s playing had become a concert, but more than that it felt like a shared experience bigger than musician and audience. Something truly sublime.
Music needed no translation. Like most art forms, it transcended language, culture, and even the vast differences between carbon-based humanoids and living plasma.
Had any scientists who’d lived on Hyderia before us encountered these korae?
I wished I knew. If they had, and had kept it a secret, there must have been a reason.
And if the korae hadn’t shown themselves until now, why communicate with Ardruc and me?
Why did the forest put us to sleep, transform our station, and prevent us from leaving? And why did I have this tattoo?
So many questions, so many worries, but I didn’t want to break the spell.
Ardruc’s music was truly breathtaking. Despite the proximity of so many korae, I found myself drifting on it like a leaf on the breeze, my fingers in Forux’s fur.
A green tendril—either the same one who’d come into the medical bay the other night, or an identical one—moved slowly from the edge of the roof to hover between Ardruc and me. An orange tendril joined it.
I flinched, remembering the pain of being burned. But though my skin and hair prickled, their power felt muted. Maybe they’d learned we were vulnerable to burns?
Ardruc continued to play, his sharp gaze fixed on the korae and feathers ruffling with obvious unease. My own awe was definitely tempered with apprehension.
The tendrils swayed back and forth along with the music, then twirled around each other before drawing apart again. They repeated the pattern in place several times, then rose into the air above us to continue the dance.
Almost in unison, the rest of the tendrils joined them, and suddenly all the tendrils were dancing and twirling along with the wind and Ardruc’s music.
“You play so beautifully,” I murmured, knowing his sharp ears would hear me. “I didn’t think anyone could improvise like this in a duet with the wind.”
The wind picked up and swirled around us.
Ardruc responded with a quick succession of chords that rose in pitch and volume.
The korae in the air moved faster too, twirling and swaying, shimmering and sparkling.
In happiness? Were they having fun? We knew so little about them, but their movements felt joyous, even rapturous.