A Christmas Storm Part 4

A Christmas Storm

Part 4

Some time later- it was hard to know how much later- Fiona huddled in a corner of the cavern, trying not to shiver. The cave was much warmer than the night outside had been, with no windchill, but it was still only around nine degrees and the thermal insulation in Fiona’s overall was insufficient to keep her comfortable for long. And she still had some water in her sleeve.

She had sent Rajan outside to let the ship know that they would be staying until morning. On her return, Fiona had seen Rajan wander slowly around the circuit of the cavern, her eyes sharp despite her casual demeanour. Then Rajan had hunkered down near the tunnel mouth, and stayed there. Fiona knew that the chief had assigned herself to watch their backs, and that nothing she could say would change her determination to be cautious. In fact Fiona was grateful. Knowing Rajan was on alert allowed her to relax her guard a little and pay more attention to the Seakin.

The low song had resumed after the humans had been welcomed. Fiona saw that not all of the creatures were singing at any one time, but that they seemed to dip in and out as one passage of song ended and another began. She found that while she could not understand the words, or even tell which sounds made up words, she could somehow catch part of the meaning of the whole. It was like overhearing half a conversation, or a comm-call where the audio was broken and you could only see the other person’s body language. The sense of anticipation she had first felt back on the foredeck of her own ship seemed to be slowly swelling and building towards- something. Was it just dawn, the coming of light? Fiona felt that there was something else in the song, something else that was being heralded and prepared for, but she could not tell what.

She felt a change in the music, a stir among the singers, and turned to look at the tunnel entrance just as another group of Seakin arrived. These ones carried burning wooden torches, which Fiona guessed had been lit from the beacon fire outside. As they stepped into the cave the creatures already crowded there cried out together, and the cavern rang with echoes. Fiona saw Rajan tense slightly, her eyes following the newcomers as the crowd parted and they moved slowly to the centre of the cavern. There, a globe of something transparent stood in a groove in the rock, the top part of it open along a jagged rim, as though pieces had been broken off. As the cries merged into a chant, the torchbearers surrounded the globe and inserted the torches into it. It blazed with light, and flames leapt up, their shadows dancing on the wall of the cavern.

As the torchbearers merged into the crowd of other Seakin Fiona found Benson at her side.

“Eight bells, captain,” he said, showing her the timer on his suit which indicated that it was indeed midnight. “Happy Christmas, captain.”

The first settlers to make homes on Estel had decided that the day humans had long marked as Christmas should be celebrated on their new planet’s winter solstice, and should also mark the start of the new year. It didn’t quite tie up with the Earth calendar, but it was close enough to be convenient and had somehow felt right.

Fiona smiled back. “The same to you.”

“We must be the first humans ever to spend Christmas with another intelligent species,” Benson said, his eyes bright in the coloured light of the cavern. “I would never have thought of it being something we had in common.”
“I suppose festivals to mark the turning of the seasons are the sort of thing that could grow independently in different cultures,” Fiona said. “That doesn’t necessarily mean they invest it with religious significance as humans have done, though.”
Benson looked around at the creatures as they settled back into their song. “Doesn’t it feel to you as though they do?”

Fiona looked at him curiously. The young sailor usually avoided drawing attention to himself aboard ship, but tonight he seemed to have found a confidence she had never seen in him before. Or perhaps it was just excitement. His overalls were open at the neck and she saw something tucked inside his uniform shirt that sparkled a little in the light of the cavern.

“Can you understand them?” she asked him. “I can feel their anticipation building, but not much more.”

He looked at her quickly, his cheeks reddening. “I...can understand some of it. I don’t know how. Not words, mostly. Just...feelings. Intentions. They're...it’s sort of like...like seeing some natural marvel for the first time. Or holding a new baby. Something...wonderful, that you don’t have words to describe.”

He looked away, apparently embarrassed. But Fiona understood him.

“Worshipful,” she said.

He looked back at her, eyes alight. “Yes! That’s what it feels like, their singing.”

Fiona nodded, her eyes ranging over the crowd of long, low bodies. Now that Benson had helped her put a name to it, she could sense the feeling all around her and she knew why it was familiar.

Like many sailors and spacers, her mother had been a believer. Fiona had gone to worship with her many times when she was small. But after her mother's death she had stopped. There had seemed no point. If there was any god out there, he hadn't cared enough to keep her mother safe. Why should Fiona care about a god like that?

But at it’s best, the atmosphere in small church she had attended with her mother had felt like a pale version of the atmosphere in the cavern. The intensity of feeling among the Seakin was palpable. Their faith, if that was what it was, was no mere lip service. Fiona could tell that they believed it with their whole beings.

She shivered. The globe of fire was giving out a fair amount of heat, but the Seakin seemed happier with cooler temperatures than the humans found comfortable. There was an almost constant stream of them going in and out of the cave. Fiona guessed that they were taking turns to keep watch for latecomers- and perhaps to keep an eye on her own ship and crew.

Her crew. She slumped into the corner, suddenly unable to hold back any longer the fear and loneliness that had weighed upon her ever since wind and sea had started to rise the day before.

She did not feel fit to be the captain of the Windsong. It was simple, really. She was too young, too inexperienced, to be responsible for the lives and wellbeing of a ship and crew. Many of those under her command were older and knew more of the sea than she ever would. Her senior officers knew she was lacking- how could they respect her when they knew they were better at the job than she was?

She closed her eyes, her head bowed, not wanting Benson or Rajan to see her cry. These thoughts weren’t new. The storm had brought them to the front of her mind, but she had felt the same inadequacy every day since she took command. She had hoped it would fade as she got more used to her responsibilities, but while she hoped that she was managing the day to day demands of the job well enough, managing a crisis situation was the real test of her leadership. The storm had brought her fears sharply into focus.

She found that she was shaking, and this time it was not from the cold. Ashamed, she berated herself for her weakness, and hoped desperately that neither her sailors nor the Seakin had noticed.

She heard- or felt- a sound nearby, and looked up quickly, blinking. One of the Seakin stood looking down at her. She realised the sound had reminded her of someone clearing their throat, and realised the creature had been trying to get her attention.

“I’m sorry,” she said, starting to get to her feet. “I apologise if-”

The creature raised a hand in what Fiona understood as a gesture of reassurance.

“Please, do not be alarmed,” the creature said. “I could sense that you were...distressed. I wish to offer help, if I can.”

Around them the other Seakin were still absorbed in their chant-song. Fiona saw Benson among a group near the lake, and Rajan still sat beside the opening into the passageway, leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed. Neither were paying her any attention, and she relaxed a little.

“It’s kind of you,” she said, facing the Seakin who had spoken to her. This one seemed a little older than average, moving perhaps a little slower and seeming heavier-set than most of those in the cavern. She noticed too that while she perceived their communication as though it were speech, the creature’s mouth didn’t move when she ‘heard’ it ‘speaking.’ The device it was holding seemed to take thoughts or some form of communication beyond what was audible to human ears, and translate them into her mind as speech. She wondered how it was done. Humans could learn valuable lessons from such a device.

“But please don’t worry about me,” she continued hastily, realising that she had not been acting as an ambassador of humanity should in such an encounter. She should have been observing and learning, not dwelling on her own grief and failings. “We are very grateful that you have allowed us to be here. Please, would you be willing to tell me more about what is happening, and what you are celebrating?”

The Seakin looked at her, and after a moment she heard the response. “We call it Star-Eve, in your language,” they said. “The longest night of the year-cycle. From our earliest recorded times we have kept vigil on this night, looking for the coming of the light.”

Fiona nodded. “I understand,” she said, looking at the great orb of fire in the centre of the cavern.

“But it goes deeper than that,” the creature continued. “In gathering to remember that warmth and light will come again, we remind ourselves that we need not fear the dark, because we are not alone in the darkness. There is always hope.”

There must be something about the way the device translated the creature’s speech, because Fiona felt the fierceness of the Seakin’s belief. She wished that she could be so certain of anything, but the Seakin’s certainty just left her feeling lonely and empty.

The creature spoke again, and Fiona felt that their tone was gentle. “I do not wish to give offence. But I cannot ignore your distress. Please, will you not share with me what grieves you? Perhaps then you will find it easier to bear.”

Fiona felt the tears in her eyes again.

“You spoke of hope in the darkness,” she said, after a pause. “I…I have been struggling to find any.” She met the creature’s intense gaze and somehow felt that they could see far more of what she was thinking than a human could have.

“Do your kind not have stories that remind you of the Light?” the Seakin said. Fiona realised that when they talked of the ‘light’ they meant something more than waves or particles that enabled them to see. The meaning that came with the word was similar to the feeling of worship she had noticed before.

“Yes,” she said. “Humans have always gathered in winter to defy the darkness, and told stories of the coming of light. But the stories…they don't seem real to me. I can’t…can’t feel the power in those stories, the way you do.”

“Will you share one of these stories with me?” the creature asked.

Somehow Fiona found herself telling this alien being the Christmas story. “There is one about a person who was called the Light of the World. His birth was marked by a star and people of all kinds came to see him, because they believed his coming was a sign of hope- a sign that we were not alone, that there was…is…someone greater than our world, who loves us.”

The Seakin seemed to be listening intently. “I hear the echoes of the Great Song in that story.”

“The Great Song?” Fiona asked.

“We believe that all stories are part of the Great Song, if they have any truth in them. The same song, across time, space and species.”

The creature looked up, as though seeing through the thick rock above them into the star-spangled sky. “When the world is dark, that is when we most need something to help guide us,” they said. “Like the fires that guided you safely through the rocks to this place. Come.”

The creature turned and walked towards the globe of fire. Fiona followed slowly, all too aware of the gaze of every being in the cavern.

The Seakin reached up to the open top of the globe and seemed to break off a piece of the jagged rim. They turned back to Fiona, and held it out.

“A gift,” they said. “To commemorate this place-time, and to remind you of the power of stories and of the Light that brings hope in the darkness.”

Gingerly Fiona reached out and took the piece of transparent material. It was warm, but not too hot to hold comfortably. Her fingers drank in the welcome warmth. It had the weight and feel of rock, perhaps quartz. Fiona wished she knew more about geology. It reflected the light from the fire, sparkling in her hand like a miniature star.

“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head again. She looked up at the Seakin. “I...I wish there was something I could give in return.” She should have thought about this, should have prepared...

“You have already given me a precious gift,” the Seakin said. “Your story. No other gift is so precious.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said again. “Thank you for your welcome, your kindness, and your gift.”