CONFLUX INC. - Things Always Change

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Things Always Change by Tim Borella

Climbers don’t often stray far from their treetop nests without good reason, but Touk has one today. Skies are sometimes clear, sometimes covered. Clouds bring rain and keep the forest producing food, but there’s been little falling lately and he’s sick of the staples anyway, the hairy brown fruits that taste like mud and the little blue ones that hardly fill you up no matter how many you eat. His grumbling stomach leads him down the home tree’s huge, vine-bound trunk into the twisting space between two ridge-roots, a hidden pathway to the forest floor.

Touk pauses, checking for danger. Then he squeezes past thorny guarding barbs, coaxed to grow that way by his clan, onto flatter ground. A couple of big silvery-grey egg husks, crumbled away to almost nothing, mark the start of a path. The story goes that their kind used to hatch from eggs like these, though it’s hard for Touk to believe. Where would they come from? And why don’t babies still hatch like that, instead of squeezing from their mothers in a bloody mess like they do now? The old ones can’t answer Touk’s questions. Things change, they say, things always change.

Layers of decaying plant litter are a mat for Touk’s tough feet as he scampers along. Similar tracks weave through the forest, lines of least resistance for all sorts of living things going about their mysterious business. His path crosses rises and small creeks, tending slowly downwards from the giant home trees through thinner scrub onto plant-covered dunes. The air tastes different here and he hears the surge of wide water behind a screen of odd trees, ones that like salt. Touk’s starting to like it too, after a few visits to this new place.

He pauses again to check the narrow rocky shoreline is clear. Dark spaces between trees could easily mask predators, and who knows what hides under the surging surf? But with no obvious threat, Touk ventures out, crossing from hard-packed sand to rocks, piled and rolled smooth by busy waves. Reaching a wide stone shelf, he sighs with satisfaction—here are pools of clear water, natural traps for small creatures. He flattens down on his belly, waiting. Then, splash! His long-fingered hand shoots out to grab a fat, wriggling worm-thing, halfway out of its patterned shell. Touk stuffs the whole lot into his mouth, sharp teeth crunching and grinding until there’s just gritty, salty, delicious paste to swallow. He creeps from pool to pool, scooping up anything that moves until his hunger settles. He checks the treeline—still all clear—then stretches out in the sun.

Touk wakes with a start. The sea is closer now, licking the shelf he’s lying on, but there’s something else—splashing, movement in the water, something big. He jumps up, ready to run but, as ever, curious. A shadow moves below the surface, then a hand slaps onto the rocks, followed by another. A slick brown body the size of his own heaves itself up and out. The newcomer stands, shaking off water. Something tells Touk it’s not about to hurt him, and he studies it from a safe distance. Its fur is almost the colour of his, but thicker and shinier. Like him, it has four limbs, though the feet and hands are webbed.

It raises its arms and Touk steps back. What happens next is a complete surprise. The creature signs to him, and he understands.

You from there? It gestures towards the trees.

Yes.

Your feet like hands.

Touk looks down. It’s true. How else would he climb?

But I think we come from there as well, the thing says. Ago. You come to sea now too?

I don’t know, Touk says, thinking of the salty treats he’s just stuffed himself with. Is there much food?

Without a backward glance, the creature dives into the surging water, leaving Touk wondering if he’s dreamed it. But suddenly it’s back, dropping something from its wide mouth at Touk’s feet. Eat, it signs. Touk leans down to sniff the squirming green bag of little shadows. Eggs? Touk bites in, savouring the taste. He grins and holds his palm up in thanks.

Bring me something next time, the Swimmer says.

Later, Touk perches high in the canopy, watching sky colours change and fade as the sun disappears. Behind him, the forest stretches far back toward high mountains, which often spit smoke and fire, while ahead lies the endless ocean. Most of his clan are already settled in their nests, but he can’t stop strange thoughts swirling in his head. The Swimmer he met—how is it so like him, but not the same? The sea creatures he ate, and the many-legged ones that crawl and slither everywhere in the forest, why are they all different again?

He sits there puzzling long after dark, watching objects in the sky; two big ones that hang like forest fruit but move to different places each night, and those countless sharper, smaller ones. Occasionally, moving lights pass silently above, not dodging around like the creatures that fly among the trees, but steadily, never wavering from their paths.

Touk is ready to go find his nest when one of the moving lights appears. As he watches, enchanted by its graceful flight, it suddenly flares like mountain fire. When the brightness dies away, the light is simply gone.

Too many questions. As Touk finally settles down to sleep, one thought persists. Things always change.

The next morning brings heavy rain. Touk huddles in his nest as long as he can, but water dripping from the leaves to soak his fur drives him down to find a small group of young clanmates already out and about, sodden and grumpy. Touk greets them, joining their slow, seemingly aimless movement through the trees. Now and then someone picks up fallen fruit or a slow-moving crawler to eat.

After a while the rain slows and welcome sun breaks through gaps in the canopy. Bralta falls in beside Touk, fur shining in the light. Apart from the strange hands and feet, his friend and close clanmate reminds Touk so much of the Swimmer from yesterday. Excited, he tells Bralta about the encounter, but it’s hard to convey exactly how he feels about it. Unlike him, most of the others haven’t shown much interest in straying too far from the forest.

Then a commotion up ahead snaps Touk from his thoughts. Something big and noisy is coming their way, fast. Bralta bolts up the nearest tree with Touk right behind, and they crane to see what’s happening. Frightening howls and growls ring out, with sounds of undergrowth snapping as if something is fighting. The others scatter away too, some climbing, others ducking behind trees and peeking out to see what’s making the snarls and yelps. Touk and Bralta climb higher, then scramble across branches to get closer.

It's hard to make out exactly what’s going on below, but in a small clearing among thorny bushes he sees two long, dark shapes throwing themselves at one another, biting and lashing out in desperate struggle. Touk cranes for a clearer view. Runners! He exchanges disbelieving looks with Bralta. The creatures are rarely seen here, thought to favour more open country in the foothills of the distant mountains. Touk has a vague memory of seeing one when he was much younger, of being grabbed and whisked up a tree by an old one before it could get close. He remembers the old one saying that Runners and Climbers were somehow related, having both come from the same mysterious eggs still visible in parts of the forest, but Runners had lost their reason and, with it, the ability to talk.

The savage combat goes on, with both creatures panting, clearly tiring. One seems to be getting the upper hand, while the other cowers away, whimpering, then stops making noise altogether. The winner, exhausted, raises its head and howls before advancing on its fallen opponent, sniffing with its long nose. Then, to Touk’s horror, it opens its mouth and bites into the other’s fur and flesh with cruel, sharp teeth, shaking its head to tear out chunks of meat, then gulping them down.

Touk and the others stay frozen in their trees for a long time, frightened to come down, until the surviving Runner slinks off. Even then they wait, long after the noise of its movement dies away. Some of the clan rush back home right away while the more curious, like Touk, edge towards the scene of the fight.

The dead Runner is big, even with so much of it eaten. Blood and guts spill from holes in its body, and it smells terrible. But even in this state, Touk can see how the old one was right in saying his kind and this creature were not so far apart. It has four limbs, like him and the Swimmer, but changed to suit how it runs on all of them, low to the ground. If a Climber was stretched and squashed out of shape, it could look something like this.

Look at those claws, says Bralta. But how can they eat their own?

Touk shudders, staring at the broken mess that, just a short time ago, was living and breathing. Could we ever come to that? he says.

But as they head home, the thought won’t leave him. Runners, Climbers, Swimmers—all linked, yet so different. He pictures himself by the sea, stuffing helpless creatures into his mouth and crunching the life out of them without a care. Things always change. To move through the world without communication, seeing others only as food; is that what Climbers will become? What he will become?

That night, sleep won’t come. The clouds have all gone, so Touk climbs as high as he can to watch the sky again. He can’t shake a gnawing feeling, as if tiny Runners are eating at his insides, but the sight of all those lights goes some way to soothe him. For ages, no moving lights pass over, but at last one appears. At first it’s no different to any other, but—could it be growing? Getting brighter? Touk’s heart pounds as the light turns to a fiery ball, not disappearing like the last one but coming nearer, getting bigger so quickly. And there’s sound, a rush like tearing wind, crashes like big trees falling, until the noise is so loud and the light so bright Touk closes his eyes and shrinks down in fear at what must be the end of the world.

But the world doesn’t end. When he opens his eyes again, Touk sees not destruction but a glow, brightening and then softening in the distance, something like the fire mountains that lie in that same direction. There’s a rumbling sound too, rising and falling. Then the light fades, and soon afterward the rumble dies away to nothing, leaving just soft forest noises.

Touk’s not sure if he has slept when light creeps back to the forest, but he can’t rest. Some others are already awake, complaining about the night’s wild storm. When he tries to explain what he saw in his treetop perch, nobody really gets it, not even Bralta. Bad dream, his friend says. But Touk shakes his head. It was no dream, and no storm either.

Something has changed, he says.

Things always change.

Not like this. You talk like an old one.

He can’t explain what he feels, even to himself. He stands there as dawn turns to daylight and forest creatures stir all around him as they do every day, searching for food or a mate or a better place to hide. His clanmates are no different, combing leaf litter for crawlers or scouring high branches for new fruit, thinking only of their bellies. Soon they’ve all moved off, leaving Touk alone. He should find food too, but there’s a different hunger in him now, drawing his gaze towards the hills, lit last night by that strange glow. Before he knows it, he’s moving that way.

All that day and into the evening Touk pushes on, eating whatever he finds, drinking from murky streams or lapping up rainwater from shallow depressions in rocks. He moves higher over outcrops, pushing through the wiry undergrowth that fills every gap. Unsure exactly where he’s headed, he makes in the general direction of the light he saw the previous night. A voice inside keeps urging him to turn back, to just go home and be safe, but he can’t forget what he saw.

When it’s too dark to continue, he finds a sheltered niche between boulders, covering himself as best he can with the scratchy, sparse plants that grow there. Sleep is miserable and fitful. He tenses at any noise, picturing bloodthirsty Runners, cursing himself for his own stupidity. But high above, the blanket of lights in the night sky reminds him of why he has come.

Next day, though, misgivings return and multiply. The further he gets from home, the harder it is to keep going, and only stubbornness keeps him scrambling and plodding forward. He’s moving higher all the time, leaving the sea and forest far behind, but still the distant fire mountains seem no closer.

Rocks and ridges hide the view ahead. Each rise brings promise, then disappointment as Touk drags himself over a crest, only to be greeted by more of the same. With the sun already past its peak, he’s tired, hungry, thirsty and covered in small scratches. Perhaps there’s nothing to find anyway. Perhaps it was just a dream.

The next rise is even steeper than those before. Touk stops halfway up and looks back, gripping spindly bushes to keep himself from sliding down. This last one, and he’ll give up the stupid quest. He takes a deep breath and starts upward again, glad to have made his decision.

But at the ridgetop, instead of the expected peak, the ground flattens to a wide area of rocks and dry vegetation, stretching away towards the still-distant mountains. There are trees, not like those Touk is used to, but stunted and far apart, with wide clearings in between. And ahead, in the biggest of those clearings, stands an egg.

It’s huge, nearly the size of Touk’s home tree. The others, those ones in the forest, are much, much smaller, but even in their decayed state it’s clear they are kin to this. The giant egg rests on a wide base and tapers to a rounded top, and as Touk moves closer he sees that the grass and trees around it are scorched. Legs poke out from around its base, presumably stopping it from falling over.

Touk stares at the thing, trying and failing to make sense of it. Like the eggs in the forest, it doesn’t move or make a sound; it’s simply there. Perhaps this one will rot away too, but it looks too solid for that. He watches for a long time, alert for danger, until curiosity wins out and he moves in for a closer look.

Touk creeps around, marvelling at the smooth, shiny surface. At first it seems unbroken, but on the far side he finds a big hole, with part of the shell lying on the ground below. Touk scampers back, worried something might come out, but again there’s no sound. He advances once more, then stops dead.

Movement! Off to his right, near the edge of the flat ground, partly hidden by an outcrop. Touk flattens himself, hiding as best he can between burnt tufts, peeking up to see something big come into view, tall and lumbering, a monster the same silvery colour as the egg. His fur prickles in fear. Stay and hope it doesn’t see me, or jump up and run?

The creature isn’t coming his way so Touk waits, hardly able to breathe. He’ll crouch until its back is turned, then take his chance and bolt. But then it halts, turns, moves towards him. Touk stays frozen, waiting for it to pounce, hoping against hope it won’t see him. But all hope drains away when it stops abruptly, turns its silvery head directly at him and makes a sharp, growling sound. He’s about to run for his life when the monster signs to him.

Don’t be afraid.

Dumbfounded, Touk stares, unable to move.

Please, the thing says. I won’t hurt you.

What are you? Touk manages.

The creature cocks its head in a strangely familiar way. Come over here, it says. I must rest.

It takes a long time for Touk to calm his racing heart and comply, but eventually he and the monster are sitting at the edge of the wide plateau. As the sun sinks over the forest, so far away, Touk thinks of his clanmates. Would they believe this? He can hardly believe it himself, yet here they are, he and the silver giant, together at the top of the world.

He knows now that the silver isn’t part of it, but a covering, like the husk on a seed. It has removed that to reveal a pale, soft-looking body with no fur. Its has eyes, ears, nose and mouth something like his own, and four limbs; hands and feet too, big but stunted, no good for climbing.

I should not have come here, but I had to, the giant says.

Come here? From where?

It raises its long arm and points upward, into the darkening sky.

There.

The lights? Touk says.

Yes.

It takes many questions, misunderstandings and backtracks for Touk to even faintly grasp what the creature is trying to tell him. Its kind have come from far, far away, carrying seeds of life. Though they themselves cannot survive long here, Touk and his clan are in a sense their children, made better able to quickly adapt to whatever conditions they find themselves in.

Runners and Swimmers too? Touk asks.

Yes, says the giant. And some others, who were not able to cope as you have.

Runners have lost their minds, Touk says. Will that happen to us, too?

I doubt it, but our job was only to watch over you for as long as it took to be sure you would go on. What happens to you from here is not for me to know.
Will you stay? Touk says.

I cannot, says the giant. The air and food here will kill me, but even if it did not, I have done wrong by even talking to you. We made many mistakes, and you were supposed to be left alone for your own good. The moving lights are all gone now. I was on the last one and should have burnt up with it, but I needed to touch this place, see it with my own eyes. You were not supposed to be here, but here you are. Am I supposed to kill you to make sure I don’t taint your kind?

I don’t think you would do that, Touk says.

No, says the giant, gesturing inclusively between them. But the greatest flaw of our kind is to always look beyond itself for answers, not within. I have one last task, and you need to be far from here when I do it. Now go!

The giant groans and coughs, obviously weakening quickly. Touk doesn’t want to leave, but it hunts him away. Keep going, for your own good, it says, with such urgency that Touk scurries away into the night.

Backtracking in the dark is tricky, but Touk keeps moving. When he can go no further, he finds a place to rest, dead tired but unable to sleep. He searches the sky for moving lights, seeing none. Then at last, from high on the hill, comes a blinding flash and a thunderous roar that hits Touk like a punch. He knows in his heart the giant is no more, and that he will never be the same.

But as the old ones say, things always change.