ARITA
They called themselves the Gardeners—an alien race that had tended the worldtrees millennia ago, just as the human green priests on Theroc did now. But the Gardeners—or the Onthos, in their own language—had been all but exterminated by the Shana Rei long ago, their core worldforest wiped out along with the stored memories contained in that verdani mind. Only a hundred survivors of the small-statured gray-skinned creatures had limped their way to Theroc. They had begged sanctuary, and King Peter and Queen Estarra—Arita’s parents—had granted it.
Now, a group of curious green priests gathered under the towering trees to speak with the Onthos, hoping to learn more. Since the worldforest mind could offer only vague hints about the long-lost Gardeners, the green priests had many questions, and the Onthos had many stories to tell.
Without being invited, Arita sat on the edge of the group, even though she was not a green priest, despite her dream of becoming one. She had lost her chance when the forest mind tested her, changed her, and ultimately rejected her as a green priest.
Even if she wasn’t one of them, the green priests did not shun Arita as a failure—she was, after all, the daughter of Theroc’s rulers. Nevertheless, the priests treated her with discernible pity, and it was almost too much for Arita to bear. Now, though, she very much wanted to hear the Gardeners reveal their secret history.
Three seemingly identical aliens sat in a clearing among the gigantic trees, speaking to the group. Ten green priests listened and then delivered what they learned into the tree network, so that any other priest across the Spiral Arm could receive the details. Instantaneous telink communication was just one of the many wonders that Arita was denied because she was not a green priest.…
But she listened now. The primary Gardener representative called himself Ohro, though he seemed indistinguishable from the other aliens. The Onthos were four feet tall with enormous black eyes set within prominent orbital ridges. They wore no clothes over their smooth skin; they seemed entirely sexless.
Ohro traced emphasis in the air with nimble fingers as he spoke to the rapt green priests. “I remember our world, bright pictures and memories of a beautiful place, a peaceful civilization. The Gardeners and the trees—what more could we wish for?” The other aliens murmured, and the green priests listened, smiled, nodded. They touched the towering worldtrees next to them, shared thoughts—and left Arita apart from it all.
But even Ohro’s words conjured fantastic images in her mind.
“We had tremendous tree cities, much like this one, and we built our structures to exist in concert with the trunks and fronds—wooden and metal walkways that wove the living forest together. Bridges spanned tree to tree. Towers rose even higher than the canopy!” His dark alien eyes glistened.
“When the ancient trees would eventually die, they became a source of new life. Our spore mothers would enter the dead wood and spawn more Onthos, birthing many more Gardeners who would tend another generation of worldtrees.”
Ohro sighed. “And we became explorers, too—fusing ourselves with the trees. An Onthos volunteer would climb inside the heartwood, meld his body to the great tree, and act as a pilot, a voyager. Together, they underwent a marvelous metamorphosis, becoming more alive, more sentient. The new treeship would uproot itself and rise into the sky … and fly away into the void.” The alien glanced at Arita as if to make sure she understood, then turned to the green priests. “You know of this—you have done it yourselves.”
The green priests nodded. One said, “We created verdani battleships, which fought in the Elemental War.”
“We observed the remaining ones guarding this world when our refugee ships arrived at Theroc,” Ohro said. “We did not use our treeships for war, though, but to explore. We flew off to other worlds and dispersed the trees, built new colonies, even constructed space cities far from any planet.”
Arita could not see what the other priests observed when they tapped into the shared verdani mind. The Onthos could offer no tangible relics, photographic images, or other records apart from their memories, which they shared throughout the worldforest. She could only use her imagination, but right now that was enough.
“Then the Shana Rei came and drove us from our home.” Ohro’s voice became deeper, sadder.
Until recently, little was known about the Shana Rei beyond brief mentions in Ildiran legends. Then a shadow cloud came to destroy Theroc. The creatures of darkness had assembled a gigantic orbiting nightshade that plunged the worldforest into a suffocating night. Only the combined efforts of the Confederation Defense Forces, the Ildiran Solar Navy, and even the capricious faeros had driven away the shadows. For now.
“You know much more about the Shana Rei,” a green priest said to Ohro. “Help us understand how to fight them.”
Even though the Gardener was not human, Arita could read an expression of hopelessness on his flat, grayish face. “We could not fight them. They annihilated everything—our forest, our world, our home star.” The gathered Onthos shuddered in unison.
“Some survivors tried to make new homes on other planets, but we were caught up in the Klikiss depredations that swept across the Spiral Arm with their swarm wars. They fell upon our colonies, tore us to shreds.
“Again, we were decimated, but a few scattered and survived. Some of us simply drifted away in space, circling outward, always hoping to find a remnant of the worldforest that survived. And now we are home,” he said. “At last, the Onthos can recall who we are, and exactly what we were meant to be.”
Arita saw the desperation and hope on the strange alien faces, and she felt glad for them that they had found a home.
“Your worldforest remembers us, at least in part,” Ohro said. “The verdani know that we are kindred, even if they do not recall the great swath of memory obliterated by the Shana Rei.”
After their refugee ships had landed in front of the fungus-reef city like a swarm of silvery raindrops, the Gardener survivors had reveled in the gigantic trees, drinking in the scents and sensations of the verdani mind. The Onthos had settled in, but had not built any structures nor moved into existing homes. For now, the aliens were content to be back in the embrace of the vast forest, sleeping out in the open.
Some Therons were uneasy about the strange visitors, but King Peter reminded them all, “The worldforest recognizes them. If they cared for the trees the way our green priests do, then they must be our allies.”
Arita’s parents had recently been called away because of a crisis at Shorehaven, where a large but rare native predator had been ravaging the villagers, and Peter and Estarra had gone to investigate, leaving the green priests—and Arita—to learn more about the Gardeners.
Now Ohro raised his thin arms to indicate the sprawling canopy of interlocked fronds above them. “The Shana Rei obliterated our forest down to the last treeling, but without worldtrees, the Onthos cannot reproduce. We are stagnant, our numbers dwindling. Until now.”
Arita was fascinated with alien life-forms, particularly trees, fungi, and insects, and the Gardeners could not be any stranger than what she had seen on other worlds. She spoke up, startling the self-absorbed green priests. “I don’t understand. How could you need worldtrees for that?”
The alien looked at her curiously. “Our symbiosis with the verdani was greater even than a green priest’s bond with the trees, and we saved only one of our spore mothers.” Ohro looked directly at her, as if he felt a tighter connection with her than with the green priests. But that made no sense. “We have lived so long without any hope at all. Now that the Onthos are here on Theroc, everything will change.”