It would take volumes to convey the song in any human language and all those books couldn’t begin to approximate the emotional impact of the throbbing subsonics and keening, piercing high notes, of the pressure of all the information crashing in on the senses at once.
On and on the Skyfall Song swept, carrying the Bach Choir with it in its tale of holocaust. Of pods wiped out in an eyeblink, crushed by pressure waves, battered apart by hurricanes, seared by unimaginable heat. Of High Folk burning like torches as they fell into the clouds, of the clouds themselves parted and roiling as the very order of the world was overturned. And above all of loss. The terrible, terrible loss.
“Still today we see it,” sang the three.
“In the south we see it.” Their voices soared together nearly beyond hearing.
“Sweeping round the world we see it, red memory of our doom.”
The Bach Choir remained silent as the last notes died away. Ensign felt his flanks quiver in grief and his breath come hard to stick in his throat. Over on the far side someone—Crystal?—began the Mourning Song. Without thinking, the rest of the choir picked up the ancient, unadorned melody.
Gradually the Mourning Song faded into silence in the deepening twilight.
“It is an old song,” Teacher said at last. “A thing from long ago. But you can still see the result today.”
“The Great Red Spot,” breathed The Geek.
Teacher bobbed assent. “This is the song of how it came to be. Now,” he commanded suddenly. “Look over to the west. There, above Ganymede and to the right.”
As one the Bach choir swung in the indicated direction.
“There’s something there,” Melody said. “A wandering star.”
“No,” The Geek said. “Wanderers follow fixed patterns. This,” he hesitated, “I don’t think this is mentioned in any of the sky songs.”
“It is new. Now, look above and farther right.”
Ensign squinted with effort as he deformed the lenses of his main eyes to bring the area into focus. A human would have needed a telescope, but each of Ensign’s two main eyes was larger than a man was tall and the lenses were backed by several square meters of imaging surface all feeding an image processing system that would put an Earthly eagle or owl to shame. If he looked very hard he could see…
“Another one,” The Geek said. “Just above it.”
“And one above that and another above that,” Teacher told them. “And others yet, if you know where and when to look. We do not think any of them are as big as the one in the Skyfall Song. But they are big enough.”
“What are they?” The Geek demanded.
Teacher rippled a shrug. “Pieces of the sky. We only know they will fall, and soon. As they come closer we will know more, but by then it will be too late.”
“Too late for what?” asked Killer.
“Salvation,” Teacher said quietly.
In spite of himself, Ensign felt his body twitch toward the fleeing shape.
“But you said this one wasn’t big,” Crystal protested.
“Big enough,” wheezed Simon. “Big enough and more than one. Many, many more. Twenty of them at last count.”
Stunned silence. “Twenty to go,” mumbled Simon. “Twenty to come, twenty… sshhhhhisss.”
“We think they will all fall within three or four days,” Teacher said tightly. “Rather than one great storm, we will have many which will be almost as great.”
“Like facing a whole pod of sharks,” Droner said quietly. “Move to avoid one and you are in the path of another.” Teacher bobbed gravely.
“Then there is nothing we can do,” Melody said softly.
“No, there is something we can do.” Teacher looked over the entire Bach Choir. “Something you all must do.
“We do not know exactly where the sky will fall, but we have some idea where it is less likely to fall. North is safer than south. We need to go north as far and as quickly as possible. We need to save the songs that are our past and future—the songs that are us.”
“How do we know where they will fall and where they won’t?” Ensign asked.
“We watch,” Simon wheezed. “We measure. We sing songs of prediction. We make new songs.” The ancient sucked air, as if speaking more than two sentences exhausted him.
Simon seemed to be gathering himself to wheeze out something more when Yearling jumped in. “That means we go traveling again. We’ve already been from both the North to South edges of the South Temperate Zone and tasted the whirlwinds where the clouds slip by each other.”
Teacher dipped his wingtips in a frown. “We will have to cross the edge into the south Temperate Belt, where the air sinks and one must always climb. Then if we can we must cross into the south Tropical Zone.”
Killer became rigid with controlled disagreement. “If you think we’re going anywhere near the Great Red Spot…”
Teacher made a placating gesture, “The Spot is on the other side of the world. We won’t be anywhere near it. But even that Zone will not be safe. For safety we must go even farther north.”
“How far north?” The Geek asked.
“As far as we can,” Teacher said gravely. “Even above the equator if we have time.”
That subdued even Yearling. Few of the High Folk had crossed even one band edge in their lives. Now Teacher told them they would have to make the dangerous crossings several times in a row, and to do it as quickly as they could.
“And there will be new songs to learn,” Teacher added. “Many new songs.”
“Other peoples’ songs,” Killer rumbled out slowly. “We would be singing others’ songs.” Clearly he didn’t like the thought.
“Yours and many others,” Teacher said. “We will carry as much knowledge as possible.”
“And we’re the only ones going?”
“No. Others have been warned. Some are gathering songs and fleeing. But you are unique.”
That was true enough. Most choirs were regular pods, family groups with young and pregnant females to slow them down. The Bach Choir was an artificial creation, all the members about the same age and bound together by their talent and their music. There were no young or pregnant females. Slightly scandalous to be sure, but that reputation suited the Choir’s image of itself. Ensign had never thought of the composition as a survival advantage. He found he didn’t much like the notion, however true it might be.
“Some, but not everyone?” Killer asked sharply.
“No,” Teacher said tiredly, “not everyone.”
“And you say you don’t know where the sky will fall? We might be running into danger instead of away from it?”
“What is your point?”
“My point,” Killer spit with sharp resonating consonants, “is that this is a fool’s errand.” He paused, recognizing that he had gone too far. “I’m sorry, Teacher,” he continued more gently. “I respect you and your knowledge. But this is wrong.”
Killer swung slightly, addressing the group as much as Teacher. “You and Simon say we might die in skyfall if we stay here, but you’re not sure. I’ll tell you what is sure. If we try to travel north across the bands, we will die. It is the wrong season, the edge storms will be bad and we have not fed for the journey. You’re asking us to wager a possible doom against the certain destruction of the Bach Choir. I won’t take that bet.”