Freewalker

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Authors: Dennis Foon
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thing isn’t like a normal plant.”
    â€œI kind of already figured that out.”
    Roan ignores the slight. “They have an... energy. Almost like...” Roan stops, struggling for an explanation.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThought.”
    â€œBut they’re... plants.”
    â€œYou’re right,” says Roan. But he’s not sure he believes it. He has a close look at Lumpy’s hand. “I think it will be alright. How does it feel?”
    â€œFine. Just numb, that’s all.”
    â€œThat’s why the frogs stopped struggling so quickly. The tendrils must inject a paralyzing venom in their prey.”
    â€œLucky I’m bigger than a bullfrog.”
    â€œYeh. But if five or ten of those things got hold of us at once, it could be lethal.”
    â€œGood point.”
    â€œBest to wait till sunset. If we’re lucky, they’ll drift off again, looking to herd some more frogs.”
    â€œHow lucky are you feeling?”
    â€œCan’t say I foresaw being besieged by plants. Not one of the books in Saint’s library covered that topic.”
    â€œI’d laugh if I wasn’t so scared. Hey, what did Bildt say about plants? Sensitive to sound, remember?”
    â€œThat’s right. She talks and sings to them.”
    â€œYou should play for them, it might have an effect, maybe drive them away, or put them to sleep.”
    â€œWorth a try.”
    Back up in the safety of the tree, Roan hangs his pack from a nearby branch. He locates his recorder and slides it gently from its sleeve.
    â€œIt’s hard to imagine a Brother making the effort to find something so... unwarlike.”
    â€œBrother Asp was different. I couldn’t understand how he could be with them, he seemed so kind, but he said it gave him more opportunities to work as a healer. In the end, I think I felt the most betrayed by him. He knew all the time what Saint and the Brothers did to Longlight, he was there for all the Visitations and bloody rituals—and he never tried to stop any of it.”
    â€œMaybe he wasn’t what he seemed. Alandra lived in Fairview, and as sick as it made her, she went along with the child harvest. She tolerated it because she was waiting for you, right? For you and our kids. Hey, what if Asp was a Dirt Eater, too?”
    â€œBrother Asp?”
    â€œWell,” says Lumpy, “if the Dirt Eaters were watching over you at Oasis and Fairview, then Newlight, what would have stopped them from having someone with the Brothers?”
    Roan mulls it over, considering Asp’s generosity, his concern for people, his keen interest in Longlight. “I’ve never thought of that before. But when you put it that way, it seems so obvious.”
    â€œThanks. Now will you play the damned recorder so we can see if there’s a chance of hypnotizing those plants?”
    Balancing the instrument in his fingers, Roan lifts it and blows, the honeyed quavers of a ballad from Longlight drifting lazily in the early morning haze. The world he lost floats on the surface of his eyes and when he finishes he cannot bring himself to look up at Lumpy.
    â€œKeep playing,” Lumpy gently urges.
    Roan plays all the Longlight tunes he knows, melodies he heard over and over as a child that he rearranged for the children of Newlight. Lona had started it, demanding that he make her some pipes so she could join his playing, and soon Bub and all the others were in on the act. He and Lumpy had spent many evenings carving flutes for them all—except for Jam, who wanted a drum. They’d played together every night after dinner. In a matter of weeks, their little pipe orchestra was harmonizing at a level beyond anything Roan had thought possible. He shouldn’t have been surprised. There was nothing ordinary about those children. Nothing ordinary at all.
    One look at Lumpy’s misty eyes tells him that the music is evoking similar memories in them

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