Iteration

They are waiting for us at dusk in the neglected park on the edge of town.

I touch Zara's shoulder. The Hum gets louder when I do. It always does, but for the first time, I can hear the Murmur that Zara has always claimed to whisper inside of it. Finally hearing it would be a thrill to me except for the thugs that posture before us, blocking our way. One of them sniggers like a moron.

Shit. Almost home-free, too.

She nods slightly. Please don't hurt them too much, Ted.

I let go of her shoulder, and the Hum tones down again. I shield her without looking like it. There's no point in giving away how ready I am to knock heads until I start doing it. Don't hurt them, she said. She says the same thing every time we have a to-do with the few folks whose sicknesses won't let them ignore her, but it's them who always want to hurt us, big--

Two of the townies lunge at her, trying to get around me. They fail, and it's nighty-night for both of them. I don't wait for the other two to shit or get off the pot; I close the distance and send them to dreamland too. Clean and painless. Hopefully, they won't remember a thing.

I wonder for the millionth time why some people want her dead the moment they lay eyes on her. Maybe people just hate what they don't understand.

I feel her hand on my arm.

My hero! Her thought is as warm as laughter. Let's roll them into the bushes. It's a lovely evening; they'll be fine until they wake up.

I grunt by way of reply. I don't give a damn if they'll be OK or not; they aren't my concern. She is.

After stashing the sleeping beauties, we head towards the spot at the back of the overgrown park where a narrow, choked trail winds off into some of the thickest forests I've ever seen. It's dark now, and the stars glitter overhead, diamonds on black velvet. There's no moon. It's a perfect "vanish off the face of the earth" kind of night. The sources of Hum and Murmur are both somewhere up ahead, deep inside these abandoned woods, so I guess vanishing is what we're about to do.

Zara is beside me, hand extended--she wants to talk. I gently take her delicate, powder-white hand in mine. My hand seems to swallow hers whole; she's so tiny.

Can you feel it, Ted? We're closer now. This is it, I think. The Murmur tells me this is where we leave the roads and towns behind for good. We're going home, Ted! Home!

I don't see how it's home since I've never been there, but the pull inside my chest is undeniable: I long with all my being to disappear forever with her into these woods.

I glance sidelong at her, studying. She's standing with her head held high, long white hair glimmering against her dark coat, and her luminous green and gold eyes shining. Those eyes are too bright and too knowing to seem wholly human. She is so beautiful that my heart lurches in my chest.

Almost there, yes. And then what?

And then we see what lies at the end of the path. What choice do we have? Her lambent eyes shift to stare into my plain brown ones, probing. We've come too far.

I just worry about what "end" means. I wish I knew what the Murmur whispers to you.

She leans in close and lays her head against me. Sighs.

It's only directions. They led me to you and then led us here, closer to the Source. Aren't you even curious? Can't you hear that the Hum is changing, getting longer--the bits and pieces are coming together? It's almost making sense, now.

But why! What is it? What does it want?

It wants us, silly. Why, I don't know. The Murmur still won't answer my questions. Whatever it is, it doesn't plan to hurt us, I can tell that much. Come on, let's go. I'm not sure how far it is, but I think we have a lot of walking left to do.

She drops my hand suddenly and trots off into the woods. She has no flashlight, no nothing, but she's sure-footed and confident; no branch seems to touch her. She loves the night. She's so pale she seems to be glowing in the dark.

It is a source of never-ending wonder to me that she has survived as long as she has.

I follow her in. The branches touch me plenty as I lumber after her, almost reaching for me, but I am careful not to break a single one. I listen to the Hum as we travel. Zara is right. It's changing. The Hum has always been like an unintelligible audio version of TV snow, but it's not as incoherent now. It's like a thousand million voices all talking at once, but now I can pick up fragments of thoughts. Alien thoughts, but somehow familiar, and not at all unpleasant. They're thoughts of earth, water, and fresh air singing through branches and sighing through leaves. There are Voices raised in joyous upwellings and bubbling over with happy laughter. Contentment sighs in the spaces between. It's heady stuff, the Hum.

There's something else in it--ponderings, musings, and impressions, concise as language, borne along in darkness, running like a subterranean river through the light-hearted babble of the Hum. That must be the Murmur. I can't hear it like Zara does; so far, it talks only to her. This half-heard rush and whoosh of unseen rhythms fascinate me; I sense vast, ancient wisdom and knowledge in those dark and flowing echoes.

At sunrise, we halt. We are miles into the woods. I rest against a massive oak as Zara falls asleep beside me. Listening to the faint, purposeful rush of the Murmur, I struggle to understand. I can hear it clearly now, nestled inside the Hum, and while my understanding of it doesn't increase, my tenseness and fear of the unknown at the end of our journey begin to fade. The Murmur seems to whisper that All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. The thought pops into my head that here, in this spot, we are safe. Sleep, now. Sleep. Digging my fingers deep into the soil, I drift into a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * * *

The sun sets on our fourth day in the forest. I pull my hands from the soil and Zara unwraps her pale arms from around me. We rise and stretch, preparing to continue on.

Something bothers me. Again with no food or fire? It's been . . . days, hasn't it? I'm not hungry, but I damn well should be. You can't not eat for days and not be hungry.

The Murmur says to stop fretting. It will all be explained! You--

Zara's thought cuts off and she stares at me, her beautiful eyes wide.

You heard me? Wait, I heard you? But. . . but . . . She looks confused, but only for a moment. Then she beams at me and grins, laughing.

Realization floods through me. She's five feet away and I can hear her clear as a bell. We aren't touching, and we can talk to each other! Zara flings herself into my arms, still laughing. She squeezes me tight, and I return it. I, who was born with a physical voice, can't imagine how freeing such a simple thing must be for her, even if there's only me to talk to. I am happy beyond belief for her, and I sweep her off the ground. Suddenly, she is kissing me fiercely, her lips hard on mine. I have an unbidden, intensely carnal thought, and she pulls her head back, staring into my eyes, her white cheeks now burnished a delicate red. She's still smiling, though there is something ineffable way down deep in her eyes.

I move to set her down before another one of those thoughts comes along. She cradles my face in her hands.

It's a lovely thought! Don't be embarrassed! Don't you know yet that I'm yours and you are mine? We are almost bonded now, joined forever, and that can't ever be undone. But we have to move, there is no time for anything but haste. The Murmur calls us. We must answer!

Alrighty, then. Let's go. How much farther?

Soon, Ted. Soon.

* * * *

More days have passed, all blending into each other. We must be at least a hundred miles in, maybe more. It's the dawn of our last day of traveling together. This knowledge comes to us through the Murmur, which whispers that we are nearly there, no time to rest; come to us, Come now! Zara translates; I still don't understand its language.

We glance at each other over our clasped hands and smile. We are naked now--have been for days. Our clothing grew too stifling, so we ditched it. It's amusing to us both that now that we can talk without touching, we are touching all the time.

The day is gorgeous, and we walk, talking and laughing together in silence through the brilliant greens and browns of a vibrant, Humming forest. There are mushrooms everywhere; their brilliant colorations decorate every surface. The trees greet me as a brother. Their reaction to Zara is even more astounding; they regard her with reverence and incline slightly toward her in as much of a bow as trees can manage.

She leads me into a small clearing in the forest with a hoary, gnarly tree stump in its center. Mushrooms carpet the ground and run up the stump. It is from here that the Murmur most clearly emanates. Here, then, is the Source.

No, silly, just a focal point. A mouth, if you will.

The voice sounds like Zara's but--

The Hum's thousand million voices suddenly all speak as one: Let the Union begin!

Zara turns to face me with tears spilling down her cheeks. She asks if I am ready to complete the bond. Caught by surprise, I don't understand but I nod anyway. She appears different, her hair has merged with her body. She looks like a mass of white threads in human form. She stretches up and kisses me, pressing the whole length of her body against mine. I gasp aloud as I feel her dissolve throughout my whole being like water soaking into dry soil. The feeling is so intensely intimate that I cry out, and do what I have never done in all my long life: I faint.

When I wake, I am alone. Zara is gone.

No, beloved, not gone. I'm here with you, here forever.

And so she is. I can feel her entwined with every fiber of my being. We are two made one. It feels so right; like it should always have been this way.

Yes.

Slowly, I rise to my feet. I try to speak, but there is no sound. I have lost my voice. That should bother me, but somehow, it doesn't.

The stump, now covered with white filaments, speaks in the language of the Murmur. At last, I can understand it!

Stop calling us the Murmur. It sounds ridiculous.

What . . .

Shush. We're done here. Everything you need to know is already within you. Now that the Union is complete, the pressure is off you--at least for now. Stay as long as you like, and acquaint yourself with what you must save.

Wait! Who . . .what are we?

The filaments ignore me. They draw down into the ancient stump and disappear.

Zara? A little help here?

It's simple, dearest. You are of the Hum, the forest, the trees. You were born to humans but you have a tree's heart. Same with me. I was born to humans but am also of the Murmur, mushrooms, the fungi that tie all living things together. You and I have now joined together as trees and fungi the world over must do to have any hope of understanding anything. You, my love, are my tree. Together we are the Keepers of the knowledge of all things touched, felt, heard, and consumed. This knowledge goes all the way back to the beginning, and must never be lost. We are the key to ensuring that it will go on. That's it in a nutshell, so to speak.

Show me.

And she does.

I understand, now, the currents of this world. I can easily follow the ebb and flow of life. This iteration is coming to an end; Extinction is perhaps inevitable at this point. The self-aware hubris of humans will not be stayed. As long as they insist they are not a part of the natural order of things, that all must yield to them, the Balance is forever screwed. My job is to stay alive as long as possible, which, being part tree, could be a very long time indeed. When the time comes; when all that will pass has passed, then I shall lay myself down in the likeliest place I can find. Zara will take it from there and consume my remains. The new shoots that grow from my passing will renew green life and the hope of new knowledge. My voice will once again ring out in a new Hum, the first voice of all the voices to come while Zara, scion of the dark, will begin the Murmur--yeah, I'm still saying it--anew. Wisdom will once more flow from one being to the next, and the cycle will again be set in motion. The web of life will be reborn. In short, life will go on.

This seems like a long shot to my remaining humanity, but it's better than nothing. I'll do my part.

We both will. What choice do we have? We were made for this.

So, it's decided then, my love. But it looks to me like there's some time to get to know our people better. Let's live a little while we can.

I move to the edge of the sunlit clearing and dig my feet into the warm soil. Closing my eyes, I picture Zara standing there, smiling, more beautiful and radiant than ever. I take her hand, and together we dive, giggling, into the deep streams of Hum and Murmur; into the ageless, eternal life of the Whispering Wood.