Strange Noises Fiction by Rachel Greenham

“Still, at least you’re human. I don’t even get to be that any more.” I’ve dried myself up and Hajarean’s returned to the other chair.

“Who says you’re not human?” he asks.

I stare at him. “Uh… these?” I reply, sweeping back my hair behind my ears and showing them to him in turn. “Kind of a dead givaway, those, aren’t they?”

“And that makes you nonhuman, does it?”

“Wha—” I flounder. I don’t know what to say. “What are you getting at?”

“Look at you,” he says, becoming more animated, even enthusiastic. “Look at any human and any elf side by side and instead of looking at the few tiny little things that are different, look at all the huge things that are the same. Mammals, bipeds, hands,” he raises his own to demonstrate, and shakes them comically, “eyes, ears, a big brain, language, art, music, dancing, laughter, tears, love. Human, in every way that matters.”

“Human,” I whisper. The word almost locks my throat again.

“Elves in this world are not mystical demigods, no matter how much some of them might like playing the part. They’re real, biological beings. They evolved here. And we’re so similar; we can even interbreed… I think by definition that probably makes us the same species.”

I just stare, with eyes that still hurt from crying.

He continues, “My own private theory is that we’re two subspecies of homo sapiens. Homo sapiens sapiens,” he says, pointing at himself, then at me, “Homo sapiens neriens.” He smiles self-deprecatingly and shrugs. “Yeah, I made it up. It’ll have to do unless someone a bit more qualified falls through.”

“And the Reki are Homo sapiens rekiens, you’re saying?” I ask.

“Maybe. Or maybe all the elves are one subspecies and it’s just ethnic differences, I don’t know, I’m not enough of a biologist.”

“You’ve had a long time to think about this,” I say.

“Yes, I have.” He nods slowly. “The point is, I believe you’re as human as I am, Tani. And anyone who says otherwise is the sort of person who thinks these tiny differences,” he touches his own ear to illustrate, “are more important than the hugeness of what we have in common. It’s a shame, but there are plenty of people who think that way, here just as much as back in that other world, and they do it for the same reasons. To claim special status, to justify special treatment.”

“Kerilas said… Kerilas said it’s not about race,” I say. “Because we really are different.”

“Not so much—”

“Living thousands of years is quite a difference,” I point out. “Staying forever young, perfect regeneration, and I know that works because these,” I show him my hands, “were fucked a few months ago. I still have nightmares about it. But… we have all these advantages. It’s not fair, on you. You have to grow old—”

“And you have to die young.”

I would never have thought of it like that. Actually I remember I have had similar thoughts, but to hear it put so concisely stops me dead, staring at him.

He continues, “Yes I can see how the extended lifespan might change your perspective over time, but only in the same sort of way mine would, if I lived that long. But you know, you’re not thousands of years old yet. Why try to second-guess how you’ll be changed by that much experience? It’s an impossible standard to hold yourself to. Be who you are now and let time take care of itself. Don’t let people make you feel inferior and juvenile.”

“But I am—” I stop myself, feeling embarrassed and suddenly not wanting to meet his eyes.

“What?”

“Well…” I shrug. “Juvenile, I guess. Just a kid, aren’t I?” The sadness in my tone of voice surprises me. I hadn’t realised I felt that way about it.

“Ah. And you’re afraid that just because you said that, I’m going to start treating you like a child, like everyone else does?”

I nod.

“Or are you hoping that I will? It lets you off the hook from so many things, doesn’t it?”

That makes me look up at him, but his face is neutral, regarding me quietly.

“I see a charming young woman who’s been told she’s a child so often and treated like a child so much it’s hard for her to disbelieve it. Especially by your Satthei, am I right?”

I can only nod. “But she’s right. I mean… I act like such a kid sometimes. I don’t mean to, it just happens. She said it’s ’cause my brain’s immature. Still growing. But I mean, it’s not only her. Just ask Sam. I had another tantrum at Sam the other day. I didn’t mean to, I just…” I don’t know, and I fall silent.

“It’s what everyone expects of you, isn’t it? We’re all shaped by others’ expectations of us, Tani. It’s only human.”

I curl up sideways in the chair and hug my knees. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think, now.

“You confuse me,” I say eventually.

“I get that a lot,” Hajarean admits.

“I was just getting used to thinking of myself as not human and you come here and tell me I am. I was just getting used to thinking I’m a kid – again – and you tell me I’m not. I don’t know… I don’t know what I am, okay? It’s hard enough figuring out what I’m supposed to be doing any given time.”

“Telling you you’re a child, treating you like one, it’s a means of social control,” he explains. “It’s not just the Sapi humans they hold back this way, it’s the rest of the Neri humans too, only even more literally. Literally holding back even their physical development by decades, even centuries; they artificially keep their own offspring in an immature state to control their fertility and make them more tractable.”

“You’re… You mean the Sattheis.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“I was… I was induced too early, she said.”

“She told you that?”

I nod. “Well, this shaman—”

“What does that mean anyway? Do you know what this ‘inducing’ actually is, Tani? Do you know how it’s done? Have you seen it done?”

I shake my head. No-one ever explained it to me. No relevant-seeming memory has ever resurfaced.

“It’s just what happens when you’re removed from the chemical environment of a Satthei’s ship for long enough. No pheremones, no oil, your natural development kicks in and you start growing up as you’re supposed to. That’s all it is. There’s nothing sinister about it. No black-hearted Reki doing foul misdeeds—”

I sob, suddenly, surprising myself.

“They told you that, didn’t they?” Hajarean asks gently. “They wanted you to think your growing up was because Kerilas had done something to you.”

I nod, squeezing my eyes shut. “I knew he didn’t,” I whisper thickly. “I always knew he didn’t, but I thought it must’ve been someone else—” My throat blocks up.

“Ever since the Sattheis left us alone here, younger Neri have been coming, dribs and drabs. Runaways, orphans, refugees, what have you. They’ve made a home for themselves here. Growing up naturally, raising families, living the way humans are supposed to live, not… bound in chemical servitude in a floating hive.”

“I saw a couple in the market,” I say. It’s still difficult to speak. “Neri kids. They looked happy. She was pregnant. She— She’s just a child.”

“No, she’s not. Hm, heavily pregnant?” I nod. “That’s probably Sarelis then.”

“You know her?”

“I believe I’m acquainted with all the Neri in the city.” He smiles. “There really aren’t that many. A hundred or so. If you come to any of the functions in my house you’ll probably meet her. You can talk to her, ask her about this yourself. Or I’m sure I could arrange some other introduction if you prefer.”

I draw in a ragged sigh. “I don’t know,” I say. “Not yet.”

He nods. “I can understand. It’s hard to take in when you find out you’ve been lied to for so long. Take it in your own time.”

“She was so kind,” I say, meaning Fareis.

“Of course she was. All they do, they do with motherly kindness. Really, I see no malice in what the Sattheis do. They mean only the best, and they’ve been doing what they do for so long it’s hard to remember sometimes that it’s not… natural. But the kindest mother can be…” he seems to be searching for a word. “Reluctant,” he decides, “to let her children face the world alone, without the protection she can give them. Believe me, I can understand that. I have grown-up children. But there comes a point in any normal parenthood when you just can’t protect your children any more. It’s terrifying, it really is, but they grow up and you have to let them do their own thing. Except the Sattheis found a way around that. They stop their children growing up.”

I can’t say anything. I just look at nothing, at my own knees, and the floor tiles. I don’t want to cry again.

He gets to his feet unhurriedly. “I’ll make you some Calmer tea if you like?” he offers.

I nod. “Thanks. There’s water—”

“I know. Just tell me which pot.”

I point and he takes my mug to rinse and gets on with it.

“Thing is, they treat the whole of Jeodin the same way,” he says as he pours water from the pail I’d brought in into the kettle. “To them, we’re all their beloved, darling children, always trying to run too fast, always trying to get into trouble.” He returns with the kettle and my rinsed mug and places the former on the stove. “Maybe when you get to that sort of age that’s just the way you see the world; I don’t know.”

“And now someone’s trying to kill them,” I say.

“Yes,” he says thoughtfully, “yes, that is troubling, especially if slavers are involved, as you say. That’s…” He bites his lip. “Last thing anyone wants is them getting a foothold in Jeodin. Hark,” he says, at a sound outside, “I think the revellers return.”

The sound is of four women coming through the outer courtyard door less quietly than they think. “Marketeer girls in portfall back from a night out on the razz,” I sum up. Hajarean chuckles and takes up the boiling kettle to pour my tea. “’Least we don’t have to fish them out of the harbour when they fall in.” Finally he hands my mug back to me and resumes his seat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The door opens. Chirasel is the first one through. “Hey Tani,” she says quietly, then she sees Hajarean. “Oh, you’ve got a visitor.”

“What?” I hear Sam’s voice from outside. Then, as if propelled, all three other women spill into the room. Sam’s arm is around Beni’s waist, I notice. “Whoah,” she says, staring at Hajarean. Then, “I knew it! Hah!”

“Hello, Samila,” Hajarean says, in English.

“Just ‘Sam,’” I warn.

“Oh man, I am too drunk for this,” Sam says. “Hi.” She laughs. “Damn it I knew you were faking!”

“Any trouble from the kids, Tani?” Chirasel asks me.

“No, they’ve been fine. Oh and, everyone, this is Lord Hajarean. He’s a friend. Um… Okay, that’s Chirasel, Demele, and Benitese,” I complete the introductions, grateful at least none of them decided to bring back any locals with them, marketeer-style.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, ladies,” Hajarean says urbanely, instantly charming the pants off them, figuratively speaking, thankfully.

“Okay, okay, I see I’m going to have to watch you,” Sam counters.

“Come on, Demi,” Chirasel says, and literally pulls Demele out of the room.

Beni leads Sam as far as the door. “Are you coming up?” she asks Sam. It’s that special way of asking that you just know means there’s something you weren’t sure was really going on, really is.

I can just stare.

“Uhhh.” Sam looks between Beni and Hajarean. “He’s an old friend. I need to—”

“Thought so.”

“I’ll be up in a bit.”

“I’ll be asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up.”

“I’ll hit you if you do.”

Their faces are getting very close together. “What if I do it sloooowly.”

“Then I might forgive—” Beni’s interrupted by Sam kissing her.

It goes on for some time, Hajarean and myself looking away, at each other, at anything. I’m embarrassed, but after a moment I realise Hajarean’s laughing, in that silent, contained way I remember Simon doing.

Finally the two of them finish and Beni slides out of Sam’s arms and disappears into the rest of the house. Sam wanders back into the kitchen.

“I don’t believe you, Lee!” Hajarean exclaims. “Putting you in a girl’s body hasn’t slowed you down at all!”

Sam grins hugely. “What can I say? I am just that sexy.” She locks her hands over her head and gives us one emphatic hip-grind. “Oh yeah,” in that deep low voice like that song from Ferris Bueller, or as close to deep as her voice goes. “Ooh, yeah. Shove over you,” she indicates to me.

“Get yer own chair, I’m comfy now.”

Sam sighs dramatically and goes to pull over the other comfortable chair from its place in the corner. “You know what the crazy thing is,” she says. “I think my pulling powers have actually increased.”

“She says this every time we make port,” I comment as Sam flops into the chair.

“See, my theory is, right? There’s no such thing as contraception – not that works anyway. But also, there’s no such thing as sexuality. Added to—”

“What?” I ask, half laughing. That didn’t make sense.

“No, Sam’s right,” Hajarean agrees. “Even in the other world, sexuality as a concept is only a hundred or so years old. No-one here’s heard of it. There’s no such word as homosexual here. There’s no such word as heterosexual either. It simply doesn’t occur to people here to categorise themselves, or anyone else, according to who they’re attracted to.”

Sam has been watching Hajarean a little swimmingly. “What he said,” she pronounces at last. “Added to that, there’s no religion making stupid rules about sex an’ saying it’s bad or nothing like that. So if girls just wanna have fun or romance or whatever it’s only sensible of ’em to have it with other girls, until they’re actually ready to have a baby. In my current station in life it’s an arrangement of which I wholly approve, on soooo many levels.” She grins again and leans back, self-satisfied, her hands behind her head, and one booted ankle resting on the opposite knee. “Well, at least two,” she admits leerily.

“I’m glad to see you’re adapting so well,” Hajarean says.

Sam fixes him with a look. “I have good days.” Grin. “This is a good day.”

“Well, it’s not just the women here that do that, you know,” Hajarean informs us.

“I bow to your doubtless extensive experience in these matters,” Sam declares, noticeably not bowing from her mostly-recumbent position.

“I’ll have you know I’m a happily married man,” Hajarean protests.

“Uh-huh,” Sam and I say in unison.

“Hey!”

“Careful, your English neuroses are showing,” Sam says.

“You have to admit, you walked right into that one,” I say to Hajarean.

He chuckles. “I did, I really did. Actually, most of my education on the matter came from my son.”

We both stare at him.

“We’d talk,” Hajarean protests, “after another one of his big emotional break-ups I’m the one he’d come and talk to. I’m rather… proud of that, to be honest.”

“Ah,” I say, exaggerating my relief.

“Hang on, most of your education?” Sam notices. “Ahhh, so come on, was he pretty?”

“Was who pretty?”

“Or were you pretty?” I ask, getting in on it.

“Gyrefalcon was always very pretty,” Sam says.

“How would you know? You weren’t even born!” Hajarean answers back.

“From the game, silly.”

“You couldn’t see me in the game.”

“I’m right though, aren’t I? I mean come on, you’re pretty dishy now and you’re what, fifty-something?”

“Mmm. And a bit.”

“Fifty-something-and-a-bit.”

“Yes. I’m actually not sure to the exact year.”

“You think he’s dishy now?” I ask Sam.

“I’m not afraid to admit it. Come on. The princess had to have seen something in you.”

“She wasn’t a princess, you just called her ‘princess,’ it’s not the same thing at all,” Hajarean points out. “And perhaps she merely perceived my dazzling wit and charm and my unquestioned gallantry in the face of insurmountable odds.”

Sam makes a loud raspberry.

“Oh come on, I saved her from being sacrificed to a fucking evil goddess—”

“Excuse me, what’s with this ‘I’ business?”

“All right, ‘we’. Honestly, you two, it’s like talking to my granddaughters.”

“Ooh, roll saving throw against patronising old fart attack!”

“I am not a patronising— I’m not, am I?”

Sam grins, victorious. “Are they pretty?”

“Who now?”

“Your granddaughters?”

“You keep away from my granddaughters!”

“You sayin’ I’m not good enough for your granddaughters?” Sam cries out, affecting more drunkenness than she actually possesses. “What do you think I’m going to do, get them pregnant?” She grins again.

“The eldest is twelve.”

Sam shrugs. “I can wait.”

“Since when?”

“Hey that’s not fair, I didn’t know she was fifteen!”

“What?” I ask. This must be something from before I joined the group.

“Never mind,” they both say to me in unison.

“You’re a bad influence,” Hajarean tells Sam. “Is she always like this?” he asks me.

“More so when she’s drunk,” I concede. “Hey, and you wouldn’t even kiss me that time!” I berate Sam unseriously. “I feel so shunned.”

It’s Hajarean’s turn to ask, “What?”

“Never mind,” Sam and I say in unison.

Hajarean laughs. Almost motionless but for a deep tremor, silent and helpless to breathe in, his belly convulsing. It’s so perfectly the way Simon laughs when something really gets him.

“Woop, there ’e goes,” Sam quips.

Hajarean snatches a breath and manages to get out a “You bas—” before the paralysis takes him again.

“Come on, it wasn’t that funny,” Sam protests.

“If he needs mouth to mouth, you’re doing it,” I add.

“Ew, he’s got a beard. Be all scratchy.”

“Maybe it’s an acquired taste.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Eventually, and without much help from us, Hajarean gets himself under control again. “I have missed you two,” he says, becoming serious. “More than I realised.”

“It’s really been thirty four years for you?” Sam asks.

Hajarean nods. “I’m glad you at least had each other, to remind you the world we came from is real, and you’re not just going insane.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like suddenly finding yourself here on your own.”

“It wasn’t pretty.”

He falls silent. We wait.

“I must have been impossible to live with,” he continues finally. “I don’t know how Hani put up with me when every time I opened my mouth it was to deny her existence. Insisting nothing was real, nothing mattered, no-one could be hurt by what I did because they weren’t real anyway.”

What he’s saying reminds me so much of Lotan. And then I remember what he did, helping us escape. I still can’t figure out what it is I’m feeling about that.

“What changed your mind?” Sam asks.

He smiles. “Holding my son in my arms for the first time. Such a cliché, isn’t it? It just… flicked a switch inside me.”

“Clichés get that way for a reason,” I offer.

“Mmm. I just knew, in that moment. I understood what mattered to me, what was more real to me than anything I’d known before. My son, and Hani’s love.”