Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 317
Terraforming a planet was neither a quick process nor one that
had an end. The climate of Ventus would never achieve
equilibrium; without the constant intervention of the planet’s
ruling spirits, the air would cool and the oxygen/carbon cycles
oscillate out of control. The world would experience alternate
phases of hyperoxygenation and asphyxiation, coupled with
disastrous atmospheric circulation locks; parts of the globe
would be under almost constant rain, others would never
receive rain at all. Everything would die, in the long run.
The Winds exercised great intelligence and forbearance.
They played the clouds and ocean waves of Ventus like the
most grand and complex instruments. Their symphonic
teamwork was perfect.
So: capricious they might be, but the Winds were not
purposeless. Everyone on and off Ventus knew this. When it
came to dealing with other intelligent entities, however, they
did at first seem mad. The histories he had been reading,
which were more extensive than those available offworld, told
of massacres and blessings, following no apparent pattern,
which the poor human residents of this world had struggled for
centuries to justify and predict. The accepted theory was that
they viewed human activity as an assault on the ecosystem, and
acted to defend it. Armiger had read enough by now to know
that it simply wasn’t so.
Throughout the history of the world, men and women
had appeared who claimed to be able to communicate with the
Winds. Sometimes they were hanged as witches. Sometimes
they were able to prove their claims, and then they founded
religions.
The Winds were difficult entities to worship, because
they had the annoying characteristic of possessing minds of
their own. Gods, one philosophical wag had commented,