by Jane Baskin
SKY BROTHER SKY SISTER
BOOK I:
SEED
JANE BASKIN
Copyright © 2018 by Jane A. Baskin
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Prologue
Chapter One All Cocked Up
Chapter TwoUh Oh, Caught
Chapter ThreeMurder is Best
Chapter FourVoices From Underground
Chapter FiveAn Unlikely Pairing
Chapter SixClouds Coming From South
Chapter SevenShe Can Dance; Can You?
Chapter EightWeapons of War
Chapter NineThe Devil By the Front Door
Chapter TenWhat’s That Smell?
Chapter ElevenLove and Dirt
Chapter TwelveBlood And Brothers
Chapter ThirteenThe Rotting Bird Flies After All
Chapter FourteenBlossoms in Winter
Chapter FifteenThe Weirdness of War and Peace
Chapter SixteenA Crack in the Wall; A Shaft of Light
Chapter SeventeenHope Springs Infernal
Chapter EighteenOh, Treachery
Chapter NineteenDisaster
Chapter TwentyNo Other Choice, Right?
Chapter Twenty-oneBlood Flows in Veins and Rivers
Chapter Twenty-twoAll That Cannot Be, Is
Chapter Twenty-threeGhosts Are With You Forever
Chapter Twenty-fourSee Where You Are, and Dance
Chapter Twenty-fiveBrothers. Brothers?
Chapter Twenty-sixThe Many Delights of Manhood
Chapter Twenty-sevenOh Brother
Chapter Twenty-eightThe Awful Strangeness of Strangeness
Chapter Twenty-nineA Hero Rises
Chapter ThirtyDeserved Fruits
Chapter Thirty-oneA Demon Comes Calling
Chapter Thirty-twoEven the Stars Are Hiding
PROLOGUE
(THE STORY OF THEIA)
When Earth was a baby, she met Theia. Wham!
All that flame and debris, in the weird cold silence of space. Earth, the bigger baby, absorbing the smaller Theia. Got herself a moon.
Eventually … life. And look, there. See it. The elements that once were Theia, now putting their unique stamp on some of that life. Deep in the wondrous beauty of the double helix, a unique gene. That worked its way into some of the early hominids and in time, all over the globe. Not in all, but some.
Visitors, now and then. Seeing the planet as primitive, moving on. But one group: oh. Passing by in huge ships, miles long and across. So many! Looking for a root, from which to ascend. And even in those early days, the majesty of Terra: oh. Beauty: unimaginable.
To pass from life beyond death, one has to re-live great beauty. Just to be sure. Hence: a root. A test. To see if you can truly let go.
Some, ascending. Some, not. Those not ready: called by the memory of Theia. Maybe a scent of huge jungle flowers. Maybe the sound of oceans, raking a shore. Maybe a primal sigh. So … stayed. Interbred with the hominids there. Ruled as gods. Creating a unique civilization, evolving faster than the rest of the planet.
In time, of course: their turn (again) to ascend. Left, then. All of them. The entire civilization, vanished. Remembered only in legend and fable; treasured by some, scoffed at by most.
Their search for a root: ending at Sauran. Not much of a surprise, there. Terra’s big brother, linked to her by the red silk thread of destiny that had extended from the primordial soup of both to bind their natures. So similar, these two planets. Same size, gravity; many of the same life forms. Sauran’s hominids, genetically almost identical. Not so amazing, if one sees as God sees.
As on Earth: some, ascending. Some, not. Interbreeding with the population. Spreading all over the planet, giving a gift of language so as to unite it. But not enough of them, in the end, to maintain order. To achieve the arrogant dream of bringing the planet to their level of “civilization.” Absorbed, them; like all travellers who forget to leave. Their ships, decaying in space. Their elders, dying off. Their science, dying out.
Remembered now as the gods that came from the sky and taught them to speak. Immortalized in planetary speech and religion. Remembered in detail only by a speck of intelligence; a bio-mechanical thing, a mass of memory, sometimes called AI by unbelievers. This old, eternal thing, hidden in the latticework of ice caves at the northern pole. That sometimes roused itself from slumber for a microsecond or two; communicated with its sister AI, back on Earth, buried deep in the memories of Theia.
Sauran’s AI, just a few sun spins ago … awoken by a race of travelling scientists dedicated to observation. Historians of a sort, them. Living undetected (or so they think) in that lacy network of ice caves, waiting for Theia’s seed to sprout:
Look how fast he moves.
I know you take that as a sign, but. It may be nothing.
You saw … before. To save his brother, that time. He can alter time.
You really think that happened? You think he’s the one?
You know I do.
But we’re too early. They’re still primitive.
All Class 3 civ’s evolve from Class 2’s.
But … assistance isn’t our job.
This isn’t an ordinary Class 2. And …
Yes, I know. We were called.
Don’t scoff. We were.
You believe in such things.
Of course. Don’t you?
1.All Cocked Up
Noar stole a woman.
This … made his older brother, Nayan, really mad. Like, furious. And Nayan: not a shouter. A quiet man, most of the time. Like a cloud across the moon. Or a panther by night. Hushed, deadly. Soft. Swift.
But now: his moon white skin, showing a flush of red. His near-black eyes narrowing. Long black hair flying out behind him, as he strode toward his brother.
“What have you done!?”
Noar, grinning foolishly. Pretty nervous, him. “Got us a hostage? Keep the bastards at bay?”
Then Noar: finding himself down flat, spitting blood into the mud. How can anyone move that fast?
Not knowing of course, of his brother’s special “gift.” His brother himself, having denied it … for years.
Look, see it.
Nayan could alter time.
Nayan, seething. This: supposed to have been a secret maneuver. In and out. Just the two brothers … who usually moved together seamlessly.
Into the heart of six Southern territories. The six who usually attacked them most often. Sneaking in, crippling their war machines; back out with no more noise than a knife through butter.
But now Noar – the fool! – had stolen a woman. Stolen a woman! Even the rare times they took hostages … always a man. But this madness –
Nayan, observing her. Through a hole in the masonry wall, hidden from her side, he hoped. The woman – girl? – pacing. Angry? Frightened? Hard to tell. Now and then sitting; but too restless. Finally stopped still before the huge stone framed window. Stared out over the woods to the west, the sea to the east.
Nayan, just watching. Twitched when the woman tossed her hair backwards, off her shoulders. Shocking copper red hair, thick as a forest, falling in oceanic waves almost to her waist.
The youngest daughter of Lord Vel, lord of one of the
most prominent Southern clans. One of the most powerful men on the planet. The most formidable of their enemies. Now his daughter – his much beloved daughter – here in Cha-Ning Castle, staring out a window, a prisoner.
Her beauty: renowned. The danger: incalculable.
Even filthy from a month on the road, she is beautiful. Yes. And all I want is to kill her. Noar, you goddamned fool.
Now Nayan, pacing. Back in his rooms. How did this happen? Not our way. What will we do with her? What happens when our father and mother return? Mother will be furious. We don’t take hostages. Not our way. And a woman? If you were not my son … I’d kill you. Not. Our. Way.
Knowing: the girl must be returned. But that: as dangerous as stealing her in the first place. Nayan: not liking at all, this bind his brother created. A woman captive: unheard of in the Clan Chani. Or any northern clan. Noar: sure to be disciplined, harshly. And him, too. Even though he knew none of it until he reached home. He was the older brother. He was responsible.
And … how did his idiot brother even get it done?
I could barely have done it myself. Suddenly ashamed, for thinking himself more skilled than his brother. But truth –
Sat on the edge of his bed, fuming. Gave up; lay back. Let go of the rage. Try, anyway. Let his mind wander to the original mission, the elegant simplicity of it. A good idea. But of course.
Raiding season: almost upon them. The time of year when the gell bloomed, for its scant two weeks in winter. A plant as odd as its silly name. What miserable plant blooms only in winter? And attracts armies of Southern raiders, trying to get the stores, the seeds, the methods? What absurd plant causes wars?
Only the North’s precious gell, of course. A boring little green leafed plant. Would have gone unnoticed by the most practiced eye, but for its near magical properties.
Hallucinogenic, yes. Aphrodisiacal, yes. Especially if consumed with a greedy belly. But if consumed lightly, gradually, as part of one’s regular diet – oh yes, different. Lengthened life, some said. Made one stronger, others said. Made one taller. Smarter. Even more beautiful.
And, the wilder rumors claimed … gave one magical gifts. Silly, yes?
But. This: the part Nayan didn’t want to think about. Not supposed to think about it. Not supposed to talk about it. Not supposed … to do it.
Was it the gell? Or something else? What could it be?
That made him able to share … thoughts … with some other people. That sometimes made things move … just by thinking about it. That made time seem to stand still – sometimes.
Insane.
Right?
In the North, gell: consumed as a weak tea with evening meals. And Northern peoples: generally tall, long-lived, agile, strong.
And beautiful.
Northern females: now and then taken by raiders coming for the gell. Outrageous, that. But northern women, so prized. Almost as much as the plant itself. Obscene.
Not our way.
Of course, such hostages, usually escaping their captors, trudging home irritated, outraged. Those with the gift that should not be talked about, anyway.
Now Nayan, lying on his bed like a fallen god. Big, strongly built, yet feeling oddly helpless. It’s just a goddamned plant. We should have destroyed the ice fields years ago.
But, no. The gell: a fabulous cash crop. Sold to the majority of the planet’s population living just north of and then south of the equator. Sold to those who wanted to live long, be strong, be beautiful. Be wise. And those too, who wanted to see fantastic things and use love for oblivion.
Sold to the entire rest of the planet. To people who begged for the seeds, the weird technology. The “magic” of the Northern ice fields.
But: there were ice fields at the South pole, too. Teach us how to grow it. Please. Give us seeds. We’ll pay anything you want. Remonstrations, endless. Absurd amounts of money offered for the secret.
But again, no. Gell: the cash crop of the North. The thing that kept the Northern territories rich. That united them. That most likely, had molded them into the unique – oddball? – society that they were. Where peasants and lords alike shared wealth. And responsibility.
For the three northern provinces were huge. Began just north of the equator, stretched like a cap over the planet. The southerly regions temperate; the usual arrangement of cities. But further north …the wild northern ocean slamming into rocky coasts; alleviated only by narrow land bridges here and there. So treacherous a sea … a natural barrier. No navy. Not needed.
And the northern lands: high mountains, thick forests – some impenetrable – over much of the rest.
A naturally isolated place. Where the weird little plant grew. Where a weird little society evolved differently from … everything.
When the southern raiders came, as they had done for over a thousand years … aristocratic warriors, the lords of war … never enough of the their counterparts to fight them off. The northern aristocracy … dissolving steadily over a thousand years into the ranks of ordinary people Had to be aided by ordinary people, in fighting off attackers. Not forced, as on the rest of the planet. No. Trained. Paid. As equals. As brothers and sisters in arms.
So the far North: not a warrior class. An entire warrior society.
What has Noar done? What will happen now?
The sleep he needed so badly, finally coming to him. The big bed, beginning to be comforting again. Down, into a soft dark space. Peace. Rest.
Waking – woken – way too soon. Sleepy eyes, trying to focus on a face leaning over him. There, yes. One of the maids, prodding him awake. Gently. Smiling at him.
Took a moment to bring his mind to wakefulness. Then recognized her, yes. Selen-ye or Seren-ye … something like that. Oh, all hells. Not her again.
Shook himself awake, sat up. Flung his long hair backward, out of his eyes. Rubbed his face. “Hello, Seren.”
Her smile, widening. Her eyes, narrowing. Her tongue, passing along her lips, slowly. “Hello Nayan. Welcome back. I’m glad to see you’re safe.”
“Thank you.” Oh, awkward, all this. “Is – is there something you need?”
Her eyes, averted for a moment. “No of course not, Nayan. I was wondering if there was something you needed.”
“Uh, no. I was sleeping.”
“Yes. But it’s almost past dinnertime. The kitchen may be closing soon. You must be hungry after – your long journey. I’d be happy to bring you a meal, if you like.”
More irritation. The memory: still irritating. This one: had declined to live in the castle itself because … because, as she tearfully told his mother at the time … she would find it difficult to be so near to the young Lord Nayan.
His mother, surprised. Most people liked Nayan. A quiet, respectful young man; easy disposition.
But the girl, in tears, claimed he was too … appealing. Implied he had tried to seduce her.
Uh oh.
A tongue lashing from his mother, then his father. Something about respecting women. Nayan, dumb with confusion. Of course he respected women. Everyone respected women; almost a matriarchal society, this. Barely knew the girl. Was she maybe the one who found myriad excuses to enter his rooms unannounced? Once even when he was bathing?
Parents: unconvinced. (At least, so they said) But staring (as they often did) at Nayan. Where did we get him? Is it the gell? Impossible. But … he is so weird.
Something other-worldly about their older son. Both sons: solid, handsome young men. Typical examples of the proud Clan Chani. But Nayan, somehow different. Skin so pale … sometimes looked translucent. A quiet, stealthy disposition. Soft, almost black eyes that could charm young women and forest beasts alike. Thick black hair cascading just below his shoulders, sometimes swirling even when there was no breeze. Uncommonly good at the arts of war. Almost … unnaturally good.
With cat-like movements that could not be heard … and sometimes not even seen. As if he could stop time, for a moment. As if … A source of terrible worr
y for his mother. Making her scold him. Nayan, don’t do that. Don’t ever let anyone see …
Followed sometimes by tears, other times by hysterical laughter. Or rage. Whichever the case, quickly forgotten. So buried by her anxiety (that he could never fathom) … that if he spoke to her of their argument, she had no recollection of it.
Noar, her younger son. More typical of Northern stock. Tall, blond, muscular, rangy. A flirt, Noar. Claiming lovers by the dozens. Nayan, not so much. No stranger to women, but quiet – mysterious? – about it. If anyone had been trying to seduce the girl … would have been Noar. Right?
Nayan, remembering his parents’ sighs. Remembering feeling mildly disowned, or foreign, as he often did.
Now, her. Here again. In his bedroom. Crouching by the side of his bed. Nayan, covering his annoyance. Why bother? Knew she would not stop. “Thanks for your kindness, Seren-ye.” Careful to use the formal style of her name. “But I’d prefer to go to the kitchen myself.”
“Are you certain? I don’t mind.”
“As I said, I’ll go myself. Thank you.”
“I could – ”
“I’d like to be alone now.”
Hope, darting across the girl’s face. Met by Nayan’s disinterested gaze. Disappointed, her. Rising. Finally leaving.
Wondering idly if he should lock the door after she closed it. Sighed. Got up. Stripped off his dirty road clothes, soaked his tired muscles in a hot bath. Later, got some leftovers from the main castle kitchen. Ate some of the food in his room, until he fell asleep chewing. Really tired, this time.
“Noar, how the hell did you take the girl? And how did you get her all the way here? And why in hell itself did you do it?”
Noar, swallowing. Then: “Listen to me, Nayan. This year, the raiders may overwhelm us. We’ve been weakened by that weird fever everyone has. That they probably gave us. Doctors have figured the cure, but most people won’t be well in time.”
A sigh. “I know that, Noar. Everyone knows that. Answer my questions.”