Seed- The Gene Awakens

by Jane Baskin

  Chuckles all around – except for Nayan.

  “Don’t be crazy. Her hands are red. I just told her she should sleep with the dog.”

  The other brothers, bursting into laughter. “The hells, Nayan. You didn’t!” Zoren-te, hearing the laughter behind her. As the young often do, assumed it was about her. Resolved to do something terrible to Nayan, next time she saw him. Closed the door to her workroom; ate alone.

  While the young men returned to their favorite topic these days: war.

  “Gwildan says he’s going.”

  “He can’t, not in this cold.”

  “He paces like a lion in his rooms.”

  “He’ll have to wait ‘til the thaw, at least. Even the main road’s closed.”

  “I have a hunch waiting isn’t something he’s very good at.”

  Then Che: “Me either. All hells! If I could, I’d race off to the South. I’d find the bastards that killed my family and hack them to pieces.”

  Okay, that: a conversation stopper.

  Nayan: “That was a mouthful, Che.”

  “I know. And I don’t care.” Looked directly at his brother, Colwen. “Tell me you aren’t thinking the same, Col.”

  Colwen, looking at his plate. “What if I am? There’s nothing we can do, now.”

  “Don’t you wish there were?”

  Both brothers, thinking of their mother. Taken to her bed. Sleeping or staring. A mother they had never seen before. All her wounds, opening at once. Memories gushing out of places now open in her, places they had never seen, places she wanted them never to know about. Stricken. Where’s my mother? “Yes, Che. I wish it were thaw, and we could blast our way through the South.”

  Nayan and Noar: what to say? It wasn’t their mother. Not their family. Not their friends and relatives, twisting on pikes.

  Noar, trying anyway. “I’m sure sorry about your family, friends.”

  Suddenly, something odd in the room. A thickness in the air, like an invisible fog. Something rising up between the friends, like a fence. Or a wall.

  Silence.

  Then Che, clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

  Nothing more.

  As you can see, the storm clouds are gathering.

  I thought you said they were capable of civilization. The yellow haired one – Nayan’s friend – he just turned his shoulder and vowed for war. Yet you said he’s part of the seed as well.

  He is. Through the mother, I believe.

  Then why is he so full of blood lust?

  (shrug) I never said they weren’t humanoids. And they’re young ones.

  They may ride off to war. And get killed.

  Many who carry the seed have been killed. And many more will be, before it ascends.

  I must disagree. This is why the seed is so rare. It gets killed off … by the others. Not by its own choice.

  Yes, that most often happens. Our job is to observe this seed. This particular sprouting.

  Or not. If they ride to war, it may never sprout.

  We knew they would. The seed is never safe.

  I disagree.

  Disagree, then.

  A quiet ride home. Everyone huddled into furs. Staring down at their ganthas, heaving through the snow. At the fog from the animals’ nostrils, even through woolen muzzle scarves. At the fog from their own breath. Noar, carrying Seren-ye on the front of his saddle. Now and then looking back … at Nayan.

  Quiet in the castle, too. Big changes in a short week. Dar-agan and Ilia-te, sitting at the long table … by themselves.

  Finally joined by their sons. Nayan noting the near-empty table: “Where is everyone?”

  Dar-agan: “They’re around.”

  The brothers: confusion. “What’s going on?” Then seeing, across the room: Gwildan, sitting at another of the long tables. Many villagers joining him. Others, eating at smaller tables close by.

  Something the brothers had never, ever seen. A division in the great hall. Villagers over there. Lords: near the serving table.

  Noar: “What’s going on?”

  No answer from his parents.

  Nayan: “Want to tell me what’s happening?”

  Ilia-te: “Oh, you know, gossip.”

  “I don’t know gossip. What are you saying, Mother?”

  A loud sigh from Dar-agan. Loud enough that villagers at the nearest tables heard, even over the divide, and looked over. “What she’s saying is that Gwildan’s presence seems to be poisoning minds.” This, spoken loudly. A few more glances; then People, quickly looking away.

  Ilia-te: “I might not have put it that strongly, but it’ll do.”

  Nayan and Noar, turning to stare at the villagers. Making eye contact; villagers looking away. The brothers, staring anyway. No one … would meet their eyes.

  “So no one sits with you now?”

  “Not lately.”

  “Why? This is usually the first table filled.”

  Dar-agan, rising to his feet abruptly. Slamming his fork down on his plate so hard the plate shattered. Roaring: “My son wants to know why this table, usually the first table filled at mealtimes, is now such a lonesome place. Would anyone like to tell me?!”

  Oh. Silence in the room. Villagers, at first: shock. Then, embarrassment.

  Dar-agan: “No one?! No one will look their old friend in the eye and explain why they avoid him as if he carries some terrible plague? No one will stand up and face him? No one will tell him what misery has descended upon our home, so that friends are now enemies? So that a village that hummed with good feeling now harbors only whispers in dark corners?”

  No answer, but a deepening sense of agony around the room. Dar’agan’s furious words, hanging in the air. Ghosts. Silence.

  “Gwildan! Gwildan of the People, I respectfully ask you to come and join my family and me. I invite you to my table!” This last, like the roar of a Cha-Ning lion.

  The room, almost as frozen as the ice in the bottom of the ditch outside.

  Finally Gwildan, rising to his feet. Taking his plate, crossing the room. Sitting down at Dar-agan’s table. The two men, eye to eye.

  Finally, Dar-agan: “I hope your presence here will not be as divisive as it seems to have become, this last week or more.”

  “It isn’t … I haven’t caused this breach.”

  “Of course you have. You’ve allowed it. In this case, that’s the same thing.”

  “You don’t understand … ”

  “Perhaps it’s you, who doesn’t understand. We’ve built a pleasant way of life here, Gwildan. The demarcation between lord and People is slight. We’re lords because we’re a family, and have a seat in the Assembly, nothing more.”

  “Would you let your sons marry peasants?”

  “Of course. Most of my clan is married to your so-called ‘peasants.’. But understand me clearly: we don’t have peasants here. Just People.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Believe what you want. But for the time that you’re our guest, I would deeply appreciate it, if you sat at this table at mealtimes.”

  Silence. Then: “As you wish. Lord.”

  Word of this encounter, reaching Zoren-te, no doubt. She: no more meals in her rooms. Ever careful to sit with Dar-agan and Ilia-te at mealtimes, now. With her Luisa-te and her parents, the sets of brothers. If not as easy as before, at least … looked that way.

  For Che, simply being in the same space as Luisa-te: enough to soften his edginess over the death of his relatives. They were, he began to reason, relatives he had never known. While before him here: a lady more gracious than any he had ever known. Love: blind, glorious, allowing no room for discord.

  So Che’s enchanted heart managed to – somewhat – mend divisions at the long table. That, and Gwildan’s presence. Within a week the great hall, returning to its usual convivial seating arrangements. Whatever fractures remained … keeping silent.

  But Gwildan: an uncertain soul. Product of so much injustice that one heart could ba
rely hold it all. Of necessity, a sly criminal; a thief. A man whose suspicious nature served to keep him alive.

  And at arm’s length from northern culture.

  For he could not believe – would not ever believe – that lord and peasant could live together in peace.

  What would that make him?

  Weapons and ammunition, now piling up. Stores building up at all three of the northern provinces. Cha-Ning’s old dungeon, full with firearms, gunpowder, and many of Zoren-te’s newest inventions. The gun that operated off a belt of cartridges, and could fire bullets constantly. The suppressors that silenced the roar of rifles and hand weapons. And a small object a man could just throw, that would explode on impact, sending scraps of metal in every direction.

  So, the decision made: close down the munitions factory for a the rest of the winter. Too cold.

  Then: a return to the nesting of winter. Couples partnering up again, for “warmth.” Noar, taking several partners in turn. Still careful to keep Seren-ye close … especially in view of Nayan.

  Only a few of the young men remaining single. Che and Nayan, among them. Nayan, still wondering – now and then – whether Kiome-te had taken a winter partner. Wondering if he should send a line message to her. But … uncertain.

  Che … of course. Determined to never take another woman to his bed unless she were Luisa-te. One night, enjoying warm ale by the fire in Nayan’s rooms. Beating the subject to death.

  I just don’t know how to approach her.

  Stop whining. You’ve never had trouble with women before. All gods, Che. Just talk to her, that’s all. You found enough to say when you first met her. Now … you spend most of your time just staring at her. Why not ask her a question? Get her to talk.

  What would I ask her?

  Nayan: laughing. Did not want to hurt his friend’s feelings … but. You had better skills when you were sixteen.

  Che, reddening slightly. Hard to tell for sure, in the firelight. His handsome face, its natural ruddy complexion blending with the gentle light of the room. Sat forward, let his yellow hair fall to block his face. Better to hide.

  Nayan, what’s the matter with me?

  I guess you’re in love.

  I don’t really even know her.

  You seemed pretty close to her back at the factory, a week ago.

  She was going over the bomb design with me. My team made some of those small bombs you can throw by hand.

  You’re sure that’s all it was?

  All hells, Nayan.

  Nayan, suddenly understanding: his friend was suffering. Wondered: was love supposed to hurt? Then wondering further: how would I know? I’ve never been in love.

  This, hitting him like a slap. I’ve never been in love. Suddenly a flood of lost lovers parading through his mind. His first pretty girlfriend, with whom he made sweet love on warm summer nights in the secret garden. Both: away to gender-segregated schools not long after. Other women, quite a few of them, he realized. A few, standing out from the rest. Kiome-ye. But even she: soon fading from his awareness. Just easier to remember the most recent lover. What’s the matter with me?

  Turned to his friend. Wanted to enjoy this evening, not become lost in thought, as he often did before a warm fire in winter. Wanted to enjoy the fraternity he felt with Che at this moment. Had felt a weird, unaccustomed coolness between them at times, lately.

  Remembered the awkward breakfast back at the factory, when Che and Colwen had talked about joining the rebellion in the South. The awkward breakfast in the great hall, with villagers sitting as far away from his parents as possible.

  Don’t think about these things.

  I think you should ask Luisa-te to walk with you after breakfast. Maybe take her to the walled garden off the small library. The walls keep the wind out.

  Are you crazy? It’s cold as all hells outside.

  All the more chance for you to put your arms around her … just to keep her warm, of course. Smile.

  Che, looking up then. Meeting Nayan’s grin with one of his own. Good idea. Thank you, my friend.

  No problem. Good luck.

  For once Nayan, not bothered by this peculiar fraternity of thought. Just … grateful it was still there.

  Really?

  Che, taking Nayan’s advice the very next day. Following Luisa-te when she rose from the table. Motioning for her to come away from her parents. They, glancing over, noticing Che. A quick smile. Approval? Then heading for their warm rooms.

  While Che extended his invitation to Luisa, coupled it with his enchanting smile, got her to agree to go outside for a walk. A relatively insane proposition in the dead of winter … but luck and love: close relatives.

  Che: delighted to note that Luisa’s fur cloak was one of the lightweight ones people wear inside, during winter. Further delighted to see her shiver and pull the cloak tight around her in the garden. When he opened his own heavy cloak and wrapped it around her, drawing her close to him, she did not hesitate. After a moment, leaned against him, stopped shivering. Was that a sigh?

  Time. How strange, in love. Time stands still? Moves at a lightning pace? Hard for Che to know. Even harder to care.

  What he did know: he was – at last – holding his dream girl close against himself, keeping her fine body warm against his own, encapsulated inside a thick fur cloak that kept the cold and the winter and the entire universe at bay. That the cloak and their bodies made a pillar of resistance to the harsh climate. The omniscient climate that all northerners resisted with a good natured will that made them the strong, hardy people they were.

  That made Luisa-te feel safer than she had ever known.

  When was it, that he exhaled a warm breath onto her neck? When was it that she smiled at the caress? When was it that she turned inside his embrace? That he leaned into her face with a warm kiss that shut out the cold and the world?

  When was it that he invited her for a cup of gell tea in his rooms? To warm herself beside his fire?

  When was it that he rose before the fire, pulling her along with him? That he coaxed her to his warm bed?

  When was it that all heaven came down to dirt and made of this poor homely world, a paradise?

  12.Blood and Brothers

  Nayan … jealous.

  Or something. Had spent many winters alone. So … unsure what was bothering him. The unique happiness of his best friend, now seeming to enlarge the peculiar gulf between them. That had started back at the munitions factory; that had appeared so starkly in the great hall that morning after they got back from their last tour of duty. That had been reconciled … or not.

  But there. A powerful unrest, settling into his soul. Feeling a thinness to the mealtime friendships. Feeling Che: preoccupied. Feeling Colwen: just a little too formal.

  Their mother, Ania-te, now returned to work. Without her earthy sense of humor, without the ribald jokes that eased the grueling work of the kitchens. Just doing her job. Sometimes, oddly forgetful. The ale, not always as warm as usual.

  Even his own parents, keeping much of the time to their rooms. Not cruising the halls, not waving from the open door of their anteroom at passersby. This door, usually closed, now.

  Few people in the common rooms.

  Once, padding around by himself: startled to find Zoren-te in the library. She: going over the shelves, looking at old books. He: glad to see even her, the castle seeming to be such a ghost town. She: apparently as startled to see him.

  “Nayan. I’m surprised to see anyone up and about. Apart from mealtimes, the castle seems almost dead.”

  “Agreed. I guess it’s an unusually cold winter.”

  “Really? I thought the North was always cold.”

  Crossed over to her. “It is, but there’s cold and then there’s cold.” Stood behind her, trying to see what she had been looking at. Finally asked her.

  “I was trying to look at your family history books.”

  Cocked his head for a moment. Puzzled. “Really? Why would anyon
e be interested in that old junk?”

  A smile. “You think your family history is junk?” Smiled again.

  Nayan: surprised. Wondered if it were his imagination, or Zoren-te was smiling more these days. “I think my family history is boring. Like most family histories, only important to the family involved, and not a whole lot to them either.”

  Zoren-te, a laugh. “My mother would faint if she heard you say that. She thinks our family is the most amazing thing since indoor plumbing.”

  Nayan, suddenly remembering that night in the garden. Huh? Why now? Had put it out of his mind … so he thought. His behavior that night: so inexplicable. Drunkennes? Yes, probably. But still embarrassing. Fumbled for words for a moment. Then: “I guess in the South, being a lord is more important than it is here.”

  “It is. Especially to my mother.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “No. I’m glad to never see her. I told you, I hate her.”

  “Is it really possible to hate a parent?”

  Zoren-te, looking away suddenly. “I don’t know. But I try.”

  Nayan’s turn to laugh. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to try to hate my parents.”

  “Why would you? Your parents are wonderful.”

  “I think I remember offering to share my mother with you.”

  Zoren-te, turning back to face him as suddenly as she had turned away. Another smile.

  I swear, she’s smiling more often.

  “I’ll take you up on that offer. It gets lonely, sometimes.”

  “I’m sure. I’m lonely myself, these days.”

  “You? You can’t be serious. Every time I see you, you’re in the company of your brother and the other two.”

  “Well … that’s changed a bit. My brother’s partnered up for the winter, with as many of the female residents as he can get. Colwen, probably the same. And Che – well you know about Che.”

  “He’s with Luisa-te.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m happy for her. He seems like a nice man.”

  Suddenly Nayan, unsettled again. That uneasy feeling again. Like everything was moving away from him, slowly, at glacial speed but with terrible weight. Like he was standing in the middle of a vast space in the process of becoming emptier and more barren.