Seed- The Gene Awakens

by Jane Baskin

  “Well, Zoren, I guess it’s just you and me.” All gods, did I really just say that?

  “What?”

  “Um. We’ll have to be friends. There’s no one else.”

  Later, in his rooms: Nayan, wondering why the words came out of his mouth. Insane! What kind of oaf would offer friendship to a woman he had tried to kill? Women were different about such things. What kind of beast would even think to ask? I’ve never felt like such an ass.

  Had several mugs of ale. Went to bed slightly drunk. Every manner of shame, creeping around his fevered dreams. Sleeping? Awake? Never sure. The kind of unrest that plagues those who go to sleep inebriated. Thinking/dreaming of ridicule. Thinking/dreaming of Kiome-ye’s warm arms, her strong legs wrapped around him. Thinking/dreaming of a ceremonial sword, raised high above his head, about to fall on the slender neck of a red haired girl. Thinking/dreaming of the red haired girl, tasting her warm lips, her salty tears.

  In the midst of this, the feeling of a warm smooth body sliding into his bed, next to him. A dream? Felt almost real. The body of a young woman … the red haired girl? Ridiculous. Didn’t even like her. Right? But here, a body: slithering, moving beside him. Rubbing against him. A leg, thrown over him. He, tossing away from the dream. But the dream: pursuing him.

  Rolled onto his back. Swept the air before him with his hand. Nothing. But then the dream, mounting him. Straddling him. Warm breath on his neck. A tongue, by his ear. Lips, upon his.

  What?

  No dream, this.

  Nayan, half waking. Just enough to feel the soft reality of a girl, come to his bed. Her hips, rocking against his. He, rising into her. Rising into the dream. Couldn’t help it. Swept by feelings too delicious to deny. The girl’s soft moans, her quickening pace … a mane of yellow hair, falling over him, over his face. Who – ?

  Tried to open his eyes to see. But they, seeming stuck in sleep. This: somewhere between sleep and waking. Dream? Demon? Rocking, driven by the ghost upon him. Rocking like he was riding the sea. And the sea itself, ever rising. Pounding, now.

  A sudden wracking explosion working its way out of him. The girl, crying out. The explosion, enduring. Coming in waves. Thought he would be swept away. But there, finally receding. Then a flurry of movement, arms and legs everywhere. Oh. Separation. Rolling away from the guest in his bed.

  Finally got his eyes open. Looked over to see … Seren-ye, the maid. Breathing hard beside him. Smiling. What kind of a smile is that?

  Sometimes … Nayan, wondering how one man could hold so much shame.

  Seren-ye, the pest who had gotten him in trouble with his parents. Who threw herself at him shamelessly, threatened to cause more trouble. Trouble never ending.

  Here? In his bed?

  Sent her off, of course. She, giggling as she wrapped herself in the blanket with which she had come.

  From his brother’s bed.

  Seren-ye, returning to Noar’s bed, sliding in next to him. Caressing him awake. Inviting him.

  He, running his hands up and down her body. Devouring her with his mouth. Slipping his hand between her thighs …

  Jerking back. “You’re wet.”

  “I just came from Nayan.”

  Noar, shoving her out of bed onto the cold floor. Furious. “Go sleep by the fire. On the floor, like a dog.”

  Breakfast the next morning: Noar’s glare toward Nayan. Exceptional. Even others noticing.

  Ilia-te: “Is something going on between you two?”

  Nayan: a shrug. Noar: no answer. But the glare, worsening.

  “What? Noar, your hostility is thicker than the butter. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Noar: a growl: “He knows.” Rose abruptly from the table, spilling his tea. Stomped off, not bothering to put his dishes in the bucket.

  “Nayan, what in all hells has happened?”

  Another shrug. “I’m not sure. I think he’s mad about that maid.”

  “Which maid? There are dozens. And why would Noar be mad about a maid? He gets the same service as everyone else in this place, he pays the same.”

  “Um … I think Noar’s been getting some extra service from one of them.”

  Ilia-te and Dar-agan, rolling their eyes at the same moment. Almost comical. “Gods alive. But … what does that have to do with you?”

  Nayan, suddenly embarrassed. Suddenly, acutely aware of the presence of Che, Colwen, Luisa-te and her parents, Zoren-te. “Um … I’ll talk to you later about it.” Hoping against all hope that his parents would forget about it.

  They … did not. After table, into the hall. Ilia-te, suddenly turning toward Nayan. Her hands on his broad shoulders. “Okay. Let’s have it.”

  Nayan, rubbing a hand over his chin. Drawing breath. Looking away.

  “You’re not getting out of this, Nayan. I won’t have discord between my sons under my roof, and not know what’s going on.”

  Finally: “Something happened last night. To be honest with you, I’m not even sure what it was. I went to bed a little drunk. I had weird dreams.”

  “And?”

  A desperate glance over at his father. No help.

  “I thought I was dreaming. You know – (looked down, flushed) – one of those kind of dreams.”

  “What kind of dreams?” Then heard her husband, trying to suppress a laugh. “Oh. Those dreams.”

  “But I think … I think it may have been real.”

  “What?”

  “I think the maid Noar’s been sleeping with came to my bed last night. When I woke up, I’m pretty sure she was there. I made her leave.”

  Dar-agan, unable to hold back his laughter. Ilia-te, a nasty glance tossed backward at him. Then: “Which of the maids was this?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Tell me, before I swat you.”

  “Seren-ye. The one who won’t live here because she says I tried to seduce her.”

  Ilia-te: mouth open, aghast. Dar-agan, not laughing any more. Ilia-te, shaking her head. “You’re telling me Noar’s sleeping with this troublemaker, and now you did, too?”

  “I’m not sure. I think so.”

  “Gods alive, this is cocked up.”

  So, Ilia-te: heading straight for Noar’s rooms. Oh. Confrontation?

  Not that it had to be that way. But Noar: difficult. Spoiled? Only two years younger than Nayan, but treated as “the baby.” Early years: much smaller than his rangy older brother. Did not catch up to Nayan in height until his mid-teens. Did not fill out until even later. Did not come into his sensuous good looks until he was almost twenty. Never quite as good as Nayan at riding, at fighting … then again, no one was as good as Nayan at … so many things.

  Ilia-te, remembering how Nayan sometimes made her wonder if a god had not snuck into her bed and put him in her belly. How skilled he was in every military art. How weirdly intelligent. How ganthas did his will before he even spoke a command. How soldiers followed him in raids, without question. How he moved like a lion, sometimes so fast you couldn’t see him until after he’d done something. How he sometimes appeared soundlessly in a room, his black hair wisping around his other-worldly white face.

  How often he did impossible things. Like lifting an ale mug with his mind; too absorbed in his book to reach for it.

  Oh! the memories that pierced her like knives at the sight! Never told anyone what she had seen. Of course not. Tried to forget it, had to forget it. Forget forget forget

  Her beloved younger son: what a fore-sibling to live up to! Noar could not, of course. Maybe that: why she loved him – extra – sometimes?

  But this foolishness … no. At Noar’s rooms, let herself in. Called to him from the anteroom. Knew he could never refuse her. There. Came into the room, sullen and slouching.

  “Sit down.” Seated herself, waited for Noar to take his chair grudgingly.

  Silence, for a few moments.

  Then: “I know why you’re angry at Nayan.”

  “Do you?”

/>   “Oh Noar, will you force it out of me? He told me about Seren-ye.”

  Noar, turning his face away in rage.

  “You know, Noar, that girl is and always has been trouble. You knew she had a terrible crush on Nayan.”

  “So what? She was in my bed.”

  “That’s like picking up a hot coal and complaining that it burned you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she went to you in hopes of making Nayan jealous; and when that didn’t work, went to him just to cause trouble between you.”

  Noar, refusing to speak for a while. Turning away, turning back. Staring at the fire. Finally drawing a long breath, exhaling slowly. “He’s always been so much better than me. At everything.” Looked up at his mother, into her eyes. “I’m not bad, Mother. I’m good at a lot of things. Better than most. But Nayan – he’s like a god. Everybody sees it. They think he’s strange; still they look up to him. But … I get more women. That’s one thing I can do better than him. The only thing.” Turned back to the fire.

  Ilia-te, hearing the subtle snap of her heart breaking. Feeling so sorry for her younger son, at that moment. How miserable to be a god’s younger brother! Got up, put a hand on his back. Leaned close, whispered to him. “You’re every bit as good as your brother. And every bit as handsome. And remember, you’re not as weird.”

  Glad to see a half-hearted chuckle from him at that last comment. But, turning to leave. Knowing: not a mother’s love that Noar needed now. No. Too old. A grown man. Would have to find his own way.

  Seren-ye, returning to her parents’ house in the town. Noar, refusing to speak to her. She, trying tears. He: clamping down on himself with an iron hand. Secretly wishing she were a man, so he could exercise his rage with his fists.

  Peace, then. Or silence, at least. The brothers, not speaking at breakfast; but then, they rarely did. Especially since … the hostage. Not arguing either. Just … a lot of space between them.

  Nayan, a little sad. Wondering: had it not always been like that? So close when they were small, and even after … but some kind of rivalry sneaking around just under the surface once they were adolescents, once they were grown. But weren’t all brothers rivals? Still … when Noar kidnapped Zoren-te, when it seemed like that foolish impulse might bring harm to him, to them … all he could think of was the immediate disappearance of Zoren-te. Get her out of my life. Kill her, whatever. Do not let her bring harm to my brother.

  Knew: he would always love him.

  Now: bore up under Noar’s anger believing – knowing – that brotherhood was more important.

  Also now: no longer feeling the hatred toward Zoren-te that had preoccupied him at first. If anything, not sure what to make of her.

  He and she and very few others, roaming the castle halls and common rooms these days. Now and then happened upon her. Often in the library; discovered she loved to read. Now and then curious about his family history. But other times, reading the history of the planet. The history especially, of the North. Intensely curious about how their culture came to be.

  “I just don’t understand, Nayan. Peasants have tried to be free in the South for millennia. How did it happen here? It’s like – like they started to rise up and the lords just said ‘oh what the hell, sure.’”

  “That’s pretty much how it happened.”

  “But what about war? What about the bloody fights that usually accompany that kind of thing?”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “When those who have a lot are asked by those who have nothing, to share.”

  Nayan, smiling. Getting up, refueling the firebox. Sitting back down into the plush chair, wrapping his fur cloak around him. “I think the North is a funny place. It’s a place where there aren’t that many people, for one thing. Too damned cold. Few people want to live here. For six to eight months a year, the population is pretty much stuck here. Yes, there are roads. Even good ones. Those new roads with asphalt. They’re almost impervious to weather. But not completely; even they ice over. For part of the year, we’re prisoners of the cold. So the people who live here are tough. And practical. We’re nothing, if not practical. It’s a point of pride, with us.”

  “How does that make your peasants free?”

  A sigh. “I wish you’d stop calling them peasants. They’re People. The bottom line is, it takes a lot of effort to enslave someone. You have to create a whole class of soldiers or police, and that takes so much money and effort. You may as well just free the slaves and make them your allies. It’s a lot easier to not have to watch your back.”

  “Hmmn.”

  “And as for luxury, it’s hard to be luxurious while you’re freezing your ass off. Better to share the space with other people, and make them pay part of the heat bill. We don’t even have central heating in this place. We’ve been working on it for years, but before we get a section fully piped, it’s winter again. It’s a miracle our toilets flush.”

  Zoren-te, now laughing. Nayan, observing this. Fascinated when she smiled, or seemed amused. Had always been so … irritable.

  Suddenly noticing: a man at the library door. Almost hidden by his heavy cloak.

  Zoren-te: “Gwildan. There you are. Come and join us.”

  “I was on my way back to bed, My Lady.”

  A smile from Zoren-te. “You insist on calling me that. I wish you wouldn’t, but I can’t stop you. Still, the fire’s warm and we have ale.”

  “Tempting, but … I am tired. This cold … it wears on me, I suppose. I heard your conversation, though.”

  “Really? What do you think?”

  “I think the young lord fools himself. Perhaps he should … watch his back.”

  After he left, Nayan: “You know, I feel bad for that man, he’s lost so much. He’s been through so much, I understand. But … ”

  “But what?”

  “He really is kind of a sourpuss.”

  13.The Rotting Bird Flies, After All

  Wind, crooning across the meadow, through the trees. Snowy nights, silent days. The wondrous silence of a world carpeted in crystal. Now and then a gantha, snorting impatiently from its stall. A great black bird calling, cruising high, listening for small creatures beneath the snow. The smell of bread baking, ale warming. Smoke, wafting from chimneys everywhere.

  Zoren-te, getting used to this strange thing, winter. Not that they didn’t have winter in the South. But Vel, her home province: located in a northerly part of the South, closer to the equator. Parts of it even extending through and north of the equator like fingers, trying to grab more territory. Winter: shorter days, chilly nights; but overall, not much of an inconvenience. Summer, with its blistering heat: more of a challenge.

  Had opened a window in her rooms, leaning out. Looking over the meadow to the west, heavy with snow. The fearsome Cha-ning Forest further west; that had been her virtual home for several months before the cold imprisoned all. Glanced over to the east, to the piece of the sea she could see from her window. Fascinated by that sea.

  Vel: landlocked. Zoren-te: had only seen the southern sea on family vacations. Felt herself a foreigner to the sea. Suddenly realized: she wanted to see this restless ocean up close. Took one long, last breath of frigid air. Knew she shouldn’t – all the warnings about warming air before breathing it – but loved the smell, the shock. Sighed, closed the window.

  Later, looking for Nayan. Huh? Maybe didn’t know what she was doing. But. Looked in the library, the great hall, other common rooms. Nowhere. Returned to her rooms, stoked the firebox. Sat before it. Realized she was disappointed.

  What?

  Disappointed to not find Nayan?

  Maybe … just getting used to him. But …

  Remembering: couldn’t help it. That fight in the little walled garden. The fight she knew was meant to kill her. Whose cruel idea had that been? No forgiveness, for such a thing.

  But then other memories: Nayan at the shooting range. Nayan at mealtimes, joking with Luisa-te’s family, his friends. Nayan in the library,
explaining to her …

  The North. This absurd, wildly weird North that made no sense she had ever imagined. The more she learned of it, the longer she stayed … the more sensible her “radical” ideas – for which she had been so chastised – began to seem. How very un-radical, in fact. The North, where the ideas came home. Where the ideas lived as a reality she had only dreamed about. Of which Nayan, with his pale white skin and thick black hair, was a virtual embodiment. The man of the North. Like a tall snowman with hair.

  The North. Suddenly a terrible thought, jumping into her mind from all hells: I could live here.

  No. No, never. Banished the silly thought.

  I am of the South. Banished – or tried to banish – the insistent small memories of ridicule. The snide remarks of her sisters. The cruel jokes of her brothers. The unrelenting open hostility of her haughty mother. The glances from the housemaids … the soldiers … the officers … everyone.

  Finding Nayan later, in the library. Asking him at once: “Take me to the ocean. Please? I’ve never really seen the sea. Not since I’ve been grown, anyway.”

  “Um. I’d say you’re crazy, but we both know that. There’s no real way to get down to it, at this time of year. The path down the cliffs is covered with snow and ice, and the beach is all frozen foam. There’s not much to see.”

  “You told me once that tunnel – the one in the garden – it goes out to the cliffs over the sea.”

  He jumped. Oh, startled. Stared at her.

  “What?”

  Looked down at his feet quickly. “Um … I didn’t think you ever wanted to set foot in that place again.”

  “I don’t. But I want to see the sea. More than I don’t want to see the garden.”

  Nayan: convinced at that moment that she was, truly, the craziest woman he had ever known. Maybe southern women – all crazy? This one. The only one he had ever known up close. Seemed at times so brilliant … and at other times, so utterly dense. So like … a child.

  “Why do you want to see the ocean so much?”