Seed- The Gene Awakens

by Jane Baskin

  Kiome-ye: Aterya-te and Kyrugan; they’re doing research. They’re stepping it up, now.

  Nayan: I’m aware of the research. Genetics. But where will they do it, without attracting attention?

  Kiome-ye: Here.

  The bargain struck, then. The research, to be moved to the Cha-ning facility. Secrecy, to be maintained.

  Nayan, a sad smile. I guess my mother was right. The enemy must never know about this. We can speak in thoughts, so they can’t hear us. But the other thing. They must never know. Never.

  All, agreeing.

  Kiome-ye: There’s something else, Nayan.

  What?

  We need to discuss … we need to figure out.

  What?

  Suddenly meeting his eyes. A desperate look. Is this right? Is this something we should be doing?Anyone should be doing?

  The group, dispersing. Watched by kitchen staff, wondering why a group of young people, usually a chatty bunch, sat silent for so long before the fire.

  Wondered at also by Noar, watching from the balcony.

  The two young men, left sitting by the fire. Both, thinking of the past year. Surely, the most momentous year of their lives. The strange fever that came out of nowhere; put them all down like dogs. Despite the northern hardiness, even took a few off. Followed by Nayan’s and Noar’s daring – foolish? – raid in the South, to impair its war machine. And then … all the resulting effects, that brought them to this unexpected place. Zoren-te. Luisa-te. The munitions factory, and the might it bestowed upon them. Almost enough to never fight again. But … so complicated. This cause, that effect, spark, flame … and so on, until they were here, now.

  Che: We’ve lost so much. I sit in this hall and feel how my mother’s not here, how so many of our brothers and sisters in arms aren’t here. Didn’t come back with us. How your parents aren’t here. That – all gods. That hurts as much as my own.

  Really?

  Don’t you get it, Nayan? Your father was everyone’s father; your mother, everyone’s mother. They were my parents’ best friends. Sometimes I find my father just standing in his front room, just standing, like he forgot where he wanted to go. And then I realize, it’s evening, just before supper, when he used to have a mug of ale with your father. While your mother visited with my mother in the kitchens, always on the excuse that she had to taste the ale to make sure it was fit for supper.

  Nayan, a sad smile. No wonder they so often came to dinner a bit drunk.

  Che, joining him in the fond memory. They were very good friends, our mothers.

  Nayan, a nod. They were.

  Silence. Then Che: I suppose they have plenty of ale wherever they are now.

  Plenty.

  What do you suppose they’d want us to do, if they could tell us?

  The answer, so quick. So certain. As if his mother … and Che’s mother … had suddenly appeared beside the two young men. They want us to marry our beloveds right now, because nothing is certain.

  Nayan, shaking his head suddenly. To clear it. Of what? You know, I think your mother said that. Or my mother. I’m not sure. But it wasn’t me.

  Huh? What are you talking about?

  Zoren says there is no death.

  Che, looking over suddenly. Like a storm wind just blew through his heart. Or his head. Something – unsettling.

  Do you think she’s right?

  I don’t think she’s wrong.

  The decision to marry, suddenly set in force. As if it could beat back all the death; all the strangeness; as if it could bring the ordinary out of hiding and dispel the strangeness that plagued them now.

  Aterya-te, visiting home from medical school, to prepare for her upcoming marriage. To Kyrugan, the son of the saloon owner at Rhymney Castle and her classmate at the medical school in Sauran City. So Nayan made a visit – less than a day’s ride. And learned for certain … oh. That Kyrugan too, harbored the “gift.” That her fiancé, a purebred Person with no aristocratic heritage, spoke to her in thoughts all the time. That her sister, her parents, her cousins …

  Aterya-te: You know we’ve been studying genetics.

  Yes.

  Heredity. We all observe it, take it for granted. That two blond parents will have blond children. But Kyrugan and I have been doing research on the physical mechanism of why heredity happens. You know the work on cells.

  Kyrugan: It’s a whole new age, Nayan. We’re figuring out energy itself, and matter. We posit structures within structures, smaller than atoms. And within them, smaller structures. The building blocks of matter.

  Nayan: That theory’s been around for hundreds of years.

  Yes, but they’re developing new kinds of very powerful microscopes that can actually see the particles. And it’s been proven mathematically. Not just a theory any more.

  What’s that got to do with genetics?

  We can see inside the cell, Nayan. Deep inside. There are these rope-like structures … helixes. They have strings of code –

  Aterya-te, breaking in. We think the code determines how people turn out.

  What color hair they have; what color eyes. How tall they get, and so on. And … how they are.

  What do you mean?

  There’s a place where mind science and medical science come together, Nayan. Maybe even a religious element. If there are structures that determine what color hair you have, why not structures that determine how intelligent you are? Or whether you’re even tempered or tempestuous?Or selfish, or kind?

  Kyrugan: Or good? Or bad?

  Maybe not as primitive as we thought. Sounds like they’re on the hunt.

  At this stage of development, all civ’s are mixtures. Of brutish and gifted.

  I suppose you’re right.

  You know, I think that pair – his cousin and her mate – may play a role in all this.

  Hmmn. I think you may be right.

  We must keep them safe, too.

  Yes.

  A huge variety of skill levels. This thing, more common than he had supposed. Maybe war, in its ravaging: bringing secrets out of hiding.

  A line message to Lord Gan of Aurast. An answer, from Lady Jiren-te: “Why use words? Such a bother. Think to me. Distance – is nothing. You can do it. I will answer.”

  Nayan, taken aback by her frankness. Tried. Can you hear me? Several times. Finally, to his amazement, a voice in his head:

  Well done, Nayan. Yes, I hear you.

  Nayan, no longer surprised.

  A laugh in his head. Jiren-te: This is a call. Calling is sending thoughts over distance. You can do it. Try again.

  Understanding this: what he and Zoren-te had done to reach Che as they rode the train north. What might have saved Cha-ning, if only done sooner. Perhaps … more expertly.

  I have been taught all my life, to suppress this skill.

  Yes, your mother was afraid of it. As I have always been, myself. But. I think, Nayan … things are changing. Must change.

  More tries. Understanding, after a few: Jiren-te, training him. You can do this. Keep at it.

  Yes, I can; but should I?

  Oh, Nayan. Your mother’s advice … was not well considered.

  Nayan, left to wonder. Did she know? Had Che’s father communicated the tragic secret, that his mother’s disbelief left Cha-ning unprepared? And why – he was able to ask himself now – did she not stop the crossbow? If she could move candles around his nursery …

  But fear is powerful. As is … habit.

  While Che discovered from his father, that his mother used her “gift” to keep the alcohol from evaporating when she heated the ale.

  “Father, why haven’t you told me about this?”

  “You’d have discovered it, sooner or later. Most people who have it, do.”

  “Colwen?”

  “Not sure. I don’t think so. You were always the gifted one.”

  Finally asking the awful question: “Father. Why didn’t she save herself?”

  His father, a sad
smile. Said nothing for a few moments. Then: “Son, do you know – do you have any idea – how such a gift might be misused? Your mother knew. In her deepest heart. In her final moment, she made her choice.”

  Nayan and Che: more determined than ever to go through with their wedding plans. More determined than ever.

  Nayan: We need a few days of joy, Che.

  The response: Desperately.

  First, Che and Luisa-te. A week later, Nayan and Zoren-te. The castle/village: week-long celebrations. Nice.

  Finally.

  Northerners: loving parties. Any excuse … to thumb their noses at their tough environment. And now … maybe to smother sorrow with joy. All this, just before the gell harvest. When raiders – they believed – would not come.

  Luisa-te And Zoren-te, taking time away from the munitions factory to practice what (little) Ania-te had taught them about heating ale. Practicing over and over; failure after failure. Until Zoren-te called for Nayan, and he used his mind to keep the alcohol from evaporating out of the brew.

  Luisa-te, shaking her head. “Sometimes I can hear Che’s thoughts, or my parents. Che says if I practice, I’ll get better at it. But that … affecting things with your mind … almost no one can do that.”

  Zoren-te, her mind clouding. For the best, I think.

  The hall, festooned with winter weeds and berries. The wondrous red twig flowers that bloomed beneath the snow, gathered in by children. Brilliant red lashigah boughs stolen by the young men from the huge ancient tree at the forest edge – with attendant injuries. Che: a knot on his head. Nayan, a chunk of hair lost to one of the tree’s small branches that reached for him like a claw. Both, choked by small boughs wrapping around their necks. Had to be pulled away by friends. Both young men and their raiding party: laughing good naturedly at the tree. Blowing impertinent kisses. Promising to return her stolen children.

  Legend: the trees were consciously aware, at least when approached for wedding boughs. That they watched the approach, read the minds of the groom-to-be. Decided at that moment, whether or not to give up a few boughs, based upon the worth of the petitioning bridegroom. Made him work for the prize, in anticipation of the work he would later have to put into his union. The harder he had to work, the more worthy his union was likely to be. Or … so it was said.

  This time: the boughs given up, but bruises sustained. Scratches on both faces. Some of the young men, swearing the tree swayed its lush branches and laughed at them as they rode away.

  Candles lighted everywhere; thousands of them. Children, working for days to make them. Of course, electric lights giving the basics. But candles … so much nicer. Finally the wonderful piano, dragged out from storage.

  The priest, up from the town. Glad to have an occasion to preside over something beside a funeral. Actually smiling, for the first time in months.

  Finally Che and Luisa-te, walking an aisle of friends and relatives, to meet the priest by the great meadow-side windows, as the sunset polished the entire hall with russet light. Luisa-te, her hair made red by the light for the moment, her eyes aglow. Wearing a dress – mostly ceremonial garb in the practical North. A dress of rose and white spun with gold, touched by the sunset glow. And Che, looking happier than he had in months. Standing straight, to his full height; which was substantial. His shoulders squared, looking – as he had not in a while – as proud as he normally was.

  The ancient words: brief and to the point. Then a petition to all the heavens, to permit, to endorse, to sanctify the union.

  Whereupon the lashigah boughs, now woven by children into a wide circle, were placed over the heads of the couple. Then lowered, to surround their bowed heads. A silent moment, as the decision was made. Then, to the joy of all: the boughs, lighting within from some unknown but ancient mystery, casting a red-gold glow over the new couple. Augmenting the light of sunset unimaginably. A brief rising of color and flame, as if the gods had all answered with one voice. This, signifying (so people remembered) the approval of all nature, upon the match.

  Then, oh. The party.

  Perhaps the purpose of wedding parties: to overcome the shock of the newly married. Che: ruddy faced, seeming a little dazed. Luisa-te: the same.

  Ale, flowing. Music: every instrument alive. The piano, of course, underscoring all with its infectious plonking. People dancing in twos, in crowds. Dancing. Like all that had happened had not happened; all sadness had flown away and left only joy. Even Che’s father, dancing in crowds.

  Let it all start to breathe again.

  A week later, Nayan and Zoren-te. This, turning out to be a very different type of wedding. Nayan, having known about it for weeks. But determined to proceed, anyway.

  Southern spies, having confirmed that the missing daughter of Vel was indeed alive; was to marry the Lord of Cha-ning as had been contracted.

  Nayan and Zoren-te, deciding to go forward as planned. Nayan, increasing border patrols. Watchers at Sauran City, other railroad stops. At the border crossing. And … the other thing. Those who could kill with thoughts, come in from all three provinces. A group of eight young people. Surrounding the hall at various points; one on the balcony. Two, staying close by the couple.

  Noar, oddly quiet this past week. In attendance at Che’s wedding, at all the parties. Observed with a couple of different women, as usual. But dancing only rarely.

  Che: You know, it’s a shame your wedding has to be such a grand affair. Sometimes I feel sorry for you that you’re an aristocrat.

  Thanks. I always feel sorry for myself on that count.

  Really? Tell the truth Nayan, would you rather have been born a peasant?

  Nayan, looking up quickly. There’s no such thing, here. And yes, I would rather have been born a Person.

  A laugh. I’m just trying to provoke you. Best to be on your toes for tomorrow. It’s going to be a hell of a show. They’re going to treat you like you’re something special, to put it mildly.

  Last I checked, my shit smells as bad as yours.

  I know that. But the people coming tomorrow – the southerners, anyway – think you’re a lord, and some kind of different creature because of it. You can’t just get married with family and friends for witnesses. You have to have the whole damned government here. Half the Assembly. If Zoren-te’s family were still alive, we’d hardly have room for all the aristocrats and their governments.

  A grunt from Nayan. It’s stupid, you know. Especially in the North.

  Agreed. But she’s technically a southerner. And the South has to send government reps to stand for Zoren. Half of them are lords.

  I wonder if they’d send them if they knew who fired Darleigh and Vel.

  But they don’t. Our lies have been pretty effective.

  I wish they’d stay home. It brings up … absences. And … we might have liked to enjoy our own wedding. This – this’ll be a public show. Zoren’s not really looking forward to it, which is a shame. A bride should look forward to her wedding, shouldn’t she?

  Nayan, nothing more to say. Just thinking about his bride. How different she was from the world around her – at the time, her only world. Even from her own family. Only her father liked her. How alone she must have felt.

  The next sunset: the hall filled almost to capacity. The wedding of a lord and lady: a political affair. This one: somewhat peculiar. The lord in question: representing a province that treated all citizens as equals. The lady, representing regions that had long histories of class distinction. And she, recently “risen from the dead.”

  Her own province, having to respect her as the heir to all. As the Lady of Vel. Meaning that her husband would hold the title; would essentially own Vel.

  Resulting in fabulously increased security in the Castle/village. Designed to sniff out those who would finish Darleigh’s work. Those who might send murderous spies to kill the Lady of Vel on her wedding day and disappear into the astonished crowd.

  Captain Andor, the chief of the riders, having already scouted the Sou
th several times. Old news: the war continued afresh. That the popular opinion in the area: peasants had been aided by northern mercenaries; an affront that would not go unpunished in due course. Newer news: the match arranged between the Lord of Cha-ning and the Lady of Vel would proceed as agreed, the Lady having survived the destruction of her family – somehow.

  This last: disturbing on many fronts. Forcing the South to send emissaries to witness the match. Aristocratic relatives from other provinces – second and third and fourth cousins, along with others distantly but definitely related. As well as leaders – who had served under the Lord – of the provincial government of Vel. And all with the question: what to do after the match? After the Lord of Cha-ning became – since women could not hold power or property in the South – a ruler of Vel by marriage?

  So now, as the sun cast its magic over the hall: armies of witnesses, arranging themselves into two camps: South and North. The bridegroom, approaching the priest from his camp on the left. Nayan, resplendent in a military uniform he had never worn. The uniform of a lord and commander. Black tunic and pants, high boots, a huge neck chain of authority made up of heavy silver and gold links studded with jewels. This, having ancient ceremonial meaning he did not understand; about which he did not care. A fine sword in a fancy scabbard at his hip. The gold band of leadership across his forehead.

  Zoren-te, in a gown of finest velvet. The gown of a queen. Gold with threads of silver and white, bejeweled from neck to waist. Nayan, watching her; could not help but remember a few days ago, when the gown arrived from the South by train. How she had unpacked it; made a disgusted face. You mean I actually have to wear this monstrosity? But … knowing she did. As her mother had done. As all the ladies of Vel had done, before her.

  Zoren-te, approaching from “her” camp on the right. Joining Nayan before the priest, himself garbed in the finest robes of the Church. Then their hands, joined by the priest; tapped in turn by the highest ranking members of their respective provincial Assemblies.

  The words, simple as before. But now: an avalanche of political statements. The wedding contract, read aloud. Statements of loyalty from government, other lords.