Seed- The Gene Awakens

by Jane Baskin

  Zoren-te, a sigh. Will we never get to the lashigah?

  Nayan, suppressing a laugh. Followed by Zoren-te. A grin from the priest, northern aristocrats. But scowls from the southern lords and Assembly members.

  Finally … the lashigah boughs, held by the priest, along with representatives of North and South. Lowered around the bowed heads of bride and groom.

  At first, nothing. But Nayan and Zoren-te, trying not to laugh. Nayan, silencing them both with a kiss. (Unauthorized, before the final pronouncement of joining) Then the lashigah boughs, exploding into color and flame so bright those holding it almost dropped it.

  A cheer from the crowd. At least the northern side of it. Fortunately these, outnumbering the representatives from the South. These, smiling politely. Thinking – what? – approval? Murder? No way to know.

  Six bodies piled in the old dungeon by Captain Andor and his riders. The surviving spies: keeping very quiet.

  The ensuing party, not dampened by the lukewarm response of the southern lords and representatives. Not possible, really, to diminish the effervescence of a northern party. Southerners, arranging themselves in a knot on one side of the room. Near the door … like they contemplated escape.

  “They invite peasants to their parties.”

  “The serving maids are dancing with the lords.”

  “Soldiers are dancing with noble ladies. Farmers. Even the priest is dancing.”

  “The rumors are true. The North is the home of madness.”

  “It’s a wonder anyone lives here.”

  Zoren-te, having shed the heavy jeweled gown for a pretty tunic of white and gold over slim pants, more amenable to dancing. Nayan, having taken off the absurd necklace of authority along with the band of leadership and the sword. Discarding the cumbersome military jacket, replacing it with a fine shirt and practical leather tunic. All to the astonishment of the southern guests.

  Nayan, dancing with Zoren-te to the wild piano music, his face flushed with exertion and ale. Guiding her through her wonderful steps, twirling her into his embrace. The southern lords, astonished at the joyful abandon. And confirmed in their disgust, their distrust of the North.

  “This will have to be reckoned with.”

  Noar, not joining the group with Colwen and others. Not dancing. Just standing at the ale table with Seren-ye. She, somewhat restored to his good graces. To his bed, anyway. Settling for this. Perhaps believing it to be evidence of more than it truly was.

  Serving him ale whenever his mug was empty, hanging on his arm.

  He, taking minimal notice. His gaze, scouring the hall. At times watching his brother and Zoren-te dancing, often in a circle of admirers laughing and clapping. At times, watching the southern emissaries. The lords and ladies in their finery. The lords’ bemedaled chests, touting their obvious rank. The gold circlets of authority around their foreheads. The southern government officials, standing stiffly as befitted their rank, disturbed by the informality.

  Noar, watching Captain Andor and his people watching the southerners. Drinking mug after mug of ale, until his face was red and his eyes glassy. Seren-ye, attempting to get him to eat, to dance. When he would neither: trying to feed him tidbits by hand.

  He, pushing her hand away. Just staring at his brother. Staring.

  Noticed by everyone but Nayan: Noar had come back from the southern campaign … different.

  Finally, putting his mug down on the table. Shaking off Seren-ye. Heading toward his rooms; a slight stumble in his step.

  25.Brothers. Brothers?

  Nayan and Zoren-te, to their rooms. Tried to sneak off; caught by Che and Colwen. Given the embarrassing sendoff due to newly married couples – whether they had been cohabiting for months or not.

  Noar, hearing the noise. Appearing on the great hall balcony just in time to see a mob of well-wishers, pushing Nayan and Zoren-te ahead of them, into the hall leading to the back stair. Wondered if the people would follow them to his rooms, tuck them into bed as in the ancient custom. Fortunately for the newly married couple, the mob swept back into the hall moments later. Revelries continued. Noar: considered joining them. Decided against.

  Returned to his own rooms, continued his sulk. Had been sulking for close to a week, barely noticed by Nayan.

  Barely noticed by Nayan.

  Noar, not even communicating with Colwen. Too cheerful, him. Colwen: noticing, but let it pass. Figured Noar would get over whatever was bothering him.

  Maybe not this time. Noar in his rooms, alone. Often drunk. Sometimes pacing. Even once forgetting to bathe, three days in a row. Surprised to find Seren-ye knocking at his door the night before last. Thought he had gotten rid of her. Was about to say something cruel, but then reached out for her abruptly, pulled her into the room. Then into the bedroom. Copulated with her quickly, almost roughly. Could not have been called making love by any stretch of the imagination. Helped ease his mood – for a little while. And Seren-ye … the little fool. Didn’t seem to mind.

  But now. Sent her away. Didn’t even want to bed her.

  She: not understanding. “You’re not mad at me again, are you Noar? Because I really am sorry for what happened … before. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I told you all this before.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Then what?”

  “I just want to be alone.”

  “But Noar – ”

  Shouted at her to get out. Watched her leave, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. Didn’t care.

  Surprised to see her return for a moment. Pushed open his door. Shouted as best she could: “Ever since you got back from the South, you’ve been different! It’s like you hate everybody! I hate you too!” Then a door slam, a run.

  What was happening? Hard to admit, but even thick-headed Seren-ye was right. He was different. Something … when his parents died? Definitely twisted by that. But maybe … even before that? When he returned from the raid he executed with Nayan, with … ?

  Shook his head.

  Crossing the equator this time – alone – had been a sea change for him. Why? Tried to remember. The heat, the bugs, the foul water. Lost his canteen, nearly died of thirst in the most humid part of the planet. Chewed leaves to stay alive. All the time …

  All the time: cursing his brother. Why? Didn’t know. Just felt it twisting inside of him, growing with every wave of heat, every bite of a fly or crawling insect, every stumble of his gantha over the dense growth. Even asked himself several times: why so angry, Noar? But no answer. From within or without. Just the burning. That did not cool when he cleared the terrible jungle and made drier, cooler ground. When he was finally able to bathe in a cool stream. Discovered he could not wash away … this.

  Noar, somewhat of a surprise to himself. Sometimes quick to anger, but just as quick to laugh it off. But. Not lately. Becoming something of a brooder, these days.

  Missed his parents. Missed Colwen’s mother. Missed the way things had always been. Missed being …

  … part of a family. A family that would stand for him no matter what. But now – what was he, exactly? His “family” … consisting of relatives scattered throughout the North. Cousins, aunts and uncles, second cousins, on and on down the line. No more mother and father, big brother. Just a huge clan of vaguely related people. Aristocratic spawn, most of them. Living in the other castles, or mansions now split into apartments and suites of rooms. The major lords serving in provincial assemblies, voting alongside elected representatives. Leading. Guiding. Serving, publicly.

  As he never would.

  No, the leader of his family was now Nayan. Suddenly. All at once. Two swift arrows, and … all done. No parents, no comforting safe harbor. No wonderful Mother, to reassure him. To favor him. (To favor him!) And no time to think about it. No time to get used to it. Just time spent … fighting.

  Feeling like he was on an island floating away out to sea. And now, having to watch his brother’s happiness while he, himself, drifted away from
everything he had known and cherished. Watching his brother marry; possess his pretty prize. For which he should have received some measure of praise. But for which he was scolded at best, overlooked at worst.

  The coolness of Nayan’s ascension, rankling him the most. That, and the partner with whom he ascended.

  Noar, four days after his brother’s wedding. Should have reported to the munitions factory. Decided against.

  Shirking his duty? Had never done such a thing before. Never in his life.

  Watched a storm approach from the west. Looked at the gathering sky; knew that soon it would be the gell harvest. After that, real winter, like a giant claw. No movement would be possible.

  Made his decision quickly. Made certain financial arrangements. Then got Colwen to come with, to bring his gantha back. Rode to the train station.

  Colwen, in a state of mild shock. “You’re really doing this, Noar?”

  “I am.”

  “What about the gell harvest?”

  “They’ll get it in without me.”

  “But … you won’t be able to come back if you stay more than a couple of weeks.”

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  “Noar, what’s wrong with you?”

  No answer. Just a dark stare in the direction from which the train would come.

  “You don’t even want to say goodbye to Nayan? He has no idea.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “He’d want to know.”

  Suddenly a rumble, coming from afar but growing in volume steadily. The train. Saving him.

  Noar, slapping Colwen on the back in a hearty farewell. Picking up his big valise. Shouting over the noise: “You can tell him for me.”

  Then all roars and steam and screeching of wheels. People coming and going. Colwen, trying to be heard above the noise. Noar, noticing his friend’s lips moving, but turning away. Tossing his huge valise onto the step. Then boarding the iron lion in a mighty jump.

  Turning back for just a moment. A grin. A wave. Then gone.

  Sauran City: a three hour ride. Time for Noar to think. To reflect.

  Neither of which he did. Slept the whole way, apart from one time when an irritated passenger woke him to stop his snoring. Only had time to briefly notice the novelty of a train ride before he was asleep again.

  Noar had been to Sauran City many times; but never as an adult. Now: oh. The press of people at the station: made him anxious. Noar: not frightened by many things. Had faced raiders in battle, had been a raider himself. Had faced dangerous prey; even lions. But here, facing hordes of his own kind just walking around: unprepared.

  Made it to the street outside the station, lugging his heavy valise. Had packed it knowing he would not be home for months. Now, regretting this. I have plenty of money. I could have just bought new clothes. Looking around, noticing the varied garb of the city folk. My clothes aren’t really suitable for the city anyway.

  Forcing down the feeling of being sadly out of place. Headed off in a direction – any direction – to find a hotel.

  Luck, with him that day. Noar’s choice of direction: turned out to be toward the finer part of the city. Soon, found himself nearing the great central park. Then in a handsome square, bordering it. There: a choice of two hotels, both appearing refined, elegant. Went into the closest one. Soon: installed in a fairly luxurious room overlooking the park. A room that had electric lights on every wall, a polished marble fireplace in addition to central heating, a bed big enough for four people, a sumptuous bath.

  Noar, falling back onto the enormous bed, chuckling to himself. Yes. So much better than when he first got off the train. Feeling very free. Feeling as if everything before him was an open book. As if great adventure might befall him. Not knowing at the time, of course, how true that was.

  Early evening. After a long nap, Noar: rising, bathing, dressing in clothes appropriate to the northern spring. Much warmer, here in the temperate zone. Sauran City: closer to the equator. On the one big peninsula of Cha-ning Province that stuck its nose into southern territory. A place of four seasons, all of them milder than what he was used to. Noar, heading out into the busy square.

  Had never seen so much light in the evening. No village square in the north had so many gaslights, electric lights. Cha-ning Castle: just a few outside lights. The prospect of wiring such a huge building: a daunting task, slowly getting done.

  Noar, noticing how the lights took the night away.

  Now changing his initial response. Actually enjoying the press of people. Perhaps feeling settled, through having a place to rest his head. Watching … everything. Closely observing the finely dressed strollers; making note of what they wore. Where they went to eat. How they lounged on the pretty bridges throughout the park. How they relaxed in the sidewalk cafes – many still open in the late fall. Still warm enough to be outside with a light coat or warm tunic.

  Emerged onto a busy avenue with many stores. Noticed one of them: a men’s clothing store. Went in, bought himself lots of new, fashionable clothes. Lighter weight clothes. Slimmer pants, more form fitting tunics. Not a single cloak. Back to the hotel room to change. Back to the street to wander.

  Dined in a fine restaurant on the avenue with the stores. Strolled again in the park, noting that even at night it was still full of people. Back at the hotel, went to the lounge. Where his request for warm ale was met with surprise. Not derision – such a thing would be unthinkable in such posh surroundings – but genuine surprise. The bartender informed: “We don’t really know how to warm ale without losing the alcohol content.”

  Noar, a smile. “My friend’s mother was a genius at the craft.”

  “There are some such artists, still around, I guess. Mostly further north, I’ve heard. But it’s pretty much become a lost art. Where are you from?”

  “The North.”

  “As in the far North?”

  “As in.” Noar, continuing to smile. But managing to communicate his refusal to state exactly where he was from. The bartender, good at his craft. Knew better than to ask again.

  “Well, if your friend’s mother wants to try out city life, she could make an excellent living here.”

  “I’ll pass it on.” Noar’s height and breadth, his soldierly bearing; caused the bartender to pour him a room temperature ale for free. Stood at the bar and drank it slowly. Not aware for a minute, that he was being watched.

  But … soldiers always know. Noar turned. No expression on his face. Just scanning the other patrons in the lounge.

  There. Look. Oh … nice. Studied the young woman studying him. Still no expression. Just analyzing her look, her person. As if she were a potential enemy, a spy. Then a slight look of puzzlement on his face, as the woman smiled at him. Noticed her male companion noticing him. This man: not seeming surprised – or irritated – at the exchange of stares between Noar and the young woman.

  Not her husband. Figured that immediately. Continued staring, a little brash now. Didn’t care. Strangers, these. Their opinion of him: unimportant. Noticed that the man and woman looked similar … like brother and sister. Yes. I’ll bet they’re brother and sister.

  Then look. The man, rising. Approaching. Meeting Noar’s eye the whole time. Proud bearing. Noar, straightening up, facing the man head on. Impossible to read his intent. Maybe he does mind my staring at his – sister.

  Then the man, right before him. Noar, no expression. Just meeting the eye.

  For a moment, the two men just standing there, eye to eye. Then the stranger, extending his hand in greeting to Noar. A smile. “Hello. I’m Lord Iskar, sub-Lord of Shelsay. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Is this how they do it in cities? But … finding himself nodding his head. Even a light smile in return. “Sure.”

  Introductions. Told Iskar he was from Rhymney … feeling the need of a lie. Not yet wanting to divulge that he came from the northern province most frequently – and recently – attacked by southern raiders. And … just in case … Darlei
gh had not covered his tracks as well as Nayan thought he had.

  An odd smile from Iskar. “I assume … from your bearing and dress … you are of the … upper class?”

  A half smile from Noar. I guess this is how it’s done here. “I’m a sub-lord, as are you.”

  Noar, soon at the table. Introduced to Lady Iskaya, a Lady of Shelsay. Shelsay: one of the smaller southern provinces, closer to the pole than Vel or Darleigh. Colder. Certain times of the year, a little like the far North. Pleasant conversation ensuing. Quite a few mugs of ale.

  Noar, noticing the Lady Iskaya-te … oh. More than noticing. Almost studying, whenever her brother looked away or went to the bar. A beauty, her. Noar, not the only man in the lounge noticing her. A lady richly dressed, in the modern style. Short dress, made of some light weight fabric with jeweled design, that flattered her excellent figure and set off her pretty yellow hair. Didn’t see that kind of gold colored hair very often in the North. Usually ashy blond hair; russet or brown. But Iskaya-te’s hair, shining even in the dim light as if made of spun gold. Her bright blue eyes shining along with it. Especially after several mugs of ale.

  Eventually, the ale having its usual effect. Iskaya-te, excusing herself to the facilities. Whereupon Iskar leaned over to Noar. “She’s something, huh?”

  Noar, startled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

  Iskar, a laugh. “It’s okay. Everyone stares at her. Are you married?”

  “What?” Noar, slightly startled by the question. Involuntarily running his hand over his neck, as if reassuring himself. No thin wedding band there.

  Iskar, chuckling. “A lot of guys drop their wedding bands when they come into the city.”

  Noar, recovering. “I’m only twenty-eight.”

  “That’s old enough, where I come from. But I guess things are different in the South.”

  Tried to hide another mild startle. “So I’ve heard.”

  Iskar, not having a lot to say on the matter. The ale, seeming to have taken over his brain. Beginning to stare into space. Then interrupted by the return of Isakaya-te.