Seed- The Gene Awakens

by Jane Baskin

  Of course, they helped her. Bought her a hearty dinner. Took her shopping for fine clothes, a warm coat. Installed her in the best hotel that would admit her. Gave her money. Planned to set up a bank account for her, the next day.

  As she waited for a guide to take her to her rooms, turned to Zoren-te. “My dear, be very careful. Your life was meant to be profound, but short. And your beloved – he will live half a dozen lives in an eyeblink. Above all, never believe you dishonored your father. You avenged him, as was your duty. All the gods bless you, Zoren. You are everything he wished you to be. Don’t listen. Listen only to yourself.”

  Oh. Almost too much to take. Especially for Zoren-te.

  Later, in their room. Zoren-te: “ Let me tell you what a traitor is, Nayan. I’ve seen it, firsthand. I’ve seen southern armies, created out of peasants, turn and kill their own relatives. Where do you think our troops come from? There aren’t enough aristocrats to make armies. We make up the highest commanders. The soldiers, even the officers, they’re all peasants. Taken from their mothers almost at birth. Raised in barns, like animals. Beaten, made vicious. The worst ones, taken as officers. Every scrap of mercy, of honor, beaten out of them. Then they set upon their own people like mad dogs, when commanded to.”

  Zoren-te, crossing the room to the window. Looking down at the street, the fine avenue, the square. The crowds of people, streaming back and forth. Zoren-te just watching them, so silently.

  Nayan, watching her. No need for special abilities to see the torment within her. “Zoren, tell me.”

  “So, my own family thinks I’m a traitor.”

  “You can’t take the words of those ridiculous people seriously. I know you care what people think, but – ”

  “But Magana. My father’s older sister. She could tell the future – like you, sometimes. Just knowing things. She could tell if people were telling the truth or not. You know the penalty for witchcraft in the South. But – she was an aristocrat. For a while, she escaped. Still, everyone hated her, especialy my mother. Darleigh, too. When she predicted he’d break a leg in a fall from a gantha, and then it happened, he – and others – insisted she be punished. My father couldn’t stop it. My mother loved the idea. So they tied her to a post, burned out her eyes. They almost cut out her tongue, but my father showed up with a shotgun. They let her go, but stripped her of her rank. My father supported her in Sauran City, until … well. Now, as we saw, she is … not well.”

  “All gods, Zoren. Please do me this honor. Don’t listen to all those people that once made up your world. Your people are wrong.”

  “But what … what if Magana is right?”

  Nayan, worms in his belly. Speaking what he did not entirely believe: “Magana is greatly distressed. She’s been living in the streets, in the cold. I wouldn’t put much faith in her prophecies at the moment.”

  A sudden slump in her shoulders. Like she just lost a fight.

  Nayan, crossing to her. Taking her in his arms. “You didn’t dishonor your father. You avenged him.”

  “But no one knows that, except you. You and I know the truth. But if you’re all alone with the truth, all that’s left is the lie. That’s what people believe. Of me.”

  “I’m so sorry, love. But your own people turned on you. You had no choice.”

  “I wanted vengeance for my father. But I never wanted to be – a traitor.”

  Oh.

  What a terrible choice she had had to make. What a wealth of contradictions struggled inside her soul! Ferocious and sensitive at once. Vengeful and vulnerable, simultaneously. Nayan, remembering how distraught she had been, when still a captive at Cha-ning, contemplating the scorn of the village at her unthinking comment when meeting Luisa-te’s family. How firmly she believed in one’s public persona. Maybe a part of being an aristocrat he had never known? Truly … had to admit they had been on display since coming to Sauran City. No real privacy for aristocrats, here. No chance to be … merely human. Public persona: so important. How much more so, in her upbringing.

  Remembering also, his conversation with Che, just before he married Zoren-te. Yes, what a rare bird she was, indeed. Complex enough to hate him and love him; complex enough to have strong beliefs and doubt them constantly.

  Nayan: “I’m so sorry … that you have to choose.”

  “I don’t know that I can.”

  “What are you saying, Zoren?”

  “I’m your bride, and as such, the Lady of Cha-ning. I like the life of the North far better than that of the South. But make no mistake, I am a southerner by birth and upbringing. If everyone thinks I’m a traitor … and if Magana is right – she’s never been wrong – I won’t have much time to prove myself.”

  Turned, fled from the room.

  Nayan, left sitting like a fool on the edge of the bed. Like a monkey who just missed a tree branch. What just happened?

  Suddenly, the knowing returned. Or maybe the ghosts, gathering to bring him to his senses. Nayan, feeling weirdly cold, like the lion of Vel stood at his shoulder. I didn’t have to choose. Could I have? Could I have turned my back on my home? On everything I was raised with, on everyone I grew up with? How can I ask that of her?How did this happen?

  Could that be what was happening with Noar? That he was choosing – another life? Had Noar really gone to fight for the South? In a cause regarded as despicable by everyone and everything he had ever known? A war his own people had even considered joining … on the opposite side from the aristocrats?

  Could his brother be doing such a thing? Could he?

  This could be a wrinkle.

  Wrinkle! It could be a disaster!

  (Smile) Don’t tell me you believe in prophecy, now.

  Squat! Don’t patronize me. Or make fun of me. That would be rude, and unlike you. You know perfectly well, sometimes prophecies are accurate.

  Really? When?

  When they are. (smile)

  But the breeding –

  Stop worrying. You know there is no death.

  Then we wait.

  Yes. Perhaps longer than we intended. But that’s our job. We wait.

  28. The Awful Strangeness of Strangeness

  Nothing to do but go home.

  Nayan and Zoren-te, boarding the train quietly. Too quietly, Nayan thinking. Zoren-te, almost totally silent since their words at the hotel. Oh. So painful for Nayan. Usually, they talked things through. But… not this time.

  And no thought transfer, either. As quickly as the knowing came back, it went away again. Leaving Nayan with only one thought: get out of here.

  A lifetime spent hiding his ability. Ashamed of it. Afraid. The fear, brought back like a slap to the head, when he saw Zoren-te’s broken aunt.

  But now … feeling alone without it. weak. Like his best friend had deserted him.

  Met at the terminus by Che and Colwen, leading three furry, sturdy ganthas. Both men so bundled up in heavy furs they were barely recognizable. Even the ganthas, blanketed heavily over their backs and chests. Breathing through muzzle filters that warmed the air before it reached their lungs.

  Nayan and Zoren-te, donning their heavy cloaks at once. Pulling the hoods up, scarves across their faces. Lowering sleeves over fur-lined gloves. Loading their valises onto the pack animal. Setting out through the village; then across the open plain that led to the castle/village. This, a murderous ride. Winter winds, screaming down from the mountains of Rhymney, only slightly broken up by forests and sea. Even the animals, huddling together, tucking their heads against the cold.

  A ride that in springtime took ten minutes: now taking over an hour.

  Reaching the castle/village exhausted. Just enough energy to put up the animals, give them grain and water. Staggering to the castle. Nayan, putting his strong arm around Zoren-te, as they passed through the howling wind tunnel created by the space between the castle and the stables.

  Releasing her, as soon as they got inside.

  Zoren-te, proceeding to their rooms silently.
Nayan following. Some kind soul, having turned up the heat, lit the fire boxes before their arrival. The rooms: warm. Along with some heated ale left for them in the little alcove that served as a kitchen.

  Nayan, sitting by the fire. Motioning for Zoren-te to join him. Her hesitation … but then, sat in the chair beside him. Taking the ale he offered.

  Nayan: This can’t continue. You have to speak to me. Thught transfer, having returned at at last.

  To his surprise, Zoren-te: putting her ale mug on a small table. Then her head in her hands.

  Nayan: What? Please, Zoren. Tell me.

  She, finally looking at him. Her eyes dry, but full of sorrow. Nayan, who am I? Who do I belong to?

  Oh Zoren, what a question. You belong to me.

  Yes. We belong to each other. But who am I? Who is it you wed? A lady of Vel, now the Lady of Cha-ning. What sense can that possibly make?

  Nayan, so quick she didn’t see him move. Suddenly before her. Just there. Crouching in front of her chair. Listen to me. You may struggle all your life, to understand where you fit. I’m sorry for that. For me, it’s easy. I’ve only known one life, one place, one culture; ever since I was born. For you, not so simple. You’re two cultures. Exactly as you say. You were a misfit in one, but it was your home. You fit in well in the other, but you didn’t grow up here. It’s difficult, Zoren, but it’s your path. It’s just the path that was given to you.

  By your brother, Nayan. By your brother.

  Nayan, taken aback. Zoren – why this sudden change? You wanted to come with me to Sauran City, to hunt for him. You said you understood.

  I understand your anxiety for him. But when I understood where he had gone – what he’s almost undoubtedly doing – it made me wonder. It was like falling off a cliff, Nayan. I – maybe I’m just crazy.

  Maybe she is. Nayan, reaching his arms around her then. Folding her into an embrace so deep he hoped it would banish her doubts. Maybe rid her of this terrible ability to question herself, everything she had done in the last year. The strength and weakness at once, of caring what others think.

  Perhaps … worked? Within a few minutes, Zoren-te, relaxing into his embrace. Resting her head on his chest. Returning the embrace.

  I’m sorry, Nayan. I don’t know what came over me. When we met my cousins in Sauran City, it was like … like my whole life was racing before my eyes. It was like I was right there. Reliving … everything.

  I understand, my love. It’s hard for you.

  It’s more than hard. It’s weird. If you had told me a year and a half ago that I would be here now, with you … I would have laughed in your face. Oh Nayan! What’s happening to us?

  The day Noar took you, the world got all cocked up.

  Finally, the tears. Oh Nayan, I miss my family so much. My father – And you were right. Even my mother. I hated her, but I miss her so much.

  I know, love. I know.

  What he did not know – what she could barely think about herself – Magana-ye’s bizarre prediction. Your life will be profound, but short.

  What if it were true?

  After this contact, Zoren-te, no longer silent. But still – something, some small part of her – somewhere else. As if a piece of her had disconnected from the whole, and now stood outside, just watching.

  Nayan, of course, knowing. Feeling it. All his gift, now returned in force. Better that way. Wishing they had never gone on that wild goose chase to Sauran City, where his bride walked into her past.

  And might have glimpsed her future.

  Nayan, struggling for the mental control his mother had exercised so well. Maybe too well, at the end. But trying. Trying to shut his mind down on certain things. Trying not to see the wasted face of Magana-ye, her burned out eyes that saw him standing next to Zoren-te.

  But … hard winter, upon them now. Nothing to do but retreat to their rooms, to the library, to the conviviality of mealtimes. Even the train, stopped for the rest of the winter. Track crews: had simply given up, gone home.

  Time now to take refuge in the warm bed. To love. To think back and forth to one another. To grow stronger.

  More and more often, “calling” back and forth with his cousin, Aterya-te. Yes, Nayan. We can hear you. You have to work it; project it. It’s not like just having a conversation with the person next to you. You have to practice.

  That’s what Lady Jiren-te said. I get it. It’s like the time I tried to send a message to Che, when we were on the train …

  He got it, yes?

  Yes, but it didn’t help.

  I know. I was told. I’m so sorry, Nayan.

  Thank you. (Pause) Have you and Kyrugan figured anything out? I mean, your research.

  It’s definitely hereditary. We’re working on the mechanism … how it’s passed on. These new microscopes … the double helix I told you about. The chemistry of transmission – it’s beautiful, Nayan. Certain molecules are shaped so they fit into certain receiver spots on cells, shaped the same way. We’re beginning to understand why some in a family have the gift, and not others.

  Che, practicing the gift with Luisa-te. Watching her bloom like an unwilling flower; learn to transfer thoughts. But. Drawing the line at trying to move things with her mind. Angry, even, when he did it.

  Stop, Che. This is madness.

  Why do you say that? It’s a gift.

  Oh yes, it’s a gift. And one that could get you killed.

  What do you mean?

  But she, turning away. Would say no more. Just a darkness about her. Che, of course, knowing. Knowing what her parents had always taught her. What she had seen in the South; the penalty for such “witchcraft.”

  But Che: not stopping. Practicing with Nayan. Nayan: driven. Obsessed even; ever since the campaign against the South. Every since … he turned deadly. Not by accident; not now and then. Not just when in high temper – like Erad and Arina-ye, watching the murderers depart.

  No. Now, by design. Deliberately. We have to learn to control this. To sharpen it to a fine point. To use it … as we wish.

  You’re sure, Nayan?

  As sure as I can be, Che.

  You’re sure it’s not evil?

  No, I’m not sure.

  Back at Darleigh … I wanted to use it. I used it to the best of my ability. I killed; I stopped bullets. I was – thrilled by it, I’ll admit it. But now … I wonder. My father says it’s evil.

  He may be right, Che.

  But Nayan, could not stop practicing. Before the month was out: able to lift heavier and heavier things with his mind. Bundled in a heavy cloak, breathing through wool, practicing with a crossbow. A rifle. A sidearm. A rock. A ball of ice. Able to hit any target, no matter the distance, with his mind. Even targets he could not see.

  Memory: that outlandishly successful shot, during the raid in the South … the shot that could not have been made … not seeming so strange now. The advancing Gansmen … the stumbling ganthas, the man against the tree … at Darleigh … oh, the dead.

  Am I frightened? I should be, I think.

  But could not stop. Rotating the globe in the library, running his hands over the general area of the pole. The gell fields, and the pole beyond. Like his hands could feel some strange life where life was not supposed to be. There, yes. In the ice caves, where they stored the gell. And beyond. Under the pole itself. Where he had sometimes ridden out, to listen. For what? No sound but the heaving of the ice. But his hands now … and his memory … thinking otherwise.

  There’s something there, I know it. Or someone. Or I’m just going crazy.

  And what if Che’s right? What if this is evil?

  Again remembering. The image that would not leave him. That, he was coming to understand, would never leave him. Like Mother had said … some things … forever.

  The sight of his parents, lying still. The dark red spots on their foreheads.

  I will never forget. What will I become? I don’t know. But I know I will never forget.

  On the
practice yard, moving a fence – just by seeing it on the other side of the yard. Moving the half wall of rock, by seeing it farther away.

  Then one terrible afternoon when he went to the cliffs by himself. When he wondered if he could move a bigger rock. A real challenge of a rock. This rock, the one he had grown up with; the one that resisted the waves with unimaginable might. Nayan stood, breathing through wool. A dark figure on a dark bluff. Closed his eyes. Concentrated. Felt like he was becoming the cliff. The stubborn rock itself. From inside itself/ himself: saw a chunk break off.

  And it did.

  Opened his eyes in terror. Disbelief. At his feet; look, there. The edge of the cliff, on the side toward the beach … a chunk of rock about a meter wide, fallen away.

  Unable any longer to deny a terrible truth: that his gift was the strongest among anyone he knew. Probably, the strongest in the North.

  Probably, the strongest on the planet.

  And coming to that place at last, where his mother knew he would someday land: Who am I? What am I?

  Where do I come from? What will I become?

  Yes, now I’m frightened.

  The village: a place of gossip. Thought transfer: becoming – especially since the battles at Vel and Darleigh – widely recognized. Older people, still cautious. But unable to hold back the novelty, the joy of it, among the young.

  One evening Che’s father, Olgar, sitting down heavily at the dinner table. With his sons and the young Lord and Lady. As well as the headwoman of the village, Scilla. Olgar’s stern look: stopping the light hearted conversation. That was taking place without spoken words. Of course he could hear. Heard Che’s boast that he could shoot with his eyes closed and still hit any target.

  “So, Che. You use your mind.”

  “Um. Yes, Father. You know that. I told you before.”

  “And I told you … how dangerous is this gift. Didn’t I?”

  “Um. Yes, I believe you did.”

  “And you chose not to listen.”