The Almanac

by E L Stricker

  Illya buried his fingers in the seeds in his pocket and watched them.

  After so much labor, the people made short work of the furrows. Illya took the seeds out of his pocket, cradling them in his hand. Solemnly, he walked down the length of the field and placed them a foot apart along the bottoms of the furrows. The gray wedges looked tiny and insignificant, almost disappearing in the soil where they fell. He swallowed.

  Now that he saw them lying in the ground, it seemed impossible that one little seed was all it took.

  Then he was done. The seeds were all out there, safely in the ground. The people spread out and carefully covered the furrows with soil.

  Illya smiled, feeling better than he had all week. Conna had approved of him planting the seeds himself because it was appropriately symbolic. It felt wonderful to do something practical after all of the tension of preparation.

  They were all looking at him. He caught a glare from Conna, and scrambled to say something.

  “The book says that they will sprout soon, and in a few weeks, we will see shoots.”

  Even those who were still unsure brightened at the thought of shoots. For the first time, he saw smiles all around.

  “By fall, we will have mature plants. A hundred sunchokes, each with a whole network of roots and with great big seed heads,” he said, his shoulders relaxing.

  “Your plants will shrivel up and die and all of us with them,” Impiri shouted from the edge of the field.

  Conna started to answer, but, for once, Illya was faster. The moment of planting was too sweet to let her ruin it.

  “We don’t need you sending curses at us,” he said.

  “It's no curse, boy. It's the truth,” Impiri said, striding up to him. Her face wrinkled up like an old crabapple. “You forget that my great grandfather was the Planter. I know more about the dangers of planting than you do.”

  Illya sighed; he started to roll his eyes at her but remembered that everyone was watching him as stopped.

  “The old Planters ended because their seeds never grew. But we have new seeds now.” He pointed at the forest, which was just beginning to burst into life. The shoots of a few weeks past were growing tall, starting to become plants, and the trees grew tender leaf buds.

  “A real Planter would know that, even if they sprout, they will die without water,” Impiri said. The condescension in her voice was like a spear jab. He felt his face grow hot with fury.

  “What do you know about it?” he sputtered; then he recovered. “How long has it been since the time of the last Planter? There’s plenty of water here, when has the forest ever died from lack of it?”

  Impiri smirked and crossed her arms.

  “In the forest there is water but not here. The sun will get hot soon. You will see,” she said.

  Illya blinked. Her words sank into his mind slowly, like a rock dropping into a swamp. He had never paid particular attention to this field before the digging, but he had walked through it every summer of his life.

  “That's true, that is,” someone said in the crowd.

  “We've been carrying water in for people to drink. It's a long way from the river.” He heard Julian whispering to Conna nearby.

  Frantically, Illya shifted through his memories, thinking of what the field was like at different times of the year. Around him, the crowd’s muttering rose like a windstorm. A horrible sick feeling filled his stomach.

  She was right.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE BUZZING OF the crowd pressed in on his eardrums.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Illya yelled.

  The people gaped up at him. He winced at the note of panic he heard coming through in his voice.

  “We will figure it out. It's only a minor setback.”

  “Then you admit that it's a setback,” Impiri said. “You admit that your precious book was wrong.”

  “No! I just didn't know—”

  “I’m sure there are many little things we will be adjusting to make sure this works,” Conna said smoothly, cutting him off. He came up behind Illya and put a hand on his shoulder. “We will find a way to bring water. It isn't a problem. You’ll all see when we have a field of beautiful plants.”

  They were not so easily satisfied. Illya glanced around and saw many dark expressions.

  Illya edged away from Conna, unsure of what to do. The emotions of the crowd surged against him like breakers in a storm. Their belief in him would not hold up for long.

  “I've heard enough of your talk,” Jimmer growled and started at Conna. Conna backed away.

  “You stupid boys are going to ruin us because you can't be bothered to think,” Elias gasped, his face red with fury. He turned to the people, spreading his hands palms up, pleading. “I've never led you wrong before. Why wouldn't you trust me?”

  “Because you had no plan at all!” Illya snapped, surprised by the strength of his reaction. It wasn't Elias's fault that they had all nearly starved, but he hadn't been willing to do anything to stop it either. Illya was taking a risk, but at least he was willing to do what it took. Arguments that had halted when Jimmer ran at Conna resumed throughout the cluster of people.

  “You would lead this village to rot,” Elias said.

  “We have already looked too far into things that should be mysteries,” Impiri said. “What will you do when—”

  She was interrupted when two men who had been arguing started shoving each other and stumbled into her, pushing her to the ground.

  Nearby, Conna was struggling with his father. He seemed well practiced in dodging Jimmer's strikes, but one of them connected with his nose, and blood poured down his face.

  Impiri was sitting on the ground, shrieking at the men who collided with her. Sabelle pulled her to her feet. Somewhere behind him, Illya heard Benja hollering at Elias in his defense.

  “You would have left us all starving or thrown us all out!” Benja yelled.

  Then a group of people near Impiri picked up the abandoned shovels on the edge of the field and started hacking at the newly planted furrows. Illya saw it in a blur, his vision tunneling in on the sight of the sharp blades tearing at the earth.

  He raced toward them, imagining the seeds themselves being hacked to pieces. The only thing he felt was panic. He reached the people and started to pull the tools away, but there were too many of them, and he was only one person.

  “Father, no!” Sabelle's cry cut through the air. He turned and saw her sprinting towards something beyond the crowd, her hair streaming out behind her, her eyes frantic.

  Then the struggling crowd parted for a moment, and Illya saw what she had seen.

  Elias had Benja. He held a crude metal knife to Benja's throat. Sabelle reached them. Elias stared at her with a crazed look as if he didn't recognize her.

  The man that he was had departed and left another in his place. Illya lurched forward with his heart in his throat as Sabelle seized her father's hand. She wrenched the knife away from Benja's throat. He struggled against the arm Elias had barred across his chest, trying to get free.

  Elias held on to Benja tightly, but he did not fight his daughter. Something flickered behind the desperation. His eyes went dull and he and let her pull the knife from his fingers.

  “Don't hurt him,” Sabelle whispered. They stared at each other. Illya pushed past people, trying to reach them. He was not the only one who had heard Sabelle's scream; many were now crowding in to get a view.

  Conna, with Julian and Aaro behind him, arrived first and freed Benja from Elias' grasp. The Patrollers seized Elias, holding his arms behind his back. Conna produced a length of rope from somewhere and bound his hands together.

  No one in the crowd was fighting anymore. All stared in shock at the old Leader.

  Elias stopped fighting. He hung his head, and tears ran unchecked down his cheeks. Sabelle was crying too.

  “I…” Elias said and gulped in shuddering sob.

  “Benja didn't do anything to you,” Conna said, snarl
ing.

  Elias didn't answer. He looked down. Frozen, Illya stared at him, blinking again and again as if he could reset the scene. Things were happening so fast, whirling past in a blur, out of his control. Everything seemed to be unraveling around him.

  Conna was whispering something in his ear.

  “We have to lock him up, there’s no other way,” he said. Illya looked up. He could find no words to respond. His eyes drifted over to where Sabelle stood. She was crying. Nearby, Benja was stroking his uninjured throat.

  “He's lost the gift. Can't you see? He could turn on us at any time,” Conna murmured.

  “Lock him up?” Illya asked.

  “Unless you think banishment is better,” Conna said. Illya sucked in a breath and shook his head. No one would ever be banished again in this village, not if he could help it.

  Conna clapped him on the shoulder and began to speak to everyone in a raised voice.

  “Elias is a danger to the village. First, he failed to do anything for us when the roots went. Now he spreads unrest. This is a time for celebrating what we have accomplished, but instead a man has had his life threatened.

  “By order of the Leader, Elias will be locked in the cellar of the stone house, where he won’t be a danger to us anymore!” Conna seized Elias by his tied wrists and held them up in the air. The Patrollers clustered in tighter around him, flanking Elias with an obvious show of strength.

  “We won't tolerate sabotage, not when our survival is at stake,” Conna said. He gave a nod and the Patrollers pulled Elias away.

  No one spoke as the figures retreated. Illya saw the stunned expressions on the faces around him, and his stomach cramped in worry. He glanced at Sabelle.

  Her eyes were red from crying, and she bit her lip, watching silently. Illya swallowed, wanting to do something to make everything better, but he had no idea where to start. His heart sank; he was sure that any chance he had ever had with her was ruined.

  Suddenly, she looked up at him, meeting his eyes over the sea of shaking heads. He couldn't read her expression. He frowned, wishing he could tell her how sorry he was, how he had never meant for any of this to happen.

  But it had happened.

  He was in up to his neck now, and he had no choice but to move forward. The crowd was beginning to mill about with an air of uncertainty, coming out of their paralysis as the moment passed. He had to say something to salvage something of the day.

  “Everyone listen,” he yelled, and his voice croaked. He ignored the jumping of his stomach.

  “We will find a way to bring water. Until we do, some people will be assigned to carry it,” he said, and this time his voice came out clear and loud. Conna returned from the stone house and stood beside him.

  “The digging was a giant task, and we did it. You all made it possible.” He paused for emphasis, hoping desperately that they weren't regretting what they had done now. “This is a great accomplishment, but it’s only the start. We can do anything if we all work together. Everyone will support each other. Everyone will have a job,” Illya said. He took a breath and scanned their faces. So far, no one seemed to have anything to say.

  Conna began to speak. “I think that after what just happened, we can all agree that it's time we had a way to protect ourselves. I propose a team of Enforcers to do inside the village what the Patrollers do outside,” Conna said.

  Illya pressed his lips together. He didn’t like the sound of that, but Conna had a point he had to admit. He glanced down at the gashes in the newly planted furrows.

  “We've never needed anything like that before,” Charlie Polestad said.

  “That's because we have never been in the kind of danger we are now,” Conna shot back. “If this plan fails, it will be the end of us.”

  “So, you're going to lock all of us up in the cellar now, just because we don't agree with you?” Impiri said, nearly spitting the words.

  “I hope that won't be necessary,” Conna said. Impiri looked back and forth between Conna and Illya. She nodded slowly, once.

  “I see,” she said.

  Illya clenched his teeth.

  He opened his mouth to protest then shut it again. He could not afford to push Conna away, especially not now. The stakes were higher than ever.

  He looked at the field, and the lump in his stomach hardened.

  “Conna's right. We have to be willing to do what it takes, and that means protecting ourselves,” Illya said.

  He picked up the book again, opening it to the right section. He licked his lips, which had gone dry with nerves, and read:

  “In a garden, weeds, insects, animals, and harsh weather can all kill seedlings and rob you of your harvest.” He looked around significantly and shut the book.

  “So, there will be people to pull out weeds,” he said. He had practiced this speech many times when he was alone in his hut, thinking over what he was going to say.

  “We also need water-carriers, child-watchers, cooks, and, of course, hunters and gatherers.” The people said nothing. He took a deep breath. He was just getting to the best part.

  “When we have worked out how make it through this year, we can start planning for next year,” he said.

  He paused then, letting the words sink in for a moment. There was murmuring now, and though he couldn't be sure, he thought it was excitement. He glanced at Sabelle. She was still frowning, but he thought it was a little less than before. Impiri put her hand on Sabelle’s shoulder and she shrugged it off. His mother and Benja were standing nearby, beaming outright at him. Heartened, he pushed on.

  “I want us to expand this field to the edge of the forest. After that, we can tear down the ruined huts on the north side of the village and plant there too. Next year, we will have three times the harvest.” He smiled wide, lightness at the thought of it rising through him.

  “There are a few other jobs. Samuel will continue as our Healer. Instead of the old way, where you paid him in game or foods, we must recognize that most people will be in the position of depending on others for food, and we will share all we have equally every day. We will gather at the central fire for meals and eat together.”

  He knew that families looked forward to going home to share the evening meal, but this would not be so different. The whole village would become a family. In his inflated dreams, he could see visions of countless nights of happy feasting.

  Maybe someday they could even assign people to be artisans and inventors. Then Ban would be able to work on inventing new and better things all the time. Someday, maybe they could have the kind of world the Olders had lived in, the kind in the beautiful pictures.

  “Once the cold comes, we will have a bountiful harvest that will see us through the winter easily.” He had read about “bountiful harvests” and thought that the words were perfect for this occasion.

  “Now you will come forward, one at a time, and I will give you the position that I have chosen for you. I have consulted the Almanac, and I have given each of you the job that you are best suited to do.” He sent a quick glance at Conna, who nodded in approval. Despite his earlier misgivings, Illya felt a swell of pride. He knew his words had come out smoothly with no telltale stutter.

  Charlie stepped up first, his eagerness plain on his face, despite a red lump and a gash on his forehead, which still hadn't fully healed. Illya smiled, feeling a surge of warmth for him. He had decided to give Charlie one of the most labor-intensive jobs, knowing that he would do it with enthusiasm.

  “Charlie Polestadt, you will be a water-carrier until we have a watering system. After that, the water-carriers will be soil-diggers for the new fields,” he said. Charlie beamed at him, and Illya returned it. His wife Leya stepped up next.

  Illya had decided to assign entire families to the same job. That way, children who were old enough to work with some supervision could be taught by their parents. This way, they would need fewer child-watchers.

  He hesitated for a moment before continuing. He knew that som
e of them were bound not to like it.

  Leya was pregnant, due in two months. Still, she had worked alongside her husband digging the new field.

  “Leya Polestadt, you will be a water-carrier, then a soil-digger with Charlie,” he said. “Of course, you must take care of yourself, and when the time for your baby comes near, you will rest.” He smiled at her tentatively, and Leya returned it.

  He went on, assigning each person as he or she stepped up. He had spent many hours speculating who would be best for each job.

  “You probably have noticed that I have kept families together,” he said. He paused and studied the crowd. As he had expected, there were mixed reactions. Charlie and Leya still had smiles on their faces. He wondered if it was his imagination, but their smiles now appeared a little strained. Others were making no attempt to hide their displeasure.

  He had assigned Impiri to food preparation and Sabelle along with her. He had not wanted it to be Sabelle's task, but Impiri was undisputedly one of the best cooks in the village. Predictably, Impiri looked furious, though he had tried to pick something she would be good at and enjoy. Sabelle was not meeting his gaze at all.

  “The wisdom of the Almanac has guided me in the best way. I know that we are just starting out, and some things may need to change as we go. Everyone will need to be patient until we get it right,” he said. Impiri glared even more sharply but miraculously held her tongue.

  Those who were already Patrollers had kept their jobs and would hunt, and now some of them would become Conna's Enforcers. Their families would be gatherers. Besides himself and Conna, who were Leader and Second, there were few exceptions to the family units. Samuel was one of them, as he did not have a family. Conna had pointed out that if everyone survived each year, and more people were born, the village could double in size. There would be plenty of people to take over for Samuel eventually. Maybe they would even need a whole family of Healers to take care of everyone by then.

  This was a compelling thought. When Illya had heard it, his mind had spun into wild calculations, and the real magnitude of what they were doing hit him. The small problems they dealt with now were nothing compared to the scope of it.