Seed to Harvest

by Octavia E. Butler

  Jackman reeled back against the wall as though he had been hit physically. For a moment he stood still, bent slightly from the waist, his head down, cursing.

  Teray reached out to find the two mutes. He located them easily, knowing their minds from Jackman’s memories. With careful gentleness, he called them back into the room to finish moving Jackman’s things. He used exactly the same amount of power that Jackman would have used. The most important thing he had gotten from Jackman was a thorough knowledge of how much mental force mutes could tolerate without harm.

  Jackman straightened the moment the two mutes came in. They looked at him curiously, then gathered up armloads of clothing and other possessions.

  Jackman spoke to Teray once more as he and the mutes were leaving the room. “Conscience or not,” he said quietly, “you’re his brother all right.” And strangely, it seemed that he said it with admiration.

  Chapter Three

  TERAY SEARCHED FOR IRAY using only his eyes. Had he used his mind, he could have found her in a moment. But he was not in that much of a hurry. He searched for her not knowing what he would say to her when he found her. Was it only the night before that he had promised her he would accept any chance he could get for freedom?

  The thought reminded him painfully of Joachim.

  He stopped, suddenly recalling Joachim’s intention to spend the night at Coransee’s house. Had he done it? Was he still there?

  Teray reached out, swept his perception through the House, and found Joachim as quickly and easily as he could have found Iray. The Housemaster had a guest room in Coransee’s quarters. And now that Teray had found him, he wondered whether he really wanted to see him. Why should he want to see him? Did he need advice from Joachim? Hadn’t Joachim already told him that in a few years he too would view Coransee’s mental controls as a small price to pay for freedom? For limited freedom. For the illusion of freedom.

  But Teray was to have only one year, or less, to make that decision—if he made it at all.

  Breaking away from his thoughts angrily, Teray reached out again and located Iray. She was in the courtyard, a large garden area three-quarters surrounded by the walls of the House.

  He went to her and found her sitting alone on one of the concrete benches placed at intervals around the rectangular pathway. Teray stood still for a moment, looking around the garden. There was a fountain at its center, pleasantly breaking the morning quiet with the sound of falling water.

  There were paths leading to the fountain and flowers between the paths. Outside the rectangle of the main path there were shrubs, some of them flowering, and trees. All this, Teray realized, was tended by his mutes. Thank heaven they already knew their work. Teray knew almost nothing about gardening—nor had Jackman known, Teray realized, examining the memories he had taken from the man. Jackman had never bothered to learn. He had simply let the mutes go on tending the garden as they had before he took charge of them.

  Teray realized that he was still putting off speaking to Iray.

  He went over and sat down beside her, felt her expectant waiting.

  “I’ve failed you,” he said quietly. “Again. I couldn’t pay the price Coransee asked.”

  She was abruptly closed to him, shut behind a full shield, alone with herself. Physically, her reaction was mild. She sighed, and looked down at the hard-packed sandy reddish soil of the pathway. “Tell me what happened. Tell me all of it.”

  He told her. She had a right to know. And knowing, she had a right to hate him. He had sacrificed her freedom as well as his own. As he had trusted Joachim, she had trusted him. She was beautiful and strong in her own right. Not strong enough to establish a House of her own, but strong enough to make a secure place for herself in any existing House she chose. Other men had wanted her—established Housemasters. She had turned them down to stay with Teray. And now …

  Teray finished his story, and drew a deep breath.

  She turned and looked at him—looked at him for a long time. He grew uncomfortable under her gaze but he could think of nothing more to say.

  “Are you going to let him kill you?”

  Her words seemed to bring him to life. “Of course not! I wouldn’t let anyone kill me!”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Fight … again. If it comes to that. I’m not going to waste the time he’s given me. I’m going to learn whatever I can. Maybe learn enough to …” He could not finish the sentence, the lie. No outsider would be watched more closely than he. No one would be more shielded from knowledge that might help him win his freedom. Yet he could not accept the final defeat. He could not do what Joachim had done.

  Iray laid a hand on his shoulder, then raised it to his face. “I’m not going to change my name,” she said.

  He set his teeth, not wanting to say what he knew he had to say. “You’re going to do whatever is necessary. You have to make a place for yourself here.”

  “Teray …”

  “I can’t protect you. You … aren’t my wife anymore. Perhaps you will be again. I’ll fight for that. If I break free, I won’t leave you here. But for now … we both know what you have to do.”

  “I’d like to help you kill him!”

  “You know better. You hate him for what he’s done to me! You can’t afford to do that. Think of yourself. You’re beautiful, and strong enough to rise high in any House. Please him, Iray. Please him!”

  She sat silent, staring at the ground. After a while she got up and went back into the House.

  The House mutes knew their jobs. They were well programmed and hardly needed Teray to direct them. For days he simply moved among them, permitting them to get used to him. It annoyed him to realize that they missed Jackman. They did not dislike Teray. Their programming did not permit them to dislike any Patternist. They simply preferred Jackman, whom they knew—and who had treated them kindly. Teray did not treat them in any way at all.

  He could not focus his thoughts on them, could not really make himself care about them. His own problems held his attention, weighed on him. And it did not help him to see Coransee and Iray together around the House. Coransee had moved quickly. Sometimes in the morning Teray would see them coming out of Coransee’s quarters together and going out on some business of Coransee’s. Several of Coransee’s wives had begun to look at Iray with open jealousy. Clearly, she was becoming one of Coransee’s favorites. And how did she feel about that?

  She seemed subdued at first. Quiet, withdrawn, resisting emotionally what she could not resist physically. She was no actress. She had never been able to hide her feelings from Teray. Even when she closed her mind to him, her face and her mannerisms betrayed her. Teray watched her, concerned that she would anger Coransee with her stubbornness; though Teray took secret pride in that stubbornness. Then Iray began to smile, and Teray watched her with another kind of concern. Was she finally learning to act, or was her stubbornness beginning to melt?

  Coransee was a handsome, powerful man. He could be charming. Several of his wives made no secret of the fact that they were in love with him. And Iray was young—just out of school. It was one thing for her to resist the attentions of wealthy lords who came to the school, where they would flaunt little of their wealth or power before her. Where they were just other men. But here on Coransee’s vast estate … How much difference did it make?

  Teray watched, sickened by the way Iray was beginning to look at Coransee. And Iray would no longer meet Teray’s eyes at all.

  And time was passing. And Teray was learning nothing, as he had feared. And Joachim, who had submitted, was at his home with his outsiders and wives and mutes—with the wealth and power that he controlled at least when Coransee left him alone.

  Teray was solitary and morose. His mutes feared him. They knew, as he did, that it would be nothing new for an angry Patternist to take out his frustrations on the nearest mute. Of course, abusing mutes was illegal, was punished painfully when it was discovered. But the muteherd, guardian as
well as supervisor of the mutes, could make certain that his violence went undiscovered. Years before, Rayal had swept the sectors regularly, seeking out and punishing instances of mute abuse and other lawbreaking. But there had been no such sweeps for some time. Rayal did nothing now except keep himself alive and in power. Thus, the mutes of Coransee’s House watched Teray warily and leaped to obey when he spoke. It would never have occurred to him to abuse a person as helpless as a mute. Yet he could not summon the initiative to reassure them, ease their fear. He could not make himself really care. Not until the morning a frightened mute awoke him before dawn to tell that there had been an accident in the kitchen.

  Teray got up silently, radiating annoyance that the mute could not feel, and followed the mute down to the huge kitchen. A cook had dropped a pan of hot cooking grease on his foot. The foot was badly burned.

  Teray bent at once to examine the foot. He could read the man’s pain on his face but he was careful not to read it in his mind. Like all Patternists, Teray had been taught as much as he could learn of healing before he left the school. The healing ability had little to do with mental strength it was a different sort of power. Most Houses kept at least one woman or outsider who specialized in healing. One who could do massive work like regenerating limbs or ridding a body of some poison or deadly disease. A good healer could handle anything short of the Clayark disease. But Teray was not a good healer. Carefully, he doused the man’s agony. That was simple enough, but the healing …

  He considered calling Coransee to find out who the healer of the House was. He should have found out long ago, he knew. And he knew that Coransee would tell him as much in no uncertain language. Then he remembered the large, only partially digested lump of his Jackman memories. He reached into them, and found the healer’s name and the emergency mental call that she responded to. Knowing eased his mind, gave him confidence. If the healer was there and ready to answer quickly, then he could risk not bothering her. He could risk healing the mute himself.

  He found it easiest to act as though the mute’s body were his own, as though Teray were regenerating his own flesh. Much cooked, dead flesh had to be sloughed off. The mute’s pain could not be allowed to return. Teray closed his eyes in concentration. He did not open them until he was finished. The mute’s foot was whole again, and he sat gazing, fascinated, at the new pink flesh.

  “It will be tender for a while,” Teray told him. “But it’s all right. Have a good breakfast and take the day off.”

  The mute smiled. “Thank you.”

  And Teray went back to bed feeling pleased with himself for the first time since he had become a muteherd. He had performed the healing slowly but properly. He would have had the House healer check the mute, but he felt certain that the man was completely well. Teray had not done such a thing for anyone other than himself since he had learned how to do it, years before.

  Slowly he began to take an interest in the mutes. He had made no friends among the outsiders or the women of the House. And he had taken no woman to replace Iray, though he had noticed a few of the women looking at him with interest. A couple of them had even spoken to him, openly offering, but he had turned them down as gently as he could. It might be easier if he did not see Iray around the House nearly every day. It might be easier if he had more to do. His mutes still seemed too efficient. Except for an occasional healing, they did not need him. Or so he thought until a small red-haired mute woman named Suliana collapsed at his door one night.

  Teray turned his attention from the history stone that he had been absorbing to the noise outside his door. Instantly he was overwhelmed by a wave of agony.

  He gave a choked cry, screened himself from the pain, and hurried to the door. Suliana lay on the floor, half propped up by the door. Teray opened his mind a little more, still screening out the woman’s pain. He became aware of the exact position of her body, then he opened the door carefully, catching her so that she would not fall and hit her head on the floor. She whimpered at his touch and he realized that most of her body was cut and bruised. And she had internal injuries. He lifted her gently, centering his total awareness on her body. She had two broken ribs, and if he handled her carelessly one of them would puncture her left lung. He put her on his bed and took away her pain. Then, knowing that he was out of his depth, he called the healer.

  The healer’s name was Amber. She was a golden-brown woman with hair that was a round cap of small, tight black curls. And she had a temper.

  She took one look at Suliana lying silent on Teray’s bed and attacked Teray.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, letting this sort of thing go on! I thought you were a little better than Jackman—or at least stronger. I thought I’d repaired this poor girl for the last time when you took over.”

  “Hold on,” said Teray, stepping away from her in surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you take care of Suliana, then tell me?”

  “You don’t know!” It was an accusation.

  “No, I don’t. Now let’s wait until you’ve finished before we argue about whether or not I should. Take care of the mute.”

  She glared at him, radiating resentment, and he found himself recalling what he had learned at school—that even Housemasters were careful how they antagonized healers. A good healer was also a terrifyingly efficient killer. A good healer could destroy the vital parts of a person’s body quickly enough and thoroughly enough to kill even a strong Patternist before he could repair himself. But Teray stood his ground. He had already angered her, apparently. He was not going to back down out of fear of her.

  After a moment she turned from him with a sound of disgust and began working on Suliana. She gave the mute woman sleep, then silently worked over her for nearly an hour. Meanwhile, Teray reached down to the kitchen and ordered a large meal for Suliana. The healed usually needed food as soon as possible after their healing, since healers drew on the energy and nutrients of their patients’ bodies to heal them. The food came as Amber was finishing, and the mute who brought it looked at Suliana sadly and murmured, “Again?”

  As he left the room, Teray delved into his thoughts. It was time he found out what everyone else apparently already knew.

  Suliana, he learned, was kept as the private property of an outsider named Jason. Two years before, Coransee had forced Jason into his House when Jason left the school with his wife. Later, Coransee had traded the wife to another House. Unfortunately for Suliana, she looked very much like Jason’s wife. Thus, he had taken possession of her. Even more unfortunately for Suliana, she was not Jason’s wife. Thus, periodically, in perverted anger and frustration, Jason beat the mute woman almost to death.

  “Did you get it all?” asked Amber.

  Teray realized that she had finished and was looking at him. “I got what that kitchen mute knew, anyway.”

  “And you didn’t know anything about it?”

  “Not consciously. I see now that I have knowledge of it from Jackman, though. And I see that it’s been going on because Jackman was too frightened of Jason to go to Coransee about it.”

  “Your name is Teray, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Teray, what the goddamn hell have you been doing for the past few weeks?”

  Somehow, Teray held on to his temper. “You’ve made your point,” he said quietly. “Now drop it.”

  “Why?” Her voice was dryly mocking. “Are you ashamed? Good. If you can feel ashamed, I guess there’s some hope for you. What are you going to do?”

  He took a deep breath. No doubt he deserved her sarcasm. Or someone’s. “I’ll see that Jason never gets his hands on her again—or on any other mute. And I’ll warn Coransee in case Jason finds a Patternist woman weak enough for him to abuse.”

  “All right. What else?”

  Teray sat down and looked up at her. “I’m going to listen while you tell me about the other cases of this sort of thing that you’ve had to treat. Then when I’ve heard them all, I�
�m going to take a chance and pass the word that anyone who abuses my mutes will have me to deal with.”

  Amber frowned. “That’s not taking a chance. That’s your job. The only reason Jackman didn’t do it was because he didn’t have the strength to enforce it—or, as you said, the courage to go to Coransee.”

  “For me, it’s taking a chance. You’ll have to take my word for that.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “In trouble with Coransee already, eh? I see. Well, I can’t help there, but if you find that you need help with any of the others, you can call on me. I know you’re strong, but you take away their fun, and they might not come at you one at a time.”

  She was abrupt and confusing. Teray couldn’t decide whether to like her, tolerate her, or hate her. He was startled to realize that it was still possible for him to like her. He shook his head and smiled briefly. “Amber, why the hell haven’t you gone out and started your own House?”

  “I will, sooner or later,” she said. “I just let Coransee sidetrack me for a while.”

  He hadn’t asked the question seriously, hadn’t expected an answer. But the answer she had given intrigued him.

  “Are you an apprentice?”

  “No.”

  “But you sounded serious—as though you intend to just walk away from Coransee’s House someday.”

  “I walked in.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  “Yes. He didn’t have a healer and I didn’t have a place to stay while I healed myself of some serious wounds the Clayarks had given me. I had just come down from Karston Sector. Then Coransee and I realized how well we got along, and I’ve been here ever since. But I’m not one of his wives, Teray, I’m an independent.”

  He had heard of such people—Houseless wanderers, usually possessing some valued skill that made them welcome at the various sectors. And possessing strength enough to make holding on to them not worth Housemasters’ trouble.