Root (Energy Anthology)

by Thompson, Lloyd Matthew

  The crowd continued to celebrate as Ric’ua— now bearing a tiny but cautious smile of her own— released his second hand and turned to the side. She began leading Lam away from the fire, away from the people.

  The old woman suddenly released an ear-piercing cry. Lam whipped his head around to see both her arms up, raising her stick to the skies. Ric’ua seemed to pay no attention, and continued walking, beginning to pull Lam along a bit roughly, like a mother with her grips on a child who has misbehaved.

  They crossed back over the stream he had splashed through as he fled the Others. A fear began to creep into his mind again. Were these the Others after all? Was she leading him right back to where he would be caught and killed? No, he could not go here! He didn’t want to die!

  Just as the urge to break free of her grasp and run again reached a peak, they came to the cluster of dwellings he had also passed. Ric’ua turned toward a hut next to the largest tree in the area, and led him inside. A new level of familiarity descended upon him. He had been here before. In that moment, Lam realized he had not fully believed these people. Even the warm and knowing feelings he felt with Ric’ua had not fully convinced him. He had still assumed it was all a case of mistaken identity, and could be humored until it was safe to do otherwise. It could all be sorted out later— anything to keep himself from being killed.

  “What happened to me?” he asked.

  Ric’ua turned and looked at him quickly, but said nothing. She pointed to a pallet of straw and furs in one corner of the room.

  Lam was confused. Hadn’t she heard him? Did she have no intention of talking to him? Why had she brought him here? Was she afraid of the Shen-Ma, and therefore doing only as the old woman asked, and no more?

  “But I don’t understand…” he trailed off as Ric’ua merely jabbed her finger at the corner. He slowly went and laid down. He became aware he was exhausted again, and found himself drifting to sleep, despite his better judgment— he still had no confirmation he was truly safe here yet.

  • FIVE •

  Ric’ua barely acknowledged Lam for three days.

  Each day, he wandered out of the house and into the village, pretending not to notice the stares and whispers of those around him. The tension was nearly thick enough to cut with a knife, but he sensed no actual hostility toward him. By the end of the third day, he had relaxed enough— or gotten used to it enough— that he barely noticed. Or perhaps it was the people who had grown used to him, though none would speak of what had happened to him.

  He stumbled across a large field hidden in a grove of trees on the second day. A dozen of the people were scattered throughout the field, on their hands and knees, intently and carefully yanking weeds from crops. Lam watched them closely until he was sure which plants they were pulling, and which they were leaving. He went to an empty space and began inspecting it for the weeds. It felt good to have his hands in the dirt, his knees in the earth. Something felt so natural about the act.

  Nothing was spoken by anyone all that day. A natural collaboration seemed to flow between all involved, an understanding and companionship beyond the need for words. For the first time, Lam began to feel he had a place. He experienced a sense of belonging and having a purpose. His fear of the Others coming to take him began to melt away, taking his confusion with it.

  He returned to the field at first light the next day, and was surprised to find the weeds had re-grown. This field apparently provided never ending work. As soon as one end was weeded, the first end needed picking again.

  Silent nods and bows were exchanged between each new arrival, effectively acknowledging and respecting each other. Lam felt seen, and this caused a pleasant welling in his chest. He seemed to be accepted here, as if he had always come to tend this piece of land each day. He felt a lightness in his heart as he inhaled a deep breath and looked to the sky. He smiled as he studied the large cloud directly overhead. He found this productivity made him feel warm inside like when he was with his mother.

  Just after mid-sun that day, he spotted his mother standing just inside the tree line, watching him. She made no move or gesture toward him, so he was unsure what he should do. He straightened and made it known he was aware of her presence. It occurred to him that he now thought of her as his mother, though he had no memories beyond three days ago, and had only been with her a very short time from his perspective.

  Deciding to follow the cue from his fellow tenders, he nodded to her slightly, and bowed. Ric’ua stood motionless a few moments, then slowly declined her head in return before slipping back into the trees and out of sight.

  That evening, Ric’ua embraced him tightly as he entered the door of their home. No words were spoken, but tears were allowed to flow freely down both their faces. The gesture spoke more than a million words as far as Lam was concerned.

  After the weed plucking the following day, Lam decided to surprise Ric’ua and bring home as many gurja fruits as he could carry. He excitedly went bush to bush, following each new bunch of the bright yellow-green fruits he saw. Something felt very familiar about this. Perhaps he had done this same thing a thousand times before in the times he could not remember. He was aware of a prickling in the back of his mind. Pausing, he glanced around and found he had strayed farther from the field and village than he had realized. He looked up, and saw the faithful, huge cloud hanging overhead. If it held rain, surely it would begin dropping it at any moment now. Lam decided he better head back home.

  He turned the direction he’d come from, and froze in his tracks.

  There, still as the trees themselves, stood five people he immediately knew were not from his village. Although there were no outward indications, Lam knew who they were.

  Others.

  He felt them.

  Tension immediately locked every muscle in Lam’s body. He dropped his bundle of gurja fruits, and they went skittering across the ground. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind at once. Should he climb to the trees again? Bolt and make a run for it? Stand his ground and fight?

  The others remained still as well, merely watching him with their firm, angry faces. Their lack of movement confused Lam. Did they not recognize him after all? Were his feelings they were Others wrong? Why did they simply stand there?

  What felt like hours passed as the five and the one faced each other under the darkening canopy of tree leaves. It seemed each side was stubbornly determined to overpower the other by sheer force of will.

  The spell was broken at last by a shout from behind the Others. One of the five turned and screeched a warbling call, which was returned again by the distant voice. The one that had responded to the call then abruptly came forward quicker than Lam expected, and grabbed his arm tightly. The other four parted and created a walk space for Lam to be dragged toward his village.

  They were not going to hurt him? What had that signal meant? What had they been waiting for?

  As they neared the village, a dull roaring sound and flickers of orange light on the trees soon showed Lam why the Others had acted as they had.

  They had only been stalling him.

  Their purpose had not been to hurt him, but to distract him, so other Others could set a home on fire. His home.

  Everywhere, Lam’s people were shouting and frantically rushing about trying to contain the flames lashing from his hut. Some inched as close as they dared, beating the flames with cloths and blankets. Some flung what little water they could find at it, clearly having no effect, but needing to assist by doing something. Some crouched between his house and the neighboring houses, as if to block the fire from spreading further with their very bodies.

  A wailing and screaming rose above the roar and chaos, and Lam recognized it as Ric’ua’s voice. He fought and kicked the Other who still gripped his arm. Twisting free, he charged for the hut his mother’s voice was coming from. He had nearly reached the dwelling when he was slammed hard in the chest and flattened to the ground. A foot pressed into his throat, pinning him down.<
br />
  “You will not enter our grounds again!” growled the menacing face that bent over Lam before spitting in his eye. “Next time, it will be the whole village,” he leaned in even closer. “And you will be dead, you worthless son of Ric’ua.” He released the pressure of his foot, and Lam gasped for air. “But what do you expect from the offspring of a mate-slave!”

  The man ran off, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

  Lam coughed and wheezed as he fought his way back to his feet. Ric’ua’s howling had never stopped, yet cut off mid-wail when Lam burst into the home.

  “Pael!” she cried and threw her arms around him. “Pael! Oh Pael, I thought you were burned! Oh Pae—” She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. A different sort of tears than they had cried only the night before streamed down their faces. “Lam…” she barely whispered. Her lips pressed into a tight, straight line as she shook her head.

  “No,” she spoke firmly, “You will always be my Pael.”

  • SIX •

  After their hut had completely collapsed to nothing but ashes, Lam and Ric’ua were gifted the home they had taken shelter in, which Lam found belonged to a man named Terlikk. He recognized him immediately from the grove field. The man merely bowed to them, gathered his mate and two children, and left the mother and son alone.

  Ric’ua had yet to let go of Lam, as if she were afraid he would be lost again if she released him. She pulled him to the floor with her and continued to hold him tight.

  “I thought you to be lost once,” she whispered to him finally. “When the messenger recognized you in the Gildok village and brought the word you had been caught, I feared the worst. Every bone in my body collapsed, and I fell as if dead.

  “Why did you go as far as their village? Had you not heard the many warnings I and others pressed upon you? It was foolish to enter their land. Oh, but you have always been a fearless one. Even the truth that few have returned from their land alive did not frighten you.

  “Yet I alone am to blame. If only I did not love the gurja fruit so much. If only I had not sent you out to gather for me. I knew in my heart you had risked yourself to bring me the best you could find. You are a good son. No mother could ever deny this.

  “But when my ears heard you were being chopped down by the Gildoks…” Ric’ua’s voice failed her, and Lam knew she was crying again. He felt helpless to comfort her.

  Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she spoke again.

  “When you did not return that night, I knew the messenger spoke the truth. My son was dead.

  “I did not move from the earth all the next day. None could rouse me, no speech would console me. Word of your demise and my condition reached the Shen-Ma, and her spirits whispered to her. ‘This is not the full truth,’ she declared. ‘Cast scouts to the east and find the boy, and bring the mother to me.’

  “With great joy, they brought the news to me, but I refused to believe. Although I trusted our Shen-Ma, the dread was too much for me to bear. I did not rise.

  “The men then lifted me. They carried me to the Shen-Ma. The Seer was intently preparing a large bonfire and muttering to herself. She did not even acknowledge my presence. I continued to lie in the dirt, though I watched her every move.

  “As the sun grew low, a messenger ran into her courtyard as quickly as his feet could bear him. Gasping for breath, he announced they had found you on the land of the old Riglit tribe, sleeping in the dozime vines that have overtaken that dead village.” Ric’ua laughed. “You were the dead, sleeping with the dead.” She sighed before continuing. “The messenger said because they were unable to wake you, they were carrying you directly to the Shen-Ma themselves.

  “The Shen-Ma clapped her hands in glee and said things were right on schedule as she slipped the boy a pouch of coins and sent him off to gather the rest of the village for a special ceremony.

  “She then spoke to me for the first time. ‘Ric’ua,’ she said, ‘You must prepare yourself. Change has come, and you must come to a new mind.’ She then returned to her preparations.

  “The people began arriving just as darkness settled. I found the strength to rise when the men arrived with your body. The Shen-Ma now had the fire in a blaze, and in its light I could see it really was you. My son was not lost!

  “The people gathered around, and all could see, even as you slept, that you were different. Your essence was changed. Whispers of shock and anxiety rippled through the crowd. What had happened to Ric’ua’s son?

  “Our Seer began her ceremony. Calling the spirits from all directions, drawing up the soul of the earth, inviting in the heart of the skies, she requested all eyes be opened and all hearts be softened to the truths that lay before us, no matter what those truths may be revealed to be. The Shen-Ma grew still as a statue, and the air seemed to grow darker, the fire brighter. The wind increased until it howled through the trees. To me, the wind was mourning for my son. All these abruptly stopped when the Shen-Ma fell on you and placed her forehead to yours.

  “Silence fell upon the crowd, in the same way she had fallen on you. None dared to breathe, and not even the smallest child moved a muscle. As one, we watched and waited, for though you had caused your share of trouble in the village, you were also loved and wanted and cared for. I sensed this from all those around me, and that alone kept me upright. I was not alone. I fear I would have returned to the earth otherwise,” she sighed.

  “You awoke and I nearly collapsed after all,” she continued. “Even from the distance and in the shadowy firelight, I could see you were different. Something had changed.” Her body shuddered against him in a silent sob. “You were no longer my son.”

  Ric’ua broke into full tears. Lam remained next to her, both allowing her to experience her emotion, and observing the emotion. He found it also caused a reaction in his own body. His own eyes welled up again as they had when he had been cornered in the tree.

  Her weeping grew still, and they lay in silence.

  “I don’t remember anything before being in the tree,” Lam whispered finally. “I thought I remembered something, at first… but even that has now gone.

  “But I do feel a sense of familiar things. You feel the most… comfortable.”

  Ric’ua burst into tears again and pulled him to her even tighter. “Oh, Lam!” she exclaimed, “That was absolutely the most perfect thing you could have said to me!”

  “You called me Lam…”

  Her crying became laughter in a heartbeat. “Yes,” she breathed, “I did, didn’t I?”

  • SEVEN •

  Lam marveled at the unity he witnessed as all the people of the village abandoned their daily routines and worked to rebuild his and Ric’ua’s home the next day. He was reminded how everyone had also done whatever they could to help put out the fire as it blazed the night before. A pressure in his chest grew into a lump in his throat. His eyes began crying again. He looked to Ric’ua standing beside him, and saw that she, too, was weeping openly.

  He allowed his deep, dark eyes to drift of their own accord, taking in the luscious green trees with their arms to the skies and their roots in the ground. It felt as if they were standing guard around this tiny village nestled between the violent and the dead. He gazed at the radiant flowers of pinks, oranges, and blues, inhaling their fragrances even from where he stood. He admired the skill it had taken and the effort that had been put into the construction of the huts around him. He looked to the sky and smiled at the ever-present cloud. It had yet to release any rain, but nobody had seemed to notice. Lam had begun to think of it as a friend, always there with him, whether in a tree, falling asleep, working in the field, or connecting to the beauty he found himself in the midst of.

  This place truly was beautiful.

  Why had he ever been concerned about anything that came before?

  Lam’s sense of belonging continued to swell inside him, and he knew that he did love this place. He loved these people. They were a family. They were his fami
ly.

  As the days and weeks went by, Lam eased more and more into the flow of the community. The more he took part, the more he realized just how interconnected this village was— with each other and with the land.

  The weeks turned into months. He continued working the fields each morning. In the afternoons, Lam also began gathering fruit and nuts for the older people of the village who found it more and more difficult to walk far enough into the forest to gather their own. In the evenings, he adopted the responsibilities of collecting the waste remains from each hut, loading it all into a great, tightly-knit netting he could then drag to the compost area just beyond the western tree line of the village. The symbolism in this occurred to him more than once as he performed this task, and made him feel as if he were truly contributing to this society. He was taking care of the family. He was removing the harmful residue from the village. He was giving back what he felt they had given him— life.

  On many occasions, Lam overheard others talking about him, unaware he was within earshot. They spoke of what a change in him they’d seen, even beyond his shift in essence. Where he had terrorized and destroyed the hard work of others, he now helped build and improve. Where he had mocked and humiliated, he now encouraged and uplifted. Had it been simple maturity, frightened into him by the Gildoks, or had something more magical happened to the boy? It was truly as if he were a different person.

  Lam had nearly knocked the Shen-Ma over one day as he listened intently to one of these conversations. He looked into her eyes and saw that she, too, had heard the conversation, and saw she knew he had been listening as well. A flash of heat shot through his body. He knew he should not have been eavesdropping. And of all the people to catch him— the Seer herself!

  Relief quickly replaced his embarrassment as the Shen-Ma simply smiled at him. “When the time is right,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  Had he really been that different before? He could not imagine even thinking such things he heard being remembered, much less doing them. Why couldn’t he remember anything before that day in the tree? The answers to these remained as blank in his mind as the missing time itself.