by Neal Jones
Jharis had planted the haavis seed when the main house was first built, and had slowly and carefully constructed and then maintained the garden in the years since. The wall, in fact, had only just been started when Kralin had left to fight in the war, shortly after Jran's death. The guest house must have been built sometime after that. As he stood at the courtyard entrance, looking at the wall now, he marveled at his mother's tenacity and perseverance. He imagined her pouring more than just cement and stone into it, that it still must contain all of her tears and her grief as well.
But as he walked the edge of the garden, he could see that it hadn't been tended as well as it should have in quite a long time. Some of the flowers had just begun to bloom, but they would soon be choked by the weeds that had already flourished in great numbers. He bent and pulled up a few, but then decided it was pointless. Jharis had probably made her last visit to this place long ago, and Farak had far more important matters than the garden to attend to these days.
Kralin spied the bench in the far corner, next to a juja bush whose leaves were just starting to sprout. Farak had attempted to carve the bench himself when Kralin was only a few years old. Jran, being almost of age by then, had insisted on helping, and the end result wasn't quite what either of them had had in mind. The Saveck men were good with tilling the land and harvesting crops, but not much skill with carpentry or wood carving. The bench would have turned out perfect if Farak had used computerized tools to assist him with the measurements and cutting the wood, and Jharis had remarked as much when she saw the final product. But Farak was as stubborn in this area as he was in everything else. It wasn't about perfection, he had insisted, but the process of making it that mattered most. Kralin knelt and looked closely at the upper corner. In the dim lighting cast by the ornamental lamp on the nearby wall he could barely make out Farak's and Jran's initials. His own were there as well, but they were set apart from the others, as if an afterthought.
Kralin sat and looked around at the garden once more, wishing that he could remember something good about this place. But only two memories came to mind just then, and both left a bitter taste in his throat and a deep ache in his chest. He pushed them away and jerked to his feet. He'd had enough of this self-pity, and his father should be finished putting his mother to bed by now. It was time to have a serious talk.
But he stopped when he caught sight of Farak's shadow in the doorway. "Father."
"Kralin." Farak stepped into light. "I'm surprised to see you out here." He stooped to gather the weeds that Kralin had cast aside earlier. "I thought you'd be with Matok by now. Is there some emergency that has closed the Ardmos tonight?"
"I have no wish to fight you."
Farak laughed. "You've been fighting me since the day you were born. I have long believed that the Warrior himself placed a special mark upon you in the womb, for you have been angry at the universe since you were very young."
"Not the universe, just you."
"I'm glad to hear you admit that. Now if I could only understand why."
Kralin made a noise of disgust and turned to leave. "This is pointless. I should never have come back."
"Then why did you?" Farak challenged. "Was it just to say goodbye to your mother? You did that twenty years ago!"
Kralin faced his father, defiant. "The last time we stood in this garden you told me how disappointed you were in me, that I was running away just as Jran had done. You drove us both out of this house, and I still don't understand why."
"Jran was of age when he left, and I was always proud of him. It was you who disappointed me."
"Why? Because I rejected your religious beliefs? Or was it that I rejected the family legacy?"
"This has nothing to do with the vineyards."
"Then what is it?"
Farak sighed as he wandered to the bench and settled onto it. "You rejected everything about this family, Kralin. That's what I couldn't – and still can't - understand. All that your mother and I wanted was for you to be happy. Your refusal to go through with the Pak'Ti'Faar ceremony, or to work for me in the vineyards, was only part of the issue."
"That's because you never gave me a choice. Once I was old enough to start questioning everything you acted as if I was a heretic. All I ever got from you was intimidation and directives, and when I wouldn't go through with Pak'Ti'Faar you decided that I was no longer welcome in your home."
"Krite!" Farak thundered, rising to confront his son. The expletive startled him as much as it did Kralin. "You're right about that! As long as you're under my roof you will abide by my law! I am the head of this household, and you will respect that! Even now!"
"Or what? You're nothing more than a broken, bitter old man who's about to lose everything that matters. I am here to help you, whether you want it or not, and this time it's you who's going to listen to me." Kralin paused, reigning in his emotions. "I'm truly sorry about mother, and I'm sorry about what happened with Enar."
"What do you want from me, Kralin? My approval? An apology? What is it that you think I owe you?"
Kralin bristled. "I never said you owed me anything."
"Then what is it about me that you still despise so deeply? What kept you away from this place for so long?"
"I hated you once, but not anymore. I stayed away all this time because that's what you wanted. After Jran's funeral you made it clear to me that I was no longer welcome here. You acted as if I was to blame for the death of him, and Tarish, and Mikel, and Larha, as if you were the only one who suffered so great a loss."
"I never blamed you for that!"
"No, you never said the words. You never said anything to me at all. You acted as if both your sons had died on Beta Erendii."
"You were the one placing blame for Jran's death, Kralin. We've already had this conversation, remember? You accused me of driving him away, as if it was my choice he went to live on that colony."
"Jran told me that you wanted him to inherit the vineyards, and when he refused you resented him for it. This is what I've been trying to make you understand, what I tried to explain to you when we had our first argument about Pak'Ti'Faar. Jran and I had our lives planned for us. You expected us both to inherit the vineyards and be happy to work them just as you did when you received them from grandfather. We would build our houses across the road from yours and settle into this comfortable, meaningless life that you and mother seemed so happy with."
Farak nodded. "That's really what you hate about us, isn't it? You think that your mother and I settled for this life, as if there was something better out there? As if serving the Varashok by living a simple and plain existence was so awful? So backwards? So beneath us?"
"Yes! And that's what you could never understand. I wanted more for my life than this 'plain and simple' existence. I at least wanted to know that I had a choice about my future, but you wouldn't allow it, especially something as foreign and as ludicrous as an education at Paaltemm or service in the military."
Farak laughed again, but the sound was humorless. "Kralin, you honestly believe that all I wanted for you was to stay in this valley and work the vineyards?" He shook his head. "You see me as you've always wanted to see me, as a force against which you must always fight, even when you have no idea what you're fighting for. You were too young and too foolish to realize that all I wanted – all that your mother and I wanted – for you was to find your path in life and walk it with honor and pride. You have done neither. You ran away to Beta Erendii to be with Jran because you believed I was your enemy." Farak sat back down and looked at his son with exasperation and pity. "You were nothing more than a typical, rebellious adolescent, Kralin. A novice. You thought you knew everything about life, and that those of us older than you were trying to keep you down."
Kralin fumed in silence, refusing to acknowledge the truth of his father's words.
"The truth is, Kralin," Farak continued somberly, "is that if you hadn't been on Beta Erendii when it was attacked, you probably wouldn't still be t
his angry. You might have even chosen a different career, but I think the fact that you were there when he and his family were killed unlocked something inside of you, a way to hold on to that adolescent fury and give it a deeper meaning." He sighed and shook his head once more. "None of this matters now anyway."
"No, I guess it doesn't." Kralin turned towards the gate that led out of the garden and towards the road. "Goodnight, father." He left the garden, allowing himself to be swallowed by the darkness that lay beyond the lamplight.
Chapter 17
____________________
( 1 )
The ECS Endeavor was leaving orbit of the N'Kydo homeworld, its crew having just said goodbye to Jolan and Annaias Nejra. Lieutenant Ritano was on watch, seated at the helm, and Staff Sergeant Frakes was at tactical. The rest of the crew was below, probably asleep, and all was quiet. Jeff checked one more time to make sure the autopilot was engaged, and then turned to Frakes.
"So...about that play you wanted me to read," he said casually. "What did you think of Peroll?"
The sergeant glanced up, frowning. "Who?"
"Peroll. He was introduced in the second part, third act. A companion to Crut."
"Oh. Him." Frakes shrugged. "He doesn't have a major part in the play."
"I knew it!"
"Knew what?"
"You never read this play. There is no such character named Peroll."
Mike suddenly became very interested in the tactical readouts on his screen. "You actually read that whole thing?"
Ritano laughed. "You son-of-bitch! No, I didn't read the whole thing. I got about three hundred pages in and I gave up."
Mike was trying to hide a smile. He shut off his screen and turned to Jeff. "You made it farther than I did. I quit after part one."
"I should make you pay for dinner for putting me through that kind of torture."
"I never agreed to a first date."
"I think this counts. It's just the two of us, and we’ve got about six hours until shift change. All we need is some background music and something from the food dispenser." Jeff swiveled back to his console and selected a classical piece from the ship's music library. "But you're buying dinner on our second date. Three hundred pages of Lial's play is worth one meal at Grax's, at least."
"Let's just see how the first date goes," Frakes quipped. He cocked his head, listening to the music. "Is this Seneur?"
"Close. Brokta. From the fifth era, Tova's reign."
"Is this another influence of your academy professor?"
"Nope. My father. He has the biggest library of classical music of anyone I know."
"Is he a teacher?"
"A reverend. He pastors a church in Hayville, Arizona."
"Really? I would never have guessed."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jeff was more amused than offended by the remark.
"Just what I said. I'm surprised that you come from that type of background. I thought most religions still shunned homosexuals."
"They do. My parents are Lutheran Reformed. It's one of the more...liberal religions."
"So do you attend services regularly? On Exxar-One I mean."
Jeff shook his head. "I have no use for religion. I'm sure that somewhere, out there in the universe, on some higher dimensional plain, there's a being – or several beings – who probably have it in their capacity to create life from lifelessness. But I'm not about to start worshiping such beings as gods, and I certainly don't believe that we can connect with them through the meaningless rituals that organized religions force upon their followers."
Frakes nodded. "I see."
"And you?"
"A son of Cassandra. Although I haven't been to services in a long time. So do you have any siblings?"
"Nope. An only child. Although I do have a lot of cousins that I grew up with. Both of my parents' families are from Arizona. You?"
"One sister. She ran away from home when she was fifteen. I've only talked to her a couple of times since. Long story. My mother owns her own consulting firm, something financial, but I've never understood exactly what. I only talk to her about once a year. Another long story. And my father, well, as far as I know he's still a patient in a psychiatric ward on Rodden's Landing. That's the colony where I was born and raised. And that's about all I want to say about my family."
"Okay," Jeff agreed. "So what else do you read besides the classical literature of alien worlds?"
( 2 )
He stands in the garden, his mother's garden. She's just planted a new row of danest, and the haavis tree that is the garden's centerpiece is now almost two sils taller than him. Its leaves are starting to finally sprout, and when the tree reaches its full age, they will droop like the ears of the jungle cats that roam the forests beyond the vineyards. Kralin paces the garden, nervous.
Anxious.
Perhaps a little fearful.
But he's brave. He keeps telling himself this. He can stand up to his father, he is of age now. Pak'Ti'Faar is his choice to make, not his father's – or his mother's for that matter. He has suffered under their stupid religion long enough, and it's time to start making his own choices.
His father won't like it. He'll be furious. He won't want to hear the reasons why because that has never mattered to Farak Saveck. This is his house, and his rules are supreme. He raised both his sons to not question his authority, to only obey. But Kralin will not accept that tonight.
Tonight his father will listen to him.
And then Farak appears in the doorway, cast in shadow because of the light that spills from the hall behind him. "Kralin? What are you doing out here in the dark?"
Kralin stops pacing. "I need to talk to you, father."
Farak shuts the door and then begins lighting the ornamental lamps that he set up for his wife at the four corners of the garden, next to where the ground has been broken in preparation for building the stone wall. He turns to face his son. "Is something wrong?"
"I don't want to go through with Pak'Ti'Faar."
There is only a slight pause. "Why not?"
"Because I think it's stupid. I'm tired of the whole religion. It doesn't make any sense, and I'm of age now. I can make my own decisions."
Farak shakes his head. "No, Kralin, you don't have a choice in this matter. You know how important this is to your mother and me, and you know my rules. You and I may argue about the cathedral services, but on this I will not debate with you."
"I said I'm not doing it!"
Farak glares at his son, eyes flashing with parental fury. He takes a couple steps towards Kralin, but the boy doesn't back down. "You will be baptized at services in three days, or you will leave my home."
"And go where?"
Farak shrugs, his voice calm. "That's up to you."
Kralin wasn't expecting this kind of ultimatum, but a sudden thought occurs to him. "Fine. I'll go live with Jran."
"If he will allow it."
"Of course he will. He's not as domineering or as close-minded as you."
Farak is about to respond, but the sudden appearance of Jharis in the doorway stops him.
"What's going on? Are you two fighting again?"
"No," Farak says. "I have given Kralin a choice. Either he undergoes the Pak'Ti'Faar ritual, or he can find somewhere else to live."
Jharis appears shocked, and until now she has never contradicted her husband in front of their children. But this time he's gone too far. "Perhaps we should all sit down and discuss this as adults."
If Farak is startled by his wife's suggestion, he doesn't show it. He looks at Kralin. "No. I have made my decision. The discussion is over."
"Of course it is," Kralin says in a petulant and sarcastic tone. "The master has spoken and no one else may abide."
Farak closes the distance between him and Kralin so fast that the teenager almost stumbles in his effort to back up. "If it's a challenge you want, Kralin, I'm more than happy to accept. We can go into that field right now." He points beyond th
e garden to the landscape of sagebrush and hort grass.
"Farak! Kralin! Stop this, please." Jharis has always feared that it would come to this, and she is more afraid for her son than her husband.
"I don't want to fight you!" Kralin is disgusted by the desperation in his voice. "I just want you to listen to me!"
"I have listened to you. You're an arrogant, selfish child, Kralin, who has no respect for authority, and whose spirit has never walked with the Varashok. You need to get right with the Gods, and then we'll talk."
"That's all that matters to you, isn't it?" Kralin fires back. He steps forward and stands eye to eye with the elder Saveck. "That stupid church and its damn theology is all that you care about! You don't give a krite about me or what I believe or what I want!"
"Kralin!" Jharis has entered the garden now, walking towards the two men, but her son's expletives stop her cold.
For just a moment it appears as if Farak will actually strike Kralin. But then he sighs, looking upon his second-born with pity. "I just don't understand where all this rebellion is coming from." He turns to his wife. "We taught him and Jran to love and respect the Varashok, to always walk with them, that serving them is the ultimate glory in this life."
"I'm standing right here," Kralin interrupts. "Talk to me."
Farak turns back to his son. "I can't talk to you, Kralin. I don't know who you are anymore. You've always possessed a stubborn streak, but you've never been like this. You're nothing but a disappointment to us, and you will always will be until your heart is right with the Varashok."