by A. W. Cross
—Cindra, Letter to Omega
In the dream, I was whole again, raw flesh covered with skin. I still wasn’t human, but that was no longer important. Under my feet, the grass was soft, almost insubstantial. The colors were muted, the movement of the grass strangely rote. I moved easily through it toward the tree. The distance between me and it no longer seemed as far; perhaps the world had grown smaller while I’d been away.
He was waiting for me by the tree, as always. The others were too, all of them. They raised their hands in greeting, the casual open palms of old friends. I gripped each of their hands in turn, and we smiled at the looseness of our skin, at the spots that now speckled the backs of our hands. Only one of us remained unchanged, still as strong and solid as the tree. He watched us, smiling, and I knew his heart was breaking as best it could.
“It’s time,” he said, and they all lay on the ground in a circle, head-to-head. One by one, they closed their eyes, until only Pax remained.
“They don’t have many moments left, Ailith. It’s time for you to begin.” He closed his eyes, and like the others, was gone.
“He’s right,” Fane said, taking my hand in his. He tried not to wince at the frailness of my bones. His expression was so much more human, and he was much worse at concealing it. “It’s time.”
“What if we’re wrong?”
“We’ve been wrong before. But this is right. It’s the only way.”
Buildings rose out of the emerald sea. People, places, things.
The seeds we’d held dormant for so long needed to grow.
Omega was coming.
Do you understand much of what you’ve read, Omega? I wish I could explain these things in person; I have so much to say. But mostly, I’d like to tell you about them, about who they really were, for your present is also your history, and history has a way of changing people, making them bigger or smaller than they were. I will write these things down for you, one day. When our story is closer to its end.
—Cindra, Letter to Omega
I remembered it all, even in the darkness.
“Ailith.”
I knew that voice. It led to a man with green and amber eyes. A man who was not a man.
“Ailith, I need you to open your eyes. If you don’t open your eyes now, you will die,” he said.
So I did.
As we left the tunnel and stepped again into the open sky, I saw by the doorway a feather, golden as the stars. Now what bird do you know of that has golden feathers? I don’t know of any. I took that feather as sign from my grandmother, Omega. Do you remember her story? “She had stars for eyes and feathers made from the memories of her people.” I braided it into my hair. Although my people will never get to see the stars, I can still carry their memory with me, wherever we might go. I will remember for us all.
—Cindra, Letter to Omega
I’d wanted to bury my father with Ros and Adrian. It seemed right for him to have another son and daughter to watch over. But with the mob outside the compound, it hadn’t been possible. Instead, we’d buried him a few miles away at the top of hill to stand sentry over the windswept fields he’d once loved. Fane carried the coffin himself; he’d made it with Pax, the edges uneven and hastily put together, but strong and beautiful nonetheless.
We’d taken everything we’d been able to carry, piled onto a series of travois we dragged behind us. We were heading to the coast, toward Tor’s uninhabited islands. I had to believe he would still go there, even after my death.
He’d broken his promise not to return to the compound. As Umbra finally lost control of what was left of Callum, she’d collapsed, lifeless, onto the ground next to me, Tor had gathered up my broken body and carried it back to the others, to where Pax and Cindra were waiting. They’d tried to speak to him, to explain there was still a chance, but in his grief, he wouldn’t listen. He’d left, and this time, true to his word, he would not come back.
Every day, I scanned the horizon for him. We couldn’t be that far behind, only a few days. He was still alive, his thread a muted gold. He was in mourning, and I ached to let him know it was a lie. It would change him forever, my death. I tried to give him some indication I was still there, but the distance between us was too great. Tomorrow, I would try again, and the day after that, until I found him.
I hoped he would recognize me when we finally met again. Eire looked so different from me, her body taller, stronger, her skin darker, and her eyes the green of an emerald sea. It would take me some time to get used to it; I kept bumping into things, much to Oliver’s amusement.
“Do you miss your old body?” Fane had asked as I’d rifled through the clothing still neatly folded in the dresser in what would’ve been Eire’s room.
“Yes and no. I’ve changed, so it seems fitting. Many things will be easier to leave behind. At the same time, I’ll miss her. That body carried my scars, you know? My proof that I existed.”
He’d nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you miss it? My old body?”
He’d considered me in that thoughtful way of his. “Yes and no. I’d gotten very used to the idea of her. I didn’t know you long enough to wish you were different. But I’m just glad you’re still here. I’ll get used to this new you.”
The others found it disconcerting.
It wasn’t just the way I looked; I had Eire’s abilities now as well as my own. I’d expected to lose the threads when Fane transferred my consciousness into her, but they were still there, a mystery. Now I could travel not only down them and into the others, but I could see the past as well, spreading out like the roots of a great tree. The ghosts of Eire and Ella still lived far inside me, their loving whispers a soothing echo.
Lily, Ryan, Grace, and Stella had come with us. I couldn’t blame them. It was better to face the unknown than the tinderbox we’d left behind. Grace had been quiet ever since we’d left, silent with shock. I reached over and patted her shoulder. Her returning smile was strained, but it was a start.
“This one’s good. Here, Pax.” Cindra handed him a plant she’d pulled from the ground, clumps of earth still clinging to its roots.
“Check it in your book first, Pax. I swear that last one she pulled gave me warts on the inside of my mouth.”
“No, it didn’t, Oliver. It was just tangy.”
“Tangy?” He looked at her in disbelief. “If it hadn’t been for the nanites, my tongue would’ve choked me.” He grabbed her around the waist as she laughed up at him.
Pax turned the page in his book. “Did you know that some plants are covered with tiny hairs filled with poison, and that when you put them in your mouth, the hairs break off and embed themselves in your tongue and funnel the poison right into you?”
“Yes, Pax, I did, firsthand. That information would’ve been useful earlier, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Pax said, distracted. He’d pilfered as many of the survival books from the storeroom as he could find, and was reading them as he walked. I grabbed his elbow to steer him away from the crumbling lip of a large badger-hole.
“Don’t worry, Oliver. When we get to where we’re going, I’ll grow you something safe.” Although I’d had to leave my seedlings behind, I’d taken every seed packet I could find. Where we were going, there would be arable land. We would begin again, with or without the sun. I scanned the sky for the hundredth time that day. I’d told them I’d seen it in my final moments, but none of them believed me, although they said they did.
It didn’t matter. All of us were pretending now, for each other’s sakes. We pretended we would find Tor, healthy and whole, that we would make it to the coast quietly and unscathed, that we would discover an island to call our own. That the Cosmists would let Fane, their life’s work, go so easily. That Callum’s body disappearing didn’t mean anything. That we would grow old and die quietly in our beds, the world following us not long after, tranquil and still, at rest at last.
But we all knew it wasn’t over. That it migh
t never be over. Nothing in the future had changed; it was still coming for us.
Thank you for reading The Gardener of Man. I hope this next step in the journey didn't disappoint! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a brief, honest review and telling everyone you know, even your Aunt Gwen. Reviews and word-of-mouth are the most powerful ways for authors to get their books into the hands of readers—your feedback is invaluable. You can also email me directly at [email protected]
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As always, I would like to express my gratitude to my family—whether through blood or bond—for their love and support. Thank you to my betas Anna Adler and Keith Oxenrider for their insight and technical knowledge, to John Kim for his beautiful flowers, and my editor, Danielle Fine, who worked just as hard on this book as I did.
And finally, to my readers—each of you gives my stories a life of their own, and I thank you wholeheartedly for that.
A.W. Cross is a former scientist and agriculturalist-turned-author. She has a passion for all things science fiction and a poignant nostalgia for the 80s. She also really likes cake. You can visit her on her website, awcrossauthor.com, or on Twitter (@aw_cross).
Other books by A.W. Cross
The Seeds of Winter