Storyteller

by Amy Thomson

  He wandered aimlessly through the gathering twilight, turning over the last few days' events in his mind. Teller would be proud of the way he had transformed Eric's life. He had done very well. So why did his victory make him feel so sad and empty?

  He looked up, and there, glowing in the darkness was the sign for Father Russell's mission. Samad quirked one eyebrow and laughed. His subconscious must have been guiding his feet. He stepped up and rang the bell. Sister Va­lencia answered the door.

  "Good evening, Sister, is Father Russell available?" Samad asked.

  "She's celebrating Mass in the chapel. You're welcome to join us."

  Samad followed Sister Valencia down a long hall and into a small, simply appointed chapel. Father Russell was saying Mass for a congregation of about two dozen people. Many of them had the weathered look of longtime alcoholics.

  Father Russell seemed larger up at the altar. All her fine-boned, intense energy was focused on celebrating Mass. He watched as the congregation filed up for communion. As she finished with the last communicant, Father Russell glanced up and saw him. She nodded acknowledgment. When the Mass was finished, Sister Valencia came up to him.

  "Father Russell said that she would be happy to see you in her office in a few minutes."

  "Thank you, Sister. I'd appreciate a few minutes of her time."

  The nun nodded. "Please come this way." Sister Valencia showed Samad into Father Russell's comfortably shabby of­fice. She returned a few minutes later with a pot of coffee and plate of ginger cookies.

  Father Russell came in about fifteen minutes later. "I'm terribly sorry to keep you waiting, but my parishioners—"

  "It's all right," Samad assured her. "I understand. I ap­preciate you taking the time to talk to me, Father."

  "How's Eric? Did you get him out on a harsel?" she asked, pouring coffee for herself and Samad.

  "Yes, I did."

  "Well? How did it go?"

  "He's bonded with a wild har, and it looks like he may have acquired a lover in the process. He didn't drink a drop during the whole trip, either."

  "Samad, that's wonderful! I'm so pleased. Congratula­tions on your good work." She held up her coffee cup in a toast of acknowledgment.

  Samad lifted his cup in response, but his smile failed him.

  "You don't seem nearly as pleased about it as I thought you'd be, Samad."

  He nodded. "I'm glad for him, but. . ." Samad shrugged and looked away.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I think maybe I feel a little left behind," Samad told her. "My adopted mother was a har captain. Her harsel died when I was about twelve. I hadn't realized how much I missed Abeha until this trip. Now Eric's gotten what he wants and I—" He paused. "I guess I don't know what I want, Father."

  Father Russell set down her coffee cup and regarded Samad intently. "If you could have anything in the world that you wanted, Samad, anything at all, no matter how crazy, what would it be?"

  "I want Abeha and Teller alive again. But that's impossi­ble, no matter what the harsels think."

  "And what do the harsels think?" Father Russell asked.

  "They believe that as long as they remember someone, that person isn't really dead. But I was there. I saw Abeha die. I felt her die."

  "Maybe the harsels are right," Father Russell speculated. "Maybe Abeha's spirit lives on in some form. It doesn't seem impossible to me. If humans have souls, why not harsels?"

  "I'd like that to be true, Father. But I'm afraid that I just can't believe it."

  "How long has it been since your mother died?"

  "About two and a half months now."

  "You've just lost the only family you had, Samad. It's perfectly normal that you should feel a little lost right now. Did you ever think that you might be missing Abeha more because of your mother's death?"

  "I suppose," he admitted. "But it isn't just grieving. I don't know what to do with the rest of my life. I thought I did, but now?" Samad shrugged. "The decision isn't as sim­ple or straightforward as I'd like."

  "Would it help to talk about it?"

  Samad smiled and shook his head. "It's kind of a long, strange story."

  Father Russell met Samad's eyes with her intent, birdlike

  gaze. "I've got as long as it takes, Samad. And it wouldn't be the first strange story I've heard. I'll ask Sister Valencia for some fresh coffee."

  "Well," Samad began, after Sister Valencia had brought the coffee and left. "It all started with the Pilot. . . ."

  "And so here I am, trying to decide what to do. Should I stay here and fill Teller's shoes, or should I leave and become a Jump pilot? I can't decide."

  Father Russell rubbed her temples with her fine-boned hands, then peered up at him with an aggrieved expression on her face. "Hang on a minute, Samad. I need to catch up here. Let me see if I understand you correctly. You claim that you were adopted by a woman who was the legendary figure known as the Pilot, and that she left you in charge of the planet?"

  "Not exactly," Samad replied. "She left the planet in my care. I don't run things; I'm just supposed to help people and try to protect Thalassa. Except that I can't decide whether I really want to stay here and continue doing that or become a Jump pilot. Look, I know it sounds far-fetched, and I don't have a shred of proof with me, but just for the sake of argument could we assume that what I'm saying is true? I mean if harsels have souls, why couldn't the Pilot be real?"

  Father Russell stared at him for a moment, blinking, then nodded. "All right, Samad."

  "Thank you."

  "So you're trying to decide whether to stay here and take care of the planet, or go off and become a Jump pilot."

  "Yes, Father," Samad agreed. "That's what I have to de­cide."

  "So basically this is a choice between responsibility and freedom," Father Russell stated. She looked a little relieved

  to have finally reached the familiar ground of a moral dilemma.

  Samad nodded grudgingly.

  "I can't decide for you, Samad. The burden of this choice is yours. But if you can do for even one other person what you appear to have done for Eric, then your duty is clear. You should stay here."

  "But I've spent most of my life being Teller's dutiful son. I'm sick and tired of duty, Father."

  "So am I sometimes, Samad. Some days, I want to kick over all the neatly stacked boxes of my life, put on a hot red dress, and go out and raise some serious hell. But I took a vow to help people, and to follow the teachings of God and the Catholic Church. And my duty to God keeps me here in this mission, ministering to drunks and the poor, even when I'm so bored and frustrated and lonely I could go nuts."

  "What do you do then?"

  "I pray, and I talk to other priests, or I lock myself in my office and scream and throw things."

  "You do?" Samad said, glancing around the room for signs of damage.

  "Not very often, and only as a last resort." She grinned. "Under this cassock, I'm a human being, too. Duty isn't easy or fun. And some days it feels utterly pointless. But oc­casionally, everything comes together, and you're blessed with an understanding of why you've made the sacrifices that duty and responsibility require. But first you have to choose to take up that duty, and then, every day, you need to reconsecrate yourself to it." She laid a gentle hand on Samad's arm. "Not everyone can do that, Samad. I would understand if you took the easier path. But it would break my heart to see you wind up like Eric."

  "But Eric's better now, Father."

  "Perhaps, but I've watched addicts recover, and it takes a

  long time. Eric's made the choice to quit killing himself, but every day he will have to wake up and make that choice again. It's just like a religious vow in that sense. Not every­one can stick to it. In six months, a year, or maybe in ten years, he'll be recovered. But now ..." She shook her head. "Now he'll need help to stay on the path he's chosen."

  Samad looked at her. "Father, I can't help him with that. It hurts too much, watching him a
nd Hau'oli together. I miss that life so much."

  "I wasn't asking you to, Samad. That's my job and the job of the others here at the mission. You set Eric's feet on a new path, and that's enough. Now, it's time for you to de­cide what you want to do with your life. But Samad, you've seen Eric and the others. You know what will happen to you when your Talent goes."

  "Yes, Father. I know. But I want to go so much!"

  "I've given you my advice, Samad. But it's your life. Your soul. You must choose your own path."

  He thanked her and got up to go. Father Russell laid her hand on his arm again. "Samad, promise me one thing, will you? Come and tell me what your choice is when you've made it."

  Samad hesitated for a moment, then met her clear, direct gaze. "All right, Father, I will."

  So Samad went wandering. He caught a ride on a fishing boat to the Islas di Fascino and wandered the grassy hills of the islands, pondering his dilemma. Three months passed, and he was no closer to a decision than ever, and the weather was turning colder. He had reached the Isla di Sogno, the northernmost of the Islas di Fascino. It was inhabited by a handful of shepherds and a great many sheep. A gale blew up as he was crossing the high pass between Mount Pensiero and Mount Memoria. He trudged on through the biting

  wind and the horizontal sleet, hoping that the storm would abate as he descended. He was chilled through and the set­ting sun was only a bright spot on the murky horizon, when a flicker of light drew his eye. The light vanished after a mo­ment or two, but Samad kept heading toward the hill where he'd seen the light, stumbling in the gathering dusk. Then he heard the baaing of sheep. As he drew closer, he could make out a low mound, with smoke rising from a rough stone chimney. It was a shepherd's hut dug into the side of the hill. The flicker of light must have been firelight shin­ing out of the hut's briefly open door. The sheep were penned for the night in a stone-fenced corral in the shelter of a long, knife-sharp ridge of stone.

  He staggered through the door, clumsy and stupid with cold, and promptly fell on the rough stone steps that led up to the raised floor of packed dirt. The shepherd's shaggy dog barked wildly at Samad. The surprised herder shouted at his dog to be quiet as he helped Samad up the steps and over to the fire.

  The shepherd settled Samad near the fire and pushed a cup of hot coffee into Samad's trembling hands.

  "This is dangerous country to be walking alone in at this time of year," the shepherd chided. "You're lucky you found me. There's no other shelter for miles." Samad nodded and sipped at the coffee. It was almost too hot to drink, but the warmth was intensely welcome.

  Dinner was warm, salty sheep's cheese, garlic wrapped in leaves and roasted in the ashes, olives, and coarse, sour bread, augmented by two tins of oily braefish and a skin of wine from Samad's pack.

  Andros, the shepherd, had grinned happily at the wine, and after the food was gone, they sat in front of the fire pass­ing the wineskin between them.

  "So," Andros said, "What brings you tramping through

  this godforsaken part of the world at this wretched time of the year?"

  Samad took another swig of the wine, wiped his mouth, and belched, happy to be warm and alive. He could feel the wine working in him. He had nearly died out there tonight. "I can't make up my mind," he said. "So I decided to go wandering and see if that helped. So far, it hasn't." Samad sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He was so tired of wrestling with his choice.

  "Couldn't you make up your mind someplace warmer?" the shepherd asked.

  "This was where I wound up," Samad confessed. "I don't know why I kept heading north, but I did, and here I am."

  "So what is it that troubles you so?" Andros inquired.

  "I'm at a crossroads in my life, and I can't decide which road to take. I've been thinking it over for months now, and I'm no closer to a decision. I've never felt this stuck between two choices before."

  The shepherd drank from the wineskin and then fumbled in the pocket of his worn and sweat-soiled vest. He brought out an ancient copper coin and held it up to the firelight. The Greek writing was barely discernable on its face.

  "This came with my ancestors when they left Earth," An­dros told him. "It belonged to my father, and his father be­fore him, and on back to before the beginning of Thalassa. Whenever my father was troubled by a hard choice, he would flip this coin." He pressed the coin into Samad's hand. "Let the coin decide for you," he urged.

  "But what if I don't like what the coin chooses?" Samad asked. He'd struggled so long with this decision that the idea sounded tempting.

  "My father always claimed that he knew when the coin had made the wrong choice," the shepherd told him. "You

  don't have to abide by the coin's choice. But if you let the coin choose, at least you'll no longer be stuck at the crossroads."

  Samad turned the coin in his hand, examining its worn surface. At least he'd no longer be stuck. It seemed so easy. He took a long pull from the wineskin and then tossed the coin in the air. "Heads I go, tails I stay!" he called as the coin flipped over and over in the air. He felt suddenly light and heady now that the decision was out of his control.

  The coin landed. Andros and Samad leaned forward to look at it. The worn profile of Athena's head gazed serenely toward the fire. It was heads. He was going to the stars. He felt a great wash of relief at having the decision over and done with. It was followed by a deep and profound sadness at leaving Thalassa. But at least he had made his choice. Freedom had won out over responsibility.

  Samad thanked Andros and handed his father's coin back to him. He was leaving Thalassa. Memories flooded over him: blue water, rock-girt green islands, the harsels' sails in the distance, friends, lovers, Teller, and Abeha. He would be leaving it all behind him. And yet, remembering, he real­ized that he wasn't ready to leave. He needed to say good­bye. He would spend one last sweet, long season on Thalassa, visiting all the places he had loved as a child. And then, having made a proper farewell to the world that gave him birth, he would head for the stars.

  Once again, Samad stood at the door to the mission. Once again, he rang the bell. This time Father Russell answered the door herself. Her face broke into a wide, expansive grin, with an unclerical hint of mischief in it.

  "Samad! What a pleasure to see you! Please, come on in."

  "Where's Sister Valencia?" Samad asked.

  "Sister Reynolds is Brother Reynolds now. He has been

  accepted as a postulant monk at the Sergeian Order. It's an order of gay and lesbian nuns and monks on the frontier world of Espiritu Santo." Her grin widened. "The universe is a strange and wonderful place. I had no idea there was such an order. He's very happy there, but I do miss those ginger cookies he used to bake.

  "So, how are you, Samad?" she asked when they were set­tled in her office. "You look wonderful."

  "I've been traveling around Thalassa, Father. It was my farewell trip. I've come to say good-bye. I'm leaving in two days' time for the Pilots Academy."

  Father Russell looked down for a moment and then back up at him. Her eyes were very sad. "I'm sorry to hear that, Samad. We will miss you. Have you seen Eric since you got in?"

  "No, Father, I haven't."

  "You should go and say good-bye to him and Jahan. He'd like that. They're living down near the harbor these days."

  "They're still together?"

  Father Russell nodded. "They're getting married next spring. They were hoping to invite you to the wedding."

  "That's wonderful news, Father," Samad said. "I'm sorry that I can't be here for their wedding. But I'd like to visit them before I go."

  "I know they'd appreciate the chance to thank you for all you've done for them," Father Russell told him. "They're in port right now. They're berthed in the Old Harbor." She scribbled their address on a piece of paper. Then the priest looked at him, her intense gaze seeming to see into the deepest recesses of his heart. "Samad, are you absolutely sure that you want to become a Jump pilot?" she asked.


  "It's going to be hard to leave Thalassa, Father," Samad admitted, "but this is a dream that I've had for a long time."

  "Well then, may God keep you on your journey, and bring you back safe to your friends here on Thalassa when your travels are ended. Vaya con Dios, Samad," Father Russell said, making the sign of the cross over him. Her face was solemn and intent as she blessed him in farewell.

  "Gracias para vuestro benedicion, Padre."

  Father Russell showed him to the door. "Samad, if there's ever anything that I can do to help you, please let me know."

  "Thank you, Father, I will."

  "Good luck, Samad."

  It took Samad a moment to recognize Eric. His formerly pasty skin was deeply tanned, and there was a settled, content look in his eyes. He was busy repairing an oxygen extractor.

  "Hello, Eric."

  Eric's face lit up when he saw Samad. He set aside the ex­tractor he was repairing. "Samad! It's you! We've been hop­ing you'd turn up! How are you?"

  "I'm doing well," he said. "And you?"

  Eric spread his arms. "Wonderful! Jahan and I are get­ting married next spring. I'd like you to be our best man," he said. His tanned face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. "We tried to reach you, but Father Russell didn't know where you were."

  "I'm sorry, Eric," Samad said. "I've been traveling."

  "No, no, Samad, it's all right. It's just that so much has happened over the last eight months! Father Russell, Jahan, and I have introduced three other ex-pilots to the harsels."

  "And what happened?"

  "Two of them have healed themselves and are becoming har captains. The other—-" Eric's face sagged back into the lines that Samad remembered from before, and he shook his head sadly. "She could hear the harsels, but they couldn't reach her. She was too far gone." There was deep pain in his

  eyes as he looked up at Samad. "But we've saved two, and we're hoping to save more." His eyes looked less haunted as he said this.

  "You'll bankrupt the Pilots Union," Samad joked.