by Rinelle Grey
All around the room, people gathered in groups, talking or working together. Against the far wall near the fireplace, two mothers knitted together, keeping a close eye on their children playing with carved wooden toys in front of the fire. On the other side, several women pieced a quilt. Other groups were carving wood, playing chess, even cooking together.
Marlee’s friends were gathered in a group near the centre of the room, sitting on cushions on the floor, playing a game of cards. The temptation to go over and join in was strong, but since Nelor sat at the far side of the circle, she reluctantly decided against it. After Kalim’s last order to stay away from him, going over there, especially with Tyris, would just make everyone uncomfortable. Instead she found an unused chess board and challenged Tyris to a game.
Tyris was a good player, and Marlee enjoyed the challenge. She also noticed him glancing around frequently and realised that having something to do allowed him to take in the environment around them without discomfort.
Marlee was so engrossed in the game, she barely even noticed the ruckus near the fireplace until Tyris asked, “Who’s that?”
She followed his nod. “That’s Jenka. And the man she’s arguing with is her father, Balac.”
“I won’t,” Jenka said, her hands on her swollen stomach protectively. “I didn’t come home so that you could dictate my life to me. I wanted Mother to be there for the birth, that’s all. Once my baby is safely here, I’m going home to Rejan.” Her anxious, high pitched voice carried to every corner of the room. More heads turned to watch.
“He’s not good enough for you Jenka. How are you going to raise that baby without your family? I won’t support you if you go back to him!” Balac yelled.
Jenka promptly burst into tears and Talla, who had been talking to a friend on the opposite side of the room, rushed over and shouted at Balac as well. “You leave her alone. Do you want to bring on her labour right now? Stop being a pigheaded male and think about someone other than yourself for a change.” She hugged her daughter and murmured something soothing to her.
Balac stormed off furiously, helping himself to a drink of ale from one of the jugs on the table. He muttered angrily, but his words were thankfully inaudible.
Tyris looked away. “I can’t believe they’re arguing here, in the middle of everyone.”
“We don’t have many secrets here in the village,” Marlee explained. “We try to maintain some privacy, but there are so few of us and we live so closely that you tend to know your neighbour’s business, whether you want to or not.”
“What did she mean?” Tyris’s asked. “I take it Rejan’s the baby’s father? Why would Balac not want her to go home to him? In fact, why isn’t she home with him now?”
“Their house is small, and not well built, it gets pretty cold in winter. Jenka’s only seventeen, and I think she’s a little scared about labour. She feels better with her mother close by.” She paused for a moment then added, “Rejan isn’t particularly handy. He’s more of a scholar than a worker, meaning some of the villagers think he isn’t much use. He paints beautiful pictures, but some people don’t see the value in that.”
Tyris raised an eyebrow. “Back in the Colonies, art is a highly prized skill. Many of our artists are the richest and most admired.”
“That may be so, but we’re not in the Colonies,” Marlee said. She didn’t want to scare him, but he had to understand the truth. “We’re struggling to get enough food to eat, clothes to keep us warm, and sometimes even a roof over our heads.”
“But you seem to have it all under control,” Tyris said. “I mean, you have all those bottles of fruit, and the animals give you milk and eggs.”
“It’s still early in the season,” Marlee explained. “By the end of winter, the preserves will be gone, and the stores of wheat and oats getting low. The chickens usually stop laying, though we’re hoping the lanterns in their barn will mean we get eggs for a little longer. We should have enough to see us through, we’ve planned carefully, but it was a different story last winter.”
“What happened?” Tyris asked.
“We were hit by a drought a few months before harvest,” Marlee said softly, remembering vividly the panic and worry that had gripped everyone old enough to understand. “We waited and waited for the rain to come, and carried buckets and buckets of water from the well, but it wasn’t enough. We finally began to harvest the wheat, even though the yeild was low, when the rain came. Everything was damp by the time we got it into the barn, and even before the food ran out, mould and rot had destroyed much of it. For a while, we thought we might have to start eating next year’s seed. Luckily spring came early, and we were able to get some quick maturing plants into the ground and get the animals outside where they could find their own food.”
Tyris’s gaze didn’t stray from her face throughout her recital. He shook his head. “That must have been terrifying.”
Marlee nodded. “It was. We had parents giving up their rations to their children, and a few of the older people refusing to eat at all.”
“What about wild animals? Couldn’t you hunt them for food?”
“No, all the mammals and birds died off after the anysogen was released into the atmosphere by the miners. They couldn’t reproduce any more than we could, and without the ability to compensate for it, they didn’t last long.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Tyris said slowly. “You’re very dependent on your own crops and animals then. How come they haven’t been affected by the anysogen?”
“We use artificial insemination to make sure the animals conceive,” Marlee explained. “It’s not foolproof, but we managed to get enough young to keep the animals going. And we’ve been doubly careful about preparing this year. Thankfully, we haven’t had the same weather problems. But it does make you realise you can never take anything for granted.”
“It would,” Tyris said, and he watched the rest of the villagers with a new light of respect in his eyes.
They finished up their game just as Nerris stop by their table. “How are you settling in, Tyris?” he asked.
“Oh, I can’t complain. Marlee’s been kind and taken care of me wonderfully even if I’m not particularly helpful or useful.”
“How can you say that after you’ve spent all morning bottling apples with me?” Marlee asked. His comment surprised her a little, and she resolved to make sure he didn’t feel he wasn’t helpful because it certainly wasn’t the case.
Tyris shook his head, but he smiled. “I just made you take twice as long showing me what to do.”
“Everyone has to learn at some point,” Marlee said.
“I’m sure Marlee will soon show you the ropes,” Nerris echoed. “You’re in good hands.”
Tyris nodded. “Oh, I certainly am.”
“Oh stop it, you two,” Marlee said, though she felt a flush of warmth at Tyris’s words. “I can hear you, you know.”
Tyris smiled at her and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. Surprised by the gesture, Marlee didn’t pull back, just stared at him. Nerris watched them both, eyes narrowed. Good for their charade, Marlee reminded herself but Nerris’s calculating gesture still annoyed her a little. “Did you want to see us about something, Nerris?”
“Nothing in particular,” Nerris said. “Just thought I might give Tyris a game, if you don’t mind?”
Marlee suspected it was more about checking up on them. she looked at Tyris to gauge his reaction, but he didn’t seem to see anything unusual in Nerris’s suggestion. He shrugged and released her hand. “If you like,” he said to Nerris.
Marlee stood up to let Nerris take her seat. She watched them play for a few moments then, since Tyris seemed quite content, she said, “I’m going to catch up with my friends. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Take your time,” Tyris said. “I’m fine here.”
Marlee headed back to her friends with a clear conscience. Jaimma gave her a big hug when she arrived, and said, “I’ve missed you the la
st couple of days, but I guess you’ve been busy with other things.” She winked at Marlee and glanced in Tyris’s direction.
Marlee blushed. She felt a little uncomfortable with the suggestion, especially with Nelor there, but to deny it would ruin the deception she and Tyris planned. Jaimma laughed at her blush, and Marlee braced herself for more teasing.
Jaidin nudged Jaimma and jerked his chin the other side of the circle. Nelor glanced away quickly as soon as he saw Marlee looking at him, but not fast enough for her to miss the pain etched on his face. She would have said something sharp to Jaimma, except her friend already looked guilty. Jaimma glanced sternly at the other people in the circle, and as if it had been prearranged, they all melted away, leaving her and Nelor alone. Kalim wouldn’t be impressed, but it hadn’t been Marlee’s idea. Hopefully he’d be happy enough about her friendliness with Tyris to overlook a quick conversation.
“I’m sorry Nelor,” she said quietly. “I know this is uncomfortable.”
Nelor looked at her, only his eyes giving away his sadness. “Don’t feel guilty for living your life. This is the way it has to be even if we don’t like it.” He paused, then added, “He’s a good man, Marlee. I’m sure he’ll make you happy. And I hope that he can give you a baby. You deserve that.”
Tears welled up in Marlee’s eyes. To wish someone well with their new partner when it came time to move on was expected in the village, but she knew Nelor well enough to know he spoke from his heart. He really did hope she would be happy with Tyris.
And she knew he would keep her secret. “We’re not together,” she whispered. “Not like that. We’re just letting everyone think we are, so they’ll leave us both alone.”
Nelor’s eyes widened. “If the council finds out…” He shook his head. Then shook it again. He stared down at his hands in his lap then squared his shoulders and looked back up at her. “Marlee, you know his ship is unrepairable. There isn’t any hope of getting off the planet, and there’s no hope that we can be together. Why not take a chance with him?”
Even though the thought didn’t upset her as much as it had when he first mentioned it, Marlee still wouldn’t consider it. “I can’t,” she said. “I just can’t go through all that again. It’s obvious I can’t have kids, and I’m not going to subject myself to a string of relationships that all end the same way.” She’d thought he would understand. That her comments would make him feel better about the situation.
“Maybe it’s not you, Marlee. I’ve been through it more times than you, and I don’t have any kids either.”
Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, not wanting to voice the facts that everyone on the planet avoided. The generation of children who had been born on the planet were showing more and more signs of being infertile. Sure, some, like Jenka, had fallen pregnant, but they were the exception rather than the rule. Chances are, neither of them would ever have a child.
*****
TYRIS FOCUSED HIS ATTENTION ON the chess board in front of him, not on Marlee walking off. If she knew he was occupied, she wouldn’t feel bad about leaving him alone. She shouldn’t feel that she had to babysit him just because he knew no one but her. Nerris’s invitation had come at just the right moment even though he was unsure about the man’s intentions.
It seemed silly to believe Nerris had tried to stop him fixing the Hylista. The man had told him nothing but the truth about the damage, and his assessment had been accurate. It wasn’t his fault it was unrepairable. Tyris pushed away his suspicions. Aside from Marlee and Nelor, Nerris was one of the few people who actually felt familiar, and Tyris needed familiarity.
They played in silence for a few moments. Slowly, the atmosphere around them—the warmth from the fire, someone playing a harmonica quietly in the corner of the room, and the buzz of friendly conversation—calmed Tyris.
So Nerris caught him off guard when he said, “Marlee’s a pretty special girl.” While Tyris tried to decide how to reply to that, Nerris continued. “She deserves someone who is going to care for her properly.”
He phrased it as a statement, not related to him directly at all, but Tyris wasn’t fooled. It was a warning. “Marlee is a special woman,” he agreed. “I think she deserves to be with the man she loves.”
Nerris moved his knight out of the line of Tyris’s queen. “Marlee isn’t in love with Nelor,” he said.
Tyris stared at him, forgetting it was his move. “What makes you say that? They seem to care about each other a great deal from what I’ve seen.”
“They do care about each other. Of course they do. Yasmyn and I are good friends, so they spent a lot of time together as children. But that doesn’t mean they love each other.”
Tyris digested that for a few moments while he planned his next move. Nerris could have a point. Marlee sounded upset when she talked about Nelor. But it wasn’t love she mentioned when she insisted she didn’t want another relationship—the risk of being hurt again was what held her back.
“Nelor might be Marlee’s favourite out of the men here, but that is from a limited selection. How many potential partners do people usually meet before finding one they love? I don’t think Marlee has found that man yet,” Nerris said.
Tyris moved a pawn forward, not really thinking about the move. “She may not have,” he agreed, “but I think that’s for her to say, not you. There are plenty of people who live life with someone they just care for. Many people never find true love. But that’s their choice.” Was he talking about himself, or Marlee?
Nerris rubbed his beard and contemplated the board. He picked up his bishop and moved it to take Tyris’s pawn. Then he looked up. “You’ve only been here a short while, so I can understand you still value individual choice over survival, but for the rest of us, the choice isn’t so easy. Look around you, Tyris. How many babies and children do you see?”
Surprised, Tyris looked around the room. Aside from Jenka’s obvious pregnancy, and two women sitting by the fire with toddlers playing at their feet, he saw none. He shrugged. “Three. But surely there are more at home with their parents?”
Nerris nodded. “There are, yes. All up, we have a total of eleven children under ten years old. With a total of around forty adults of childbearing age, all actively trying to achieve a pregnancy, that number is frighteningly small. The next generation will barely have a choice of partners who aren’t related to them in some way. Can you blame us for looking to expand those numbers?”
Tyris was silent. Not having any children himself, and never having spent much time around them, and he hadn’t really noticed their absence. But Nerris was right, the numbers were alarmingly low.
How could he judge them? What right did he have?
MARLEE SAT BOLT UPRIGHT IN bed, jolting Tyris from a sound asleep.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
Even before she answered, he heard it, the sound of panicked animals. Chickens squawked loudly, sheep and goats bleated. Any trace of sleepiness fled.
“The animals! Something’s wrong.” Marlee jumped out of the bed and pulled on her coat as she spoke, reaching for her boots.
It took long, agonising moments to get ready just to step out the door. But leaving the house without putting on warmer clothes was suicidal. The sound of the animal’s distress pushed them faster. Tyris raced out into the snow after Marlee, pulling on his boots as he went. Other villagers poured out of their houses, but Tyris and Marlee were the first to reach the barn. Even before he yanked open the heavy door, Tyris could see the red glow from the windows.
“The barn’s on fire!”
Marlee’s breath hitched. “Oh no.”
Now that he could see inside, it wasn’t as bad as Tyris had first feared. The back corner of the barn blazed, but the chickens that usually lived there could fly. They squawked around the barn, stirring up the other animals even more, but they didn’t seem hurt.
One of the oil lamps that tricked the chickens into laying in winter, lay o
n its side in the straw. The fire must have started there. But it was spreading quickly.
Chickens squawked and flapped out the door around him. “Get the goats out,” Tyris shouted to Marlee as he headed towards the blaze, where the sheep bleated in terror and ran circles around their pen.
Smoke filled the barn. Tyris pulled his coat across his mouth, coughing. He opened the gate, but the sheep continued to run in circles, either too scared or too stupid to figure out they could escape.
Tyris never thought he’d risk his life for an animal, but he knew how important they were to the villagers and his survival. He glanced at the fire, took a deep breath, and ran into the pen. Yelling and waving his arms, he chased the sheep out of the gate and down the path to the main doors, out into the snow next to Marlee.
The villagers had not been idle while he’d been chasing the animals. The adults formed a line and passed buckets of water hand to hand, throwing them onto the fire. Children ran the empty buckets back to the well. Another group had broken a window and shovelled snow through it onto the fire.
Though their efforts slowed the fire’s spread, they were making no real progress in extinguishing it. It seemed hopeless.
Perhaps they could put it out before it reached the hay if they had a fire hose, but with buckets and shovels? Tyris’s heart wrenched to think that the animals he’d saved from the blaze would probably starve to death. If they didn’t freeze first.
The fire began to creep up the walls of the chicken enclosure. Desperation fluttered in Tyris’s chest as flames licked up to the roof. The thatch caught, and burned rapidly, and a lump of snow fell through, smothering a patch of flames.
A large enough amount of snow would put out the fire almost as quickly as water. Even as the idea came to him, Tyris raced to the corner of the barn where stacks of firewood reached the roof. He glanced around frantically. Sure enough, buried deep in the chopping block was an axe. He pulled it free, and ran back towards the flames.
He hesitated for a moment. His plan was crazy and would destroy a quarter of the barn. But the strange build, in four separate sections, meant he just might be able to save the rest of it. He watched the flames lick closer to the poles that divided the barn into sections. Once they went, it would be too late. He had to act now. He lifted the axe and stepped towards the flames.