Aerovoyant

by P L Tavormina

  “I, no. I don’t know anything about Renico.”

  Odile pursed her lips and looked back to the mountains.

  That evening in the hayloft, he lay on the pallet, recalling too many political events at the family home. Disconnected conversation about profit margins and accidents at the plants. The woman who lost a finger from an unguarded blade. The man killed by a falling crate. Alphonse tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, two guests breakfasted with the Vonards in the dining room. Alphonse didn’t recognize them, but they were very plainly city men.

  Ephraim sat at the head of the table, with Odile to his left. She wore the white blouse that gathered at the sleeves, the one that reminded Alphonse of the jasmine blossoms out front. She stared straight ahead with her jaw set, like she had an opinion about whatever they’d been discussing. Ardelle, ashen-faced, sat across from her.

  A middle-aged man with a scarred ear sat at the foot of the table next to an anxious-looking man who was possibly no older than Alphonse.

  They all looked up. Ephraim said, “Al, good morning. This is Floyd Namoja and Melville di Vaun, from Renico.”

  From Renico.

  Ephraim continued, “Mel’s an old friend.” He said to the visitors, “Al’s helping with repairs.”

  The older of the two, Melville di Vaun, the one with the scarred ear, acknowledged Alphonse with a curt nod.

  Alphonse looked back and forth between Ephraim and the visitors. Renico funded his mother to aid her efforts at shaping Sangal’s council. He might actually learn something useful for his own goals if these men connected in any way to his mother. A long shot, but worth his time to listen. He sat to Melville’s left.

  Ephraim shot him a puzzled glance, and in truth Alphonse rarely ate with the Vonards. He ignored Ephraim, who, after a moment, turned back to di Vaun. “Where were we?”

  “The steads. Our maps are incomplete.”

  Alphonse kept his eyes down, listening to the inflections in the words, one of the things he’d learned over the years, the layers of meaning in conversation, the text and subtext. His mother had told him often enough to listen to a person’s tone, that it said more than the words themselves.

  Ephraim’s tone was patient. “We’re not a province, Mel. You’re talking about steaders. Think of their perspective, escaping the reach of government, making independent lives for themselves. If Renico needs oil, look in the eastern ranges.”

  Di Vaun pushed his cup away. “We will, as soon as they’re opened.”

  Alphonse looked up at that. Did di Vaun know di Les? Ephraim and Odile snapped their attention to him, and flushing, Alphonse stared back at the table.

  Di Vaun leaned onto his elbows. “This tradition of claiming any piece of land without reporting usage.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Resources in the belt are wasted. We need maps. Frankly, I don’t care about the legality here, steaders have a moral obligation to cooperate.”

  Ephraim’s gaze lingered on Alphonse before returning to Melville. “They keep to themselves. Let it go.”

  “Let what go? Progress?”

  “Let the mapping go. Whatever your goal is, be it finding new reserves or, perhaps, people.”

  A barely audible whimper came from Ardelle, and Ephraim patted her wrist as he continued, “Renico has everything it needs on provincial lands. Leave the belt alone. And mind the camsin. You spilled.”

  “No. This is simple economics. If we don’t expand, we die. You, Ephraim, know as well as anyone that the standard of living has increased throughout Nasoir, tenfold at the very least, because of combustion. Yet you’d wish us back into the dark ages, back to the struggles of our ancestors, with your woodfires and livestock.”

  It did seem that Ephraim and this guest were speaking at multiple levels. It felt, to Alphonse, very much like the councilors back home, discussing budgets and laws while in truth discussing their own personal interests. Dealing with one another and planning short-and long-term items at the same time. Alphonse leaned forward, watching both men more closely.

  Di Vaun continued, “Mobility. Steady supplies of electrical power. Technical advancements in medical care, agriculture. Combustion defines the root of opportunity. My work, our work,” he said, indicating Floyd, “improves lives. You understood this once.”

  Floyd’s gaze darted to Ephraim, then fixed on di Vaun again, and he swallowed. Melville gave the man a glance, and it was the sort of expression that Alphonse’s mother might put on if she wanted Alphonse to follow her lead.

  He’s teaching him.

  Di Vaun said, “Not to mention, mapping the belt can help reduce crime.”

  Ephraim laughed outright. “We don’t have a whole lot of that.”

  “You’re naïve. Any city boy yenning for adventure can come out here and run roughshod, take what he wants without any fear of reprisal.”

  Ephraim raised his eyebrows, leaned back in his chair, and said with heat, “If anyone’s running roughshod, it’s you. And Renico. Buying council votes, taking resources better left alone. We deal with dust-ups just fine, Mel, and the marshals are available in any rare case where things get out of hand. By the way, they never ask for maps.”

  The guest pulled his cup back, dumped sugar into it, and stirred noisily, splattering more camsin onto the table. Ardelle passed a napkin down, her lips pressed.

  But Ephraim’s eyes were still cool despite his tone. These two clearly had history. “In any event. How’s Narona? I hope the storms weren’t too bad.”

  Cyclones blew along Nasoir’s coast each year, usually in southern Renivia and Garrolin Provinces.

  Di Vaun drilled an angry gaze into Ephraim. “Our primary generator took a direct hit. Narona’s lower wards flooded. We had no way to pump the water over the seawalls.”

  Ephraim paled. “Flooded, Autore. Are your parents all right?”

  The man’s face contorted. “No. My father contracted cholera. There was no power for twelve days. He’s dead.”

  “Mel. Oh, Mel, I’m so sorry.”

  “My family, your family, a stranger’s—what difference does that make? Twenty-eight people died, Ephraim, and if we’d had power, all of them would be alive today.” He gestured around at the trinkets in the room. “You set out these ridiculous candles and lanterns as though they add charm, instead of reminding us how backward you are. How backward any of us would be if forced to survive with wood stoves and horses.”

  The space between Odile’s brows creased further. Ardelle sucked in her breath and said, “Excuse me. I’ll just check the muffins.” She went to the kitchen.

  Di Vaun glowered. “We need more oil. It’s time for steaders to recognize their responsibility. We need to map—”

  “Let it go.” Ephraim’s eyes had turned chilly.

  Silence hung in the room, and Alphonse recalled again when he was small, when councilors argued policy on the lower floor of the family home. His grandfather had railed at the short-sightedness of opening the ranges to drilling, even then.

  Odile looked back and forth between the men at the ends of the table. “Al, come with me to the kitchen.”

  He hesitated. This conversation was more interesting than Ardelle’s muffins.

  Odile tipped her head at the door. “Now.”

  He pushed his chair back and followed her. Once through the door she hissed, “Do you know them?”

  “No. Of course not. Do you?”

  She glared and didn’t answer.

  Ardelle’s hands were shaking as she removed a tin from the oven. Odile went to her and said in an undertone, “They’ll leave soon.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Ardelle whispered back, her breathing ragged. “Oh, Al, hello.” She transferred the muffins to a platter. “Would you please take this to the table? I need a private word with Odile. We’ll
be there in a moment.”

  Ephraim was stirring honey into his cup, seemingly content. Not content, it was closer to say the man was comfortable, like an old jacket. And despite the arguing, di Vaun seemed comfortable too, although his associate, Floyd Namoja, looked green.

  Ephraim said, “It’s unfortunate you’re only with us for one night. Something of a surprise to see you at all, of course. Business must be good.”

  Di Vaun inhaled deeply, seemed to want to say something more about the belt but then perhaps thought the better of it. “Indeed.”

  “You’re finding customers?” Ephraim sipped his camsin, relaxed and focused.

  “The benefits are obvious. Sales are robust.”

  Ephraim smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We look forward to more visits then. What products are moving?”

  Di Vaun looked at Ephraim with skepticism. “Kind of you to take an interest. The market’s wide open. We’ll move fieldauts soon.”

  Odile and Ardelle returned, and as she sat, Odile said, “Do steaders need field automobiles?”

  Ephraim shot her a glance.

  Di Vaun fixed his eyes on her, and she gave him her steadiest gaze. She was so cool under pressure! Alphonse expected composure from young women in the city, but not from a country girl. Melville said to her, “Fieldauts will improve a farm’s productivity five-fold or more.”

  “You have real vision. I would never imagine a machine to grow food.”

  “We’ll feed the continent on a bare sliver of land. Fieldauts will wipe out hunger.”

  Di Vaun seemed to believe it, and the argument held merit.

  “They’ll also put more carbon into the air.” Odile’s voice had taken on its own heat. Ephraim placed a hand on her arm.

  Di Vaun gave her a hard look then turned to Ardelle. “Your sister, Celeste, makes excellent cheese.”

  Ardelle’s expression remained tight. “How nice. Where did you see her?”

  “First market was yesterday. We expect Terrence to buy irrigation.”

  Ardelle dabbed her forehead with a napkin. “Well. Yields have been low.”

  “We could gauge his needs better if we knew where to find him.”

  Any last bit of color drained from Ardelle’s face. “Heavens. I’m no good with directions.”

  Di Vaun studied her for a long moment. She sat still, and he said, “All right, Ephraim, let’s put it to you. Where is the de Terr stead?”

  “Aha. And so it comes out. There’s one and only one location on this hypothetical map of yours that interests you. Mel, let me be clear. We’re happy to see you. We’ll feed you, and visit, and share every diversion in Collimais. But I’m certain of one thing—if Terrence had truly wanted to look into your products, he would have given you directions to his stead himself. My advice is to ask him when he comes through. During Caravan.”

  * * *

  After the guests left, Alphonse went out back to clean the carriage harnesses. Odile was there, pounding a rug with a length of pipe. Her thumping whacks reminded him of Stavo’s final speech to the Council.

  Mother took me. He kept pounding the podium.

  For a split second, time shifted and he was there, in the past. He heard Stavo’s voice as clearly as if the man stood next to him. We hold the future.

  Odile stopped pounding the rug. She panted and wiped damp hair from her face. “What? What do you want?”

  “I—nothing. Are you upset?”

  “Me?” Odile took another ferocious whack, dust puffing from the rug. “Upset?”

  “Never mind.” He didn’t need her problems. What he needed was to itemize his mother’s choices on a timeline, try to see her reasoning, why she’d abandoned her father’s ideals.

  Odile was talking and pounding. His awareness came back when she imitated di Vaun’s voice. “‘The benefits are obvious.’” Odile looked at him expectantly. “Al! Everything they do—the resources, polluting—their only goal is money.”

  Combustion was all this girl thought about. It defined her, like her determination, here in this little inn with its one ridiculously small generator. “You really hate Renico.”

  Punctuating her words with three ferocious whacks of the pipe, she said, “They. Ruin. Everything.” The carpet swung back and forth like a sheet in a storm.

  But they didn’t. The industry provided jobs, goods, services. None of the cities could run otherwise. People depended on the industry for work. “That’s debatable, but you obviously think they do.”

  She hit the carpet again, this time with her balled-up left fist, grunting, twice, three times. She slugged the carpet and it fell into the dirt; then she swore and kicked it.

  He stepped over to clip it back up. “Have you ever visited any of the cities?”

  She glared at him and threw the pipe to the ground. “It’s not about the cities. It’s what Renico does to people. To families. They destroy families.”

  “They what? How?”

  Odile opened her mouth but paused. “I’m done with this conversation.” She stormed into the inn, and he watched the door slam.

  The problems were complex, that much was true, and if passion like hers could ever be channeled onto any of the city councils, what a difference it might make. Democratic ideals. Fair pay and good health. Families, clean air and water. No one of these could be separated from any other without threatening order itself.

  The Vonards spoke to resources in ways he’d not considered, ways his mother had never discussed. Maybe she’d never thought about the greater impact of combustion; possibly she’d never thought past her own goals. Whatever his mother was after, Alphonse didn’t know. That was the question that nagged the most.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Celeste refused to say any more to Myrta about her Elige trait, only that they’d travel to Collimais as soon as work was covered on the farm to discuss it with Ephraim and Ardelle. Instead, every morning and night she said that in all the ways that mattered they were still mama and daughter.

  Nathan took to calling her Cousin Myrta. Jack was oddly withdrawn.

  Two weeks later Celeste told her to pack, and Terrence saw them off before dawn. In the barest morning light, Myrta climbed into the carriage wrapped in her blanket.

  Celeste and Terrence stood inches from one another. Terrence’s eyes seemed to drink in Celeste’s face in one of those unspoken moments they shared. Then he looked at Myrta, his eyes crinkled in worry. “Be safe in town. And Celeste, don’t be taxin’ the team.”

  “Terrence, if that man shows up, pay attention.” Celeste climbed into the carriage. Terrence patted Rennet, then walked back to the house.

  They started down the dirt road. Light filtered through the trees, bathing everything in morning greens and yellows. They’d be riding all day, and that meant a sore bottom. Myrta shifted on the seat cushion and pulled up a leg to sit on.

  Once they were out of view of the stead, Celeste patted Myrta’s knee. “Terrence should have been angry with me, not you.” She said it as if it were something she’d thought about, like one of her math problems, and she’d figured out the right and the wrong of it. “But the anger he felt, it goes both ways. He loses sight of that from time to time. How different we all are. How our expectations of one another don’t always fit as they should. We’re all so different. In Narona, the years I spent there, I saw how fast everything moved, and I came to see how very different we all are. I met Terrence on a home leave.”

  Myrta knew the story. There’d been a harvest festival in the Grand Square in Collimais. Ardelle and Celeste had gone after dark, when the dancing had started and lanterns lit the green.

  “When I met Terrence, the first thing I noticed was how solid he was. Is. He’s as steady as they come. He’s grounded.”

  That was a good word for it.

  “He was nothing like th
e city men at school. Terrence loves nature, all of it, and I fell in love with that. I wanted to be that to him, steady, like nature was to him. But for all the things that nature is, one thing it isn’t is fearful.” Celeste brought the team up to a trot. “Still, I couldn’t tell him about our family trait because it comes with a stigma. You saw how angry he became when he learned about your eyes. When I met him, I thought that if he knew our family carried it, he’d have nothing to do with me.”

  They clopped along, the wheel nearest Myrta creaking softly on each revolution.

  “Nathan didn’t have the trait,” Celeste said after a few minutes.

  “How did you know?”

  “Because of Ardelle. She asked Ephraim to examine Nathan. I was never so frightened as I was that day. Here he was, this beautiful baby. I needed to know, but it terrified me. I couldn’t tell Terrence, but Ephraim was part of the family now, and he and Ardelle were expecting a baby of their own. He agreed to check Nathan during our winter visit. Ardelle took Terrence outside to plan the orchard.”

  The suns were higher, and the ruts in the road easier to see. Celeste steered the team around the deeper ones. Myrta pulled her other leg up to sit on for a while, and dewy dampness from the cushion seeped into her trousers.

  “I thought if we were lucky, Terrence would never need to know.”

  On some of those visits to Collimais, Uncle Ephraim would look at her oddly, frowning at her temples. In a way, it was the same look Melville di Vaun had given her at the de Reu stead.

  Celeste continued. “I remember the windows in the office were open. Terrence was outside, telling Ardelle to put in pears, but ’Delle said no, just plums. Ephraim and I were inside,” she repeated, “and he hated doing the exam, and he hated the instruments too.”

  Staring straight ahead, Celeste’s face remained distant. “I held Nate. Such a big voice. He didn’t want to be held, but we forced him still. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy for any of us. We had to know.”