"By Veget!” CB cursed aloud as he hovered over Tyter. "I know your pain is tenfold my own, but I can’t help you! I’m sorry. Fate is treating us both most unkindly. It neither takes you from me, nor returns you to me. I - I can't do anything more for you. I’m so sorry. I - I....”
CB’s mind flashed back to the event he had witnessed as a child between old widow Bludge and his father. Again, he thought of the green vial hidden in his sack. Just then a searing pain shot between his own shoulders, and he thought the impossible. He would act where Fate seemed reluctant.
Gingerly, he reached into the bag which had fallen to the floor. His fingers poked about until he located the secret compartment which contained the green vial. Once again, a pain shot between his shoulder blades, giving affirmation to his deadly decision. Soon the young male would be resting peacefully - forever.
***** ***** *****
When Loden reached Brindle's hut he kicked on the door several times, but there was no answer. So he kicked the latch and the door flew open, crashing against the platter chest behind it. It struck so hard it immediately bounced back, striking Loden on the elbow as he turned sideways to carry Brindle through the doorway. The blow caused such a severe pain through Loden's arm, his knees instantly buckled beneath him, sending both he and his human cargo to the floor.
"Fo, fo, fo!” is all he could say as he fell forward on top of Brindle who gave out a loud "Oomph!" as the wellkeeper’s weight fell full force on top of her, knocking the wind out of her. Gasping for air, she soon realized her legs were spread slightly and the wellkeeper's thigh was pressed hard against her female mound.
Loden had been in too much pain to pay much attention to Brindle. As soon as he had toppled on top of her, he tried to push himself up with his arms, but the injured crazy bone in his elbow didn’t forgive or forget so quickly, causing him to collapse again on top Brindle. For several moments all he could do was squirm about on top of her until he could get the leverage he needed to roll off.
Meanwhile, the grinding motion of this incidental contact sent a volley of pulsating explosions throughout Brindle’s entire being. Soon, her body erupted into a series of shudders, causing her to gasp three times, then hold her breath for a brief eternity. Engulfed in a flood of fire and water, every muscle in her body tightened until, as a whole, they exploded throughout her being, finding their release from her in the form of a short, high pitched squeal, just as Loden managed to roll off of her.
Side by side, both were lying on their backs, panting heavily: Loden, because the pain in his elbow was just beginning to subside; Brindle, because she had just experienced her first involuntary orgasm.
Loden exhaled deeply, then turned his head toward Brindle and found her wide and wild eyes transfixed upon him. Her face was flushed with a deep red, as if she had been holding her breath. For several moments they just lay there, staring at each other. Then with a sudden exhalation, all the tension in Brindle’s body unwound and a smile captured her facial muscles, causing her to give out a natural, free-falling chuckle. Loden responded in kind, and soon the wellkeeper of the east and the new wellwalker were laughing uncontrollably on the eating room floor.
This was the scene Bourg found as he stood dumbfounded in the doorway of the hut.
***** ***** *****
With Wudrick on his errand, Sollie had no reason to remain at Center House. He was right, she certainly didn’t want Pentalope to find her there. Perceiving it was still safe, she quickly ran down the steps, and circled around to the alcove just beneath the staircase. Deftly, she removed another sheet of paneling and slipped through the wall into a small hallway, little more than a shoot really, which opened into a small cellar.
On the opposite side of this room was the entrance to a narrow, underground shaft which extended northward for several reeds. At its end was an overhead hatch which opened to the surface among the rows of veget stalks in the last major veget field in all of Nuttinnew, the Great Veget Field.
The hatch was made in such a way that it was concealed with a covering of sod and dried foliage which didn’t fall off when it was lifted. However, the many recent openings and closings were starting to take their toll, so Sollie took a moment to fortify it with additional camouflage. When she was satisfied with her effort, she crept eastward, not seeing Wudrick relieving his stress just to the west.
Wudrick, did see her, however. Embarrassed, he remained crouched among the tall veget stalks, and waited for her to disappear among the rows of plants. As he waited he remembered something he had translated in the text of the Ancients. Although there were parts of it he never quite understood, something about it suddenly struck him as important to the task at hand. He felt compelled to review it one more time before assisting CB in the impossible mission of saving the young wellwalker.
Creeping to the hidden hatch Sollie had just exited, he wiggled his more ample girth through the narrow opening. It was an uncomfortable struggle at best, so as a rule, he rarely used it. Today, he decided to make an exception.
As he finally squeezed in and closed the hatchway overhead, he had no way of knowing a major portion of the camouflaged sod which Sollie had just carefully replenished, had broken away, exposing the human handiwork of the hatch itself.
Once inside Center House, he sought signs of Pentalope’s return, but found none, so he climbed the stairs, and entered the secret room in the attic. There he began a vigorous search for one particular manuscript of the Ancients. It was one of the very first he had attempted to translate, so it was no wonder he found it on the bottom of others he had tossed aside in frustration.
When he had last studied this manuscript, he was just learning to read the ancient language. At the time its content seemed to be limited to recipes for the diverse uses of the veget plant, most of which were still being practiced. However, in the last several pages, the contextual style changed dramatically in form and language, as if it were purposely set apart from the rest. Unlike the language used in the earlier body of the text, this portion contained many uncommon words which Wudrick determined must be some form of technical terminology.
Being a scientist, this part had originally intrigued him the most. However, because his understanding of the language was still in its infancy, he had elected to put his efforts into less complicated texts, and so set this one aside. But now, he had a much better grasp of its rudimentary elements and was sure he was ready to tackle the more complicated portions. Reverently, he picked it up, dusted it off, and began to read.
"At the antecedent of the plant, some 100 bentiters beneath the soil’s crust germinate minute, parasitical communes, totally dependent on the plant, for its sustenance and reproduction. Among noted researchers it is widely held, these life forms excrete toxic enzymes which when ingested, under controlled circumstances, gender consequences upon the physical and mental status of a human being. The consequences of which vary only slightly from death in its lack of total disfunction and permanence.”
By itself, the passage made no sense to Wudrick than when he first translated it. Quickly, he began to peruse the entire section in which it resided, roughly translating various passages in his mind. He soon discovered the surrounding text consisted of an introduction, followed by several veget preparations, all of which included numerous warnings similar to the one which was currently baffling him. For all his efforts, he still didn’t know what the writing meant. Further, he didn't even know why the passage suddenly seemed so important to him.
In a society where it was rebellion to even ask why, Wudrick had found encouragement from CB’s father, who had told him to follow his own instinct by questioning every sensation and thought he ever had.
"Fate has given you an exalted gift, Wudrick. Although, I can't discern how or why you have been chosen, you must always remember to use it with immense respect and never, never abuse it. It is a gift of time and space. When the time is right, give it space to grow,” the elder CB had told him.
Wudrick did
n't have the slightest idea what the old caretender was talking about, but he had always remembered his words and did a fairly good job abiding by them. As Wudrick slowly set off towards the hut of the western wellkeeper, he had many thoughts on his mind, but most of them ended with question marks. One thing he was sure of, concerning his gift - it was time.
***** ***** *****
In early spring each veget plant would produce hundreds of puff pods. When the time was right the pods would split open, revealing the soft, white, veget puffs within. These would gracefully adorn the green stalks until one day, for no apparent reason, they would mystically begin to shake with tremors, gradually increasing gyrations until, in one orgasmic moment, they would appear to explode, ejaculating millions of tiny feathered-seeds high into the air, filling the sky with a white radiance, as they swirled about on the spring currents.
At times, they would swoop down ever so close to the ground, only to be lifted back into the air by even the subtlest of air currents, and there magically linger, as if choosing just the right spot to impregnate the soil and begin the serious business of growing into a mature veget plant.
Such had not been what transpired between Loden and Brindle as they lay laughing on the eating room floor of her hut. But given the unusual sight before him, Bourg could only assume it had. Never before had he seen his friend and fellow wellkeeper so out of control. He wondered if the rebel leader had finally succumbed to the pressures of his own rebellious delusions.
Bourg’s mind raged with the anger of confusion. How dare Loden pleasure himself with this female of obviously feigned innocence, while his own son lay dying of the Dreaded Drought Disease.
This was the last rotten puff in his over-stuffed harvest basket. His own simple mind could take no more. He needed time to sort it all out. He had to get away - away from Loden and his rebellion, away from his dying son and his failure as a father, away from the well and his awesome responsibility as wellkeeper of the west - away from the madness that was once Nuttinnew.
Still unnoticed, he turned from the door and trudged northward, disappearing among the rows of plants which formed the Great Northern Veget Field.
As their uncontrollable laughter subsided, Loden slowly returned to his sensible nature. He knew it was time to begin the water rationing, and he wondered if once again he would have to gather the people to the well. Assuming Bourg was still with Tyter, he would have to find someone else to arouse the westerners.
Before he had even reached the hut door, Brindle, in a mixture of gleeful pleasure and embarrassment, had raced off to her sleeping room and closed the door. For several moments she stared out the window facing the well. When she heard the wellkeeper coming around the side of the hut, she stepped back from the window, not wanting to be seen. She held her pullover tightly against her, feeling strangely exposed.
As Loden walked to the well, her eyes followed him. He was an attractive male by all standards. Expecting to feel some earth shattering reaction of emotion to overcome her, she was surprised to find that she felt nothing deeper than flesh.
Although, physically, he had made her feel like no one else ever had, there was no involvement of the heart. It was just an accidental event that held no more significance than the feeling one might get, happening upon the most beautiful of all sunsets. For a brief, fleeting moment one is overtaken by an inexplicable explosion of the senses. Then moments later, when the object of awe is no longer a source of stimulus, the sensation passes, lost forever among the cryptic illusions of memory.
This explanation comforted Brindle. Confusion had caused her to feel vulnerable and ashamed, but knowledge and acceptance had set her free. A smile filled her face as she reached down and yanked her pullover over her head. She had always loved being naked, and she was pleased to know, she had not lost that freedom.
Jumping backwards, she plopped down on her sleeping cot with her arms and legs spread wide and revealing. She thought of Tyter and felt her body tingle. It was the feeling she’d expected when she had looked at Loden. Clapping the tingling tightly with her hands, she closed her legs tightly and rolled over on her stomach.
"Oh, Thyda, Thyda,” she moaned.
***** ***** *****
CB laid his weight across Tyter’s thrashing body, then, slowly moved the open green vial toward Tyter’s lips. Unlike a caretender, who has little opportunity to develop physical strength, the lad, as wellwalker, was unusually strong for his youth and size. Besides wrestling his patient, CB was taking the utmost care not to spill any of the vial’s lethal content. None of which was an easy task.
All the while CB’s mind was half in the present, half in a memory. He remembered how his father had not forced the death potion on the old widow. He had calmly spoken to her and she voluntarily ingested it. Now, here he was holding down the delirious youth, attempting to force the fluid down his throat.
Then, without warning, Tyter ceased his struggling and lay deathly still. Seizing the opportunity, CB quickly moved the green vile over the lad’s gaping mouth. The struggle was over. The compassionate deed was all but done.
CB slowly tipped the vial slightly when a shout directly behind him stayed his hand, "No! No! Stop what you’re doing! Stop this instant!” A hand with short stubby fingers clutched the hand holding the green vial and without spilling a drop, wrestled it away from CB, who had passed beyond a state of confusion to one of shock.
"Give - me - that!” Wudrick ordered as he snatched the lid out of CB’s other hand, and carefully sealed the vial. Emitting a deep sigh of great relief, he looked at CB who was now slumped over the edge of the cot. Wudrick bent down and picked up the caretender’s black bag, then went to him. Placing his hand on CB’s shoulder, he pulled upward, coaxing the caretender up from his wretched posture. CB turned his head and looked up at Wudrick through wide, un-focused eyes.
"Come, come, my friend. It's alright. You didn't hurt the lad,” Wudrick assured him.
CB’s eyes filled with disbelief.
"He’s alright, I tell you.” Wudrick handed him his black bag - and the green vial.
CB’s look turned to one of personal shame.
"It’s okay, now. I know you were just trying to help him the same way your father helped the widow Bludge,” Wudrick consoled him.
CB couldn't believe his ears. How could Wudrick possibly know about that? CB had carried the weight of that secret alone for so long. Just knowing someone else also knew about it lifted much of the agonizing burden from his heart. He could feel his body begin to tremble and, against all his training, tears flooded his eyes as he curled himself in Wudrick's embrace and cried; letting flow every tear he had ever professionally felt compelled to restrain.
Chapter 10
Earlier that morning, as the wellkeepers leaned anxiously over the well rim, while Brindle struggled at the one hundredth stone level, a pair of vengeful eyes glared toward them. Beneath these eyes, lips that had never touched another’s, stretched tightly to the gum, exposing long, white, clenched teeth. If it were a smile, it was a most hideous one to be certain. Separating these eyes from these lips were nostrils, flared with contempt as volumes of air rushed in and out to cool the hot blood running through the viewer’s venomous veins.
Pentalope straightened to her full height under the increasing weight of the mantle of many pieces adorning her. She needed a strategy, a plan. The events of the day before confirmed what she had feared. She didn’t yet have the power to run the rebel Loden out of town on her own. She needed to mobilize the people behind her. After all, it was for their own good she wanted him banished, and it wouldn’t hurt her power in the community, either, to be rid of her foremost nemesis.
In the past, Loden had demonstrated his insolence by mocking her in her exalted position of mayor. She considered this jealousy - proof that he desired the office for himself, which was something Pentalope would not tolerate, not even in imagination. As long as there was breath in her body, she would be the mayor of Nuttinnew. Nothing
and no one, was going to stand between her and the special destiny she had carried in her heart since childhood.
Pentalope's parents were hard working, self-sacrificing, altruistic people. When they were not whole-heartedly engaged in one of their own many social endeavors, they were busy helping others with theirs. As soon as her mother discovered a human seed had taken root in her womb, Pentalope's father set about building an additional room to their modest hut, which was located southeast of the well, on the outskirts of town, nearest to the southern rolling hills.
It wasn’t the most prestigious location, but it was all they could afford, for although the little town of Nuttinnew received much from their self-sacrificing efforts, it gave little in return. At the time Pentalope’s father had no way of knowing the room he was building would have such an effect on the life of the unborn inhabitant of his wife's womb.
For it was also at this time an angry mob of Nuttinnewians marched to their doorstep, demanding something be done about the stench reeking from the tumble-down hut of Krochetta Hagg, a crotchety old female whom nobody liked, which suited her fine for she despised everyone else, in turn. It was from her the term "old hagg" became a derogatory expression males used (under their breaths, of course) toward females who, in the course of human events, had the presumption to exert their own will. By Fate, it just so happened this original "old hagg" was Pentalope's maternal grandmother.
For all the caring and generosity Pentalope's parents extended toward others, they had paid little attention to the old female's plight. Mainly, because they couldn't stand her any more than anyone else. Tradition, however, made her their responsibility, and after much chiding and coercion, they were ultimately forced to move her into the newly constructed extra room, along with their infant, Pentalope.
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 24