Passages

by Olan Thorensen

  This time the blow to his back was more forceful.

  “You did that on purpose!” said Maghen, who proceeded to deliver a kiss that lasted long enough for cheerful comments: “Not in front of the children,” “Go find a room, you two,” “Isn’t there a law against doing that in public?”

  When the festivities died, they had a moment to speak alone.

  “I hope you aren’t angry about what I did?”

  “You’re lucky, you sneak. Some women would be furious at you, though I’m not. I know we’d talked about being wed, but when you said your people’s customs had the man make a formal proposal, I started to doubt your feelings. I was startled, then relieved, and then as happy as I can remember.”

  “Now that the decision is made and the news is out, how long will it be until the wedding?”

  “I’ll talk with Leesta tomorrow. They’re hoping the wedding will be here, and I told them it would. However, I expect the wedding to take place in two to three sixdays.”

  “That fast?” said Mark. He had been assuming a few months.

  “Why would it take longer, unless one of the parties was ill or guests needed more time to be notified and travel? It’s assumed once the announcement is made, all questions or concerns have already been handled, so why wait?”

  That was fine with Mark, though he had one question.

  “Does this mean that now we don’t have to sneak around to be together?”

  “Oh, no. We can’t lie together anymore until the wedding. In ancient days the bride was expected to be a virgin. That’s not true anymore, but the custom is to pretend she is. Now that everyone knows we’re to be wed, and they assume we’ve been coupling. To preserve the custom, we’ll stay apart and not even kiss from this time until after the wedding ceremony.”

  The following three sixdays were a whirlwind. Ranch work still needed to be done, but an arbor-covered platform for the wedding ceremony and a new cottage were completed with the help of Maghen’s two brothers, three cousins, and two male relatives whose exact relationship to Maghen Mark had never understood.

  He expected Maghen’s immediate family to attend, but so many people came that the single men’s barracks, one barn, and two storage sheds were temporarily converted into sleeping quarters—and those were just for the visiting women and children. All the men slept outdoors, though no one seemed to mind because the Toodmans and Maghen’s family provided a plentiful supply of food and beer.

  The last two days before the wedding blurred for Mark. Another custom he had not been aware of required that the groom be kept in a constant state of low-level inebriation to prevent him from changing his mind and fleeing. Mark’s assurances that he had no intention of running went nowhere. Even Maghen proved unsympathetic to his assertion that while he enjoyed beer, too much beer over too many days didn’t sit well with his stomach. She simply said, “Customs are customs.” Her tone implied, “Suck it up.”

  As a result, his memory of the wedding was sketchy and of the wedding night nonexistent. His new wife hadn’t expected him to perform connubial duties that night, but the next morning was different.

  CHAPTER 24

  THEN THERE WERE THREE

  The first months of married life passed easily, as Mark felt the intense memories of his Tregallon life retreating until they didn’t overshadow his everyday thoughts. He and Maghen completed furnishing the new cottage after they made two shopping trips to Nurburt for items not available at the ranch or from her relatives. They both continued their jobs at the ranch, though everyone believed Toodman hoped to groom Mark to eventually become the foreman. Tiv Murklyn had noticeably slowed down the last few months. Toodman had told Murklyn that he and his wife could continue to live aty on the ranch as long as they lived, as a just reward for a lifetime of service.

  Mark gradually took on more of the foreman duties, with the cooperation of Murklyn. Maghen continued her same duties until she announced her pregnancy to Mark and to anyone who would listen. She figured it had happened in the first month of marriage, which Mark conceded was likely, considering the effort they’d made.

  When Maghen’s time to deliver approached, her mother came to the ranch to be with her daughter. She brought a midwife known to the Lorwell family for decades, which was fine with Mark, except for the midwife’s name.

  “Mark, this is midwife Murla Vurgyn.”

  The incongruity caused Mark to freeze from responding long enough for Maghen to elbow him.

  “Ah . . . pleased to meet you, Sen Virgin.”

  In the following days, Mark thought it didn’t matter if he visualized “virgin” every time he heard the midwife’s name. However, in his attempt to ignore the transliteration, his brain wouldn’t cooperate and made an even worse substitution.

  “Good morning, Sen Vagina.”

  “It’s Vurgyn,” said Maghen.

  “Right. Vagina.”

  “VURGYN!”

  It didn’t pass his notice that he must be making subconscious connections: birth, birth canal, midwife, vagina. However, understanding his vocal chords’ confused connection to his brain didn’t help. Finally, he sidestepped the issue by bestowing a new name on the midwife.

  “Why do you insist on calling her ‘Ginny’?” asked Maghen.

  “It’s a title given to midwives where I come from,” said Mark.

  “I’ll tell her that,” said Maghen. “In fact, I’ll tell her it’s a sign of respect from you. She’s gotten annoyed that you kept calling her ‘Vagina’ and now ‘Ginny.’”

  When the delivery time came, Mark waited with the other men outside the ranch’s main house where, at the Toodmans’ insistence, the birth would take place. Mark was relieved to be absent from the delivery. He’d made a reluctant offer to be present, only to be dismissed by a perplexed wife and mother-to-be.

  “Why would I want any man seeing me like that? Only women are present at births, unless there’s a problem and the only available healer is a man. You did your part, now go away and let me do mine.”

  Mark’s worry about the midwife’s competence was assuaged by a female medicant from the Nurburt Cathedral. The priest-doctor said she was present only in case of life-threatening conditions, at which time she would assist the midwife.

  “Be calm, Ser Kaldwel. I examined your wife. She’s a strong woman in excellent condition. Midwife Vurgyn also says it seems to have been an unusually easy pregnancy. Your wife reported very little morning sickness, and there have been no signs of common complications.”

  The only task left to Mark was to worry. He did that with enough emphasis for Toodman to order the other men to get the husband off the front veranda. Mark had been pacing heavily on the plank flooring, pausing only to listen at the front door.

  Three hours later, Leesta opened the front door and called for Mark. He came running, scattering men and dogs in his way.

  “Everybody is fine,” Leesta called out. She held up her hands to halt Mark’s leap from the ground up five steps to the veranda. “Calm yourself, and let’s go introduce you to your child.”

  Mark took three deep breaths and followed. Maghen lay on a bed. She looked exhausted and euphoric, holding a bundle with a small red face. He rushed to her and kissed her.

  “Isn’t she beautiful, Mark?” Maghen said, fresh tears starting to form. “Say hello to Alys Kaldwel.” She held the bundle out, and Mark accepted a weight so light it surprised him. He had been in Japan when Jocelyn gave birth three weeks early, and he hadn’t held Celeste for the first time until two weeks later. He would wonder many times about the profound difference in the two experiences. The first baby had almost been an abstraction, something then part of his life but at a distance. Maybe it was only a retrospective assessment, but now he wondered whether he’d always known Jocelyn would do the rearing, and he would be an observer.

  For Alys, it was different. He held the small body just minutes after birth, the mother lying next to him, her face beaming with pride and love. When he gave A
lys back to her mother, he sat in a chair next to her and stroked her hair. He felt physically exhausted, though he recognized it was mental and psychological.

  Maghen drifted in and out of sleep for the next hour. During one of her conscious moments, she handed the baby back to Mark. “Go and show her off and tell everyone her name. I told you. It’s the custom.”

  Mark didn’t argue that the women helping Maghen already knew the name, and it had probably leaked out by now. Customs were customs. He went back to the veranda, where thirty or more workers, friends, and relatives awaited the formal announcement.

  He raised the baby above his head. “Say hello to Alys Kaldwel!”

  Cheers erupted, followed by close inspections and pleas to hold the baby by most of the women and a few men.

  “Never heard the name ‘Alys’ before,” said Fenon Lorwell. As soon as Maghen’s water had broken, Mark had asked a coworker to make the hour’s hard ride to Maghen’s family with the news. Both brothers had gotten to the ranch in time for the birth.

  “Oh, I heard it somewhere,” Mark said, “and Maghen liked it.” He didn’t explain the double subterfuge. He told Maghen the name came from his people, letting her assume he meant somewhere on Anyar. He also didn’t elaborate that the name occurred to him not because he liked it, though he did, but because of the association with Alice in Wonderland.

  The first time Maghen had asked him for name suggestions if the baby was a girl, he’d thought, If I’m not down the rabbit hole, then who is?

  Maghen and Alys moved to their cottage the next day. The mother appreciated his offer to help with baby, but what exactly could he do that Maghen couldn’t because she would need to breastfeed every few hours? Besides, women cared for babies, and what would the other men and women think if they saw Mark doing things that were her duty?

  He didn’t have an answer, though he admitted to himself the custom suited him and was rational—at least, given the culture. The first months consisted of long days with less sleep than usual. Wife and child or not, Toodman’s good regard and support or not, Mark still had a solid five days’ work to do every sixday.

  After Alys’s birth, Mark heard a few comments about Maghen’s quick delivery and recovery. She had previously told him about several instances of bruises healing unusually fast, but he hadn’t connected her words to his own healing. Now, after the birth, his suspicions were aroused. He watched carefully for any events that caused bruises or cuts. Maghen didn’t have any significant injuries during the next month. Yet her minor cuts and bruises healed quickly enough for Mark to suspect that somehow his faster healing had transferred to her. The obvious mechanism was sex, but he didn’t know how the process worked.

  He also checked the speed of his own healing by making a test cut, as he’d done in Tregallon. The cuts still healed faster than on Earth and, though he wasn’t certain, possibly faster than the last time he had done the test. What did it mean? Was he recovering from the stirkin attack, so that his healing ability was slowly returning to the level it had been at first? Was it certain he’d passed on the trait to Maghen? If yes, would her healing ability improve over time? And what about Alys? As she became more mobile, accidents were bound to occur, and Mark would keep a close eye on the child. At some point, he might have to talk to Maghen and come up with a plausible story . . . but not now.

  By the end of the second month, the Kaldwel family settled into a routine as Alys slept the entire night. Maghen insisted on attending Godsday services in Nurburt at every opportunity.

  “I’m so blessed, Mark, that I need to be sure God knows how much I thank him for my husband and child.”

  He didn’t argue. He wasn’t a believer in God, but he didn’t contest those who did. In time, he found himself carried along when Maghen participated in a call and response from the congregation. When the priest got to the point where people remembered two or three things they were thankful for, Mark found himself mouthing, Maghen and Alys.

  More months passed. Alys transformed from a reddish lump into a happy cherub who sat up to play with everything in reach. She carried on babbling conversations with any adult in view. In contrast to the first months, when time had seemed to pass slowly, the following months sped by. From the sixth month on, it seemed as if Alys accomplished something every day. By her first birthday she was walking confidently—enough so that they religiously kept the cottage door solidly closed or the toddler would head outside, exploring.

  For Mark, ranch work continued, as Toodman slowly gave him more responsibility. When the yearly Harvest Festival rolled around, the Kaldwel family attended. Both Maghen and Mark were relieved of parental duties by the Lorwell women, who fawned over Alys. Mark also avoided both the weightlifting and the fighting event by a series of subterfuges that the Lorwell brothers grudgingly accepted. However, Elron Lorwell gave Mark a sly wink because he saw through Mark’s effort to prevent reigniting a conflict with Fenon.

  A month after the festival, Mark was fortunate to avoid a more serious confrontation. After he returned from a day surveying a crop of calves from Toodman’s herds, he dismounted near a stable.

  The owner called out to him. “Mark, see me in the main house after you finish with Secretariat.”

  “I’ll take care of him,” said Tylmar, one of the three men returning with Mark.

  Mark walked toward Toodman.

  “Good, we can talk outside,” said Toodman and motioned for Mark to accompany him. They walked side by side to a spreading tree. The owner propped a foot on a large root running along the ground’s surface.

  “Got a message from the chief magistrate overseeing this area. A ranch forty miles northwest of here was raided about eight to ten days ago. Word is, it seems to be the same group that hit other ranches farther north and now has moved into our part of Frangel. I’m called on to provide men to help hunt all down these raiders. It’s a distasteful task but has to be done. Mark, I want you to take three of our men and head to Nurburt, where the hunting parties will organize. I understand there will be six or seven such parties that will try to spread out and locate the raiders.

  “I’ll let you pick the men, but I suggest younger ones that can handle themselves. We can’t tell how long or arduous the hunt will be, and the younger men will hold up better. It’s been a couple of years since something like this has happened, so I guess we should consider ourselves lucky.”

  Maghen was not pleased to hear the news, but she accepted the necessity. The next day, she held Alys and sent her husband off with a fierce hug. She admonished him to bring himself and the three other men back unharmed. She presented him with a new scarf before he left.

  “You can’t tell if you’ll be in the mountains and how cold it might be,” she said. “I was going to give this to Fenon, but I’ll make him another one.”

  It took all of Mark’s fortitude to put the scarf around his neck before riding away. As soon as the four men couldn’t be seen from the ranch, he jerked the scarf off and stuffed it in a saddlebag.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Tylmar, surprised at Mark’s action and expression.

  “Uh . . . nothing. I just don’t want to wear it right now.”

  Mark didn’t tell them that he’d never wear it again and would dispose of it the first chance he got. He would think of an excuse for losing the gift. He knew he should have declined the gift and told Maghen the reason, but when she presented it in public, he didn’t want to explain in front of the other men. Mark hated spiders and as a child had passed through a phase of spider nightmares. The scarf’s spider-web design made his skin crawl and beads of sweat break out on his body. The phobia had led to more than a few embarrassing episodes over the years, and he appreciated that spiders hadn’t made the transition to Anyar. But he thought it odd that this was the second time he’d encountered a spider-web design on a planet with no spiders—the first time being the floor tiles of the Cloth Guild building.

  For the next ten days, the four Toodman workers rode in a t
wenty-man “posse,” which is what Mark called the group. To the other men, he explained that it was a word from his homeland, Amerika. They traveled as far as sixty miles from Nurburt before a rider appeared and told them the raiders had been cornered by two other posses farther south. Half of the raiders had been killed in the ensuing fight, along with three posse members.

  Mark was relieved to hear the news. Thank God for that. I didn’t look forward to killing another person or getting shot at myself. Not after Brawsea.

  When they rode into the ranch headquarters, workers and families swarmed out to greet the returnees and clamor for news of the hunt. Some were disappointed that the Toodman posse had not seen any action. Maghen was not among the dissatisfied. As soon as Mark dismounted, her embrace conveyed her relief at his return—which she further demonstrated well into the night as soon as he cleaned up.

  Although the posse had fruitlessly ridden for miles, the many hours in the saddle allowed Mark time to think, especially about two topics.

  The aliens responsible for him being on Anyar were never far from his thoughts. One entire day he relieved the boredom of the hunt by going over every detail he could remember of the collision, the room he awoke in aboard the alien craft, and everything the AI had said.

  There were definitely at least two alien races abroad in the galaxy—the one whose craft collided with the doomed United flight and the second race that had transplanted Earth animals and plants to Anyar—assuming Hal, the AI, told the truth. If there were two alien races more advanced than humans, then there was no reason not to think many more existed in the galaxy. However, try as he might, Mark couldn’t recall any hints about additional races.

  The AI also steadfastly refused to answer whether other passengers had survived. Was he the only survivor? Could there be more humans from Earth on Anyar, and how would he ever find out? Questions without answers.