Homesmind

by Pamela Sargent

  Anra was alone with Rulek and Fiella, who had remained at the table. At least the red-haired girl had kept her wits and had not simpered or made cow eyes at Rulek. Fiella got up and began to scrape off the dishes with a wooden spoon. "We couldn't live on the comet," she said softly. "If we did, what would happen to those born as solitaries? They'd have nowhere to go."

  Rulek's mouth tightened; Anra was sure he was thinking of his dead sister. "You could take them there, too," he replied, "and return here for others. They might be better off there than here. The rest of Earth will never reach out to you as long as skydwellers are here."

  They picked up the remaining dishes and washed them outside. The night sky had grown cloudy, but the two comets were still visible through the pale clouds, Earth's partners on its journey around the sun. Anra considered what Rulek had said; he made their life here seem hopeless. Perhaps the village could have done more than it had.

  —I saw your parents for a moment— Fiella said to Anra as they went inside. The candles on the table flickered; Fiella extinguished them until only two flames remained. —Are you going to speak to them?—

  —I don't know—

  —They might be hurt if you don't— Fiella sensed Anra's thoughts. —Yes, I know. You owe them nothing. But they did come back here. Fry to understand that they're willing to reach out and make it up to you—

  —There's no way they can do that—

  Fiella turned toward Rulek. "I'll be by tomorrow," she said aloud. "Good night."

  As Fiella left, Rulek sat down at the table, propping his chin on his hands as he gazed at the candles. Anra sat across from him, stifling a yawn. "You should speak to the old ones soon," she said. "Ask them to welcome you to our village Net. I know they will, and then you'll be a part of our village."

  "It's too soon. I don't know everyone well enough. It's still painful for me to open my mind fully to them."

  "My friends all like you."

  He shrugged. "They're kind enough. Their minds don't seem as different as I thought they would be. But they're children."

  "They're almost as old as you."

  "They don't seem that old. Anyway, they proved what I said before. They don't want to know anything about my pain—they left as soon as I mentioned it." He paused. "So your parents are here."

  "I don't want to see them."

  "And why not?"

  "They gave me up—they left me. I have no responsibility toward them. You ought to sympathize with that."

  "Did they curse you?" Rulek asked. "Did they wish for your death?"

  "No."

  "Then I don't understand." He cleared his throat. "You say you're supposed to be a link between Earth and the skydwellers. If you can't even touch those who gave you life, you'll certainly fail at the rest." He stood up. "I must sleep."

  He went to his room. He probably thought she was as childish as her friends, and perhaps she was. Her parents had lived through a time of troubles and probably carried their share of grief. She did not have to add more to their burden.

  She sat by the candles until they sputtered out.

  Barla came by early in the morning to help weed the garden outside the hut, but Anra noticed that her friend had put a flower in her long light-brown hair and had made her mouth red with beet juice. Rulek finished his breakfast quickly and joined Barla outside.

  Anra longed to follow, but she had made her decision, and could not put it off. Her parents were near the riverbank; she had already sensed that through the Net. She got up and fetched a bucket from the shelf.

  —You needn't get water— Etey said. —The cistern outside will fill when we uncover it— I he air was heavy and still; Anra knew it would rain sometime during the day.

  —I'll get some water anyway— Anra replied.

  —I see— Etey said, understanding. —I hope it goes well for you, child—

  Anra went outside. As she passed the garden, she saw that Rulek and Barla were laughing together as they weeded.

  She walked through the village. Two women greeted her on their way to the fields. Old Ede was sweeping out his hut; he saluted her with his broom. Riene hastened by, obviously determined that Barla would not have Rulek to herself. She nodded at Anra before striding on.

  Anra thought of what Rulek had told her the night before. Would he forgive his own parents if they suddenly appeared here? He had much more to forgive than she did, yet he had implied that he might.

  She turned toward the pathway leading down to the river, knowing she could not run from the meeting she dreaded. Her parents might change their minds and decide to approach her; it might be easier for all of them if she chose the time.

  Two people were sitting on the riverbank. Anra approached them slowly. The man had auburn hair and a beard flecked with gray; his eyes were blue, like her own. The woman was brown-skinned and stocky, with a mass of curly black hair below her shoulders. Both wore fur vests and garments made of hides; their long leather shirts reached to their knees. Their walls were up, and Anra could not read their thoughts.

  "Greetings," the man said. "I am Harel, and this is Silla. But of course you know that already."

  "I am Anra."

  "Our daughter," the woman said.

  "I've always thought of myself as Daiya's daughter."

  The woman's brown eyes narrowed; the man poked at his leather trouser leg where it bunched above his boot. Anra sat down, clutching her bucket awkwardly. "You've grown tall," the man said.

  "I'm not so tall."

  "Taller than I expected. I think our other children will be shorter."

  So they had other children. That was to be expected; they had been away from the village for fifteen years.

  "One of your brothers is called Brun, after my father," Silla said stiffly. "He was born twelve cycles of the seasons ago. He—" She paused, looking uneasily at her partner, as though the mention of this son disturbed her somehow. "He's a fine boy," Silla went on firmly. "Then there is Kani, named for Harel's mother, who is four cycles younger. Our youngest is Sel—he is five. I thought I might name him for Cerwen, but I could not while Cerwen still lived. Perhaps we'll have another to carry that name before we grow too old."

  "You have been fortunate, then," Anra said.

  "Yes," Harel answered. "We spent our early years, before we had you, without children, when this village was stricken with the fear of what might come and no children were born. But we've been rewarded for that suffering."

  "Yes," Anra said. "You have three who are normal, at least. It must have helped you past the sorrow of having me." Harel looked down.

  "You were not a sorrow, child," he murmured. "You were our first. You showed that we wouldn't be barren."

  "You might have stayed here." Anra strengthened her wall, afraid to mindspeak.

  "Try to understand." Silla held out a hand, then let it fall. "We had to leave this place then. To us, this was a place where we had suffered and seen too much death. We would always have been reminded of our pain, and we knew we couldn't take you with us, not as you were." Her shoulders sagged.

  "You might have spoken to me through the Minds."

  "You had your own life to live," Harel said. "We couldn't interfere. We thought you might seek us out when you were older."

  Anra leaned toward him. "Don't say that you acted that way because of me. It was probably easier for you to forget."

  "Perhaps it was."

  "And you didn't come here just to see me. You're worrying about the Minds."

  "Of course we're worrying," Silla cried, startling Anra with her fierce tone. "The Minds waver. Recently, Their tendrils were so weak that I thought I might lose my own thoughts. Imagine what would happen if They fail. We'll all be trapped in solitude. Daiya says that we should accept the presence of skydwellers in our world, but maybe they have disturbed the thoughts of the Minds. Maybe the Mind of the skydweller world has weakened Them. We should have sent the skydwellers away long ago."

  "No," Harel protested. "Y
ou mustn't say that, Silla."

  "Let her say it." Anra's nails dug into the sides of the wooden bucket. "Let me see her true thoughts, the ones she keeps hidden."

  "She doesn't mean it. Only our fear has driven her to say such things."

  "She meant them." Anra gazed steadily at her mother. "And you probably thought the same thing when I was born. Even then, you must have thought that I should die. You must have despised me when you held me—a poor creature who couldn't even hear your thoughts."

  Silla covered her face, but not before Anra had seen the guilt in her eyes; she had wounded her mother with the truth.

  "Stop," Harel said. "We know what we've done. We thought too much about ourselves then, about escaping the memories of our suffering, and not enough of the child we were leaving behind. We've tried to make up for it since. Two solitary children were born in our village, and we made sure that they were sent here. That village will kill no more separate selves."

  "How very kind. And if the parents came here, they would not even know their own children—not that it matters. One cripple with the crutch of a link must seem much like another." Anra forced herself not to say more. She should never have come here; she had only spoken cruel words she had not meant to say.

  "I didn't expect forgiveness," Harel said, "but I'd hoped for understanding. I see we'll have punishment instead. Very well—you've punished us, and maybe we deserve no more. There's nothing else to say." He stood up, helping his partner to her feet. "Perhaps if we had touched minds, you might have understood."

  Silla shook her head. "Not at all. She would probably have despised us even more. That's what skydwellers teach them here—to despise Earth. I see she's still a solitary at heart, even with her link. It's her own thoughts that concern her."

  Anra got up. "I wish you hadn't come back at all."

  "There, we are in agreement," Silla said coldly. Harel tugged at his partner's arm, leading her away.

  Lydee and Etey were in the garden, pulling up the last of the weeds. Etey held one plant between her thumb and forefinger, peering at it as if she were afraid of what she might find on its roots. Anra watched them for a moment, thinking of how unaccustomed the two women still were to some tasks, then carried her water inside, storing it in two large jugs.

  A gust of wind whined by when she came back outside; the clouds above were darker. Anra wrestled with the cistern, finally managing to remove its cover.

  A robot was turning the garden's soil, lifting the dirt with its pincers, then scuttling forward on its crablike limbs. Lydee sat back on her heels. She had shed her silver suit and was wearing a light-brown tunic and pants, but silver boots gleamed on her feet; Lydee refused to wear anything made of leather. Etey stood up, stretching. Anra looked around, wondering where Rulek had gone.

  Sensing Anra's thought, Lydee pointed toward the field. In the distance, she could see Rulek's blond head poking above the wheat; he, Riene, and Barla were speaking to Jerod. The bald man turned, leading them all toward his tent. Anra frowned. Rulek might spend the rest of the day there; with skydwellers, one often lost track of time.

  Lydee came to Anra's side and touched her thoughts. —I'm sorry that your meeting with Silla and Harel wasn't more pleasant—

  —I didn't expect it to be—

  —You're stubborn sometimes. You and Silla are alike in that. Well, they won't be here much longer. There's no help we can give them. Marellon and I will return them to their village tomorrow— Lydee sighed. —Silla worries about the Minds, but right now I'm more concerned about the approaching comet—

  —So am I— Etey said as she joined them. —It hasn't turned from its path. Homesmind has plotted its probable route. It's heading directly toward the largest of the planets in this system, and that planet's gravity will deflect it toward us. Homesmind thinks it may intend us harm. It has sensed only a whisper of its Mind, a cold, terrifying whisper unlike any It has ever heard. Already a few of my people are saying that we should leave this system immediately—

  Anra shivered. —What could it want from us?—

  —I don't know. But if Homesmind is worried, there is reason to fear that comet—

  Lightning forked through the sky as thunder rumbled. The three retreated to the hut as rain began to fall. Etey poured some water into an earthen basin as Anra sat down. —Maybe your people should go— she said. —We can't expect you to stay if you'll be in danger—

  —Earth may be in danger, too— Lydee replied. —We can't just abandon you—

  —I've never heard of one comet world threatening another— Etey said. —But this comet world might have diverged from others and become something very different, or it might be an alien construct. There might well be others who wander through space as we do, and we don't know what purposes they might have— Her thoughts were a web of gleaming strands; she was pulling at each as if testing its strength, waiting for a thread either to lead her to an answer or to unravel the web. —But what could it gain by hostility? A comet world and cometdwellers can meet all their needs without threatening anyone—

  —That Mind, whatever It is, may not think of Itself as hostile— Lydee said. —It may only seem that way to us—

  A slap of thunder sounded outside; the doorway was bright with light. Anra opened her link to Homesmind. It was waiting, curious about the approaching newcomer, Its thoughts still, but she could sense the ripple of Its apprehension.

  Do not fear, Homesmind whispered as she withdrew from Its thoughts. Anra was not consoled.

  "Lydee," she said aloud. Her aunt turned toward her; Etey, still washing her hands in the basin, looked up. "We talked of traveling together. Perhaps I should go with you to my parents' village. I said such cruel things to them before. I didn't mean to, but I couldn't stop myself. Maybe I should try to reach out to them now, before ..." Her voice trailed off. She had been about to say "before it's too late."

  "You're welcome to come with us."

  "But I'm also worried about Rulek." She felt oddly uncomfortable mentioning the boy. "I found him and I brought him here. I can't leave him alone now, not when he's just arrived, can I?" She suddenly blocked her thoughts of Rulek, afraid to examine them too closely.

  Lydee raised an eyebrow. "Your friends will look after the boy, as will Etey. He's made friends quickly and seems extremely adaptable, from what I've been shown." Rulek could get along without her; perhaps he would even start to miss her. "Very well," Anra said at last. "I'll go with you, then." She would be the first of the young people here to see more of Earth; they would all be curious about her experience when she came back. Wasn't this what being a member of a bridge community was all about? Rulek would see that she was not afraid to reach out.

  FIVE

  The shuttle skimmed over the land, its runners brushing the tips of tall grass blades. Ahead, Anra could see a landscape of low, rolling hills; to the south, the grassy roofs of a few huts were barely visible.

  The craft lifted itself as they approached the hills. Anra knew that Lydee could have made the trip in less time. The shuttle could have soared above the clouds and then dropped toward their destination. But her aunt had sensed that traveling that way would have disturbed and disoriented Silla and Harel.

  Lydee was resting in the seat next to Anra's, letting the craft pilot itself along the path she had set. Behind them, Marellon was keeping Anra's parents occupied in musings about old times.

  Anra kept up her wall, saying nothing. She had smiled at Silla and Harel before climbing into the craft, hoping they might see that she was regretting her hard words, but they had looked uncomfortable in her presence. Now she felt angry with them once more. If it hadn't been for them, she could have stayed with Rulek, who might have needed her more; she had sensed the sorrow that was still inside him.

  A hand holding a wafer suddenly appeared at her side; Anra turned. Marellon was offering her food. She took it, then accepted a glass of wine. Marellon leaned back. Harel, sitting next to him, was nibbling at a large
red piece of fruit. Silla wasn't eating at all; she stared absently at the land outside the shuttle's dome, her face turned away from her daughter.

  Marellon sat up abruptly, his mouth open. Harel's eyes widened as his face grew pale; Silla reached for her partner's hand. In that instant, Anra felt a dizzying ripple.

  Her mind suddenly fell in on itself, becoming a hard, solid object. The tenuous cords of the Net were gone; she could hear nothing except the low hum of the craft. She pushed against her wall, unable to move it; she was deaf and blind to all other thoughts. She let out a cry and the wall shattered.

  The craft was filled with the buzzing of frightened minds. Lydee clutched the arms of her seat; her lips were pressed tightly together.

  "Did you feel it?" Harel said aloud. Marellon nodded. "We felt the same thing before, once, in our village."

  "What was it?" Anra managed to ask.

  "A malfunction," Lydee answered. "The Minds failing temporarily. That's all it could be."

  Silla stretched out on her seat; her face had a yellowish tinge. "It's gone now." Her face contorted. "But what about the next time, and the next? And what happens if the Minds fail altogether?"

  "They must have repaired the problem by now," Marellon answered. "You shouldn't worry."

  "Shouldn't worry!" Silla's dark eyes were wide with fear. "The last time we felt it, a friend was flying toward our home. Had she been farther from the ground, the fall would have killed her when she lost her powers. As it is, she broke some bones." She sat up. "It could happen again. I'm afraid to fly now. Imagine it—being injured, without even the power to reach inside yourself and heal your wounds." Harel took her hand, trying to soothe his partner.

  "I spoke to the Minds a short time ago," Anra said. "I was inside one of the mountains where They're housed. They told me we had nothing to fear." She wanted to believe that.

  Her mother's eyes narrowed. She was gazing at Anra with suspicion, and Anra caught a glimpse of Silla's thoughts. Silla feared her and feared the village of which her daughter was a part.