Chapter 13 – Many Fathers…
Exhaustion weighed on Kendra’s shoulders. Her back ached. Her swollen ankles throbbed. Though it had been only a couple of hours since she had eaten a large share of Ribose rabbit, her bulging stomach continued to growl. She struggled against the temptation to cease pulling at the wooden paddle that circulated the fabrics as they soaked in the indigo dye. The mudders might no longer depend upon woman and man to kill the game their hunger required, but Kendra remained a clone, a being defined by responsibility and labor. No matter how she ached, it was not easy for her pride to rest and watch while others lifted the labor she dropped.
Tall and slim Mallek saw how Kendra sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the wet hem of her blouse. So that male mudder released his paddle and stepped away from the vat to rest a blue hand on Kendra’s knee.
“None of us are going to think any less of you, Kendra, if you left the fabric tent to find some rest this afternoon. No one will think that you’re failing at a duty.”
Kendra returned Mallek’s smile. Joy was always dancing in the eyes of that male. She always saw mirth in that face branded with the two, blue circles that marked Mallek as a clone. She knew that Mallek held as much affection for her as she held for him. They had often sought one another’s tents during the night for warmth, companionship and pleasure. For not the first time, she wondered if Mallek might’ve been the mate with whom she conceived the child growing within her belly, if it had been Mallek’s touch that transformed her from a lover into a mother. Perhaps she would know after delivering her child into the world. Perhaps she would recognize a little of Mallek’s mirth when she looked into her baby’s eyes, eyes that would go unmarked by the twin bands that for so long labeled the clone an inferior product compared to woman and man.
“I only want to contribute,” Kendra rested her chin upon Mallek’s strong shoulder.
“You are very far along. It will soon be time to deliver your child, and you’ll need all the strength you can muster when that moment arrives. And you shouldn’t expect to find much rest after the baby comes to your tent. So rest now. Rest while you still can.”
“I hate feeling like a helpless and swollen thing.”
Mallek chuckled. “Even the splicer-lynx females birth cubs. Would you fear a pregnant lynx any less than another? All the creatures in the new wild deliver offspring to the world. Our offspring will be a great blessing to us. It’s only natural.”
She knew that Mallek strove to lift her spirits, but Kendra couldn’t help but snarl. “Very easy for you to say. You’ll never have a baby kicking around in your gut.”
“I will not. So let me lift a little of your labor. Let me help.”
Kendra ceased her fight and watched Mallek and the others work a little harder to pick up the pace that was lost when Kendra ceased stirring her vat’s dye. She watched the muscles of Mallek’s back as his arms stirred the paddle. He was strong and dutiful, and Kendra would feel pleased if she discovered him to be her baby’s father. Perhaps she would name Jarvis her child’s dad. She had not closed her tent to him after learning that Jarvis likely fathered so many of the babies crying within the camp. She might name a half-dozen other clone lovers as the father. When her child entered the new wild and cried because of the hunger and the cold, Kendra would stare deep and long at the child’s features and do her best to link the twist of the lips, or the shape of the chin, to the appropriate lover.
All the clone females who that season found themselves transformed into mothers played that imagination game of linking their children to fathers. The males showed little effort to match babies with fathers. Those males appeared to love every child the same. Yet Kendra couldn’t help but wander which lover made her a mother. Would her baby be gifted with Jarvis’ grace and speed? Would the baby’s chest hold Mallek’s joyous heart? Was one father stronger or weaker than another? Kendra often thought of Sansa’s suffering that day her friend lost her baby, and Kendra dreaded to consider that whatever sickness killed Sansa’s baby might also kill her own. How might she bear such a loss? Was one of her potential lovers healthier than another? Could one of the potential fathers supply her baby with the resiliency required to survive upon the savanna? Kendra frowned. Her mind swooned when she stepped into such a maelstrom of thoughts. What did mudders know concerning the secrets that males and females mixed together when creating children? Clones were not genetic creators, and Kendra still struggled to understand why mudders now held the power to introduce new life into the second world. Her world turned so strange.
Kendra only confused herself when she allowed her thoughts to brood. There was also the possibility that her baby’s father was no mudder. She loved that son of the great hunter Wyatt Holmes. She had loved that man with all the fire held in her heart to encourage him to pull his weapon’s trigger and provide sustenance to her community. He had failed despite all she had given, and perhaps that failure was for the best, for the clones now wielded those weapons themselves, no longer dependent on others to hunt through the grass. But she had loved that son of the great Wyatt Holmes, and the baby growing in her stomach may have been fathered by that man as much as it may have been fathered by any clone.
What would it mean if a man instead of a mudder fathered her child? Would it mean anything at all? Would she love the child any less or more depending if the father was a mudder or a man?
Kendra felt very large, and soon, she hoped to deliver her baby into a world her kind shared with creatures as majestic as the genolope and as terrible as the splicer-lynx. The thought of what the grass might hold for her offspring terrified her. But she knew her baby would be no less incredible than any other creature introduced into the new wild, and her heart sang to realize her baby’s face would never be touched by the dual rings of the mudder brand.
* * * * *
About the Writer
Brian S. Wheeler resides in rural, Southern Illinois with his wife Erin and his young daughter Kate in a home shared with three German shepherds and a small cat named Izzy. Brian has worn many hats to earn a living. He has worked as a high school English teacher and community college composition instructor. For many years, Brian worked as a marketing manager and a graphic designer for a very successful auction company. Brian has also freelanced as a designer and consultant, and he has just completed vocational training in the welding trade. Writing is Brian’s favorite activity, and he works to one day realize his dream of earning a living by crafting stories of fantasy and science fiction.
The rural Midwest inspires much of Brian's work, and he hopes any connections readers might make between his fiction and the places and people he has had the pleasure to know are positive. When not writing, Brian does his best to keep organized, to get a little exercise, or to try to train good German Shepherd dogs. He remains an avid reader. More information regarding Brian S. Wheeler, his novels, and his short stories can be found by visiting his website at https://www.flatlandfiction.com.
Visit Brian S. Wheeler Online
Find Brian S. Wheeler’s newest short stories and novels online by visiting his website at www.flatlandfiction.com. Brian always welcomes feedback and thoughts sent to his email at [email protected].
Old Hunters on the New Wild Page 18