Homesmind (8 page)

Gennon jostled her elbow as he reached for the chicken wings. "To Anra's new home," Jaan said aloud. Anra turned toward the opposite end of the bench, where the black-haired Jaan was seated. "And to Rulek, our new friend." The boy raised his cup.

"We're going to move into one of the other huts nearby," Barla said. "The other girls and I. That way, we'll all be together." She glanced at Rulek significantly.

"Really," Anra said quietly.

"We'll have a hut, too," Kierlus murmured, speaking for the other boys. "Our own little village within a village." Everyone began to babble of plans for their huts.

Anra tried to smile as she looked up from her bowl of chicken and vegetables; Rulek was watching her. She could guess his thoughts, even though his wall was still up. He was annoyed with her for not being as cheerful as the others; maybe he was already wishing that he hadn't promised to share this hut. He might have shared one with the boys, or with Barla. Anra scolded herself silently. She had to bury such thoughts, lest Rulek see them.

She leaned forward, offering a few suggestions of her own as the others spoke of the gardens they would plant and the tasks they would undertake together. Once they were settled, perhaps some of the younger children could join them. They spoke of these children to Rulek, summoning up images of each while describing their personalities. Anra spoke of Chal, telling of how Lydee and Marellon had brought him here from a village on the other side of Earth, a place beyond the vast, salty lake to the west. In that village, according to Lydee, all the people lived in caves, had Chal's black hair and almond-shaped eyes, and decorated their homes with ivory and jade carvings so ancient that they might have come from the time before Earth built the Minds.

The talk died down as they finished their food. A few of the young people were communing mentally, while Rulek still cloaked his thoughts. No one seemed to mind; he would mindspeak more readily when he got to know them.

"There is one thing that puzzles me," Rulek said abruptly. Everyone looked toward him expectantly. "You have heavendwellers here, and they've given you the small, glowing lights that have opened your minds. You've learned something of their ways. Yet you keep to this village, and farm as its people always have, and keep a few customs while rejecting others."

"We stay here now," Paeter said, "but we'll begin going to other villages eventually."

"But why haven't you simply become like the heaven-dwellers? Anra has told me that her aunt grew up on their world and that they would allow others to live there. Why haven't you gone?"

Anra sat up, surprised that such a question could come from one who had been among them for so short a time.

Viya smiled, tugging at her white tunic as though preening herself. "Anra should have told you why." She blushed as she toyed with one of her blond curls. "We're a bridge between the skydwellers and Earth. By combining the ways of both, we can help Earthfolk and skydwellers draw closer." Viya arched her brows at Anra, who gazed back sourly; she had explained that to Rulek before.

"But that isn't happening, is it?" Rulek folded his hands. "The rest of Earth avoids you, and you avoid it. You don't really know much about it and its people except what the Minds might have shown you. And you don't seem to reach out to the skydwellers all that much. Oh, you allow them to come here, and accept their help, but you let them keep to themselves for the most part, don't you? The heavendwellers could give you an easy life, yet you refuse it. You prefer to live here, waiting for something that will never come to pass."

"It will take time," Fiella said.

"Time." Rulek shrugged. "No time will be long enough. You could spare yourselves much pain."

"Some pain is necessary," Fiella replied.

"You know nothing of it. If you did, you'd do anything to avoid it." Anra, hearing the sorrow in his voice, again wished that she could heal his wounds somehow.

Jaan was yawning. Gennon swung his legs over the bench and stood up, muttering an excuse about having to work in the fields next morning. Others rose, saying their farewells. Anra watched them go, annoyed that they had picked this moment to leave. Rulek had spoken frankly; now he would think that her friends did not want to share his thoughts.

Barla lingered, but Rulek was no longer paying attention to her. At last she picked up the bowls she had brought and left.

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. "You 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."