Stone Seeds (4 page)

“He's here.” Jengi shouts behind him, notifying the others
for the first time.

“I couldn't tell ‘em before,” he explains to Tomax. “They're … emotional. Right now. They'd have brought the whole roof down on your head. Amateurs.” He says, dismissively.

There are loud voices now. Shouts and hollers. Tomax hears his name spoken. Laughter. And then voices getting farther away. Nothing to see here. Drone strikes on the edge farms are so common since the last drought and none of Tomax's neighbours can afford to be caught in an act of rescue at a bomb site when The Egg Men arrive. That'd be a quick way to die or have your family's grain rations cancelled, which would mean death too, only a slower one. Jengi checks the sky. Calculates he has less than six minutes left before the Egg Men arrive on the scene. He starts counting down in his head.

But for Tomax's mother time will be forever divided this way: There will be who she was before this bomb. Who she was after it.

Tomax sees his mother turn, fall to her knees on the hard soil. Jengi looks briefly in her direction and then seems to forget her. He identifies the beam which has saved Tomax's life, pats it like an old friend. Admires the workmanship in the hinges and brackets. He squints down at the small opening he's made to let Tomax breathe better, relieve the strain on his neck. Now he starts slowly taking rubble from above the beam, using it to stabilise the exposed ends of the wooden beam underneath.

Bent tin roofs and stacks of broken bricks rise around Tomax. For a time there's more building than digging, it seems, and Jengi looks grim, intensely concentrating on the work. Looking in the direction the Egg Men's trucks will come.
They have three minutes.

A little further off, Tomax's mother is still on her knees, giving thanks to the baobab for Jengi.

Jengi shrugs. Looks at her from time to time and then quickly away. Wipes the dirt out of his eyes with the back of his arm, and then turning in a long swathe, casting a shrewd gaze over the rubble that lies over Tomax.

Jengi has dug down to just above Tomax's waist before he risks pulling him out hard. “We'll have to make it fast. When I pull on you then the beam will shift left sharply, all this …” and now he indicates the pile above and behind Tomax, “it's going to come down, crush your legs. So one short heave, yeah? And if you make it out then you run as soon as your feet hit the floor.” Earth falls away from Tomax. Jengi drags him back quickly before the avalanche of sand and rubble, brick. And then a sickening crump as the roof is dislodged.

“Holy dursed baobab, Tomax that was close.” Jengi mops a seam of sweat from his eyebrows. Grins.

There's blood. Tomax thinks. There is too much of it. It's dribbling down from the right side of his face, clouding his vision. “Am I …?” Tomax can't think of the word. Rubble has started sliding down from the top of the stack.

“Let's go. Move.” Jengi says. Only Tomax can't move.

Jengi drags Tomax rough and fast, by his left arm and right hand.

The flames climb over the rubble behind them, the heat rises. Flames catch a hold.

Tomax sees the fire veering up behind his mother. She is still on her knees.

For a long strange moment she looks to him like a puppet
without strings, a pile of rags praying to the baobab, and then she twitches, shudders with life. She cries out then, and getting up. Staggering toward Jengi and her son.

Jengi dumps Tomax on the ground at a safe distance from the fire. “One minute,” he says. “The Egg Men will be on the scene in one minute.” Glancing up at Tomax's mother. And then, “He needs a doctor.”

“A doctor?” She looks at him. “This is edge farm land, Jengi. There's no doctor.”

“Mamma Zeina.”

“Mamma Zeina?” She examines Jengi's face.

“She's a Sinta. She's in the killing forest right now. She was a doctor in the before. I can pull Tomax through the hole in the fence, the one that I just came through.” He pauses. “I can do it if you help me.”

They are face to face. “Jengi. The killing forest?”

“Yes.”

She looks down at her son. She steels herself. And then slipping her hands underneath his armpits, then eases her arms through, makes a loop of her right hand, left wrist. Now she can feel Tomax's heart thrum against the knuckles of her right hand, and the palm of her left. He's alive, she keeps telling herself. For those who believe in miracles, there seems to be one on the edge farms every day. Jengi takes Tomax's feet.

They stagger toward the fence with Tomax's long, heavy body between them.

Tomax hears the crackle of fire, swish of the killing trees. The Egg Mens' truck wheels, getting closer.

And then the coolness of the forest. Smell of dark moss.

THE FENCE

ZORRY IS SITTING IN the nipping saplings just inside the fence.

Sees Mamma Zeina coming toward her through the dark mouth of the forest. Things move around her but Mamma Zeina trudges onward. Crackling of bracken under slow, heavy feet.

“You're late.”

“I been busy child.” Mamma Zeina sighs. Wipes her hand across her forehead. Leaves a palm print of blood. She seems to see Zorry for the first time. “You alright?”

“I'm alright. Why you late?” Zorry asks, a little peevishly. She'd spent several anxious hours the wrong side of the fence to the killing forest, dark things moving around her. There's an edge in her voice.

Mamma Zeina eyes her. “This your first time in the killing forest?”

“Yes.”

“And you spent it alone?” Mamma Zeina appears to consider this. “That's good work, Child.” And then, “You'll do, Zorry.” Smiles. “Mayhap you're cut out for this work. Ever think of that?” Scratches herself. “You got bitten, Zorry?”

“No. Don't think so.”

“Not bad, not bad.” Mamma Zeina says. “You did well.” Mamma Zeina seems to take the thought and deposit it
somewhere. Rolls her eyes. “Follow me.”

Zorry follows.

“I heard something,” Zorry says. “When you were gone. At first I thought it was a bomb but it seemed too small. And then another one. It came from t'other side of the forest. From the Edge farmlands.”

Mamma Zeina rubs her forehead, doesn't answer for a while, and when she does it's an answer to a question Zorry didn't ask.

“Good news is I found a plant on my way back. Almost tripped over it. In fact, you might say that it found me.” Mamma Zeina lifts her sack to show Zorry. The sack is wriggling. Mamma Zeina holds it away from her stomach and soft parts. Zorry eyes it. “Gotta take it home and splice it to the root.” Mamma Zeina says. And now, as though it heard her, the plant struggles harder. And then a gnawing sound, like it chews on the sack.

Mamma Zeina grins. “Come on, Child. The Egg Men are about to check this length of fencing. The bombings get them Egg Men jittery. We're in the wrong place at the wrong time, Zorry. C'mon, Girl. Let's go.”

When they're safely at the backdoor to Mamma Zeina's cottage, the sack is dangerously quiet. Zorry eyes it, “If you're sure you're alright with that …”

“This? Ha! I can handle this.” A deep, throaty chuckle. Shakes the sack.

“Alright then. I'll be … I'd best be …” But Mamma Zeina holds her back by her arm. Just above the elbow. “Zorry,” she says. Low voice.

“Yes?”

“The feast at the general's house …”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow … is it your first time serving the feast too?” Examines the girl's face. “Are you ready?”

Zorry eyes the sack. The plant is quite still now. As though it's listening.

“Yes.” She says. She thinks of something. “You didn't check my fence suture.”

“No, I didn't, Zorry.” Sighs. “There wasn't time. So … Did you heal the wound in the fence good, Zorry?”

“Yes. At least … I think so. I've not done it on my own before.”

“Well, let's cross our fingers. Because they'll check it. With the bomb and all.”

Zorry takes a breath. “I'm pretty sure I healed the hole in the fence.”

“Good. That's good Zorry.” Examines the girl's face once more. She appears to be pleased with whatever it is she sees there. “You'll do.” She repeats. Long, low whistle. “You may be the assistant I've been looking for.” She appears to be speaking more to herself than to Zorry. Looks up at the girl, who's a clear foot taller than the short-legged, stocky old woman. “Right then, Zorry.” She says crisply. “You best be getting on your way. Stay in the copse until you're sure your way's clear.”

Mamma Zeina showed Zorry just the once how to make a hole in the fence and then restitch, dab the fence with a plant concoction. The wound in it is supposed to close and grow over, if you get the mixture and the application just right. Zorry believes she has got the knack of these chemical sutures to the fence.

But she's wrong.

Closing the fence wound, Zorry had failed to notice a small hole, about the size of a pencil tip. It glows black at first. And then with the two Sinta well out of sight, the black hole turns waxen green. There is a small leaf unfurling through it.

Vine bleeding down.

Now the gap widens around the vine stem.

The leaf eases itself softly toward the dark soil beneath.

Fertile OneFolks' soil. The vine tongues the ground. Sniffs the air.

Now the hole widens to a mouth size. New vines seethe through the gap.

Zorry pauses, unsure. She thinks of something. “What were you doing in there?” Turns to Mamma Zeina. “Why did you take so long in the killing forest? We risked getting caught by the fence.”

“That's always a risk, Zorry.” Mamma Zeina grunts. “Tell me that you knew that, Child, or why you even come with me?” And then, as if to herself, “There was an edge farm kid.” She rubs her head. Then she looks at her hand, wipes her palm on her apron. Leaves a stripe of blood down it.

“The droning sound? They were bombs?”

“Yes. Neck injury. Left arm. Busted ear drums. A few broken ribs. He's going to be alright. He is lucky.” She looks thoughtful. “Too lucky. I've never seen a blast victim come out in more or less one piece the way Tomax did.”

“Tomax …” Zorry thinks the name is familiar. “And that bomb, Mamma? It was strange.”

“Strange?”

“I heard the drone but it didn't sound like a strike, Mamma Zeina.”

“Aye. Yes, Zorry. This was a small one I reckon. This was something new.”

“A small bomb?”

“Yes, Zorry. Small and personal by the looks of it.”

“Who was it aimed at?”

“As far as I can see it must'a bin' just that kid, Tomax. Can't see why they'd expend that kind of effort, ammunition, over the boy, but … Seems to be more to it than the seeming. How things appear in Bavarnica mostly ain't … Representative.”

“Representative?”

“True, Child. Meaning iffen they wanted the boy dead then he would be. Mostly don't trust your eyes, Zorry, that's the gist of it. But this bomb seemed more like a warning to me.”

“Who is Tomax?”

Mamma Zeina examines Zorry's face. She stops talking for a moment. And then, “Tomax is a kid who works in the gem mines on the edge of the OneFolks' village.” She looks thoughtful. “That might be where his problem started. Mayhap some dispute with his guards.” She scratches the side of her head. “He's got himself on to a list, by the looks of it.” She strokes her round chin. “I'm not sure how. But I'll think on it.”

“Is he going to be alright?”

“Like I said, Zorry. Tomax was warned.” She scratches a mosquito bite on the back of her neck. “Or mayhap he was spared by someone. Good can infiltrate any system, that's what we Sinta say.” She sniffs. “But then again it could'a been dumb luck saved him. He was under a beam. Strong beam. He
got out before the building … Before the fire took a hold and the rats and all came.”

Zorry shudders.

“But mostly he was lucky because Jengi happened to be on the edge farm side of the killing forest and saw it all through the fence. Jengi has some expertise in … That kind of rescue.” She checks the girl for understanding. “Jengi is the last of the Digger tribe. Do you know what that means?”

Zorry examines her palm.

“Well young Tomax has survived today but maybe not tomorrow lest we can get him re-certified tame …” Mamma Zeina stops talking again. She looks up. Sees something behind Zorry. “Egg boy,” she hisses. “Heading this way.”

Zorry whips around and tries to look behind her but Mamma Zeina yanks her arm and spins her, shoves her in the direction of the copse behind her cottage.

“Go,
go
.”

She notices Zorry makes no sound at all, crossing the yard to the copse. Looks down at her sack affectionately. All in all, it's been a night of revelations.

“I've found some gems tonight, haven't I?”

Zorry is bedded down in soft, curling ferns, a thorn bush conceals her. She pulls back its mottled waxen leaves, she peers through. The lights blink off in Mamma Zeina's cottage. And in a bit, a small candle appears in the old woman's window.

REPORT 1: SEEDS

“WHAT'S YOUR NAME?”

The voice is brusque. Cold. Jengi thinks it sounds familiar. He pauses.

“This is my first report, Sir. Will it be … Is this a secure line?”

“Go ahead.”

“And you'll help us?”

Pause. “Jengi. What do you have to report?”

Jengi clears his throat. “Where shall I start?”

“Start with the Sinta.”

Jengi lets out a breath. “The Sinta are a slave tribe in Bavarnica. Slaves since the last revolution failed.”

“Go on, Jengi.”

“Those Sinta who remain in the OneFolks' village are survivors of the purge after the revolution. They are the Sinta who didn't run. Servitude. It was the worst punishment there is for a proud tribe like the Sinta. But still not the worst the general dished out after the failed revolution.”

“I see.”

“There's what he did to the edge farmers.”

“The edge farmers?”

Jengi sighs. “Every Bavarnican tribe but the general's own, the OneFolk, was pushed over the border in the long ago. Out there facing the heat together, the outcasts became one tribe: The Edge Farmers.”

“Okay, lots of tribes, got it. But exile? Since when is that the worst punishment?”

“It's been a slow motion genocide, Sir. Leaving the edge farmers to scratch a living, starve on the edge farms which border the desert was the worst punishment the general could think up for them. With respect, Sir, you'd have to stand in that desert ten minutes to understand what it means for a Bavarnican to be exiled.”

“They can't farm by the desert?”

“No. They don't get the drought resistant seeds. I mean … A few get government approval for the drought resistant seeds. They can grow in drought season and the drought seeds confer some heat resistance iffen you consume ‘em raw and by the handful. Those farmers are closely controlled and can lose their privilege at a moment's notice. And they know it. Death is all around them. They are controllable. A handful more edge farm folks work the gem mines in the OneFolks' village. As for the rest …”

“Wait. A handful of edge farmers in the OneFolks' village you say?”

“About a hundred, all told. Men and women. Firstborns mostly. But for the rest of the Edge Farmers … Slow death. There's no water source at the edge, unless you count the dirty puddles soaking out under the fence of the killing forest. Filled with disease and toxins from the lab plants. Not enough to get by on, even if the water doesn't kill you outright. Water ain't their only problem. The edge farms get the stone seeds, like I said.”

“The stone seeds?”

“It's what the edge farmers call them. On account they
mean death. You must have seen the orange sacks, no? Well, they are the ancient seeds. Un-modified. Nothing can grow from them. Not in the heat of the edge farms.”

“And yet … Jengi. Something is growing out there. Growing from the stone seeds.”

“Not much.”

“Not much isn't the same thing as nothing, Jengi. Why are the stone seeds growing at all?”

“Aye. Well, that's where I come in, Sir. My work in the shop. Mixing the ancient seeds with the drought seeds, before they leave the shop. Difficult, dangerous, working under Gaddys' nose. I get some help.”

“Help? Is that from the mother cupboards? I have something about them here …” The voice seems suddenly excited. “And that's the Sinta resistance I take it?” Jengi hears the rustling of sheets of paper. “Wait … Let me find a pen, write this down.”

“We'll get to it later.”

Pause. “I see, Jengi.”

Jengi notes the reproachful tone and ignores it.

And then, “Do you, Sir?” He asks. “Tell me. What is it you see?”

The line goes silent. Jengi takes a deep breath. He speaks into the void. Says the whole thing just like he has practised.

“The desert is swallowing up the edge farms' rugged pastures like a great toothless mouth since the heat rose and the edge farmers' rains were reallocated by the general. Only the OneFolk and the Egg Men who protect the OneFolk, a scattering of surviving Sinta who serve tables and cook for a slave's pay, meaning food, are still allowed inside the
OneFolks' village, meaning the Sinta and the Egg Men, a few gem miners who are edge farmers Gaddys certified tame, and they all don't so much live alongside the OneFolk tribe as live underneath them. We all live underneath them.”

“Take a breath, Jengi.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“They told me you were a storyteller, Jengi. But try to keep it to a minimum would you? It gets on my nerves. I'd like to see some simple facts in your next report. Jengi? Did you hear me? Numbers. Names. Coordinates. You might want to think about making a list, Jengi. Making a map. Do you get me?”

No answer.

“Remind me, Jengi. What are the Bavarnican tribes again?”

“Yes, Sir. There are three tribes now. Four if you count the general's OneFolk, although they don't call themselves a tribe, the OneFolks.”

“But they are a tribe. According to you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Start with the non-organics. What was it you called them?”

“The Egg Men?”

“Yes, the Egg Men. You said they're the soldiers. The guards.”

“Yes. Only the officers' class of the military are organics, OneFolks. The rest are made in a lab. Them's the Egg Boys. And batch 47 is the last batch of eggs. They …”

“Hang on a bit. Slow down, Jengi. And, who were exiled? Who works the land by the desert?”

“Edge Farmers!”

Pause. “Your voice sounds impatient. Jengi.”

“Sorry, Sir.” Now Jengi knows he's talking too fast, “The
edge farmers were the ones banished to work the poor soil beside the desert. They … They are not allowed into the OneFolks' village. Not unless it's to collect their grain rations. They only get those if they're certified tame.”

“Right. So then there's the slaves in the OneFolks' village. The Sinta. Okay, lots of tribes,” he sighs. “Holy bewildering crap, Jengi … lots of tribes. Got it. I think I got it. Okay, look.” Sound of shuffled papers again. “We'll get back to you, Jengi.”

“Yes. But Sir?”

“What is it, Jengi?”

“There is just one other tribe.” Jengi takes a deep breath. “There was one other tribe in Bavarnica.”

“You said was?”

“I am the last of the Digger tribe. When I'm gone …”

“You're the last?”

“We rose up against the general. It was our revolution.”

“And how did that go, Jengi?”

“We tried to go it alone …” He can't finish. There is a coughing sound.

“I see.” The voice says drily. “I think I'm beginning to understand, Jengi. And that's why you want to build a coalition of all the tribes for your next revolution?” The voice becomes brusque. Hard. “Give me some names, Jengi. Who are your Seeds? I'm assuming you have at least one Thought Seed planted in each tribe or we why are we even cooking together here? Jengi?”

Pause. “I have … three Seeds in mind.”

“Names?”

“Sir. No names. At least not … Not yet.”

Sighs. “Jengi?” Pause. Low voice. “There is only the one
way for me to help you.”

Longer pause. “And this line is secure?”

“Go ahead Jengi.”

“The names are …” There is a long silence. And then muffled sounds, slide and thump. The sound of Jengi kicking a tree trunk repeatedly. Something falls out of the tree.

“Jengi. I'm hanging up now.”

“Antek. Egg Boy.” The sound of Jengi breathing out fast. Pause again. Then his voice in a rush, “Tomax. Edge Farm boy.” He says. Longest pause. “Zzz …” He stops. There's a silence. “That's it.”

“You said three. You said there were three Seeds. You said Z?”

“I said that's it.”

“Jengi?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You still need a Sinta. Get recruiting.”

“It's not … It isn't … The Sinta believe that … They have …” He sighs. “Yes, Sir. I'll find a Sinta.”