Root (Energy Anthology) (2 page)

“Ric’ua!” the old woman called out. The Others did not attack him, but instead gathered tighter and seemed to be even more interested in him than before. What had she told them? Were these not the Others? A woman broke from the circle around him. Her figure was silhouetted against the bonfire as she cautiously approached them. She moved to the other side of them and knelt to the earth. The blaze now illuminated her features. Her eyes sparkled and glowed as if they were made of diamonds. The fire accented what lines and wrinkles life had given her, but it was difficult to determine her age. She stared at Lam for a brief moment before turning her face up to the standing woman.

“Your son no longer lives,” the round one said.

A wail burst from the woman kneeling beside him. The diamond sparkles in her eyes fell to her cheeks and rushed to her chin. She collapsed to the ground, moaning and shuddering. Gasps and cries rose from the crowd all around. The old woman raised her arms to the people, signaling for silence.

“Ric’ua,” she spoke to the weeping woman, “Ric’ua, mourn as you must, but you are blessed this night.” Ric’ua raised her head to look at her. Streaks of mud caked her face, a mask of dirt and tears.

“But, Shen-Ma… my
child…
” She trailed into sobs once again. Lam looked in wonder from woman to woman.

The old one hobbled the few steps it took to lay her hand on Ric’ua’s head. “Your child has willingly stepped aside. He has seen the great need of this land, and offered himself in service, that a Seed may be planted in his place.”

“He was only sent for gurja fruit!” Ric’ua howled, oblivious to the eyes resting on her every move, the ears hanging on her every word. “He was to return quickly! My son was told!”

The Shen-Ma patted her head gently. “This is your son now.”

“NO!” she screeched. “I will not have it! I won’t! I will have my Pael! This is
not
my son!” The crowd stood motionless, barely breathing, neither moving to assist, nor in a hurry to comfort the distraught member of their own. It was as if they knew they must not interfere with this interaction. Were they afraid? If they were afraid, which were they afraid of— the old woman or the mother?

“This
is
your son.”

“No! He is different. This is
not
Pael!”

“No,” agreed the old woman, “This is the body of Pael, but this is not Pael. You have been gifted Another.

“Before you now is the Seed of the Stars.”

The people collectively gasped as understanding suddenly ran rampant among them. The Shen-Ma’s words were repeated and whispered from person to person. They snuck uncomfortable glances at him as they stepped back, their circle expanding once again. Their bodies and curiosity retreated deeper into the shadows.

From the ground, another understanding also dawned. They were not afraid of the women.

They were afraid of Lam.

• FOUR •

“What is your name?”

Ric’ua scurried back a few paces, as if nearness to him would become dangerous when he spoke. The Shen-Ma shifted her great round belly toward him, to further indicate he had been addressed. “What are you called?”

He looked from the Shen-Ma to the mother. Her mud mask was quickly drying and cracking, giving her face a reptilian appearance. Her breathing was quick and shallow. Her shoulders visibly shook. He knew she could burst into tears again at any moment, and he did not wish that for her. Something within him felt
warm
towards her.

The tree branch prodded his ribs again. He turned back to the Shen-Ma, who simply waited patiently.

“L-Lam,” he said.

“Lam,” she repeated. She spread her arms again to the ring of people. “He is called Lam!” she bellowed. “Pael is no longer among us, but we have been gifted with Lam!

“He is The Seed!”

The crowd burst into cheers and shouts of rejoicing. They moved in closer, dancing and clapping, quickly abandoning their circle formation. The Shen-Ma extended a hand to Lam, and he found his body would now respond. He grasped her strong hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. The people formed themselves into a single audience before the three of them as the Shen-Ma offered her other hand to Ric’ua. The woman hesitated, and seemed to notice the crowd for the first time, though she had come from it herself. She stared at the people, wide-eyed.

“Ric’ua,” the Shen-Ma beckoned. Ric’ua slowly stood and took her hand. The old woman smiled reassuringly and nodded. She pulled Lam and Ric’ua’s hands together before the bonfire. The people held their breath, watching their fingers interlace as the Shen-Ma wished. The old woman raised their joined hands as high as her thick arms could reach.

“The Mother and The Son!” she cried.

The crowd erupted into joyful shouts once again as the old woman leaned close to the two before her. “Take him home now, Ric’ua. Embrace your son.”

Ric’ua appeared momentarily horrified, as if it hadn’t yet occurred on her that she would be bringing him home. Lam felt a similar hesitation, but the warmth and familiarity that was also inside him for this woman quickly overcame it. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him, but he realized he did want to go with Ric’ua. He smiled at her and offered his other hand. Seemingly comforted by his gesture, she slowly placed her hand inside it. With their eyes locked on each other’s, they stood together as their own circle in front of the Shen-Ma, in front of the bonfire, in front of the people, in front of the stars.

The old woman had said he was of the stars. What was the word she had used? Seed. He knew seeds were planted. Had the stars planted him? Were there people among the stars? If so, why had they planted him here? These people here seemed to know him already though. Had he been planted some time ago, and it was just now being recognized? Why didn’t he remember?

He knew seeds grew into plants, and he knew that after a time, plants bore fruit. This could explain why it was just now becoming known. Perhaps his fruit was just beginning to show.

Another part of him also knew fruit was then plucked.

Yet Lam felt he knew this woman. He was aware that Ric’ua was the most familiar to him of all these people. The warmth for her in his chest spread to his face, and his smile widened naturally and easily. What was this feeling? There was a word for it.
Love.
Yes, he thought. Love. Comfort. Safety. He felt safe with this woman. He wanted to be near this woman.

The crowd continued to celebrate as Ric’ua— now bearing a tiny but cautious smile of her own— released his second hand and turned to the side. She began leading Lam away from the fire, away from the people.

The old woman suddenly released an ear-piercing cry. Lam whipped his head around to see both her arms up, raising her stick to the skies. Ric’ua seemed to pay no attention, and continued walking, beginning to pull Lam along a bit roughly, like a mother with her grips on a child who has misbehaved.

They crossed back over the stream he had splashed through as he fled the Others. A fear began to creep into his mind again. Were these the Others after all? Was she leading him right back to where he would be caught and killed? No, he could not go here! He didn’t want to die!

Just as the urge to break free of her grasp and run again reached a peak, they came to the cluster of dwellings he had also passed. Ric’ua turned toward a hut next to the largest tree in the area, and led him inside. A new level of familiarity descended upon him. He had been here before. In that moment, Lam realized he had not fully believed these people. Even the warm and
knowing
feelings he felt with Ric’ua had not fully convinced him. He had still assumed it was all a case of mistaken identity, and could be humored until it was safe to do otherwise. It could all be sorted out later— anything to keep himself from being killed.

“What happened to me?” he asked.

Ric’ua turned and looked at him quickly, but said nothing. She pointed to a pallet of straw and furs in one corner of the room.

Lam was confused. Hadn’t she heard him? Did she have no intention of talking to him? Why had she brought him here? Was she afraid of the Shen-Ma, and therefore doing only as the old woman asked, and no more?

“But I don’t understand…” he trailed off as Ric’ua merely jabbed her finger at the corner. He slowly went and laid down. He became aware he
was
exhausted again, and found himself drifting to sleep, despite his better judgment— he still had no confirmation he was truly safe here yet.

• FIVE •

Ric’ua barely acknowledged Lam for three days.

Each day, he wandered out of the house and into the village, pretending not to notice the stares and whispers of those around him. The tension was nearly thick enough to cut with a knife, but he sensed no actual hostility toward him. By the end of the third day, he had relaxed enough— or gotten used to it enough— that he barely noticed. Or perhaps it was the people who had grown used to him, though none would speak of what had happened to him.

He stumbled across a large field hidden in a grove of trees on the second day. A dozen of the people were scattered throughout the field, on their hands and knees, intently and carefully yanking weeds from crops. Lam watched them closely until he was sure which plants they were pulling, and which they were leaving. He went to an empty space and began inspecting it for the weeds. It felt good to have his hands in the dirt, his knees in the earth. Something felt so natural about the act.

Nothing was spoken by anyone all that day. A natural collaboration seemed to flow between all involved, an understanding and companionship beyond the need for words. For the first time, Lam began to feel he had a place. He experienced a sense of belonging and having a purpose. His fear of the Others coming to take him began to melt away, taking his confusion with it.

He returned to the field at first light the next day, and was surprised to find the weeds had re-grown. This field apparently provided never ending work. As soon as one end was weeded, the first end needed picking again.

Silent nods and bows were exchanged between each new arrival, effectively acknowledging and respecting each other. Lam felt seen, and this caused a pleasant welling in his chest. He seemed to be accepted here, as if he had always come to tend this piece of land each day. He felt a lightness in his heart as he inhaled a deep breath and looked to the sky. He smiled as he studied the large cloud directly overhead. He found this productivity made him feel warm inside like when he was with his mother.

Just after mid-sun that day, he spotted his mother standing just inside the tree line, watching him. She made no move or gesture toward him, so he was unsure what he should do. He straightened and made it known he was aware of her presence. It occurred to him that he now thought of her as his mother, though he had no memories beyond three days ago, and had only been with her a very short time from his perspective.

Deciding to follow the cue from his fellow tenders, he nodded to her slightly, and bowed. Ric’ua stood motionless a few moments, then slowly declined her head in return before slipping back into the trees and out of sight.

That evening, Ric’ua embraced him tightly as he entered the door of their home. No words were spoken, but tears were allowed to flow freely down both their faces. The gesture spoke more than a million words as far as Lam was concerned.

After the weed plucking the following day, Lam decided to surprise Ric’ua and bring home as many gurja fruits as he could carry. He excitedly went bush to bush, following each new bunch of the bright yellow-green fruits he saw. Something felt very familiar about this. Perhaps he had done this same thing a thousand times before in the times he could not remember. He was aware of a prickling in the back of his mind. Pausing, he glanced around and found he had strayed farther from the field and village than he had realized. He looked up, and saw the faithful, huge cloud hanging overhead. If it held rain, surely it would begin dropping it at any moment now. Lam decided he better head back home.

He turned the direction he’d come from, and froze in his tracks.

There, still as the trees themselves, stood five people he immediately knew were not from his village. Although there were no outward indications, Lam knew who they were.

Others.

He felt them.

Tension immediately locked every muscle in Lam’s body. He dropped his bundle of gurja fruits, and they went skittering across the ground. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind at once. Should he climb to the trees again? Bolt and make a run for it? Stand his ground and fight?

The others remained still as well, merely watching him with their firm, angry faces. Their lack of movement confused Lam. Did they not recognize him after all? Were his feelings they were Others wrong? Why did they simply stand there?

What felt like hours passed as the five and the one faced each other under the darkening canopy of tree leaves. It seemed each side was stubbornly determined to overpower the other by sheer force of will.

The spell was broken at last by a shout from behind the Others. One of the five turned and screeched a warbling call, which was returned again by the distant voice. The one that had responded to the call then abruptly came forward quicker than Lam expected, and grabbed his arm tightly. The other four parted and created a walk space for Lam to be dragged toward his village.