Root (Energy Anthology) (3 page)

They were not going to hurt him? What had that signal meant? What had they been waiting for?

As they neared the village, a dull roaring sound and flickers of orange light on the trees soon showed Lam why the Others had acted as they had.

They had only been stalling him.

Their purpose had not been to hurt him, but to distract him, so other Others could set a home on fire. His home.

Everywhere, Lam’s people were shouting and frantically rushing about trying to contain the flames lashing from his hut. Some inched as close as they dared, beating the flames with cloths and blankets. Some flung what little water they could find at it, clearly having no effect, but needing to assist by doing
something.
Some crouched between his house and the neighboring houses, as if to block the fire from spreading further with their very bodies.

A wailing and screaming rose above the roar and chaos, and Lam recognized it as Ric’ua’s voice. He fought and kicked the Other who still gripped his arm. Twisting free, he charged for the hut his mother’s voice was coming from. He had nearly reached the dwelling when he was slammed hard in the chest and flattened to the ground. A foot pressed into his throat, pinning him down.

“You will
not
enter our grounds again!” growled the menacing face that bent over Lam before spitting in his eye. “Next time, it will be the whole village,” he leaned in even closer. “And
you
will be dead, you worthless son of Ric’ua.” He released the pressure of his foot, and Lam gasped for air. “But what do you expect from the offspring of a mate-slave!”

The man ran off, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

Lam coughed and wheezed as he fought his way back to his feet. Ric’ua’s howling had never stopped, yet cut off mid-wail when Lam burst into the home.

“Pael!” she cried and threw her arms around him. “Pael! Oh Pael, I thought you were burned! Oh Pae—” She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. A different sort of tears than they had cried only the night before streamed down their faces. “Lam…” she barely whispered. Her lips pressed into a tight, straight line as she shook her head.

“No,” she spoke firmly, “You will always be my Pael.”

• SIX •

After their hut had completely collapsed to nothing but ashes, Lam and Ric’ua were gifted the home they had taken shelter in, which Lam found belonged to a man named Terlikk. He recognized him immediately from the grove field. The man merely bowed to them, gathered his mate and two children, and left the mother and son alone.

Ric’ua had yet to let go of Lam, as if she were afraid he would be lost again if she released him. She pulled him to the floor with her and continued to hold him tight.

“I thought you to be lost once,” she whispered to him finally. “When the messenger recognized you in the Gildok village and brought the word you had been caught, I feared the worst. Every bone in my body collapsed, and I fell as if dead.

“Why did you go as far as their village? Had you not heard the many warnings I and others pressed upon you? It was foolish to enter their land. Oh, but you have always been a fearless one. Even the truth that few have returned from their land alive did not frighten you.

“Yet I alone am to blame. If only I did not love the gurja fruit so much. If only I had not sent you out to gather for me. I knew in my heart you had risked yourself to bring me the best you could find. You are a good son. No mother could ever deny this.

“But when my ears heard you were being chopped down by the Gildoks…” Ric’ua’s voice failed her, and Lam knew she was crying again. He felt helpless to comfort her.

Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she spoke again.

“When you did not return that night, I knew the messenger spoke the truth. My son was dead.

“I did not move from the earth all the next day. None could rouse me, no speech would console me. Word of your demise and my condition reached the Shen-Ma, and her spirits whispered to her. ‘This is not the full truth,’ she declared. ‘Cast scouts to the east and find the boy, and bring the mother to me.’

“With great joy, they brought the news to me, but I refused to believe. Although I trusted our Shen-Ma, the dread was too much for me to bear. I did not rise.

“The men then lifted me. They carried me to the Shen-Ma. The Seer was intently preparing a large bonfire and muttering to herself. She did not even acknowledge my presence. I continued to lie in the dirt, though I watched her every move.

“As the sun grew low, a messenger ran into her courtyard as quickly as his feet could bear him. Gasping for breath, he announced they had found you on the land of the old Riglit tribe, sleeping in the dozime vines that have overtaken that dead village.” Ric’ua laughed. “You were the dead, sleeping with the dead.” She sighed before continuing. “The messenger said because they were unable to wake you, they were carrying you directly to the Shen-Ma themselves.

“The Shen-Ma clapped her hands in glee and said things were right on schedule as she slipped the boy a pouch of coins and sent him off to gather the rest of the village for a special ceremony.

“She then spoke to me for the first time. ‘Ric’ua,’ she said, ‘You must prepare yourself. Change has come, and you must come to a new mind.’ She then returned to her preparations.

“The people began arriving just as darkness settled. I found the strength to rise when the men arrived with your body. The Shen-Ma now had the fire in a blaze, and in its light I could see it really
was
you. My son was not lost!

“The people gathered around, and all could see, even as you slept, that you were different. Your essence was changed. Whispers of shock and anxiety rippled through the crowd. What had happened to Ric’ua’s son?

“Our Seer began her ceremony. Calling the spirits from all directions, drawing up the soul of the earth, inviting in the heart of the skies, she requested all eyes be opened and all hearts be softened to the truths that lay before us, no matter what those truths may be revealed to be. The Shen-Ma grew still as a statue, and the air seemed to grow darker, the fire brighter. The wind increased until it howled through the trees. To me, the wind was mourning for my son. All these abruptly stopped when the Shen-Ma fell on you and placed her forehead to yours.

“Silence fell upon the crowd, in the same way she had fallen on you. None dared to breathe, and not even the smallest child moved a muscle. As one, we watched and waited, for though you had caused your share of trouble in the village, you were also loved and wanted and cared for. I sensed this from all those around me, and that alone kept me upright. I was not alone. I fear I would have returned to the earth otherwise,” she sighed.

“You awoke and I nearly collapsed after all,” she continued. “Even from the distance and in the shadowy firelight, I could see you were different. Something had changed.” Her body shuddered against him in a silent sob. “You were no longer my son.”

Ric’ua broke into full tears. Lam remained next to her, both allowing her to experience her emotion, and observing the emotion. He found it also caused a reaction in his own body. His own eyes welled up again as they had when he had been cornered in the tree.

Her weeping grew still, and they lay in silence.

“I don’t remember anything before being in the tree,” Lam whispered finally. “I thought I remembered
something
, at first… but even that has now gone.

“But I do feel a sense of familiar things. You feel the most… comfortable.”

Ric’ua burst into tears again and pulled him to her even tighter. “Oh, Lam!” she exclaimed, “That was absolutely the most perfect thing you could have said to me!”

“You called me Lam…”

Her crying became laughter in a heartbeat. “Yes,” she breathed, “I did, didn’t I?”

• SEVEN •

Lam marveled at the unity he witnessed as all the people of the village abandoned their daily routines and worked to rebuild his and Ric’ua’s home the next day. He was reminded how everyone had also done whatever they could to help put out the fire as it blazed the night before. A pressure in his chest grew into a lump in his throat. His eyes began crying again. He looked to Ric’ua standing beside him, and saw that she, too, was weeping openly.

He allowed his deep, dark eyes to drift of their own accord, taking in the luscious green trees with their arms to the skies and their roots in the ground. It felt as if they were standing guard around this tiny village nestled between the violent and the dead. He gazed at the radiant flowers of pinks, oranges, and blues, inhaling their fragrances even from where he stood. He admired the skill it had taken and the effort that had been put into the construction of the huts around him. He looked to the sky and smiled at the ever-present cloud. It had yet to release any rain, but nobody had seemed to notice. Lam had begun to think of it as a friend, always there with him, whether in a tree, falling asleep, working in the field, or connecting to the beauty he found himself in the midst of.

This place truly
was
beautiful.

Why had he ever been concerned about anything that came
before?

Lam’s sense of belonging continued to swell inside him, and he knew that he did love this place. He loved these people. They were a family. They were
his
family.

As the days and weeks went by, Lam eased more and more into the flow of the community. The more he took part, the more he realized just how interconnected this village was— with each other and with the land.

The weeks turned into months. He continued working the fields each morning. In the afternoons, Lam also began gathering fruit and nuts for the older people of the village who found it more and more difficult to walk far enough into the forest to gather their own. In the evenings, he adopted the responsibilities of collecting the waste remains from each hut, loading it all into a great, tightly-knit netting he could then drag to the compost area just beyond the western tree line of the village. The symbolism in this occurred to him more than once as he performed this task, and made him feel as if he were truly contributing to this society. He was taking care of the family. He was removing the harmful residue from the village. He was giving back what he felt they had given him— life.

On many occasions, Lam overheard others talking about him, unaware he was within earshot. They spoke of what a change in him they’d seen, even beyond his shift in essence. Where he had terrorized and destroyed the hard work of others, he now helped build and improve. Where he had mocked and humiliated, he now encouraged and uplifted. Had it been simple maturity, frightened into him by the Gildoks, or had something more magical happened to the boy? It was truly as if he were a different person.

Lam had nearly knocked the Shen-Ma over one day as he listened intently to one of these conversations. He looked into her eyes and saw that she, too, had heard the conversation, and saw she knew he had been listening as well. A flash of heat shot through his body. He knew he should not have been eavesdropping. And of all the people to catch him— the Seer herself!

Relief quickly replaced his embarrassment as the Shen-Ma simply smiled at him. “When the time is right,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Had he really been that different before? He could not imagine even thinking such things he heard being remembered, much less doing them. Why
couldn’t
he remember anything before that day in the tree? The answers to these remained as blank in his mind as the missing time itself.

One day, as he was helping an elderly neighbor cut freshly plucked gurja fruit, Lam froze mid-slice. His eyes had fallen upon a young woman crossing the central space before him. Her long, black hair fell well past her shoulders, and the skin of her arms wrapped around the basket she held seemed to be perfect and pure. His blade slipped from his hand as he watched her turn her body and maneuver around a group of children who had stumbled across her path. The flash of leg that emerged from her wrappings of maroon and gold as her feet darted to a clear path made his heart stop. She glanced his direction as the old woman he was helping began laughing and cackling uncontrollably. Lam and the girl’s eyes met for a brief moment, and the image of her large, deep brown eyes was burned into his mind forever. Her full lips blessed him with a soft smile just before she turned and continued on her way. He knew instantly this was something he would
not
forget.

“Eh, heh heh! You like that, eh, boy?” the woman beside him poked his ribs before erupting into wild laughter again. “Ah, to be young again,” she sighed.

“Who,” Lam began, “Who is that?” The girl’s hips swayed ever so slightly as she continued away from the central space, but not so slightly it escaped Lam’s attention.

“That one is the daughter of Terlikk’s brother.”

Lam looked at the old woman quickly. The girl was related to their neighbor who had offered his home for them? Why had he never seen her before now? He opened his mouth to ask even as his elder offered the answer.

“The Shen-Ma sent for her from the distant Piktel village.” She leaned close to him and whispered, “The word behind closed doors says she is in training to be the next Shen-Ma!”