Planets Falling (21 page)

“Wenn, you’re right.” I pushed my chair back and gave father my best threatening glare.  “Let’s leave this be.  Father and I saw something that we can’t explain.  And father’s best long sword just disappeared from the armory.  I suppose that it may have been stolen rather than gifted.  I think we should just let this go until we have more proof.”

Wenn took a long draught of honey wine.  “Agreed then.  Can you hand me another biscuit?”

For the next few months as the weather cooled and the days dwindled, I waited each evening in the dark breeze for the god Fromer to return.  The crickets grew quiet and the wind turned bitter.  It finally occurred to me that I must move on with life and let the routine drag me along.

Although I gave up on reuniting with Fromer, vivid dreams invaded my slumber.  My mother appeared in most of the visions, although she seldom said a word.  She looked glorious. The green creatures also visited my sleep.  In these dreams, they were solid and real, rather than shimmering reflections in the woods.  I could touch their bark-covered hands and feel how the skin of their faces felt like the velvet of a deer antler.  They’d often bring me beautiful flowers and handfuls of grain.  The dreams were peculiar in that I remember the smells better than the sights.  I found myself waking, swearing that I was engulfed in rose petals, fresh hay, or unfortunately, on some occasions, rancid eggs.

Fromer appeared in only one dream, which I remember well.  He looked different than before, with his skin tattered and scuffed.  His eyes were grey and his little hair patch was the color of cream.  He smiled, leaning on the sword as if it was a cane.  When I tried to speak, he shook his head and pointed upward.  I looked into the dream-sky and saw a golden cloud swirling impossibly close to my head.  Faces of humans and other creatures, some resembling the god Fromer and many other beings I could not recognize, looking down at me.  The urge to float into the mass, releasing myself, was overwhelming.  As I rose, the light dimmed and my eyes opened to see the drab, wooden ceiling over my bed.

Spring arrived and the time for Wenn and I to marry followed.  This didn’t mean that I could stop toiling in the garden complex.  Rather, each night after tilling, sowing, and weeding, I found myself listening to the drone of my aunts and cousins about the upcoming festivities and how excited I should be.  Even then, I felt tired, angry, and conflicted.  The marriage of the garden tender is one of the most celebrated events in any village.  The thinking goes that my womb is somehow linked to the fertility of the gardens.  Lucky for Wenn, I suppose.  However, the thought of going through the week-long celebration, returning to the gardens, and tending to a family as well as Wenn and father wasn't sitting well.  Duty be damned.  Fromer’s shimmering sky was burned in my mind and I couldn’t shake the image.

Chapter 47 – Cold Front

My roaming thoughts of the past dissolve as the door opens and cold air rushes into the room.  Wenn and father have returned from Wagnet’s, apparently well-fed and watered.  They reek of woodsmoke, tobacco, and shine.

“Amy darling, we’re home.”  Wenn barks.  “No need to make us anything to eat.  Farling Wagnet had some leftover potatoes and roasted venison flank.  We promised to sharpen his best knives if he fed us.”  Both men strip off their cloaks and throw them on the floor.

I am mildly annoyed and relieved simultaneously.  “Thanks for the heads up men.  I wasn’t going to cook for you anyway.  So, this worked out for all of us.  I see Farling provided you with some spirits.  Did you get those drinks for a song as well?”

Wenn stumbles up to me and plants a wet kiss on my neck.  Heat radiates from his skin and his mild, masculine scent wafts into my nostrils.  His strong hands knead my shoulders and I suddenly remember why I love the oaf.

Then he ruins the moment.  “Theo’ll be here soon.  He's got some mighty exciting news about the fallen city to the south.  Dad and I are giving some serious thought to his ideas.”

I pull away from Wenn and finish my cooled cup of brandy in an angry gulp.  “If this is about trying to extract jewels and precious metals from the wreckage of that place, you’ll be going only if you can pass me.  I’m not going to lose what’s left of my family to greed.  We don’t need to trade in worthless items with questionable value.  That’s what wiped out our ancestors.”

Father responds from the back of the room.  “Amy, we don’t know if the ancient ones were our kin.  And why do you think trying to make things a bit more comfortable led to their end?  Teacher says they were trying to be godlike, not trying to get a few chickens or another pony.  Wait ‘til Theo shows and we can talk more."

Wenn rubs his hands and grabs a carrot from the pantry, crunching loudly.  "Listen to your pa, Amy."

I pour another cup of brandy and chew on a chunk of stale yeast bread.  We sit in silence waiting for the arrival of dear Theo and his wild ideas.  Wenn fiddles with an old clock that's been passed down through his family.  It still works, although Wenn has to scavenge parts every once in a while from the cities.   A knock on the door, a creak of the hinges, and Theo lightens the room.  “Hello family.  Miss me?”  Theo's staring at me while saying this.

Wenn throws an apple at Theo, which Theo expertly snatches.  Wenn laughs.  “Welcome Theo.  Seems like ages since we last saw you.  Amy just told us that you’ve told her of the plan that you and Bets cooked up.  She’s not too keen on it, I’m afraid.”

Theo purrs.  “Wenn, as I said to your missus this evening, this is a safe opportunity.  Miss Bets has scoped out the area and knows what to do.  Amy, you know that we’re careful and that this'd be a great way to entice the merchants to make things more comfortable around here.  Before long, I suspect you and Wenn here are going to start a family.  You need to be thinking long term for them.”

I slump in my chair.  The clock ticks loudly and father rummages through a cabinet of kitchen tools.  I suppose now is as good a time to make the announcement as any.  “Wenn, father.  I have some important news.  I think I’m going to have a baby.  It’s only been a month or so, but the midwife thinks I’m moving along”.

Father stops fussing.  Wenn instantly traverses the room and squeezes me tight.  “Oh goodness.  This be the most wonderful moment of my life.  Amy sweetie, you’ve not been holding this back on me?”

“Of course not Wenn.  I haven’t been feeling myself lately and visited the midwife early this morning.”  I'm lying.  I've known for more than a week and hadn’t the energy for this moment.  “Theo, I think it’s appropriate that you be the godfather of this child.  You’re closer than family to us.”

Theo sits with his hands between his legs and looks at Wenn and me.  “I’d be honored.  You mean more to me than you could ever know."  He couldn't smile wider.

Wenn is silent and touches my belly. “Now it’s more than clear that we go and gather the goods for this family.”  He sports the same goofy look that he wore when we were first engaged.

Anger wells up within me, my face growing flush.  “Wenn, this is exactly why you and Theo are not to leave on some stupid excursion into a dangerous place.  That goes for you as well father.  I’m not raising this child on my own.  I know it’s been hard enough for father raising me.  I need you men.”  Of course, I do wonder about this point at times.  When mother left, I found myself having to fare on my own.  It seems they rely more on me than I do on them.

Wenn sighs.  “Amy, enough of this talk for tonight.  Let’s sleep on it and worry about these things later.  We should just enjoy the good news.  Do you think we’ve got the next garden tender in there?  Or a strong smith like your dad and me?”  He produces a bottle of a strong ale and pours us all a cup.

The next morning is like any other, with me slogging out to the gardens and father and Wenn gathering wood and coal for the ovens.  Apparently, Theo passed the news through town during the night because everyone I encounter shouts congratulations.  One of my students helps me carry my pack to the clearing.  I might like this doting after all.  I spend most of the day pruning berries.   If you don’t keep them in check, they’ll spread like a terrible rash throughout the other plots.  I wonder how such delicious fruits can emerge from something so invasive, greedy, and thorny.  I’ve seen the green people less often during the last month.  Today, they appear during my short lunch.  They seem sad.  I ask them in my mind what is wrong.  An image of unripened fruit, picked too early, appears before me.

“Don’t worry little friends.  I know when to harvest these berries.”  I consider them for a long time, wondering whether there's more to their concern than I can divine with simple mind reading.

They fidget.  Two of them climb into the branches of an old sycamore. And then they fade away.

I’m walking home as evening approaches.  I suppose the growing baby’s hungry, so I pick up a nice cut of meat from the butcher.  The butcher shop is so counter to all that I know.  The gardens celebrate and encourage life, while the meat shop is filled with the blessings of death.  When I was younger I went into the basement of the shop to look for the butcher.  It was cool, dark, and damp.  When my eyes adjusted, I saw all sorts of animals hanging on hooks and blood everywhere.  I was grateful that my life was spent in the wide open spaces of my mother's gardens rather than in that cramped, smelly place.  Shaking that memory away, I tuck the package of meat under my arm and head down the road.  Wenn and father had better be there with a warm fire in the hearth.  My shoulders sag when I discover the house lifeless again.  “Hell”, I mutter, opening the front door.

I drop my package and satchel, shocked at the scene before me.  The floor's covered with the muddy footprints of at least three different people.  I recognize Wenn's boot marks, but not the other two. The kitchen is cluttered with shiny implements emancipated from their storage bins.  All the stored food is gone.  Spices are spilled on the floor.  I shuffle into our sleeping rooms to find most of Wenn’s and father’s clothing gone.  A few stray socks and shirts are strewn on the beds and chairs.  Wenn's favorite shirt, the one I gave him for his birthday, hangs forlornly on its hook.

My immediate, visceral conclusion is that Wenn, father, and Theo have left with Bets to plunder the ruins of the southern city.  Surely they'd have told me before leaving, even if my response would be unpleasant.  I frantically search the cold house for a note or some explanation.  Nothing.

I run to Theo’s house.  Orange light twinkles in the window panes.  I slam the door open, expecting to see Theo’s mother looking worried like me, wondering where her son has gone.  Rather, Theo is sitting in his tattered chair, feet propped and smoking a small clay pipe.  “Amy, what a pleasant surprise.”  Concern washes over him when he sees my face.  “What’s the matter?  It’s not the baby is it?”

“Dammit Theo, why’d you let Wenn and father go away?”

Theo looks genuinely puzzled.  “Go where Amy?  I’ve been out hunting all day.  Haven’t seen them since last night.”

I push further.  “They left for the city with Bets.   Why didn’t you stop them?  At the very least, you could've told me.”

Theo stands up, pours a cup of water, and hands it to me.  I’m shaking now.  “I don’t know nothing about them leaving, Amy.  I saw Bets this afternoon after I returned with a nice buck.  We’d never go on an excursion without telling you, especially Wenn.  In fact, after you went to bed last night, we agreed that he’d stay to tend to you and the growing child.”  He took a long drag of tobacco.  “I’m sure they’re out hunting or drinking.”

“The house’s a mess Theo.  They packed in a hurry and took all the food and most of their clothes.  Three of the horses are missing.  They left me.”  I don’t cry.  But I feel something like sobs emerging from deep inside my chest.  Abandonment, anger, worry, betrayal, and sadness mix within me like a sick cocktail.

Theo wraps me in his thick arms.  “We’ll get to the bottom of this.  I’m sure they’ll be back tonight.  Let’s walk over to the house and see what we can find.”

Theo is wrong.  Wenn and father never return.  I'm still torn about whether they left voluntarily or were forced.  No one else in the village saw them leave.  The only sign of a struggle was encased in three small drops of blood in the doorway that I noticed a few weeks after they vanished.  I suspect all this has something to do with Fromer, but I'm unable to tell anyone.  The green ones in the garden look at me with alien sympathy but are unable, or unwilling, to hint at what is happening.

Seven months have evaporated since they disappeared and the baby, a girl named Eliza, has arrived.  My extended family, mostly my father’s sister and Wenn’s mother have
helped me the best they can.  However, they can’t replace the void I feel and the tickle of betrayal that settles in my gut each night as I nurse the baby to sleep.  A month ago, Theo and Bets went to the south ruins to search for father and Wenn, with no luck.  Theo’s mother stays with me most nights, at the urging of her son more than via self-induced charity.  I’m sure he worries that whoever forced the men to leave will return for me and that his mother will help protect me- or at least alert him.  His view that Wenn and father were coerced is in the minority.  Most of the townspeople believe that Wenn and father left me in search of precious metal that they could use in their blades.  They whisper of an accident in the broken city that took their lives.  Or perhaps Wenn and father were robbed and killed in the countryside.

I’m unsure what to believe.  It's difficult to fathom that they left without telling me, no matter how unpleasant my reaction.  Regardless of the events leading to their departure, the thought of a violent loss beyond the village foundation isn't far-fetched.  Since father and Wenn vanished, the number of merchants seeking father’s weapons has increased considerably. While talking about the unease in the countryside, I always ask whether the travelers saw a stocky, dark-haired man with an older, thin gentleman accompanied by three horses and a small cart.  No one seems to have encountered them.  Talk of unrest in many of the villages has been creeping into our conversations.  As Fromer suggested, something is stirring outside.  Other than losing my family, I don’t see how I’m involved.  I wonder if that's what the god meant - I'd have to endure losing my family for the common good.  The only positive of all this fear is the increased business.  The income from the traders has been welcome and helps me to buy toys for Eliza and better provisions to stave off winter. 

I still have my responsibilities to the gardens.  It is mid-summer now and Eliza is crawling in a patch of velvet moss while I tie vines to a trellis.  To my muted delight, I’ve recently discovered that my baby girl sees the green ones.  The creatures make the very best nannies, playing with Eliza as long as she remains interested.  She accepts them as if they were a common beetle or a blade of grass.  I suppose they cared for me when I was a baby while mother worked the gardens so many years ago.  The day's one of the best since I lost father and Wenn, with the anger and sadness seeming far away in a distant bog, tamped down in a remote recess of my soul.  It's one of those warm but dry days, where the sky is the darkest blue and the clouds are impossibly white and soft.  My work is going well.  I feel light, as if nothing could trouble me.

Evening arrives and my spinster aunt, Felicia, fetches Eliza for dinner. She's my mother's sister and did not seem to receive the gift that my mother and now I have.  In fact, she shows little interest in the gardens at all.  However, Felicia adores Eliza and helps tremendously when she's not working at the bakery.  I enjoy the silence.  I’ll follow in a little while, but I have a few more vines to truss.  I light my oil lantern to beat back the encroaching twilight.  I’ve finished with my work, wiping my hands on my apron, when I sense something amiss that I can’t quite place.  I head toward the path home and glance at the sky.  It’s the new moon that is wrong.  All the tiny pricks of colorful light are gone - the shadowed black disk is no longer illuminated.  I’m petrified by the sight, which clearly bodes ill for all of us.  The ancient ones have abandoned us.  Or the gods have wiped them clean from existence once and for all.

I run down the path and drop the damned oil lamp.  It’s dreadfully dark without the light of the houses on the moon, or whatever they were.  All I know is that those moon lights used to be quite handy and now I can't see.  My eyes adjust and I continue heading home.  The house is warm and inviting in the unusual darkness.  My panic lifts as I open the door to see Eliza sitting on the floor, cooing at my arrival.  Theo is rolling a ball to her and she’s laughing.