C20 Chapter 20

”I don't know. Lock the door, I guess? When does Sallah get back?”

”Later tonight, he said.”

”Okay. Let's just keep busy until he does.”

Pari had no idea when her pregnancy began that the tendons and muscles around her hips would stretch and pain her as much as they had been. Her feet and back would not let her walk today, so she lay on the sofa and rested as Ana did a few chores.

Ana swept the floors and organized the messy closet. Pari's baby was restless as if it sensed that something exciting had happened and was anxious that it might happen again. Pari listened to Ana hum songs of her homeland as she washed dishes, tidied the bedroom, and dried the washroom floor.

”You really don't have to do all this,” Pari said.

”I enjoy it,” Ana called from the washroom. ”I brought my scarf if you want to work on it.”

”I have my own.” Pari took the basket of material on the floor beside the sofa and worked on an almost-done baby blanket.

Ana made her way into the kitchen and began mixing ingredients for naan dough.

”It must be nice to have all this food,” Ana said.

”I'm sorry,” said Pari. Her needles clicked together as she knitted. ”I really am. I told Sallah my thoughts about food distribution and that it wasn't fair to the rest of the city and the refugees. But it's the prophet's will, and Sallah said we should be grateful. Please, take anything you want. And make enough bread so you can take some home with you.”

”Oh, I plan to.” Ana smiled with her hands deep in dough and flour past her wrists. ”Maybe your prophet needs to remember that your god is supposed to love everyone, not just those who worship him.”

Pari shook her head and knitted. The day passed, the sun set behind the city walls, and the baby within her calmed itself and seemed to go to sleep.

A few miles south of Setosayo, Sawelas, a small mountain stream flows into a green pond. The stream begins at Yodhiunmo's peak and is ice throughout the winter. As spring breaks, the grey sky turns blue, and the yellow sun warms the mountain. The ice melts and runs into the greening foothills and the evergreen Fenwood.

Red cedars grow there, littering the ground with autumn's shedding. Needles lay brown and prickly over the grass for the rest of the year. Rabbits and foxes burrow under the cedars at the pond's shores, and they drink the cool water there. Deer visit the place often, bringing wolves after them. Travelers do not camp there because of the wolves.

On the second day of spring in the year 4030, two people sat around this pond. They were not afraid of wolves. Brenn knelt over a fire and a pot of boiling water. He was just beginning his twenties and was already a large man. He lay on his back in the crisp yellow sand, watching the clouds drift by through the clearing in the cedar canopy. His skin goosebumped as a breeze blew off the pond and turned chilly in the crisp early spring day. One of their group had gone for a walk an hour ago, and Brenn waited for him to return while dinner cooked.

Keren sat on a barkless log nearby. It was once a bent cedar that had fallen over after years of rot and a strong windstorm a decade before. It now served as a perfect bench that curved several feet from the ground. Keren whittled on a small branch and swung her little bare feet above the fallen needles. She kept her curly brown hair tucked beneath a tight woolen cap. She was sixteen, and nature had recently given her a woman's body, which she kept hidden beneath a tight leather vest and linen shirt.

She blew on her stick, and a few pieces of wood puffed away. She glanced at Brenn and said, ”If I have to eat your beans one more time, I'll shove this stick through my eye.”

”I guess you'll eat whatever's for dinner,” Brenn said. He gave his beans a stir with a long stick, nodded at the pot, and sat back on his rear. ”You love my beans.”

”Maybe at one time I thought they were pretty good. Back when I was grateful to have them.” Keren blew on her stick again. ”But after these last two weeks, eating them every day, this sharp stick is calling to me.”

Brenn pointed. ”What are you making?”

”Not sure. I didn't have a vision when I started. It might end up a toy dagger for Denzin.”

”Aw, don't teach him about weapons. He's the only one of us who's harmless. I like him that way.”

”It's a toy.”

”Well, give it to him, then.” Brenn stretched out on his back, his body leaving a deep impression in the sand. ”I think my beans are good.”

”To anyone who doesn't know beans, yours might taste pretty good. But in Lesh Kalae, you'd never get away with it. We practically invented beans.” She paused and looked up. ”Do you know the Kalaea word for beans?”

”Yeah.”

”Maso. It's maso. Know what that means?”

”You know I speak Kalaea, right? It, uh, means beans, idiot.”

”No, Brenn, it doesn't just mean beans.” She held up her knife. ”It means meal or dinner. Know why? Because almost every Kalaean meal starts with beans. Our three food groups are beans, water, and beans. And sometimes we don't have any water.”

Heavy steam lifted from the pot.

Brenn threw up his hands as he stared into the sky. ”Why don't you just cook the beans yourself, if you know beans so well?”

”I hate cooking. I've always hated cooking. I hate cooking more than I hate your beans.”

”They aren't that bad, Keren.” Brenn sat up and gave the beans a stir.

”Even if I did cook, and I was cooking over an open fire without the proper array of spices and condiments, peppers, corn, strips of beef, or maybe some chicken...”

Brenn cocked his head. ”Chicken and beans? Is that a thing?”

”One of the best things.” She blew on her stick again. ”But without all those things, yeah, my beans would be slightly better than yours. Especially with those nasty brown beans. Why didn't you get red or black? Or even white?”

He stared at her. ”Why didn't you get them when we were in Sipsemo?”

”I tried, actually. The man at the stand wouldn't sell to a woman. He kept asking me where my husband was, avoiding eye-contact, kept mumbling prayers.”

Brenn laughed and fed a log to the fire. The flames lapped up around the pot, and the beans boiled harder. ”Soduqir men aren't allowed to sell beans to women?”

”Yes, Brenn, they can. Of course, they can.”

”So why didn't he?”

”He was a beqir. A, ah...” She saw Brenn's confused expression and tapped her chin with her knife. ”He was old. Stuck in his ways.”

”I don't remember reading in the Bagh'ra that a man can't sell peppers to a woman.” Brenn laughed again, stirring the beans to keep them from sticking to the bottom of the pot.

Keren pointed her knife at him. ”I know you're joking, but it's annoying when you're at the receiving end. Do you actually believe in the drovak?”

”What does that have anything to do—”

”I'm trying to explain. Answer the question.”

”Yes, I believe in them.”

Keren set her toy dagger on the log beside her, waving her knife as she spoke. ”Alright, you believe in the drovak. Your mother and father do and everyone else you grew up around. But for all the time you've walked around the world and seen all these different cultures and religions, did you ever shame anyone for not believing in something other than the drovak?”

”No,” said Brenn. ”I would never do that.”

”Right, because you respect others' beliefs. You respect their upbringing, and you're open-minded. You accept that maybe you don't have all the answers. Am I right?”

”Yeah, sure. Continue.”

”Now,” she said, ”think back to when you were living in the Valk. Didn't you know anyone, probably an old man or an old woman, who was always scolding younger people for not walking the Dual Path to the letter? And they probably said that almost everything you did was an offense to the drovak. Did you know anyone like that?”

There was a moment of silence before Brenn answered. He stirred as he spoke. ”Sure, I did. Her name was Engvild, and she was about a thousand years old. Creepy old woman. Had a huge brown wart under one eye, and another one on her chin.” He touched his chin. ”And I never got close enough to see for sure, but I'm pretty sure she had a small beard. We used to throw rocks through her windows at night, my friends and I, and she would scream like a raka was attacking. We all thought it was funny. Maybe we weren't the best kids, but I think throwing rocks through her windows wasn't cause enough for saying the things she said to us. And not just us, but our parents, too. She was always telling us that there was no room in the Shatter for people like us, and we would be stuck floating in a never-ending abyss between the Form and the Shatter with other tormented souls for all eternity...”

He chuckled. ”She was just old. Her mind wasn't right. She ate raw potatoes like apples.” He frowned at the passing clouds.

Keren said, ”You made my point for me. Thank you.” She continued her whittling. ”The man selling peppers was like that old woman. The religions of Sawelas and Lesh Kalae are the same in name, but hundreds of years of being thousands of miles apart have made the religions different almost entirely. The Soduqir are usually stricter in Lesh Kalae than in Sawelas.”

”But you can buy peppers from men in Lesh Kalae, so why say they're stricter?”

”That's my point!” Keren waved her knife at Brenn. ”The man didn't represent my religion. He was a beqir.”

”An old idiot.”

”Exactly.”

Brenn nodded and watched the boiling pot. The smell of brown beans spread through the clearing and over the pond. ”I'm confused,” he said. ”Do you want some beans or not?”

Keren sighed and threw her toy dagger into the fire beneath the pot. ”Yes, I'm starving.”

Denzin came bounding through the trees, grinning like a boy who had found a puppy. Another boy trailed behind him, not smiling, and unfamiliar to Brenn and Keren. Denzin and the boy were an example of opposites, though they both appeared to be the same age, around eleven or twelve years old. But Denzin was born with a permanent smile, bright eyes, and olive skin. He bounced over the grass and cedar needles on light feet.

The other boy was smaller than Denzin. He had the look of an ill and exhausted peasant, with brown and brittle hair, skin too pale to be natural. When he approached the others, his dirty, calloused, bare feet drew close together. He wrung his hands at his waist with his eyes pointed at the ground.

Keren slid off her log, her bare feet sinking into the yellow sand. ”Who are you?” she asked.

The strange boy raised his head, but his eyes remained downcast.

”Don't be rude, Keren,” said Brenn. ”Hello, brother. Are you hungry?”

The boy said nothing. Denzin sat by the fire.

”I f-f-f-found him w-walking alone in the w-w-woods,” Denzin said. ”He says his name is m-m-m-Bryden. Are those buh-beans? Again?”

”Why won't he talk?” Keren asked. She went to Denzin and sat beside him, licked her thumb and wiped a dirty smudge from his cheek.

”Hey!” Denzin yelled, shoving her away.

”You're a mess. Go jump in the pond. You can't look like this when we get to Setosayo.”

Brenn took a wooden bowl from his pack and scooped some beans into it. He gave the bowl to Denzin. ”He doesn't have to talk if he doesn't want to. His business is his own, and he can tell if he wants.” He scooped some more beans and handed Keren a bowl.

The beans steamed in the pot and in the bowls. A hawk flew overhead, its shadow sweeping across the pond and sand and grass. Brenn scooped another bowl and held it out for the pale boy.

”Bryden, is it? I've known a couple of Brydens. My father's brother was one. He's dead now. Actually, I was almost named Bryden, but my older brother Leif was named after my father's other brother, and my mother wouldn't let him name all their children after his brothers. So they named me after my mother's father.” He laughed a bit, trying to put the boy at ease. ”I knew a Bryden at the university, too. He didn't talk much, but he was a nice guy. Smart, too. Is it a family name? Bryden? The beans are getting cold.” He shook the bowl a bit.

Bryden stepped forward and took the bowl with shy hands. ”Thank you, sir,” he said in Kalaea.

”Sir!” Brenn laughed. ”At least he's polite. Call me Brenn. That's Keren. I guess you already met Denzin.” He gave Bryden a spoon. Bryden took slow bites, blowing on each spoonful before closing his eyes and chewing as if eating was a form of prayer.

Denzin finished his own beans in a dozen quick bites and tossed the bowl aside. He threw off his shirt and wriggled out of his pants, then waded into the pond and ducked his head under. He surfaced, spattering and shivering.

”It's f-f-f-freezing!” he yelled.

Brenn turned to him. ”Winter was last week, bean-head. Hey, you need to stop wandering off, alright? Let us know next time you decide to go for a walk.”

”S-s-s-sorry.”

”It's dangerous out there alone.”

Keren said, ”Aren't you eating?”

”I already did,” said Brenn.

”When?”

”Try to remember, Denzin, okay?”

”I'll t-t-t-try.”

They ate. The air filled with the sounds of chewing and Denzin splashing around. Small animals scurried in the brush around them. Brenn put a stick in the fire, filled the pot with new water, and left it in the sand to soak.

Denzin crawled out of the pond and shook out his wild hair. Keren took a fur blanket from her pack and wrapped Denzin with it. He sat beside her, and she placed an arm around him.

Brenn whispered, ”Look.” He pointed.

The others followed his finger across the pond to a family of rabbits—one grey mother, two small grey kits, and one white kit. They had ventured from the brush to feel the spring sun and to drink from the cold pond. The mother led her babies to the edge of the water, and one of the grey kits dipped its nose in. A small shadow over the sand grew large, and with a flutter of wings, the white kit was gone. The mother bounded, and a grey kit followed. The one with its nose in the water fell into the pond and sank like a pebble.

Denzin yelled, ”Brenn, that one f-f-f-f-!,” but Brenn had already sprinted around the pond. He set one foot in the water, cringing at the feeling of ice soaking into him, bent down, and fished in a hand. He lifted the baby rabbit from the water and carried it to the brush where its family had disappeared. He set it down on the dirt beneath the bush, and the kit did not move. Then its hind leg twitched, and it flipped over on its side, rolling over until it was upright. It hopped away under cover of the brush.

”I hope its m-m-mother knows its alive,” said Denzin. He frowned at Keren.

”I'm sure she'll find him.” Keren gave Denzin a smile and rubbed his arms over the blanket.

When the pot was cool enough, Brenn washed it and set it in the bottom of his pack. He washed the bowls and packed them as well. The sky was dark, filled with twinkling stars. Brenn stoked the fire as Denzin dozed in Keren's arms.

Brenn returned to his spot in the sand and said, ”Well, Bryden, where are you headed?”

Bryden licked his thin lips and said, ”I don't know.”

”An adventurer, huh? Us, too. We go where we want, do what we want. Nobody can tell us what to do, and all we need is each other. Free as foxes, that's what they said back home.”

Bryden stared at Brenn.

”First, we have to stop in Setosayo,” Brenn said. ”Keren's sick of beans.”

”Your beans,” she said.

”You can come if you want.” He smiled at Bryden.

”Thank you, sir.”

”My name is Brenn.”

”Yes, sir.”