by Neal Jones
"Kralin!"
The force of his father's tone jarred Kralin from his reverie, and he looked up. "That was one of the sites that was targeted, remember? Didn't you watch the tribunals after the war? Did you see Captain Branson on trial, did you hear his testimony about that attack? He thought those bases on Beta Erendii were conducting secret experiments, testing new weapons technology. The Alliance was gearing up for war, and that one man decided to take it upon himself to initiate a preemptive strike."
"Kralin, stop!"
"Why?? Is this too hard for you, father? Haven't you wanted to know why I wasn't the one killed that day instead of Jran? It was because he insisted I turn in my application to Tranengard before meeting him in the market. Tarish, Mikel and Larha weren't supposed to go with him, but it was such a nice day, and the children wanted to see the war games."
Farak jerked to his feet, his chair scraping across the floor. "Enough of this!"
"No!" Kralin stood and blocked his father's path. "Sit down."
"Or what?" Farak sneered. "Are you going to strike me, Kralin?"
"It was one mistake. Jran and Tarish made one mistake, and you punished them both for the rest of their lives."
"They brought shame upon this house!" Farak's voice broke with the force of anguish and regret. "Neither of you understood the importance of family name and honor!"
"And that's all that's ever mattered to you!" Kralin roared back. "All we ever heard when we were young was the noble Saveck lineage. Oh sure, we weren't a wealthy house, and no one has yet grown up to be High Chancellor or the headmaster of a university, but we were a hardworking and honest family, and our name was known throughout this province. And that's what you cared about more than your own sons!"
"Of course it was important to me, and you should have understood that! I didn't care that you and Jran didn't want to stay behind to inherit the company! As long as you were successful at something, and you had families of your own, that was good enough for me!"
"Then what was so horrible about Jran and Tarish's marriage? Why was her pregnancy such an unforgivable sin? They did what was right. They became married. But apparently that wasn't good enough for you, because why else would they have moved to Beta Erendii?"
"You're right," Farak replied, calming a bit and reaching for his handkerchief. He mopped his brow, and then lowered himself into his chair. "It wasn't good enough because Jran sacrificed a promising future for that marriage. He was going to apply to one of the universities in Tansenut and study architecture. Tarish was going to earn a degree in teaching, or something literary, I can't remember exactly now." He looked up at his son. "The point is, they had a future! And so did you! And you both threw it all away!"
"I didn't make the mistake Jran did, father!" Kralin spat. "I wanted to go to a university as well, but by the time I was old enough all that mattered to you was that I refused that stupid religious ceremony. You wouldn't pay for my schooling because of that, so all that was left was this wasted life." He spread his arms to encompass the farmhouse and the vineyards. "What the krite was I supposed to do except go live with my brother, who was willing to take me in, no matter what?"
"That was your choice!"
"And your judgment was yours! And now all that you have is bitterness and regret, and on top of all that you suffered the shame of Enar's theft, and now the destitution of the company. And I'm sorry for that, I really am, father –"
"What do you want from me?" Farak snarled, rising once more.
"I want an apology! I want to hear you say that if you hadn't driven Jran away, he might still be here now. That if it wasn't for you, I might have a family!"
Farak was about to spit back a reply, but his son's last words suddenly registered, and he blinked in surprise. "What?"
Kralin, too, was caught off guard by his inadvertent admission. He cleared his throat. "I said I want an apology."
"So," Farak said, sitting back down, "I'm not the only one bearing the burden of regret." He watched his son with a measured gaze, and then continued, "You're right, Kralin. I've been too proud and too stubborn to admit when I was wrong, and it has cost me far more than you will ever know." He deliberately sipped his lukewarm tea, waiting for his son to sit as well.
It was the closest thing to an apology that Kralin was going to get, and the argument had exhausted him. He settled into his chair and reached for his tea, but then thought better of it, pushing the mug away instead. "I don't want to read that poem," he said at last.
Farak now understood why, and he nodded. "Very well. I will ask Matok to read it." He picked up the pad and began typing notes.
Kralin watched his father for several moments, and he was about to suggest they discuss the future of the family business, but he realized that enough had been said for one night. They had successfully weathered the storm and were now in its eye, where all was quiet, and he was too exhausted anyway.
( 4 )
He runs through the rows of tanta vines, the branches grabbing his face and arms, and Kaylem is close behind. They have snuck out of the house, and the darkness presses close about them. The planetary weather control has announced an impending thunderstorm for this night and most of tomorrow, so the western moons are hidden behind a thick bank of clouds.
The adventure was Kaylem's idea, and the boys had to wait until Kralin's parents were long asleep. Jran too, but he didn't sneak back into the house until just an hour ago, two hours after his curfew. Kralin peeked out, and from the way Jran stumbled up the stairs and into his room, Kralin's sure that he was drunk. Kralin's too young yet to fully understand what that means, but it's a phrase that he's heard in arguments between his parents and Jran of late.
Kralin knows how to deactivate the security fence that surrounds the fields, and he and Kaylem have no other mission except to pretend that the long rows of vines are enemy soldiers, and they take swipes at them with swords fashioned from tree branches in the garden behind the house. They run through the rows, shouting with mock rage, knowing that no one will hear them because the vineyards are not patrolled by guards. There's only a night watchman in the control center, and he's probably not focused on his screens just now. Kralin and Kaylem reactivated the fence after they snuck in, and part of its function is to scan for biosigns among the vine rows.
"Kralin, stop!" They've reached the end of the row, and Kaylem looks around, peering into the darkness beyond the glowing fence. "What's out there?"
Kralin shrugs. "I dunno. Bunch of trees and fields. There's a farm way over there somewhere beyond it."
In the eerie glow from the security fence, Kaylem's eyes flash with a strange light. "Let's explore it!"
Kralin hesitates. "We should be getting back to the house. It'll take us awhile as it is." He suddenly realizes how far out they are. In the distance a low rumble of thunder signals the imminent arrival of the forecasted thunderstorm.
"Oh come on. We can use the security fence to guide us back around that way." He doesn't wait for Kralin to reply but instead opens the control panel and inputs the security code. The fence disappears, and Kralin reluctantly dashes across the line with his best friend.
The darkness presses in even closer as they leave the vineyard further and further behind. The towering hulks of the trees loom even larger and more forbidding than they did a few moments ago, but Kralin swallows his fear. He won't give Kaylem an excuse to make fun of him, and besides, he can still see the blue glow of the security fence, even from this distance, and Kaylem's right. As long as they keep it in view, they can follow it back around the farmhouse.
The boys plunge into the forest with the kind of reckless abandon that only children can possess, and they explore the unknown for another hour. The odela trees are massive, the trunks almost a hundred sils in diameter, and their branches are half as thick. Prefect for climbing.
The storm breaks. The wide leaves create a natural canopy that shields the young explorers, and they nest in one of the spacious branches to wait
out the rain. It never occurs to either of them that the forest is the wrong place to hide from lightning, nor does it occur to them that Jharis might check on them in Kralin's room in an hour or two when she rises to use the bathroom.
The soft music of the rain, the warm air of the night, and the comfortable bed of moss lull the boys into slumber, and they forget about their mission to make it home before dawn. Only later, when he awakens in his own bed, does Kralin remember being carried home in the arms of his father.
There is no punishment, no stern lecture, only a nod when Kralin and Kaylem shuffle into the kitchen for breakfast. Farak sips his tea, using his mug to hide his smile.
Jran is huddled over a bowl of phok, avoiding his father's gaze, and Jharis dishes up two more bowls. They all sit at the table, and only the patter of rain through the open window breaks the silence.
( 5 )
The Sisters of Dra'Shai walked up the center aisle in a somber procession, following Shil'Ra Forn. The elderly priest held a gilded chain from which hung the censer, and its acrid aroma burned in Kralin's nostrils. It evoked bitter memories of services long past, when it seemed as if his entire youth was spent inside the walls of this cathedral. A small choir was standing to one side of the altar, singing a traditional hymn of mourning. It was a slow, mournful tune that Kralin had always found particularly soporific, but this time was different, and he listened to the words as he returned his gaze once more to the closed coffin in front of the altar.
A memory surfaced, his mother singing this hymn to herself as she worked in the garden. Had it been evening, morning? Kralin couldn't remember, nor could he recall how old he'd been. The color of the flower Jharis was trimming was deep gold, and she laid it on top of the bouquet near the steps where Kralin was sitting. But the harder Kralin tried to color in the details of this unexpected memory, the more elusive the scene suddenly became. Her hair was pulled back at her neck, but a few errant strands framed her face as she bowed her head to focus on the next bed of flowers. A pile of stones was gathered close by for the path that would soon wind its way through the garden. The haavis tree was almost fifty sils tall, or was it higher? Now he wasn't sure if the flower had been gold or copper. And had she been singing the hymn of mourning after all? Or was it a lullaby?
The voices of the choir ended, and Kralin blinked as the memory of his mother dissolved completely. The shil'ra called the service to order, reciting a passage of scripture, and Kralin murmured the response in sober chorus with the rest of his family. The mourners occupied only half the hand-carved pews of the expansive auditorium, and the bright afternoon sun sliced the hall with long blades.
The rain splatters against the windows, and the choir sings another hymn of sorrow. There are four coffins, two large and two small. Jharis weeps softly as Farak wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders.
Kralin recognized only a few of the faces that surrounded him, and it appeared that he was just as obscure to most of them as well. While he and his father had stood in the atrium, acknowledging the mourners as they arrived, Kralin hadn't missed the whispers and odd looks that were cast in his and Inedra's direction. Nor did he care. All he wanted was to get through this arduous ceremony. The sooner it was finished, the sooner he could be somewhere else.
Kralin seethes with rage. It has overwhelmed his grief, absorbed it, and now it throbs in his chest like a second heartbeat. He looks up at the faces of the Varashok that are carved into the wall above the altar. Their empty eyes and bland expressions only reaffirm his atheism. He bows his head with everyone else as the shil'ra begins his prayer. But Kralin curses and blasphemes the Gods in his heart, and the only comfort he finds is in his rage.
The shil'ra launched into his sermon, and Kralin sighed inwardly as he was forced once again to listen to a long diatribe about El'Sha'Lor, the Varashok, and, of course, the fulfillment of Tor'Ahl's first prophecy.
"It gladdened Jharis' heart to live to see the Emissary," Forn said. "Her faith sustained her through her long illness, and she is with the Mother now, at peace and rest. The time is now short, and Tor'Ahl's second coming draws nigh. Very soon we shall all be with those we have lost, and we shall sing the praises of the Mother and the Father for eternity." The elderly priest smiled and nodded. "We shall all be at peace and rest."
"It is sometimes hard to see the will of the Varashok. We don't know why they summoned the souls of Jran, Tarish, Mikel, and Larha. But we take comfort knowing that they are now with the Father and the Mother, wrapped in the arms of a love and a peace that shall never be known to us in this life." Shil'Ra Forn pauses, looking at Farak, Jharis, and Kralin. "They are home, and one day soon we shall all be reunited at the Time of Great Reckoning. And we shall sing with new voices a new song."
Matok walked to the altar to read Song of Mosstherad. The familiar words made the familiar ache blossom in his chest, a pain that had been a part of him for so long he'd become almost numb to it. The choir stood to sing once more, another song of mourning that Kralin hadn't heard in years. Yet the words came back to him as if he had sung them only yesterday, and he joined in the chorus with the rest of the congregation. He glanced at Inedra from the corner of his eye and was surprised to see her weeping as she sang. He felt suddenly embarrassed and self-conscious, and he bowed his head, only murmuring the last few lines.
The shil'ra gave one final prayer of blessing, and then the Sisters lifted the coffin and carried it out of the church, following the shil'ra. Farak and Kralin followed the Sisters, then came the choir, and the rest of the congregation followed them. An anti-grav sled was waiting at the foot of the steps, and the Sisters laid the coffin upon it. The choir began a new song, lifting their voices loud, clear and strong. Some of the mourners joined them, others wept, and others prayed. Kralin clasped Inedra's hand, and she squeezed back, glancing at him as she sang. The processional wound its way through the streets, led by the shil'ra, and passers-by stopped to watch and pay reverence.
Jharis leans against Farak, drawing support and strength as they follow the procession. The rain has stopped. The others are singing, but Jharis only stares at the coffins, her lips moving in silent prayer. Farak, too, is silent, his gaze focused on nothing, his eyes as empty as those on the faces of the Varashok inside the cathedral. Kralin slips away from the crowd as soon as they pass a side street. He leaves Neyart, wandering aimlessly until he arrives at the forest. A fresh storm breaks, and Kralin climbs an odela tree, sheltering himself beneath the broad leaves.
At the cemetery, the Sisters took the casket into the crypt, placing it reverently and carefully into its final resting place. Forn gave another prayer of remembrance and blessing, and then the mourners broke away in small groups, leaving only Farak, Kralin and Inedra.
"It was a beautiful service," Inedra said to Farak, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Farak looked up at her but said nothing. She glanced at Kralin and then started back to the cemetery entrance.
"How long are you going to stay here?" Kralin asked.
"As long as I need to. Go. Be with your...friend."
Kralin ignored the subtle insult and joined Inedra. As they left the cemetery he cast one more look back at his father. Farak's head was bowed, one hand pressed against the wall of stone, as if he no longer had the strength to stand on his own.
Chapter 20
____________________
( 1 )
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN Farak entered his home, pausing to listen in weary silence. All was quiet. He glanced into the kitchen, expecting to find Kralin, but the room was empty. Farak was about to start up the stairs when he saw that the back door was ajar. As he stepped closer, he could hear singing, and for one irrational moment Farak believed that his wife was not dead, that the funeral service he had sat through earlier that morning had been a lucid dream.
As he stepped into the garden, Inedra looked up and smiled.
"Hello. I hope I'm not intruding." She was kneeling next to a patch of blue and crimson ae
to. "I thought I'd do some weeding while there was still some light. Kralin's with Matok." She grabbed a fistful of thistles and pulled hard. "This is a beautiful garden. Jharis could have taught my father a few things."
"Yes," Farak agreed. "Yes, it is." He knelt to gather the pile that Inedra had uprooted. "There's a pair of gloves in that cupboard next to the door." He pointed.
"It's all right," Inedra replied. "My father always said that a true gardener doesn't need gloves." She held out her hands, her palms and fingers nicked with old scars.
"You really don't have to do this," Farak said politely.
"If you want me to stop, I will."
He hesitated and then sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. Go ahead."
Inedra nodded, wiping her hands on her pants as she stood.
Farak turned towards the door. "Do you want some tea?"
"Yes, please." She started to follow him, but he waved her back.
"Stay. Keep weeding."
Inedra had the entire patch of aeto finished when Farak returned with two steaming mugs. They sat on the steps and watched the sky change colors as twilight settled in.
"I liked the poem," Inedra said.
Farak nodded absently. "It was Jharis' favorite, though I never understood why."
"You don't like his tone."
"What?"
"Brondin's tone. His poem is light, almost irreverent. He treats death as if it is something trivial, ordinary."
"Is he a favorite of yours?"
Inedra shook her head. "I prefer Erilli. He was a contemporary of Brondin, but he was far more serious, and most of his poems are very lengthy."
Farak sipped his tea, and Inedra brushed a blade of grass off her pant leg.
