by BC Powell
“Why?” she asks.
“So that Aven has her own room.”
“We can keep her cradle by our bed for a while,” she replies. “I don’t want you to lose your space for painting.”
“It’s fine. As she gets older, she’ll need her own room. When we have another child, they can share it.”
Before either of us can say anything else, Aven slaps her hands to Sash’s cheeks.
“Mama!” she shouts.
Sash and I stop dead in our tracks at Aven’s first real word. After Sash smiles at our daughter, she opens her eyes wide at me with feigned exasperation.
“Do you remember what we talked about?” she asks.
“I only said ‘Mommy’ that one time,” I say in my defense.
Aven turns her face to me and reaches out a hand. “Dada!”
Sash lowers her eyebrows. The pretend mad in her glare is replaced by genuine. “I told you that I don’t think we should use those terms.”
“The thing is,” I say, “I never once said ‘Daddy’ to her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I answer.
“Then how would she learn that word?” she asks.
“I have no idea.”
Sash looks down at Aven’s face again.
“Mama,” our daughter says in a soft voice that melts my heart.
“I guess it’s meant to be,” Sash whispers.
After we return to our habitat, Sash and I discuss how to rearrange everything so that Aven has her own room. While we’re in my studio taking inventory of items that can be moved to the shelves in the main cavern, I go to my calendar to make a notation of Aven’s Naming Ritual. With so much of my recent time devoted to Sash and our daughter, I didn’t even realize that today is my twenty-fourth birthday on Earth.
Sash and I spend the rest of the afternoon walking around the Delta with Aven. We eventually end up on the Empty Hill and sit in the grass. With Aven resting on my lap, I lean to Sash and kiss her cheek.
“Happy birthday,” I say.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“Do you remember when I explained how we track years on Earth?”
“I remember.”
“Every three hundred and sixty-five morrows from the morrow of their birth, a person has a birthday. It’s to celebrate another year in that person’s life.”
“That’s an odd number,” she says.
“That’s how long it takes for the Earth to revolve around what’s called our sun. You saw the sun in the Infinite Expanse with me. I explained to you what it was.”
Sash nods her head to let me know that she remembers. “But why are you saying happy birthday to me?” she asks, ‘birthday’ now translating and part of her vocabulary.
“Today’s my birthday. You told me that you had a vision that showed us being born at the same time, so it’s your birthday, too.”
She leans to me, kisses my lips, and then nuzzles my cheek. “Happy birthday, Chase.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “It couldn’t have been better.”
Chapter 11
Sash and I wake up early the next morrow, but not by choice. About an hour before we usually get out of bed, Aven launches into non-stop babbling. Mixed with her usual gibberish is an occasional “Mama” or “Dada,” but most of the time, she points at the tunnel entrance and shouts her third comprehensible word.
“Go!”
Although there’s no way to explain it, she seems to know that she’s off to her first morrow at Home. Based on how animated she is, she couldn’t be more excited about it. After dressing ourselves, Sash and I get Aven into a tiny pair of black pants and sleeveless V-neck. I chuckle at the thought that she looks like an infant model about to be paraded down the runway at a punk fashion show.
As we all drink sap together, Sash and I encourage Aven to say her name. Her only response is to wrinkle her forehead and study our faces. Before we head out the tunnel, Sash summons Kyra to let her know that we’re on our way. Wanting me to get used to traveling with Aven, Sash straps the child carrier over my chest and we all leave our habitat for the morrow.
I’ve never exercised so much caution while traveling as I do carrying Aven. Giving a wide berth to any trees and steep hills along the way, I steer through the widest valleys leading to the north. I doubt I ever exceed a thousand miles per hour, a much slower pace than I’m accustomed to traveling.
We reach the broad meadow in front of Home to find Marc and Kyra already waiting for us. I’ve met the forty-something female Keeper several times in the past in conjunction with my duties as a Traveler. Her long, straight hair is almost always tied in a bun on top of her head, probably to keep young hands from grabbing it. With a medium build, round face, big eyes, and little bulb on the end of her nose, she has a pleasant, soothing appearance.
When I pass Aven off to Kyra, Aven instantly pinches her cheeks. In a gentle, caring way, Kyra establishes a few boundaries by pulling Aven’s hands away and telling her that it’s not alright to do that. In response, Aven squeezes Kyra’s cheeks again.
As Sash and I have already learned, Aven can be a handful in several ways. Much like her mother, she’s extremely strong-willed. It’s not uncommon for her to resist a bath in the waterfall cavern by trying to squirm away from us, or avoid going to sleep at night by chattering loudly in the dark, sometimes for hours and hours.
Based on her mysteriously calling me “Dada” and seeming to know that we were on our way to Home, she also must have some type of mystical clairvoyance. After witnessing Sash’s glimpses of the future and adapting to the more magical aspects of Krymzyn, I’m not at all fazed by her sixth-sense. I can’t say the same about how she explores how far she can push someone before they react, but that’s just what young children do.
Like all new parents, Sash and I experience major changes in our lives. And like all new parents, we gradually adapt. It was easier when Sash’s only duty was to care for Aven. Once we’re both back to fulfilling our purposes, we juggle our schedules, alternate pick-ups and drop-offs, and dedicate our evenings to our daughter. Although it wears us out at times, the simplicity of life in Krymzyn makes parenthood easier than I assume it would be on Earth.
Since I often start my duties in the northern portion of the Delta, I’m usually the one who drops Aven off at Home. Sash typically picks her up at the end of the morrow, although we sometimes meet at Home and spend the evening with Aven and the other children.
While watching the children play in the common room or quietly having their sap together, I get a better sense of why people in Krymzyn are the way they are. Although they’re always taught to be polite and respectful to one another, interaction with others isn’t encouraged the way it is on Earth. Communing with the entire world around them is much more important to them.
If Darkness falls while Aven is with us, Sash insists on being the one to transport her to Home. Considering how much faster Sash’s traveling speed is than mine, I don’t blame her for wanting to take on that responsibility. She’s also a better fighter than anyone else in the Delta. But to be honest, it annoys me at times because I feel like she doesn’t trust me with the task. The one time I bring it up with her, she simply replies, “I’m faster.”
As I noticed during Aven’s first few months of life, children develop much faster in Krymzyn than they do on Earth. In the weeks after her Naming Ritual, Aven’s vocabulary increases from three words to twenty. Cup, sky, sap, and other words that I’d expect to be among a child’s first in this world soon come out of her mouth. Like many small children, she has trouble with certain consonants, especially combining them. She pronounces “tree” as “chee,” and “clouds” as “cowds.”
At four months old, Aven sits up on her own. She’s also easily engaged in simple games. Sash brings a few toys to our habitat from Home, all of them educational in one way or another. Aven’s favorite is a set of interlocking steel rings with twist-open hinges. She adores unclasping them,
putting them back together again, and then shaking them wildly to make as much clamor as she can.
Our lives are really turned upside down when, at five months old, Aven begins to crawl. Even though it’s only a couple of inches deep, I panic that she’ll somehow drown in the stream inside the waterfall cavern. Then I worry that she’ll climb down the crevice that the water spills away through. Sash alleviates my fears by showing me that the crack in the rock is only a few inches wide. None the less, we tell Aven to never go in the waterfall cavern alone. In another sign of her stubbornness, she ignores the rule and often tries to crawl in there by herself. Fortunately, since she’s never alone in our habitat, Sash and I can rush to stop her.
Our concern hits new heights when Aven crawls to our spears at the end of one morrow and yanks them off the wall. With the help of two Constructs, we completely childproof our habitat. The first thing we do is have the Constructs install new spear clasps. They set them in the wall so that they hold the spears horizontally and high enough that they’re well out of Aven’s reach. They also install a gate over the entrance to the waterfall cavern with a latch several feet above her outstretched arms.
We eventually move Aven into my former studio. Although we sometimes let her sleep with us, she spends most nights in her cradle. I find that I can get her to sleep faster by singing lullabies from Earth, so that becomes a regular part of our routine. Once Aven’s asleep, we close a curtain over her doorway that the Constructs installed so that Sash and I can have a little much-needed alone time. We usually fall asleep in an instant.
The older Aven gets, the more pronounced the resemblance between mother and daughter becomes. As Aven’s hair grows longer, her raven waves are identical to Sash’s. Their subtle smiles, the intensity in their eyes, and their facial expressions are all mirror images of one another.
Despite there being no precedent in the Delta for her to draw from, Sash proves to be a patient and caring mother. She never loses her temper with our daughter, even when Aven tries to push us to our outermost limits. Sash can usually get her to back down with nothing more than a prolonged stare. Whenever that happens, Aven gazes straight back at Sash. Because their eyes glass over during the stare-off, I often wonder if they’re sharing some type of unspoken communication, much like I’ve seen with Sash and Eval.
Eval stops by our habitat every few morrows, usually under the guise of making sure we’re adapting to our daughter dwelling with us. She always ends up sitting on a stool with Aven on her knee and playing a game with her. The caring of a grandmother may be foreign to this world, but it’s unmistakable in Eval’s interaction with Aven.
Although Larn always asks how Sash and Aven are, he’s less willing to partake in customs that aren’t natural to this world—like being a grandfather. Several times when our duties for the morrow end, I ask him if he’d like to stop by our habitat to see Aven. He never accepts my offer and always has some vague excuse for why. I eventually stop asking out of fear that it makes him feel uncomfortable.
Tela is the exact opposite of Larn. At least once a week, she comes to our habitat when our work for the morrow is completed. After the first few visits, Aven squeals with delight whenever Tela shows up. They play games together and sometimes go for evening walks with Aven in the carrier, giving Sash and me a little breather.
The only comparison I can come up with for the relationship that develops between Tela and Aven is that of an aunt and a niece on Earth. Considering how close Tela and I have become, the long-time friendship between Sash and Tela, and Tela’s interest in customs from my world, I can’t say that I’m surprised.
At six months old, Aven pulls herself up to a standing position by placing her hands on a stool. She never stays erect for very long and eventually wobbles and falls to her rear. She sticks her bottom lip out and lowers her eyebrows, making an adorable pouty face when it happens. But never once does she cry or shed a tear.
Sash and I cheer loudly when, at seven months old, Aven takes her first step. Over the next few morrows, we take her to the top of the Empty Hill and help her walk across the soft grass. Before we know it, she’s trotting back and forth between us with a smile on her face.
Once our lives finally settle into a consistent routine, I decide to make good on my promise to teach soccer to the children of Krymzyn. Under an enormous willow in the grove of thread trees, I find the Weaver Nina to ask her to make a few balls and a net for the goal.
On a trip to the Mount, I want to ask Wren if he can make the goal frames. Tela accompanies me to the broad clearing where the Constructs work. Surrounded by blue-needled pines, the Constructs are putting away their tools at the end of the morrow when we arrive.
Near the center of the meadow, I spot Wren cleaning up his workspace with his short, curly hair aglow with the magenta of a Construct. When he lifts a large, marble mold from the ground to the top of one of the table-like slabs, I’m impressed by his strength, especially considering how lanky he is. He notices Tela and me walking across the clearing and stops what he’s doing.
I quickly explain the soccer goals to him, including how Nina will fit the netting over the frames. He asks a few questions about their size and how they’ll be used and then declares it won’t be any problem to make them. After he tells me that he’ll have them ready in ten morrows, Tela and I bid him farewell.
As we return to the road, I realize that I forgot to ask Wren for spikes to secure the goals to the ground. I turn back to him and instantly bite the insides of my mouth to keep from bursting out with laughter. With his head tilted to one side, his eyes dreamily follow Tela while she continues to walk away. Completely lost in his trance, he doesn’t even notice that I’m looking at him.
“Wren,” I say. He’s so fixated on Tela that he doesn’t hear me, so I call out again a little louder. “Wren!”
When he looks at me, his cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “I, uh,” he mumbles, “was just making some calculations.”
“I’m sure you were,” I reply, still trying to keep from laughing. “I forgot to ask you for something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Spikes with a hook on the end to secure the goals to the ground. Eight inches should be long enough. Nina will make rope loops for the corners of the goals that they can go through.”
“That won’t be a problem,” he tells me.
“Thanks, Wren.”
After he nods his head to me, he returns to putting his things away. I jog after Tela, wondering why Wren would look at her that way since that type of attraction doesn’t exist here. I’ve never seen a person in Krymzyn look at someone else with an apparent crush, but that’s exactly how Wren was looking at Tela.
I can’t say that I blame him. Tela is smart, helpful, and very pretty. Her big, round eyes have an underlying intelligence in their gaze, and her oval face is naturally cheery. The bridge of her medium-sized nose might be just a little too wide for her face, and her eyes a hair too far apart, but they’re the kind of imperfections that only enhance her overall beauty. Full, red lips over a smoothly curved chin complete a face that most guys would find alluring.
As I think about it, I decide that Tela and Wren would actually make a great couple, although I doubt there’s any possibility of that happening. She was blind to his admiring eyes, and romance isn’t part of life in Krymzyn. When I catch up to Tela, I slow to a walk by her side.
“Wren is sure a good guy,” I say, studying her face for a reaction.
“He’s very skilled,” Tela replies in a typical Krymzyn response.
“You two are about the same age, aren’t you?” I ask, thinking that if I’m twenty-four now, Tela must be around twenty, and Wren is twenty-one or twenty-two.
“He’s a little older than I am,” she answers, “but we were at Home together for a long time.”
“Were the two of you close?”
“All of us at Home at that time were very helpful to one another. Did you know Sash was the one who taught
me to blend my light?”
“I didn’t,” I say.
“I think I told you once that I learned to travel soon after the first time I met you on the Tall Hill. Sash had recently ended her Apprenticeship and had her own habitat. She came by Home at the end of one morrow and took me to the Traveling Hill. I remember her exact words. She said, ‘Stop pretending that you don’t know how to blend your light and do it. If you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will.’”
“That sounds like something Sash would say,” I comment.
As we near the gate where the other Travelers are waiting for us, Tela and I stop walking and face each other. Her eyes light up when she resumes the story.
“We ran down the Traveling Hill side by side several times, but nothing happened. Sash refused to let me give up. Larn happened to pass by and stopped to watch what we were doing.
“On the fifth try, I saw the beams, jolted forward, and streamed my particles into them. I was so stunned that I was traveling that I lost my focus while crossing the meadow. I flipped through the air several times and broke both of my legs. The strange part was, I didn’t care. I didn’t notice the pain because I was so excited that I’d traveled at such a young age. Sash knelt beside me and told me how proud of me she was.
“I spent the next few morrows at Home in bed. Sash came by to see me several times each morrow. Nina was an Apprentice Weaver and made special pillows to prop up my legs. Wren sawed the legs off a table, set it by the side of my bed, and made sure I always had a full cup of sap. Even though he was small, Cavu refused to leave me alone in my cavern while I slept. He sat by my doorway with a training spear across his lap to watch over me.”
“Wow,” I say. “What a great group of kids . . . children.”
“We were very different from our elders,” she says. “We took a much greater interest in each other’s lives.”
“Do you miss having that?” I ask. “I mean, do you ever get lonely? Everyone here is so solitary, but you seem to like it when you spend time with us.”
