by M. D. Hall
Gorn sat back in his chair and looking down at the floor, rubbed his forehead. She was fine when I left her, but one person has the answer, he thought.
After a few moments, the stricken young man’s reverie was broken by Ciarra. ‘You need to rest as the reflections ceremony is this evening.’
Lifting his head to see the face of his mother’s closest friend, he asked. ‘There’s nothing else?’
Jaron leaned forward, and put his hand on Gorn's shoulder. ‘We will get to the bottom of this, I promise you.’
‘I'm grateful to you both, but I think I know where the answers lie,’ Jaron and Ciarra looked bemusedly at Gorn as he stood. ‘I haven't heard from my father,’ and with that said, he smiled sadly at his friends, before moving off in the direction of his room.
Jaron motioned to Genir that he wanted to be alone with Ciarra. They sat for a few moments in silence, watching him wander into the garden, before the man who was once more Jaron the friend, Jaron the father, Jaron the husband said. ‘I'm not sure we've done the right thing by leaving him unprepared.’
Ciarra shook her head. ‘I don’t think Gorn will need anyone, he’s a lot stronger than you think. I agree, it isn’t right that he goes into this unprepared, but it isn't our place to tell him. We’ll be there for him when he learns the truth.’
‘But will he trust us then?’
Ciarra had no answer to give her husband as they were, once again, reclaimed by silence, each feeling powerless to influence what was about to happen.
The Reflections Ceremony
Ω
The Zone of Reflection took up an area one kilometre in diameter and each attendee was required to make his, or her way to the Remembrance Chamber, alone. Each of the many paths led to the centre like the spokes of a wheel, none meeting or intersecting.
As Gorn stepped on to his path, he found himself looking along a serene avenue formed by a combination of natural fauna and holo emitters. The only sounds were a soft breeze whispering through the trees, and water gently breaking over stones hidden within, or beyond the trees. Of his friends there was no sign.
The purpose of this walk was to cleanse and prepare the mind. Having already endured four days of seclusion, he felt as prepared as he would ever be.
At the end of his journey, he entered the marble clad portico that opened on to the Chamber. Almost simultaneously, his friends stepped into the chamber and made their way to him. Glancing around the room, he could see his father and brothers standing together, some way off. Feeling nervous, he glanced at Jaron for support, before setting off on the short walk towards his family. Short, the walk might have been, but it seemed to take forever to cross the marble floor to the answers he needed. His approach was noticed. The three men who represented all that remained of his immediate family, turned to him as one. His oldest brother Serkar nodded an acknowledgement, he looked no different to how Gorn remembered him from their last meeting three years ago, but for eyes containing undisguised pain.
His father and other brother Naraak, however, regarded him with baleful eyes glaring out from faces that contained no grief. He felt as though he had been struck, the empty space from Meteor reopening, deep inside. As his mind began to mirror his stomach, he simply stood there, unable to fathom what had happened. All reasoning having fled, a single question struggled to the surface, demanding to be heard. Looking at Serkar he spoke aloud the insistent question. ‘Why?’
The pain in his older brother’s face was now combined with uncertainty. ‘I…’
Naraak turned his head to Serkar with a look that dared him to speak further. In response, the eldest brother lost his look of vulnerability, and for the briefest of moments assumed a mantle of defiance, before relapsing.
They were deadlocked, but Gorn became aware of another presence appearing at his side. He turned, instinctively, as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and found himself looking into the strong, resolute face of his old zagball coach. Zaran said nothing, as he guided his charge away from the trio, towards an arch where no one was standing. Gorn leaned against one of the pillars. ‘Take it easy,’ counselled his coach, ‘just breathe slowly, and evenly.’
Gorn looked at Zaran, then to his family and asked, simply. ‘What have I done?’
‘You exist, and that’s enough,’ the older man paused before adding. ‘We need to talk, and this is neither the time, nor the place. I’d like you to meet me tomorrow. There’s a cafe at the northern end of the Shimmering Park, be there at noon.’ With that, he strode out of the chamber, pausing briefly to speak to Jaron and Ciarra, before giving Bakir a purposeful look that simply created more confusion in the young man’s mind. As if in answer to his plight, Genir began to move towards his friend before a restraining hand was placed on his arm, by his father; Gorn had to come through this alone.
As his mind began to clear, he sensed he was on the verge of discovering something momentous, what that something was, he had no idea, but he was certain of one thing, there was knowledge shared by his coach and father, of which he was ignorant. When he looked over to Bakir, for the briefest of moments, he thought he saw regret etched upon his face. In that instant, he looked much older than his years, but as quickly as it appeared, the look was gone, as was the recent anger, both subsumed by the old demeanour of indifference, which became hidden from view as he turned his back on his youngest son.
Gorn tore his eyes from the little group, and was surprised to see how many other people were filling the hall. Because of the numbers, there were many he could not see, and of those who were unhidden, most were unknown to him. There was little point in walking through the crowd when there was no way he could introduce himself to all of them, it was easier to remain apart. His eyes swept the huge room, and he wondered how his mother had managed to touch so many lives. Some of the strangers were taking turns looking first at him, then his family; they were beginning to notice the distance, not just physical, between them. It was time for him to leave. He would return later, and conduct his own private remembrance ceremony.
As he approached his friends, Ciarra’s hug gave him the simple reassurance he needed. They parted and he turned to Jaron who, without speaking, took hold of his arm and smiled. Gorn stood back from them both, and turned to Genir who, without smiling, said. ‘I’ll see you back home,’ Gorn wondered if that reference to home was calculated to make him feel better, he thought not, Genir was too genuine for that. ‘If you need me when you come back here, let me know,’ his friend added.
Trust you to figure out that I’m coming back, Gorn thought. ‘I’ll manage, but thanks.’ Genir simply nodded and then, without even a glance in the direction of his father and brothers, Gorn left.
Ω
Hours later, when he was certain he would not be disturbed, Gorn returned to the Remembrance Chamber. During his long solitary walk, he expected his head would be filled with tumbling thoughts, but to his surprise and relief, it remained relatively empty.
As he entered the chamber, the caretakers kept their distance, reflecting their instinctive understanding born of many years experience. He spent the rest of the night sitting in the only chair in the huge room, looking at the holo-images of his mother playing over and over.
Walking from the hall, he thought about the day that was beginning to break, and tried to imagine what he could expect. Finding no answer, he turned his mind to what had happened in the space of just a few days. He had gone from a life mapped out before him, both straightforward and uncomplicated, to the loss of a mother he loved, but never took the time to know, and the stark realisation that in losing her, he lost the only family he had. His thoughts were drawn backwards in time to another incident, one that, with the benefit of hindsight, hinted at what had happened just hours before.
He was twelve, Naraak’s squadron had just returned from a minor engagement, and the older brother decided to visit the family home. Gorn, even at twelve, was usually restrained and not given to outbursts, but this was one of his brot
hers returning from battle, normal rules did not apply. Running past his mother, he burst into the library and the question he had been bottling up, since the news of his brother’s visit, spilled out. ‘Naraak, your ship was on the front line, what was it like?’
‘It’s none of your concern,’ his brother replied coldly. He was about to say more when their mother walked in and looked at her elder son without saying a word. Naraak’s overt aggression immediately subsided, to be replaced by a sulk. There was no more conversation, and in less than an hour the visitor had left, with no words of farewell to the youngster, indeed no words at all. Gorn remembered going into his father’s study, normally a place to be avoided, unless invited. Bakir was standing at the bay window looking out in the direction his departed son would have taken. ‘Father, Naraak was odd, he wouldn’t talk to me. Is something wrong?’
He could remember his father’s face as though it was yesterday. It was a mirror image of Naraak’s, just before the sulk prompted by the arrival of their mother. The recollection drew him back to the present and made him shudder, just as it did all those years ago. The nine years dissolved, plunging him back into his father’s study. ‘Your brother has endured a difficult time in action, you shouldn’t have pressed him. Now leave me.’
The twelve-year-old Gorn followed the line of his father’s eyes as he spoke, they were focussed on a point beyond him, and he turned to see where they rested. Standing in the archway was his mother who returned her husband’s look of thinly veiled contempt with what the older Gorn knew to be blank indifference. She held out her hand and Gorn remembered taking it, and feeling all his confusion ebb away as the warmth of her touch, and the soft strength of her eyes, reassured him everything would be all right.
The older Gorn remembered the confusion returning to his younger self, days later. His brother had returned from action before, and such a thing had never happened. He felt there was more to this, but whom could he ask? There would be no explanation from his father. As for his mother, he sensed that it would be wrong to ask her, that same sense told him it would cause her pain.
Asking Genir's parents was out of the question, as it would embarrass his mother, and it was hardly the kind of thing he could raise with Genir who, despite being the closest thing to a true brother he had, would simply not understand. Girls, or getting into scrapes, he could comprehend, but not this. The older Gorn knew this did his friend an injustice.
Younger Gorn made up his mind, the only other adult he could trust was his zagball coach, Zaran.
The following day when he was back in school, he waited until a free period and went down to the sports complex, where he knew he would find the coach. Sure enough, he was testing some of the zagball anti-grav packs. Zaran remained intent on the job in hand, his eyes not straying to the visitor, as he asked. ‘Problem?’
Even now, Gorn had no idea how his coach knew it was him. ‘Do you have brothers?’
‘No.’
Gorn began to fidget with one of the emitters. After about a minute Zaran looked up. ‘Well? The question won't ask itself.’
Younger Gorn recounted what happened between himself and his brother. He could not help but delve further back in time, explaining that while neither of his brothers had been especially friendly towards him in the past, this was the first time one of them had been cold and unresponsive. He had racked his brain, but was unable to think of anything that he had done wrong. Then he described how his father had been towards his mother, and older Gorn remembered a reddening creep into his coach’s face, something that had escaped the attention of his younger self.
Zaran had looked thoughtful, and seemed to ponder carefully what had been said to him before replying. ‘Prior to you coming along, your brothers were the centre of attention of both your mother and your father. When you were young, they moved out of the home, and on to exciting lives in the Naval Academy, with no time to give you any thought. Eventually, despite Naraak’s adventures, things were bound to slow down, giving him time to think and realise he was no longer one of the youngsters getting all the attention. I've seen it before, resentment born of confusion…’
‘Why should Naraak be confused, I don’t understand?’
‘That’s families for you, no one says it’s easy, and brothers don’t have to behave logically. I know you're smart Gorn, you like to think that everything conforms to rules, and is explainable, but life isn't always logical and people certainly aren’t. That kind of resentment isn't uncommon within families, but is usually short lived. The next time you see him he’ll have moved on, and rationalised the situation. I wouldn't be at all surprised, if he hadn't forgotten the whole incident.’
While Gorn was not entirely convinced by his coach’s reasoning, he had no alternative theory to advance, and hearing this explanation expressed by someone he so greatly admired, quelled any misgivings he had concerning his brother. Still, he could not easily forget the look on his father’s face. Nor how his mother had reacted. For some reason, Zaran had decided not to comment on the quieter, but more worrying incident between his parents. Perhaps it was an adult thing, but the feeling stayed with him that there was something deeper going on, something he was not privy to; younger Gorn thought it better not to pursue the matter. As for Naraak, he never warmed to Gorn, and over the intervening nine years they became strangers to each other. Gorn realised that, as his brother’s behaviour was beyond his understanding, it was pointless to be concerned over it, relegating the old question to the furthermost parts of his memory.
Now, they were all thrown together once more, and again he felt the presence of that deeper something. The actions of his family just hours before, and his experience of nine years ago merged. Younger Gorn remembered, and Older Gorn agreed, they were excluded from a vital piece of information which would make everything fall neatly into place.
During the night, he had spoken to the non responsive image of his mother as though she was real and could provide him with the key, but as the night receded, giving way to daylight, nothing changed. As he walked back down the pathway to the exit, he was still without answers, perhaps this time Zaran would provide them?
Ω
Gorn arrived at the Shimmering Park a little earlier than arranged, and sat at a table set apart, overlooking the lake at the centre of the park. He watched as patches of water changed in colour, from azure to the deepest blue, through to turquoise, emerald green and then to yet another shade of blue. The pattern of the changing colours constantly varied, but the most beautiful aspect was the soft light suffusing this aquatic ballet, hence the name given to the park. The lake contained algae, unique to these waters, in a constant state of flux. He would often come here and ponder scientific questions, to which no one had the answers, while sitting on the bank-side. The irrational part of him hoped the unpredictable beauty created by these simple life forms would provide him with inspiration. The answers usually presented themselves, and while his rational mind remained unconvinced the lake had anything to do with it, he still came.
This visit was for an altogether different reason, and he was about to hear something that would impact on his future, in ways he could not possibly imagine.
Zaran arrived, and sat down without any ceremony. He ordered water for the two of them and said nothing until it arrived. When satisfied they would not be overheard, he took a sip of his water then looked directly into Gorn’s eyes. The look in his own was soft and showed concern, perhaps for what he was about to say, or more likely the effect it was to have on the young man before him. He had thought long and hard before suggesting the meeting. Never a coward - his decision not to enter the military, and its consequences were testament to that - what he had to do now required more courage than the decision he made as a young man, the ramifications far greater. However, the decision had never been his to make, he was bound by an oath to Cyrar, which he was honour bound to fulfil.
Gorn had never seen his coach so troubled.
‘Many years ago, be
fore you were born, your mother and I were, along with your father and Genir’s parents, inseparable...’
Gorn interrupted. ‘I know, Jaron told me this years ago, there was another friend, Denaa.’
‘That’s right,’ Zaran smiled, wanly.
‘Your mother and I grew very fond of each other, and while we were too young to be contracted, it was understood by everyone, including your maternal grandparents, that one day, we would marry. Unfortunately, when I made the decision not to enter the military, your mother’s parents forbade me from ever seeing her again.’
Gorn was surprised his mother had never mentioned this to him, when he told her who his zagball teacher was, but from what little he knew of his grandparents, this last part was not unexpected. His mother saw very little of them when she was alive, but never restricted Gorn’s access. He found them dry and cold, more like his father than his mother, and tried to visit them as little as possible. Even at his mother’s remembrance ceremony, they were as impersonal as ever, showing no sign of grief or remorse.
Zaran continued. ‘We were both strong willed, your mother more so than me. She suggested we run away, but I knew she would come to regret it. I left the city to study elsewhere, and in time I heard that she had married your father,’ he took another sip of his water, and Gorn noticed his hands were shaking. ‘I understand you’ve been told of the incident that sent your father into a decline?’
Gorn nodded.
‘You haven't been told everything you need to know about your father. He was a difficult man long before Gallsor, but he hid this from his friends, and your mother never complained. To begin with, he was just surly and uncommunicative, she could cope with that, but after Gallsor he became violent and hurt her badly.’ Gorn was horrified at what he was hearing, and was about to speak when his old coach shook his head. It was obvious the man was suffering, and needed to continue uninterrupted, so Gorn remained silent.
