Rimon addressed the Council. “We have an excess of channeling staff and more than adequate selyn supply, but can’t make it to spring harvest on current food stocks.
“The Fort Hope people have a shortage of channeling staff and extra food they can’t move because of broken wagons. Would this Council have voted against sending all the aid we could to over two hundred people also dedicated to the non-junct life? Even if they didn’t have the food we’ll require, could this Council vote to leave them to die in the harsh mountain winter without the proper gear?”
Despite Xanon’s efforts the ambient shattered. Bruce opened the door as everyone spoke at once. The accusations leveled at Xanon interested Rimon more than the renSime reaction to Bruce slicing neatly into the nageric chaos.
As Bruce worked his way through the crowd to Rimon’s side, Rimon learned that Xanon hadn’t told them all the facts about the people they were about to take in. Xanon shouted for silence as Bruce arrived at the ideal spot to help Rimon contain the chaos.
Rimon blended Bruce’s throbbing, ever rising Gen field into his own showfield, and very delicately worked Xanon’s grip on the fields so that order once again emerged despite all the disagreements flying.
With nageric peace came an audible order. Finally one voice emerged. “Rimon, tell us truthfully. Did you know all that when you sent Lexy out there?”
“I didn’t send Lexy,” said Rimon. “She and Garen decided to go without consulting me.”
Xanon accused, “She didn’t consult anyone.”
“Which is as it should be,” agreed Rimon. “I found out later she went up on the wall to zlin for herself and found that after I’d evaluated the situation, one of the renSimes had gone nearly comatose from hypothermia. She realized they had to have a channel, and since we had the excess staff to cover everything, she went with Garen. It’s what I would have done in her place, so why should she have done anything else?”
“If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it ten thousand times,” said one of the Gens. “The Farrises are the most important channels we have. Why risk one when anyone else could have done the job?”
“What risk?” asked Rimon. He added what Xanon had failed to tell them. “Garen is our best mountaineer. I wouldn’t risk Jhiti in this weather without Garen. Garen has spent most of his life in two mountain Forts growing up with Lexy who has never lacked an adventurous spirit. If she goes anywhere with him, I know she’s as safe as she’d be in the Fort. Anyone from Fort Rimon could recount many tales as proof.” Far too many for a father’s comfort.
Once again Rimon showed Xanon how to organize the fields into a coherent ambient and left him in charge of the room again. He could barely contain his astonished delight when Xanon held the pattern longer this time.
Unfortunately for Xanon though, the renSimes in the room couldn’t fail to notice the lessons. It was coming clear to them why Rimon and not Xanon was in charge here.
One of the renSimes summarized, “So you unilaterally ordered the Fort Guard out to rescue three strangers, who might have been Raiders. Later Lexy just decided on her own to go, but now the channeling staff administration agrees?”
Xanon added, “The Guard is not under your command.”
“No, the Guard is not under my command,” agreed Rimon blandly. “I did not order the Guard out. Jhiti called me to consult because he knows I can zlin all the way to Fremir Peak on a quiet night. I reported what I’d zlinned. Jhiti, who is in command of the Fort Guard, listened, then assembled an appropriate unit to go to the rescue.”
Everyone was talking at once. Again that was not what Xanon had told them. A Gen near the front said, “You can zlin all the way to Fremir Peak? I don’t believe it.”
One of the renSimes who had been zlinning Rimon’s field management lessons said, “I believe it. Turned out to be just what he and Lexy said would be there, three renSimes in bad shape.”
Rimon corrected Xanon’s grip on the fields, a little more subtly this time, leaving the other channel to do more of the work. “So can we elect a Council tonight?”
Bruce startled, then steadied, but that threw Xanon’s tenuous grip on the fields awry. Rimon helped him again and left him to manage alone. Bruce said, “Benart has too much to do to run an election now.”
Rimon captured the attention of the renSime who had been studying the field management lesson. He was probably the steadiest, maybe the smartest one in the room. He seemed the sort of person who ought to be managing projects. Finally, he remembered the man’s name. “Alind. Since Benart doesn’t have time to organize the elections, would you take charge and get this done? Just ask around. Anyone can tell you where the election supplies are stored and how we usually staff the committee.”
Rimon stood up and summoned Alind up to his place. “You can use my office. I’ve got Collectorium duty.” Rimon gathered Bruce with a wave of one tentacle and, giving the fields one more correction, left Xanon in charge. At the door, he turned and added brightly, “Thank you, Xanon. You’ve been very helpful.”
As Rimon expected, it didn’t take Alind long to discover how complicated Council elections would be. There were arguments over increasing the number of Councilors to eleven from the usual seven. There were objections to holding the election before all the Fort Hope people settled in and debate on holding a seat for them.
The election soon became the central topic over even Lexy’s adventures bringing in the Fort Hope refugees, and Benart’s adventures contriving to house them.
Nobody had yet proposed replacing Benart, Sian, Val or Jhiti and Oberin. As a result, the foundation for the new wall, an irrigation trench bringing water from the river up to the base of the hill, and the new latrines all progressed at a breakneck pace. Food, laundry, new knitted woolens, and channeling services ran smoothly, even though people argued about the Council situation while they worked.
The weather held, but the cold deepened. Rimon spent much of his off time pacing the catwalk around the walls, watching people work, fretting about their frostbite exposure, evaluating health and level of exhaustion, watching the older working children for signs of changeover, and zlinning toward Fremir Peak.
As he circled the walls, he saw the first logs being raised to mark the anchor points for the new wall, and piles of material marking where new houses would be built.
He rationed himself to one full circuit of the walls in the morning and one at night. Before descending from his vigil, he would stop, close his eyes, and dream about how the whole compound would look when the new walls were up and new housing built all around the new perimeter.
The plan called for dismantling the old wall and moving those logs out to the new wall, adding what new logs were necessary. To do it quickly took planning. Their experts had to range far into the western hills edging the valley, and up beyond the cemetery to get the logs.
With growing Need, Rimon had no patience for the detailed reports on his desk, so he spent more time on the walls. Around noon, eight days after Lexy and Jhiti had left, Rimon was on the walls zlinning Fremir Pass when he was rewarded with the appearance of two of Jhiti’s guards.
Rimon was waiting with Oberin when the returning Guards brought word that another pair from their squad were a day behind them. Jhiti wanted two more guards to start out from Fort Rimon with answers to the messages these carried, creating a constant contact with the Fort Hope camp.
Lexy’s messages asked for more clothing to be sent with the next dispatch. The rescue party, she reported, could repair all of the Fort Hope wagons and mount them on sled rails instead of wheels. All the wagons Rimon had sent after her had arrived intact.
With each new pair of guards arriving, Rimon got personal messages from Lexy of breathless reassurances that all was well and she was making good friends among the beleaguered channeling staff of Fort Hope.
Late in the evening, the day after Alind managed to hold the elections, filling all the eleven seats with Xanon’s choices, Rimon was working Collector
ium. Trying not to think about Lexy, he chatted with each of the Gens who came to donate selyn. Bruce worked the conversations with him, relaxing the Gen. It was how he had always kept up on the Fort’s affairs, but now he took extra time with each donor he didn’t know, discussing the Fort and what they felt would make them happy here.
His Companion would often disagree with him, argue to draw the donor out and let them see Rimon alter his opinions when new facts appeared. The two of them did the same with the renSimes they served in the Dispensary.
He and Bruce often enjoyed these conversations so much they referred to working Collectorium as “resting.”
Just before midnight, Rimon was taking selyn donations from the kitchen staff early shift and discussing the shortage of crockery and soap that would result when Fort Hope arrived while Bruce was napping in a corner. His Companion’s field was so high, and so comfortably peaceful, Rimon felt relaxed despite encroaching Need.
He had just finished carefully siphoning off the donor’s excess selyn when a Gen stopped outside the door, attention penetrating the thick wood with calm urgency.
“Come in!” called Rimon waking Bruce. The kitchen worker left as the Gen entered. It was Rushi, the young Companion Solamar had been training. Val had been using her as a midwife, broadening her training.
“Rimon. Bruce, Iriela is in labor.”
The infirmary’s most insulated, stone-walled rooms were used for births, so Rimon wasn’t surprised he hadn’t noticed. He grabbed for his cloak moving toward the door. Over his shoulder, Rimon asked Rushi, “You told Val?”
“Yes, she told me where you were working,” she answered taking off after Rimon and Bruce
Together they crossed the narrow space between buildings, tossed their cloaks on the pegs by the door and went to the birthing chamber. Rushi went to Val’s office.
The birthing room was a cheerily decorated, triangular space at the outside corner of the building, windowless except for a few vents near the top of the wall. It was supplied with two blazing hearths, and cabinets filled with supplies. The split log walls were faced inside and out with mortared river rocks arranged in swirling patterns.
The stone insulation swathed the room in a nageric peace disturbed only by the occasional nageric shriek of tissue forced to stretch beyond endurance. When a Gen was giving birth, all the stone wainscoting was required.
Today, Iriela’s renSime nager, paled by the severe selyn draw of the fetus, barely touched the stone walls. Iriela walked leaning on Maigrey, who was still serving as Xanon’s Companion. Today, though, Maigrey led Iriela around the worn track in the carpet. At least Xanon was not there, berating Maigrey for her every move.
Bruce went right to his daughter, keeping his attention on Rimon to shield her from his very ripe Companion’s nager. He enfolded her in his love and his arms. Maigrey stepped back to allow Bruce to hug his daughter.
All Rimon’s ultra-composed, always-ready-to-work, never-failing-in-pinpoint-concentration, Companion could do at the moment was mutter, “Rella, Rella, Rella, Iriela my wonder,” while his nager filled the room with whirls of anticipation and immense respect. Rimon clamped down on the ambient. She needed this from her father right now more than she needed selyn.
The Gen was so confident of Rimon’s skills he wasn’t considering the danger the next few hours posed for his daughter. But then Rella herself had been one of Del Rimon’s successes. Rimon felt his primary field and his showfield align perfectly under his best friend’s fatuous joy.
He angled aside to zlin Iriela’s condition. They had given her extra selyn just the previous evening, but her baby would be a channel and was already taxing her system for more selyn. She would be all right for a little longer.
While he was devising his strategy for this birth, Rushi came in with Iriela’s husband Fengal, and Fengal’s Companion, Aislinn.
Bruce turned with a great welcoming hug of joy for his son-in-law, a channel of considerable accomplishments but nowhere near Bruce’s level. “Fengal! See, Rimon was right. We’re going to meet our new boy in a few hours.”
Fengal hugged him back. “I never argue with Rimon. He’s always right.”
The door opened again and Bruce’s wife, Dayyel sidled into the overcrowded room. She was a Gen who’d been raised among Simes, but not a Companion. Her presence barely rippled the ambient, but it did complicate the fields.
Before Bruce’s ever growing and searingly joyful nager could crush poor Fengal’s control despite everything Aislinn could do, Rimon intervened. “We could use some working space here.”
Maigrey put Iriela into the tilted chair beside the birthing couch and prepared to leave.
Rimon stopped her with a tentacle gesture while he said to Iriela’s mother, “Dayyel, I know you just got word and want to stay and support Rella, but....”
“Say no more,” assured Dayyel. “Rella, just do what Rimon says like we talked about yesterday.”
Iriela started to answer, but drew breath as another contraction clamped down. Bruce stepped toward her, but Rimon caught him with a tentacle. “Bruce, go take care of Dayyel and your family until I call you. Guard the corridor. Maigrey, you work with me for a few hours so Bruce can do the grandfather’s job in peace.”
Bruce got the message even if most of the others in the room didn’t. Their transfer was just too close now, so Bruce was too high field to be of use to his renSime daughter, especially when he was constantly blowing the fields to smithereens with spikes of joy while she was fighting what felt like death.
Bruce scooped his wife and son-in-law out of the room, saying “Fengal, you and Aislinn can find something to occupy Xanon while Maigrey does my job for me.”
Rushi led the way out cheerfully remanding her patient to the channel for delivery and everyone trooped after her ready to start partying.
Suddenly the room was empty except for Rimon, Maigrey and Iriela. As the door closed Rimon brought his whole attention to focus on Iriela.
Maigrey, Iriela’s lifelong friend, wanted to hold her hand and mop her forehead, but Rimon gestured her back to her Companion’s duties. She couldn’t do much for Rimon, but she was in better emotional shape than Bruce and much lower field so she wasn’t raising Iriela’s Need.
Rimon took the channel’s stool next to Iriela and brought her contractions under his control, smoothing out here, balancing the muscular effort, encouraging selyn to flow there, examining for bleeding.
Then he captured her attention and directed her mind away from the effort her body was making. It was her first child, but she had been thoroughly prepared. Though she’d only been in labor for a few hours, her waters had broken and she was dilating easily. This is going to be fast.
Maigrey hitched herself up onto the tall stool behind the chair and focused on Rimon, firm, supportive, confident.
For Rimon it was all in his showfield. Inside he just wasn’t all that sure. Outside the Forts, for a renSime or most Gens to give birth to a channel usually resulted in the mother’s death because, unlike Gens and renSimes, channels drew huge amounts of selyn from the mother at birth.
No other children had a clue about whether they would become Sime or Gen at maturity. But channels knew their destiny. Certainly, Iriela’s boy was going to be a terrific channel if his selyn draw was any indication.
Rimon’s secondary selyn system was replete from his recent stint in the Collectorium. But would he be fast and smooth enough to get this much selyn into a renSime without the selyn energy burning her? Bruce’s daughter.
During the hours that followed, he reviewed his successes and his failures. His own father hadn’t been able to teach him much. He’d invented most of it by trial and error. Every time he fed Iriela more selyn, not transfer but just providing a sustained trickle of selyn, he worried.
Iriela’s confidence grew as his waned. By the time they had her installed on the birthing couch, her upper body and arms strapped down so she couldn’t move to try to satisfy any sudden spik
es of true Need, Rimon knew this baby would need more selyn than his mother’s renSime nerves could carry in the moments before birth.
This child had a top Companion for a grandfather and a channel for a father. He would be a very strong channel, if he lived. Rimon knew he would have to get his tentacles onto the fetus before birth and infuse selyn into the child directly without burning the mother. He also knew all the times that technique had failed with renSime women.
“Maigrey, you’ve done a splendid job here. Now you’re starting to tire. Go get Bruce for me.”
Maigrey stepped back, wearily sweeping her attention away from Rimon.
“Go on,” said Iriela. “Father would want to be....” The rest was taken by a low, open throated grunt that turned to a moaning groan.
“And send Rushi in,” added Rimon.
Moments later Bruce and Rushi replaced Maigrey who very reluctantly closed the door behind them. Bruce’s whole family was waiting in that hall.
Rimon briefed Bruce in clipped tones and half sentences. His Companion wrapped Rimon in his solid field. Rushi didn’t have enough of a field to penetrate Bruce’s nager, and Iriela was a selyn depleted renSime with her baby a pinpoint of concentrated selyn at her center.
Rimon had long since educated Iriela on what would happen if he had to use this procedure. She threw her head back gasping, “Do it, Delri. I’m fi....” and again her words dissolved into a groaning push.
Rimon cleansed his hands and tentacles in the basin Rushi provided, then worked his hands up around the baby’s head. He felt his laterals slide through the hot blood and mucus, finally contact the baby’s skin. He closed his eyes and focused wholly on his Sime senses.
Bruce’s hold on him was so strong, he felt as if his body and all his Need with it were separated from his work with the fields now. He found the contact points, and met the baby’s Need with a diffuse cloud of selyn, soaking the mucous with the energy of life.
The Farris Channel Page 13
