Beyond the Rain

by Jess Granger

“I’m thirty-two,” Soren muttered. “I don’t feel thirty-two.”

  He felt much older, and at the same time, a part of him seemed frozen in time.

  The ship surged and then slowed. In a matter of minutes, they landed. Nu left to change into her gear.

  Soren stiffened. He clenched his jaw until it ached as he tried not to drown in his shifting thoughts. His home rested beneath the hull of the ship. His people waited beyond its walls. He closed his eyes. He could feel his thoughts like living things churning within him and it made it hard to focus. His unbound joy and relief danced in his heart, but to a song tempered with uncertainty and sadness.

  He would have given anything to wake and see the sun rise over the sweeping grasses of Makko again with Cyani warm and welcoming in his arms. Perhaps his home could be another haven for them. He hoped so. It was that emotion he clung to.

  “Soren, I think you’re in shock,” Cyani whispered.

  Soren tried to shake out of his turbulent thoughts. “I’ll be fine.” He offered his hand to Cyn. Cyn took it before pulling him into a half hug and patting him on the back. Cyn gave Soren a lopsided smile. “Take care, brother.”

  “You take care,” he cautioned. “You need to.”

  Cyn chuckled. Soren patted him on the back, but his hand started shaking. He fisted it and sank it into his pocket.

  Nu entered, wearing her mask and suit, then led them to a gleaming staircase descending through a swirling shield. With each step down, Soren’s stomach seemed to knot tighter. Jittery anticipation rushed through his veins as he clung to Cyani’s hand.

  A roar of cheers reverberated through the ship and shook the steps beneath their feet as they stepped through the shield. The red sunset painted the towering clouds in vibrant shades of violet, pink, and flaming orange. Soren shielded his eyes from the light. The cool breeze kissed his face, carrying the heady fragrance of a million flowers.

  A tearful throng had gathered in the circular plaza of the Eln market. Their stamping feet thundered on the worn white stone, flushing a flock of long-winged doves from beneath the thatched roof of one of the small trading houses. The crowd sang with throaty voices as their long pellays caught and rose in the joyful wind. Colorful strips of feather-adorned fabric fluttered like dancing birds from the ends of the long bowing reeds the crowd waved above their heads.

  Soren froze. His whole body shook. He felt drugged. His urge to throw himself into the throng in joy fought his overwhelming desire to retreat back into the ship. Cyani squeezed his hand tighter as the crowd parted and his father strode toward them.

  His father opened his arms wide, tears in his glowing blue green eyes. The years had been hard on him. Lines of worry and sadness had etched into his face, but there was no mistaking the unbound joy in his eyes.

  Soren couldn’t move. He recognized his father, but he felt disconnected somehow from the man before him. What did he expect?

  Cyani gave Soren a nudge and he stepped down into his father’s arms. His father crushed him, and he welcomed it as the second level began. They communicated not with words, but by scent, touch, and the shifting meaning in their eyes. He could feel the sparkling energy of his father’s relief and joy radiate from his body. His eyes burned so bright green, Soren could barely see his pupils. Soren tried to take it in, but in the second level, he couldn’t hold anything back, and his memories felt too raw to share.

  He had tried to speak this way to Cyani. Sometimes he thought she understood, but to be free to speak on the second level again was both a relief and a burden. Soren smiled, trying to tell his father he was happy to be home, but he had to force back the dark thoughts.

  His father returned his smile, but Soren could nearly taste his uncertainty. In his mind he could feel the unspoken questions. Questions his father did not really want answers to. They were answers he didn’t think he could give. Only Cyani knew the truth of his darkness. In the end, all he could give his father was his love. He hoped it was enough.

  He caught the scent of his mother. She ran toward them, her silver white-streaked hair flowing like her regal dress. She pulled Soren from his father, studied his eyes, and touched the scars at his wrists.

  In the second level, her emotions suffocated him. Soren pulled his wrists away from her. She smacked the back of his hand, then touched each scar before smoothing her hands over his hair the way she had done a thousand times when he was a little boy. He felt her pain at each hurt she knew he suffered. It took all his strength to keep the other hurts from her. She didn’t deserve his suffering.

  His mother looked in his eyes once more then turned to Cyani. Her hope and surprise floated between them like the scent of fresh sweetbread. Soren smiled with relief. He could give her this.

  Cyani lifted Vicca to her face and rubbed her eyes against the back of Vicca’s neck. Soren heard a sniffle.

  “Damn pollen filters,” Nu grumbled from behind her mask.

  Cyani laughed, drawing the back of her hand under her own nose.

  Soren smiled and offered her his hand.

  She descended and took her place at his side.

  “Mami, I’d like you to meet Cyani,” he forced out of his tight throat.

  “Welcome, my child,” his mother offered.

  She took Cyani’s hand, folded it in hers, and pressed it to her heart, then patted Vicca on the head.

  “Soren?” Cyani turned. The cheering crowd pushed around them.

  Just then, Soren caught sight of a beautiful young woman standing near a team of fine silkas hitched to a wagon.

  The pain sliced through him in one terrible cleansing stroke.

  “Rensa,” he whispered.

  She rushed forward and hugged him. He let the tears finally fall as he held his baby sister. He thanked the Grower, she was safe. All he had ever done, he had done to protect her.

  Rensa shook as he hugged her, but she pulled back. She wiped her own eyes then looked up. Her brow furrowed then shot straight up in shock as she noticed Cyani for the first time. She looked back at Soren, puzzled, then she smiled. Soren smiled back.

  “Welcome, sister,” she greeted, then looked like she didn’t know what to do with herself. Finally she motioned toward the road. “Come. I have the wagon waiting for us. Let’s get out of here while father makes his speech.”

  Soren took a moment to greet the silkas. He never thought he’d see one again. He ran a hand down each long velvety nose. They watched him with deep dark eyes beneath their long sweeping lashes.

  “What beauties,” he whispered to them. “You have the look of my old Mum-mum.” One shook its head, its long white hair floating around its elegant long neck. Soren ran a hand over the braids in their smooth coats. They had been tied with blue and green ribbons that bobbed over their shoulders and around their graceful legs.

  With a sigh, he checked their harness, patted the nearest one on the rump, and climbed into the wagon.

  Rensa wouldn’t stop staring at Soren’s wrists. He didn’t bother to cover his scars.

  “Rens, listen to me. I’m glad it was me. It’s okay,” he said.

  “No, it is not,” she countered. “I’m sorry.”

  Soren took her hand. “I don’t ever want to hear that again. Do you understand? It was my fault, not yours.”

  She nodded, though the motion was shaky.

  “Rensa, I’m home.”

  She smiled then, her eyes sparkling. She turned her attention to the silkas as she expertly drove them with soft taps of the lead-rod to their flanks. A flood of news poured out of her mouth, as if she had been saving every missed conversation from the last fourteen years.

  She told them about the new relationship with the Pyri, and their willingness to share more of their technology, their father’s rise in power to become councilhead, the twisting political battle that ensued when a man took over the traditionally female position, and their brother’s struggle to keep the pandas from eating his reed thicket.

  “I swear, the things breed
like rats,” Rensa commented.

  “Where is Nens?” Soren asked, wondering which garden his younger brother tended.

  “You’ll see him soon. He’s harvesting for the feast.” She smiled.

  “So his garden is ripe then?” Soren asked. He leaned toward Cyani.

  “As ripe as his bride’s belly,” Rensa chuckled. “It smells like she carries a boy. They were going to name him for you.”

  “And what about you? You’ve grown so lovely from the gangly girl I knew. I’m surprised your mate’s not here to guard you.”

  Her face fell. “I haven’t chosen.”

  “Why not?” Soren sat up.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Soren glanced outside, and his face blanched. They had turned down the road that led to his lifegarden. “Why are we going this way? Rensa, I don’t want to go back there yet.”

  “Relax, brother. It has been taken care of,” Rensa mentioned as she flicked a long pole along the flank of one of the silkas.

  They passed along an impenetrable thicket until they came to a huge open archway. Luminous pale cream pakkas bloomed like trumpeting stars over the entrance, their fragrance spicy, heavy and seductive. Tiny blue birds hung upside down from their petals as they licked the fluffy pollen off the burst of tendrils dangling from the mouth of each blossom.

  The birds trilled in greeting, fluttering blue and gold wings in the light of the setting sun. So the pakkas had survived. That didn’t surprise Soren. He brushed his thumb over the tattoo on Cyani’s wrist. They could survive anything.

  Soren reluctantly let his eyes drift upward, and the vision that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs.

  Cascades of blossoms rolled in thick waves, their colors and intoxicating scents surrounding the wagon. Enormous orange and violet broadwings danced over the draping blooms, fluttering over an endless carpet of awe-striking beauty.

  Beyond the initial gardens he had carefully planned and planted, fertile slopes of deep green grass fed fat silkas and round-bellied goats with long spiral horns.

  His vineyard and orchard crowned the rolling hills by the creek. Beyond that, the towering forest sheltered several buildings alive with the dancing light of fires within.

  Soren leapt from the moving wagon and collapsed on the ground.

  Cyani flung herself over the edge of the cart and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  He buried his hands deep in the soft black soil at the side of the road. He couldn’t seem to get them deep enough.

  Cyani let her hand wander over his back in an attempt to comfort him as his tears watered the ground. Before his eyes, new budding leaves unfurled in welcome as the faces of the endless blossoms turned to him in greeting.

  20

  IT LIVED. HE GRIPPED THE MOIST SOIL IN HIS FISTS. HE COULD FEEL ITS HEALTH, smell its rich fertility. How had it lived? The countless plants stretched before him in the greeting gardens. He knew each of them by name, by feel, by scent and sight. He had started their life with the skill of his hands, nurtured and protected them.

  “How can this be?” he asked.

  “Nens and I have worked hard,” Rensa said as she stepped down off the wagon. “Father helped, too, though I always thought for him it was a memorial.”

  “What was it for you?” Soren asked as he rose to his feet.

  “I knew you’d come home.” She smiled. “I had to believe it.”

  Soren hugged his sister once again, “Thank you,” he murmured to her.

  “You thought it was dead?” Cyani placed Vicca on the ground as she took an angry step toward him. Soren released his sister.

  “Rensa, you’d better take the silkas back to the field. I’ll meet you at the house.” He held his hand out to Cyani, but she brushed it aside.

  “Cyani,” he began. Rensa hopped into the wagon and started the silkas in a brisk trot.

  “The entire time we’ve been together, you believed all this was dead,” she repeated.

  “Yes,” he confessed.

  “So that entire time I was fighting to get you back home so you could find a mate to save your life, that whole time, you believed you were going to die anyway.” She slapped her hands down to her sides and began walking after the wagon. Soren jogged to catch up to her and caught her hand. She yanked it away.

  “Rot, Cyani. Listen to me,” he demanded, taking her hand again. “Yes, I thought I was going to die. If I did, I wanted to die here. In my home.” He gently pulled her toward him. He needed her to understand. “You gave me hope. You saved my life. I don’t want to fight. I want to see my home—see what you’ve given me.”

  “Soren, I—” she stammered.

  “Stay.” He put pressure on her hand, nothing more than a gentle hint to come to him.

  Indecision flashed through her wide blue eyes. He didn’t need them to change color; he could read them anyway. She pulled her hand away.

  “Will you join me tonight?” he asked, keeping his hand open to her. It was a loaded question, one with too many meanings. Soren hoped that she wouldn’t pay too much attention and assume his invitation was only for the evening. He wanted much more than that.

  All she had to do was take his hand. If she did, it would seal his fate. By asking her to stay, he had committed to her with mind, body, and spirit. He had twisted his words so that they didn’t sound permanent, but what he felt for her was forever.

  She stared at it. Her eyes flickered over his scars. Her mouth pinched into a contemplative line before she looked out over the greeting garden. Soren plucked a velvety purple blossom from one of the bushes and offered it to her.

  With a sigh, she took it and placed her hand in his.

  Soren felt the tingling thrill as she took his hand. The bond spread through his body, pushing all his power in a sudden rush through his blood. He could feel his hormones like fire under his skin. He was bonded to her, completely, in every way. If she left him now, death would be swift and merciless. All of the chemical pathways had opened completely to her. Without her presence, they would shut down just as quickly.

  He just needed to convince her to stay. She loved him. Azra couldn’t offer her all of this. He only had one evening to do it.

  They walked in silence down the path. Cyani pushed back the feeling that she was being foolish. So what? Now was not the time to worry about Azra. She didn’t have long before she’d have to return. If this was the only bit of peace and beauty she’d have in her life, she wanted to cling to it, even if it was only for a few hours.

  This world entranced her. Her visions of the glorious afterlife couldn’t compare. She’d been mistaken about her impressions of what a lifegarden was. She’d thought of it like a farm, or a tended plot of land, but instead, it was an intricate and perfectly balanced ecosystem. It was hard to imagine Soren as a young boy struggling to create such a pristine wonder on his own.

  He pointed out the different species of butterflies floating over the blankets of flowers adorning the path. For the first time since she freed him, he truly seemed at ease.

  Yes, she could believe he created this. It was his nature to find beauty and watch it grow.

  They walked down the path to the fields of spongy grass where a small flock of white beasts grazed. They reminded Cyani of camels with more elegant features, draping hair, long floppy ears, and only a slight hump. She had never seen anything like them on any other planet. One of the foals cavorted toward her.

  Cyani laughed and ran as the little thing galloped around on unsteady legs. Soren caught her and held her in his arms as he chuckled at her. Vicca chased after the foal in a futile attempt to herd it back toward its sleepy-eyed mother.

  “Come on,” Soren whispered in her ear. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  The sun faded fast as they crossed the field and made their way over a series of large flat stones embedded in the cool creek. They followed the creek bank up into the edge of the forest. The ground sloped down into a shady grotto. A chorus of chirping inse
cts hummed in the trees. Curling ferns lingered beneath the sweet-smelling needles of the conifers. A trickling waterfall played over moss-covered rocks. The soft flowing plants were the same color as her hair.

  “One of the very first thoughts I had when you freed me, was that you reminded me of this place,” Soren admitted.

  “You thought I had mossy hair?” she teased.

  “You reminded me of my home,” he answered. “Look.”

  Cyani turned her attention to the place he was pointing and gasped. Amidst the ferns tiny pinpoints of light swelled and faded as they floated like magic over the fronds. They lit in bright shades of green, yellow, violet, and blue as they drifted about, lighting and disappearing again.

  “What are they?” Cyani whispered in awe.

  “Light bugs,” Soren answered. “They’re hoping to find a mate.”

  “Creative name.” She smiled at him. He shrugged as he sat in a patch of cool, sweet-smelling flowers.

  Vicca leapt at one of the bugs and took a swipe at it with her paw. She twisted in the air and landed with a loud splash in the creek.

  With a squawk, she threw herself back out of the water and scurried under a stand of ferns.

  Laughter bubbled up out of Cyani before she could help it. Her amusement was carefree and spontaneous. It came from her alone, unlike her feelings on Makko. Soren’s deep chuckle melded with hers until she had to cling to her side to ease the pinch there. The moment was bittersweet. She would miss her scout.

  Cyani gathered her legs in her arms and buried her toes beneath the round velvety leaves at her feet.

  “Cyani, what’s wrong?” Soren asked.

  “It’s nothing.”

  He touched her chin. The pad of his thumb traced the edge of her jaw. “Talk to me.”

  She bit her lower lip.

  “Are you thinking about Azra?” he asked.

  She nodded without looking at him.

  “Are you thinking about this?” He pulled her necklace from his pocket.

  A chill rushed over her shoulders and down her arms as she stared at it in shock.

  “How did you?” she gasped.