Crossworld of Xai

by Steven Savage

  People new he liked his freedom, the choice he had. Most people who knew him wouldn’t change it for the world.

  “He’s, ah, going to, ah, kill us.”

  Rake, the head Minister of the Church of the Works of Christ, wasn’t a happy man, which was different from his usual state. Admittedly he didn’t look like the kind of person who’d be happy - a squat boulder of a man with a birdsnest of sandy hair dotted with some small blue-beaded braids. However, he was a naturally cheery person, so his current disposition would be very usual to any observers who knew him.

  Or in this case, observer, as the only person near him as he walked down Temple Street was the Taoist mystic HuanJen. HuanJen didn’t look like he was experiencing much of any emotional state - he was a tall, serene oriental man with a white streak in his dark hair, yet despite such an odd appearance, he seemed almost unnoictable. He was background noise in the universe.

  Except to Rake, who heard him quite clearly.

  “He will not be happy, but he is a good choice. We should afford him the opportunity.”

  Rake shook his head. “Ah, opportunity, why, ah, do you use that word, ah, HuanJen. We’re, ah going to see if he wants to change his life, ah, radically. That, ah, is not just an opportunity.”

  HuanJen was about to speak, when Rake interrupted. “What, ah, do you know that, ah, I don’t?”

  HuanJen’s high brow furrowed. He was an honest person by nature as well as by upbringing, but he found it frustrating that people did terrible things with the truth. People always wanted the truth and then promptly resented it or misused it.

  “What do, you, ah, suspect?” Rake arched an eyebrow. He could tell the Holy Man discussion game was starting. A bit of the usual light that glowed in his eyes sparkled.

  “I am concerned he is not satisfied,” HuanJen stated simply.

  “And, ah, why would that be?” Rake stepped around a rather tall gentleman who didn’t move out of the way. Rake instinctively made sure the crucifix around his neck was displayed more prominently.

  “Intuitions, sensation, data, conversation.”

  “I’ve, ah, known him longer than you, ah, HuanJen,” Rake noted. Occasionally, very occasionally, he got annoyed with HuanJen’s ability to know things. HuanJen picked up information like lint.

  “I know,” HuanJen admitted, “I have a feeling, that is all.”

  Rake shrugged, then thought. “This isn’t, ah, one of those feelings that bodes, ah, trouble? I’m, ah, kind of tired of those.”

  HuanJen shook his head and smiled. “No brother. Let us talk, and see … what happens.”

  Rotan Brownmiller didn’t hold normal hours. He couldn’t if he’d wanted to.

  The Freelance and Specialist clerics like him got calls in the night or a week without work. Long-term contracts and short-term emergencies. It meant his wife was never sure what he’d be doing each week, but as she was a member of the Beautician’s Guild, she knew how it went - she catered to people of many lifestyles and schedules.

  The bulky shaman closed the door to his house. He carefully removed the multicolored coat he wore, revealing a rainbow-hued shaman’s outfit beneath it, and hung it on the coatrack. The rainbow colors were the symbol of Xaian shamans, and he preferred to stay with tradition much as possible.

  Rotan didn’t look like a holy man - he looked like a wrestler. He was bulky, bald, muscled with some extra (and to judge by the meals his wife prepared or ordered, too much) fat. He would have looked menacing except he had a rather gregarious air about him - despite his size, he couldn’t really work up a good menace. It would be like a teddy bear threatening someone.

  “Hey, dad?” a youthful voice called from upstairs.

  “Yes, Junior? Rotan’s voice was friendly thunder.

  “Mom said to stick with the yogurt and fruit. And Sister Shelia took sick so I’m doing my homework, don’t worry.”

  “No problem son, let me know if you need help with History - and did mom say …”

  “Usual time, dad.” Rotan junior answered. “She mentioned going out for dinner, it’s my call this time. It’s gonna be pizza.”

  “Fine.” The shaman mentally made a note to steer his son’s choices towards that little pizza shop two blocks down. They always provided free breadsticks for him.

  Rotan smiled. There was something comforting about a son, a wife, and a home. The dog was be sleeping on the couch in the living room, judging by the interesting snoring noises he heard. Perfect tranquillity.

  Sort of.

  There would be tranquillity after he took care of one task.

  He trundled into the kitchen, then into the small den in back. His wife handled the house, he did the books. He’d actually had quite a flare for math since he was young, and that had applied to his job, until …

  … well, everything changed sooner or later.

  Rotan sat at his desk, booted up the computer, and spent about fifteen minutes lost in the world of spreadsheets and calculations. It was Budget Day and he liked to get it out of the way because he hated Budget Day. Matching two incomes was difficult when one was unpredictable. Besides, his mother always did the budget when he was a child, so he did in his household.

  But he didn’t enjoy it. As much as he liked numbers, the squiggled around and moved when you tried to map them to his life. They had for years.

  Thirty minutes passed like hours and he finally finished budgeting for the week. He was lucky, there had been times it had taken an hour to straightening things out, even with the computer. At least now he didn’t have to address it until next week.

  Now he had some tranquility, hopefully.

  Rotan hauled himself out of the office chair, turned off the lights, and headed back to the kitchen. True to his son’s words, his wife had left several non-fattening selections for his late breakfast. He sat at the table and opened up a container of yogurt. It was fresh, probably from the store down the street.

  He stared down at the custard-like mass and sighed.

  Things were not as he’d expect.

  Brownmiller suddenly straightened. His hand rose to a talisman around his thick neck, something resembling a bolt.

  “I know, calm, peace.” The shaman whispered. “I will be fine, my spirit friend, fine.”

  The hulking cleric dug into his yogurt. Even the spirits he consorted with could sense flaws - some were specialized in it. Even …

  There was a knock at the front door. The dog woke up in the living room and began barking. She never barked when anyone who lived their came home - she just seemed to know.

  “Darcy, quiet … ” Rotan half-yelled.

  “Dad, door!”

  “I know, son!” Rotan fully yelled. Junior had incredibly sensitive ears, and somehow forgot he had to inherit them from someone.

  Rotan stalked toward the doorway, where Darcy was barking. Darcy was of the Xaian breed known as “apparently a dog of some kind,” though she resembled a small wolf designed by committee. Whatever her ancestry, it involved quite a set of lungs.

  “Down, girl,” Rotan seized the doorknob, “I …”

  HuanJen and Rake stood in the doorway looking as clerical as possible. On many other worlds, Rotan would have expected to be handed informative religious literature. Fortunately on Xai you could go to the leaflet racks at Guild Esoteric instead.

  Darcy suddenly sat down next to Rotan and stopped barking. She stared at HuanJen and Rake respectfully.

  “Hey,” the shaman said gently, “What do you two want?”

  “Well, ah, we … “Rake began.

  “What’s wrong?” Brownmiller asked, provoking two stares that weren’t entirely without guilt.

  “Of course, it would figure.” The huge man turned around and gestured for his friends to follow.

  Rake shot HuanJen a strange look. HuanJen shrugged. The two headed toward the kitchen, Darcy in tow, hoping that either one of the new visitors had brought food. As a cleric’s dog, she’d apparently learned faith.
/>   “Yogurt again?” HuanJen asked conversationally.

  “Elaine insists,” Brownmiller answered, “I really need to go to the gym at the Guildhall. You know, you’d think all the walking I’d do would help.”

  “You take the, ah, trolley,” Rake noted as he took a chair next to HuanJen.

  “Yes. It was winter. It was cold. I got a pass.”

  “And you let clients take you out to dinner and lunch,” HuanJen added. There was no malice in his voice, merely the innocence of a person making an observation.

  “I’m civil,” Rotan replied, “Now, what’s up?”

  “Well …” Rake began.

  Brownmiller’s eyes narrowed, which considering the bulk of his face made them virtually disappear. “Rake …”

  “We wondered if you’d like to be a Zone Cleric, replacing Kevin Anderson in the Zone next to me?” HuanJen asked swiftly.

  Browmiller’s eyes un-narrowed in utter surprise.

  “What?”

  “Well, what I mean …”

  “What is it with you two?” Brownmiller thundered. “You and your friends are moving or changing jobs. Slate. Xianfu. Clairice, the freaking Panoramic League? Why am I getting dragged into the HuanJen/Rake Change Your Lifestyle Festival?”

  “Told you,” Rake eyed HuanJen. The young sage shook his head.

  “Rotan,” HuanJen began, “I need someone I can rely on, someone everyone could. So I figured we’d make the suggestion.”

  “Yes, ah, it’s no coercion,” Rake noted. “And … yes, it’s we.”

  “It’s not something I expected.” The bulky shaman leaned back. “I am …”

  “About to tell us you’re happy.” HuanJen interrupted. “It’s going to be a lie.”

  “I hate it when my fellows do that to me,” Rotan growled. A kind of empathy, of personal second site, was a common development among holy men. HuanJen excelled at it in ways that made you want to slap him.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Huan, ah …” Rake shook his head, “leave it, ah, alone …”

  “Let me think,” Brownmiller stated, his words like stones falling.

  “Rotan …” Rake began, blushing slightly.

  “It’s not … a bad offer, Rake,” the shaman said plainly, “there’s a certain attraction to it. And no, I’ll discuss it with my wife but not you two.”

  The minister and the Magician-Priest regarded him calmly.

  “Then with you too,” Brownmiller added. “Can you … email me any more information? I’d rather make an informed decision.”

  “Of course,” HuanJen responded politely, “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “I know, my friend, no, I know. Now … I will think it over. You two?”

  “I, ah, think we should leave,” Rake said. “Give you, ah time. So … we’ll talk later.”

  “Yes,” Brownmiller nodded, “yes we will.”

  HuanJen and Rake had gotten a block away from Brownmiller’s compact, if stately home when the minister turned to the Magician-Priest.

  “What … “

  HuanJen raised a warding hand. “Jade has talked to Eileen once or twice in our visits. Jade talks to me, and I know what it is like to be a cleric who doesn’t have a church or congregation. Not all my income comes from my Zone Cleric stipend.”

  “He’s not, ah well off financially, is he?” Rake inquired.

  “You know how the clerical business is.”

  “True.” Rake sighed. “He never talks, ah, about it come to, ah, think about it. I rather, ah, imagine it’s up-down.”

  “Yes. I think this would be good for him. I just didn’t want to bring it up in front of him …”

  Rake nodded and cut his friend off. ” … we, ah, don’t want him doing it for, ah, the Guilders.” Rake paused. “I think, ah, he’d be good at it.”

  “Yes. I could trust him, rely on him.” HuanJen looked up at the sun. “Jade likes him, and he’s good with people.”

  “And he’s, ah, not Kevin.” The minister said simply, earning a sad look from his friend. Kevin Anderson, the Zone Cleric they hoped to have Brownmiller replace, was a point of contention among several clerics.

  “Kevin made his choice. He likes working in Guild Government, he is happy.”

  “You aren’t,” Rake hounded slightly. HuanJen was a calm and peaceful man, and sometimes when you thought he was upset, it was tempting to push him, just to confirm.

  “Not fully.” HuanJen fidgeted. “He was and is my friend, he was the apprentice of the man who helped me settle in here, Rake. Before you, before everyone, there was Old Man Green. I feel he will never be happy, and I am in a way cleaning up after that.”

  “Sorry.” Rake patted his friend on the arm. “You, ah, you have changed.”

  “I have had much to do. I like to think I have not changed, just am more myself, Rake.”

  “More serious,” Rake continued.

  “Busy.”

  “More focused,” Rake added.

  “Experienced.”

  “Still a pain, ah, in the ass, ah during an, ah, argument.”

  “Why thank you …”

  Rotan spent the rest of the day experiencing a mix of dread, elation, and incoherence. This was one emotion more than usual.

  He checked his email, he checked his stock of herbs and other shamanic equipment. An hour with the newspaper keeping up on news. An hour and a half going out for lunch with Junior. Hours and minutes ticking by, sliced off by the edge of time.

  Until Eileen got home.

  Twenty minutes spent checking the garage.

  Thirty talking to two contacts about his next job.

  Time ticking …

  Rotan was in the basement, eyeing some suspicious drywall when he heard the front door open. He dashed up the stairway as well as anyone built like him could dash. A quick bound out of the kitchen on some very understanding stairs, and he was in front of Eileen.

  “Yes?”

  Eileen Brownmiller regarded her husband with quiet dignity. She was good at dignity - she was a stately, elegant woman with fine blond hair who, though not young, put one in mind of an artist’s model who had aged elegantly.

  “We need a family talk.”

  Eileen blinked. “Rotan …”

  “I heard that! I’m coming down!” Junior yelled from upstairs.

  “Living room!” Rotan yelled back, escorting his wife into the aforementioned room.

  As soon as Brownmiller and his wife entered the living room, Darcy scrambled off the couch. Once the two of them were seated, the dog bounded back into place and draped herself across their laps.

  “She seems … upset?” Eileen asked coolly.

  “I’ve been in a pensive mood,” Brownmiller admitted. “You know how she is.”

  “Yes … “Eileen began. She caught her husband’s eye for a moment, eliciting a small smile.

  “OK, what’s up?” Rotan Junior leapt into the room. He didn’t look so much like a combination of his parents as an inversion of them - he lacked Eileen’s elegance or Rotan’s bulk, though he was tall for his ten years. His hair was long, brown, and wild, containing several blue-beaded braids of different sides. His clothes consisted of a colorful native shirt and a plain pair of jeans.

  “Sit, please.” Rotan nodded at a chair. His son obeyed instantly. “I have … to bring something up with both of you.”

  Eileen looked at her son. Rotan Junior shoot his head vigorously.

  “I had a talk with Magician-Priest HuanJen and Minister Rake this morning. Brownmiller began. His wife and son both gave him quizzical looks.

  “Nothing supernatural. Sorry,” Rotan winked at his son. “A Zone Cleric near HuanJen has changed his position within the Guild. They were thinking I may want to take the job.”

  “Why, dad?” Junior asked. There wasn’t any disrespect, only honest curiosity.

  Rotan looked at his wife, and then his son. “They need someone to count on, someone to rely on, someone to put d
own roots. They came to me.”

  Silence. He hated those kinds of silences - it was the kind where everyone else was waiting for him to speak.

  “I’m going to think it over,” Brownmiller said. “If we do it, we’d have to move, though I suspect the Guild can put us at Old Man Green’s house. I’d probably have more regular hours, but there’d still be unusual calls. I’d probably have more responsibilities, and you two may also - you know what Zone Clerics do… .”

  “Dad, you OK? Junior asked.

  “Yes, son. It’s difficult. I wanted to tell you two early.”

  “I understand, dear.” Eileen lay a delicate hand on her husbands beefy arm. Darcy stirred uncomfortably, looking up at Eileen with soulful brown eyes.

  “I …” Junior’s normally jubilant attitude gave way to a kind of odd maturity. “Well, a lot of my friends are nearby but that’s what a Trolley’s for, and Kim, well, she lives near there.”

  “He could even ride to Sheila’s for class,” Eileen noted. Rotan Junior nodded enthusiastically.

  “Yes. I know we can adjust. I have to think. We’re a family so we’re in this together. I’m going to give it about a week.”

  “Of course, dear.” Eileen smiled pleasantly. To Rotan, it was like sunrise after a bad day. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah …”

  February 21, 2001 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar.

  The family let the issue slide for two days. In Rotan’s experience, that was the usual count when something was important. Eileen was very predictable in a kind of elegantly organized way.

  She finally caught him as they went to bed. She’d turned off the lights, given him the usual two minutes, then spoke.

  “Have you thought about it?”

  “Yes,” Rotan threw his words into the darkness.

  “And?”

  “I’m tempted to do it for the money, and I feel very, very small.”

  “And that’s rare for you, dear.”

  “Thank you for your sensitivity, my wife,” Rotan spat humorously. “Oh, Eileen, it has been years …”

  “I know.” The huge shaman felt his wife take his hand in hers. “I know, dear.”

  “I don’t want my life to come down to money. I’m not sure what I am thinking here. The more I contemplate, the more confused I become. I can feel I should do it, can do it, yet …”