For the next three days, Rimon avoided Solamar as he had been all winter. Since Lexy and Solamar were the only people other than Bruce he could really talk to, that made life lonely. But it’s only temporary, he told himself. With time, I’ll be stable again unless I let Solamar start pulling me out of my body on a regular basis.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EXPEDITION
Solamar knew the best time to find Rimon on the wall seeking solitude was when Bruce was ensconced in his own office hearing the problems of the Companion staff. If Rimon had finished his own work, he’d walk the walls, no matter how cold it was.
This first month of the year, it was cold. The snow came driven on high winds, tiny hard flakes that no sooner hit the ground than flew into the air again. In addition to the guards, Jhiti posted sweepers to clear the catwalks and cut paths through the snow even as it was drifting.
Jhiti did not put it past the Raiders to hit the Fort in the middle of a blizzard, so he welcomed Rimon’s nightly patrol. Lexy too would take a turn during the day, and Solamar gravitated toward the dinner hour, though Kahleen would haul him in to eat before he was through meditating.
So he went out late at night, too. From time to time he’d catch Rimon alone. At first, Rimon was skittish, apparently expecting Solamar to demand an explanation, insist on teaching him tricks, try to talk him into learning. But after zlinning the belt Rimon still wore, Solamar kept silent. If he spoke at all, it was on some bit of business, or some artistic addition to the Fort’s new buildings.
After a while, they’d lean on the wall and zlin the distance or observe the Fort’s interior, just letting their senses roam to the horizon, reveling in how good it felt, sometimes without talking at all.
Once, they discussed Jhiti’s new defense drills that involved every able bodied Sime except the channels. Jhiti was well aware of the factionalism tearing at the Fort. His cure for this was mixing people who stood on opposite sides into combat drill teams who had to learn to work together.
Another time they discussed plans to build Rimon a new house since he’d given his away and taken to living in his on-duty room instead. He didn’t want a whole house with Aipensha gone and Lexy about to start her own family.
In time, Rimon began to relax, believing Solamar would not press about teaching him. They discussed everything from Shiltpron techniques to Genlan invective, anything and everything but channeling.
Searching for another topic, Solamar said, “Oh, and someone left new blankets on the bed, so I took the liberty of hanging your quilt back on the wall.”
“You did? Thank you. That’s a very old quilt and I really didn’t want to see it more worn from regular use.”
“It has a story behind it, I’ll bet.” Solamar remembered the first time he’d slept under it and felt the passionate hope glowing from every stitch. It was packed with love, hope, triumph. He’d never felt such a complex warding spell either. Someone with untrained but major power had made both the baby quilt and the enlargement.
“Many stories. I think I told you, the center piece was made for me when I was a baby. Since then it’s been involved in births, deaths, and even one wedding.”
Solamar kept his nager to himself, avoiding anything such as the penetrating nageric interlocks that had triggered Rimon’s problem. Still, he felt Rimon’s love of that quilt. He’d just have to wait to be told the whole story.
The third night, just a few days before Lexy would be three months pregnant, under a cloudless sky, with the air so still they could hear the river, Solamar was standing beside Rimon, leaning on the railing wondering how to open the topic of Lexy and her child. He had to find a way to convince her to marry him. He wanted more than to simply stand as father to her child. He wanted it all. If anyone knew how to convince her, it would be Rimon.
Eventually, Rimon gave him an opening. “I examined Lexy again today. She isn’t exhibiting the signs of a woman pregnant with a channel. This child will be Gen or renSime, and I’m betting on Gen.”
“I’d love to be the father to raise that Gen. She said the renSime father had a sister who was a Companion.” He paused judging Rimon’s nager. But he didn’t get to say, Rimon, I’m in love with your daughter out loud.
Behind them, BanSha stormed up the stairs, leaping them three at a time with youthful confidence in his zlinning ability to spot ice before he stepped on it.
Oberin tromped over to lecture the young channel before letting him on the catwalk. Rimon met Solamar’s eyes and they shared a private chuckle. “I suppose where you grew up, they had an Oberin too?”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Solamar, remembering a number of scoldings all too keenly and being very glad his father wasn’t here now to comment on how he was failing.
“Tell me about it sometime,” said Rimon zlinning Solamar quickly. Then he pushed himself away from the wall and moved toward BanSha but not to rescue him.
Maybe he’ll trust me if I tell him how my grandfather thought the Farris channel mutation would ultimately be the key to uniting humanity, Sime and Gen together without fear. But then I’d have to tell him, and Lexy, about how my father could talk for hours presenting philosophical proof that the whole concept of channeling was wrong headed, a dead end that would be the source of more misery than salvation.
Solamar followed the Farris channel over to BanSha. He added his nageric support as Rimon reinforced Oberin’s lesson in how a channel should behave.
Here I am helping ram home a hard lesson just as my father taught me. I wonder if he loved me the way I love BanSha. I wonder if BanSha knows how we delight in him?
Finally, Oberin left Rimon and Solamar to escort the young channel down the slippery stair. On the ground, Rimon asked, “So what is this about?”
“Sian and Jhiti want you at a meeting. You too, Solamar. I’m supposed to go find Kahleen and Bruce too.”
“Who else?” asked Solamar. “And where?”
“Everyone important,” answered BanSha. “By the looms. There’s nobody sleeping in there anymore.” The youngster was off at a dead run over the slippery snow as if he hadn’t been scolded. Of course I never paid any attention to my father either.
Solamar followed Rimon across the Fort at a more reasonable pace aware Rimon was zlinning him curiously.
The factory building was a long, slender edifice next to the old front gate where so many of Fort Tanhara had died that a monument had been erected. With the wall moved out, the monument now stood alone where the gate had been.
The wainwright, cabinet maker and the potter had the end of the building nearest the gate, and the looms were on the other end with the wicker workers. Between were the tailors, the cobbler, and other crafts. The candle makers, though, worked in the school building next to the laundry where there was always a well stoked hearth to keep the children warm. Now that they’d expanded the walls, they were planning additions to the crafts building to give everyone the space to supply the whole Fort’s requirements.
Solamar had seen the kitchen staff petitioning Rimon for space for a cannery that could double as a dye processor, tripling the value of their trade goods. He’d heard summer here produced riots of berries and grapes. Some of the timber they were using came from clear cutting the area they would use to expand the fields. That should have been a Council decision, but apparently they’d been too busy.
They arrived at the factory door as Lexy and Garen came from the stables. Lexy said, wiping her hands on a rag, “We’re going to have a lovely new colt born in a few weeks, several in fact, and then it’ll be lambing time. I don’t know where we’ll pasture these flocks.”
Kahleen joined them as Lexy and Rimon led the way into the building discussing pasturage.
Val, Bruce, Jhiti and Benart straggled in, and Zedros smelling like fresh laundry brought up the rear with Rinda.
Solamar had taken a donation from Rinda, a Gen woman who had come out of retirement to accept Fort Hope’s seat on the Fort Rimon Council. She was a level heade
d woman with experience at juggling conflicting demands on a Fort’s economy. She liked Tuzhel and that endeared her to his heart. She reminded him of his mother.
Everyone talking at once made a growing uproar. BanSha tucked himself into a corner, sucking on some dried fruit. He watched the fields with the absorption only a First Year channel could bring to bear.
Sian built up the fire in the hearth as the door closed for the last time. There were five others there, one the Fort Tanhara cobbler, Eric, who made superb saddles too. He’d been born out-Territory and raised in leatherworking trades.
Sian introduced everyone and then said, “Frevven here has news. He’s the Fort Hope cobbler.”
Frevven stood, respect suffusing his nager. “I’m a Fort Rimon cobbler now, and very glad of it, but sorry to report this Fort has problems. We didn’t invite the two Fort Butte cobblers to this meeting because we feel Rimon has to decide.”
Everyone nodded. There were very few from Fort Butte who would ask Rimon anything.
“Eric, Endra and I have been discussing this boot problem that Rimon brought to Sian’s attention. For the last two months, we’ve been repairing shoes, not making any. The two cobblers from Butte told us to make the leather go as far as possible, and that the Council would tell us when to make new boots and shoes, but meanwhile only two people would make new boots, the Butte cobblers.
“Well, you all know the record of this new Council, so when Sian told us Rimon was concerned about the boot problem I got Endra and we went to the store room to check the leather supply. Endra says there was plenty last summer before Tanhara and Hope arrived. Only now the leather store is empty. We can’t make any new boots.”
Solamar felt Rimon’s and Lexy’s shock as well as his own. Rimon said to Sian and Endra, “This wasn’t reported to me. Have we used all the leather we had in stock just repairing boots and making the new ones for Fort Hope?”
Endra stood up, an older Gen woman with rough hands and thick muscular forearms. “Rimon, I let the Fort Butte people manage the store room. I didn’t keep the records, so I don’t know if we’ve used all the leather stock you traded for last summer. My sense of things is that no, we haven’t. That leather went somewhere other than through our hands and into shoes, tack, hinges, vests, and so on. It wouldn’t have been adequate to make new boots for everyone here this winter, but we haven’t even tried.”
Rimon said thoughtfully, “Lately, it has seemed to me that the people originally from Fort Butte have boots and gear that isn’t worn to shreds. Am I right?”
Many thoughtful frowns were exchanged but the consensus was that no one had noticed worn boots on those from Fort Butte, though Fort Unity and Veritt people were also wearing boots thin with use.
Solamar said, “I’ve been assuming that since some people had new boots, we’d all get some eventually. I didn’t notice who did or did not have solid footwear.”
“My assumption exactly,” said Kahleen. “I never thought about it, and nobody has mentioned it to me.”
“Ordinarily,” said Bruce, “we’d send to Ardo to trade wool for leather. Or get it from traders in Shifron who got it at Ardo. We can’t do that in the middle of winter.”
“Wool stock is low, too,” put in Sian. “I can account for every strand. We made linen/wool blended blankets, cloaks, underwear, shirts, pants, and knitting yarn for socks, gloves, hats. All we could produce went to the children and Gens first just as you instructed. The un-spun wool and linen left is for taxes, if they even send a collector this spring. Of course we’ll have plenty after shearing.”
The products of the Forts went mostly to pay the head-taxes on the Gens. Any Sime was entitled to keep one Gen for the Kill that month, but any extra Gens were taxed. Right now they had many extra Gens, but the selyn a channel collected wasn’t useful for paying taxes. Companions were ruined for the Kill and had no market value, but they would be confiscated if their taxes weren’t paid. The regular donors would be sold for the Kill.
Rimon said, “So we must find a more local source of good, thick strong, well tanned leather. We don’t have the skills and means to tan leather. We do have a large supply of horsehide though, from all those animals that died in the attack this fall. And there were some cow hides, a few sheepskins. All of that was saved, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. We found them,” said Eric, “when we rummaged to the back of the store room. They’re well scraped, but raw, and have been pretty much frozen solid for months now. No vermin have been at them, so they’re whole. A few were used to make rawhide to braid into rope, but most of the hides are there.”
“They’re tradable. Benart, didn’t you say we have a surplus of grain?”
“A wagon load or so of extra wheat.”
“But with Shifron gone,” said Frevven, “there’s no place to buy tanned leather.”
“The leather we traded for in Shifron, or Ardo for that matter, had been stolen out-Territory,” said Rimon. “We’re very close to the border here. Somewhere over that mountain at the south end of this valley is a Gen community that has a tanner. We have to set up a trade.”
“I know who you can trade with!” said BanSha jumping up. “Tuzhel’s uncle.”
Solamar had forgotten the young channel was in the room. “BanSha we can’t trade right over the border in the town where Tuzhel grew up. The Freeband Raiders have been raiding there. There’s no way we could convince those Gens we’re not Raiders.”
Eric said, “People would never agree! Fort Hope has told everyone how they tried trading out-Territory and it destroyed them. Some of the Fort Unity and Fort Veritt people, at least the ones willing to do anything you say, might go for it, but the fight will tear this Fort apart.”
Rimon’s eyes met Solamar’s and then Lexy’s.
Solamar had left home, traveled far, escaped death repeatedly, and buried many friends, all because he believed Rimon Farris and the Forts were the hope of humanity. Even with the Forts failing, his mission was to make that hope survive. Instead, he’d found a woman and a home. He let Rimon zlin that in him.
Rimon studied BanSha. “Go get Tuzhel. And do not even think a word about any of this outside this room.”
When the young man had left, Rimon again looked around at his lifelong friends and current allies. “I have seen too many injuries due to flimsy boots. The situation is a critical health issue. RenSimes augmenting must have reliable footgear and gloves. Come spring, they’ll have to work like that again, clearing stumps from the new fields, planting, shearing sheep, all the rest.”
Jhiti said, “We can’t defend this Fort with boots that are falling off our feet. My scouts are all right now because we’re not keeping a watch on Shifron while the weather has the Raiders confined. The truth is, we don’t have the boots and gear to mount that watch again.”
Rimon said, one hand on his belt buckle, “So, I won’t put this decision to a debate of the whole Fort, or a vote.”
If his staunchest supporters deserted him over this, Rimon would have lost Fort Rimon.
Rinda said, “The Council will be angry when they find out what you’re up to, but they won’t find out from me. Just don’t make the mistakes we made trading with Gens. Fort Hope is gone. This is our last refuge.” The Gen Councilor’s nager trembled with apprehension not age.
“And it’s my home,” said Lexy. “We could send an all Gen team of traders. Fort Hope sent Simes, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” said Rinda nodding at Frevven.
“Do any of our Gens know Genlan?” asked Frevven.
It was a reasonable question especially for a renSime raised in-Territory to ask. The only people who came over the border from Gen Territory to live here were Simes who had changed over among the Gens. If they made it over the border, usually they had Killed someone they loved who had tried to care for them or who tried to murder them.
Either way, they arrived in Sime Territory ignorant of the language and customs and with no means of getting a Kill. Most died very
quickly at the hands of the civilized juncts or joined Freeband Raiders where they died within a couple of years of the dissipating lifestyle. Few ever wanted to speak the Gen language again.
A Gen born and raised out-Territory, stayed snug in Gen Territory never knowing Simes even had their own language to portray the reality of their Sime senses. A few Gens though, in border towns were children of Gens who established in-Territory and escaped to live free as Wild Gens. Some of those taught their children a little Simelan.
In the Forts, channels learned as much Genlan as they could. Some Simes from Gen Territory spoke Genlan to their children, to give them the option of going there if they should establish instead of changing over.
Bruce suggested a few Gens who knew Genlan, Kahleen came up with more, Rimon added some, and several people contributed names. Benart and Val made lists.
Frevven said, “At least one of the people we send has to be familiar with grades of leather. And Endra is too old to be making this kind of a trip in winter.”
Eric and Endra suggested one Gen who tooled leather as a hobby, and another Gen who prepared sheepskin for documents. Neither spoke a word of Genlan or could grade boot leather. Other than the master cobblers, the most expert judge of leather grades was Bekka Esren.
Rimon brightened. He filled them in on Bekka’s qualifications. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of every individual born in Fort Rimon. Bekka was a child who might change over soon.
Bekka’s parents were the leaders of the Church of the Unity in Fort Rimon. The Church counted learning a little Genlan as a religious duty, though their only daughter had little interest in the Church or its social status in the Fort.
The Farris Channel: Sime~Gen, Book Twelve Page 20
