“Amy. Amy sweetpea. Wake up.” Wenn’s thick baritone pulls me from slumber. I wonder how long I've been out. My feet are ice and the orange glow is gone. My mouth's fused into a pasty mess.
“Hi,” I groan. Wenn puts his hand on my shoulder and helps me up. We walk toward the doors. Wenn is full of shine and is a little shaky but so very warm. I'm thankful for him.
Chapter 45 – Little Green Men
Daybreak arrives much too early. I wrap myself in my worn, green wool coat and head to the gardens. My students and the junior caretakers are arriving. They are all my age or younger, with strong backs and ample energy. Older folks move to easier, often more skillful jobs, with the benefit of starting work later in the day. I will never have that luxury, no matter how old I get. We've much to do and little time left before the first frost. The gardens were tended by my mother before me and so on, back through time, presumably when those bones in the ruined cities still wore flesh. It's my responsibility, burden really, to ensure that the seeds are gathered and sown at the correct times. I can feel the seasons changing, gage the thirst of the soil, and smell the health of the earth. Earthworms and grubs talk to me in a language far more languid and understandable than that scribbled on the ancient walls of the village hall. Much of this is learned but some of it is passed inexplicably among the women of my family. This is my magic.
The gardens are vast and diverse. Each plot is divided into different crops that are tended on specific cycles. Some areas are rotated regularly to control for blights and bugs. Other places, such as those with the apple trees and the grapes, have been tended and fed for centuries. Entwined among the plots are spots of wild forest, which provide windbreaks and keep pests from easily jumping among plots. Within the forests are many birds and other creatures that tend to the gardens, eating the insects and fertilizing the ground with their droppings. It's a wondrous, dynamic place, providing us with ample food and the means by which we trade with the mountain folks to the east and the ocean dwellers to the west. Not many people travel from the north or south because the ancient cities block their path. The strangers who come from the cities are usually not welcomed.
The students and workers gather around me as I bark out orders for the day. I'm concerned about two of the lazier workers and tell them that their days are numbered unless I see a change. They'll be cleaning stables and making less wages if they don't improve. As they scurry off toward their jobs, I look down at my calloused hands and think about my first blisters. My mother brought me to the gardens as soon as I could crawl. I was working the plants and the ground soon thereafter. When I turned twelve, mom told me that she was taking me somewhere secret and very special. I was dismayed when I discovered that she'd led me to the same place I'd spent my entire childhood. The only exception was that the garden lots were empty and quiet. Even the birds and wind seemed hushed.
Here I was, a newly minted woman expecting a party or at least a present and mom had dragged me to her beloved gardens. At the moment, I was not agreeing with her decision about my birthday gift. Rather, I was hot with anger and boiling over with the spite of youthful betrayal. She studied my face calmly, her yellow hair braided tightly down her back. What I saw in her eyes was not disappointment but understanding and sympathy.
“Amy, I know how you must feel. I felt the same way about your grandmother on my twelfth birthday. But it is time for you to begin understanding your role in the continuum of things. Look over there.” She pointed toward a particularly thick patch of woods next to a freshly tilled and planted plot containing squash seeds. My anger began to melt into curiosity. “The woods are the key to our success. Don’t betray them.”
“Mom, I don’t understand. How can I betray a bunch of trees?”
“Sweetheart, the woods are more than that. They link the earth to our garden. If we don’t protect the forest, then the light will begin to dim. And we need the light to ensure healthy and plentiful crops each year.”
I was always inquisitive and fairly skeptical, even of my own mother. “The sun makes light and warmth, mom, not trees. I have no idea what you are talking about.”
She laughed. “There is light you cannot see. It connects all living things - the roots, the fungus, the worms, and tiny creatures we can't even see. They shine in the darkness and talk to each other. Let’s move closer.”
As we approached the forest, the little ones appeared. I'd seen them on many occasions during my brief life and thought I was the only one that could perceive them. No one else, including my mom, seemed to notice them or talk about them. And here I was with my mother. I wondered whether I should finally tell her about them. The creatures reached the height of my twelve-year-old waist and were transparent. They were shaped like humans, with two legs and arms and large heads, with skin that looked like the bark of an ash tree. However, it was difficult to see features on their bodies and faces. Their eyes were barely discernible, but, from what I could see, they were kind and benevolent.
“Hello friends,” mother whispered into the trees.
“So, you do see them,” I exclaimed, astonished.
“Of course I do. Only you and I and our descendants seem to be able to perceive them. They are not of this world I think. Yet, they watch over our garden and ensure that all is well for us. Through time, you’ll learn to read their signs. They are able to tell me when to expect trouble or when to be ready for exceptionally good conditions. They come in quite handy.” She grinned at them. They appeared to grin back.
“Can I – touch them?” I walked closer to one of the shimmering beings.
“You can try. But I’m not quite sure they’re -” she paused to consider her words “they’re all here. They see us and we see them. But it’s like looking at a reflection in a pool. I’ve followed them into the woods many times. They disappear in the dark.”
I was up to the challenge, feeling bold. I walked right up to one of the creatures. It squinted and retreated into the shade of a large cedar. Not to be deterred, I advanced further and the green waif floated away. The wind rustled the trees and the creature and its brethren were gone.
“Nice try, sweetheart. No luck either, huh? They like to play. They’re never far away. I catch them in the corner of my eye just about every day. And they always appear when you need them. Once, when the crops were failing, they showed me a special substance in the soil that stopped the blight. They make me look to be quite the genius.”
“How do you talk with them?” In all my years of seeing them and thinking they were my special secret, here my mother knew about them all the time and could communicate with them. I was annoyed and impressed.
“They whisper in my mind. I see images, shapes, and sometimes words. Once they learn to trust you, they will start talking with you as well. You’re ready. You also will find that you can hear my thoughts and occasionally those of other people. The keeper's gift seems to include mind reading.”
With that proclamation, things got weirder for me. The weirdness continues to this day. I admit that the little creatures are helpful and that I indeed learned how to talk with them in my mind. They show me how the plants think. I can feel the water rising underneath the bark of the trees, the tender grass dripping with dew, and the light touch of a honeybee’s tongue. Still, I can hardly call the green things in the forest my friends. Unlike my mother, my life doesn’t completely revolve around the garden. I have questions and thoughts that grasp beyond the gardens, the village, and even the ruins of the cities I've never seen. I doubt the creatures understand how tired I feel or how angry Wenn and my father make me sometimes. They disappear as soon as I begin to ask the questions that plague me such as: “Who are you?” As for the mind reading, I never quite understood what mom meant by that. I've never heard anything but the green ones and my own voice in my head.
Another day harvesting seeds and clearing brush is nearing its end and I'm weary to the marrow once again. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me but the prospect of cooking a meal
for Wenn and father is not looking good. They'll have to fend for themselves on stale bread and cold stew. They can take advantage of the harvest. I have a basket of fresh vegetables for them to eat. The peas are particularly sweet. I begin lumbering down the dirt path toward home when I hear steps behind me. Fear's not a feeling I understand or condone. I stop and turn. Theo’s standing there in the fading light, his shoulders broad and straight.
I set down my basket and put my hands on my hips. “Theo. I’m getting a little worried about you. It isn’t like you to stalk me or anyone for that matter.”
Theo chortles, then his face falls. “Amy. Serious now. I got this feeling that things are changing. You know I like to kid and play, but something is up this coming winter. I can feel, taste, a wrongness in the wind. It may sound funny. But I think it has to do with you.”
“By gods of the forest Theo. It’s a little early to be dipping into the shine. Shouldn’t you be out snaring rabbits in the grassland?” I have to admit, he’s making me feel a bit nervous, the look on his face uncharacteristically grim.
“I’m sure it’s silliness. But you wouldn’t mind a little company on the way home? Besides, I’ve some news for Wenn. There be opportunities to the south that might be profitable for us.”
“Profit, hmm?” I'm thankful that we aren’t lingering on the topic of danger and winter. “Did your friend Bets find another jewelry shop in the rubble of the city?“
“Sprouter, you know better than that. We don’t make hazardous trips for something as silly as rare metals or rocks. The ruins provide raw material for all the tools we use. And you never seem to complain when we bring some paper and pencils back with us.”
“Theo, you’re a terrible liar. I know how much you can benefit by providing a bauble to a passing merchant. And the white rocks are not only pretty but great for cutting glass. It’s just that there is so much risk around those old structures. You know what happened to Robison and Franks. They were messing around in one of those glass boxes rather than gathering iron. And in a wink the rest of the crew was pulling what was left of them out of shards of glass and rock. There are still shreds of them in that heap. We all have to rely on each other. There’s no room for selfishness. And for you to drag Wenn into this-”
“Gods alive. You’re not my mother. Quit your nagging. Bets and I are capable of protecting ourselves.” Theo’s grinning like a weasel. “And I just want to borrow a horse from Wenn. You can keep caring for him while we’re away.”
“You are getting no horse from us.”
“We’ll see what Wenn has to say about that.”
"It is my house, not Wenn's. I will have the final say, Theo. Be careful or you won't be getting that barley you so love for making ale."
The remainder of the trek is spent in silence.
We arrive at my home, a modest wooden building with a few rooms and a moss covered roof. My treasured apple trees line the path to the front door. The house has been a part of my mother’s family for generations. Wenn moved in with father and me when we married. The windows are dark and no smoke billows from the chimney. Wenn and father are either still in the shop or have stopped at Wagnet’s, the town pub and informal gathering place, for mead and shine before heading home. Theo bows to me and leaps into the street, heading toward Wagnet’s. I think he knows something that I don’t.
I gather some wood and conjure a small fire. I pop open a flask and pour the contents into a pewter cup, which I warm over the flames. The fumes of the drink engulf me and the cords of muscle in my back relax. The men can starve for all I care.
Chapter 46 – Fromer the God
I drift to that placid night when the god appeared to me and father. The god loomed over us, even in the distance. I remember hearing a raspy whir before I could discern his physical features. The creature was flanked by six of the little green people. Father shifted and stared, so I was sure that I wasn’t hallucinating. Strangely, neither of us seemed to feel fear, but rather a mixture of comfort and curiosity at the sight.
“Hello, I’m Fromer,” the creature spoke in our tongue. He was at least twice as tall as me with thick, glossy black skin. His eyes were faceted, like those of a dragonfly, although his face was clearly like ours. A light emerald glow emanated from his body - the cool flame of a firefly. We waited anxiously for his next words. Strangely, he asked for tea. Before I turned to the house to brew a pot, it was clear that father could only see the god and not his emerald companions. The green people were sitting on the bench I’d just left, gazing at father with their heads tilted. Perhaps they were as curious about our reaction as we were about being confronted by a god walking out of the woods on such an otherwise ordinary night.
I quickly got the water to boil and headed back out to see the strange meeting. The god Fromer was perched on a tree stump with his chin in his hands. Father was guffawing. I’d never heard him laugh like that.
“Amy, my girl, come bring us the tea. Fromer here’s telling me a story about your granddad and your great uncle Aine. Turns out that they tried to steal a mule from Gringsville. They ended up being caught and forced to stand in the town square covered with manure and hay as punishment. Can you imagine? Your tight-laced, pain in the arse grandfather doing something like that?” He shook his head.
The stranger wore a buggy sort of bemused gaze on his face. He saw me with the pot and clapped his large hands in approval.
I poured the tea and shooed the green ones away. “Mister Fromer. Who are you? Where do you come from?”
Father interrupted, betraying his caution about being visited by a god. “Amy, don’t be rude to our guest here. I’m sure Fromer will be happy to tell us who he is in time.”
Our guest took a sip and chortled, a low rumbling in his chest. “Amy. I’m so very glad we finally meet. You can drop the formalities. I just go by the name Fromer if you don’t mind. It’s going to be a bit hard for me to explain who I am or what I’m doing here.” He paused and let the steam from the tea draw toward his chest. I wondered why it was going down there rather than into his nostrils. “I suppose I’m a traveler of sorts. I’ve had the opportunity to see things the way they really are and I’ve been lucky enough to be able to move through time like you move from your house to your beloved gardens.”
“You live forever,” I concluded aloud. That seemed logical for a god, I thought.
“No, Amy, not exactly. I’ll expire at some point. But I’ve had the chance to watch you, your distant ancestors, and even your grandchildren in this wonderful place.”
“That’s impossible.” I wasn't impressed with a mortal god, although I was curious about all this talk of time travel.
Fromer grinned. “As impossible as a pea growing from a shriveled seed? Or a large black creature emerging from the woods? Amy, you know better than most.” He glanced at the green creatures milling about the yard - beings that my father could not see but were all too apparent to me.
“He’s a god, Amy. He can do those sorts of things,” my father said earnestly. “You can’t question these things. It’s beyond our understanding.”
I rolled my eyes in frustration. With time and effort, anything could be understood.
Fromer continued. “Back to my explanation. I've had a short time to watch snapshots – pictures – of your times since the end of the reign of humanity on earth. A close friend told me that the secret lies in your timeline here in your little village. You’d be quite impressed with the adversity your ancestors faced, especially during the early days. After sifting through it all, all the strands led to here at this time. So, here I am. This tea is excellent by the way.”
“Strands of time? You gods speak in riddles. Why do you describe time as strings?”
“Amy, it may be hard to imagine. But time and all this…” he opened his arms an impossible width, “are the same thing. Once upon a very, very long time ago, all of the earth below you and the stars above were squeezed into an impossibly small ball. The mass exploded and everythi
ng remained linked, no matter how far apart any bit is. Time, space, they depend on each other. I – I slipped through the cracks and exist outside that ball. You just live inside of it."
I pondered this notion. Teacher and her kin spoke of this lore to us – knowledge left to us by the ancient ones before they angered the gods. Earth was a ball of water and dirt in an enormous void called space. The stars, moons, and sun were all hanging in that emptiness, wandering through the emptiness. Still, it was difficult for me to believe that all of it was scrunched into a little wad. “When did this ball blow up making everything?”
Fromer was obviously pleased that his lesson generated interest. “A long, long time ago, Amy. About 15 billion complete changes of the seasons…years as I still think you call them. The problem facing all of us is that it all is still stretching out and the strings are getting thinner. Space's so very lonely. But it is life, like on this earth and other earths that make those strings have meaning. It was hard for me to see that single indelible fact before I began travelling. But it’s so clear now.”
Father chimed in, the explorer within him aroused. “There are other earths? I don’t even know what's beyond the mountain range, the broken cities, or the ocean. And you be telling me that there are other earths to explore?”
“Yes. And I've a secret to tell you both. You and your bloodline hold the key to reaching those places. We don’t have to be alone. We can be connected with each other.”
I was annoyed. “We aren’t alone Mister Fromer. Look around you. This village contains over 300 souls. And there are many more like it throughout the countryside. I bet we could round up thousands of folks in a few weeks.”
Fromer sipped his tea with a gentle slurp. Crickets chirped and a nighthawk whined. The green beings grew bored and walked back into the woods, their glow dimming as they retreated between the boughs. “What do you think happened to the ancient ones, as you call them? I think your elders say that they angered the gods and were whacked for their arrogance. I am not going to tell you what happened exactly. This is for you to learn on your own. However, the ancient ones were searching for places to go and looking in the wrong place. There were so many of them, and yet they were growing lonelier and greedier. You should embrace what you have here. Unfortunately, change, and great responsibility, is coming. The vacuum will eventually challenge you and your people again – much too soon.”
Planets Falling Page 19
