Weathering Storms

by Taborri Walker

  Squatting again, he gave in. “All right, Sweet Sesha. Tell us what to do, we shall. But this is not our belief, you see, so after Grace, we must bury our dead as we see fit. Understand?”

  Still teary and sniffling, Sesha nodded, but everyone was sure she didn’t really didn’t understand, and if what was happening now was any indicator, maybe more things would change… maybe…

  With gestures, Sesha told what she wanted. Shortly on shore, a bier was set up and Grace’s body arranged, face up, and there it remained the rest of the day. Sesha sat guard; all who drew near had to pass by her. Mostly they stood and looked on Grace’s calm face, said a quiet prayer and went back to chores, for Allway would not let the city shut down for the mourning. And Beulah sat with Sesha, Nicodemus on the other side.

  “Women rarely get so many verses; I think Peter did it not because of Nick, his “General” of the Soldiers of the Lord, but because of you, my dear. He is trying to convert you by giving in to some of your ‘beliefs.’ ”

  “Well, won’t work. Now… Darren and Nicodemus need to know. When and how?”

  “Tomorrow is Thursday; tensions are high now but will calm as the city returns to its normal routine. If you wish to push this forward, I would advise the revelation soon.”

  Standing by his wife’s body, Nicodemus had been talking to the other man Sesha needed to bring into confidence. He and Darren were sharing memories of life and friendships long ago. Darren stepped away and approached.

  “The sun beginning its descent, my daughter. What to do now?”

  “Wun, tah-oo, fee, four fie-yah sticks,” and she pointed out one for each corner. They were brought, lit and set firmly in the sand.

  Which culture are you thinking of, Sesh?

  The Pur’ams of Brienda Prime. They cremate their dead as the sun is sinking, all waving arms up to encourage the spirit to follow the sun to Her house, where the person will rest a while, then be reborn again when the Sun sees a person who really wants a child.

  She did that, too. As the sun began to sink, Sesha walked stiffly, with help from Beulah and Nicodemus, and they called everyone around. When the city stood all about, Sesha handed a burning torch to Grace’s husband, one to Beulah, Florence and Sarah, whose husband was motioned over, so he added his hand.

  “T’wil-lania,” she instructed, pointing, and knowing what Sesha meant, the five people touched the wood at each corner and it flared up. “Han’s,” she raised hers even though the pain made her screw up her face, and began waving from beside her head towards the sinking sun. “Eela, eela,” she said.

  “Our language, dear,” Beulah murmured, so Sesha switched.

  “Um, go – go,” she nodded. That was it. “Go… to sun. Go! All say!” her tone was imperious; arms went up all over and they began to chant it, but thinking ‘son’ instead of ‘sun.’

  “Go to the Son, Grace,” became the words the city dwellers, except the Monitors and a few tower guards repeated. Allway of course, stood back and watched, brows down.

  “Will you be able to teach Miss Sesha our litanies?” growled Hosea. “She is seeming set in her heathen ways.”

  “God and I – with my, um, love, will overcome her pagan beliefs. She is an innocent; if we can find out where she came from, it will be our first Missionary journey. We will have an easier time if Sweet Sesha knows enough of the litany and trusts us entirely. Therefore, you will never treat Sesha in any harsh manner ever again, Hosea.”

  The man merely lowered his eyes, murmuring “as you will, Lord Reverend,” and turned to watch the pyre burn down. Until things reached a point where he could add in more of his plans, he’d just go along with Allway’s. In fact, on this Missionary sailing journey to find a Country of their own, there might even be a tragic ‘accident’ as sea voyages were very dangerous…

  The New City residents were late for bed, for at Midnight, they all helped cart the ashes to the fruit fields, where they were sprinkled on the ground around trees and bushes. Sesha sang a short ditty of life going on, another native song she knew from far galaxies. It was a crude translation, true, but they would guess, and accurately that time, that it was translated over. The gist was that those who die come back to life in other ways, and before everyone retired to bed – Sesha to the Infirmary, for her back was in true need of treatment – the song was being sung by most of the inhabitants there.

  Florence spoke to Nicodemus and Darren, who as his best friend, would spend the night in the couple’s house. Instead of sleeping they would clear out the tiny apartment. Grace’s clothes to the laundry where after washing would be divvied up, what few decorations she had made taken to the women’s building for use there. Nick’s few items would be packed in a trunk-like box and he would move into the single men’s building on the morrow. The next couple to be wed would receive the ‘house’ to live and have a family in.

  Tucking Sesha into the bed at the Infirmary, Sesha cried as they treated her back again, half pain, half on-going sorrow.

  “Tomorrow will be back to normal,” Beulah told Sesha. “There will be two visitors tonight, though.”

  “I’ll be ready… wake me when they get here,” she murmured as she fell asleep. But Shni kept Sesha asleep; Florence had the men grasp her braceleted arm gently side-by-side and Shni told the tale, ready to wipe out memories in a second’s notice, if needed. Even though Sesha slept through it all her mind added in. The pair were already ‘hers’ in love and loyalty and upon learning Sesha and her device kept Grace alive a bit longer enabling the goodbyes, Nick was even more on her side.

  “We will begin to gather those willing to break away,” Darren rubbed Sesha’s hair as if she truly were his own child, “but do this soon, lass, for it is harder to wait. And stormy days will be coming soon, making everything more difficult to accomplish.” Both men gave fatherly kisses and left to finish their chores.

  The next day, Thursday, had her in the wheeled chair, for the pain was high, but still she was taken around between the women as they did chores. No one spoke of Grace, it was as if she never existed. Halfway between breakfast and mid-day meal Sesha decided to do something about that.

  She’d been served a small portion of food and promptly teared up. “Gw-raa-ss lie-k dis,” she started, and was seriously shushed. “Huh?” brows down, she was confused. “Not not say Gw-”

  Sarah knelt beside her. “We are not allowed to speak of past things, only what is this day – especially if any of the leaders are about.” A small crowd of about fifteen residents were nearby; somehow no Monitors happened to be there and they all nodded agreement.

  “We must always focus on what is to come, not what is gone,” a man said quietly. “The Reverend always finishes burials with the verse ‘For in death there is no remembrance of thee.’‘ Sesha recognized him; he’d been punished by working in the mine for thirty-six hours straight with no food and water. It had taken a day in the Infirmary to recover.

  “Bu,” she planted another rebellious thought, “Pee-ter, Moni-tours all-all say wha’ bad do yessaday, yessaday. No no get-for?” she patted her forehead and wiped it off.

  “Forget? No… the Reverend and Monitors always bring up past sins. That way they may help us become Righteous.”

  “Na nice,” she shook her head. “Say no, no see ba-duh, no lay-ter!” and then they broke up for the word was whispered that a Monitor was headed their way. Sarah waved at Beulah, who hurried over as it was her turn to tend to Sesha now that her sewing time was over.

  They were sitting in the Infirmary, Beulah whispering in her ear as she doctored Sesha’s back again about this particular rule.

  “There are verses in Peter’s Bible that tell how in the past we were wicked people and not ‘saved’ as the religion says we must be. Based on those verses, Peter has commanded that the past is over, so we do not talk about it all, or if we must, just the tiniest amount and only related to things like who did what chores when. This way we can continue on towards our Salvation… which is w
hat, not even Peter says. I think he is waiting for a certain incident, then he’ll proclaim something magnificent, as he has done before. When traveling, he claimed God told him to throw away all navigational devices and go on Faith. Where we are, truly is a mystery. Passing here, he said God spoke and this was the place for the Heavenly City.”

  “Shni and I both agree,” Sesha snarled as she poked her finger with the needle, trying to sew on the loop she wanted around her leg to hold the tiny flash tube, “that he’s mentally unstable. Shni looked into every psychological program – that’s information that tells us how the mind works, and he fits the bill for a specific problem called Total Self Personality Disorder.”

  “Such as being completely egotistical? But Peter is not, actually. He weeps often, praying for God to have mercy on him for he firmly believes he is nothing; worthless.”

  “So he is obsessed with controlling all of you, he believes he is the only one chosen by this God to lead you to the Heavenly City, right? He isn’t sensitive to anyone else’s feelings, he often becomes haughty and arrogant, and we all know he’s sadistic. He’s exploiting all of you to live in his fantasy world, which requires a lot of admiration from everyone around. Am I right, any at all?”

  Beulah sighed, nodded and helped finish the concealing holster. “Oh, my yes. His grandmother – she died two weeks into the journey here – said that his mother dedicated her life completely to her son, taught him how God gave him to her… his father was a preacher, always tending his flock, never her. Grandmother had him some, she tried to move him into a more independent way of thinking but he would obsessively cry until taken home.”

  “Did his mother approve of you?”

  “I never met her, but she approved of no woman. Her health was bad, she was so alone – an’ her husband was retired by then – unless Peter was there. We married late in life; nevertheless he spent more time at his parent’s mansion than with me but I was so deluded I thought nothing of it. Here… give me the needle, child. I’ll knot off the thread.”

  As she did that, Sesha pulled out the tiny flash tube from a petticoat pocket and showed her. “It produces a thin stream of fire, the same as your flame sticks, but can maneuver it to a stream that would melt metal in a second.” She handed it to Beulah, whose mouth dropped open as she fingered it. Sesha took it back carefully, then slipped it into the tiny holster.

  “Thank you,” Sesha smiled. “I hope… I never have to use it.”

  “Well now, I do too.” Beulah’s smile was strained, “and I’m going to change the subject. Peter wants you to start learning to read, so I got a primer from the schoolhouse. Shall we repair outside?”

  They walked slowly to where her chair was, and shortly Sesha was in a shady area where any could see them, Beulah sitting behind her again as she led the young woman through beginning exercises.

  After mid-day meal came something the Reverend had been wanting to do since Sesha began to recover. Beulah had told her on their way to the Dining Hall.

  “Peter said this morning he wanted to show more of the city to you today. You are to be treated to the ‘special’ projects, so just do your innocent non-understanding act. I’ll warn him about your back again, and to take care for your shoulder.”

  “And I’m going to act up every time Hosea gets too near… like ten feet.” The women smiled at each other. “Perhaps Titus, Caleb and Philip too, as they’re pretty damn mean as well.”

  The ship building was proceeding apace, in the days Sesha had been busy with other affairs since falling in, they’d stepped in one mast; actually six slender trees of the right height banded with metal bands to make one mast. Sesha acted like she was a bit afraid of being near the ship, it was assumed it was because of being knocked in days ago. They went on.

  The smelting projects and forge were working constantly. Sesha enjoyed the heat while she was shown everything, to which she oohed and ahhed in her “innocence” over all the goings on, but didn’t seem to quite get it. Her skin did pale a bit, losing some blue; she was warmer, which was nice. Twice though, she screamed in anger at Monitor Hosea when he would step up to speak to Allway, while grabbing at her injured back. After that he sent a boy with whispered messages when three other Monitors also got too close.

  “We are going to take the gospel to the heathens,” The Most Holy Lord Reverend tried to explain in full preaching mode. “Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father –‘”

  “Dizaple! Baptaz! When you learn speak Niwan?” Sesha got excited and managed some shaking, until her caretaker for that period, Jemima, had to make her sit down. “Hewah ona le’skewie!”

  “No, dear,” the woman gently corrected. “It’s just some of our words sound like some of yours. He’s telling you that God wants us to travel to other places and tell them what God tells us – tells the Most Holy Lord Reverend, who tells us, that is.”

  But Sesha seemed too far gone in her mind to understand, so they just tried to finish her tour of the shipyard and ironworks, but eventually gave up and took her to the women’s quilting group for them to continue teaching her how to sew.

  20

  Sesha was getting the ‘hang’ of needle down, needle up but not the correct distance; she kept off track and too large. The women were patient, though, they even giggled some when she reverted to swearing in her tongue. Then they all heard and heads swiveled.

  “’Tis the harpsichord! Being turned up,” Hannah smiled. “Is not used during good weather for we meet outside but as the season begins to wane, the instrument be opened and used.”

  “Wan… see? Hear me yike a saniver,” the almost tinny tones of sharp notes did remind her of an instrument of Sularia, made for the rare beings with off-set numbers of fingers on their limbs. Those mutations didn’t have opposable thumbs either but it didn’t seem to matter. They were highly musical and could think up ways to play music but not produce them, so other Beings worked with, carefully, to produce what was wanted.

  In her struggle to get up four women helped and Sesha walked, but slowly, across the compound. She had to stop twice – damn her back! - but one of the women took her weight like a post for that moment of rest needed.

  The inside of the church this time was much brighter; all the shutters were open and four people were in the building. Two men were polishing windows and two women were by a large, odd piece of furniture. One was blowing on a number of whistles, one at a time as the second woman pushed the rectangular white block piece and the sound was some different. The blowing and plinking continued with the girl reaching inside as if doing something.

  Shni? Could this be similar to a saniver?

  Get closer… the keys are different, but perhaps the inside…

  “Miss Sesha!” for a moment the two women looked nervous. “We dids’t bother you?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I hee-yah th’ Saniver, come see.”

  “This be an I-tal-ian Harp-si-chord, Sesha,” the younger woman was Amelia, Shni reminded her. “We be setting it right for use. Tis over 100 years old an’ gets more difficult to tune.” She smiled and nodded at the girl who again tooted the odd whistle. A gentle strike, another turn and Sesha had to move closer.

  “B’wo hahd-der,” a pat on the whistler’s shoulder comforted her and she did, the note clearer. As Amelia nodded and worked the insides of the instrument, Sesha put a knee on the bench and leaned over to look.

  It’s remarkably similar, Shni noted. Perhaps some side-by-side evolution here, or a touch of Interstellar contamination centuries ago?

  Too bad we’ll never know. Help me help her, Shni.

  For the next hour, with Shni’s help, Sesha helped them tune the instrument to its most accurate tones yet. She – Shni – also discovered a string about to break, so spares were fetched and despite the pain it gave her, Sesha showed them how to replace it quickly and
easily. Then it was done, and Amelia stepped back and gestured.

  “Me?” Sesha truly was surprised; “No, no, you do fuh-erst. Me den,” so Amelia sat and played simple tunes. The plucked tones were clear and the internal actions worked fairly well. Shni had her request a couple little things she used to make another repair. The lightweight instrument had a pleasing sound as sometimes one to three strings were plucked at the same time.

  “Now you… can you play?” Amelia patted the bench so Sesha sat carefully.

  Let me control your hands and arms, Sesh… we’ll start simple, as if you’re unsure, then work into something a bit more spectacular. Just a little… ok? Her mental nod answered.

  “P’ay, Me,” Sesha asked so using one hand, Amelia played a simple tune. It was always an odd feeling when Sesha stayed limp and Shni moved her, but she did it. Her fingers pressed the smooth ‘keys,’ they were called as she carefully played a tune around Amelia’s.

  “Very good,” Amelia smiled. “Cans’t play one on thine own?”

  Shni chose one of her own melodies, one she’d sung occasionally, first as a simple melody, then adding to it. When the bell rang for dinner, Sesha added that into it as well, but no one saw the growing crowd of people at the windows and door, a few even daring to enter and stay in the back to listen.

  “Perchance you can read music?” Amelia rose and fetched the box sitting to the side. She lifted out a number of old sheets all brittling and yellowed, but still useable. She picked one out and set it on the built on stand.

  Sesha jerked involuntarily, seeing it. Shni! It took great willpower to not even gasp. This is Beharin! Specifically, the Bird People of the Roĵ’klar Forest! The words are jumbled, but it’s an almost exact match!

  I know what you know, Sesh… have Amelia show you the basics as it seems to mean something different to Humans.