Cardomon: Conceiving Sunrah

One week later:

Gardul went to the kitchen for the tea while Synoveh, Achen and Marcus settled into the conversation nook. Young Luvin slept in his father’s lap.

Achen: “Well, we’re finally here,” he made a shy smile: “I feel like I’m on a first date.”

Marcus: “Don’t be nervous.”

Gardul brought the tea and cookies, poured, then joined Achen. They shared a love seat.

Synoveh stood up and went to the front corner by the door, Marcus’s bass stood there, her violin lay beside. She took if from its case and tuned it then stood with it on her chin, eyes closed, body relaxed and her face was contented. She played a light melody at a walking tempo.

Marcus: “Mood music.” He watched his wife and listened, his mug in his hands.

It worked. Gardul and Achen put their tea aside and held each other, made tongueful kisses and soulful eyes. Hands explored friendly flesh and soon the lovers went to their private bedroom.

Marcus finished his tea and stretched Luvin on the love seat. He went to his bass and got it from its cover, wiped it down with a soft cloth and adjusted the tuning. Over to Synoveh's side, they made a familiar duet.

Fifteen minutes later Achen and Gardul returned. They wore bedrobes and warm, satisfied looks. Gardul had an arm over Achen’s shoulder and Achen held Gardul’s hip. Achen’s free hand carried a long, thin, glass tube, he capped one end with his thumb—milky white fluid filled the last few inches opposite.

Synoveh stopped playing and set the violin aside. Marcus used his bow and launched into a lengthy improvisation. He watched:

She sat next to Luvin and hitched up her thigh-length skirt, no underwear. She took the pipette from Achen and inserted the end with the semen into her vagina.

Gardul knelt between her legs and put his lips to the pipette.

Synoveh: “Wait: wake Luvin, I want him to blow it in. He’ll be the older brother.”

Gardul put a hand on the infant boy’s brow and spoke to him: “Hey, little buddy. Something your Mom wants you to do… ”

The extended family stayed a week in the cabin and performed the ritual several times a day. They scheduled the retreat with Synoveh’s most fertile period.

The fugitive physician and her apprentice had a secret trail to the Hospice, the route Marcus showed her last year. She still resented having to sneak, but it was only in Firstown.

The trail went over the hill behind, climbed a rugged gulch in the spray of a spring-fed cascade. It was a fingers-and-toes scramble in places, but crossing the summit fed into a gentle slope to her destination.

Three dozen cabins, the Hospice sprawled around and across the lower slopes of the shady hill. It ran up two stream courses from their union, formed a ‘V’. Gardens and tall trees covered the hillside between. Hopes were that the high lattice fence was toddler proof. A bridge crossed at the lowest point of the complex and a tall new tower topped it: future trellis for grapes, berries and wisteria.

On this occasion Mellisa and Jody bore a gift from the Vale. A bright new pennant hand woven and dyed by Suthra.

Naomi draped it on her shoulders and climbed the structure, it shook with her movement. Her thighs straddled the top while she mounted the banner to a short pole sixty feet in the air.

She paused to admire the fabric before unfurling, lifted it to her cheek and took a deep breath filtered through.

Naomi teetered, the tower swayed, Mellisa and Jody closed their eyes.

But she clambered down safely and returned to their side. They stood on a footbridge and looked in admiration.

Naomi: “She combs the fiber from the fur of baby animals? Amazing.”

It flapped: a long green triangle, at the upper corner was a capital ‘C’ formed by three white nine-point stars interspersed with three crescent moons, gold, red and blue, midnight purple filled out the circles. The colors were floral and brilliant.

“While they are asleep, boss. You should see, Suthra’s hands gotta be light as clouds, critters barely stir.”

Mellisa added: “Because of the fungus. There aren’t any large predators—before people. Most animals don’t run away or show fear, they watch you with curiosity. Luenda doesn’t need to hunt, she can walk up to animals, and Taralisa gets milk from a little thing like a goat, too.”

“But that fiber is stronger than silk and as light as Suthra’s hands,” Jody finished up.

Mellisa: “I want to see it from the other side.”

Naomi: “Don’t go out there. Sikar has ‘athletes’ spying. He knows you come around and wants to catch you. You won’t be safe in their hands.”

“What an obsessive man,” the physician shook the frustration out of her head.

“He needs another triumph. Breaking up the Meeting wasn’t good enough. He will mount your skull on a post.”

“Why?”

“He’s frightened and angry, won’t let go of it. I think the war on Dayron affected a lot of people. He and Grube lost a lot of their family.”

“So did Luenda—in the same war. And then her Sisters… ”

“I don’t know, Mel… You can’t analyze the actions of crazy people.”

Mellisa, laughing: “Isn’t that what he says about me?”

“Don’t joke, he means you harm.”

“He’s interfering with my life. I have to sneak to visit the babies.”

The new tower was an open trellis structure that didn’t obscure views. Naomi wanted to get the physician away from the road and Sikar’s spies. She hooked Mellisa’s elbow and turned her around: “Let’s go and help with dinner.”

The trip took a couple of minutes. They went to yet another new kitchen in the ever expanding Hospice. The paths twisted and twined, pinched off yards and gardens, cabin circles and play areas. It was busy and crowded, parents carried babies in slings and papooses, toddlers explored the ground level Universe. The atmosphere was happy noise.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was chaotic noise, a half-dozen cooks bustled in a cloud of gossip and dirty jokes. It was open-roofed and three-walled, a brick oven/grill dominated the central space, rising over the firepit like an altar.

Master Chef Jody took over supervision. Mellisa went to the basin to peel and scrub vegetables, joined Achen.

Half the meal was native fodder: wild marsh-grain stew flavored with onions, turnips and sweetroot, three different forest berries blended in filling pink-eye pies, spicy Cardomian greens tossed salad with lettuce and cabbage.

During the cooking Mellisa and Jody discussed Tamborak, the farm and the Actionists. Tamborak’s escape was still news in Firstown: Sikar demanded the fugitive’s immediate arrest and repatriation.

Looking up from the pie dough, Gardul spoke: “Brenda is completely right. It’s intolerable: we don’t have control of our colony. I’ll carry a crossbow!”

Achen seconded: “Slavery is the worst abuse ever invented.”

Patricia: “What’s next?”

Jody: “Go back out there.” He stood at the stewpot, stirred with a long wooden spoon.

“We‘ll scout the whole layout,” Mellisa shouted over the running faucet: “We have enough Actionists to start field camps in the wilderness. There has to be a way to reach the people—there are thirty young women and boys locked in the brothel and they never go outside. If we can just get in there… ”

Jody: “Tamborak thinks he can talk to some of the workers. He’s an amazing guy. You can see he’s scared shitless of the farm but he’s ready to go back. ‘For the pretty girls’, he says. Gotta love that spirit.”

“We’re leading him over the high pass next week. With Taralisa, Suthra and Peter.”

Gardul: “I want to go.” He addressed the Hospice Keeper: “Naomi, may I be temporarily excused from my duties?”

Achen yelled: “Wait a minute. I want to go, too.”

She worked on the salad alongside Patricia and Kaila, trimmed peppers and carrots: “I can’t spare both of you, you’re too good with the kids. But the colony’s Archivist—that’s me, did you know?” The title was her brand new invention. “The Archivist must keep everything under observation for the maintenance of history. I can’t go, much to my regret. You are both shrewd and detailed, good witnesses. One or the other, take turns. This enterprise will be around for a while.”

Gardul faced his partner: “Who goes first? Shall we race?”

“You called it. Have fun out there—don’t stay too long.”

Mellisa: “They may take as long as four weeks.” Jody nodded agreement.

“Sounds like an eternity.”

“It’s going to seem longer after you hear my next bit of news… ” She stopped the water, turned a grinning face at them: “I looked in on Synoveh, you two have something to celebrate—she’s expecting.”

Suddenly aquiver with pride, Gardul stepped away from the breadboard and went to Achen, his partner was also lit up with powerful emotion.

          The men held and hugged, kissed family kisses and wept with joy. Achen got flour handprints on his backside.