Barsk Page 7

  “Hello, Dad.”

  Tral blinked. His ears flapped slowly, as if testing the air. His hands lightly touched his chest, his thighs. The nubs of his trunk feathered absently across the tips of his vestigial tusks. His eyes appeared rheumy, though Jorl did not recall seeing them so when last they’d met. But that was the point. This Tral had been drawn from his father’s last living nefshons, from a time after he had set sail.

  “Jorl … This is … this is your home. Why am I back on Keslo?” A moment passed. The confusion abated. “Oh. I’m already dead. And you’re a Speaker now. I remember that. We’ve talked like this once before, haven’t we?”

  “We have. And I wouldn’t have summoned you a second time if it weren’t very important.”

  With a flick of one ear, Tral waved away the apology. “I can’t recall seeing you look so dire. What has you so wound up? Does it have anything to do with that Otter girl?”

  “Otter girl?”

  His father shrugged. “I think she was. But, you know, I’ve only seen images. Willowy she was.”

  “When did you see a Lutr, Dad?”

  “How am I supposed to know that? When did you talk to me last?”

  “More than a year ago.”

  “Well, there you have it,” said Tral. “Some time between then and now. She said you wrote a book about me, if that’s any help.”

  “Why would she summon you? What did she want?”

  “No idea. We didn’t talk long or much. So, if it’s not her, what has you bringing me here?”

  Jorl flexed his trunk and remembered the conversation he’d planned. “A prophecy of the Matriarch that looks ripe to come true.”

  Tral gestured with his trunk at Jorl’s forehead. “Is this the same one as you said got you that mark? My son, a Bearer and a Speaker. I wish I’d lived to see it.”

  Jorl blushed. He fanned his heated face with both ears and then shook his head. “No, something else. The details aren’t important, but the information I need from you is.”

  “If it’s in my head, then I’ll happily share it. What do you want to know?”

  “Some time after we last saw one another in life, you set sail, didn’t you? Your passing was deliberate and sure, not some accident somewhere?”

  “It happened just that way, Son, the way it does. Late one night I woke from a dream and knew my time had arrived. I closed up my shop and went around to see Belti. You remember her? Her middle daughter was always sweet on you though you never seemed to see it yourself. Anyway, I remembered she had an old boat she’d long since stopped using. I bought it from her on the spot. Filled it with some supplies, and set out with the dawn a day and a half later.”

  “And you reached your destination?”

  Tral smiled. The rare expression tugged at Jorl’s heart. The way one corner of his father’s mouth pulled up more than the other, the gleam in the old man’s eye, associated with too many wondrous memories of earning favor and pleasing him, the last time years before when he’d finished at university. He took a deep breath to clear his head, and realized he’d missed some of Tral’s words.

  “—the beach not long before you called me here. I’d just let the boat go. I’m right where I need to be, I know that, so I won’t be needing it anymore. But that’s all in your past, isn’t it, Son?”

  Jorl nodded. “Yeah, Dad. A decade and more. I just … I needed to know you’d reached your destination—”

  “Have no doubt of it,” interrupted Tral.

  “—and I need you to tell me where it is,” finished Jorl.

  “You what? I can’t do that.”

  “Dad, something’s happened. I think one of the Matriarch’s prophecies is coming to pass and it has something to do with Dying Fant who have sailed off on the last journey. I need to follow them. It’s important.”

  “I’m sure you think so, but it’s not for you to know. It’s not the sort of thing you know until it’s your time. And if it was your time, you’d know.”

  “You said you’d share what you know. Happily.”

  “Ask me something else. Something I can tell you.”

  “You can tell me, you’re choosing not to.”

  Tral crossed his arms over his chest. His ears dropped defiantly. “You have a clear understanding of the situation. That’s good.”

  “Dad, I didn’t want to do this, but, you know I have an aleph.”

  “I’m dead, not blind. What of it?”

  “So you have to tell me.”

  “I don’t believe I do.”

  “Being dead doesn’t relieve you of your culture. The bearer’s mark grants him passage. No doors can be closed to him. He’s free to go wheresoever he wills. That’s the law of Barsk!”

  “I’m not disagreeing, Son.”

  “Well, I choose to follow where you and other dying Fant have gone.”

  Tral relaxed in the guest chair. The smile returned to his lips but his eyes had lost that joyous gleam.

  “Then go, boy. I’m not stopping you. Go ahead, sail off.”

  “Then you’ll tell me where it is?”

  “Of course not. I already told you I wouldn’t. You’re not stupid. You’ve never been stupid. Pay attention.”

  Jorl slapped at his own forehead, the aleph’s glow faint, but steady. “You just said you weren’t stopping me!”

  “And I’m not. But I’m not going to enable you either. That mark means you can go where you please and no one can hinder you. It doesn’t mean anyone else has to help you though. And I won’t.”

  The two Lox fell silent. Jorl seethed, but Tral merely sat there looking bemused.

  “This isn’t just about the prophecy,” said Jorl.

  “No?”

  “I’m not certain I’m even reading it right.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “I’m a historian. That’s what I do and who I am. My area of specialization is Margda, and her prophecies are a part of that. I’m one of the top three scholars in that area. I’ve published some very highly regarded research. I’m good at what I do.”

  “Never doubted that,” said his father.

  “Yes, and being able to Speak just gives me another tool, and allows me to do things beyond the reach of most other historians. Can you appreciate that?”

  Tral waved his trunk in agreement.

  “And the aleph, I’m not the one who ever sees it, it hardly ever comes up, but it’s also a tool, like Speaking. Right?”

  “Still with you, Son.”

  “The current … situation, I’m the right person in the right place with the right set of tools to resolve it and get some answers. I have an obligation as a historian to do this.”

  “Huh. Well, I can’t say I follow all of that, but I do see how important this is to you. Maybe even life changing.”

  “Yes, thank you. So you’ll help and tell me what I need to know?”

  “Nope. I already told you that. Leave off. This is important to you, I get that, but it doesn’t change my mind. Doesn’t matter how hungry you are but it won’t make a sky rain soup.”

  “Soup?”

  The old man gave a sheepish shrug. “Figure of speech. Look, I’m sorry you went to all this trouble for nothing.”

  With a grunt, Jorl hauled himself up from his chair to stand over his father. “It wasn’t for nothing, Dad. But … my whole life, you never understood me. I know you tried, but we just never quite made it onto the same page.”

  “That didn’t get in the way of my loving you, Son. Or of being proud of you. I was always proud of you.”

  Jorl sighed and let his eyes close. He nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks for that. I, um, I’m going to let you go now, okay? Anything else you want to say?”

  “Is your mother still alive?”

  “She is.”

  “Take her some flowers. For both of us. It’s probably been too long since you’ve visited. And when you do, mention you spoke to me, and tell her that even to my last day she was the most beautiful a
nd amazing woman I ever knew. Can you do that?”

  “Sure, Dad. Consider it done.”

  Jorl settled back in his chair and with eyes still closed let go of the hold he’d maintained on his father’s nefshons. He began the task of actively dispersing them again and letting the mental landscape he’d crafted fade as well. When he was done he opened his eyes and started. Pizlo stood in the spot where his father had just sat, naked except for a pair of ragged shorts and a daypouch hanging across his torso by a braided cord.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “My father.” Jorl frowned. “How long have you been there? And why?” A shiver went through him. For all his kindness in other aspects of his life, had Tral been able to see Pizlo standing there, he’d have seen only an abomination. He’d have been horrified to learn such a creature came and went freely in his son’s home.

  The boy shrugged. “Not long. I wrote down some of the stuff.”

  “What are you talking about? What stuff?”

  “The stuff I know that other people don’t. But how do I know if any of them are visions?”

  “Visions?”

  “Like you said the Matriarch had.”

  “Ah, right. Well, it’s not common, but it’s certainly true that every few generations someone on Barsk will get glimpses of the world to come and know things that others do not. The Matriarch had that.”

  A brilliant smile spread across Pizlo’s face. “Yeah, visions of the future. Like how she saw you would get an aleph. If I’ve got prophecies, maybe I’ll get an aleph, too. Or something. You and Tolta are the only ones who talk to me. And Arlo did. But everyone else ignores me, and I don’t suppose having a mark would change things.”

  Jorl waved the boy closer, picked him up and set him on his lap. “Probably not. And besides, prophecies are tricky stuff. It’s only after that people recognize them as important. At the time they’re spoken most people don’t want to hear about them.”

  “Really? But aren’t they truth?”

  “Especially then. Truth is tough.”

  “Why? I mean, it’s the truth. It just is.”

  “I think that’s so, in the abstract, but none of us get to really know the abstract. We only know what we think.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well … do you think I’m a nice person?”

  “Sure,” said Pizlo. “But, I don’t know a lot of people.”

  “That’s okay. I do, and they all seem to think I’m okay. At least, the Fant I know do.”

  “You know people who aren’t Fant?”

  “I did. When I was in the Patrol, every other person was something else. And you know what? None of them saw the truth about me. I met Brady, and they acted like they didn’t care one way or the other. I met Urs, and every one of them was belligerent to me, and to this day I couldn’t tell you why. I must have met a dozen or more Cynomy, and they were always frightened of me. They all had a different reaction. I was the only Fant any of them had ever met. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t done anything to merit those reactions. They were all true, for them. It colored every interaction I had with every person during my time in the Patrol.

  “I don’t think I’d like to be in the Patrol. Is that why you left?”

  “No. A few days after your father died I received a priority message. I’d been Second for him when your parents bonded. HQ had never been happy about having a Fant serve in the Patrol. For once the Compact’s requirement about respecting Barsk cultural norms worked to their favor. A diplomatic courier vessel docked with my ship and by the time it delivered me here the ink on my discharge had just about dried.”

  Pizlo rubbed at his face with both hands, his pale skin so nearly translucent that Jorl could see the fine traceries of arteries and veins.

  “So you’re saying, people not only may not want to hear a thing that’s true, that sometimes they make sure other people can’t either?”

  “Yeah. Not all people, and not all the time, but yeah. When Margda tried to share her earliest prophecies, they weren’t well received by most of the people around her. After a while, she stopped telling people what she saw as truth, and just wrote them down for us to find later.”

  “But she told some people about some of them?”

  Jorl nodded. “She did. I’ve Spoken to some of them. Friends and close confidants of her.”

  “Maybe one of the things I’ll know is who I can tell things I know to.”

  “Maybe. But you should know you can share anything you like with me.”

  “And you’ll keep it secret? At least for a while?”

  Jorl lifted Pizlo from his lap and set him on his feet, gazing at the boy solemnly. “Your father was my best friend, for as long as he lived and beyond. And with one exception, we told each other everything and always kept one another’s deepest thoughts in confidence. He’s gone now, but it only seems right to give you that same vow. This may not make a lot of sense to you now, but I think we’ll talk about it again, when you’re older. It’s part of that same connection. So, yes, anything you need me to keep to myself will stay with me.”

  “For real?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Even if it doesn’t make any sense?”

  Jorl smiled. “At the time they happen, visions rarely do. Not even to the people who have them.”

  “Oh. That really helps. Because some of the stuff I know about you that you don’t know yet has me really confused.”

  “You know something about me?” Jorl raised a hand to cover his smile, recalling his own flights of imagination at that age, and growing wistful remembering the adventures he and Arlo had had performing secret missions throughout the boardways of the Civilized Wood, much to the consternation of both their mothers and the plethora of aunts, sisters, and cousins back home.

  “Yeah. I told you before how you’re going to circle all of Keslo.”

  Jorl nodded. “I remember. There’s more?”

  “Yeah. You’re going to leave Barsk again.”

  “No, that’s not going to happen. That’s a promise.”

  “I know. You’re not going to leave because you want to, but that doesn’t matter. You’re going to leave. But I don’t know if you come back. I’ve been trying to find out, or figure it out, but I don’t know yet.” At this last, the boy’s face had screwed up with emotion and he looked on the edge of tears.

  Jorl slipped his trunk around one of Pizlo’s ears and drew him closer. “Okay. Well, I can see that that was a big secret for you to carry around all by yourself. Now that you’ve told me, the weight of it isn’t so much, right? But it’s still a secret, so I’ll keep it to myself. And if you’re right, if it happens, I’ll let you know that it came to pass. Sound good?”

  Pizlo shrugged and pulled free of Jorl’s trunk. He turned away, his face already cleared of sorrow. He began poking through a collection of jars on a shelf that in other days had sometimes held cookies. “Okay. Are you hungry? Because if you are, I could have a snack with you. So you don’t have to eat alone, I mean.”

  Nodding, Jorl stood and headed to the pantry in his small kitchen. “It seems to me that one of the things you always happen to know is when I’ve replenished the larder.” Pizlo had followed him in and seated himself on a stool at the breakfast counter. Jorl opened a container piled high with sweet leaves and put a generous couple handfuls in a bowl for the boy. He took a smaller handful for himself and absently stuffed it into his mouth. He chewed as he watched Pizlo devour the snack.

  “These are my favorite!”

  “That’s what you say about everything you eat here.”

  “I know. And it’s true each time. A person can have his favorite change, can’t he?”

  “I suppose, but doesn’t that take some of the meaning of ‘favorite’ away?”

  “Oh. Maybe. Or … maybe I mean it in a different way.”

  He laughed. “That’s the same problem I have making sense of the Matriarch’s prophecies. I think some
times she uses words to mean different things than everyone else thinks they mean.”

  Pizlo swallowed the last of his leaves and held himself very still. “Yeah … that’s how it feels. Sometimes. Oh! I forgot. I wrote one down for you.”

  He jumped to his feet and shoved a hand deep into the pocket of the daypouch strapped across his chest. He took out a ball of crumpled brown scrap paper, all the thick stiffness of it worn malleable as cloth. Holding it by the edges with both hands, he used his trunk to carefully smooth out the page on the counter. It was covered over with the immaculate tight characters that Jorl had begun teaching him from his very first lesson.

  “This is one of the things you just woke up knowing?”

  “Yep! I was having a dream where I was walking on a big map and counting all the islands of both archipelagos. The islands were the size of my feet! I made up a dance, back and forth over all of them. When the dance was over I had both feet on Keslo and I noticed a new spot, a tiny island that hadn’t been on the map before. Except it always was. Except it wasn’t. And when I woke up, I knew how to get there.”

  “And no one else knows this tiny island?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Which is it? People know it, or they don’t?”

  “Some people do. Only, they’re all gone.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  “Gone there.” Pizlo pointed at the paper and pushed it toward Jorl. “It’s the place where nearly everyone goes, but no one ever comes back.”

  Jorl parsed the riddle at once. He stared down at the scrap, not daring to believe, his eyes tracking the words that described leaving Keslo with precise directions for a destination several days away from the last islands of their archipelago. “When did you happen to know this, Pizlo?”

  “I had the dream days ago. I didn’t know what it was, and I forgot about it. But it kept coming back, and I kept forgetting it. I only wrote it down this morning because I had this other thing come to me.”

  “Other thing?”

  “Yeah. I knew that you’d want to know about what came out of that dream. So I wrote it down because I didn’t want to forget it again. It’s a gift.”