Shattered Bonds (continued)

“Dr. Aimes?”

Wendy turned. She saw Samantha Darren standing—no, leaning—on the doorway. Her color was awful, her complexion pale and waxy.

“I don’t feel good.”

Wendy started to say something, but then stopped and watched helplessly as the young woman vomited into her narrow waiting room.

#

Shanta walked slowly back from the northern part of the stream, having emptied her waste into the downstream pond. The village had traditionally used a different part of the stream, closer to the village on its southeastern edge, until the Humans had suggested that they return to their waste to the water in a different location. It had taken the Elders several weeks of discussion to agree, but they had finally done so. Shanta still did not understand the reason for the change. Rentu had tried to explain it to her several times when she was younger, but she had the impression now that he did not completely understand it either.

Those memories brought back to her the sadness of her loss. They stung her just slightly less each day and she knew that they would likely return throughout her life. The house they had shared still felt a little too large, but less empty as each day passed. She had begun picking through the few items that had been Rentu’s, sorting them into the ones that she would keep, those she would offer to the friends of Rentu, and the belongings that she would return to the village.

Lost in her thoughts, it took her several moments to recognize the quiet commotion happening at a dwelling located in the western part of the village. Several of the villagers, most females, hurried in that direction without quite running. Judging from the speed in which they moved, Shanta guessed that the matter was important, without being necessarily urgent or threatening. Curious now, she turned and headed in that direction herself.

The dwelling was one of the few on that part of the hilltop. Shanta recognized it as belonging to Karu. She remembered then that one of his daughters, Khia, had been heavy with a new litter.

It must be time!

She did not bother to hide her excitement. Births had long been a cause of great celebration in the village, a joyous recognition that the cycle of life continued. Shanta realized, though, with disappointment, that this litter had come too soon. Rentu’s gisa would not yet be prepared to return to this world as a new life.

Maybe in the next litter.

The thought made her feel slightly better.

A few curious glances were cast her way, but were quickly averted. Although there was a strong tradition of those mourning to remain in solitude, there was nothing that demanded it. It was not uncommon for those in vital positions, such as healers, to continue their roles during their proscribed mourning period, but perhaps with reduced duties for the duration. Shanta held no such position, but that in no way prevented her from passively participating in the birth of Khia’ litter.

Several of the villagers moved aside for as she passed, out of deference to her state of mourning. She used the opportunity to move closer to the doorway, trying to get a better look at the proceedings of the birth. It actually proved to do her little good, other than to bring her closer to the sounds of the birthing.

Khia was hidden from her by the cluster of midwives that surrounded her. Shanta’s mind filled in the details for her: Khia curled on her side atop a thick ritual shroud. She would be naked, making it easier for the midwives to assist with the birth and for the newborns to snuggle and nurse. Shanta caught occasional whiffs of the ritual incense. Its aroma was subtle, but soothing, even at this distance.

Muffled cries came from the center of the group. A moment later, a soft, buy shrill mewling sounded. Those gathered whispered excitedly, murmuring with approval. Shanta found herself smiling.

That’s one healthy one so far . . .

The noise level rose slightly, nearly drowning out the cries of the next infant. Although she could not see it, Shanta could envision what was happening. The newborn would be cleaned, checked over, and then placed carefully near a teat so that it could begin to suckle.

The next two cries came in quick succession, causing a rising ripple of excitement among those gathered.

That’s four so far!

The noise subsided somewhat for the next one. Shanta wondered what was wrong and then relaxed when she heard a sharp cry. Several of those closer to Khia laughed, apparently amused by the newborn’s antics.

Five! That’s a good litter! Shanta thought. And they all seem healthy.

A hush fell suddenly among those gathered closest to Khia. Two of the midwives exchanged nervous, awe-filled glances. Shanta saw one of them lean toward one of the children sitting among those closest to Khia.

“Get the Elder Priest . . . quickly.” Shanta heard her whisper, although just as much reading her lips as well. “Quickly,” the midwife repeated. “Quickly.”

The small child nodded quickly and then darted out toward the doorway. Shanta watched the ripples in the crowd as the child weaved her way through the crowd. Turning back toward where Shia lay, she looked hard, hoping for a glimpse of whatever was happening. She saw nothing, though, other than the increasingly uneasy expressions of the midwives.

Voices began to rise again, but Shanta noticed that no one tried to push forward for a better look. For the most part, the villagers stayed where they were, standing anxiously and waiting. A kind of tension that filled the atmosphere of the dwelling, but it was one more of anticipation than fear. Some of those gathered there began to shuffle their feet, growing impatient, but unwilling to leave.

It seemed like a long time to Shanta too. She kept expecting to hear a new cry from one of the newborns, but they remained quiet, presumably feeding. The aroma of the incense was making her sleepy and she struggled to stifle a yawn. Others around here were shifting more noticeably now, but still no one made any move to leave.

A renewed murmuring came from those gathered near the doorway. The small crowd parted, allowing one of the elder priests to slowly make his way through the house. All eyes followed him as he approached Shia and the midwives. He paused between them, looking down at the spot where Shia lay.

His expression revealed nothing at first. His eyes, dulled with age, studied something Shanta could not see. A moment later, a smile creased his aged face. He nodded and handed a large swatch of bright green swath cloth to one of the midwives. Voices were raised in awed fascination.

Green! Shanta thought, feeling as though her heart had stopped for a moment. Shia brings us a niyala—and it lives.

Shanta had heard only stories of the niyala. None had been born during her life that she could remember. There were certainly some among the priests, but one could not always tell. Shia would be held in particularly high esteem now. To bring a niyala as part of one’s litter was one of the greatest gifts a female could give to her village.

Swaddled now in the green cloth, the infant squealed weakly. The elder priest stared down at it, regarding it with a cherished awe. His mouth moved, offering the newborn blessings that Shanta could not hear. The priest bowed over it once. He then turned and slowly carried the child from the house. The yes of everyone present followed him from the house. When he was gone, the midwives turned their attention back to Shia.

Before long, those gathered began to disperse. As the crowd grew thin, Shanta caught a glimpse of Shia curled up on the thick straw-colored mat. There were no signs of the litter, but she guessed that they either still feeding or tucked in close to Shia, sleeping.

Shanta left the house now. Few eyes regarded her this time. In a few days—two, if she remembered correctly—that would change. She would once again by an acknowledged member of the village. There was much to do before then.

#

The community dining hall was in chaos and disarray when Trenton reached it. Although the meeting was scheduled to start in less than ten minutes, it appeared nowhere near ready to begin. Nothing on the agenda seemed controversial enough to warrant this level of early discussion.

Something else must have stirred these people up.

He worked his way with difficulty to the rows of benches. A few people regarded him irritably as he made his way through. No one said anything, though—at least not to his face.

The benches were sparsely, leaving many of the seats available. He chose a spot near the front, sitting a few meters away from a young couple who seemed to be more interested in each other than in what was about to transpire. Trenton checked the clock: four more minutes and the council session seemed no closer to beginning than before. He considered speaking up, but his intention turned out to be unnecessary when Park, current head of the colony council, rose to the main podium and called for attention.

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” he announced, his voice amplified slightly by the audio system built into the small dais. “Please take your seats,” he said. “Please take your seats.”

Park waited, patiently and silently, while the knots of people slowly unraveled and dispersed among the benches. The noise level dropped considerably as well, but there remained small pockets of murmured conversations.

“Thank you for coming,” Park repeated, turning it this time into a genuine greeting. “We have several things to talk about today,” he said. “Including some new business.”

Trenton glanced down at the agenda in his hand. There had been no new items listed on it when he had printed it before leaving home. Whatever the new items were, they had come forth early that morning.

Several murmurs of agreement sounded throughout the room. They sounded angry, or at least discontented, to Trenton’s ears. He wondered what had happened that he had missed.

Well, he told himself wryly. I guess I’m about to find out.

Park kept to the agenda that matched the one that Trenton held. Most of the items were agreed to with little or no discussion. Everyone seemed to be holding back their energy and conviction for the items that that were not listed there.

When the last of those items were closed, Park looked out over the gathered crowd. To Trenton’s surprise, he actually appeared to be nervous. He looked like he would have preferred to say anything except for the words that needed to come next out of his mouth.

What the hell have I missed? Trenton wondered, growing increasingly uneasy.

The atmosphere in the dining hall was charged with emotional energy. Trenton caught strong flares of it here and there throughout the room.

At least it hasn’t reached lynch mob levels yet, he considered. Yet.

“Okay,” Park announced, “the next item is—“

“Are we really going on rationing?” A husky man seated in the middle of the crowd asked.

Trenton recognized him as Powell Jasper. He had been one of the colony’s lead livestock handlers before a stroke had put him out of action for nearly a year. He was only now being allowed back on light duty.

Rumbles of clear dissatisfaction rippled through the crowd, even though Park had not yet answered the question.

Bad news travels fast . . . Trenton mused.

“It’s possible,” Park replied. “The storm that’s on its way is one of the largest we’ve ever recorded,” he explained. “We don’t know what long-term effect it might have on our crops or livestock.”

The grumbles grew in volume, if not intensity.