Sarah Zettel - Reclamation

A Historian signaled for time and was acknowledged by the Moderator.

“How many artifacts are in the city Narroways?” he asked.

“Approximately four thousand,” Avir said promptly. Despite her knowledge that this was right and the war had to be waged before the Aunorante Sangh gained real power, a cold wind blew through her mind.

“Out of a total population of?”

“Four million.”

Avir knew she had probably just announced the death of Narroways and of four thousand precious artifacts. Part of her wanted to erase her words. For a split second, she thought about telling the Moderator she had reconsidered. Four thousand pieces of the Ancestors’ work was too high a price to pay just to eliminate what might only be a hundred Aunorante Sangh.

It was out of proportion and she knew it. The Reclamation had to continue. They had to secure the majority of the human-derived artifacts quickly so that they could be interfaced once more with the living heart of the Home Ground. That was more important than the safety of a few human-derived constructs milling around with their fearful eyes following her every move, with their distorting anger recreating the Aunorante Sangh, who had risen against the Ancestors and stolen the world away, with the blood and the screams and the stones…

Avir swayed on her feet and felt the blood surging in her veins. In that same moment, years of careful training made her realize she was not done with her report yet.

“Moderator?” said Avir.

“Contractor?” The Moderator activated her acknowledgment signal.

“I would like to put in a request to the Assembly.”

“So Witnessed.” The signal turned green to mark the recording. “Proceed, Contractor.”

“I would like to formally request transfer of my duties to the unpopulated portion of the Home Ground. If I could be allowed to choose my assignment, I would like to help coordinate the mapping and analysis of the underground complex. I would further like to suggest…” She paused, searching for words. “I would like to suggest that contact between Vitae and the artifacts be limited as much as possible to the Ambassadors who are accustomed to dealing with Outsiders.”

Another silence emanated from the Committee.

“Are you advising us of psychological difficulties with your assignment, Contractor?” asked the Moderator.

“Yes, Moderator,” Avir said and the confession lifted a weight from her shoulders. “I am.” Fear, hatred, blood, screams. Yes, those are indeed psychological difficulties.

“Thank you for so doing.” The Moderator made a small obeisance in tribute to a difficult job well done. “You will submit a full report to the Related Stresses subcommittee. You will return to the Hundredth Core while your reassignment request is reviewed. I will say now that your request is reasonable and shall be referred to your immediate representatives.”

“Thank you, Moderator.”

“Orders regarding the transport of the sample artifact you have obtained and the decisions based on your report will be transmitted at the end of this session,” said the Moderator.

Avir made obeisance to the screen and the line closed down.

She stared at the blank screen for a moment. She remembered standing in Chapel and picturing the Home Ground and the Reclamation. In her mind’s eye she had seen a green and beautiful world holding its breath for the return of the Lineage. She had seen herself working tirelessly, with the Graces singing in her mind and delight in every task flowing through her heart.

Maybe it will be more like I imagined when I return, she thought wistfully. Maybe.

“Mother?”

Aria stirred on her sleeping mat. “Go back to sleep, Little Eye.”

“Please, Mother.” A tiny hand shook her shoulder.

Aria peeled her eyes open to see her daughter crouched over her, anxiety filling her round face. She reached out to rub Little Eye’s cheek, and all the events of her life came flooding back to her.

Aria sat bolt upright. Daylight streamed through the door blanket. Eric still lay asleep under his own blanket, but the other mats were empty. They’d been left to sleep the day away.

“Little Eye, what are you doing here!” Aria did not bother to keep her voice down. Eric groaned and rolled over, opening both eyes unhappily.

“Storm Water’s gone,” sniffled Little Eye. “He didn’t come home last night. Roof Beam swears he doesn’t know where he is and your daughter got scared and…and…” Little Eye burst into tears. “The Skymen got him! Little Eye knows they did!”

Without stopping to think, Aria swept Little Eye into her arms, crooning in wordless reassurance. Little Eye buried her face against Aria’s neck and howled. Eric was staring at her. Aria got to her feet, holding her daughter against her chest, and shouldered her way past the blanket into the front room. The fire on the hearthstone had been carefully banked so that the coals were barely visible. Past the front doorway’s hanging, the shadows slanted toward the center of the marsh, pointing the route to the Dead Sea. It was past midmorning then. The clan was awake, well into the tasks of the day—scraping hides, cleaning eels, chopping reeds, and all the other endless mending, maintaining, digging, and scratching that kept the clan alive.

“Come on, Little Eye.” Aria set the girl on her own feet. “Take me to your father.”

Little Eye made a great show of stifling her tears and she trotted through the clusters of workers with a child’s dexterity and single-mindedness. Aria followed Little Eye, barely aware that Eric was following her, too.

They found Nail hip deep in pond water, tossing reeds up onto the shore with a wooden pitchfork. Roof Beam and Hill Shadow combed through the glistening piles, chopping off the edible roots and spreading the stalks to dry on the ground. Later they’d be worked into mats and baskets, and even roofing.

Aria’s sons looked up immediately as she and Little Eye made their way to the pond’s edge, but Nail did not. He tossed another forkful of reeds onto the shore with a grunt, and then impaled the fork securely on dry ground. Then he looked up, first at his sons, then at his daughter, then at Aria.

“Well?” he asked.

“Our…” Aria checked herself. “Your daughter came to me in tears saying her brother has disappeared. What is going on, Nail in the Beam?”

Nail sloshed through the reeds and green-scummed water until he reached the shore. “The whereabouts of my family is not your concern,” he muttered, wringing out the hem of his tunic.

“But it should be yours,” Aria folded her arms. “Or your wife’s. Where is the righteous Branch in the River, Nail?” She spoke with more bitterness than she intended, but the woman’s insults still rang in her ears.

“Aria,” Eric came close enough behind her that Aria could feel his breath against her neck. “You don’t need…”

“Come out! Come out!” Iron Shaper’s voice called out in time with the clanging of a stick on a gong. “Come out! Come out!”

“Nameless Powers preserve me,” Aria whispered. Nail in the Beam was already headed toward the noise at a run, trailing his sons in his shadow.

“What is it?” demanded Eric.

“The emergency call.” Aria snatched up Little Eye in her arms and ran after Nail.

“Come out! Come out!” Iron Shaper beat the gong furiously.

Most of the clan was already in the center of the huts by the time Aria got there. Eyes Above, leaning on Iron Keeper’s arm, pushed her way toward Shaper. Aria set Little Eye beside her brothers and forced her way through the crowd. The ones who knew her gave way, clearing enough of a path for her to see Iron Shaper clearly.