11. Saltwater

Maybe this is as good as it’s going to get

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here.

The next weeks passed in a flurry of activity as the harvest was completed and the wedding preparations were made.

But at last the guests began to arrive bearing gifts of cloth and copper, wine and grain, aged cheese, the occasional pig or goat. As more came, they established a small city of tents on the southeast lawn.

The first to arrive were Karila’s family, showing up five days early and causing no end of vexation to Hal’s mother.

Next came a steady stream of cousins–from Hal’s mother’s side and his father’s, and several that he thought was related to but couldn’t remember how. There were others, too– friends from farms and villages up and down the verdance. Hal started to wonder if there was anyone left on the verdance who wasn’t now at his family’s farm.

Except the groom and his family. For on the day before the ceremony, they still had not arrived. Karila reported, with a look of poorly concealed satisfaction, that people were talking about it in the camp, asking whether they would come and if so, what kind of family they were to be so rude. Hal’s mother told Karila that if she had enough time to go about gossiping in the camp, then she had enough time to clean the latrines, holding Karila’s stunned gaze until she turned to obey, too afraid to complain.

But as the sun drew low on the horizon, two more parties could be seen approaching the farm, one from the west along the verdance, and the other from the south, crossing the dry scrubland.

They arrived almost at the same time. The western party was the groom’s family, come at last. Hal’s father stepped forward to the groom’s father to offer the customary greeting, his palms up. “Welcome, Selinuth. He nodded to the others as well. “Come, drink and wash and be refreshed in our home, and eat to restore your strength.”

Selinuth nodded rather than bowing as he should have. Hal’s father did not react, but his mother stiffened, and Karila whispered something to Broan. The weller’s face had a sharp look, Hal thought, with its dark eyes and braided beard. He wore a flowing green robe, and there was something unusually smooth about his movements.

But then all eyes turned to the south, to the small party–only two people–crossing onto the verdance on horseback. Hal could not yet see, but he knew that at least one would be a woman, and that their eyes would be green.

“I’m surprised you invited the Veyta,” commented Selinuth.

“It is customary, of course,” replied Hal’s father, “to invite the Veyta Mother who holds jurisdiction. I did not wish to give offense.”

Selinuth sniffed. “Their claim of jurisdiction is a joke. The one they now call Mother is not even an ashavela. And they are hardly a tribe–the water at that oasis is scarcely enough to support twenty people. But Veyta will settle anywhere there is easy water.”

Hal’s father smiled. “A small tribe demands a small annual offering–and they seem to have no interest in interfering in our affairs. I prefer to let them claim their jurisdiction in the hope that it will avert claims from any more… aggressive tribes.”

Indeed, these Veyta hardly looked intimidating. As they approached, Hal saw that one of the riders was a small woman of about forty with several missing teeth–she must be the new Mother. There had been a different one the last time they had come. The woman was accompanied by a boy–hardly more than a child. Hal’s father greeted them with formality, and then his mother led them away to show them where they could wash and pitch their tent.

The wedding ceremony was held the next morning. In the evening, the feast began, with food and wine, music and dancing around a great bonfire on the lawn. It would continue this way every night until the wine was gone and Hal’s mother told everyone to go home.

On the third night of the banquet, after Hal had once again eaten as much as he could hold and raised a glass with at least ten cousins, Hal found himself wandering away from the festivities, seeking a place to be alone. The sounds of music and laughter faded as he passed around the back of the main house and strolled along a little path, bordered on one side by a hedge. The moon shone brightly, illuminating each leaf clearly. The hedge gave way to a stone wall, thickly covered by a vine. It was in full bloom even at this time of year, bursting with small white flowers, the perfume filling the air.

Hal pushed open the bronze gate and entered the rectangular courtyard. From the earth in the courtyard rose three trees– one tall and narrow, the second delicate, with branches that looked almost too fine to bear their own weight, and the third strangely flat on the top, with a dense leaf cover that Hal knew provided excellent shade for an afternoon nap. Near the base of this tree stood a bench overlooking two small terraced pools. The space was enclosed by stone walls that sloped to the ground in a series of steep terraces. The pale stone was barely visible amid cascades of leaves, flowers, and strange mosses that overflowed the beds and swept toward the ground. No section was the same– gazing around the courtyard, Hal took in an incredible variety of shapes and textures, though in the moonlight the colors were reduced to various shades of gray. And on one side of the courtyard, standing on one of the steps built into the wall, was Hal’s father, carefully pouring from a watering jar.

The older man looked up as Hal entered, and the moonlight highlighted the wrinkles around his eyes as he smiled. His beard also looked whiter than usual in this light, and Hal was reminded that he was not his father’s first son. He felt a pang, thinking of Oweth. The boy would know his father only as an old man. But at least Oweth had plenty of brothers, young and strong, to take care of him.

“Haleth,” the old man spoke as he climbed down the steps, holding tight to a rail, “I’m surprised that you are not out enjoying the merriment.”

“I could say the same for you, Father,” said Hal, approaching.

“Ah, the guests will not miss an old man for a little while. I have done my share of celebrating these past days. I am happy for Piria, truly. But a father cannot be only happy to see a daughter married. I shall miss her laughter in the house.”

And Hal saw tears glistening in his father’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what to say, but the older man simply wiped the tears away with a sleeve and beckoned him closer.

“Come, look at this one.” He gestured to the plant he had been watering. Its foliage was wispy and fine, almost feathery. “I don’t know where it came from– the seeds were a gift from my cousin who lives on the cliffs of the Techeb sea. The merchants who sold them came from a land whose name he couldn’t remember. Isn’t it magnificent?”

Hal looked at the plant. Its feathery foliage looked a bit droopy, but he smiled. “It’s nice, Father. But why are you watering by hand? Are the lines blocked?” He gestured at the bamboo piping that lined each terrace, punctured to deliver water all along the beds.

“The irrigation lines are fine. But this one needs a little extra care–it has not flourished, despite my best efforts. Broan suggested that I try saltwater.”

“Saltwater?” Hal shrugged. “I’ve never known Broan to think outside the box.”

Hal’s father chuckled. “My firstborn son,” he set down the water jug, “does not have your expansive spirit, Haleth. But, he knows plants.”

Hal sighed. “Probably a better characteristic for a farmer.”

Hal’s father peered at him, then bent to look again at the half-wilted plant. “I’m afraid,” he sighed, “that it may never flourish here. It is not meant for this place.”

“Maybe not,” said Hal. “But maybe this is as good as it’s going to get.”

His father grasped his shoulder. “Humor an old man and look with me at the rest of my collection,” he gestured around the courtyard. The two began to walk slowly around the perimeter, the older man leaning lightly on Hal’s arm. Hal’s father paused here and there to point out a particularly delicate flower or a fern specimen from some distant forest. Hal listened patiently, smiling at his father’s boyish enthusiasm.

They moved together toward the center of the courtyard, near the bench and the pools. The older man stood looking at the pools, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “It is a good way of life we have here, my son. I hope that, with time, you will learn to find joy in it. But perhaps you will find another path.”

Hal frowned. “I don’t know what that would be. I’m sorry, Father– I’m trying. I don’t know why I can’t just be content with my life here, like everyone else.”

His father smiled, then gestured toward the upper pool. “Water,” he said, “may at times seem still, idle. But when a dam breaks, or a canal gate is raised, it rushes forth with power, bringing life or death where it flows.” He looked at Hal. “My son, your heart is brimming with life, with strength, with passion. You will know when the time comes for you to release them, to let the life within you flow out in all its fullness– and who knows what will happen when you do?”

Hal considered these words without responding.

The thud of drum beats interrupted the silence. Hal’s father smiled ruefully. “Let us return to the party. Your mother will not be happy if I am away too long.”