The Seedtouch

The Seedtouch

Copyright © 2012 Rebecca Shelley

Published by Wonder Realms Books

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission. All characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover art © Guruxox | Dreamstime.com

Scene break  © Irina Shishkina | Dreamstime.com

Prologue

Jalen knelt in the cramped attic room. The darkness around him gave lie to the bright day outside. Only a thin stream of gray penetrated the plaster that crumbled off the ceiling and walls. Enough illumination only for him to watch his hands shake in a detached pain-filled delirium. Sweat trickled down his neck. His skin, once a healthy opalescent brown had darkened to a splotchy gray.

Tam, he needed tam, and he needed it now. But there was so little left. He crawled across the rough floorboards to his sleeping pallet, held up by old crates. The fine linen shirt he wore was stained from a dozen different sources and torn beyond repair. His spare set of clothes, thrown over another crate, were in worse condition.

Still on his knees, he leaned against the pallet. This wayside house had once belonged to him, and he stayed in the finest room. Now he lived in a dirty corner away from anyone who might know him for what he had been. At first, and for a long time after, the attic hadn't bothered him, but now, now that the tam was almost gone, he grew aware of how far he'd fallen.

It took forever to force his numb arm to lift onto the pallet. Only a painful tingle remained of the feeling in his hand. Still he managed to reach under the pillow, stuffed with withered brown straw, and pull out the little mahogany box.

Inside waited the greatest treasure in the world, the treasure for which he'd sold all his cattle and land, for which he'd given up the sturdy walls of his hatillia with its warm fireplaces, soft down beds, and tables set each night in banquet. The treasure for which he'd traded his title, Su Jalen. Yes he'd given that up too when he sold the land to pay for his treasure. Su Jalen, a man among men, a man who owned his own land. All of it gone now in exchange for the tam.

He lifted the lid. Only a faint trace of tam lay in the bottom of the box. Not even a pinch to sprinkle across his tongue and take him to paradise. With fumbling hands he lifted the box to his mouth and licked up the last of the tam. One more time it would fill him with glowing ecstasy.

And then . . .

He had nothing left to buy more.

A golden glow swallowed his vision. A peaceful energy replaced the pain in his limbs. He danced in a swirling glory of clouds more magnificent than any ball his mother had celebrated at the hatillia. With a sad spike of pain he knew this was the last dance for him. Death waited at the end, unless . . .

Unless he could find a cure. He'd never heard of one. All the other men who'd taken the tam and then run out had preceded him in death.

Still in a tremor of joy from the tam, swathed in bliss, Jalen crawled away from his sleeping pallet instead of onto it. Let the others go silently without a fight, not Jalen. He would find a cure and survive.

Chapter One

Keil walked the hatillia's wide halls. Outside, the last of winter ice gripped its stones like sharp fingers prying at the rocks, seeking cracks and crannies to tear down the walls, but Su Ventain's hatillia had withstood four hundred seasons. Ice alone could not destroy it. No outside force could battle past the thick gate or walk unhindered beside the fountain. No enemy from afar would ever pass the threshold and stalk the heated halls draped with colored cloth. No bared sword would thrust through Su Ventain's heart and leave his wife and daughters desolate. No outside enemy at all, for Su Ventain was besieged by a far more subtle foe—a gnawing distortion in his mind that stole away his cunning and the awareness of those he loved and left only fumbling memories of his younger days, draped in mist.

Keil pushed open the thick wooden door and entered her father's sleep chamber, carrying the silver tray set with his morning fare—warmed sweet-wine and buttercakes topped with blueberries.

A raging fire burned in the broad fireplace, filling the room with a stifling heat, but Su Ventain huddled in his massive bed with the thick blankets pulled tight around him.

Good morning, father, Keil said. She slid the tray onto the dark rosewood table next to the bed.

Su Ventain's skin hung against his bones as dark as the table now, though in his younger days it had been a sparkling light brown. He turned watery eyes on Keil. They too had changed, losing their shifting golden color and hardening into an unchanging tan.

Who are you, and what are you doing in my chamber? Su Ventain coughed into the embroidered fleece blankets.

Keil pressed the silver wine cup into his shaking hands. I am your daughter, and I have brought your breakfast.

I have a daughter? Su Ventain gulped the wine, sloshing it onto the bed.

Yes, a daughter and a son. Keil eased the cup away from her father as another bout of coughing took him. She hoped he would believe her lie about having a son. So much depended on it.

A son? I never had a son. Two daughters, maybe, but no son. The only man in six generations to have no heir. Our family is ruined. All is lost. Su Ventain reached for the wine again, and Keil gave it to him.

So this was to be one of her father's more lucid days, but she would not change her story. If she said it enough, he was bound to believe it. She needed him to believe he had a son.

Oh father. She ran her fingers through his white hair, spiking it up as it should be on top of his head. That is only a bad dream. Forget it. You do have a son, and he is working very hard right now to manage your lands. Here is the ledger.

Keil pulled the worn leather book from deep within her apron pocket and handed it to Su Ventain. He squinted and flipped through the pages, hungry for information she'd shown him the night before.

The southern fields, they're not producing a fifth of what they should, Su Ventain said in alarm. What is wrong? What has happened to my land?

Su Ventain's southern holdings were his largest and most profitable.

A drought, father. It has driven the crickets from the plains into our fields. They consume everything, but Keil, your son, has arranged a deal with Su Gilon to sell him the southern lands and buy some land on the coast.

That's crazy. The coast is too far away. Didn't I teach that boy any sense?

Yes, it is far away. Far from the drought and the crickets. The weather is mild there year round. It will be good for you. Keil fed her father the buttercakes while she spoke.

I will not sell this hatillia, Su Ventain insisted between mouthfuls of the soft golden cake. It has always been our family home.

Of course you won't sell this hatillia. Just the southern lands that aren't producing. We'll buy a winter hatillia near the sea and keep this one for warm summer days.

We who? Who are you, and why are you in my chamber? Su Ventain pushed the food away and sunk down into the blankets. Why hasn't Delath brought my breakfast?

Delath died ten years ago, father. She was only a servant, but no servants tend you now. I am your daughter. Mother and I care for you. We wouldn't trust your health to a servant. Excruciatingly true. Servants would spread the news of Su Ventain's dementia, and his lands would go to his younger brother.

No, my mother is dead, I think. We buried her out on the green next to father. Su Ventain's face wrinkled into a frown.

Not your mother, your bondmate, Amath. You remember Amath?

Su Ventain closed his eyes and shook his head. I am tired and my head hurts. Let me sleep.

But Keil needs your signature to sell the southern lands and buy new land on the coast.

"Keil, who is Keil?

Your son, father. If only Keil could make her father believe that she had been a son instead of a daughter.

I have no son. I'm cursed with two daughters and no son. All is lost. Go away. Su Ventain rolled onto his side and pulled the covers over his head.

With a sigh, Keil pocketed the ledger and carried the tray out of the room. Her silk slippers whispered against the thick rugs that covered the hallway's cold stone.

Time was running out. Several months had passed since she'd taken her father's letter to Su Gilon offering the sale of the land. Su Gilon's hatillia was larger than her father's, and Keil had felt small as she waited in the immense library with its row upon row of stone cylinders stuffed with scrolls.

She had sealed the letter with her father's emblem, but she'd written it herself imitating her father's handwriting. He hadn't signed it, had not even known about it.

Su Gilon strode into the library, his golden skin aglow with sweet oils, his bright clothes sewn with beads and sparkles. He looked down on Keil with contempt. She was a woman, a woman delivering an important message. Such things were not done. A male servant would have been received more warmly, but Keil couldn't trust this to a servant.

Keil held out the letter to him, and he swiped it from her hand, unrolled it, and turned away to read it. Keil hugged her arms to herself and waited. Her opalescent skin turned a hazy blue with fear. She fought to bring the color back to a cool feminine rainbow.

Su Gilon grunted in surprise, checked the front and back of the paper for a signature. When he faced Keil again, his golden lips puckered in a smirk.

Should I turn you over to the Su Council now or later? he said. "I do not believe Su Ventain had anything to do with this letter. When would you like your four-season torture to start? A woman, trying to sell her father's land." Su Gilon gave another loud snort and tossed the letter into the fireplace where it smoked for a moment then became a black mark against the yellow flames and crumbled away.

Keil shuddered and let out a gasp of relief. If the letter was gone, Su Gilon couldn't prove anything to the Su Council.

"I'll give Su Ventain twenty thousand Becs for the southern holdings mentioned in your letter. I know they aren't producing like they should."

I don't think my father will take less than fifty thousand.

"Do not haggle with me, woman!" Su Gilon's hand whipped across her face.

Keil stumbled back and pressed her fingers against her stinging cheek. Her skin turned a brilliant orange, then faded to dusty gray.

Su Gilon frowned and took her other hand in his own. Keil flinched but did not pull away. She could suffer his touch. He already had a bondmate.

So young, he stroked her arm. So delicate, and so beautiful. If it is land you want, I have two sons. I could call them in. Either might be compatible with you, and both will be Su when I have passed on.

Keil swallowed and pulled away from him. I didn't come here looking for a bondmate, only to deliver my father's letter. He grows weary of the cold and wants to acquire land in a warmer climate.

Then he should have come himself. Su Gilon's words were brusque now, like she was of no consequence to him.

It is the cold that keeps him in. Will you consider his offer?

Su Gilon squinted in thought. Greed danced in his eyes. He suspected Keil was working without her father's leave, but if he acquired Su Ventain's southern holdings, Su Gilon would become the largest landholder in the province, and the most powerful.

 I will write up the sale papers and send them to your father. His lips hardened into a firm line. He reached out and grabbed Keil's arm, shaking her. The Su Council will inspect the signature, hear me? Any forgery will be punished. He released her with a shove. Now get out of my hatillia.

That was months ago, and Keil had still not convinced her father to look at the sale papers Su Gilon had sent. The offer was only valid until the first turning of spring.

So much depended on the sale.

Keil left the breakfast tray in the kitchen and made her way to her sister's hall.

Yanen had bonded with Vell, the son of Su Fista. Vell was a handsome man with sparkling ochre skin and pumpkin-orange hair that spiked a full inch-and-a-half higher than any man's Keil had seen. They'd had two children, one turning of the seasons followed by another. To their great joy, the first was a boy. But last fall both Vell and his son were taken by the sweeping sickness, leaving Yanen and her baby daughter to return to Su Ventain's hatillia.

Keil found Yanen in the spring room. Swaths of pink and purple cloth hung from the walls, spread between alcoves where silk flowers nodded in the sunlight that poured through the glass dome in the ceiling. Only the fire burning in the corner fireplace and a layer of frost across the dome ruined the picture of spring in the chamber.

Yanen suckled little Rose at her breast while she folded a thin square of silk into a daffodil.

How is he? Yanen asked as Keil crossed the room and threw herself down on the pale green couch next to her.

As impossible as ever. I fear we'll lose everything. Keil drew her legs up under her and untied the apron she'd put over her green dress to shield the delicate fabric from harm while she served her father's meal. The ledger in the pocket thunked as she dropped the apron on the floor behind the couch.

It doesn't have to be that way. Yanen laid the daffodil on the gold-edged table beside her and reached out, running her fingers through the rainbow-streaked hair that fell around Keil's shoulders in a wavy mane of curls. You're beautiful, Keil, and there are many unbound Su sons. Go to their balls. They always invite you. Dance with them. Let them touch you. Surely one of them is meant for you.

No. Keil pushed Yanen's hand away.

You'll never become a woman without a bondmate, never be able to bear children or get the seedtouch. Yanen did not add that Keil was their family's last hope, but the tension in her voice said it well enough.

I don't want to be a woman. Look where it got you and mother. Keil gestured to the fine furnishings in the room around them. None of this is ours. Whether we live in a hatillia or a wooden hut plastered with mud, we still own nothing. What good did bonding the son of a Su do for you? Nothing. If anything happens to your bondmate, everything is gone. Keil snapped her fingers. Just like that, it's all gone.

A trickle of moisture made its way down Yanen's cheek, but she lifted her chin in stern defiance. I loved Vell. We were happy together. Losing him hurts far more than losing a hatillia or land. There is more to life than possessions.

Right. Keil left the couch and headed for the door. She had better things to do than argue with Yanen.

Mother's planning a ball, Yanen called after her. It might be our last chance, Keil. Keil, you have to bond!

No, she didn't have to bond, and she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't play their mating game—touch every eligible unbound man until she found the one that stirred womanhood inside her and bound her to him for the rest of her life.

Those who owned land owned the power over all others. And only men could own land. Their pitiful explanation that the land was useless without their bondmate's seedtouch was no more than an excuse to keep women in servitude.

The seedtouch, the wives of Su never used it anyway. That was for the unlanded laborers who planted the crops. Let those women have it. Their bondmates could till the soil, and they could plant the seeds using the seedtouch to germinate the seeds. Keil wanted more than servitude in her life. She wanted the power to control her own fate. For that she needed land.

It should have been so simple. She'd planned it ever since her father's mind started to fail him. All she had to do was convince her father to sell the southern holdings. Then she could take the money to Martaan, the coastal province, and posing as Su Ventain's son, buy a piece of land where no one knew Su Ventain had sired two daughters.

Then it wouldn't matter if her father died, or her uncle found out about his dementia. Let them take the rest of the land here. She would move her family to the coast and care for them as any son would.

If she bonded now, she'd give all that up. No chance for freedom and independence. She'd become no more than the flowers and drapes of the spring room in her bondmate's hatillia.

Let her mother plan another ball, Keil would touch no man there.

Keil slammed the heavy door of her own bedchamber shut with a resounding bang. Her bed curtains were stitched like a young man's with scenes of hunting and battle. A rack of canisters on the far wall were stuffed with scrolls. What should have been a sewing table was strewn with maps and inkwells and quills. In the center lay the scroll from Su Gilon, offering to purchase Su Ventain's land. Next to it rested a scroll from another man, Su Furth, offering to sell a parcel of his own land near the sea.

He had no sons to pass his holdings on to and wanted to lavish his daughters with a stash of money they could spend according to the wishes of their bondmates.

Keil bolted the door and went to the window, drawing the shutters and locking them, careful not to disturb the array of charlaberries she had drying on the sill.

The room was chill because the fireplace lay empty. Keil would suffer no servant to enter here to light it, and she hadn't the time to do it herself. No matter, a little cold couldn't harm her. It kept her sharp, and she needed to stay sharp.

She reached to the bottom of the third canister from the left and pulled out a small scroll. Last year her father had signed an order to ship in extra lamp-oil for the winter. Keil had kept the order instead of sending for oil.

Rummaging through the papers on her desk, she found a clean sheet of parchment and a quill. Time for her morning penmanship practice, just in case her father refused to sign for the sale.

With the shutters closed, a darkness lay on the room. Keil lit an oil lamp and set it beside her. Wisps of smoke rose from the flaming taper while she struggled to match her own hand to her father's.

A knock at the door sometime later startled her into dabbing a large blot of ink across the last signature she'd penned.

Keil. It was her mother. She knocked louder. Keil. Open the door. Su Gilon is here with his sons. He demands to see your father.

Chapter Two

Don't panic, Keil called to her mother while she rolled the parchment she'd been writing on and stuck it down into the lantern's glass flue. It blazed into a bright yellow flame. From the hall, her mother continued to pound on the door and call for her, but Keil waited to be sure the entire paper burned to ash before leaving the room.

It's all right. Keil entered the hall, pulled her mother into a reassuring hug, and patted her back below her mane of white hair. I will deal with Su Gilon. But you must run to the kitchen and prepare some of that sleeping drought the herbalist gave father for when his joints hurt at night. Make sure he drinks it. Go quickly.

Her mother gathered her skirt around her knees and ran for the kitchen.

Keil took a deep breath then made her way to the front hall where Su Gilon and his sons waited.

Su Gilon was dressed in hunter-green with gold buttons up the sleeves and the front. He wore a curved knife at his hip, and his black boots were splattered with mud. A heavy cloak of gray fur hung about his shoulders.

His sons were dressed in greens and browns that accented their hair that, despite the weather outside, they'd taken the time to re-spike before entering the hatillia. They had great black bows slung over their cloaks and half empty quivers on their backs like they'd been hunting in the mountains just north of Su Ventain and their father's own lands.

Welcome. We're honored by your presence, Keil said, curtsying. I see you've been hunting. Come in and warm yourselves in the hall. I'll instruct the cooks to serve an early lunch.

For someone who is honored by our presence, you took long enough coming to greet us. Where is your father? It is he I've come to speak with.

I'm sorry, honored Su, he is sleeping. Won't you come in and share a meal with Mother, Yanen, and me?

Su Gilon's face bloomed to a ruddy gold. I hear rumor that Su Ventain is dead, and you are trying to hide the fact.

His pronouncement clawed at Keil like the icy cold outside. Shocked, She stood in silence.

Honestly, father, Rimc, Su Gilon's oldest son, said. That is no doubt a truthless rumor spread by lazy laborers. He crossed the entryway and reached out a leather-gloved hand to Keil. Don't worry, dear. Fetch your father and we will put that lie to rest here and now.

Keil drew back, avoiding Rimc's touch. Leather gloves or not, he had no right to try to touch her without permission.

My father is sleeping, Keil reasserted. He's taken a draught to ease his aching joints. But if you need proof that he yet lives, as ridiculous as it is to think otherwise, I will take you to his chamber, and you can see for yourself.

Su Gilon smiled. I will indeed see your father then. But my sons are famished. Send me to your father's chamber with a servant, and you stay here and see to their needs.

Su Gilon signaled to the doorman. Take me to Su Ventain, he ordered as if this were his own hatillia. The doorman bowed and led Su Gilon out of the entryway toward her father's wing.

So, Rimc said, catching hold of Keil's arm. You are hosting a ball, and we've been invited.

Keil tried to pull away, but Rimc held her tight. He stood a head taller than she, and his grip was like iron. He and his brother seemed to fill the wide stone entryway and tower clear to the chandelier hung with colored crystals.

You are the loveliest girl in the province, Rimc said. And there's so much competition at a ball. Digg and I thought a little private visit could settle things for us without all the bother of dressing up.

Let go, Keil said. Have you no manners?

I beg your pardon. Rimc released her, his jaw tightened in annoyance. His eyes, green, flecked with brown to match his hair, narrowed as he stared down at her. Certainly no girl should touch a man she doesn't know and want to bond with.

Keil rubbed her arm where he'd held her. Exactly. What more could she say to make it clear she had no desire at all for any relationship?

Well then, let's retire to the dining hall and get to know each other. Rimc marched from the entry.

Keil considered deserting her role as hostess and dashing to her father's sleeping chamber. If her mother had not given him the draught, if he were yet awake, Su Gilon would discover his feeble mind and take the matter to the Su Council.

Digg sidled up to her. He had his father's glowing golden skin, but the smile on his face was more genial. Rimc takes life far too seriously, don't you think?

Ah, but women aren't allowed to think, are they? Keil scowled at him. There could be repercussions from Su Gilon later for how she treated his sons, but their impertinence left her little other choice but to respond in kind.

Digg's smile broadened and a playful twinkle came into his eyes. But you are not yet a woman.

Keil shook her head and strode after Rimc. She stopped in the kitchen to tell the cook to prepare food for their guests, then she joined Rimc and Digg in the hall.

The dining hall was large, stretching the span of a vegetable garden. The floor was laid with polished white oak, and matching panels on the walls gave the room a golden, earthy feel. Scenes carved in the wood depicted laborers in the fields. The men turned the soil while women lovingly touched the seeds before planting.

One great chandelier hung from the ceiling, a frosted glass globe with a yellow flame burning inside like the sun heating the fields where new life grew.

Three oak tables, inlaid with golden sheaves of wheat, stretched the length of the room. Tall, matching chairs lined each one.

The brown-stone fireplace at the front of the hall lay empty, blackened by past fires but cold this morning since the family had not expected to eat there. Rimc stood next to it, prodding a couple of lads with the end of his bow as they scrambled to lay wood and start the fire.

Keil frowned in annoyance. I'm sure they'll get it lit faster without your help. Her words echoed across the room.

Rimc folded his arms across his chest. Slothful workers should be punished. This fire should have been lit hours ago.

This is not your hatillia, Rimc. Su Ventain decides when fires should be lit here, not you, Keil said.

And you have no say at all, so keep your mouth shut. Rimc's face could have been chiseled from the same stone as the fireplace.

Rimc, you're going to die an unbound old man if you keep on like that, Digg said from behind Keil. If our mother had lived, she would run the hall, not you. It is a woman's place to do so.

Digg took a seat at the head of the middle table next to where Keil stood and spoke to Keil. How is Yanen? Losing Vell must have broken her heart. If only a person could bond a second time. She told me I was her second choice, you know. If Vell hadn't come along, I might have had her if the bond-magic was right between us.

You don't know that it would have been, Rimc cut through Digg's warm reverie.

I never got the chance to touch her and find out. Digg sighed.

Rimc came to the table, leaned his bow against it, and dropped his quiver onto the center. He shrugged out of the heavy cloak and draped it over the back of the chair next to Digg. Then he took off his gloves and slapped them onto the table in front of his brother.

Yanen is lost. There is nothing you can do for her. But her sister, that's another story. Rimc grabbed hold of Keil's arm again. This time, only the thin material of Keil's sleeve kept their skin from touching.

Keil cried out and tried to pull away, but Rimc pinned her against the edge of the table and reached for her face.

Rimc, no! Digg yelled.

I won't die an unbound old man. I'll touch every useless girl in this province whether they like it or not if I must to find one the bond-magic will work with for me.

Digg grabbed his brother's arm and tried to keep it away from Keil's face. Using his body, Rimc kept Keil pressed against the table while he snatched up the bow and smashed it into Digg's jaw.

Digg fell back with a cry of pain, and Rimc caught hold of Keil's face with both hands. He pressed his palms against her cheeks and waited for the bond-magic.

His hands were cold against her skin. They remained cold, a stark contrast to the fire that crackled to life on the hearth. No magic sparked to life in Keil. From the look of bitter disappointment in Rimc's face, he felt the cold as well.

They were not suited for each other and could not bond no matter how long he touched her. Whether a couple liked each other as Yanen and Vell had, or despised each other like Keil despised Rimc, if their touch awakened the bond-magic, the couple would bond, if not, no bond would form. Without the bond-magic a man would remain sterile, unable to perform, and a girl would not bloom into womanhood and be able to bare children or gain the seedtouch.

Rimc pulled away from Keil and yelled for his food.

Keil straightened. Her back would be bruised where the table edge bit into her. She fought back tears of anger and relief. She'd not cry in front of a man like Rimc.

After steadying herself, she strode from the hall, her fists clenched, her skin turned to a fiery red. How dare he? How dare he? she muttered. But she knew how he dared. Somehow a rumor had spread that Su Ventain was not himself. It had grown so far as to suggest he was dead. No one would dare touch a Su's daughter without her permission. Punishment from the Su Council would be swift and hard, but Rimc believed that Su Ventain wouldn't be able to take the matter to the council. With bitter resentment, Keil knew he was right.

She could only hope to quell the rumors of Su Ventain's death, and hide the truth of his incapacity behind the excuse of ill-health. She hurried to her father's bedchamber, hoping she wasn't too late.

Inside, Su Gilon stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring into Su Ventain's darkened face, watching his chest rise and fall. Keil's mother sat in a chair near the far side of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap.

Su Gilon acknowledged Keil's entrance with a frown. He's ill.

Yes. I told you. It's the cold weather. That's why he wishes to buy land on the coast.

But he never presented the signed sale papers to the Su Council. Su Gilon's voice was cold and accusing.

He will not sell it for twenty thousand. He found the offer insulting, and burned it. He's looking for other buyers who will pay what it is worth. Keil's muscles tensed, and she fought to keep her skin tones neutral so Su Gilon would not detect her lie or her fear.

Keil's mother looked up in surprise. She was ignorant of Keil's plans. Keil kept her eyes locked on Su Gilon, hoping her mother would not speak.

I will not pay fifty-thousand for a drought-stricken piece of land.

Keil shrugged. It's too bad he's not awake so you can discuss it with him. May I suggest you stay the night here with us? He should wake in six or eight hours. The two of you could settle the matter before you return home, and he would have no need to travel in the cold or send me again as messenger.

Keil forced a welcoming smile onto her face as if nothing would please her more than to host Su Gilon and his sons for as long as they would stay.

I have no desire to stay in this hatillia any longer than I must. This place is ill-cared-for and stinks. Su Gilon turned up his nose as if offended by the non-existent smell. I will send another offer for the land, but tell your father it's the last he'll get.

Keil gave a deep curtsy and pushed the door open so Su Gilon could sweep out of her father's chamber with a dissatisfied grunt.

A bold wind swept through the plain's rolling grassland in hot contempt of what should have been the rainy season. In the north, winter would be ending soon, but here the tortured tawnygrass that grew in good times as high as a man's chest bent stunted brown stalks beneath the punishing wind.

Jalen made his way along the dry Emir riverbed, thrusting a stick into the sand every few steps in search of some hidden pocket of water. Under his arm he carried an empty clay vessel ready to fill.

Each season the drought grew worse. The wind whipped the fine white sand into the air, stinging his eyes. So much like the desert. He shook away the thought. That was long ago, and should be forgotten. He had a new life now thanks to the earth-spirit.

He cast his worried gaze to the riverbank where the Shilpa clanswomen searched for tanka-root and wildberries. Their woven grass baskets hung limp against their hips. The women's quest had been as fruitless as his own all morning.

A group of half-naked children barreled over the bank and slid down into the sand near Jalen. They laughed and wrestled with each other, oblivious to the growing fear that gnawed at their parents. They would know soon enough, when they cried for