The Seed Tree
3

I was terrified; I thought I had been here so long alone I was losing my mind. I begged the vision to go away.

Norann, why did you come here! I never wanted to be set aside, given knowledge that no longer exists anywhere but here, in me . . .

One night I danced in the grove alone under the moon. But then I realized how pathetic my pretense was--reaching for the hands of dance partners who would never be there again, singing songs that required many voices, and myself playing all the parts. I have never danced again.

I keep your shawl, woven with patterns ancient as night. I drink its wine-darkness and feel again the living earth. I follow the twists of design and meet myself as a boy. Then I let the material slide through my hands like time, like water--until the black scorched edge of reality grates against my fingers. I hate you for not letting me die.

If I had known--. I would have closed my ears and run from your words.

One of the shy tocarra I have tamed is at my door, asking with its eyes to come in for the night. These creatures, through complex matrices in their skin, can turn sunlight into food. But in this season they also eat, so I keep a few of their favorite grasses. They are smooth-skinned and gentle. Still, I would have preferred to have one of the lacfovaas to come and live with me. There is comfort in the warmth and softness of furred creatures.

Eighth Day of Shamath in the Season of Winds:

A thin, bitter snow fell all day yesterday, and I tried frantically to uncover the grasses and other plants needed now by the tocarra; their systems have already made the transition to consuming vegetation for nourishment. I watched the snow sift down onto the backs of birds who had already laid their eggs, and I wished fiercely that the invaders might come and destroy me too, and take this responsibility from me. But it has been nearly five cycles since I last saw the glowing sky-trails of their ships. No person has come in all that time to tell me this is not the only island of life left in the world.

Why should I alone have survived! What am I, Norann, that you chose to leave such impossible knowledge with me!

I live here with the life and death of animals. I care for them, and they care for me in many ways. Because of Norann, I have learned to see them all through the eyes of magic. I can touch the hearts of trees and know which ones sleep peacefully unaware of their own reality, and I envy them. My feet pass by the Half-wakened who see their truth only in dreams, and I fear for them as I fear for myself.

"You are needed," she said that night as the white wounds burned deeper toward her bones. "For what must come, Yaschell, you are needed to be whole."

Ninth Day of Shamath in the Season of Winds:

I am certain now that some power stirs beneath the earth under the halal tree, and I am wonderfully, terribly afraid. I want to stay here at the edge of the trees, far enough away to run. But there is nowhere to run. Something compels me, drawing me back to the place.

Norann, I have only your words to trust. I wish desperately that they might be enough.

Outside my window, a bush forms new buds. They grow from the base of the last season's dead twigs, and I remember that all life comes from death, in some sense.