The Farris Channel (23 page)

Eventually she agreed. After that, they all worked to keep things moving without involving the new Council.

By noon the next day the weather watchers predicted a big storm within three days. Foundations for fifteen large houses were finished, and the logs for their walls had been split, and piled beside the foundations. The hearths were in, though the chimneys were not yet complete.

Walls went up at a panicked rate, and by the time the storm hit full force, most of the fifteen new buildings had three families huddled together in unfurnished open space trying to keep warm despite the partially functioning hearths. They calked chinks with bits of flax, felt, tenting fabric, anything handy. They had people sleeping in the infirmary, the Collectorium, and the dining hall, as well as taking turns in the underground shelter.

Since Fort Tanhara arrived, the only way they’d had enough blankets was by sleeping in shifts. Now with Fort Hope people unequipped for a mountain winter, and with everyone indoors and inactive, clothing was inadequate and blankets went to the Gens so the Simes wouldn’t have to endure a frigid ambient too. But nobody was left in a tent.

The winter had finally closed in.

* * * * * * *

The day before Tuzhel’s third disjunction transfer, a few hours before dawn the Fort battened down under the assault of another in a series of major snowstorms. Going off-shift, Solamar cornered Rimon in his office.

Solamar was supposed to be sleeping as were all those on his shift. Lexy, on light duty now that she was more than a month into her pregnancy, was supervising and working Collectorium. Solamar’s shifts had been getting longer as hers got shorter, but he didn’t mind as long as she lingered to talk before heading off to rest.

Solamar strode into Rimon’s office the instant Rimon’s nager signalled that he’d noticed a visitor. He spoke before he reached Rimon’s desk. “Rimon, you’ve been having nightmares again.”

Rimon set aside the slate he’d been reading. “You should stay out of my nightmares. Surely you have enough of your own.”

“Tomorrow’s your Turnover day.”

Rimon met his eyes. “Yes.”

“If the belt has failed you, I have to know about it.”

“I was hoping whatever had gone wrong with me had cured itself when you stopped the incidents. So I slept without the belt on, only twice. Right after my transfer.”

Solamar was sure he could name the day and time when Rimon had set the belt aside. “Eskalie would appreciate the consideration, I’m sure, but I’ll bet you woke her with your thrashing later.” The nightmares had been shattered, confused images centered on one figure.

Rimon propped his elbows on his desk, rippled his tentacles through his arched fingers and zlinned Solamar. “It’d be ridiculously easy to get to dislike you,” the Farris said deadpan, but his showfield danced with embarrassment.

“Rimon, I did tell you, several times, you have more to learn. A simple Starred Cross on a belt buckle is not going to change anything. Only work can do that.”

“I’ve been working.”

“Not channeling. Exercises designed to teach you how to leave your body on purpose, but not by accident.”

Rimon suppressed a shudder and leaned back in his chair. “Sit down, Solamar.” Solamar settled into the guest chair before the desk and waited.

“Here’s how I understand it,” said Rimon at length. “Something went wrong with me when you and I put on that little performance on the wall during the battle. Something else happened to me when you and I joined to get a transfer into Tuzhel. Whatever happened left me unsteady somehow....” He waved a tentacle, searching for a word, then made one up, “disattached to my body in some strange way. As I figure it, that injury will heal itself with time, if I can just keep from stretching and straining the wound.”

“I knew we should have talked about this sooner. That isn’t the right model for this problem.”

“Talk? When?” asked Rimon. “I’ll probably hit Turnover tomorrow, and in all that time it hasn’t happened again. It probably won’t.”

Rimon was right. There really hadn’t been time to talk. Before Lexy returned, they were shorthanded and scrambling to get all the Fort Hope people back on their feet expecting Lexy to pick up the slack as soon as she returned.

After she returned pregnant, Rimon began reducing her working time in noticeable increments, saying she had to get used to a reduced workload before the baby’s draw became a serious impairment.

During the storms that hit them every few days, they had worked hard to get everyone in shape to work non-stop the moment the storm let up.

The work crews were still building, which meant strained tendons and burn wounds from the fires to soften the ground. They were laying un-mortared stone because the mortar froze before it could dry, but the precious metal tools would freeze and shatter, which meant slice wounds, punctures and even a couple of concussions from falls.

Still, with all that, they had five more buildings habitable, and the school building cleared of residents so the children were back to learning again. The firewood consumption increased so they had to keep foraging teams out and they returned with more injuries to heal.

Between injuries, frostbite and renSimes over-augmenting using too much selyn and requiring early transfers, the channeling staff was overloaded whether there was a storm or not.

“I concede the point,” said Solamar. “There hasn’t been time to breathe, let alone talk. But now we’ve got until Bruce’s Companion Staff meeting lets out to settle this. So let me teach you one of these exercises.”

Rimon shook his head. “I don’t think so. Look, Solamar, this last time it happened just wasn’t the same.”

“Nightmares right
after
transfer?” asked Solamar. “Wouldn’t you say that’s a bad sign?”

“It was different. It wasn’t that I was
out
of my body, not like before.”

Solamar sat up and provided his full attention.

Rimon slumped. “It’s a ghost. I’m sure of it. I’m haunted by a ghost. It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a visitation.” He looked up. “It was Clire.” The guilt resonated off the walls. “Solamar, she must be dead. How else could she torment me like that?”

“Clire?” Solamar remembered the nightmares he’d stumbled into thinking the figure was merely another dream symbol among the many whirling through Rimon’s unconscious. “Very tall woman, taller than Lexy, bushy black eyebrows, wide set black eyes, long fingered hands, a dimple in her chin? Looked a lot like Lexy but not as beautiful?”
Beautiful? Why did I say that?
“Wearing dark brown coveralls and a white shirt? Come to think of it, there was some kind of pendant around her neck.”

Rimon leaped out of his seat and began pacing. “Yes. That’s what they wore in Intalace, what she was wearing when she arrived here. That little stone dragon of hers. I know you were there, in my dream. I saw you. Solamar, I’m so guilty over what I did to Clire, I could have just made her ghost up out of sheer Postsyndrome. Or maybe Clire’s dead and really haunting me. I’d deserve it.”

He hasn’t discussed this even with Bruce.
“Rimon, you didn’t make it up, and she’s not haunting you, even if she’s dead. This has happened to other channels I’ve known, and the cure is more not less.”

Rimon stopped and gazed at him, zlinning warily. “Where did you know such channels? Fort Faraway?”

Solamar didn’t want to add more layers of deception and misdirection to his biography. “And other places,” he temporized dropping his showfield to invite Rimon to zlin him deeply for the truth of that.

Rimon declined the deeper examination. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Solamar. I just simply don’t believe it. Who could know such things? Where? How?”

“High in the mountains beyond Fort Faraway, where there are so few people there are no Territory borders between Sime and Gen, there’s a community where Ancient books have been preserved by copying. They’ve trained some people from such books, and a few have developed odd talents. One of those people taught me a few things, but I never learned it all. I never expected anything I’d learned to touch off some such explosion in another person. All I can do is tell you what I know and what I suspect, and hope we can experiment until something works.” It was true as far as it went, but didn’t mention he hadn’t grown up in Fort Faraway.

Now Rimon was zlinning him more deeply. Solamar opened himself, looked up into the tall channel’s eyes and waited for the verdict.

“This lore you picked up secondhand suggests that people who wander away from their bodies by accident have to go wandering on purpose to be cured?”

“You have to gain control of it, like any new channel’s functional you discover. It’s a capacity you’ve developed, not an injury. It takes practice to control it. If you practice, you won’t keep pulling me into your dreams.”

“I’m doing that?”

“Well I didn’t resist because I feel so guilty about this mess. Still, I’m glad I saw Clire. Rimon, I don’t think she’s a ghost. I don’t think she’s dead. I saw her so clearly because she’s wandering out of her body as you’ve been.”

“What we did on the wall affected Clire too?”

He shrugged. “Here she is invading your dreams.”

“Could it have affected Lexy too then?”

“I haven’t seen any sign of that. Have you?”
I haven’t searched for any.

Rimon leaped up and paced, tugged his ear with two tentacles. “Maybe I should ask Garen.”

“He’ll probably tell you to talk to her.” Companions rarely discussed their channel’s affairs with others.

Rimon laughed. “You’re right. I’ll talk to her. It’s still odd to think of her as an adult.”

We’re the same age.
He sat up straighter. “So, since there’s no benefit for us to sit here and lace the ambient with our various guilts as if we were both in hard Need, why don’t we just do a little exerci....”

“Rimon!” called Garen pelting down the hall. He flung the door open. “BanSha’s in changeover!” He was gone on some urgent errand. Running was not allowed inside the buildings.

“In a little while,” added Rimon, “you’ll know what a field is, but not how to hold one, nevermind a lot together.”

“I can’t wait!” squeaked BanSha. “Solamar, don’t forget you promised to teach me too.”

Solamar had nearly forgotten his first encounter with this short, spunky and helpful child. If he could retain his spirit into adulthood, he could be a cornerstone of the Fort. “Yes, BanSha, I will do for you whatever Rimon and Lexy want me to.” He raised his eyebrows at Lexy, zlinning her as he asked, “And who has been chosen to be the lucky Companion for this young channel?”

While Solamar inspected her fields for signs she had experienced what Rimon was going through, Bruce stumbled into the room. The sole of one shoe had flapped loose.

The Gen gracefully wrapped his burgeoning fields around himself, sidling carefully up to Rimon. “Sorry,” he apologized. “BanSha, you should have told someone!”

“I did. Lexy. She was on duty. It was fun trying to get her alone without Xanon noticing!”

Fun?
“Xanon’s here?” asked Solamar who had volunteered to work with him. “He should be sleeping.”

Rimon laughed, filling the room with his admiration for Solamar’s coping with Xanon. “Well,
you
aren’t.”

Everyone stared at Rimon, but it was such pure
Del Rimon Farris
there was nothing to say. BanSha was aware of all the silent subtext he was missing.

Solamar returned the admiration, interpreting for BanSha, “Guilty! I’m overworking, doing exactly what I told Xanon not to do, exactly what you do.” He changed the subject back again, “So which of our trainees gets the honor of being BanSha’s Companion?”

“It’s BanSha’s honor,” countered Bruce. “And you, young man, will have to work hard to earn the full attention of,” he glanced at Solamar, “Rushi.”

Rimon’s approval filled the room.

Solamar grinned at BanSha. “Oh, and I do think she likes you already.”