The Farris Channel (48 page)

“Zlin around you,” urged Xanon. “Compare our channels. Is there any question who that is?

“It is Del Rimon Farris, and when she’s not pregnant, Lexy Farris is barely distinguishable from Rimon. He has given us this vision of a new way of life. We have all seen, in our day-to-day work, how Rimon takes his failures and does a little better the next time he faces that problem.

“Though Maigrey has had to spell it out for me, I have also seen Rimon do the same with his successes. He never stops. He keeps striving to excel his mark, no matter what.

“At first, I misunderstood what that meant about him. But Maigrey kept explaining Rimon to me until I saw what this man really is. It’s hard to see because almost everyone who grew up in Fort Rimon is like that.

“I know, I’m the last person in this Fort you’d expect to hear saying this, but Rimon Farris has become the one person I really trust. I believe he knows what it would be like to live in a completely nonjunct world. I believe he knows what to do to make that world exist.

“Today, I bury Fort Butte as Rimon has buried Fort Rimon. I recognize Rimon Farris as Sectuib of the House of Zeor, and I pledge to you all that I will do better this time as a member of the House of Zeor.
Out of Death Was I Born, Unto Zeor, Forever!
”

The room erupted into a wall of noise. Rimon and the channeling crew worked so hard with the fields over the next two hours that Bruce let him get away with not eating.

Over the next few days, Xanon’s naming Rimon Sectuib widened the schisms. Three factions emerged.

There were still those, led by Alind and supported by most of the Church of the Unity members, who were wholly dedicated to the Fort concept.

There were those led by some channels who felt that the House concept was the key to success, but could not see building their unity around a children’s game.

There was also a large, exuberant faction developing a new way to govern themselves based on a Sectuib with ultimate authority over everything except his or her Companion.

Rimon’s dismay grew as more and more authority and responsibility was heaped on this mythical Sectuib. The Sectuib would select who would be in charge of what areas of the House. The Sectuib would choose the Council to advise him, and they couldn’t do anything without his approval. Not only that, but the Sectuib had to approve all marriages and even officiate! The Sectuib would decide everything, and run the channeling staff, too.
Impossible!

He fled to the top of the wall for some much needed pacing. It was after midnight with the full moon low in the west casting eerie shadows.

The wall sentries had been reduced now that Shifron was inhabited by working folk. These juncts had a growing investment in the land and a well stocked Pen where they could take legal Kills. The two remaining lookouts huddled in the guard kiosk over the main gate while Rimon took his usual place opposite them, overlooking the cemetery.

That afternoon, there had been one last snow squall, the final signal to the farmers to plant. The stumps had been cleared, the fields tilled, beehives prepared, and the pruning completed. In the orchards, a few light green buds were threatening to become leaves.

Tonight, everything was spackled with white, dripping loudly. He paced and worried. He’d touched off this firestorm by declaring Fort Rimon dead. Now what?

By the time Solamar arrived, Rimon was ready to pack up and leave with Alind and the Church of the Unity. If he could beg a place among them, he’d go right this minute.

“What have I done!” shouted Rimon at Solamar. Pacing and gesticulating, Rimon raged, “This is never going to work! It can’t work! No one person can do all of that! It’s not possible!”

“Sorry I’m late.”

Rimon stopped. “We didn’t have an appointment.”

“Obviously I missed the first half of the discussion.”

Rimon laughed. He couldn’t help it. He roared with laughter until he had to gesture an all clear to the two guards over the front gate. Then he filled Solamar in on how the concept, Sectuib, had been developing. “It gets worse! This evening, in the laundry, they were discussing inventing some honorifics to set the channels and the Sectuib apart. You know anything they discuss in the laundry really happens! I want to run away and hide!”

“You aren’t doing a very good job of hiding.”

Rimon drew his showfield down and set himself to keep his histrionics private. “I’m scared, Solamar. What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to become the first Sectuib in the House of Zeor. The job will include what you say it includes, and nothing more.”

“You’ve seen that in the future?”

“I can’t see the future! I just know your finer traits.”

“Lexy is furious with me for igniting this conflagration.”

“You think that’s news to me? I sleep with her these days and she’s finally decided she wants to marry me.”

“She figured that out? I knew she’d get it straight in her head eventually.”

“So you approve?”

“She’ll be the next Sectuib of this House we’re building since it seems everyone’s decided Xanon’s right and it has to have a Sectuib. Are you sure you want to marry her? The Sectuib job is going to be a nightmare!” Rimon realized he’d have to officiate at the wedding.

“Of course I want to marry her! I came up here because she was ranting so much about your conflagration even Garen couldn’t get her to sleep. She’s on duty again before dawn and even pregnant she’s wearing Garen out every day.”

“The baby will be Gen. A Farris Gen. Whoever heard of such a thing?”

“You’re sure? Well, I still want to marry her. Now she’s heard people saying we won’t have individual marriages inside the House, that everyone will be married to everyone already.”

“That’s absurd.”

“It’s time you told them so, don’t you think?”

“You mean...just...decide and say,
this is how it’s going to be done?
”

“Seems that’s what they expect of a Sectuib.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Look, Rimon...Delri. Listen. Zlin me on this. It’s your idea that we are to become a
family
, choosing each other to be one family, a unit connected by mutual obligations, responsibilities and privileges. We are going to become your family, gathered around you by choice, just as I’m joining your family by marrying your daughter. So you have to tell us what your family is, just as you’ve let me know exactly what you expect of a husband for your daughter. You have to lay down the rules, define this family. That’ll stop this creative orgy.”

Creative orgy.
Rimon swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “So how would I know any better than they do?”

Solamar shrugged. “Do you have to? Whatever you start with, it’ll evolve from there.
Zeor
is the principle, isn’t it? Just start anywhere you’re comfortable and improve on that.

“That’s the lesson of
Zeor
, isn’t it? Don’t be afraid to fail. Just start. Do it. Study what happened, then do it again a little better. That way you un-define success and with that you un-define failure, and leave only excellence, the process that is the core of life.”

Rimon had to agree. He’d played the game obsessively for years when he was young. That was exactly the lesson it taught. Don’t be afraid you’re going to fail. Don’t be afraid you have failed. Don’t get too full of yourself when you succeed. You can always do better. He’d forgotten that lesson, pushing Fort Rimon on through a nightmarish winter even though The Fort concept had died when Fort Tanhara had arrived pursued by Freeband Raiders. “So I have to go tell them what my House is and dare them to join me in it.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Well, I’m not going to make all the decisions.”

“Good. I’ll help.”

They laughed together, arms around each other’s shoulders, and they headed for the stairs. “Just remember,” cautioned Rimon. “No titles. Sectuib is bad enough.”

In the gathering whirlwind activity surrounding the departure of Alind and his group, there was no time for Rimon to gather everyone and dictate what this House would be. The truth was, he, himself, was almost clueless.

Alind’s followers had labored hard building, tilling and fighting for Fort Rimon. They had earned more wealth than the Fort possessed. So everyone who was not leaving turned out to build wagons and tools for them. Weavers and shoemakers worked round the clock to clothe them. Some of the best horses were chosen, tack made, and trail provisions were packed. More seed than they could spare went with them, and as had become a custom among the Forts, skilled workers would go to help, and return the following spring.

Those who went to help the new Fort came mostly from among those who were not sure about the House of Zeor concept, but felt the Fort concept was unworkable.

The vociferous and creative ones already dedicated to Zeor would not think of leaving at such a critical time. They were already planning a pledge ceremony, a formal occasion that got larger and more elaborate every time someone mentioned it to him.

However two groups had been left out. The spring trading mission had long since left, and would not return until after the fun was all over. And a large number of people who were not going with Alind were also not joining this new House yet. Still there were some five hundred adults who were fervently intent on creating this ceremony to mark the founding of the House of Zeor, and nothing, especially not their Sectuib, was going to stop them.

They weren’t even bothering to hold an election. They had simply unanimously declared him Sectuib and started calling him that and referring to him as Sectuib. Worse, someone coined an honorific for all the other channels and in less than a day people were using it in casual conversation. It was, “Hajene Val said....” and “Hajene Xanon wants....” and “Hajene BanSha just learned....” until Rimon wanted to sink into despair.

He wasn’t allowed a moment to brood, though. All the bright smiles and nageric delight, so eagerly expectant of his praise, kept him too busy.

So he never had a chance to decree how his House would be run. Between the rash of spring diseases that felled nearly a third of the Gens at once, several critical injuries, and Clire living, just barely into her eight month of pregnancy, he was too busy, and so was everyone else.

Three times he tried to get the Council together, and three times he failed because everyone was too busy. The fourth time, they did assemble, but he couldn’t make it.

So the industrious founders of the House of Zeor kept elaborating on their formal pledge ceremony without his input. By his next Turnover, he’d become accustomed to being hailed, “Sectuib!” so a few days later at a Gen’s call, he turned to find himself facing a huge mound of blue cloth and a madly chattering, very young Gen.

She was so excited she had no idea she was in a low-field area of the Dispensary with her selyn field climbing. He scooped her and her burden under one arm and into the Dispensary office.

“Now, what was the problem?”

“This is for you to wear. You have to come now! We’re almost ready to begin! The ceremony. Remember?”

Ceremony? Now?

She was one of the Glasil brood.
Shali? No, Eshala.
She’d Established as a Gen a few days ago. She’d been working with Cody’s messengers, but was now training with Sian as a weaver.

“Eshala, what is this?” He turned the mass of material she pushed at him around trying to understand it’s folds and wrinkles. It was the material they had made most of their summer work clothes from ever since Fort Freedom. And there was a white layer of material.

“It’s a cloak!”

With that clue he was able to find the collar and turn it so the blue lining hung on the inside. Eshala laughed and grabbed for the material to turn the white side inside. “Here, see the embroidery we did for you!”

All around the edges of the blue material were stitched little images of the stylized dagger from his quilt.

“That’s beautiful, Eshala. You did this?”

“I helped. A little. Sian’s wife designed it.”

Wife? So we still have marriage. Whew!

“We have to hurry. People have work tonight.”

He threw the voluminous cloak over his shoulders and let her drag him to the front entry to the dining hall. It was a dark night but the hall was lit to a spectacular blaze both nagerically and with candles and oil lamps. But there was nobody inside. Instead, out behind the building, between the kitchen storage room entrance and the infirmary, a huge excited crowd had gathered.

Bruce was there amidst an ambient that etched the hall in selyn-fire. It was cascading shimmering veils of somber, mellow, reverent joy, marbled with scintillating glee, anticipation and a thousand things he couldn’t name but just felt. He’d never zlinned anything like it.

“Come on,” said Eshala. “You’re supposed to come right in the door and just stand there, just like we rehearsed it, only BanSha played you.”

“That could be why I don’t remember.”
Rehearsing? Ominous word.

She giggled.

Once inside, he saw decorations everywhere. Skeins of dyed wool had been crocheted into wrappings for the chair backs, sweeping loops on the walls and festoons from the rafters splashing color. White wool draped the tables.