Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel Read online

  “As you know, I’m a man of limited charisma,” Bryce said, “but watch as magic helps me bridge the gap.”

  My eyebrows raised with growing curiosity.

  “Everyone thinks that the kindly Michael Penn is the only one in Galatia with the power to manipulate the cycle of life, but what if anyone could do it? What if every farmer in Galatia knew how to produce a bumper crop, in and out of season? We would become the bread basket of the world, the new superpower in town.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Bryce opened the washcloth to reveal a seed. It looked like a black acorn, except its cap was shaped like a stovepipe hat instead of a tiny beret. He handed it to me for a feel.

  “A nice specimen,” I said, handing it back.

  “Magic requires more preparation than the charisma.” Bryce had an empty measuring cup. “But it’s just as effective, and more importantly, it’s accessible to anyone with the know-how.”

  He poured the various colored liquids into the measuring cup, one at a time until the mixture turned into a gritty brown liquid. The contents started to bubble, releasing the scent of compost tainted with a faint sweet odor I couldn’t quite place. Bryce wrapped the acorn in the washcloth, dipped the whole thing in the measuring cup until most of the liquid was absorbed, and then set it in a hole in the middle of the violets. He must have dug it earlier in preparation for the demonstration. Covering the bundle with dirt, he started speaking in a strange language, making me feel uneasy.

  “Prethoa guntento. Halibura Ithisaroh. Delinatha rejata. Harckomana delarot litheno.” My brother’s words were guttural, but rhythmic, strangely hypnotic.

  “What language is that? What are you saying?”

  “Shhhh!”

  I noticed the violets flatten to the ground as if gravity had just gotten a whole lot stronger. The phenomenon spread outward like a ripple in a pond. That’s when I saw a sprout emerge from the place where the acorn had been planted. It grew faster than anything touched by my charisma. Within a minute, the seed had grown into a sapling taller than my head. In another minute, its thin branches became as thick as my arm as they spread out like a rose opening to a new day. Buds formed and unfurled into triangular leaves the color of blue nightshade, with red veins going through them. A tree, forty or fifty foot tall with a wide canopy swaying in the wind, towered where there was only violets a few minutes ago.

  It was a hauntingly beautiful tree with white flowers dotted against deep blue leaves.

  “I-I can’t believe it,” I gasped. “But...I’m the only one with that kind of charisma.”

  “It’s not charisma,” Bryce said proudly. “I told you—it’s magic. Think of the possibilities.”

  “I’m trying to,” I confessed, stunned and anxious, as if I’d not only discovered that the boogie man was real, but that he was standing behind me, peering over my shoulder and giving me instructions on mixing crullers. “But for the life of me, I can’t comprehend what it means.”

  A flock of silky black birds with red eyes came out of nowhere to land in the tree. They squawked in a maddening frenzy, fighting with each other. Their loosened feathers scattered to the wind and floated down around us like falling ashes.

  “This isn’t right,” I said, feeling shaky and queasy. “It’s, it’s, I dunno—unholy.”

  “It’s no different than what you do, Mike,” Bryce said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  I shook my head in denial and that’s when I noticed the violets on the ground had withered into black rotting vegetation. The lovely tree with the chain of yellow flowers had dried up into a gray corpse.

  “My, God, Bryce,” I accused, “in order for this magic to work it required the life of another tree and an entire meadow of flowers.”

  “Who cares?” Bryce replied. “The important thing is that it worked just like the charisma.”

  “No, it didn’t. Charisma gives of itself to make life. This magic stole life from other plants to give to another. It’s not the same thing at all. It’s...it’s...it’s an abomination.”

  “God, Mike, you never used to be so holier-than-thou. You’ve been hanging around Red too long.”

  “I gotta get out of here,” I said, panicking. Just when the world had started making a little sense again, Bryce threw this at me. Running toward the woods in the distance, needing to be alone, I ignored my brother’s calls to lighten up, open my mind, and quit being such an old stick-in-the-mud.

  Chapter Fourteen

  (Michael Penn)

  “Uncle Mike,” an urgent voice whispered into my ear. I thought that now I had moved into my farmhouse, these middle of the night interruptions would stop. No such luck. “Uncle Mike, wake up. Dad sent me to fetch you.”

  “Isaiah?” I said, sitting up in bed with a stretch to see my twenty-two-year-old nephew hovering over my bed. Dark stubble covered his jaw line. “Natural disaster or invasion?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “It’s nothing like that.”

  My wife sat up with a groan. “Hey, Isaiah,” she said with a yawn. “What is it this time?”

  “Guess who walked into Galatia a couple of hours ago.”

  “Josie and the Pussycat?” I joked.

  “Uncle Barrett’s dead wife.”

  “Huh?”

  “And eight other Galatians from Uncle Bryce’s and Barrett’s old settlement.”

  “You mean Veronica’s middle girl—Feenie?”

  “None other. And get this—she’s dressed like Jasmine.”

  “Jasmine the flower?”

  “No, Aladdin’s princess girlfriend in that old animated flick, with her belly button showing, gold sandals, a jewel on her forehead. How Uncle Barrett managed to snag a fresh piece of tail like that, I’ll never know.”

  I dragged my butt out of bed, dressed, and followed Isaiah to the horse hitch outside. A lot of Galatians had horses now, thanks to my dwindling jewelry collection. Every piece that was sold off felt like losing a tiny bit of my soul, which spoke of my unhealthy attachment to material things, a vice I needed to work on.

  Isaiah and I rode toward the city together. The air was warm and the misty full moon cast a watchful eye over the impromptu picnic. Despite the late hour, at least two hundred Galatians were celebrating by candlelight. Lanterns glowed on at every table. Bowls of salted nuts dotted the tables. Rock candy of every hue, imported from a wealthy Commoner city down the river called Faladore, was passed around to the children.

  Feenie, who once was lost, but now was found, sat between her mother and husband. Across the table, Jo and Dante’s two children, Nick and Shasta, hung on her every word. The boy’s eyes were full of gladness. He got up from the table and dismissed himself in a futile attempt to hide his tears. Apparently, he had been very fond of his Aunt Feenie. Seeing her again appeared to be more than he could bear. And I had to admit, there was a lot to see. Her bare midriff was showing just like Isaiah had said. Her eyes were outlined in black, heightening their blueness. So flawless was her ivory skin, I thought it might be painted on. The young woman had a surreal quality in the firelight. No wonder the young men were so impressed. Barrett sat on Feenie’s right side, holding her hand, repeatedly kissing it. They gazed spellbound into one another’s eyes, while Feenie ran her toes up and down his leg beneath the table.

  “First he gets to be sheriff, then his hot young wife comes back from the dead,” Nathan Steelsun grumbled into my ear. “Your brother is one lucky bastard.”

  I had never seen Barrett and Feenie together, but it was clear that they adored one another. My heart rejoiced at their good fortune. If something ever happened to my Jessica, I would lose my reason for living. What must Barrett be feeling right now? Others lost in the wagon accident were also enjoying reunions with their families and friends. Someone brought out a flute, another a violin, and they began to play a happy little duet.

  Feenie offered me her hand with a coy smile. I think she meant for me to kiss it, but I clasped
it between both of mine and shook it instead.

  “Welcome home, Feenie,” I said, meaning every word of it.

  She flashed a white smile. “I hope you will find me to be a good sister-in-law.”

  Barrett beamed with pride. He came around the table to wrap me into a bear hug, pulled me to arm length and said, “You were right all these years, brother—God is Good.”

  Now it was my turn to beam. Barrett had always been a believer, but rarely showed any outward expression, so his acclamation pleased me. As we pulled apart, that’s when I noticed Mother watching us from the picnic table. Our eyes locked. The expression on her face was akin to a furious badger trying to get out of a cage. Startled, I didn’t know if her rage was directed at me, Barrett, or one of the newcomers. Mother’s body began to shake. Even in the moonlight I could see her skin had taken on a red hue.

  “Mom, Mom, are you okay?”

  Her gnarled hands suddenly clenched her throat.

  “Elizabeth!” Veronica shouted. “What’s wrong?”

  Mother tried to speak, “Poh, poh, poh…” Her eyes rolled up and she fell straight back into Bryce’s arms.

  “Isaiah,” Red yelled. “Get Dr. Steelsun. Hurry!”

  Red leapt over a table to get to her. I joined him at her side. A couple of ladies quickly spread a blanket over the ground as we eased Mother onto it. I was relieved to find a pulse, but it was so rapid I knew something was horribly wrong.

  “The excitement of our arrival must have been too much for her.” Tears streamed down Feenie’s face as her chin quivered. “I’m so sorry. If I had known this would happen, I…”

  “It’s not your fault,” Barrett soothed, pulling her into his embrace; she laid her cheek against his chest, while her eyes remained glued on Mother’s motionless body. “Nobody could have predicted this.”

  ..............................

  Hopewell Hospital was one of the first buildings erected in the city. It was a long two-story gray brick building with a steep slate roof. There was a handful of physicians in Galatia and six apprentice doctors-in-training. We had fifty nurses available at a moment’s notice and other trained medical staff. Thanks to Gizmo and his team of engineers, the hospital had been fitted with electric lights made from clear bottles emptied of their wine. It was thus far the only building with power, but it gave us hope that the whole city would one day enjoy the luxury of electricity, though at the moment we had only a rudimentary hydroelectric generator.

  Medical care was primitive compared to the standards we were used to, but it was far better than the tent we had used as refugees. We’d retrieved the army trucks we’d brought out of the bunker, which we had abandoned on our journey to the Promised Land. Keeping the old vehicles fueled would be impossible, so most of them had been broken down for spare parts. Gizmo was working on bringing some of the diagnostic equipment online again, but we lacked the computing power needed to run most of it. Even though I was proud of Hopewell, I still didn’t like hospitals.

  Every time I walked through its double doors, my sinuses were blasted by the sting of antiseptic. My mind flashed back to when I was eight years old, just after the plague had hit, visiting my dying father in St. Joseph’s Hospital. Two weeks later, my siblings, grandparents and cousins died. The week after that, my mother was gone too. I remember standing in the hospital hallway, where bodies in plastic bags were stacked five high, wondering who was going to bring me home. Since that day, I associate the smell of rubbing alcohol with death, with loss, with the darkest hours of my life, so having Elizabeth here wasn’t easy.

  My adopted mother and I had a special bond only plague survivors could understand. Losing her would be like losing a piece of my past. Nonetheless, she had the dubious honor of being the first patient to use Room 12D. The room had gleaming white floors. White tiles went halfway up the walls. The bed frame was made from dull gray metal slats. Her name was written on the chalkboard hanging on the footboard. A wooden chair and a side table flanked the bed. A vase with wild yellow roses had been set on the wood nightstand, along with get-well cards made with colorful construction paper and crayons, compliments of my and Red’s youngest children. Covered in a white sheet up to her chest, Mother didn’t stir when I entered. Her eyes remained closed as if she were only napping. She normally wore her hair up in a bun, but someone had brushed it out and had arranged it in a thick braid that went down one shoulder—probably one of my younger girls. When I was a boy her hair had been so black and shiny it reminded me of grackle plumage. When had it gotten so coarse and gray?

  Even though the room felt stuffy to me, knowing how she was always cold, I layered a gray woolen blanket over the sheet, and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

  “Mom, it’s me, Michael. If you can hear me, please hurry back. We need you.”

  I leaned in further, just in case she tried to speak. All I heard was the faint sound of her warm breath as it tickled my ear. Without their high-tech equipment, the doctors didn’t have a definitive diagnosis regarding Mother’s condition.

  Dr. Steelsun entered behind me with a nurse. He had developed an IV bag drip during his ten-year tenure on Future Earth, and hypodermic needles, so at least Mother was being properly hydrated and nourished. Still, it had been two weeks since her collapse, and she hadn’t shown any sign of improvement.

  “Something isn’t adding up,” he said, drawing more blood. “The tests we can run are extremely limited, but I want to try to rule out a few more conditions.”

  “Whatever it takes,” I agreed.

  Barrett entered the room with Feenie, who was wearing a slinky pink dress that cinched at the waist with a golden cord. The collar was cut deep, exposing her cleavage and a lot of skin. I tried not to ogle, but it was difficult when her breasts were popping out everywhere.

  “Hey, Mike,” Barrett said. “How’s she doing today?”

  “No change.”

  “That’s too bad,” Barrett said, picking up one of the kids’ get-well cards. It had a picture of a Future Earth creature on the front—one of the small red dragon-like creatures we frequently spotted darting from flower to flower. “That’s cute.”

  As Barrett leaned over to return the card to its spot on the nightstand, Feenie whispered something into his ear. He turned around with a shocked look on his face. I could hardly believe it when she grabbed his ass right in front of me and Simon. Barrett pulled her into his arms, and the two of them began to kiss, and cupped each other’s butt cheeks. Talk about awkward.

  Simon cleared his throat.

  Barrett and Feenie seemed to remember they were not alone and quickly disengaged.

  “Uh, sorry,” Barrett said, looking flustered, while Feenie gave me a sly grin. “We’re here for the night shift with Mom. I mean, if that’s okay with everybody.” Barrett said. “Unless someone else really had their heart set on it.”

  “By all means, stay.” Having been at the hospital for the last twenty-four hours, I was glad for the break. “My wife will be happy to have me home for a night—I think.”

  Barrett pinched Feenie’s butt. She giggled like a school girl. Good grief, I’d never seen my brother behave so lewdly. This was so unlike him, I didn’t know what to think.

  “For God’s sake,” Simon growled. “Your mother is right next to you. Show some respect.” Even though I didn’t have the guts to say it, I couldn’t have agreed more the good doctor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  (Isaiah Wakeland)

  After a breakfast of eggs and toast—real bread made from yeast-raised dough, and real butter churned from real milk, not that fake powdered shit they served in the bunker—Isaiah walked over to Hopewell Hospital to see Grandma Elizabeth. He had always admired how Dad’s mom could be stern and gentle at the same time, keeping her four grown sons in line. Mom said Grandma was the glue that kept the family together and they could certainly use some of her sticking power right now.

  Uncle Barrett was pissed at Dad about something. Uncle Mike was p
issed at both Uncle Bryce and Uncle Barrett about something, and without Grandma there to referee, last evening their arguing could be heard wafting over the city.

  The woman in the lobby greeted Isaiah with a big smile. Considered handsome, Isaiah was used to being fawned over, but the attention mostly made him uncomfortable. Since he was young, his parents warned him not to let the admiring glances make him vain. Looks always faded. His place in the next life wouldn’t be based on how handsome he was in this one, so it was more important to concentrate on building character and doing good unto others—advice he had tried to take to heart, but hadn’t entirely lived up to. Girls had always bent over backwards and forwards to please him. Until Belle came along. Perhaps because of her innate sense of dignity, her refusal to put up with being second to his personal whims, she was the first woman he had ever loved. Since she ended their engagement, he felt like damaged goods, a man who had lost his way. That was on top all the other crap he had lost with the bunker. He had just started on his master’s thesis in psychology when the earthquake hit.

  After that, he was assigned to the lowly position of forager. All that schooling and training for picking flowers? he had complained bitterly to his parents. They chastised him, pointing out that everyone was operating in survival mode. Each had to do their part. Nobody was better than anyone else. Realizing he was just feeling sorry for himself, Isaiah sucked it up and tried to be the best damn flower picker in the Northlands.

  No matter how he tried though, his heart just wasn’t in it. Did that make him proud and arrogant—like he was too good to be a forager? Isaiah wasn’t sure, but he was glad that chapter of his life had come to a close, replaced by his temporary position as combat coordinator. Although he was still learning the moves like everybody else, his job gave him something useful to do. He was running over next week’s practice schedule in his head when he arrived at Grandma Elizabeth’s doorway. He expected to see Uncle Mike, who usually took the night shift, so he was surprised to find Uncle Barrett there with his good-looking wife.