When I complete my traveling duties each morrow, I meet Sash at our habitat. I paint, she exercises or meditates, and we sometimes go for walks. Even though we’re right beside each other while strolling through the Delta, miles and miles of distance seem to separate us.
As the curve in her stomach becomes more pronounced, Sash picks up several loose-fitting black tops from Market. Two of the tables that reside under the enormous canopy at Market consist entirely of items for babies and pregnant women.
Displaying what would be called “nesting” behavior on Earth, Sash brings a steel cradle, small mattress, and various other items to our habitat. The supplies include several of what they call “swaddling cloths.” Large enough to wrap an infant in, the rectangles of soft, white fabric are the Krymzyn equivalent of a baby blanket.
Every time I enter our habitat, I notice that the baby things are neatly arranged, but often in different places than they were the prior morrow. Sash becomes obsessive about finding the most functional layout. If I move something even an inch, she chastises me and then re-arranges everything in an entirely new way. My response is to disappear inside my studio and paint.
Whenever Darkness falls, I meet Sash on a hill overlooking one of the trees in her region. I scan the countryside for Murkovin while she sits on the grass and stares at the awakened tree. After each Darkness passes, I make a numeric entry on a hand-made calendar that I keep in my studio to track how many are left. As more and more morrows pass, I feel a growing sense of panic that I haven’t come up with a new way to address what I consider a dilemma of mammoth proportion.
While standing on a hilltop during Darkness about halfway through her pregnancy, I glance at Sash. She’s studying the tree with what appears to be intense longing in her eyes. The fire at the core of Sash’s being—fulfilling her purpose in Krymzyn—has been temporarily extinguished.
I realize that maybe a big part of her withdrawal from me is the result of missing the interaction with sustaining trees while they’re awake. And then it hits me. Maybe there’s something I can do to help her feel that again, even if only vicariously. More importantly, maybe it will reopen the lines of communication between us that we’ve completely lost.
Over the next few morrows, a plan fully takes shape in my mind. I can’t honestly say that it’s the best plan I’ve ever come up with, but it’s the only one I have. When the next Darkness falls, I meet Sash on top of the Empty Hill with a pack of empty stakes slung over my shoulder.
“What are you doing with those?” she asks over the howling wind.
“Role reversal,” I answer loudly.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m you, you’re me,” I say with the rain stinging my cheeks. “You can talk me through getting sap.”
She vigorously shakes her head. “It won’t work, Chase.”
“I’ve watched you enough times that I think I can do it. Besides, Ovin’s tree likes me. You told me so. That’s why I picked this Darkness.”
“The tree respects you,” she replies with the volume of her voice a little louder and her tone a bit more incensed, “but that doesn’t mean it will let you reach its trunk. Apprentice Hunters train for hundreds of morrows before ever getting one stake in the bark.”
“They don’t have you helping them,” I say.
“You’re not a Hunter!” she yells.
“Can I just try?”
Her eyes widen with exasperation. “Do you want Ovin’s tree to kill you?”
“I don’t think that will happen,” I say, keeping my voice calm to avoid an all-out fight.
“Why are you so stubborn?” she snaps.
“That’s hysterical! You calling me stubborn?”
“I can’t allow this!”
“Don’t worry,” I grumble. “I won’t hurt the tree.”
Without waiting for a response, I grab one stake in my hand and drop the pack and my spear to the ground. I breeze past Sash and sprint down the hill. Watching the branches lash through the air in front of me, I plan my course of attack.
“Chase!” Sash yells from behind me. “Stop!”
Ignoring her command, I duck under the first limb I reach, leap over the next, and cut safely around the third. The fourth branch proves to be my downfall. After it slams into my gut, the branch throws me backwards towards the Empty Hill. As soon as my rear hits the ground, another limb swoops down at me. I roll to my hands and knees, scamper across the slippery grass, and dive just out of the branch’s reach.
Lying flat on my stomach, I lift my head to look at Sash. Shaking her head, she’s still standing at the top of the Empty Hill. She’s also trying to hide a smile. It’s the first one I’ve seen from her since I returned to our habitat after the Ritual of Balance.
“Don’t worry!” I call out to her. “I got this!”
“Think more moves ahead!” she shouts. “You have to anticipate what every branch of the tree will do.”
As she steps down the side of the hill, I jump to my feet and turn towards the tree. Charging under the branches again, I realize that all I’ve done by embarking on this quest is to anger the tree. I base that conclusion on the fury of the branches that whip in my direction and the ferocity of their blows. I try to get out of the way, but I can’t even dodge the first one. The tree seems to know every move I’m about to make.
One branch barrels into my chest at the same time another one takes my legs out from underneath me. Sprawled on my back, I look up at a third bough plummeting down from high above. Even though I’m able to cover my face with my arms, a few gashes rip across my
