Chapter 7: Farming

"Those who love peace must learn to organize as effectively as those who love war." - Martin Luther King

You find out that your protector is a dragon. What do you do next?

Well, you do next what you would have done next. It's not like it's easy to put a handle on the moment, and everything looks exactly the same. Karl was the same Karl, when they came back into the campsite it was Zere’maya's turn to clean up with the group of young women Mother Faa had assigned her to. And how do you bring up the subject? You knew that Karl was a dragon? You knew that I didn't know for how long? It was impossible, and there really wasn't any choices coming out of it. Zere’maya scrubbed horse tackle and watched the other groups washing children, washing clothing.

Did Ulaanaa really understand that Zere’maya was from another world? If she did know would that change anything?

Zassh found Zere’maya with her devices on the table, staring into them.

“Good morning, what’s up?” she asked.

“Good morning. You knew that Karl isn’t human. Were you planning to tell me anytime soon?” asked Zere’maya.

“I don’t think of him that way.” Pleaded Zassh.

“This isn’t about love affairs, this is about the fact that despite anything I can do with my equipment, there are other sentient beings on this world besides human beings. Karl reads human – unless I have my hands on him while holding the equipment. That’s one kick-ass spell, or serious technology however you look at it. And I’ve been drawing off the energy from a camouflaged dragon for months without even noticing. That’s wrong, wrong, wrong, and bad. Karl’s avatar – think of him like a hand puppet – is connected with tons of dragon, and I’ll be darned if I can figure out where. No one can hurt him because you can’t hurt the person by damaging the sock puppet.” Said Zere’maya firmly. She continued to push buttons and look at the instruments with a periodic “damn” under her breath.

Zassh sighed. “Then the sock puppet is all of Karl that Karl knows he has. We’ve got to respect that.” Zere’maya nodded.

“Oh, I am. You know what? Three hundred years of earth history or no, human beings are a tiny minority out there. There are hundreds of dragon worlds, not that I can talk to them. Human beings are unique among the intelligences – do you know what they call us?” she asked Zassh. Zassh shook her head.

“The nakeds. Every other species of intelligent life has some sort of built-in armory – usually some kind of big guns. That’s why we have reports of wookies and werewolves, dragons and horrible monsters – the universe is filled with people who believe that an armed society is a polite society. Whether it’s spitting acid or being born with tactical nukes up your butt, most everybody but us can defend themselves -- with overkill.”

“I understood some of the words you are saying” replied Zassh, shaking her head.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m raving. I am scared and when I’m scared I have to do something, so I am going to go shopping in the next town. I need to make some general anesthetic for Ulaanaa. Maybe I can’t fix what’s wrong with this world but I know how to make repairs on her body.” Said Zere’maya.

“Ulaanaa doesn’t like you.” Said Zassh.

“No, Inchin doesn’t like me. Aruin despises me, and Ulaanaa thinks I’ve stolen her children’s affections which makes her just about angry enough that she could slit my throat and be sorry she could only kill me once. And I don’t really blame her for that, she’s had a hard life. That’s not my problem. My problem is that I’m a healer, and if I were her and the devil incarnate could get me back to using my usual openings instead of having everything come out of my most sensitive area, I’d let the devil do her work. I just am not enough of a devil to do it while she’s strapped down to a table feeling everything, the way I had to do with her daughters.” Said Zere’maya.

“We do have tincture of cannabis.” Said Zassh.

“Yes, and I’ve made up several edible oil based topical ointments, as well as prepared some more honey and sugar for her sores. This is like the bowel issues – serious pain. I’m going to go in with as much protection for her as I can, and I’m going to train you how to make and administer chloroform.” Said Zere’maya. “Cannabis would make her more hungry and thirsty than she is. She’s just about healed up enough so that if I could approximate and join some of her tissues she could go back to at least a liquid diet. I haven’t eaten since I got here, it’s halfway driving me crazy, and I wouldn’t wish what I’m feeling on anyone, even someone who wants me dead.”

Zassh looked at Zere’maya and smiled.” I’m glad you’ve got your memories back.”

“Only some of them. Head injuries – usually memories close to the time of the injury are the last to come back – when they do at all. I still have no clue what I came here to do, but at least I know that I have a spaceship to find, a lab inside it, and probably more information. I hope whoever hurt me isn’t driving my motor home, playing with my tools. They’re probably safer than whatever that person or persons were doing, or maybe whoever I was supposed to find managed to blow themselves to kingdom come, but anything that would have killed my ship would have spiked a poor soft little ‘naked’ like me to component atoms, this whole situation doesn’t make sense.”

Zassh was sitting happily at Zere’maya’s feet when Karl came in.

“Is she still going on like that?” he asked Zassh.

“About as fast as her lips can move. If you let your mind wander it’s sort of like a form of music. Or birds in the morning. Really angry, territorial birds. At least she’s punching buttons instead of pacing.” Replied Zassh.

“I think better when I’m walking or talking, or both.” Replied Zere’maya defensively. “My mission and the fate of my spaceship are so out of my control that there’s no point in worrying, but this I can do something about. I can at least fail at something.”

Karl smiled at Zassh. “You’re right. She does sound rather like birds chirping.”

At that moment off in the distance the lonely sound of a freight train, far away. Zeremaya shivered, pleased. There were tracks leading from main city to main city here, but no proper roads. Maybe in areas where some great civilization had risen and fallen there might be some, but here nothing, nothing but crushed grass and ridges on a long prairie walk.

“We’re finally getting somewhere.” Zere’maya said. “Maybe there will be a hospital where they can repair Ulaanaa, and I won’t have to play “My li’l chemistry kit”. I’d like that.”

“Goodie.” Replied Karl.

The final approach to the city was as it would be in any of a thousand worlds. First, a few scattered farms, here and there. Follow the beaten path, come up. Stop the caravan obligingly for any passers-by, hope that they spread the word. Stop again to sharpen a few knives, buy food, share news of the outside.

The caravan turned in to a farm drive marked in time-honored fashion with a smiling cat, hidden along the fence post, marking the way. Zere’maya remembered cats. She also remembered that they tasted much like rabbit, the only way you could tell is that the bones were thinner, and quite a bit flatter.

The family came running out to meet them. Their house, Zere’maya could see, was a modern type, the sort brought on a railroad car from a distant city, assembled from pictures, bought from a catalog.

She looked over and saw the family outhouse, neat, clean, chicken house off of one side of it, of the same type, made to match the house, like a playhouse sized version of the same.

A thousand worlds, a thousand skies, but much the same -- humans have rectums, they eat, make love, make babies, make waste. As we travel from world to world we bring what is vital to us with us. Zere’maya could see from here the pond where her adopted family would be camping.

Zeremaya wondered, briefly, if these people too were dragons, or something else she had never seen before walking around with a human face on, then let it drop.

If they were taking form, this was the form they wanted to show, and Zere’maya for one would respect that.

Then Zere’maya jumped for joy -- another sight well known to the worlds traveler, popping up rarely enough to be delightful and precious to her heart – Zere’maya saw the beehives.

The people of the farmhouse had been preparing for them and the campsite was beautifully spread, swept, ready for dancing.

In the back of their minds -- in the back of all of the minds of the people old enough to understand -- were the unfriendly people, who also shared the world, who could be there. There was no answer to them, none but the answer Zere’maya had always known -- resist not evil. Attract it not with paying attention to it. Never feed it, and always be friendly to those who were friends to The People. To accept, open hand, those who were good -- to teach the children not to flinch when evil was given, just a subtle mark on the fence -- stay away.

No, no cats on the menu today, a fine roasted ox waiting for them in trade for the fabrics they brought for them, their gossip, and their storytelling.

The woman of the house brought out socks to mend, and, Zere’maya gladly sat down beside her to turn heels and add reinforcements to toes. Always work available for those willing to earn their keep, Zere’maya thought. Not always pretty, or fancy, but if anyone has skills and searches, someone will need you. Or, you can find someone to teach you new -- someone with work going begging.

Much to her delight Mother Faa had let her wear her own clothing again. Her hands moved easily though the material, her crochet hook moving over the stone egg she had brought herself, deep in her pockets when she arrived on the planet. That was another reason why she liked always to dress as she did -- deep slits in the skirts lead to pockets in her underskirts, so she could carry a great deal with her balanced neatly on her center of gravity, supported by her thick leather belt.

Better by any measure than a purse. Deep within her pockets she carried a traveler's safe keeping kit -- items both mundane, like fire starters and arcane, like magical carrying bags, giving her the ability to bring with her items far larger and heavier than even her full skirts could conceal.

One of the first tasks Zere’maya had had was to check to see which of her items worked on this world, which could not draw on the power available, the same task any Earth international traveler has checking to see which electrical adapter was needed to jack into the local power.

Zere’maya was still puzzled by the disinclination effect, and made a plan as she worked to make a list of every item, numbered, then check them one by one by number to see if rather than her tools being broken somehow she had been simply disinclined to use one of them.

The magic she could detect here was clearly of low quality and not particularly easy to use -- one of the daughters of the house here had some hedge-magic and had set up a projection spell, hanging glowing over the fire and made up of its heat, most likely. The music being played at the campfire could be heard anywhere on the farm, never louder, never softer, set delicately at a level that allowed people to talk over the music and conversation at the fire pit carried to every gathering place.

For a while Zere’maya had pulled away from the party to go off to the barn, to milk the goats with the oldest girl, and be away from the bright colors, away from the intensity.

Even the goats seemed to be enjoying the music, some even swaying back and forth with the open-mouthed enjoyment their kind is disposed to.

When she knelt down to milk the doe sampled one of her new corded locks, chewing it thoughtfully, then deciding that this sort of hair was no better than any other person's. Zere’maya laughed and petted her. The goat nuzzled her back, gave a shuddering sigh, and to Zere’maya's satisfaction let down her milk for her.

It's a myth that a cow "gives milk", a cow, a goat, or any other sort of milking animal. Not only do you have to work for every drop you get, you also have to develop a relationship, a habit with them. If you cannot, it comes a lot easier for the lacrimoniously inclined flirt. Even a dairy animal likes to have a baby to care for now and then.

Zere’maya milked her dry, laid her hand on the goat's side, and as personal thanks she disrupted the lives of all her intestinal parasites. Zere’maya had gained a great deal of control since the first day, and could barely feel the loss of power. She stroked the animal again, feeling her inside, feeling her barely begun pregnancy. Two tiny heartbeats. She stretched her magic again. Two tiny girls, far from ready to come into the world but at least they would live for a time inside a mother who would be stronger.

Zere’maya got up, poured the goat's milk into the cooling container in the well, moved over to milk the big Jersey cow. Zere’maya laid her head on the animal, soaking up her warmth, soaking in the cow's power, being the cow's baby, being what the cow needed, as the cow, now, gave Zeremaya her milk and so much more.

Sated, feeling sleepy and peacefully contented she was found by the farm woman sleeping with her head against the warm skin of the cow. She had at least remembered to pour out the milk, Zeremaya remembered gratefully. She smiled up at the woman.

"Bit of a farm girl in you, eh?" The woman smiled. She held out her hand and Zeremaya took it, pulling to her feet.

"Oh yes. I grew up on a farm." Zeremaya corrected herself. "A hobby farm. My family all had town jobs, but we still kept our goats and an assortment of other animals, different types at different times, over the years."

The woman nodded. "My children have jobs in town. It's only a matter of time -- I mean, we bought the house and everything not realizing -- but we know our children's children won't grow up here. I'm probably the last of the farm keepers. It's sad, really."

"We shall see. What will be is what will be." said Zeremaya, still in her happy afterglow. The woman cocked her head.

"As if there were some other way possible, you talk." She rubbed her hands on her skirt, as if brushing off dirt.

"I'm Antalya." said the woman. " Zere’maya." Zere’maya answered. "And of all the treasures you have, of all I hope to see and hunger for, it's the bees. Please tell me that you are the beekeeper!"

The women walked out to the bee yard, talking of their mutual love and Antalya sharing her love for her hobby. She grabbed a couple of amulets off of the barn door, hung one over Zere’maya's neck and took the other for herself.

The hives were long barrel shapes, filled with rounded framed comb, built to suit the bees and very conveniently low and long for the working of women beekeepers -- as Zere’maya had both guessed and hoped for. Antalya explained about how each half-circle of pressed wax fit neatly into the barrel, deep in the center and narrowing out like a great honeycomb slice of watermelon. One section of the hive had only top bars, and Antalya explained that this area was always built primarily with drone comb, this way she could conveniently thin out the unproductive males -- as well as produce the larvae which she could sell or use herself as fish bait.

Above the top bar hive was a full length queen excluder, and over that space were plain bars, where the bees could build their honeycomb in free form, the product most demand for sale and most useful for the farmwife, because there was so much more wax, the more valuable product for her being, as Zere’maya knew, a place where plastic had not made its place.

Working bees in a world with magic in it was terribly much easier, Zeremaya thought. How easy to simply hang a pendant around your neck instead of needing to smoke the bees and gear up. Antalya cocked her eyebrow at her.

"May I?" asked Zere’maya.

"You may." she replied. Zere’maya reached her small, square hand into the exposed honeycomb and snapped off an ample mouthful. She was going to take a very tiny portion but Antalya cleared her throat, just like a mother. Zere’maya took herself a generous section of enough, thanked the bees, and popped the fresh white honeycomb into her mouth.

Robbing the bees was something she had always loved to do -- simply always. It was wonderful to take a little bit of all the flowers around her into her mouth like that, to really taste the land, as if she could have bent down and savored a mouth of the actual ground she walked on, but a bit of honeycomb was close.

Zeremaya was even in luck -- there was a good deal of fresh packed pollen, not only honey with all its own earthy tang and local flavor. Fresh pollen tastes like peanut butter in the same way the finest roast beef tastes like imitation hamburger soy crumbles -- what peanut butter would desperately try to be, but can't.

She tucked the crumpling comb into her cheek and smiled. Carefully she spit the comb in the bushes – it was a taste, at least, of something real.

It would have been a perfect day except for how it ended. The farm husband came into the bee yard, weary and serious.

"The young man." He said softly.

Antalya groaned. "It's not like the first time, my dear.”, then turning to Zere’maya, “I believe you are his keeper?" she gestured out towards the campsite.

The women and children had piled more wood on the huge round fire. The flames leapt up and the taught faces of the farm folk and the gypsies had an unearthly red reflected glow. It was like looking at a circle of people cast from bright copper. The firelight flicked on the faces, dark and pale alike against the dark surroundings on beyond the circle of shadow light.

And in the center of the fire, cold skin against the sky, stood Karl -- naked, and absolutely stupid, raving drunk. Zeremaya looked at Antalya.

"You're telling me he's done this before?" asked Zeremaya. Antalya nodded.

"What did you do the last time?" Zeremaya asked. Antalya shrugged.
"We had to leave him there. Eventually he walked out of on his own power, after falling down and sleeping in there for a while. It's nothing he asked for, and it's not like there's anyone here that's fireproof." she finished.

Zeremaya made a quiet prayer that all the contact they had had would convey to her a small portion of Karl's invulnerability magic and stepped towards the fire. It felt first warm, than intimidatingly hot. Her clothing, too -- she imagined it being part of her. She had no intention of leaving him there, but watched her skirts for signs of singeing.

She gritted her teeth, stepped up, and reached out for Karl's stretched hand. He was cold -- cold like death cold, meat locker cold. Just touching him gave her a rush of feeling, feeling his drink in her. She could not do this for long. She braced her feet and pulled Karl free of the fire, threw her shawl around him and walked him back to his vardo, for whatever healing she could give him and hopefully for a good, long sleep.