Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Jarran turned the leaf over, checking the pale underside where yajwing larvae liked to cluster. Nothing. No eggs, no bore marks, no sticky residue. He released the leaf and it bounced back into place among the others, blue-green and healthy and exactly where it should be.
He straightened up and looked down the row.
The plants stretched out ahead of him in neat, even lines.
Their broad leaves caught the filtered light that came through the dome overhead.
Real crops, growing in real dirt. The roots went deep.
He could smell the soil, rich and dark, turned and enriched over months of hard work. It was the best smell in the world.
He pulled a handheld climate monitor, which doubled as a communication device, from his pocket and checked the humidity reading.
Sixty-eight percent. Good. The dome’s climate system kept the interior stable, but he liked to verify it himself.
He’d spent too many tericycles in environments he couldn’t control.
Now he had a farm, and he checked everything.
The dome was large, covering many square acres of Virilian surface land near Tagja City.
It had been an outpost once. He’d proposed trying to make the surface viable again, and King Virak, who was a botanical and animal lover himself, had sent Virilian construction drones to build the dome like a protective shell against the dangerous wildlife and the brutal surface climate.
A tunnel connected the dome to the city below.
Settlers had started arriving, a handful at first and then more, drawn by the promise of surface-level housing and open space. It was becoming a community.
Jarran moved along the row, brushing his fingers across the tops of the saplings as he passed.
One day, hopefully, this section would be an orchard.
He’d planted six varieties of fruit trees, and so far, all had adapted to the dome’s conditions.
Four of them were thriving. The other two needed more time, but he was patient. Growing things required patience.
He reached the end of the row and turned to walk back along the next one.
The dome curved above him, letting in the pale Virilian sky.
In the distance, past the edge of the cultivated field, he could see the cluster of buildings that made up the settlement.
His and Evie’s house was there, a low, solid structure with wide windows that Evie had picked out.
Her medical clinic was next to it, where Evie treated the workers and settlers who came through.
Movement caught his eye and he saw a figure walking toward him across the field.
Jarran shaded his eyes. The figure was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with a familiar stride and a tail that swung in an easy rhythm behind him.
Taron raised a hand.
Jarran raised his in return and walked to meet his brother.
“Your crops look good,” Taron said. He looked out across the rows with an appraising eye. “Better than the last time I was here.”
“They are better. The soil amendments are working.” Jarran gestured toward the far end of the field. “I put in a new section last week. Root vegetables. They should be ready by the start of the cool season.”
“Evie must be pleased.”
“Evie does like fresh produce.” Jarran smiled, thinking of his beloved mate. “I am learning how to cook,” he added. “Now that is very enjoyable.”
Taron smiled and shook his head. “You surprise me every time I see you, brother. How is Father?”
Jarran’s smile faded, but he nodded. “His body grows weaker, but he is well. I brought him some of my soup yesterday and he seemed to enjoy it.” Jarran shrugged, not quite sure if everyone was humoring him about his food or if it was actually good.
It tasted good to him, but his palate had been limited for so long, everything with flavor tasted good to him.
“I am glad I was able to reconcile with Father before… Well, I suggest you pay him a visit while you’re here. ”
“I will,” Taron replied.
They walked together to a low stone wall at the edge of the field and sat down. One of the Virilian suns was dropping toward the horizon, and the sky through the dome had turned shades of peach and gold. They watched it in comfortable silence for a moment.
“How is Amelia?” Jarran asked.
Taron’s expression softened. “She’s well. Busy. She’s been working on expanding the trading routes between Tagja City and Exir. The woman does not slow down.” He paused. “She told me to tell you that she wants to visit the farm. She wants to see your irrigation layout.”
Jarran laughed. “She is welcome anytime. We’re building a few guest housing units for anyone who wants to experience some time above ground. You both, and your little Benli, are welcome anytime.”
“Thank you. Our son is growing fast.” Taron stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. “Starting to walk. Amelia says he has my stubbornness.”
“She would know…”
Taron cut him a look, but his mouth twitched. “How is Evie feeling? With the pregnancy?”
“Tired, but good. She’s showing now.” Jarran’s chest warmed at the thought of her. “The baby is healthy. Silca is monitoring everything remotely and says the development is normal.”
“Will the baby have a tail?”
Jarran paused. “We don’t know yet.”
“She will have a tail.” Taron said this with absolute certainty. “Trust me.”
“You’re basing this on a sample size of one.” Jarran raised one eyebrow. “Your son was born with a tail, but ours may—wait. What makes you think my child is female?”
“First, I’m basing my tail theory on the fact that Virilian genes are dominant.” Taron lowered his voice. “Do not tell Amelia I said that, but it’s true. Most human-Virilian hybrid children are born with tails. Yours will be too. As for the female part...” He shrugged. “Just a hunch.”
“A hunch?” Jarran raised one brow.
“I’ll have you know I correctly predicted the gender of my child.”
“A fifty-fifty guess.”
“No.” Taron raised his chin and tapped his chest. “I knew.”
Jarran shook his head, but he was smiling. The sunset deepened, spreading warm light across the field. He breathed in the smell of turned earth and growing things and the faint metallic tang of the dome’s filtered air. It was quiet out here. Peaceful.
“Drex sent word about the new wing at the palace,” Taron said. “He and Madison are adding a library. Madison’s idea.”
“That sounds right.”
“Trak is advising on the design, apparently. Which means it will either be brilliant or completely impractical.”
“Knowing Trak, both.”
Taron smiled. “He would have been a more entertaining king. But I’m glad Drex was born first and inherited the title. Not that the affairs of Exir City affect us here under King Virak’s rule.”
Jarran turned his face to the sky. “We are more connected than we know.”
They sat together as the sky shifted colors.
The silence between them was easy now. It hadn’t always been.
Those first visits, after Jarran had settled on Virilia, had been awkward with tiring conversations full of things neither of them knew how to say.
But they’d kept showing up. Taron came to the farm every few weeks, and each time the distance between them shrank a little more.
“The Virilian people have been kind to me,” Jarran said. “More than I expected.”
Taron nodded. “They understand what happened. The evidence was clear. Xill Rin’s conditioning, the implant, the tericycles of suppressed identity.” He looked at his brother. “You were a victim, Jarran. The people see that.”
“Not everyone.”
“Most. And the rest will come around.” Taron’s jaw tightened. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Jarran looked at him. His younger brother, fierce and loyal and stubborn as bedrock. “Thank you, Taron. For all of it.”
Taron held his gaze for a long moment. Then he bumped his shoulder against Jarran’s, a brief, solid contact. “You’re my big brother.”
For both of them, that was enough.
Jarran’s handheld device chimed. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen. A message from Trak. He opened it.
It was a poem. Four stanzas about soil, roots, and second chances. It rhymed, more or less. Jarran read it twice and pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.
A second message appeared, from Anna. Ignore the poem. I tried to stop him. He’s been reading Earth poetry and it’s making him insufferable.
Jarran tilted the screen so Taron could see. Taron read both messages, closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nose.
“Stars,” Taron muttered.
Jarran laughed. “I suppose I should invite the prince here to visit.”
“That did sound like he was fishing for an invitation,” his brother agreed. He rose and stretched. “Well, I am off to pay father a visit. Farewell for now, Jarran.”
They embraced, and Jarran closed his eyes as he held Taron in a short, strong hold. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, brother.”
Both held on a beat longer before letting go. “As do I.”
Taron left as the last light faded from the dome. Jarran watched him walk toward the tunnel entrance, his tall frame silhouetted against the amber glow of the settlement’s lights.
He turned back to the field. The crops were dark shapes in the dimming light, row after row of plants he’d sewn and tended. He ran his hand along the top of the stone wall. The surface was cool and rough under his palm.
Then he walked home to find Evie inside, curled on the wide couch with a tablet in her hands. Her light, flowing tunic draped over the gentle curve of her belly. Her hair was down, falling loose around her shoulders. She looked up and smiled when he came in.
“Good visit with Taron?”
“Yes.” He crossed the room and held out his hand.
She took it and he drew her up to her feet.
She came willingly, setting the tablet aside, and tilted her face up to his.
He kissed her. Soft at first, and then not soft at all.
She made a quiet sound against his mouth and her fingers curled into the front of his shirt.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were warm and her mouth was slightly parted.
“Bedroom?” he asked.
She grinned. “Bedroom.”
He tugged her toward the hall, his hand wrapped around hers, and she laughed as she followed. They spent much of their spare time this way. He had no complaints.
Later, with Evie asleep beside him and the dome dark and quiet overhead, Jarran lay still and stared at the ceiling. Her breathing was slow and even. One of her hands rested on his chest. He covered it with his own.
For the first time since he was a child, Jarran Bando was home. He had soil under his fingernails and a woman he loved beside him and a child on the way. He had a brother who visited, a community growing up around him and crops that needed tending in the morning.
He closed his eyes. Sleep came easy, the way it always did now. No shadows. No pressure. No voice at the edge of his thoughts.
Just peace, and plants, and all the love that a heart could hold.
Thank you for reading Jarran and Evie’s story!