Kile of Zumada

2. The Storm

Chapter 2: The Storm

By the time he got home, the occasional drop had turned into full on rain. He and his mom worked together quickly to stake the tarp to the ground, and he finished moving the last of the crates into place and weighing it down with a metal weights his father had used for this exact sort of thing. By the time his defense was finished, the rain had begun to pour, and the first flashes of lightning lit up the sky.

He went inside and was gleefully assaulted by the smell of his mother's cooking. Vegetable stew! A rare sight, especially this time of year.

"What's the occasion?" he asked.

"You worked your butt off," she said, "we both did. So we get a big metal to get us back up to strength."

"Sounds good to me," Kile said.

He sat down and took in the pattering of the rain on the roof, the smell of the food, the taste, and the company of his mother. It was a good night, he decided.

"So, I heard Tarade say you had ideas for the harvest festival. Already? It's only the end of Seedsow," his mom teased.

"Yeah," he said, "I wish she hadn't told you! I wanted to surprise you with the idea!"

She smiled warmly, the light of the hearth shining in her brown eyes. People often said Kile had his mother's face, but his father's hair. He never liked it when they phrased it that way - though not because he thought her unattractive. She had taken out her braids but her beadstring still remained knotted, each one of the 12 beads a colorful reminder of a major accomplishment - the story of her life, told in ceramic. Someday, he'd earn his own beads, but that day wasn't for him to choose.

"She didn't, don't worry," she assured. "She just told me you had some...I think she called it 'cockamamie idea' and that I should talk you out of it."

Of course. Tarade was always like that. To his face she had said it was brilliant and he should be excited to make it work. But to his mother, she was honest about it. He rolled his eyes.

"The idea," he began, "was that we grow blossoms. Orchids, Haffeathers, Sunflowers, Aganathas. Things like that. Things that live a long time and look beautiful. Apparently the people in the Mechanical City State are on a bit of a nature kick and like the idea of putting living things in their house."

"And where on Earth do you intend to get the seeds for all these exotic plants?" She tested.

"Well, that's the issue I was having. We can go into the Crescent Forest and pick some ourselves-"

His mother interrupted, "but the farm would be unattended."

He nodded immediately, hoping that would indicate he was about to share that problem, "Right, so we can't do that. I was originally going to ask if I could go there for my Quest, but then I realized something. Tenmen come around all the time, and one of them is bound to have some seeds. And if one of them doesn't, we can maybe hire them to go get some."

"And how much do you think that would cost?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But that's the good thing about plants, right? We only need to buy a few seeds and we can just grow more and more and more. And if we can't afford it, especially in Harvestboon, we'll have time in the winter months to get it."

"Travel in the winter is dangerous," his mother said. "Are you sure this is all worth it?"

"I mean, it was just an idea," he admitted. "But I think people might really like having flowers in their house. It'll bring a touch of life into their home, y'know?"

The house rattled with the wind, and a loud and sudden rumble of thunder shook it. He jumped out of his chair.

"Geez, it's really dangerous out there," he said.

He walked to the window, noticing a flap of blue against the flashing sky. That was strange. There was nothing blue in their yard.

Except the tarp.

He watched in horror as the howling wind continued to rip it along a seam, and with one mighty gust, blew the whole thing into the air.

"I need to get out there, now." He said, and ran for the door.

Kile bolted out of the old wooden house, his mind aflame. There were no other options. The rain was so intense it was already blinding him, and it almost felt like it was cutting him it came down so hard, but there was no time to worry about that. He reached out and grabbed the tarp, pulling it down. It made sense why it was ripping - they had put it over the plants to keep the weight of the water from crushing them, but that also meant that the wind could come up from under. The spikes were deep, and strong - in this case, too strong. He'd have to hold it himself.

A crack of thunder nearly burst his ear drums. He held on for his life to the thing, the wind furiously trying to rip it from his hands. The advantage to being human in this position was he knew when to give and when to take. He could bend while the rigid steel of the spike could not. It was still not a gentle task, however. The tarp was slippery, and the strength his hand needed to latch onto it caused them to seize. He let out a yell of exertion.

He noticed the ground giving way to water beneath his feet. He quickly looked.

His plan with the boxes had been a good one, but it had had one flow. The boxes weren't perfectly sealed - water was leaking through them. He would have to let the tarp go for now. He sprinted to the shed, his feet getting stuck in the mud as he did. He squeezed his foot out, and made it to his destination. He grabbed a shovel and ran to his trench. Somehow, it was already full. He immediately got to work digging through the Earth. Now that it was wet, it was much easier, but the thundering flashes were his only light, his feet were sinking into the mud with every shovelfull he dug out, and the rain was stinging his eyes.

He noticed his mom had come out too.

"Kile!" She called out. "Keep digging that trench wider- don't worry about the depth so much now!"

He nodded. He could barely hear her over the howling wind. It caught his attention when the pots they had so meticulously put over their crops started to knock over as well. That was okay, he decided. As long as they didn't dig up too much.

For two hours, he and his mom struggled against the storm. Holding the tarp in place, picking the pots up so they wouldn't crush the other plants, digging the trench, stacking more boxes on top of the dam. Everything they could do to keep the situation under control. At one point he ran frantically to where the trench emptied and found that it had been clogged, so he spent 15 minutes reaching into thick muck and yanking out detritus whose true form was lost between the dark of the night and the thick of the mud. Only hours later, once the rain no longer stabbed at his skin, did they finally realize they had won the battle.

"I think we did it," his mom said.

"Yeah," he wheezed, "rain's really let up."

It was still unpleasant, but it was no longer blinding. He could see the water finally draining from the trench. Their crops were soaked, and the ground was turgid with mud, but there was a good chance they had survived.

Somehow, some way, they had done it. Not all of them would survive, but the majority of the crop would make it. He collapsed in his bed, falling asleep almost immediately.