He was Almost Absorbed by the System

Chapter One Hundred And Fifty One - The Tree Farmer

Author's note; This has been a long time coming, thank you for your patience.  I think I have been struggling as the book comes nearer to completion and I find I am struggling with the pressure and expectations for it, mostly my own.  I am a bit of a perfectionist and seeing as each arc seems to improve a bit on the last, I am like "where do I go from here?!"  Anyway, let's see how this goes...

The spired mountains were ever present in the distance, as the small white sun crept above them and joined its two sisters in the heavens, but the solar runt would make little difference to the heat of the day. 

K'tai-tul was glad to know this.  The sweat was already dripping down his back, but he daren't removed his shirt lest the yellow and orange suns above him blister red his skin.  Spreading the nutrients over the recently turned soil was an arduous task that only had himself and his Uncle to perform.  And once the suns began to relinquish their grip on the sky, they would begin the transplant of a hundred young saplings.  Tomorrow, they would rise early to transplant a hundred more.  This was the life of a tree farmer.

"K'tai-tul," his uncle called to him, indicating that they should take a break.  The young man placed the pitchfork to lean against the wheelbarrow of rotted vegetation and made his way across the field.  His uncle waited patiently with a bowl of fresh water for him to drink.  He gulped it down, even though he knew it was better to take his time to quench his thirst.  And then both men poured a couple of ladles of water from the well's bucket over their steaming bodies.  K'tai-tul groaned as it washed away sweat and dust, as well as reduced the heat of his skin.

"Spring is well in effect," he said, with slight complaint and his uncle simply laughed.  He poured another ladle full over his silver tipped, black hair, closing his pale blue eyes to fully savour the sensation.  The gentle wind combined with the water cooling him further.

"At least we only have to water and watch during the summer months," the man said, thankful for such grace.  "The last harvest will see us through for a time, we can focus upon our orchard and trade well for winter supplies."

"Think the fruit will be plentiful this year?" K'tai-tul asked him.  They had had bad crop harvests before and that year were forced to rely on their wood trade to get by.  Fortunately, wood was always in high demand as fuel or for paper and their family needs were small.  While during farming times, it would definitely be in their favour to have a larger family, at times when tradable products were lean, having a small family was best.

"N'ing-jun says the blossoms were abundant," his uncle said this with a loving smile.  N'ing-jun was his wife of three years.  She had been the daughter of a paper maker to whom they traded with regularly and the couple cared for each other deeply.  They had not yet been blessed with children, but K'tai-tul held hopes that they would soon.

The two men continued to work hard and managed to plant the hundred trees before the twin suns set, leaving their little sister with the moon.  The women of the house would join them on the morrow to water the new trees, while the men continued to plant.

"Ugh, go bath!" was the greeting L'tai-shu, K'tai-tul's mother demanded of her son and her lost husband's baby brother.  The two men rolled their eyes and went to the bathhouse to do as bid.  They filled the shower tank with heated water before pulling the lever that would spill it over their bodies and wash away the remnants of the day.  And after they were clean, they sank into the pool and soaked.

"We should have done this before facing mother's wrath," K'tai-tul mused as his aches were soothed by the waters.

"Ah, but last time we thought to do so," his uncle pointed out, "she told us off for not informing her that we had returned to the house."

"Oh yes, I recall," the younger man replied.

His uncle suddenly rose from the bathing pool and climbed out to dry himself.  "Come," he told his nephew.  "Let's get ourselves dressed before she hunts us down as we are late for dinner."

"Ugh, she would as well," K'tai-tul complained.  "She sees me as that small boy she birthed, so has seen it all before.  What is the point of privacy?"  He got out of the water anyway and grabbed the plush woollen cloth to soak away the excess.

"You and me both," his uncle chuckled.  "K'min-tul wed your mother when I was turning seven.  She sees me much as another son than her husband's brother."

The two men dressed quickly, in case their prediction came to be true, before entering the main house and into the large dining space.  The area was built for a family at least five times their size, but due to early deaths due to accident and disease and declining birth rates, the family had just five members now.  L'tai-shu was the head of the household as the oldest of the family, despite having married into it rather than being born of it.  K'tai-tul was her only son by blood, but the family had adopted Ch'mai-tul, a very distant relative after that family was lost to a freak landslide with very few survivors.  And then there was uncle K'win-tul and his wife N'ing-jun.

L'tai-shu served them a simple meal that still had elements of home, this was warming and filling.  They made small talk about the table about the plantings and the orchard and when the next trees would be ready for a mass harvest and whether any trees could be cut early until then.  They also needed to begin seeding the next crops within the greenhouse.

After the meal, K'tai-tul took to sitting on the porch of their ridiculously large property to enjoy the brief darkness of a full night.  He was considered odd that way.  With three suns to warm and light their way, their people preferred to sleep before the sunless period of the day arrived.  It was nearly silent at night, no avian song nor distant beast howl could be heard, only the wind rustling through the tree leaves prevented the complete absence of noise.

Ch'mai-tul came to sit beside him.  The young, raven-haired girl never spoke very much, but was quite attached to her big brother.  She wasn't tall, about half his height, but neither had she reached her full growth.  She was fairly pretty, her looks unusual as her hair was a solid black without variation and her skin almost translucent in its whiteness.  She already had boys in the wings waiting until she was of marriageable age so they might approach her and her family.  She crossed her arms as she gave him a baleful glare.  Her brother sighed.  "I know, I know," he muttered, for he often was able to interpret her silences.  "I should sleep.  There are only a couple of hours until first dawn after all."

The girl smiled at him, her very pale grey eyes curving in approval.  She stood up and brushed down her slim skirt, waiting for him to follow suit.  K'tai-tul sighed, took a last breath of the cooling air, before he followed his small sister into the house.