“Congratulations,” he said, returning her smile. He slowed his breaths, trying to still his nerves. “Come with me and bring your son,” he said to Charlie.
Charlie followed him without a question, cradling the baby with extra care as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. Leya lay back against her pillow, looking radiant.
They walked the short distance to the central fire, where the villagers were already starting to eat. Illya pulled Charlie with him up onto the stairs. When they saw Charlie and the baby, everyone broke into spontaneous cheers. They would have been awake for hours too, waiting and hoping as they listened to Leya’s screams. Illya took the baby from Charlie. Holding him in the crook of his arm, he turned to face the crowd. He took a deep breath, rehearsing what Conna had suggested in his mind for a moment, to make sure he said it right.
“I would like to announce the birth of our newest villager. He is the first since we planted our seeds and the first of many more to come! Charlie, what will your son be called?” he asked.
“Ezekiel!” Charlie said, beaming. “Ezekiel Polestadt.”
“I give you Ezekiel!” Illya cried. “But not Ezekiel Polestadt, as we would have called him in the old days. He is a son of the new dawn! I give you Ezekiel Soil-Digger!”
Charlie stared at him. His mouth fell open. There was a stunned silence from the gathered people. Then rage flooded their faces.
Everything started moving in slow motion. The faces, which had been full of excitement, preparing to celebrate, contorted into anger. Charlie stared at him dumbfounded, and his face reddened then turned purple. They were all shouting. Illya thought that Charlie might have attacked him if he hadn’t been holding the man’s newborn son.
“Wait!” he yelled, frantic to head them off. He held on to baby Ezekiel like a shield.
“If you don’t want—” He started to speak, ready to take it all back, to do whatever they wanted, but Conna cut him off.
“Look at those plants!” He flung his arm out toward the field. “Look at them! You know there wouldn’t be anything there if it wasn’t for Illya. Think about where you would be right now if it weren’t for his ideas.”
The people halted, still furious, but at least they were listening.
“You know what we would be doing now. Fall is getting near; you can feel it in the air. Have you forgotten that fear so quickly? Are you so quick to lose gratitude for what he has given you that you don’t remember?” Conna was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as he yelled over the crowd at the top of his voice. “Right now, we would be scrambling, spending every hour of daylight to find enough just to get through winter. But look at what we have, more than we have ever had before, and it’s right there. It’s all right outside your doors.” Conna let his arm fall.
“I didn’t do anything,” Illya said. The people, who had been focusing on Conna, shifted to him.
“You did it yourselves. None of this would be here if it wasn’t for all the work you did, the soil-diggers especially.” He glanced up at Charlie pleadingly. The man still frowned, but his expression softened.
“I just wanted you to be proud of it,” he said.
“This baby is inheriting a noble purpose,” Conna said. “Think how future generations will remember you, the first Soil-Diggers, the first Builders. How we think of the first settlers and know that we are here and alive because of them. If we hadn’t planted this summer, we would have no future generations.”
There was a long stretch of silence. Illya had to remind himself to breathe. He could tell that Conna’s words had reached them, struck a chord in a few. But for as many as there were looking thoughtful an equal number continued to glare. Impiri and Sabelle were standing together a little distance away, still beside the cooking fires. Sabelle looked disturbed, her arms crossed across her chest.
Illya supposed that she must be considering the idea of being called Sabelle Cook and thinking that she didn’t like it. Near them, Benja was leaning against a tree, scowling. He would be Benja Fisher. It was a name to be proud of, Illya thought with a surge of anger. His cousin should be grateful to have it.
Impiri, alone of everyone, did not appear disturbed in the slightest. She smiled at Illya as if it had been her lifelong ambition to be called Impiri Cook. He wrinkled his forehead and blinked. On second glance, her expression looked more like a smirk, as if she knew something that he didn’t. At that moment, Illya was sure that it was not the smile of a madwoman.
The baby was still nestled in the crook of his arm. Ezekiel was awake and looking around. Illya swayed with him unconsciously, soothing him. It was something he had done with Molly when she was small.
“Maybe it’s the right thing,” Charlie said. Illya’s eyes widened, he studied Charlie’s face. The man did seem proud, if a little unsure. He reached out for his son. Carefully, Illya placed the infant in Charlie’s arms.
“Ezekiel Soil-Digger,” he murmured. “Wonder what Leya will think of that.”
“It has a nice ring to it,” Conna said.
Charlie glanced up at Illya.
“We’ve thought you were right from the start, you know,” he said, and Illya nodded. He hesitated before continuing. “It does have a nice ring, come to think of it,” he said and gave Illya a somewhat forced smile.
Charlie went back to his hut to give Leya a chance to feed Ezekiel, who had begun to try to eat his fingers. The villagers dispersed, seeming to be mollified by Charlie’s acceptance.
They were subdued. Though a few laughed and joked with each other again, it was a far different scene than it had been before he made the announcement.
Conna slapped Illya on the back.
“Nice,” he said.
Illya nodded, distracted. They didn’t look happy and proud, not really at all.
He didn’t have time to worry about it for long. Before the sun had reached its height, the entire village was rejoicing with the announcement that raspberries had been found ripened on the mountain slopes. He, along with most of the rest of the people, joined the gatherers when they went out after the midday meal. He still was not talking to his mother and avoided the side of the patch where she was picking.
Surrounded by the smell of sweet berries, they filled baskets with the tiny, soft fruit, eating nearly as many as they saved. Raspberries were a rare treat and didn’t stay fresh for long. There was no doubt that there would be feasting that night.
Once again, he had made a change for the better and been rewarded by a good sign. The people hadn’t liked it. He had almost lost control of the beast, he knew. But berries coming was one of the best omens they could have had. Reassured, he told himself that no matter what they all thought he had been right after all.
They took all of the ripe berries, leaving a good amount that would be ready in a few more days. Illya ate and picked, becoming steadily giddier with the sweetness of them and the beauty of the day as the afternoon went on. Soon, he forgot that he had even been afraid that morning.
Above the slopes, granite crags shot straight upward to the sky. Far below them, the river roared into a white cyclone as it raced down the gorge. It crashed from rock to rock, some of the water dissipating into mist in the heat of the air while the rest continued down in a torrent.
The rocky slopes were perfect for berries. From his vantage, Illya could see three more types besides the raspberries that were good to eat, also near to ripening. They spread across the hillside as far as he could see, in every direction he looked. Bright and dark little jewels hung below broad green leaves or clustered up in the sun. If there was a heaven, he thought, this must be it.