Desert Melody

By Laura Evans Serna

 For generations the Voyan have lived peacefully among Humans, blending in despite their special thought-sharing abilities and unique communal culture. But now a mysterious disease is killing Voyan babies.
Teagan is a Voyan wet nurse saving the lives of newborns. As the mother of a half-Human child, she struggles to fit into the Voyan

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Evans Serna
• Release date: Apr 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998605012

Laura Evans Serna

Laura Evans Serna grew up in Albuquerque wandering the Sandia mountains. Later, she earned an MSc in mathematical modeling at the University of Oxford while pregnant and experiencing motherhood for the first time. She believes the world needs more, not less, of the maternal touch, and she plans to keep writing stories featuring strong, intelligent mothers. She lives in Tokyo with her husband and three daughters.

Book preview

1.png

desert melody

Desert Melody

Copyright © 2017 Laura Evans Serna.

Published by New Land Publishing. All rights reserved.

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9986050-0-5

E-book ISBN 978-0-9986050-1-2

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017904455

Aside from brief passages in a published review, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including all technologies known or later developed, without written permission from the publisher. For reprint permission, write to [e-mail].

For more information about the author, visit www.lauraevansserna.com.

Cover design: Christian Fuenfhausen

Cover photo: Snow Capped Sandia Mountains © Todd Shoemake / shutterstock.com

Page design: Beth Wright, Trio Bookworks

a Trio Bookworks collaboration | triobookworks.com

The Ahn, the Humans, and the Voyan are sister peoples. The Voyan are dying. We shall find a way to survive, or we shall find our peace. Together in life and in death, we are one people forever.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 1

I lay in bed, enjoying the morning quiet as I watched my sleeping daughter. Her jet-black hair fanned out across our pillow. Thin white drapes over the window swelled gently as the cool morning air washed over us.

I traced the scars up and down my arms and chest, my hand stopping as usual on the jagged scar across my lower back. Would I ever forget? Did I want to? Thankfully, my Brianna stirred just then, bringing me back to the present. She opened her chocolate-brown eyes and melted my heart with her smile. I sent her off into the kitchen with my aunt Eva so that I could begin my morning ritual. I pulled out my electric breast pump and set it on the dresser.

My milk has Factor K, a protein known to significantly improve survivability for weak Voyan newborns. Only about 10 percent of Voyan women produce Factor K. Even without this protein, though, Voyan milk is invaluable because many postpartum Voyan have found they can no longer produce milk. Despite the efforts of a handful of dedicated Human biochemists, no suitable formula has been developed for Voyan babies. Donors save babies from starvation.

The buzz in my head grew stronger. Unintelligible whispers sneaked in to taunt me, to remind me of my damaged state. I could no longer pick up the thoughts of my family, and they couldn’t pick up mine.

I stepped into the shower, letting the thrum of water on my head chase the mumblings away. As I got dressed, Eva peeked her head in. In the light of the morning sun, the delicate scars across her chest looked like fine lace.

Teagan, I made cinnamon rolls. Brianna’s favorite. Her voice was slow and sweet.

Everyone’s favorite, I said, winking at Eva. She turned to go but remembered something.

Going out?

Eva couldn’t understand my desire to get away from my Voyan family. With the Voyan, I was deaf and mute. I was disabled. Out in the city, I could pretend to be Human.

I was, unless you need me here.

Just a few moments? she asked nervously. I knew exactly what she meant. Eva wanted me to spend time with our ancestors. Picking up Brianna, I headed to the tiny golden room behind the kitchen.

Brianna was mesmerized by the candles that lit up the small ancestor room. A few silver and gold urns sat together in a corner. I could tell that at one time the urns had engraved designs, but now they were worn from years of being touched and rubbed. They held the ashes of my ancestors as well as those of many other Voyan my family happened to meet.

I closed my eyes, listening for something I knew I could no longer hear. The air was thick, and not just from smoke. I could almost feel the voices of the dead around me, but not quite. And the more I tried to feel them, the harder it was.

Gabie... I’m trying....

Brianna refused to stay still for long, so we made a quick exit into the brilliant Albuquerque morning. The stout juniper bushes by our gate glowed green in the sun. Periwinkle bloomed abundantly among the rocks and cactus. My mother was already out watering her roses, looking angelic in her white nightgown, with her silver hair dancing in the March breeze.

We walked to the house next door, where my cousin Rebecca was already busy with her sons, Aiden and Robert. Our two houses together served as a hostel of sorts for Voyan traveling through Albuquerque, a miniature Voyan community in the middle of a modern Human metropolis. The Voyan have never been self-sufficient. There are certain foods and materials that Voyan throughout the Southwest need to source in large quantities from the big Human cities. At least once a week we had someone staying with us for one reason or another.

Although the two houses next to each other were better than nothing, they weren’t ideal. My family complained endlessly about how splitting up into two separate buildings to sleep seemed unnatural. However we needed a place close to the airport as well as the highways, and this particular neighborhood of single-family houses had the benefit that the neighbors didn’t concern themselves with spying or eavesdropping.

Rebecca hovered over the stove in the hot kitchen. She turned to me and slowly gave me a small smile.

Hey, guys, did you get your cinnamon rolls? I asked the boys.

The back door slammed open, and without a word, Brianna’s two cousins were hopping the low backyard fence between the houses to get some of Eva’s yummy creations before they were all gone.

Teagan. You return at three? Becca was the family member least likely to speak out loud. When she did, she stood still and made a point of looking me in the eye.

Of course. I turned back to Brianna. "I’m going to go bye-bye, amor."

My destination was only a few blocks away, yet the social transition was enormous. Kokopelli Café has always been a favorite of students, homeless people, and professionals alike. As I opened the door, smells of coffee and green chili wafted over me. I knew a handful of regulars, but we all usually kept to ourselves.

I ordered a chai and a green chili breakfast burrito and turned to look for a table. I stopped in my tracks, though, at the sight of spiky black hair. Sandro sat in the back of the café. His dark brown eyes flickered to my face. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I started seeing stars. I forced my chest to expand and stepped behind a small counter holding sugar, cream, and other condiments.

Keeping my head low, I made my way outside to the front patio and found a table hidden behind an enormous turquoise pot holding tall ornamental grass that took up half the patio. I pretended to read for a little while, trying to nudge myself back in the direction of a more stoic objectivity, but I couldn’t keep myself from glancing around the grass after every other sentence to be certain Sandro hadn’t moved. I could barely make out parts of his gray muscle shirt and hair through a two-sided bookshelf in the back of the café. Suddenly the patio door swung open. I jumped in my seat, knocking over my mug, as a man joined me on the patio.

Nice morning, isn’t it? He smiled at me with chapped lips as he took off a bicycle helmet and gloves. Mind if I take this one? He gestured to the only other available table on the cramped patio, which was next to mine.

Oh... I don’t think it’s taken.

He placed his black satchel on the ground between us as a server delivered my order. For a moment I forgot about Sandro. Perhaps I simply felt safer with someone else next to me on the patio. Either way, my nerves calmed as I fell into my normal Kokopelli routine. I took bites of my steaming burrito and flipped through a journal article on agricultural pollution. One more peek around the ornamental grass revealed that Sandro was gone. I exhaled just as I heard the patio door swing open again. And then Sandro was standing in front of my table.

Teagan, can we talk? Sandro pulled out the chair across from me, scraping the metal legs loudly on the concrete, and took a seat. I kept my head down, letting my eyes focus on the biker’s black satchel next to my own faded backpack. Then Sandro leaned heavily on the table, forcing me to acknowledge his presence.

I looked up into his eyes, the eyes that were the same as my daughter’s. For just an instant, I remembered how I used to feel about him. But then I saw his face contort with anger, and I looked away.

I’m busy right now.

Between Sandro and the biker, there was no way I could make an easy exit. I glanced at the fence behind me, calculating how hard it would be to hop over. But then Sandro moved. He threw one contemptuous look at the man next to him, turned, and left.

I tried to read again, but my ability to focus had vanished. I said a silent prayer to Gabie, my spirit mother, the dead one who guided me, the one who knew better than I did what I needed. But she was silent, of course.

I sighed and glanced up at the biker. His face was sunburned, but I could still see a few freckles on his cheeks. His green eyes were striking, mostly because of how intently they watched me, and somehow familiar. His gaze was almost as uncomfortable as Sandro’s. Almost.

You aren’t from here, are you? People here use sunscreen, I said.

The man looked confused for a moment. Oh—right.

I managed to ignore him for a while as I made my way through the pollution paper, skimming over a few parts I didn’t understand. When I glanced up to stretch my neck, Sandro’s eyes caught mine. He sat on the hood of his maroon Impala, just across the street, eyes trained on me.

He wasn’t gone.

A horrible, sinking feeling filled my body. Whatever topic Sandro wanted to discuss, it was certain to be one I would loathe. The sound of a chair scraping concrete jolted me. The biker stood up and followed my gaze. Sandro stood up then, too. He got in his car and drove off.

Are you okay?

The man next to me was so much like Sandro.

No. It was simpler than that. He was a Human. He plastered his emotions on his face.

I looked away and nodded. He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his black satchel and scribbled something down. He folded the paper and handed it to me. Inside, in flawless cursive, was a name and two phone numbers.

Josh Camden? I read aloud.

His eyes were wide with concern. You can call me if you need anything. Those are my work and cell numbers.

I felt my body overheating. He looked familiar. Did I know him? Josh’s brow furrowed. He seemed to want to say something else. Instead, he nodded a simple good-bye and left the patio. He retrieved a dirt-covered red bike locked up on the rack outside and rode down Central.

During my morning classes my mind filled with thoughts of Sandro. After Brianna’s birth, our visits had been formal, with Sandro’s mom always present. There was an aggressiveness about him that he tried—but mostly failed—to suppress. The way he held Brianna, the way he would accidentally bump me, and the way things of mine got lost while I was there were all disturbing. I stopped visiting when Brianna was only a few months old.

What if Sandro wants partial custody of Brianna?

No.

As much as my heart ached for Sandro, I couldn’t let that happen. What I didn’t know was what I should do to prevent it. I got through two lectures that morning, but my hands were shaky as I tried to take notes, and I developed a full-blown tension headache. I headed home.

As I opened our front door, Brianna ran up to me, her hair swinging and her face lit up with a wide smile. She jumped up, and I took her in my arms.

"Amor, I said. How was your day?"

Good.

What did you do?

Played. Her mouth closed after the single word.

What did you play? I coaxed.

Dolls.

Stepping into the kitchen, we were embraced by the yeasty smell of baking bread. Eva glanced at us and handed Brianna a piece of dough. Brianna grabbed it silently and ran off. It occurred to me that other parents seem to be insistent on teaching their children to say please and thank you. I didn’t want Brianna to go out into the Human world and silently grab things from other people without speaking.

In the backyard we found my dad lounging on the bench, watching as my mom weeded her garden. I thought I could feel her contentment as she knelt down next to her flowers. It had been years since I had been able to thought share with my family. I had mostly come to terms with the loss. However, the thought-sharing relationship between mother and child is the strongest. It was my connection to my mom that I mourned the most.

CHAPTER 2

I was tired of the heavy feeling of milk in my stretched and worn breasts, and I was tired of pumping. At one point, I had purchased two pumps with attachments, which allowed me to pump hands free. Voyan aren’t nearly as squeamish as American Humans, but having pumps hanging off my breasts while I made coffee in the morning proved too much for the men of the house. Therefore, unless I was alone, which was rare, I was stuck pumping in my room.

I was doing just that as I watched Brianna sleep. I could tell, even though she was just two, she would be sturdy and strong like Sandro. It had been a week since my encounter with him, but I still couldn’t stop worrying about it. The mechanical sound of the pump wasn’t soothing.

Just as my breasts were feeling drained, my sister Rose blew into the room. She and her partner, Derek, were art dealers. It was the perfect job for them: most of their clients were unconventional themselves and accepted their unusual mannerisms. Being so heavily involved in the Human world also made Rose as much of an oddball as I was in the eyes of every other Voyan we knew.

We’re moving, she announced.

When? I asked, caught off guard.

Soon. Our replacements have been chosen. Do you remember Calen? He’s moving out with his partner’s family.

My mind shifted gears. Ever since I got pregnant, I had known this would come. My family had been called back to Tres Caballos, our home community near Taos. We had been in Albuquerque for close to four years, and it was time for someone else to take care of the Albuquerque houses.

The problem was that Brianna could not live at Tres Caballos. In the child of a Voyan mother and a Human father, Human characteristics overpower the Voyan side. Life at Tres Caballos would be pure silence for Brianna, since she cannot thought share. She would never make friends and never marry. Her skin doesn’t scar the way Voyan skin does, so she couldn’t participate in the scarring so central to Voyan ritual. She would be profoundly isolated.

Thus I was expected to leave Brianna with her Human father and return to Tres Caballos. But I wouldn’t leave her, and neither would Rose and Derek. This decision to not return to our home community would not go over well. The other Voyan would most likely search for us. So when the rest of our family returned to Tres Caballos, the four of us would be forced to hide.

So this is it, I said. I got up and started rinsing the pump.

We have a plan. It’s going to be okay, Rose reassured me.

I nodded and squeezed her hand.

Gross, she said, wiping off the drops of milk that had transferred from my hand to hers.

On the way to Kokopelli, I tried to put both Sandro and our upcoming move out of my head, but I failed miserably. Voyan need to be with others. We need relationships, touch, and intimacy. Complete solitude stresses us and soon leads to death. A small group of four people would suffice for a while. However, for Derek, Rose, and me to stay healthy, we needed to find more people to live with. We were looking for an exile community of mixed Voyan-Human families. My worry was that we might never find it. Then the four of us would be on our own.

By the time I walked into the café, I was feeling the aching pull of yet another tension headache. I spotted my friend Lena behind the register.

Hey, Teagan. Ready for the lab this afternoon? she asked, her voice dragging.

Yeah. Are you okay?

Jared and I broke up, she said.

I’m so sorry. Don’t worry about the lab. I can email you the results so you can do your write-up.

Lena gave me a look of disgust, and I immediately felt bad. Of course she would have too much pride to do something like use my lab results for her report. She was so sweet a friend, I often forgot she was Ahn. The Ahn are the opposite of the Voyan in many ways: driven, physically robust, and individualistic.

Never mind. But do you need a place to stay? I worried about her. She had been living with Jared and had no family in town.

She gave me a subdued smile. No. She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. I’ve taken on another job. I’ll be okay for a few days before I can find a place of my own. As an Ahn, Lena could miss days of sleep and feel fine. Only after about four or five days without sleep would she show signs of fatigue. Even then, though, she could go a few more days before she would really need to find a bed.

She took my order and sent me to find a table. I smiled, proud that we were managing a friendship. The customer behind me began telling Lena his order while I found a seat in the middle of the café.

The first time I walked into Kokopelli, I was pregnant. Practically everyone in the café was reading, which was a new experience for me. My family certainly didn’t engage in such solitary behavior. I made my way through a pile of books at the café’s tiny unstable tables while I built up the confidence to apply to the university, which I did just after Brianna was born. I realized that at UNM, there might be other people like me: people who wanted to understand the world beyond their immediate experience. My decision to begin college was as simple as that. I didn’t think in terms of finishing a degree because I had no idea what I would do with one. My family thought school was an exotic hobby, and I thought along those same lines for a long time.

After taking my first chemistry and biology courses, though, I started imagining myself as a medical researcher. I fantasized about discovering the cause of infertility in the Voyan population or developing a supplement that could help our newborns. My initial interest in science transformed into a driving need to figure out how to help my people.

But exactly how I would be able to help remained unclear. I didn’t know what kind of research needed to be done or how I would be able to conduct it. Even as I completed more classes, I didn’t know how I would be able to finish a full degree. Now with the upcoming move, graduating was even more unlikely.

As I sipped my steaming mug of chai, the morning sun glinted off the green wall behind the cash register, brightening the entire room. Dust motes floated serenely through the air, suddenly twisting before stilling themselves again. The room was starting to heat up. I took off my sweater and pulled my hair up. As I turned back to my reading, though, something caught my eye. The bicyclist from the other day—Josh—was sitting near the window not far from my table.

He was staring at a point just below my chin, looking confused. Something was wrong. I realized that I was wearing the T-shirt I usually wore only in the privacy of my backyard. The scars across my chest and arms stood out in the morning light. How could I have been so careless? Seeming to sense my discomfort, Josh repositioned himself in his chair so that he faced away from me. Grudgingly, I pulled my sweater on again, thinking about how hot I’d be all day. I bussed my own dishes, trying to avoid the attention of the couple in the corner who suddenly seemed intrigued by me.

The soft who-ing of silver gray doves filled the air as I walked toward the university. Storefronts lined the sidewalk. Some were welcoming with open doors. Others had been abandoned. The wind so common in the spring was kicking up, cooling me off.

I heard a deep voice behind me call my name. Seeing no one I recognized, I thought I must have been mistaken. Still, adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I quickened my pace. The same deep voice called my name again, this time from much closer. I whirled around and jumped back against the window frame of a storefront as a red mountain bike pulled up beside me.

Josh held out my cell phone. I grabbed my phone with shaky hands and slipped it into my back pocket.

You just happened to see that I left it? I asked breathlessly. A confusing sensation of wetness spread across my arm.

Are you okay? he asked. Josh’s face filled with shock, and I couldn’t look away. He reminded me so much of Sandro, though they looked nothing alike. But then my