Father Montoya met 153 outside the monastery. 153’s eight arm-like appendages undulated in a series of clicks and clacks, and the translator hanging around their neck interpreted these into Spanish. “Thank you for meeting with me, Father.”
“It’s always a pleasure, Sibling 153.” The two began walking side by side around the garden, passing a bed of flowers that boasted specimens from both Earth and Nueva Terra. “Did you have more questions about soteriology for me today?”
“Yes, many. But I came to discuss something else,” 153 replied. “I wish to join the order.”
Father Montoya walked silently for a moment, then allowed himself a slight smile. “That’s wonderful, 153. I can’t say that I’m surprised. In truth, you’re not the first Semilla to ask. The Sacred Quorum of Cardinals has assembled a council to consider the matter. In fact, I’m on the council.” Then he sighed. “But it’s not a trivial question.”
153 turned their auburn, woody head to the priest and peered at him with their wide dark eyespots. “How is it not trivial?”
They had entered the orchard, and Montoya inspected a small green apple. He released the fruit and turned to his friend. “153, you have sought Christ with real intent, even following him into the waters of baptism. I admire, even envy, your faith.” He clasped his hands together and fought the urge to look away. “But ordination involves taking a number of vows, including the vow of chastity.”
153 stared back, appendages still. “But I am chaste. I am incapable of reproducing.”
Father Montoya started walking again. “Certainly, that’s true now. But when you take the vow, you promise to always remain chaste. Under the Decree of Martin, that means only having sex with one other individual within the bonds of matrimony. Could you keep that vow?”
Their appendages flattened in sadness. “I could not. When I am planted and become an Yvyra, I will pollinate many other Yvyra and will be pollinated in return.”
Montoya spread his fingers in sympathy, one of the few Semilla gestures he knew that he could also replicate. “You see how it complicates things. But let’s not lose hope—the council is pondering and praying for the Lord to make His will known. Perhaps you could help us find a solution.”
They left the orchard and came to a statue. A stone carving of Jesus sat on a stool, a human child on one knee and a small Semilla on the other. The priest and the convert admired it for a moment, then walked on. “I know that as an Yvyra, you won’t be able to control your actions,” Father Montoya began. “But what if you had help? Semillas could collect your pollen and redirect it to a single Yvyra. Then you could keep your vow.”
153 immediately shook their head, a human gesture they’d picked up in turn. “That is a feasible action. But it is impossible to prevent the pollen of other Yvyra from entering my stigma. And it is unnatural—widespread cross-pollination is important for our genetic health.”
Montoya nodded in silent understanding, and they continued to walk. “There is another possibility,” he added a dozen steps later. “Theologically, the human soul departs from the body at death. The body is then incapable of sin. If we determined that the Semilla soul departed at the time of planting, then there would be no question about breaking vows. It would only be a physical object performing a natural function.”
This time 153 was silent. The two approached the end of the garden path, where a foot-tall sapling with small yellow leaves extended out of a cracked Semilla head. The tops of the Semilla’s body peaked out of the dirt, but the rest was buried.
Father Montoya knelt before the sapling, unconcerned with soiling his robes. Staring wistfully at the cracked head, he asked, “You’re also from Red North of Moon Lake, aren’t you? 90 was your sibling?”
“You are mistaken, Father,” 153 replied. Montoya looked up at him. “90 is my sibling.”
The priest bowed his head. “Is your sibling.”
The Semilla clasped his appendages together. Father Montoya wasn’t sure if that was a Semilla custom or one they’d picked up from humans. “Father, I mean no offense. But you focus so much on the mind that you do not see the soul. You equate consciousness with spirit. But that idea makes no sense to us. Consciousness was beneficial to your reproductive stage, so you evolved to keep it until death. It was only beneficial to our seed stage, so we evolved to discard it upon planting. But it has nothing do with the soul. Do humans lose their souls when they sleep?”
153 gingerly touched a leaf from the Yvyra. “You miss conversing and debating with 90,” they continued. “But 90 is still here. Soon you will enjoy the shade of 90’s leaves and the smell of their bark in the spring.” They let go. “We accomplish our greatest work while unconscious. We, too, were created in the image of God, and the Creation was only possible because God is a fully developed, unconscious being.”
Father Montoya stared at the Semilla, eyes wide, but did not respond. After a minute, he held out a hand, and 153 helped him to his feet.
“Your thoughts have been enlightening,” the priest said at last as they started back down the path, “and I am grateful to hear them. But I’m still not sure how to reconcile ordination with the Yvyra life cycle.” They passed the statue of Jesus and the children again, and Montoya smiled at it before continuing. “The commandments of God are for all, bond and free, male and female and monoecious, old and young…” He trailed off, then looked back at the statue. “Except—” he said softly, “except for those who cannot sin.”
His lips turned into a broad smile. He laughed, then his eyes grew wet. “Praise the Lord. That’ll work.” He clapped the Semilla on the back.
153 stared at him, appendages raised. “I don’t understand. What will work?”
“The age of accountability, friend. I’ll send the proposal tonight. You can take the vow, and you won’t need to worry about keeping it as an Yvyra, because you’ll be past the age of accountability!” He sprinted to the monastery door, still laughing. The Semilla rushed after him, appendages shaking. The translating device laughed in return.
Tygan Shelton last appeared in Irreantum‘s The Plan with “Tempting” and “Worlds without End.”
