by Luke Donegan
"Thirty," answered Jay.
"That is correct. However, some live less. I am sure you have known people to come to Passage at twenty eight years or younger. The Doctor will predict how long you have."
They walked along a white corridor then passed through a hospital room furnished with beds. Large windows overlooked the city and the hills beyond.
They entered a theatre filled with medical machinery. Globes for collecting static electricity hung from the ceiling. Purple current washed around these globes like liquid, storing power to drive the medical devices in the room.
The Doctor rose from a desk and approached.
“You are the interviewee? So, you want to be Scion-Teacher. It is not as simple as that! Let’s see what we can see.”
The man did not bother with introductions. Jay lay on a bench and hydraulics tipped him backwards into a cylindrical housing. Jay looked back at the Scion-Doctor with apprehension.
“It is a Genogram,” explained the young man, “powered by electricity from the chargers. It will provide information about your life potential. It does not hurt.”
“Do not fidget or move,” ordered the Doctor. “It takes three days for the static chargers to collect enough charge to run this device. One movement and you will waste much time and effort.”
Humming and fizzing! Static globes buzzed with electric charge. Current flowed down cables into the cylinder which filled with purple light. The static felt like spiders wriggling across his skin.
“Don’t move,” said the Doctor. “It is reading now.” He paused for a moment, then: “Well this is strange. Scion, look at this!”
The scion joined the Doctor at the controls. “What does it mean? I don’t understand.”
“It is not providing a reading. Not one that makes sense.”
The purple light dwindled then snuffed out. The Doctor leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with his hands.
“According to this, he is in perfect health,” he said. “And yet, he has no future.”
“How could that be?” asked the Scion-Doctor.
“Well, look here,” said the Doctor, pointing at the readout. “He should either be dead, or he will live forever.”
He rose and dragging the bench roughly from the Genogram. “You must have moved. The reading got confused. Three days it took to store that charge!”
“I did not move, Doctor,” said Jay.
The Doctor glared at the boy. “Are you contradicting me?”
Jay bowed quickly. “I apologise, Doctor. I meant to say that, when I was young I drowned. I was dead for a short time before my Hearth-Father revived me. Perhaps it is that which has confused the machine.”
The Doctor looked at Jay for a long time, thinking. “Perhaps. Although the machine predicts when the Spirit will leave the body. Yours ...” He did not complete the sentence. He scratched his chin.
“Okay,” he said eventually, “I will send my report to the Triumvirate. It is not my job to judge your character. That is for the Director to do. We shall see. Scion,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Take him up.”
They rode the elevator to the penultimate level. No person but the Director had been higher – that was his private apartment. The penultimate level was the Director’s office.
Jay had never been this high above the city. Yet somehow it felt like a familiar sight. He could not remember his dreams, though in his dreams he had flown above the city many times. The desert and the sea stretched out endlessly, blue and dusty red. Although he could not see it he knew the wind was blowing hard outside the elevator. He felt a desire to step from the rising elevator out into the sky.
The door opened.
“I will leave you here,” said the Scion-Doctor.
The young man was clearly nervous. He peered from the elevator.
“Go on,” he said, excited and afraid.
Jay stepped from the elevator into a small round room enclosed by glass windows on all sides. It took up the entire level. But for a chair in its centre the room was empty. Beside the chair was a small side table. In the chair, facing the elevator, sat the Director of the Museum.
The Director was one of the eight members of the Ascendancy, the ruling body of the city. He answered directly to the Ascendant, the head of the city and was equal to the other members including the General, the Mother, the Instructor, the Treasurer, the Judge and the Supervisor. Jay had little experience of the Ascendants. He had once met the Mother during a visit to Ocean-Hearth. He had seen the Instructor during a meeting of Hearth Teachers. But he had never heard a member of the Ascendancy speak.
The Director sat silently before him. He wore a simple white robe. Unlike the Teacher and the Triumvirate there was no sash of evil across its shoulder. The Ascendants were incorruptible.
Jay bowed deeply. He waited with eyes cast down for the Director’s permission to rise. The invitation did not come. He waited until he tired. He glanced up. The figure was leaning forward, studying him.
The Director’s face remained hidden behind a golden mask. The mask had no mouth, nor creases for cheeks or nose. The only details were dipped sockets where his eyes peered through.
Jay slowly rose to face the Director. He waited an eternity for the figure to complete its study. He surrendered to the examination. There was no other choice.
He waited. The golden face stared without expression. Jay felt his body sway slightly upon his legs. There was no sound in the room but that of his breathing. The Director’s eyes blinked behind the mask. Dark eyes lost in shadow.
Perhaps an hour went by. The sun was low in the sky when finally the Director spoke. The white robed figure whispered quiet, expressionless words.
“I was once as you are, little bird.”
The elevator doors opened behind him. Jay bowed again, stepped back into the waiting capsule. The Director looked down as the doors closed.
The Teacher met Jay at the elevator and led him back along the corridor to her room and to the waiting Triumvirate.
Three newcomers stood by the tatami platform. By the robes they wore he guessed that each was a scion for one of the curators.
“I would like to introduce the Scion-Triumvirate,” said the Teacher. “This is Sian, the Scion-Curator of Nature,” she said, indicating a young woman in her late teens. Like her master, the young woman had long dark hair braided down her back. She had the narrow eyes of the ancient race of Ch’in. She bowed to Jay, but refused to meet his eyes.
“Masodi, Scion-Curator of Science.” This young man, also in his late teens, wore the red robes of Science. He nodded and looked darkly at Jay.
“And Jaime, Scion-Curator of History.” Jaime was closer in age to Jay. He wore the yellow robes of History which matched the colour of his hair. Jaime smiled shyly.
“I am pleased to meet you,” said Jay, but his heart sank. They were not pleased to meet him. He wondered at their relationships with the dead Scion-Teacher. It seemed they were not ready for a replacement.
“Please join us on the tatami,” said the Teacher, easing the discomfort.
As Jay knelt on the mats he looked past the Triumvirate at the sky and the landscape beyond the window. The light inside the room was so low now Jay could barely see the faces of the figures before him.
He knew it had gone badly. In some sense he had failed, not because of his own actions, but because these people did not want to replace the Scion-Teacher they had lost. He felt a deep disappointment as he lost sight of the future the Museum offered him.
But perhaps my life is meant to be a small life, he thought to himself. My role at Ocean-Hearth clearly defined. Teacher, and then ascension to Hearth-Father when the time comes. I would be happy being the father of the children, and guiding Rhada in her role as Teacher. Contentment and peace, before Passage.
“We have received an unfavorable report from the Doctor,” said Jack Gaunt, breaking Jay’s reverie. “The Doctor recommended against your appointment. I share his opinion. In my vi
ew you are too young for the position of Scion-Teacher.”
Jay looked through this surly man and smiled.
“However,” said Paris Aristotle quickly, “myself, the Curator of Nature, and the Teacher have voted for your appointment. I am impressed by your storytelling. And by your commitment to the Law.”
The Teacher nodded at Jay. “In its own way the Museum is like a hearth. We look after each other, those who live here, as if we were a family.”
Jay heard a small sound behind him and turned to see Sian, the Scion-Curator of Nature hurrying towards the door. “Please excuse me,” she whispered.
The Curator of Nature stood and looked after Sian with concern. “I welcome you, Jay,” she said, before stepping from the tatami to follow her scion. Their blue robes folded like ocean waves as they left the room.
The Teacher gazed after the departed women.
A change came, sparked by one man’s demise, and a community’s loss, trying to look beyond their grief. He felt confused, for he was no longer an outsider looking in, but a member of this community as the Teacher turned to him and said: “Scion-Teacher. Welcome to the Museum.”
Chapter 2 OCEAN-HEARTH
Ocean-Hearth perched on a cliff surrounded on three sides by the ocean. Four long buildings formed a square, enclosing an inner courtyard. A wide balcony curved around the hearth. A hundred feet below, waves broke against the base of the cliffs, water foaming and rising up the rocks.
In contrast to the decaying buildings of the city, the hearth was well-kept and functional, built from stone, plaster and ancient timbers. With Jay and Rhada’s help the Hearth-Father ran an ordered hearth. They believed that the growth and advancement of their wards could only come from a rigid commitment to the Laws.
Jay passed through the front building and crossed the courtyard to enter the dining hall.
Children leapt from their evening meals as he appeared. A girl tugged on his trousers until he lifted her into his arms.
“You missed your swim,” she said. “You’ll be all hot.”
“I swam before coming home, Jayda.”
“You missed dinner,” said a young boy.
“I’ll get some now,” he replied.
“But it will be cold.”
“Where have you been?” asked another child.
“He went to the Museum,” said an older child. “He went to see the Curators.”
“Were they angry?” asked Jayda. “Were you in trouble?”
“No,” laughed Jay. “I wasn’t in trouble.”
Rhada lifted Jayda from Jay’s arms. “He went for an interview,” she explained. “Now, he will be tired and hungry, so leave him be.”
She looked at him with questioning eyes. He nodded. Rhada smiled, but there was a great sadness in her expression.
“Let him eat, and then you can ask him questions,” she told the children.
The children led him to the table. Hearth-Father entered the dining room from the kitchen to discern the source of the commotion. On seeing Jay he clapped his hands to gather the attention of the children.
“Return to your meals. Teacher will tell you all about his day as soon as he has eaten.”
The children obeyed the Hearth-Father and set about their meals. Rhada sat with the youngest children and fed a little boy still shy of two years. The children ate mostly in silence, concentrating on their food, eyes occasionally looking up at Jay. Hearth-Father returned to the kitchen to retrieve a meal for the latecomer.
As Jay waited he looked over the sea of small faces. Kumi had food all over her cheeks. Samuel was losing his baby teeth and that made eating painful, but he refused to cry. Galen who was four years old held his spoon in the wrong hand. He still had not learnt to speak, and Jay worried about that.
Rhada sat across the table. She had shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes. At fourteen she was a good Scion-Teacher and ready to take the senior role. She would choose a scion from the older children, probably Grace, and the cycle would continue. But he felt sad that he would diminish in the minds of the children, that he would no longer be the centre of their lives.
Hearth-Father returned with a meal. This man had once dived from the balcony, dragged him from the ocean and breathed life back into his lungs. He had cared for him for as long as Jay could remember. Hearth-Father placed a plate of fish on the table. He hovered for a moment, then asked: “Were you … did you?”
The weight of betrayal crushed him. This man had raised him to ascend in his path. From Scion-Teacher to Teacher and then to Hearth-Father. But Jay was shying from that course, choosing a different passage through life than the one the Hearth-Father could offer him.
Rhada listened for his answer.
“Yes,” said Jay. “I start in a month.”
He avoided the Hearth-Father’s gaze. He watched the children eating. But the man stood before him across the table, his role-model, his rescuer and guardian. The Hearth-Father deserved a better response. Jay swallowed his shame and met the man’s eyes.
“Good boy,” said Hearth-Father. “Good boy. I’m proud.”
Three years earlier, on the day he ascended to the role of Teacher of Ocean-Hearth, Jay and the Hearth-Father sat together in the courtyard. The Hearth-Father tried to alleviate Jay’s trepidation.
“When a child cries in the night you are the first to offer comfort.” The Hearth-Father tilted his head towards him. “The children look up to you, and admire you. You have the answers to all their questions. You know when the ocean tide will be at its lowest ebb. You know under which rocks to find the biggest crabs. And you can tell stories that develop their understanding of the world.”
The Hearth-Father ruffled the small boy’s hair. “This is why I have chosen you. When my day comes and I ascend to the Spirit realm, I want to know the children are in good hands.”
Jay nodded. “Thank you, father. I will try to be a good Teacher.”
“Good boy. Now, have you thought about who you will choose as your scion?”
Across the courtyard a nine year old Rhada aided the other children with their sums and letters. The man and boy watched the young girl as she diligently helped a child spell her name.
“I agree,” said Hearth-Father. “Rhada could be a great Teacher, one day. And she admires you beyond reckoning. You could not ask for a more faithful scion.”
Rhada was his closest friend. Together they explored the rock pools at the base of the cliffs, and they walked far along the dry riverbed that snaked through the broken city. They studied the few life forms that had managed to survive the Quark Wars. They dug into ant nests at night and watched the little golden puffs of light as the occasional ant in its scurrying frenzy came to Passage. They were wistful at the dearth of life about them, and its mortality. But as they watched ants and jellyfish and other forms of life melt into the golden light of Passage, they were heartened by the sight of Spirit leaving body and travelling to the Spirit realm. That life existed after death, that the Spirit continued and that this was observable in Nature, lifted their own spirits and gave them hope.
Jay had not needed to think for a second when choosing his scion.
After the meal the older children set about their chores and supervised the younger children while Jay and Rhada joined the Hearth-Father in his room.
“I would like to continue to live here,” said Jay.
“It is not the way,” said the Hearth-Father. “It is difficult to straddle two worlds and be committed to both. You will make new acquaintances at the Museum, new friends. You need to commit to this new life.”
“But I can help here. There is much work to do.”
“You will be busy at the Museum and won’t have time for more work.”
Panic rose unexpectedly. He had assumed he would be able to stay.
The Hearth-Father sat back in his chair, resting his chin on his hands. “When a Teacher moves on to a new place, or when they come to Passage, the Scion-Teacher becomes Teacher,” he expl
ained. “Rhada will become the Teacher of Ocean-Hearth. She will choose from the children a new Scion-Teacher. Perhaps Grace, or maybe Ayodhya.”
“Of course,” said Jay. “Rhada will be Teacher.” He looked at his friend. “Rhada, I will respect your role and not get in the way. But I can help when you need it.”
“I know,” said Rhada gently.
“And what of Grace or Ayodhya?” asked the Hearth-Father. “The Scion follows the Teacher. Would you interrupt their training?”
Jay shook his head. “No, but if I have to choose, I will choose Ocean-Hearth. I will tell the Curators I don’t want the position.”
The Hearth-Father smiled. In his heart he knew that Passage was not far off. He was twenty eight years old. Jay was his scion as well as Teacher. He had always planned that Jay would become Hearth-Father after him. A profound disappointment had filled his heart when Jay told him of the Museum interview. But pride too had risen there.
I am not wise, he thought to himself. But I know in my heart that Jay is to achieve much with his short life. I should not stand in his way.
“I do not mean to be hard,” he said kindly. “You will take the position of Scion-Teacher at the Museum. I believe that you will become a Teacher of great renown. As to living here ...”
He looked at Jay gravely. “It is not proper for you to stay, but I will think on it. While you are here, you must not interfere with Rhada or her scion in their roles. Only when invited will you take the lessons or tell a story. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do,” said Jay. “Thank you, Father.”
“This is not permanent.”
“I understand.”
“Now, Rhada,” said the Hearth-Father, turning to the girl. “Take my hand.”
Rhada stood and gave her small hand to the man.
“Will you tell the children the stories of the past and help them discover who they are? Will you teach them Science, Nature and History?”
“I will,” she said.