Dark Matter

by Luke Donegan

  The observation platform hovered over the Valles Marineris canyon. During the height of the Third Roman Empire, men and women had stood on the lip of that canyon and gazed across a red landscape. Terraformers worked for twenty years to bring life to Mars. After the Quark Wars the Martian terraformers were forgotten. No more supply ships. No new recruits. Jay wondered how long they had lasted.

  Masodi’s monotonous description continued.

  The door to the gallery opened. The Teacher entered and approached along the walkway.

  “Hello children,” greeted the Teacher.

  “Good morning Teacher,” chorused the children.

  “I am sorry to interrupt, Scion-Curator. May I borrow my scion?”

  “By all means, Teacher,” said Masodi with indelicate enthusiasm.

  Jay and the Teacher left the Science Dome.

  “I will tell the story of the Quark Wars on Restoration Day,” said the Teacher. “I need your help to research.”

  Jay looked at her quizzically. “Research?”

  He sees right through me, thought the Teacher. “I wanted to talk with you. We haven’t really spoken since your Hearth-Father’s Passage.”

  They made their way to the History Dome.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “I’m okay Teacher.”

  “It is a hard experience, seeing the passing of a loved one. But even more so now, I imagine. Knowing what you know.”

  They sat on a cushioned bench outside the History Dome’s antechamber.

  “Teacher. I could understand it before because it was a part of natural law. Passage was not the end of life, but a doorway to another life. But I had to listen to Rhada tell the children that Hearth-Father had gone to the ocean of souls. But he hasn’t, has he? I wanted to stop her. But, I couldn’t interrupt.”

  “And nor should you,” said the Teacher. “She is now Hearth-Mother.”

  Jay covered his face. “When he was passing, he was in such pain. He was terrified. All that was for nothing. I can’t understand it.”

  “Yes,” said the Teacher. “A great crime has been committed. The natural law is broken. But it gives us purpose. Xia Tsang is studying natural law. She is studying the Aberration so we can fix the world. You and I have a job to perform. We have to tell our stories, to transfer the laws of Science, Nature and History to the next generation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  The Teacher nodded. “I am sorry the Hearth-Father passed,” she said. “But now the children have a Hearth-Mother.”

  They sat in silence. Presently the Teacher asked: “Have you thought about what you will do? Will you stay at Ocean-Hearth?”

  “Rhada is very young, and the new Teacher and Scion-Teacher even more so. I will remain to help.”

  The Teacher stared at the opposite wall.

  “What do you think I should do?” asked Jay.

  “I think you need to decide where you belong. At the moment you are drifting between two worlds, not fully committed to either. I imagine you thought you would become Hearth-Father?” she asked.

  Jay nodded.

  “But you gave up that role. When I pass, you will become the Teacher of the Museum. That is the way it is.

  “Your friend Rhada is now Hearth-Mother,” she continued. “While you are there, she will look to you for help, instead of making her own decisions. Of course, you must do what you feel is right. But I believe that you should set her free. It is time for you to come here where you belong.”

  Rhada found him packing his belongings. She sat on the bed in the small room. He sat on the windowsill, his back to the ocean.

  “Are you leaving?” she asked.

  “Yes, Hearth-Mother.”

  “Don’t do that!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t call me Hearth-Mother. Call me by my name.”

  “But you are the Hearth-Mother now,” he said. “That is why I should leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because as long as I live here ... you will be undermined.”

  “I won’t. I need you,” she said.

  “No you don’t,” he said. “You’ll do fine without me. You have already surpassed me.”

  “I haven’t surpassed you. What a dumb thing to say.”

  He looked through the window, avoiding her eyes. Rhada watched him carefully.

  “Jay, are you jealous?” she asked. “Do you wish Father had passed it to you?”

  He was silent for a moment, then: “Yes. I am jealous.”

  Rhada sat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I loved Hearth-Father,” said Jay. “I was his scion, as you were mine. There is no greater bond. If I had not gone to the Museum, I would have become Father.”

  “You decided to go, Jay, knowing what would happen.”

  His hazel eyes darkened at the realisation of the loss he felt. “I wish I had stayed here.”

  “But you can stay, Jay,” she said. “Stay with me.”

  He returned to packing his few belongings.

  “Stay with me,” she repeated.

  She began to cry. The brightness of the sky through the window cast her in shadow.

  “Jay?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you won’t stay, will you do something then? For me?”

  “Anything.”

  “Do you promise?” she asked. She wiped her face. “Tell me what you discovered at the Museum? What you wouldn’t tell me before.”

  Not that, he thought. Anything but that.

  “Rhada,” he said. “I don’t know.”

  “No, tell me the truth,” she demanded, no longer in the mood for games. “I am Hearth-Mother now.”

  They faced each other in the middle of the room. He knew that she would be an exceptional Hearth-Mother. Better than he would have been. She was stronger than he was, probably better equipped to handle the truth about Passage.

  They sat on the bed and he explained what he had discovered in the Science Dome, that Passage was Aberration. That countless species had died, and that the world was struggling to survive because of the crimes of Kafka Yellis and his colleagues.

  As he spoke, the washed out sky deepened into the richness of dusk.

  “How do you know this is true?” asked Rhada when he finished.

  “The Curators have known for years. They are searching for a way to end Passage.”

  She paused to absorb this explanation, then slowly, as the full implications soaked in, her eyes widened in horror. “Hearth-Father,” she lamented. “Oh Jay, where has he gone? Where has he gone?”

  He hugged Rhada tightly as she shook with grief.

  “To the ocean of souls,” he whispered desperately. “We can still believe it, Rhada.”

  “But it’s not true.”

  “No, but we can still believe it.”

  And in this story of an afterlife, he thought, find the tranquility and peace to still our fearful hearts.

  “When will you go?” she asked, releasing him finally.

  “Now,” he said.

  “No,” she said, commanding him as the Hearth-Mother of Ocean-Hearth. “Stay the night. Help me with the children tonight. Tell them a story, one with a happy ending. Leave in the morning.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Her hair was long and dark. A white dress embroidered with pear blossoms cascaded from her shoulders. Her face was gray and her eyes sparkled like diamonds. She was more beautiful and terrible than she had been in life.

  On a hilltop she stood above the teeming masses of the dead. They drifted from the sky like snow. Before her, one by one they bent to the ground and bowed. She kissed the forehead of each and pointed away across the land of ashes towards a distant building, a palace shining with silver light. The dead rose and walked towards the palace.

  As they touched to ground the animist’s spirit roared in anger then leapt away across the ashen land. Lui Pang took his place in the queue of dead and waited to mee
t the Empress. An old man in the queue behind tapped him on the shoulder and giggled.

  I was a carpenter in Lhasa, said the man. He chewed his lip with toothless jaws. It was cold in Lhasa. I built the royal stables for the boy lord Lulung. He liked horses.

  How did you die? asked Lui Pang.

  A cart of timber collapsed on me. My wife was very sad.

  I died in the forest, said a little boy beside the old man. He tugged at Lui Pang’s robes. Will my mummy and daddy be here?

  I died in bed, said a lady before him in the queue. My children were with me.

  I killed myself, said a young man. I found my lover with another man, and despaired.

  I was murdered for my riches, said another.

  I died, but no-one will notice my death.

  My husband will not face life without me. I will see him soon.

  The declarations were interminable. Lui Pang closed his ears to the tide of death about him.

  How did you die? the group asked Lui Pang.

  I did not die, he replied. I am alive.

  Oh, said the group, unnerved. They shuffled away and he moved quickly along the great queue until he faced Sui-lin.

  The Empress smiled. Welcome, she said. But the smile became confused.

  You are not dead, she said.

  It is I, Empress. Lui Pang.

  You are still alive, she said. How did you come to the Land of the Dead?

  I killed an animist and followed his spirit. Do you not know me, Empress?

  Sui-lin shook her head. I do not know you, she said.

  I am Lui Pang, remember? I served your husband, Shih Huang-ti.

  She shook her head. Here I am Sui-lin, Empress of the Dead. I do not remember the living. I do not remember you, nor do I remember him. However, I do know of the man of whom you speak. Shih Huang-ti. He arrived some time ago. I sent him with the others to the Palace of Memories.

  Shih Huang-ti is dead? he asked.

  In a sense, replied Sui-lin. But his death evades natural law.

  She pointed across the land of ashes to the silver palace.

  He is causing trouble refusing to tell the story of his life. All who go to the Palace of Memories must tell their story. He remains silent.

  Her lips parted and she smiled as she said: Perhaps you can persuade him to tell his story, before you return to the Land of the Living. It would be a kindness. Sitting there like that he is breaking the Law of the Dead.

  Lui Pang kissed the hem of her dress.

  I will try, Empress, he said.

  He crossed the plain of dust and ashes to the Palace of Memories. In the silver halls and courtyards the newly dead told the stories of their lives. Then, their stories told, they stood on the parapets and towers of the palace, and dissolved into golden light.

  All the dead did this except one. Lui Pang found Shih Huang-ti sitting in a corner of a silver hall. Huang-ti listened from a distance as the dead gathered across the hall spoke of their lives. As Lui Pang approached the Tiger recognised him immediately.

  Hello General, said Shih Huang-ti. I am sorry to see you here.

  I am not dead, said Lui Pang. I came to the Land of the Dead to find Sui-lin. She told me I would find you here.

  Sui-lin, said the tiger. She did not know me when we met on the hill. Do you know why she is the Empress of the Dead? The Land of the Dead could not bear to release her. She is the great wind that carries the dead to the ocean of souls. She is doomed to be their guide forever.

  I searched for you everywhere. How did you die? asked Lui Pang.

  I died in the distant mountains of Abhisara. Grief stricken at the ruin of the world.

  Why do you linger here? Why not tell your story and become Spirit?

  The Tiger looked up.

  Because there is more to my story than this.

  Shih Huang-ti stood and faced his old general.

  My Dragon. Now is the time. I will return to the Land of the Living. There is one chance to fix the broken world. You must find me in the mountains of Abhisara. Find me, my Dragon. My friend.

  Then the Emperor transformed. A large egg, pink and flecked with gold, sat on the floor where the Emperor had been. Lui Pang studied this egg for a long time without guessing its meaning.

  To return to the Land of the Living he had to climb. The Palace of Memories was not tall enough. The Empress spoke of a mountain far to the west. The Dragon took his leave, promising to return with her husband and her memories.

  Across the land of dust and ashes Lui Pang travelled. He passed the dead traveling the other way. They spoke of a mountain out beyond the desert. One day he spied a dark, distant shape rising from the plain. Days later he reached the base of the mountain. Its peak was lost in the darkness of the sky. He climbed. When resting he could see legions of the dead making slow passage across the plain, far away.

  As he climbed, pulling himself up the chalky, rough rock with bleeding fingers, the air thickened. It dragged at his skin. Breathing became difficult. And soon, far above the land of ashes, the air became fluid. He kicked off the mountain and swam upwards through the darkness. With his lungs clawing for air he broke through the surface of the ocean back into the Land of the Living.

  The barge of the dead and his companion, the garden lizard, were gone. Waves slapped his face as he searched the dark waters. Guided by the stars he swam through the night until he reached the shore. Clawing at the beach sand he wept, his breaking heart threatening to split his body in two.

  He had been gone for five hundred years. The world was changed. He did not recognise the customs or the people. The empire of Chang’an was history. His lizard had sat on the barge of the dead, forgotten, until its slow death had come, five hundred years ago. The desperate sadness of this broke his mind.

  He walked to the west, begging for food as he passed dwellings on the road. Sometimes he told stories. I have been to the Land of the Dead and returned. Listen to me. People laughed, but they gave him food.

  The land rose and the air cooled, and eventually he came to the mountains of Abhisara. Months he searched the mountains for a large egg. The locals thought him a crazy man. His beard grew long and gray.

  Then one day he asked a peasant woman about the egg. She found her son and together they sat and drank tea.

  Tell him, she said to the boy. He is a dragon. If you do not tell the truth, he will roast you in fire.

  I know of an egg, said the boy. High in the mountains.

  Take me there, said Lui Pang.

  High above the clouds in a shallow cave he found the remains of an old cloak, cooking materials, a broken helmet made from the skull of a tiger, and the egg.

  He approached the pink and gold-flecked egg with care. He touched it gently with his fingers, and lay an ear to its shell.

  Yes, it is still warm, he told the boy. Thank you.

  The boy returned each week with provisions for the crazy old man. Lui Pang sat with the egg and whispered stories about Sui-lin, about the empire of Chang’an, and about battles in which he and Shih Huang-ti had fought. He warmed the egg with his body. And the creature inside grew larger.

  One day the egg hatched. The hatchling phoenix stumbled on little legs. Lui Pang picked eggshell from its wings. He made kissing noises with his lips. The phoenix looked at him with large, hazel eyes and honked like a newborn goose. It bonded to the crazy old man with ties of impossible, heart-wrenching love. Smoke wafted as blue flames played across the feathers.

  My beautiful little bird, said the Dragon. From the ashes below you have been reborn.

  The phoenix chick stumbled. It flapped its wings for balance and red flames leapt into the air.

  You will learn to fly, my Emperor, said the Dragon. And you will heal the world. Yes, you will baby bird.

  The phoenix honked and cooed.

  Yes. You will heal the world.

  All employees bar the youngest children attended the meeting. Tiered seating afforded Jay a view of all. The auditorium occupied t
wo levels of the administration tower.

  The last employees filed in. Jay sat with the Teacher towards the back. Beside the Teacher sat Xia Tsang and Sian. The Curator of Nature and the Teacher talked quietly together.

  The seating was scattered with curators and their scions, attendants and administration staff. Further down a large group of attendants sat together. Ismet was with them, her blond hair bobbing as she talked. She and Jay had not spoken since their misadventure in the tunnels.

  Jay saw the Curator of Science and the Doctor with their scions. The two men huddled close together and Jay could not forget what he had heard them discussing in the Science Dome.

  Dark Matter.

  Commotion drew everyone’s attention. The Builder entered with his retinue of workers - a small sea of tanned leather and brown cloaks, noisy and joyous. “Be quiet!” ordered the Builder. The children chattered as they climbed the stairs and took up a section of available seats.

  “Poor Lucien,” said the Teacher to Xia Tsang. “He hates these meetings.”

  Jay watched the children. Despite their cheekiness, they adored the Builder and did anything he asked. They were similar to the children of Ocean-Hearth who would have done anything for Jay. An agonising bond to break.

  Harder still was saying goodbye to Rhada. She helped carry his belongings to the Museum. When done they stood on the front steps. It was late at night, still but for the rhythmic rush of waves behind the Museum complex.

  “I won’t have time to visit often,” she told him. “And, I don’t think you should visit Ocean-Hearth, not for a while.”

  He nodded.

  “It would be a bit confusing for them.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  Light from the foyer reflected on her face. The ocean rolled in relentlessly, groaning like a strange, heavy beast.

  “I love you, Jay,” she said.

  Before he had a chance to answer she was walking away along Ocean Road into the darkness.

  Paris Aristotle entered the auditorium. Jack Gaunt and Xia Tsang descended to join him on the stage. The Triumvirate raised their hands and a hush descended on the gathering.

  The Curator of History stepped forward.

  “Welcome my family,” he said, his voice rising above the audience. “Here we are at the end of another year. We are gathered to celebrate progress. Our work is endless, but day by day we progress towards a lawful world.”