The Blue-Spangled Blue (The Path Book 1)

by David Bowles

  He answered without hesitation, a silly smile stretching across his face. “Absolutely I think it’s a good idea. I’m honored that you would open that part of your life to me. When do we leave?”

  “In an hour? Yes, that feels right. Go pack a bag, Kyosu-chan.”

  The trip took about twenty minutes, her transport streaking across the late morning sky. Brando spent the time dutifully researching the town.

  “Kinguyama,” he read out loud. “Two thousand inhabitants. Situated at the edge of Jangwa ra-Kun, the Great Desert. Birthplace of Dominian Neo Gnosticism’s Third Oracle, Samanei Koroma.”

  Tenshi shook her head. “Those are just facts, Brando. I want you to look deeper.”

  Below them, the vegetation got sparser, the soil paler, rocks bursting through at intervals. Then, just a few kilometers from looming dunes, Kinguyama spread out in an orderly grid: two main paved roads, running along the cardinal axes, split the town into four regular quadrants. They overflew one, and Brando saw that it was further divided into four quarters, veined with unpaved roads of packed sand, a large building at the center. The houses were all the same size, simple adobe cubes, with no visible gardens.

  “Are those … stone slabs standing around the homes?” Brando asked.

  Tenshi nodded as her transport began to descend toward an empty spot near the heart of the town. “They provide shade. And block out the Grey Prison, Dominians insist.”

  There’s not much of a view, anyway, Brando didn’t say aloud. “And the building at the center of each quarter?”

  “The Bida Sento. Distribution warehouses for government-provided food and goods. Remember, my people don’t have jobs, per se. Not the majority.”

  The barren landing field was just a few blocks from the largest structure in town, which he recognized from news reports. Samaneino Teyopan. As Tenshi and Brando exited the transport and began walking down the main street, a group of children dressed in drab linen pants and shirts filed out of the church, each holding a kleinball. Behind them came their teacher, a white-robed older woman.

  “That’s Sebisa Pachari. She’s one of the town’s anshyano. Guides the afternoon classes.”

  The children sat in a circle, each facing away from its center. Raising their kleinballs, they fixed their eyes on the twisting, one-sided surface. After a few moments, they began to chant in unison.

  “Amo inyani, iruju tani.”

  Shuddering, Brando understood the ancient rhyme. It isn’t reality, it’s just a mirage.

  “It’s so strange,” he managed to say after a moment, “to see young children meditating or whatever this is. What about literature, art, math, science?”

  Tenshi sighed. “The members of this group are children of common teyopanjin, adults who have only reached kehatsu, awareness of the Ogdoad and the falseness of the physical world. Statistically very few of them will become satorijin, so there is less need for the skills you take for granted. They learn to read so they can study the Revised Bible and other scriptures under the careful guidance of their giya. Enough basic math to survive day to day. Beyond that—Dominians believe all other human knowledge to be not only superfluous but detrimental to the Path.”

  “Mothergod, how depressing. I’m glad I’ve come to teach. Wish I could work with younger minds, though. Someone’s got to do something.”

  Reaching out her arm, Tenshi stopped Brando in his tracks.

  “We Reformers are,” she said, letting anger edge into her voice. “Don’t imagine we need you or any other offworlder to be our savior. We can save ourselves just fine. You’ve come to teach, but you also need to learn. Instead of you being the hero and changing this world, maybe it will end up changing you.”

  Ducking his head in embarrassment, Brando apologized. “You’re right. I was out of line. I’m here to help, but I’ll let myself be guided by you and other Jitsujin.”

  Tenshi nodded. “Fair enough. Come. I’ll introduce you to someone who is doing something.”

  South of Samaneino Teyopan, Kinguyama began to change. Houses in the southwestern quadrant were larger if still nondescript, often two-storied affairs with roofs of purple clay tile. There were native trees and bushes behind the plain wrought-iron fences that divided one lot from the next. The roads within the four smaller quarters of the borough were cobbled.

  “Here,” Tenshi said, “live most satorijin—especially those considered anshyano—and the town’s handful of arojin. That lone home on the low hill over there? That’s where Santo and Maryam reside, though he spends most of his time in Juresh.”

  Brando stopped and stared for a moment. “Looks down on everyone else.”

  “He’d insist he’s looking over and out for his flock,” she mused. “But it’s clearly part of Dominian hypocrisy. The argument goes that since the folks in this borough are further along on the Path, they need greater access whatever worldly devices can serve as instruments of gnosis and kwantum kedarum, Quantum Enlightenment. To that end, their distribution warehouse has a greater selection of otherwise prohibited goods.”

  Brando cleared his throat as they passed a public park with a pool of uncovered water, startling this close to the desert. “And presumably they’re able to resist the temptations that come with those goods better than lower-level Pathwalkers.”

  “That’s the logic they use, yes. But we Reformers reject that artificial division of the Path. All of us should have access to the tools of soul-creation. Always.”

  She led him across the paved north-south road to the less regular, more colorful southeastern quadrant. Plots were of different sizes, as were homes, some of them more than the simple cubes found everywhere on the planet. Columns, windows, balconies. On a few blocks, Brando saw groups of children playing games. Muted and calmer than kids on Earth, but enjoying childhood, nonetheless.

  Close to the Bida Sento at the heart of the borough stood a building constructed from different-colored blocks of sandstone, surrounded by shade trees.

  Beneath the largest of these sat a group of children, listening in rapt attention to their teacher, whose animated gestures moved holographic images through the air.

  “After that mid-flight mating, dear teyopanjin, the couple travels to the nearest volcanic fissure among the highest crags. The male brings food while the female lays her eggs. If he doesn’t bring enough, she will kill him and leave his carcass to be devoured by their babies when they hatch.”

  Tenshi whispered to Brando, “That’s Jina Chimari, Meji’s spouse.”

  “Can yall make a connection?” Jina asked her students. “What are you thinking?”

  A girl stood. “Of the legend of Miwa and Teri, Anshyano Pishan. Their umma stole a jagen egg when the female wasn’t looking. Its mate had been killed and it had no food for its brood. So it went after the foolish woman and her daughters, bringing them back to the mountains.”

  “True,” said another girl, standing. “But when the eggs hatched, there was no food, because the girls smeared jagen poop on themselves and their mom to escape.”

  “Poop!” several children cried, giggling.

  Jina noticed Tenshi and Brando standing nearby. “Indeed. Why don’t you spend five minutes flying around the garden or pretending to smear poop on yourselves? Then we can do maths.”

  As the children started to rush around, shouting and laughing, their teacher approached the visitors.

  “Tenshi-shi!” Jina said, folding the architect into an embrace. “What brings you to Kinguyama on this lovely day?”

  “I brought a friend, Jina-shi. Wanted to show him my hometown.” Tenshi turned and gestured at Brando. “This is Brando D’Angelo. New professor at the University.”

  Jina Chimari gave the slightest bow of her head, still smiling. “Yes, I’ve seen his image on the news. Thank you, Dr. D’Angelo, for saving our Tenshi. And for making her happy, too, apparently. I haven’t seen your face this glowing in years, Sister!”

  Swallowing hard, Tenshi rolled her eyes and made light o
f her friend’s observation. “It’s all the effort of playing nurse to a foolish man.”

  Jina laughed and winked at Brando, who stammered. “It’s an honor to meet you, Anshyano. I love your pedagogical approach with the children.”

  “Thank you, Kyosu-kun,” Pishan said. “We call it kijifunza. Learning rooted in this place, this moment. It considers all knowledge as a continuum, a fragment of the Ogdoad’s understanding, reflected in the physical world. All of it accessible by studying one’s immediate surroundings.”

  Tenshi put her hand on Brando’s arm, wanting to stop the educators from launching into a colloquium right then and there. “It’s a concept from shamanga. You’ll learn more at our next stop, I promise.”

  Jina raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re giving him the full tour, I take it? Yall are more serious than I had imagined! But Professor, I can send you a few mongraphs, if you’re interested.”

  “Absolutely! Thank you very much.”

  Brando gave an approximation of a Pathwalker bow. Tenshi was impressed. He’s really trying. For me, sure. But that’s the first step.

  “Well, I know you’ve got to get back to the children, Sister. We’ll leave first. Be enlighted.”

  “Yall, too.” The anshyano started walking back toward her charges. “Okay, free time is over! Let’s calculate the mass of poop required to cover every one of yall!”

  Shaking her head and grinning, Tenshi led Brando back to her transport.

  An hour later, they had crossed the equator and much of the lower hemisphere. Rising before them came the steep cliffs of Karada ra-Kusini, literally “the Southern Continent.”

  “The first five hundred kilometers have already been reclaimed,” Tenshi explained as they flew over a young thorn forest. “All along the northern coast, from the 60th to the 70th parallels, between zero and ninety degrees longitude.”

  “A pretty good chunk,” Brando said.

  “Not even a fourth of the continent. But we’re getting there.”

  The professor leaned forward in his seat. “Are those buildings in the distance?”

  “Yes. The Minsistry of Reclamation has its headquarters at the heart of the restored terrain. In the old Soltec fortress.” Tenshi’s pulse quickened in anticipation. “The first non-Pathwalker building I ever saw.”

  The autopilot curved the transport, and there it was.

  An explosion of stone, steel and glass, frozen at the moment of impact. Like a fist slamming into the sand.

  Brando audibly sucked in air.

  “Yeah,” Tenshi muttered. “That was my reaction, too.”

  “It’s … it’s like … rage transubstantiated.”

  Tenshi turned to stare at him. No one had ever put it quite that way before.

  “You see it, too, huh. Dédalo Mostrenco wanted something that would embody his feelings at losing the love of his life to this world. Arehanja Sanaustin. Domina’s disciple. The very first Dominatu Pathwalker. And our first martyr.”

  “He wanted to take revenge on the entire planet,” Brando whispered. “That’s how much he loved her.”

  “A terrible love.” Suddenly, not understanding the impulse, Tenshi grabbed Brando’s hands. “Newano okanim, no matter what may happen to me, never seek to punish this false prison. If I reach the end of the Path before you, celebrate my translation. Don’t fight it.”

  Brando’s eyes were wide. She had called him “my dearest heart,” the closest she’d ever come to speaking her feelings. It had clearly shaken him.

  “Umpenzi,” he whispered, using the affectionate name exchanged by lovers. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I will dedicate my existence to making sure of that.”

  Tenshi bent her head over his hands and kissed them as her transport settled down upon the sand near the ministry complex. Then she pulled him out of his seat and into the cool southern air.

  In the shadow of Mostrenco’s fist sprawled dozens of more conventional Pathwalker buildings, including a pair of barracks that Tenshi knew well.

  “When I arrived, I looked up at the old Soltec fortress and didn’t feel repulsion, like the anshyano wanted. I was inspired. For the first time, I saw what I had begun to suspect: self-knowledge can come from reshaping the world to reflect the self. Dédalo Mostrenco’s identity at that moment in time still dominates this place. He lingers. We can know him. Surely he came to know himself, working here.”

  A teen wandered out of the barracks at that moment, lighting a sikar. Tenshi’s felt her nerves tingle with the need for nicotine.

  “Oh, I need a smoke. Bad.”

  Brando in tow, she approached the kid.

  “Got one you can spare?”

  Nodding as they exhaled, the teen shook out a stick. “Here, anshyano.”

  Tenshi gave a small laugh as she took the sikar. “Don’t get called that much. What’s your name?”

  “Yanrin Okuta. They, if we’re using Baryogo.”

  Tenshi nodded. She had many omedeyo friends. “Tenshi Koroma. She.”

  Yanrin did a double take. “Wait, what? You’re … Tenshi-zin? Oh, shattering! You’re the reason I got my arse sent to this place!”

  Brando stepped forward. “Hey, I don’t think you should be blaming …”

  Tenshi stopped him. “That’s not what they mean. This is Brando, by the way. He.”

  Yanrin scoffed. “Clearly. No, I mean, you’re my inspiration! My mates shared your unauthorized biopic with me, and I knew I had to follow the same Path.”

  Brando looked at Tenshi oddly. “There’s a faux-show about you?”

  “Hush, I’ll tell you later. That’s amazing, Yanrin! Have you been assigned to a crew yet?”

  “Quena. Thirteen B. We ship south this afternoon. Adagun ra-Kipo.”

  Tenshi shuddered. “Yikes, lake duty. Be sure to empty your boots out after every shift.”

  “Yes, Tenshi-zin. Can I … record us together? Mates won’t believe me otherwise.”

  Feeling self-conscious but honored, Tenshi nodded. “Sure. Got your juronkam?”

  In answer, Yanrin tossed a mechanical insect into the air, where it hovered, recording the two smoking. Tenshi put her arm around the teen and gave a thumbs-up.

  “Send me a link,” she told Yanrin, tossing the butt of her sikar into the disposal unit nearby. “My contact is public. And I’ll write you back.”

  As Tenshi led Brando away, ignoring his dumbfounded stare, the teen made soft squealing noises of excitement behind them.

  “It’s not about me, really. If I inspire them to expand their definition of self and soul, that’s the goal. I’m working for a greater cause, Brando. I want you to meet one of its guardians. You’ll understand more when you do.”

  She guided him out of the ministry complex to the shrubland to the east. After a ten-minute walk during which she pointed out with pride the flora the crews had re-established in the once blighted area, they reached a small adobe building. Into its earthen walls were carved concentric rhombuses and blue intaglios, aids to meditation that Tenshi had contemplated for long hours as a disaffected teen.

  “This is Jinja ra-Shamanga. The Shrine of Shattering,” she explained. “When Mostrenco closed the Conduit, an object was expelled from its entrance, striking Jitsu right here. A meteorite. We call it the Urim. The second Oracle ordered this shrine erected around it.”

  Brando closed his eyes for a moment. “Second Oracle. That’s, uh, Kosiya Yemo. I remember reading that some of her teachings were stricken from yall’s scriptures.”

  Tenshi felt a surge of adrenaline. Her hands balled up, and her voice was thick with complex emotions when she spoke. “One of the biggest crimes ever perpetuated on my people. But those teachings were not lost, Brando. Though Dominians believe them apocryphal or heretical, they have been preserved. Come, let’s go inside. You’ll see.”

  The interior of the shrine was as simple as when last Tenshi had visited. A sort of antechamber, with rugs on packed sand, shelves with actual leather-bound books, lo
w tables crowded with writing materials and the beginnings of mandalas.

  A wooden door leading to the inner chamber slid open, and the priestess emerged, locs now totally white with age, but otherwise unchanged. Her blue-fringed white robe swirled about her as she walked.

  “Tenshi-shi. It has been too long. I see you do not come alone.”

  “No, Enlightened One. Apologies. This is Professor Brando D’Angelo.”

  “If you have brought him to this sacred place, he must mean a great deal to you, child.” The older woman sized her up, those all-seeing eyes looking deep into her self. “Do you love him.”

  There was no hesitating or lying in her teacher’s presence. “Yes.”

  The woman turned to Brando. “I am Hekima Umchawi, sightless child. Priestess of Shamanga, Keeper of the Oracle’s Words. Because of Mother Kosiya’s trust in me, I am called ramatini. You will see for yourself whether I am truly a sage. Enter.”

  Hekima turned and went back inside the sanctum. Brando shrugged and followed. Tenshi slid the door shut behind them.

  Without warning, Brando jerked his head around. “What did you say?”

  Tenshi narrowed her eyes. “Me? Nothing. Why? Did you hear something?”

  He nodded. “A voice. Faint. It kind of groaned and said ‘You’ as if irritated.”

  Tenshi pointed to the center of the chamber, which was otherwise bare. “It was probably that.”

  Half-embedded in the sand lay the Urim, about the size of a human head, all jagged spikes and iridescent colors. In places, the rock gave way to bits of shimmering metal, as if exposing something mechanical within.

  “Sit,” the priestess instructed, folding into the lotus position just centimeters from the meteorite.”

  Tenshi obeyed and Brando followed suit, eyes fixed on Hekima Umchawi.

  “Tenshi just called you kedarumsha. That means you’ve already reached quantum enlightenment, yes? You commune with the Ogdoad. Not many on Jitsu have that title.”

  “More than a title, it is a calling. To guide humanity itself along the Path. That starts with individuals, of course. Like you.”

  Brando frowned. “I’m sure you want to save my soul, but—"