“Look upon what we once were,” Elder Night proclaims. “We are still humans now, but we are a different kind of animal than our ancestors. Different, primarily, because they forgot that they were indeed animals. In the pride of their species, thinking that their great brains and opposable thumbs marked them out for a special destiny, they disregarded the natural laws, the proper harmonies that govern nature. They set themselves above the Earth—so high above, that when their fall came, it was catastrophic.”
In an instant the mummers rend their bright clothes, tearing them off to reveal sickly gray rags. Some unseen stagehand unveils a red lantern that casts a molten glow over the actors. They pull ashes from their pockets and scatter them high so they rain in a downpour, then swirl with each frantic dancing step the actors take.
“Thinking they had become gods, thinking technology would be their salvation, humans thought they’d found a way to stop the climate change that threatened to destroy the planet—and still be able to burn the fossil fuels they loved so much. They created a self-replicating particle that was supposed to regulate the atmosphere, control greenhouse gases, stop the rapid warming of the globe.”
The dancers and actors are frenetic now, tearing at their skin as if it burns, writhing in a pantomimed agony that is both terrifying and beautiful.
“The fools!” Elder Night shouts. “Selfish, shortsighted fools! They could have changed their lifestyles, destroyed their cars, let the good of the Earth prevail over big businesses and their ravening hunger for money. But no, they wanted to have it all. They sent their particles into the atmosphere, but they had made a terrible error. They had interfered too much with the natural order of the planet, and she had enough. The entire Earth rebelled, destroying itself to save itself.”
The actors slow now, holding hands and looking lost as they wander through a wasteland. “Most humans and animals were wiped out. The few survivors would have been doomed, if not for the foresight of our hero, our founder, the creator of the EcoPanopticon: Aaron Al-Baz!”
The villagers go crazy, cheering and shouting and stomping their feet for a man long dead, for the man they believe to be their savior.
The man who voluntarily destroyed human civilization.
I wanted to tell them as soon as I got here. I was astonished they didn’t know, that they still believe the myths and lies told inside Eden. They think Aaron Al-Baz is a savior. But really he was a madman, an environmentalist and genius who made a unilateral decision to wipe out humanity for the good of the planet. He created a virus that killed all but a fraction of a percent of humans. More than seven billion people dead in the span of a week! At the same time, he unleashed a program, the EcoPanopticon, that took over every computer system in the world. EcoPan used computers and factories and the defense system—everything with a wire or a chip—to make an army of robots. EcoPan was tasked with two things—save the planet, and preserve humans.
EcoPan, logical as any machine, saved humans by imprisoning them in Eden. It implanted lenses in each survivor to monitor and even alter their thoughts. It made them think they were the lucky few, the chosen, when actually they were the survivors of a mass murder. It kept them in prison and fed them lies so they wouldn’t try to escape. It told them the Earth was destroyed, even though EcoPan managed to restore it after only a few generations.
And for all the power it held over the survivors, for all the good an all-powerful program like EcoPan could do, it still allowed inequality and hate and poverty to thrive inside of Eden.
It let humans be their old horrible, selfish, shortsighted selves to each other, as long as they didn’t harm the Earth. Its prime directive from its creator was to keep the species alive. It didn’t care who suffered or died in the process.
I hate that these people—these supposedly free people—believe that Aaron Al-Baz was a good man.
As for EcoPan, I’m not sure how I feel. It’s a machine, subject to the will of its creator. And yet it has grown to such an extent, makes its own decisions . . . I just don’t know. I am grateful that it managed to save some of humanity, a million or so out of the billions that used to roam the planet. I’m grateful that I was set free to live in the natural world. But I resent EcoPan because it could do so much better. If we have to rely on technology to survive, shouldn’t that technology make the world truly a paradise?
It would be nice if just once EcoPan would ask us our opinion about the way it is running things, Yarrow says inside my head. She’s a pain, but she makes me chuckle sometimes.
Mom knows, too. She’s the one who gave me Aaron Al-Baz’s handwritten journal. When I talked to her about whether we should share our knowledge, she advised against it. “We have no proof. The journal is still back in Eden somewhere.” I have no idea where it might even be.
It feels so wrong, though, hiding the truth from people. However upsetting it might be, however much it might shake the foundations of their faith, isn’t it better that they have all the information? Then they can decide for themselves. Maybe they want to believe the lie. Maybe it is easier. But they should be free to choose.
I’ve zoned out as the Wolf Moon pantomime continues. Now Elder Night draws it to a close. “Tomorrow, the newest members of our society, and the youth who have reached the age of seventeen, will prove themselves in the wilderness with a series of three tests. They must understand that we are no more—nor less—important than any other part of nature. Never forget that. We have our place here as much as a bacterium or an ant or a wolf. We evolved to fill a niche. Never believe yourself above any other living thing. And yet, don’t let yourself be ashamed of your species either. We have made mistakes, but we fortunate few have learned from them, and our descendants will never forget the lessons we will teach.”
She throws back her head and utters an unearthly cry, like a wolf’s howl but higher pitched. All around me, the villagers imitate her in long ululations. The noise is overwhelming, and suddenly I can’t take it anymore. I shove my way through the press and head for the quiet of home. As I turn away, though, Mom finally finds me.
“Hey you! I saw you across the crowd but didn’t want to miss any of the ceremony. Come try the hazlenut cookies I made.” She grabs my hand, and I can’t help but cry out. Her face becomes instantly serious and she looks at my crooked fingers. “What happened? Did you slam them in a door? Let’s get you to the healer, maybe she can . . .”
She notices my dirty, rumpled tunic, peers more closely at my bloodshot eyes. “Rowan, sweetheart, what happened to you?”
I shake my head, but somehow my eyes flicker across the village green, to where Zander is holding court with his two cronies and a few girls, talking in a loud voice. I tear my eyes away from him almost immediately, but Mom notices and follows my gaze.
“That piece of . . .” I blanch at her words, shocked that my gentle, peaceful mother could use such language, even now. Then I remember how she fought to give me a good life, how she sacrificed her life to save mine, and I realize that there is no force on Earth stronger than a mother, whether it is Mother Nature, or my own mom. I’m suddenly afraid of what she might do.
She charges across the green, a terrible light in her eyes, and though I grab her arm I can’t seem to slow her down. She’s like a mother bear protecting her cub. Zander and his brothers don’t notice her until she’s almost on them, and though Zander must outweigh her by fifty pounds, and towers a head over her, even he shrinks back under her furious gaze. He gives a little nervous laugh, and Mom tenses, prepared to . . . I don’t know what. Scream at him, accuse him before all of Harmonia, lunge for his throat.
Before she can do any of these things, Elder Night appears, serene as ever, seemingly unaware, or perhaps just unconcerned about the drama unfolding.
“It is time for the candidates to toast the Wolf Moon,” she says, as behind her come other elders with carved, polished wooden goblets on trays.
A cup is thrust into Mom’s hand, another into my own. Mom looks at it,
then tries to give it back. “Elder Night, you must know that . . .”
I tug her back by the arm, and she shakes me off so hard that I spill a third of my drink down my tunic. “Mom, please!” I hiss at her. “Not now! Talk to me about it first!”
Her nostrils are flaring, and her teeth are actually bared, but my words break through and she steps back.
“This isn’t over,” she growls.
Elder Night smiles at her benevolently. “On the contrary, it is just beginning.” She addresses all the dozen people participating in the trial, who all now hold cups of a deep reddish-purple liquid that clings stickily to the sides of the goblet. “Now, raise your cups and salute the Wolf Moon, the Blood Moon, the great Eye of the Night.” I look up at the pale red orb, and it does seem to look down on me. Does it approve of what it sees? It makes me think of the green faceted dome at the Center, in Eden, that glowing green eye that seemed to keep watch over all of that prison city. We are watched everywhere.
“Now drink!” Elder Night cries. “And may your eyes be clear, your ears sharp, your heart pure, and your mind like that of an animal. Let the Earth guide you home.”
I take a sip. It is sweet, sticky, obviously alcoholic. Yarrow thinks it is delicious, if a bit unrefined. I don’t like it, but luckily a lot of it spilled, and I don’t have to swallow as much as the others to seem polite. Mom seems to like it, gulping it down quickly. The murderous fire drains from her eyes.
I feel strangely relaxed, too, and grin at Elder Night as she is turning to leave. Then I remember something that bothered me about her speech earlier. “You said that humans evolved to fill a niche.” My tongue feels thick.
She nods. “We are only animals, like any other.” It is a common refrain here in Harmonia.
“Wolves evolved to live together in packs, to respect a leader, to hunt and kill their prey.”
“Yes,” she says, looking like she wants to get away, like she has more important things to do tonight.
“And that is natural, right? Because the Earth led them to fill that niche?” I feel like I might lose my train of thought any moment, and hurry to blurt everything out. “And a virus evolved. It might make us sick, wipe out an entire population.” I shiver, thinking of a world of piled corpses, of the stench and rot that must have followed Aaron Al-Baz’s murderous travesty. “And rats evolved to sneak at night, and birds to fly, and some snakes have venom. Things all evolved their different natures in order to survive. You tell us we cannot hate the rattlesnake for biting, or the nettles for stinging. It is what they are made to do, and it is up to us to learn to understand them.”
“Yes, child, we are all part of nature.”
Then I shock her. “What if we humans evolved to be destructive? What if that is our purpose? What if our place in nature is to destroy it?”
She gasps, and her mouth gapes for a moment. Finally she tightens her lips into a fine line and says only, “Finish your wine, child.”
I look into the depths of my cup where the liquid swirls, fascinated by the movement, the sheen of moonlight on the wine. For a while I’m lost. Did I just say something? Was it important? I can’t remember. A hand touches mine, tilting the cup to my lips, and I drink deeply, down to the slightly bitter dregs.
After that, I know nothing . . .
TOO MANY TIMES in my life have I woken up having no idea where I am. At least this time, I have a pretty good idea who I am.
My eyes are grainy, like they’re filled with nanosand, and there’s a strange sour taste on my tongue. The remnants of Yarrow that still lurk in my brain recognize this as the aftereffects from some drug. And not the fun kind, she adds sarcastically. Lately, she’s taken to having her own narration inside my head, sounding like an annoying, more experienced sister.
It’s dark, but a gray sort of darkness that I know my eyes will adjust to in a few minutes. Right now I can only see nebulous shapes around me that could be rocks or boxes or bears, for all I know. But I can’t hear anything beyond a muffled echoing sound, like a great and peaceful creature breathing.
The floor beneath me is hard, and I can feel that my body is stiff and cramped. Then I moan in agony when I try to roll to my side and forget about my broken fingers, almost squashing them. I reach out carefully with the other hand and find that the floor is cool and uneven: stone. Natural stone.
The faint light is coming from some distance away, a pinhole window giving enough light that I can just now tell that I’m in a cave. The echoing sound is the flow of air coming in from the cave mouth, snaking past me into tunnels of untold depth.
“Mom?” I ask, against hope. My voice bounces weakly off the walls. More loudly I call out, “Hello?”
Hello . . . hello . . . hello. My voice returns mockingly to me from deep within the cave.
Light from the entrance glints off something nearby. I reach out my good hand, and touch a perfectly smooth metal ball. The second my fingers meet it, it seems to explode into blinding light that, as my pupils contract, resolves into a projected image of Elder Night.
“Good morning, and good luck as you begin the first of three tasks that will usher you into full membership in the community of Harmonia.”
Her image in the hologram looks so serene and composed. Obviously she isn’t hungover from being drugged. It must have been in the wine, I realize. No wonder she was so adamant that we all drink it. I try to piece the likely events together. We were drugged unconscious and transported to separate locations. But where? And how?
The hologram of Elder Night goes on. “You have been given no supplies to aid you in your missions. Remember, we are only animals, and as such we must be suited to survive like animals in the wilderness, without any food or weapons or tools except for those you can gather yourself. You must weigh the benefit of pausing to fashion tools, or gather medicinal plants or food, against the necessity of speed. For you will be ranked in order of completing your task. But remember, this is not just a race but a test of judgment, and of your inner qualities.”
The hologram seems to fix me with bright birdlike eyes, and though I know this is prerecorded and the same thing is being seen by every competitor, it feels like she is talking to me directly. “Some of you believe you have an advantage because you have spent all your life in Harmonia, living in the forest, comfortable in the forest, with seventeen years of knowledge about wilderness survival. But the native-born should not be arrogant or complacent. Remember, those who were freed from Eden are here because of all the population of that prison city, they were deemed the best of the best—most compassionate, bravest, respecting and protecting the Earth. Whatever your origins, I wish every one of you the best of luck.”
Zander must be seething when he hears those words! I wonder if he’s listening right now. I wonder if some of the competitors will miss out on first rank because they slept in. Or did I sleep in? I have no idea how late in the day it might be. In a panic at losing time, I roll to my feet, anxious to get started. Then I force myself to sit again. Elder Night hasn’t even told me what my first task is! My legs bounce nervously as I wait for her to continue.
“Living in a community, as part of the land, requires sacrifice. Will you put yourself in danger to help a member of your tribe? In the Trial of Earth, we will find out.”
Her image vanishes, replaced by a schematic showing a long, broad valley. Stylized stars mark seven places along the rim, equidistant apart. A pulsing star flashes in the middle. I take in a confusion of topographical information, showing elevation and waterways, but can’t really decipher the details. “Here you will find a member of Harmonia who has been gravely injured. You must reach them, and give them as much medical aid as you can. If you do not reach them by midday, they will die. The Trial of Earth begins now!”
For just an instant the image remains, showing the geographic obstacles between me and the person I have to rescue. I try to memorize it, but the next second it is gone. All I’m left with is an impression of some extremely difficult t
errain. I tap the metal sphere, but it stays stubbornly unresponsive. I guess I’m not going to be given any more information.
I’m night-blind again from the aftereffects of the hologram. Lights pulse against my eyes in the darkness of the cave. But even though I can barely see, I stumble and trip as fast as I can toward the entrance. The contest has started, and I have to go as fast as I can!
But the contest isn’t the most important thing. There’s someone hurt out there, a member of my community. I have to help them. So what if others are also en route to them. What if they don’t make it, and the person is lying in the forest hurt and alone?
I stub my toe on an unseen rock, and that forces me to stop and think. This is a test. There’s no one actually hurt, just someone pretending. It might not even be a real villager, just a target. Maybe it is another hologram ball, projecting a simulation, and we have to say how we’d treat a real person.
The realization that no one is really in peril calms me a bit, and I pick my way more carefully toward the blinding glare of the cave mouth. It’s full daylight. I might be hours behind everyone else. I can’t take the time to think and worry and ponder anymore. If I want to win, thinking isn’t a luxury I can afford. I’ll just run out of the cave at my top speed and . . .
I skitter to a halt at the edge of a chasm. Rocks break loose under my feet and tumble over the edge. I watch them as they fall . . . a long, long way down.
The cave opens up onto a huge valley, miles across, heavily forested in the interior. I’m looking down over a vast expanse of green treetops. I can see the rocky cliff walls in a broad, almost circular section of valley. Dark spots hint at other caves. From the schematic I guess that some of them might hold the other candidates.
Or did. They might be at the target site by now!
Rebels of Eden Page 6