by Mark Alpert
“Many, many times. But—”
“Just imagine it.” Cordelia’s smile broadened as she stared at the screen. “Somewhere on the grassy plains near the Euphrates, a random mutation occurred inside one of the egg cells of a Stone Age tribeswoman. A section of DNA in the cell’s X chromosome flipped from one configuration to another, and the new pattern was passed down to the tribeswoman’s daughter. And look at all the wonders that came into the world from that tiny molecular rearrangement!”
“You’re right, Auntie, ’tis astounding. But time is running short this morning. Mother gave us only three days to prepare John for—”
“Then let us begin his education.” She lowered her left hand, returning it to her lap, and with her right hand she tapped the ENTER key on the keyboard in front of her. “If he is to live the rest of his days in Haven, he must learn our history.”
All the monitors in the room suddenly went black. A moment later the screens flashed back to life, each displaying the same kind of runes John had seen in Ariel’s notebook. The angular symbols scrolled upward on every screen, slowly at first and then more rapidly. It was like watching a strange, disorienting blizzard, where the snowflakes streamed upward instead of down. It made John dizzy.
“This is Aric,” Cordelia said. “The world’s first written language. It was developed by our ancestors twelve thousand years ago, long before the Egyptians and Sumerians invented scripts for their own languages.” She raised her wooden hand again and pointed at the largest monitor. “Those runes are from the very oldest Treasure in our records, which was written by my great-great-great-great-grandmother. Her name was Umma, and she was a remarkable woman. According to her Treasure, she birthed one hundred and ninety-six children and lived for more than three thousand years.”
John looked askance. One hundred and ninety-six kids? That couldn’t be right. “And you believe it?”
For a moment he thought he might’ve insulted Cordelia, but instead she smiled again. “Well said, John. A good historian questions everything. Because the world is full of lies.” She tapped another key on her keyboard, enlarging the runes on the jumbo-size screen. “But Umma’s Treasure is believable because it’s so meticulous. She recorded the births and deaths in her tribe, year after year. She realized there was something special in her blood that preserved her youth, something she’d inherited from her mother and passed on to her daughters, but not to her sons. Unfortunately, the vast majority of her children didn’t live as long as she did. More than a hundred of them died before the age of five.”
Ariel squirmed in her chair, bored and impatient. She obviously knew this story, John thought. She must’ve learned it when she was a little girl, way back in the seventeenth century. But John was fascinated. “Why did so many of Umma’s kids die?”
“They were a tribe of nomadic hunter-gatherers. In times of plenty, children were born. When there were harsh winters or droughts, the children starved. This was a fact of life for all people on earth twelve thousand years ago. What made Umma unique was that she decided to change this fact.” Cordelia tapped yet another key on the keyboard, which highlighted some of the runes on the monitor, coloring them yellow. “These runes describe a species of wild emmer wheat that grew in southeastern Turkey. For hundreds of years Umma collected varieties of the wild plant and crossbred them. She sought to develop a hardy grain that could feed her family in good times and bad. And after nearly a millennium of effort, she succeeded. Other tribes in the area started planting her wheat. It became the first farm crop in the Fertile Crescent. Then it spread to Egypt.”
Once again, John was skeptical. “She invented farming?”
“It would’ve happened sooner or later, mind you. But Umma sped the process. Because she lived for so long, she could take on tasks that required generations to complete. And she used her accumulated knowledge to lead her people wisely. What’s more, she recognized that this was her life’s purpose. This was the reason why she and the other women in her family had been given the gift of everlasting youth.” Cordelia highlighted another set of runes on the screen. “She wrote this promise in her Treasure. The best translation is, ‘We must turn the desert into a garden. We must turn the earth into paradise. Then God will be born.’”
John had heard this quote before, of course. Those were the same words Ariel had spoken. He turned to her, and she grinned. She seemed pleased that Cordelia was finally getting to the point. “And Umma’s daughters inherited this promise,” Ariel said. “They sought to change the world for the better, in large ways and small. Some of them focused on inventing useful devices, such as the ox-drawn plow. Others traveled to distant lands and became oracles or priestesses. They tried to alter the course of history, steering the world’s emperors and pharaohs toward peace, not war.”
“They weren’t always successful,” Cordelia added. “And very often they were persecuted and murdered. Our grandmothers were expert in many of the sciences, particularly medicine and botany, but the common people of the ancient world didn’t understand science. They believed we were practicing magic. They called us sorceresses and witches.”
Ariel grimaced. “Please don’t say that word, Auntie. I’ve told John never to use it.”
For the first time Cordelia turned away from her screens. She looked at John with fervent green eyes. “Our family migrated many times to stay ahead of our persecutors. We escaped the Persian Empire by fleeing to Italy. And when the Roman Empire grew strong we settled in northern Europe, out of reach of the emperor’s legions. After Rome fell, we blended in with the Frankish and Germanic tribes that had just swept into Europe.” She moved her chair a bit closer to John’s. The casters squeaked as they rolled across the floor. “The medieval period was our golden age. We hid in plain sight, dwelling in the small villages of France and Germany. Our grandmothers found husbands among their neighbors, men who were willing to keep our secret. When their husbands grew old and died, the women and their children moved on to another village and started again. And all the while, our Elders governed the family, meeting once a year on a hilltop in the Black Forest. They continued our scientific investigations and our attempts to better the world.”
Ariel leaned toward her aunt. “Don’t forget to mention your own contributions. Tell John about your travels to the Near East. How you became an adviser to Saladin and helped him defeat the Crusaders.”
Cordelia nodded. “Aye, the Crusaders had to be defeated. They were horrible people.”
She frowned at the memory but said nothing more. Ariel waited a moment, then shook her head, incredulous. “That’s all you have to say about it?”
“Saladin was a genius. All the credit should be his. I merely informed him of the vulnerabilities of Richard the Lion Heart, who was an arrogant brute.” Cordelia kept frowning. She was clearly upset. “In those days Europe was full of brutes like him, sadistic kings and princes who would commit any atrocity to stay in power. When I returned to France I saw the first portents of the coming disaster. The princes and churchmen were slaughtering the Jews and the Cathar heretics. I should’ve realized that we would be next. But I was too busy with my other interests, my painting and poetry and natural philosophy. When the massacres started, we were completely unprepared.”
“Auntie, please. You can’t blame yourself for—”
“My own suffering was minimal. I had no daughters or sons.” She raised her wooden hand and held it at eye level. “All I lost was my left hand, lopped off by a raving priest with an ax. But our family was nearly annihilated. At the start of the fifteenth century there were three thousand of us, spread across western and central Europe. By the time we departed for America, only twelve of us were left.”
The room fell silent. Ariel lowered her head and stared at the floor. John thought of the murals he’d seen in the council chambers, the paintings of women dying in bonfires and on the gallows. The massacres were ancient history for the rest of the world, but they were still raw, traumatic memories for the Elde
rs. Which explained why they lived in an underground cavern and vowed to execute anyone who learned their secrets.
The runes were still scrolling upward on the screens overhead. After several seconds Cordelia lowered her wooden hand and turned her attention back to her keyboard. With a tap of a key she removed the runes from the monitors, which went back to displaying the crazy assortment of maps and news broadcasts. Then she looked at John again. “So do you understand now why I sit here every day, surveying this pageant of facts and images? I’m trying to observe the world from every angle, to see all its trends and movements and upheavals. I have the Internet to assist me now, but in years past I pursued the same goal by reading every newspaper and book I could get my hands on. Because we can’t afford to be caught unprepared again. We need to see the world clearly so we can predict the future.”
John nodded. He did understand. “So have you been successful? Have you ever predicted something before it happened?”
“I can’t predict the minor events of history. I can’t say which candidate will win a presidential election or which corporation will earn the biggest profits. But if I look hard enough I can see the outlines of the major events that are coming. Like wars and revolutions.”
“Tell him about Germany, Auntie.” Ariel’s face was sober. “You predicted the world wars long before they happened.”
“Aye, child, but that wasn’t difficult. Anyone could see that Europe still seethed with brutality. And though we’d left those dangers behind when we came to America, I knew the brutes might eventually follow us here. So we took steps to make sure there was a counterbalancing force, a mighty nation on this continent that could oppose the madmen who were sure to rise to power in Germany and Russia.”
“Wait a second.” John was having a little trouble absorbing all this. “You took steps? What do you mean?”
“We encouraged the revolt of the American colonies and the founding of the United States. But that wasn’t my doing. The Elders gave that assignment to the Ranger Corps.” With a look of pride on her face, Cordelia pointed at Ariel. “And my niece played a very prominent role.”
John stared at her. He was flabbergasted. “Okay, what did you do?”
Ariel scowled. Ignoring his question, she looked at her watch, then turned to Cordelia. “We’re on a very tight schedule, Auntie. Is there anything else you wanted to tell John?”
She shook her head. “Nay, I suppose that’s enough for today. We’ll have more time to talk if the council allows him to join our community.”
“Mother seems resolutely opposed to the idea. Is there any chance you can speak to her about this?”
Cordelia let out a long sigh. “I’m afraid I might do more harm than good. Elizabeth and I agree on very little these days. If I take up this issue with her, it might stiffen her opposition. And Margaret will go along with her, of course. She always does.” She pursed her lips in distaste. “It might be better if you approached Elizabeth yourself, child. Try to convince her that this is a necessary step.”
“Oh, I’m so tired of arguing with her!” Ariel’s voice rose and her face reddened. “She has charted our course and refuses to veer from it. Tell me, Auntie, when did she become so obstinate?”
“Now, now. Your mother doesn’t respond well to heated argument. I suggest that you wait until your emotions have cooled before you take up the matter with her.” Cordelia gave her a stern look of warning. Then she turned to John. “I’m glad we had this opportunity to talk. After Lily was granted permission to choose a paramour, I showed her the stories about you that appeared on the Internet three years ago. I never thought I’d get the chance to meet you in person, but now that I have I’d like to extend my deepest sympathies. There’s nothing worse than losing a daughter.”
John’s stomach burned. It felt like someone had dropped a hot coal in his guts. But he shouldn’t have been so startled. If Cordelia kept a constant watch over the world, alert to every eddy in the flow of history, then it wasn’t so surprising that she’d come across the news accounts of what had happened to Ivy. The story made national headlines after John released his statement to the newspapers.
He swallowed hard, trying to douse the burning sensation in his stomach. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re a brave man,” Cordelia added. “And I hope we can count on your bravery. I hope you’ll agree to help us.”
Now he was confused. “Help you? I thought—”
“Listen to me, John,” Ariel interjected. She seemed a little upset that her aunt had brought up this subject before she could. “We’re trying to save your life by persuading the council to let you stay in Haven. And the surest way to accomplish this is to prove your worth to the Elders. As it so happens, there’s a task you can perform for us. If it goes well, my mother and Aunt Margaret will see your arrival here as a stroke of good fortune. They’ll be better disposed to accept you into our community.”
John was still confused. He had no idea what Ariel had in mind. “What are you talking about? What’s the task?”
She rose to her feet, propping the crutches under her arms. “We’re going downstairs now. To the laboratories. I’m going to show you our Fountain of Youth.”
FOURTEEN
Archibald was annoyed at Gower. At times like these he couldn’t even bear to look at the fool. As they conducted their morning patrol outside Haven’s fence, combing the woods and fields to see if any Riflemen lurked nearby, Gower jabbered about the events of the day before. The lovesick dolt had been pining for Lily since he was a teenager but had never spoken a word to the woman. He’d joined the Guardsmen and started training for the Ranger Corps in the hope that he’d someday have a conversation with her, and although he still hadn’t achieved this goal he felt he was making progress now. He’d helped to save Lily’s life, and he’d conversed with her paramour. Gower was too kindhearted to be jealous of the outsider; instead, he praised the man’s obvious intelligence. Archibald didn’t know whether to laugh or weep.
They were nearing the end of their patrol, weaving through the forest toward Haven’s southern gate, when Gower uttered his most ridiculous statement yet. “I’ve made a resolution, cuz,” he said. “I’m going to approach the paramour and offer him my friendship.”
Now Archibald laughed. He couldn’t stop himself. “Well, you better do it soon. The man will be dead by Tuesday.”
“Nay, didn’t you hear what the council decided? Lily will find a place for him in Haven.”
“That place will be in our crypt. I not only heard what the council decided, I saw the look on the Chief Elder’s face after they made the decision. She doesn’t like the outsider. At the end of the three days, she’ll order his execution.”
Gower thought this over, scratching the tufts of reddish hair that grew under his chin. His beard was the ugliest in all of Michigan. “I hope you’re wrong. Lily would be bereft to see him die.”
“Aye, but it might work to your advantage. You could go to Lily and console her. Tell her how highly you thought of her paramour. How his death was such a great loss to the community, and so on and so forth. With this strategy you might wriggle your way into her bed.”
The fool kept scratching his scraggly beard. Finally, he shook his head. “Nay, I couldn’t do it. She’d see right through me. Lily is uncommonly perceptive.”
“Perhaps you should set your sights on a less discerning woman then. Seduction is impossible without deception. I’ve given you this advice many times before, if you recall.”
Gower frowned. He resented any suggestion that his affections were misplaced. “I wonder about the value of your advice. Tell me, how much good has it done for you?”
Archibald was surprised. His kindhearted cousin had managed to wound him. But that wasn’t terribly hard to do. Archibald’s failures in the romantic arena were glaring. “Even the wisest farmer can’t plant seeds in stony ground. And the hearts of Haven’s women are stony indeed.”
Gower’s face was blan
k. The metaphor seemed to puzzle him. “Plant seeds? Are you speaking of impregnation?”
“Nay, but that’s part of the problem, is it not? Perhaps if we could impregnate our women, they’d treat us with greater respect. As it is, they’ll employ us as servants but not accept us as husbands.”
“You’re exaggerating, cuz. You know very well that my mother had a husband.”
“He died twenty years ago. Why hasn’t she taken another?”
“She says she’s still mourning. She loved him very much.” Gower looked up and gazed at the high branches of the pine trees. “And you know how busy my mother has been since she was chosen to run the geothermal plant.”
“Just think for a moment. The women of Haven outnumber the men by more than four to one. We’re such a scarce commodity, one would expect them to be fighting over us. But instead, only a tenth of the women take husbands, leaving half of the men without partners. Why is that?”
“Pardon, can you repeat those fractions? This is a baffling equation, cuz.”
“Let me put it another way. Let’s assume that ten or twenty years from now your mother finally finishes mourning her last husband. If I were to propose marriage to her then, do you think she would accept?”
Gower let out a guffaw. It was so loud it echoed against the tree trunks. “I should think not. You’re my companion, not hers. She’s known you since you were a child.”
“Exactly. You’ve made my point. The women see us as children. Even the younger women, the ones our own age, don’t look at us as equals. They focus their romantic fantasies on their paramours and give us only sisterly or motherly attention.”
Archibald was serious, but Gower still seemed amused. Grinning, he wagged his finger. “Your outlook is too dark, Archie. There are many happy couples in Haven. It’s true, some of us have to work hard to find a partner. But from what I hear, it’s no different in the outside world. I’m sure the men there have their own troubles.”