The Daughter of the Sea and the Sky

by David Litwack

  Before Benjamin could enter the barn, Jason grabbed him and pulled him around the corner, out of sight of the dining room windows.

  “Time to stop this madness,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “These people you’ve brought here.”

  “That’s absurd, Jason. They’re strangers to me.”

  “But somehow you made them come.”

  “Listen to yourself. How could I make them come? I don’t control them. Now, let me loose. You’re hurting me and I’m sure that’s not your intent.”

  Jason released Benjamin, who stumbled backwards, rubbing his arm where Jason had grabbed him.

  “What about all those messages?” he said.

  “You think they’re all me?”

  “I think you somehow started it, and you know how to stop it. And, Benjamin, it needs to stop.”

  “But why? The Daughter wants to do it, and the pilgrims who come are benefiting. So is the farm. Perhaps it’s meant to be.”

  “Meant to be? All she does is spout sayings from her childhood, and these poor people eat it up. If they want their myths so badly, they should all transmigrate.”

  Benjamin winced as if he’d been struck. He tried to step around Jason to the entrance of the barn, but Jason blocked his way.

  “What disturbs you most?” Benjamin said. “That the pilgrims come with unfulfilled needs and the Daughter satisfies them? Or that you can’t explain it without admitting a power greater than us?”

  When Jason still refused to let him pass, the little man’s eyes flared and he bared his small teeth. “Or do you still not see what she is?”

  Jason drew in a quick breath. “What do you think she is?”

  Benjamin made him wait as if he had a great secret to share.

  “The crossroads of history,” he said at last.

  “How could she—”

  “The crossroads,” he repeated, his face now flushed, his voice rising. “A prophet who will change the world.” He slipped past Jason, who was too stunned to stop him, but turned before he reached the corner of the barn. “She’s the birth of a new way. The way of the Spirit.”

  “But she’s a child!”

  “Not just a child. Can’t you see how they flock to her? Like bees to honey.”

  Jason narrowed the gap between them. “So what’s the next chapter in this fantastic story of yours?”

  “She leads us to salvation. Though like honey, she’s sweet but insubstantial—not the rock on which a movement is built. That requires a disciple like me who can sustain it after she’s gone.”

  Jason’s blood ran cold. “After she’s gone?”

  “Yes. If you’d been to the Blessed Lands, you’d know. They flare brightly, these prophets, brightly but briefly.”

  “And why is that?” He clenched his fists until the nails bit into his palms.

  “Because most of the time,” Benjamin said matter-of-factly, “they’re martyred.”

  ***

  Jason rushed to the office right after dinner. He’d been too cautious in his letter to Carlson, and needed to be more aggressive.

  A thought struck him: what if, as Benjamin claimed, Kailani was some sort of spiritual leader, a high priestess to her people? What if she’d been speaking the truth, that she’d come or been sent to convert the soulless? What if she’d been known differently in her world?

  Time for a new approach.

  He’d ask Carlson to search again, this time not for Kailani, but for the daughter of the sea and the sky.

  Chapter 26 – Blind Spots

  How to begin?

  Jason needed to warn Sebastian about Benjamin without sounding like a disgruntled employee. He’d practiced his speech with Helena the prior evening, but now, as he sat before the managing director, the words seemed lacking... effect.

  He waited until Sebastian had poured his morning tea and settled into the high-backed chair before blurting it out. “You have a problem at the farm.”

  Sebastian raised his cup and eyed him through the steam. “And what would that be?”

  Images raced through Jason’s head, everything since that day he and Helena had rescued Kailani. He’d always been driven by the dream: the grand chamber with the granite floor, the dingy hallway to the mailroom where his father worked. Here, in place of the dingy hallway were millions of trees spread across the mountains, and the sky went on forever. And Helena was with him. He hoped Sebastian wouldn’t cast him from the farm.

  “Benjamin.” He said it louder than he intended.

  Sebastian laughed. “Is that all? From the look on your face, I thought the termites were back in the great house.”

  In his month on the farm, Jason had come to respect Sebastian as much as anyone he’d ever worked with. But everyone had blind spots.

  “The man’s a zealot, Sebastian, a genuine my-beliefs-are-the-only-way-to-salvation madman. He’s obsessed with Kailani. Has he ever given you one of his crazy speeches?”

  To his dismay, Sebastian nodded. “Cornered you, has he? Closed the office door and poured forth his strange ideas? You think I haven’t heard them too?”

  “And it doesn’t bother you?”

  Sebastian took a sip of tea and set the cup down. “Oh, it bothers me. I’m not a fan of that sort of thinking, but you need to see beyond the speeches. He may be fanatical, but he’s also hurting. Did you know he comes from one of the wealthiest families in the country? Got the best education money could buy, but he fought with his family. I don’t know what about, but he claims he rejected the material life. At any rate, they disowned him, said if he was so holier-than-thou, he could make his own way in the world. He wandered around for a while, spending the last of what they’d given him, and then he tried to transmigrate.”

  Jason must have flinched, because Sebastian backtracked.

  “That’s right. Transmigrate. He went through all the paperwork and got conditionally accepted as one of them, but it didn’t last. They kept him bottled up in one of their processing centers and finally rejected him. Said he was unsuitable to be a citizen of the Blessed Lands. Department officials at the land bridge offered him a ride back to the city but he refused. Trekked twenty miles over the mountains with no sleep and nothing but the clothes on his back, until he crossed the highway and stumbled upon that dirt road behind the farm. He showed up here hungry, exhausted, and soul-sick. I took him in because I felt sorry for him.”

  “And he’s stayed all this time?”

  “Had nowhere else to go. Everyone comes to the farm looking for something. I understand most of them, but not Benjamin. He says it’s spiritual, but I don’t know. I do know he’s done everything I’ve ever asked of him. I even trust him with Lizzie’s bell for his little rituals.”

  “What about the photogram, the picture of Kailani? That had to be his doing. You ordered him to leave her alone.”

  “Yes, that surprised me, but it was hardly an act of violence. And you have to admit, it’s worked out for everyone.”

  Jason moved closer until his knees pressed against the desk. “And his cult? The Lemurians?”

  “You worry too much, my friend. That bunch is just a few gentle souls, utopians following a fantasy—peculiar but harmless.”

  “Blind faith, believing in myths, is never harmless,” Jason said, careful to use the phrase every citizen of the Republic had been taught as a child.

  “My dear Jason, there’s a thin line between faith and fantasy. Fantasies are benign, a game of the mind. People invent fantasies when they find reality too painful. Then they discuss them with their friends, act them out, and retell the story to anyone who’ll listen.”

  “And how’s that different from faith?”

  Sebastian’s smile vanished. The skin on his face became taut. “Faith is something you impose on others, something you’re willing to kill for. I know. Fifty years ago, I fought a war because of faith.”

  Jason folded his hands on the desk and stared at his knuc
kles. Fantasy or faith. What if Kailani’s arrival had driven Benjamin to cross the line between the two?

  Sebastian turned away and stared at the morning light streaming through the bay window, looking as if he were imagining a bedraggled Benjamin arriving again. He waited a few seconds before speaking, as if needing time to formulate his thoughts.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret, Jason. Some mornings, when I’m here alone, I make myths of my own. I imagine Lizzie’s with me, sitting right in that chair. I swear I can smell the perfume she used to wear. I close my eyes and inhale it, and convince myself she’s still around. Does that make me a zealot? Of course not. It’s just a fantasy that gives me comfort. Would you deny me that?”

  Sebastian waited, insisting on an answer.

  Jason shook his head.

  “Listen, you’ve come here for good reasons. Helping me keep an eye on Benjamin is just one more. Would you be better off if you left the farm? Would we?”

  Sebastian was right; Jason was committed. He’d never leave Helena, and if they left the farm together, what would become of Kailani? Like Benjamin years before, she had nowhere else to go.

  The tension in his neck eased. He’d said his piece and was still welcome at the farm. More important, Sebastian had been forewarned.

  The managing director smiled as if he’d read his mind, then stood and sent him on his way.

  ***

  Jason emerged from the great house and found Helena waiting on the lawn, bent over the statuette of the girl with the bonnet and the basket of flowers. He caught her picking out browned petals that had long since succumbed to the cold nights.

  She’d agreed with his going to Sebastian, but fretted that he’d be banished from the farm. Sebastian didn’t tolerate much discord. When she heard his footsteps on the floorboards, she looked up, saw his expression and smiled. Apparently she could tell at once that all was well.

  They spent the rest of the morning together, strolling the pathways of the farm, Helena leaving Kailani to Miz Martha and Jason ignoring his job.

  When he arrived back at the office, it was nearly lunch. Just enough time to log on and check messages. Recently, the volume had decreased. As Polytech management trusted him more, they bothered him less, and he was gradually losing touch with his few acquaintances. Even the strange postings about Kailani had dwindled.

  So he was surprised when an anonymous message appeared—garbled sender, no subject, sent in the wee hours of the morning. He clicked to open it.

  I’ve heard you are seeking information about a missing girl from the Blessed Lands. Beware. There are those who would do her harm.

  He stood and checked the corridor, then closed the door, turning the knob slowly so the latch settled into place with hardly a click. He went back to the desk and dragged the pointer over the text, turning the background blue, and reread the words until he’d memorized them.

  Then he deleted the message, making sure it was gone without a trace.

  Chapter 27 – A Call to Action

  “This message is two weeks old.” The Minister of Commerce tried to temper his annoyance at the official standing before him. Too harsh a response might discourage future revelations. “Why wasn’t I shown it until today?”

  The official pressed his hands in front of his chest and made a nervous bow. “Too vague, Excellency, with no urgency, sent to the lowest level. Our ministry gets lots of chatter from the soulless, much of it nothing but propaganda. We were afraid to waste your time, but when the second query arrived, I thought—”

  The minister waved him to silence. The decision was hard to argue; the message was vague—a missing child, no age or gender, no description or time frame. It lacked seriousness, but the way the official’s pupils shifted from corner to corner caused a flutter in his stomach. He peeled back the first message, exposing the second.

  Another request about a missing child sent to the same clerk, but this one had more details. One caught his eye.

  Can it be?

  This message offered proof enough to hope again, proof enough to act.

  He rang the small bell that sat atop his desk, and his aide responded at once.

  “Get my chief of staff,” he said.

  “And the subject, Excellency?”

  “The subject?”

  “Yes, he always asks the subject. He tries to be prepared.”

  “Tell him... it’s a private matter, but make sure he comes right away.” A private matter, yes, but more vital than any affair of state.

  He scanned the row of portraits on the wall, every Supreme Leader his country had ever known. Some in his country prayed he’d be next. Once he’d have traded everything for that opportunity, but now, this message from some low-level bureaucrat on the far side of the ocean was worth more.

  Slowly, he reread the text, touching his fingertips to the words: the daughter of the sea and the sky.

  It was like touching a dream.

  Chapter 28 – Peripheral Vision

  The ceiling sloped downward until Jason had to walk in a crouch. His back ached from bending over, but he was driven onward by a keening sound. He turned the corner into an even more cramped corridor, driving him to his knees. At its end a hinged door opened upward, like the kind people make for their pets. He ducked his head and squeezed through.

  At the far wall, a little man sat addressing envelopes with a quill pen and stuffing them into the pigeonholes of a mail cabinet. Beside him, a woman knelt praying. She wore a white robe that hung down to her bare feet. A diaphanous shawl covered her hair and flowed down her shoulders.

  The woman looked up and let out a gasp. “Jason, you’ve come back.” It was Helena.

  When the little man heard her, he stopped sorting and turned, and his rodent-like features came into focus.

  Benjamin.

  Jason tried to stand but bumped his head on the ceiling with a thunk. An alarm sounded, small and tinny like the room. Beep, beep, beep.

  ***

  Jason awoke to find his forehead resting on the keyboard, pressing an invalid key. So much for working late.

  He’d been fighting exhaustion after another long day doing Benjamin’s chores, but the breeze outside the window had set the leaves rustling, a sound like the surf near Helena’s home. Before he knew it, he’d been dragged down into a dream-filled sleep.

  He sat up and tried to reorient himself. He’d always taken pride in his job and now, working remotely, he’d raised his expectations even higher. Yet despite his efforts, he struggled to meet the latest deadline. He’d hoped to finish that night, but now had to concede he’d be late.

  Might as well give up before I fall asleep again.

  He archived his work, packed up the encomm, and switched off the desk lamp. As he headed to Sebastian’s office to lock up the device, he noticed a light coming from the common room. He reached around the doorjamb to turn it off.

  “Is someone there?” It was Martha Brewster’s voice.

  He thought to ignore her and leave, but manners compelled him to be polite. He stepped inside. “Oh, hello, Miz Brewster. It’s me, Jason. I thought I was the only night owl and was going to turn off the light. You’re here late, aren’t you?”

  The long and narrow room contained a thin table built into its back wall. Three communicators sat on it, with a chair in front of each. Martha Brewster sat in the middle one.

  She swiveled around to face him. “Oh, Jason, come in. I had a few calls to make and was just finishing some letters to send off in the morning. I try to wait until after Kailani’s asleep. Everyone treats her like an adult, but she’s just a child. These conferences take their toll.”

  Helena complained that her mother had a way of putting her on the defensive at the beginning of every conversation. He could see now what she meant and felt the urge to explain.

  “I’m as uncomfortable as you are with what’s going on.” He took a breath and lowered his voice. “I’m the one who pulled her from the ocean. I know as well as an
yone she’s just a child.”

  She seemed to relax, and looked at him with the same astonished eyes as Helena. “Please call me Martha. We’re both adults, you know. Have a seat. I’ve been hoping to spend some time with you.”

  He was tired but couldn’t refuse the offer. He pulled up a chair and sat. “So who were you writing to at this late hour, Martha?”

  “Oh, I still try to keep up with friends at the Polytech. My husband and I were there for almost twenty years.”

  “I’ve heard. Your friends there must be different from the members of the farm.”

  “Oh yes, quite different.”

  “In what way?”

  She glanced up at the wooden beams of the ceiling and then down to the letter she’d been writing, as if expecting to find an answer there.

  “In what way are they different?” She sounded like a teacher about to begin a dissertation. “Well, first of all, researchers are normal. Artists are not.”

  Jason must have flinched, because she quickly recanted.

  “Oh, dear, not like that. I mean it only in the most positive way. Let me try again. Scientists view the world through the center of their pupils, the part that’s most focused. Artists are the opposite. They see through peripheral vision, observing shadows and imagining the rest. In the end, each paints a picture as detailed as the other, the scientists using logic and facts, the artist using feelings and instincts. Neither has a monopoly on truth, and each creates their own world and makes it real.”

  Jason tried to reconcile the teacher at the Polytech with the woman he’d seen on the Spirit Hill, clad in the gown and gossamer shawl, gathering to summon the wind. “Is that why you’ve taken to worshipping with the Lemurians? To create your own reality out of half-seen shadows?”

  Her expression tightened. “If there’s comfort to be had from the Spirit, I’ll take it. Just as I take comfort from making jewelry and sewing dresses for Kailani. That’s all. It’s nothing more than that.”