Nomad: Freedom Is Never Free

by Todd Brill

  Many days later, the man worked at his task unaware of the fate approaching him. Two desperate, ugly men with guns had followed him to his secret ruins intent on robbing him of his prize. The man heard someone approaching just as the ugly men opened fire on him.

  The man jumped behind the white stone doorway, which shielded him from the rain of projectiles, but he had nowhere to go. No way to escape their assault. If he stuck his head out from behind the door, the ugly men would shoot it off.

  In desperation, the man touched some of the symbols on the door that seemed to be glowing faintly in the dim work light.

  That is when the door opened, shimmering like an open sea shell in the sun, and the man ran through it disappearing from his world forever.

  And he came here, to this world. He tried in vain the remainder of his life to find a way back home. He learned their language but was never accepted as anything but an alien outsider.

  When he finally died an old, decrepit man, those who tended him said that he finally revealed his story. He told the tale of the white stone door that brought him here and in his final delirium, he told them the Prophecy of the Legend.

  “One day, the Legend will come to this world,” he said quietly to his nurse. “He will not be alone, but he will be unique among you. He will free you of this Leader and set things in motion that will ripple throughout space and time, affecting many worlds. Mark my words. He will come. And he will bring you freedom and peace.”

  Those were his final words. His nurse, startled by his speech, wrote down his prophecy and became the first Mother of the Prophecy. It was the nurse’s daughter, many years later, who was involved in an attempted rescue of a prisoner in this very camp. Her mother was killed, keeping the secret of the Prophecy, and the daughter became the new Mother. She was imprisoned here and passed on this Prophecy when her time for retirement came.

  And so, the Prophecy is passed down, mind to mind until the Legend from another world comes to save us all.

  ****

  Nomad watched Jorune around the camp after that night. She would hobble around the camp on whatever errands the guards sent her on. Sometimes she carried a small basket of optical chips, sometimes it was food or water. She was always amiable to everyone and spoke to them all as if they were her children. She called everyone ‘dear’, even the guards. Nomad had once seen a guard smile when Jorune called him dear and gave the guard some water from her basket. She had touched his arm and said something about making sure to take care of himself and the guard had smiled. Jorune was no ordinary prisoner.

  7

  “Get back to work!” the guard yelled at him. Nomad had been chatting with Danik during a short break. She had brought some water and bread and something that tasted like stinky cheese so they could eat together. He didn’t ask where she got the cheese.

  “The siren hasn’t sounded yet,” replied Nomad to the guard, continuing to eat his bread. Danik’s face went ashen even under the heavy film of sweat and gray dirt.

  “What did you say?” asked the guard, unholstering his baton and stepping closer.

  “I said, the siren hasn’t sounded yet,” replied Nomad, annoyed the guard was changing the rules on a whim. It was a power trip and Nomad had seen it before. Sometimes guards felt like they needed to remind the prisoners who was in charge. The guard was clearly agitated by Nomad’s back talk.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the damn siren,” said the guard. “When I give you an order, you obey or you get the stick.” At this, he brandished his club and grinned eagerly. When the guard moved the stick, it made a heavy crackling and humming sound and pulsed with an angry red glow.

  “Okay, we’re done,” said Danik, packing up their meager snack in an old gray rag while she stood to go.

  Nomad looked at him with contempt as the guard turned his back and holstered his club.

  I’d like to strangle that asshole with his club, he thought to himself. Then he noticed Jorune standing away from their group. She had witnessed what happened and was looking directly at Nomad. There was something in her eyes. Her gaze made him feel strange. It felt similar to the tugging he felt when he was first transported to this planet. A pulling sensation tugged at him from the inside.

  Then she looked away and the feeling stopped. Danik quickly touched his arm and waved good-bye as she walked back to her work group. Nomad watched as Jorune hobbled away with her little basket, losing sight of her in the crowd just as the work siren sounded.

  That night, Nomad told Danik he had something to do and wouldn’t be able to meet her like they did normally. He went looking for Jorune. He had to find out what had happened. How had she made him feel that way just by looking at him? Did he just imagine it?

  He found Jorune in her hut near the edge of camp. There weren’t many other huts around her, and she had an entire hut to herself. One of the privileges of being the Mother. It was neat and tidy inside — as tidy as a ramshackle hut standing on dirt could be. Nomad knocked quietly on the outside entry. He could hear Jorune shuffling slowly to the doorway, and she smiled up at him.

  “Come in, Ted,” she said, a strange twinkle in her eye. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

  “My name is Nomad,” he said, not fully realizing she had just used his real name. He hadn’t told anyone here his real name. How had she known?

  “Wait, how did you…” he stammered as he stepped down into her hut, his jaw opening.

  “I listened,” she replied, drawing a rag curtain closed behind him. “It’s amazing what you can find out if you just stop and listen,” she said in a sweet tone, straightening her hair and dress.

  “I didn’t tell anyone here my name,” he said, “Not even Danik.”

  “You told me,” said Jorune, suddenly not looking so small. She wasn’t hunched over like she usually was. She leaned on her crutch almost casually, her chin resting atop the back of her hands on top of it. Nomad felt very infantile, like he was meeting someone he had never met before, but still somehow knew.

  “No I didn’t. At least, I don’t remember telling you. When did I tell you?” Nomad stammered, trying to recall what other secrets he might have absentmindedly blurted out to people. He was alarmed that he might be talking to people in camp about things he shouldn’t be.

  “Sometimes, you tell people things without knowing it. And people who listen can hear those things. I am a very good listener. Would you rather I call you Nomad then, dear?”

  “It’s what my friends call me, and I’d like to think you’re a friend, Jorune,” he replied, still feeling like a child around this diminutive blue woman.

  “That’s nice, dear,” she said smiling up at him. “I’d like to think we’re friends, too. Before that, however, we need to have a little chat about things. It’s important that I hear you say some things while I listen.”

  “Okay,” said Nomad, sitting on the hard dirt floor. She sat beside him, never taking her eyes from his. He noticed she seemed to sit rather quickly and easily for someone so old and with such a supposedly infirm body.

  “I’ve noticed you’re a good listener, too,” she began, crossing her legs and holding her crutch across her knees. She had her hands folded on top of the crutch in front of her. “I would like to know more about you and what your plans are.”

  Nomad was nervous. She was asking about plans. Maybe she was a mole sent by the guards. This was potentially dangerous. He had to be careful.

  “Plans? What plans? From what I hear, nobody ever leaves here. My plan it to keep my head down, work hard, and survive,” he said, trying to keep his face a mask.

  Jorune frowned as she looked into his eyes. The tugging sensation started again. It was uncomfortable but not painful.

  “Don’t resist me, Ted,” she said. “I’ve heard your words and I listened. I know you’re lying. Now tell me again, but this time, relax and tell me the truth. I won’t hurt you. How could I? I’m just a little old woman with a bad leg, right?”

&nb
sp; Something wasn’t right. This little old woman had more strength in her than he would ever have imagined. Even the sound of her voice was different. In the camp, she squeaked and croaked in an old woman’s voice that was cute and tender. Now, she was speaking clearly, directly, and with authority. She was determined and clearheaded; her voice had an unexpected hard edge to it.

  “I feel like I’ve misjudged you,” said Nomad. “You aren’t a sweet little ol’ lady at all, are you? I didn’t mean that as an insult,” he blurted out, feeling terrible at the unintended insult.

  “I know, dear. I listened to what you said,” she replied smiling. “You have a kind and gentle heart, Nomad. That much I’ve heard. You’re in love, too, aren’t you?”

  Nomad flushed a little.

  “With Danik. Yes. We’ve gotten very close. I’m not sure how to tell her or if she knows already. We don’t really talk about it. It seems stupid to be in love and be in a prison camp like this.”

  “Being in love is never stupid no matter where you are,” replied Jorune. “Love is one thing in this universe that always makes perfect sense when you’re in it and no sense at all when you aren’t.” She looked into his eyes again, and the tugging began once more.

  “How do you do that? It feels like you’re tugging at me somehow but you aren’t touching me,” said Nomad.

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” replied Jorune. “I’m listening to you and that pulls things from you. You’re resisting so you sense it as a tugging. Most people can’t resist or aren’t sensitive enough to feel the tugging, so they never notice. But when I listened to you the first time the other day, you noticed immediately. And I heard that you noticed.”

  “So you listen to my body?” he said. “What does it tell you?”

  She chuckled. “No, dear. I listen to you. All of you. When I listen, I don’t use my ears. I listen to you, and you tell me things. Do you think that’s interesting? Would you like to know how to listen like that?”

  Nomad thought for a moment. Either this little woman is a weirdo or she knows something I don’t know. Either way, Nomad wanted to find out. He had dealt with his share of strange people in his travels, so he could handle someone who might be a little off in the head.

  “Sure. I’m curious,” he replied. “Just be gentle, okay?” He smiled at her, and she grinned back. Some instinct told him he could trust Jorune.

  “Get comfortable,” she said, “and close your eyes.” She waited until he shifted his position somewhat and shut his eyes.

  “Now focus on your feelings — on the things around you. Feel the dirt under your ass. Feel the air around you. Hear the sounds of the camp and my voice. Put everything else out of your mind for now. Good.”

  She paused. He took a breath and relaxed. His muscles were sore from work and the dirt floor was cold and hard, which made it difficult. He could hear the faint sounds of the camp at night around the hut and the strangely soothing voice of Jorune in front of him. There was a small, dusty breeze seeping through the walls of her hut that foretold rain.

  “Listening isn’t done with your normal ears,” she continued. “It’s done by your whole self. You need to focus all your attention in the moment and on your goal. The more relaxed and focused you are, the better you can listen. The better you listen, the more things you will hear, you understand? If you listen to this hut, it can tell you things. A person can tell you things if you listen. Even the trees, flowers, and dirt can tell you things if you know how to listen properly. It takes practice and patience and the ability to listen — which you have.”

  Nomad’s mind wandered while she spoke. He could still hear the sounds of the camp outside the hut. In his mind, he imagined where the sounds came from. Guards walking their patrols, prisoners gathering water or doing their laundry. He could almost see it in his mind. But surely he must be just imagining it.

  “No,” said Jorune suddenly, “it is not your imagination. Do not imagine anything. You need to listen, Ted. Listening is passive. Let them tell you what is happening. Don’t imagine what is happening — that isn’t the truth. It can be hope, it can be entertaining — it can be almost anything. But if you want to really hear the truth, you need to listen without your mind getting in the way. Imagining things isn’t listening. You’re imposing your mind on things and that only causes problems.”

  Nomad tried calming his mind and stopped imagining. He listened. He still heard the noises of the camp. But this time, the vision behind the noises came into his mind on its own. This time, he saw guards who appeared to be moving about the camp but were actually playing a game while they walked in pairs. They weren’t paying attention to much around them at all. The men and women washing clothes were softly humming. He couldn’t hear any words to the song, but he somehow understood their meaning. They were sad songs about love and hope. He could feel their love and hope and deep, wrenching despair and he began to weep.

  Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder and his eyes snapped open. Jorune was standing beside him with a sad look on her face.

  “Listening can be very powerful,” she said quietly. “You can feel their pain and suffering as easily as their joy and love.”

  Nomad wiped the tears from his face and felt ashamed. He hadn’t wept like that for as long as he could remember.

  “You have the gift, dear,” said Jorune, leaning on her crutch. “In time, you might learn to use it, to hate it, and perhaps even to understand it. For now, if you wish me to teach you, it would be my honor. I will teach you to listen and you will know the universe. And in that knowledge, you will find either peace and understanding or war and death. That choice will ultimately be up to you, dear. Now go and rest. Take your time and decide whether you wish to continue. Then come back to me with your answer.”

  Nomad stood up numbly, his nose running, and left Jorune’s hut without saying anything.

  8

  “How much do you know about Jorune?” said Nomad, chewing on some stiff, gray flatbread.

  “Nobody knows much about her,” replied Danik, ripping another piece of stale flatbread for Yola who refused to sit still long enough to eat. “She’s been here a long time. Some say she’s one of the first prisoners in the camp. There are lots of rumors, but some of them — they’re pretty wild.”

  “Like what?” he said, now more intent on Danik than on his lukewarm breakfast gruel.

  “Well, let’s see. There was one about how she came here on purpose. Most of us are here by accident, but the rumor goes that she came here on her own for some reason.”

  “Interesting,” said Nomad. “Anything else?”

  “Another says she is a witch and has powers to curse people and that she makes spells and potions in her private hut. You know she’s the only one in this whole camp with a private hut?” said Danik.

  “I know,” said Nomad, playing with his spoon.

  “Wait. Have you been to her hut, Nomad?” she said.

  “Jorune invited me for a chat last night,” he said. “She’s a very interesting old woman. She told me about…things.” He wasn’t quite sure he was ready to tell Danik about Jorune’s claims and the things she told him about listening. He wasn’t even sure he believed it himself. It was a little far-fetched even for someone who had been transported to an alien world. His elementary school teachers told his parents he sometimes had an “overactive imagination.”

  Danik’s female intuition wouldn’t allow her to accept such a cryptic response, however. “Things? What kind of things?” she asked, looking Nomad in the eye.

  “Mama, can I have another piece of bread?” said Yola, tugging on Danik’s sleeve.

  “One moment, Yola. Nomad? What things?” said Danik.

  Nomad shifted on his cold metal seat. He wasn’t sure he was ready to tell anyone about what Jorune was teaching him.

  “She told me the history of the camp, why the prisoners are here, that kind of thing. Do you know why we’re here? What they’re making us build?” said Nom
ad evasively.

  “Again, there are rumors, but I’m not sure I believe any of them,” replied Danik, giving Yola another chunk of bread while keeping a suspicious eye on Nomad.

  “Did you hear a rumor about the Leader forcing us to build some kinda shield to prevent more aliens from appearing here?” said Nomad.

  “There was one story that was similar. Did Jorune tell you that?”

  “Yes. And it makes sense to me. When I came here from my world, I don’t think the people that sent me intended it that way. I think it was an accident. It was an experiment, and it didn’t go quite right. I just don’t understand why others would end up here too. And why I didn’t end up burning in a star or on some other world. Why this one?” he said.

  Danik shrugged. “Who knows? If you believe in fate or destiny, then maybe it was fated for all of us to be here.”

  “In my experience, there’s no such thing as fate. I think we’re all just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s got to be something else at work here though. Why is everyone coming to this planet and not some other planet? From what I’ve heard around camp, everyone appears here in roughly the same way: some by accident, some on purpose, but nobody can get home,” said Nomad. “I’m not a very educated man, and never really watched much T.V., and I’m having trouble understanding what’s going on.”

  Danik looked at him, and her face softened. She touched his arm.

  “Sometimes there are no answers in life,” she said. “Sometimes things just happen. And then there’s luck. Like you said, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yola and I were supposed to transport onto a shuttle to go visit some relatives and ended up here. We used transports all the time, but this time it didn’t go right. I think we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She looked down at Yola chewing noisily on her hard bread and sighed. Yola was pretending to be a dog, tearing into the bread like a fresh kill and growling.