“I was asked to come,” Lydee said evenly. “I didn’t choose it by myself.”
“I see that you are useless. Daiya will see it, too. She should never have called to your world.” He turned and strode toward the mountains.
“He shouldn’t have said that to you,” Luret murmured.
“He’s probably right.”
The two girls walked back to the shuttle. Marellon was seated near one runner, gnawing at a piece of food. Luret sat down next to him, took a knife from her belt, opened a pouch, and took out a reddish-brown mass, cutting at it with her knife. She held out one dirty hand; a brown bit of food lay in her palm.
“Take it,” Luret said. “We can share our food with you. It’s dried meat.”
Lydee recoiled, remembering that these people were flesh-eaters. She tried to smile; the girl was only being friendly. “I don’t want your food. I have a synthesizer and packages of food in my vessel.” That sounded too harsh. “Thank you for offering it, though.” She tried not to watch them as they ate, afraid she might be sick.
Marellon finished his meal, cleared his throat, spat, and began to rub at his teeth with one finger. Lydee stared past him at the mountains. What did Homesmind expect her to do here? The two young people, with their dirty clothes and crude habits, repelled her, and she was sure that she looked as strange to them in her skintight silver suit.
— Yes, you do — a voice said. — You look more like a machine than a person —
She had forgotten to shield her thoughts and quickly hid them again, leaving only a small pathway. — I am not yet used to this world — she said with her mind.
“You are a poor mindspeaker,” Marellon said aloud. “You fondle each word as if you’re afraid to let it go.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his tunic. “We’ll take you to Daiya.”
“Is there a place near where we’re going for my shuttle to land?”
“Must you cling to that vessel as a child clings to its mother? You may leave it here — or will it fly away without you?” The boy’s hostility warmed the already hot air. “We’re not going far.”
“I had thought those who could touch other minds would know more about courtesy and show more sensitivity to others.” Lydee narrowed her eyes. “But I suppose you don’t yet see me as a person like yourselves.”
“That’s true,” Marellon replied. “And you’re repelled by us. You can’t hide it. Your courtesy would only be a lie.”
Luret pulled at Marellon’s hand while gazing at him reproachfully, then turned toward Lydee. “You must go there,” she said, pointing to a rocky ledge above them. “It is wide enough there for your vessel to land. Go, and wait for us.”
* * *
The shuttle sat on the ledge in front of a cave. Lydee stood beside it and watched as Luret and Marellon ascended the mountain. The two were moving slowly, climbing, then floating up a short distance to a foothold, then resting before going on.
She knew that the Earthfolk, even with their powers, had to conserve their strength; a body could be exhausted by the exercise of the mind. The Earthpeople were frail, their bodies unmodified; she was suddenly aware of the strain in their muscles, the pumping of their hearts, the panting of their lungs. They needed their mental powers to compensate for their physical weakness. She wondered what the boy and the girl were thinking. It would be easy enough to find out, but she did not want to feel Marellon’s antagonism again.
She adjusted the pack on her back. Not knowing how long she might be inside the mountain separated from her ship, she had prepared a pack of supplies: water, food, a few small tools. At her waist, attached to her belt, she carried a small, cylindrical weapon that could stun, but not kill, living things. It would be of little use against people, who might read her intentions before she could use it unless she was very good at shielding her thoughts, but Earth’s animals were not so tame and gentle as those on the Wanderer, and she would have to be on guard. She frowned; Daiya might be offended at the weapon’s presence. She thought of leaving it behind, then remembered that the two young people were carrying knives; Daiya might have one, too. These people were only too accustomed to death.
Marellon was now just below her. He drifted up, floated over the shuttle’s dome, and disappeared; Luret followed him. Lydee thumbed her belt and floated over the craft, landing at the cave’s entrance.
Luret led her inside: Marellon had been swallowed by the darkness. They shuffled through a long passage, the Earthgirl guiding her by the elbow; Lydee tried not to think of the dirt she had seen under Luret’s nails.
“It isn’t far,” Luret whispered.
She could no longer hear Marellon. Cautiously, she sent out a tendril of thought and touched him. His hostility had become a thick, soupy resentment laced with scorn for Lydee’s need to carry supplies on such a short journey.
— You should have told me I didn’t need them — she thought. His wall came up, hiding his thoughts.
Luret pulled at her, signaling her to stop. She heard a hum as metal scraped against rock; the ground shook slightly. The passage was suddenly illuminated by a dull light; the wall in front of them had opened.
They entered a large chamber; the walls around them brightened into gold. A gap separated part of the floor from the opposite wall. Lydee followed her companions to the gap and found herself gazing down a tunnel hundreds of paces deep.
“Daiya is below,” Marellon said, pointing down the tunnel. His hair was redder in this light, his skin pale gold. A golden nimbus shone around the edges of Luret’s darker hair. The two seemed handsomer in the soft light; the dirt on their clothes was no longer visible. Impulsively, Lydee sent out a warm tendril of friendliness, but touched only their walls.
“I am ready,” she said. “You may lead me to her.”
“Daiya wishes to see you alone,” Luret replied. Lydee stared down the tunnel uncertainly. “Just float down until you reach the bottom.”
Lydee pressed her belt, launching herself into the tunnel. She dropped down past darkened walls; tentatively, she opened her link. She could feel the power in the mountain; her link hummed with it, feeding her. The tunnel grew lighter; the walls around her disappeared. Veils of blue and violet light fluttered near her; tiny lights twinkled in the air. Her boots clattered against a metal floor.
She was standing in the middle of a long, wide corridor. To her right, the corridor stretched so far that she could not see where it ended. She turned to her left and saw another long hallway. Several paces away, near a curved railing, a dark-haired woman sat; her head was bowed, and Lydee could not see her face.
She walked toward the woman, who made no sign that she was aware of Lydee’s presence. As the girl came to the railing, she put her hands on it and peered down into the circle it enclosed. Gold and crystalline pillars were below her; she saw other railings, and more pillars below them. Earth’s Mindcores had been hidden here for thousands of years; terror, and the wish to forget, had buried them.
“Are you going to keep staring?” a low voice said. Lydee went to the woman and sat down in front of her, trying not to show her apprehension.
Daiya AnraBrun’s face was brown. Thin lines were etched around her eyes; two creases were on either side of her mouth. The skin of her neck was roughened, and her cream-colored tunic could not hide the slight sagging of her full breasts. Lydee, having seen only images of the woman as a girl, had not been prepared for the signs of age, even knowing what she did about Earth.
This was the one who had saved her from death. “Greetings,” Lydee said softly, unable to bring herself to say the woman’s name.
“Greetings. So you are Lydee.”
The girl nodded. Daiya shook back her long, tangled hair, a mass of wiry curls that reached almost to her waist. “You look more like a person than I had expected — I can even see our father in your eyes. Don’t try to touch my mind.”
Lydee drew back, startled; the woman had sensed her intention before she herself was aware of it.
/> — Can you mindspeak? — Daiya’s thoughts were clear and forceful.
— Yes, but I have had little practice —
— I do not know why your world’s Mind gave you access to your powers without training you more thoroughly —
— There wasn’t time — Lydee replied.
— You should have been given them sooner. I’ll have to train you — Daiya paused. “How you can learn in a short time what takes a child years, I do not know,” she continued aloud. Lydee put up her wall, although certain that the woman could penetrate it with little effort.
“Reiho told me to greet you for him,” Lydee said, wishing that the woman would not frown so much.
“Reiho is dead.”
“I meant the Reiho who has taken his place.”
“I know whom you meant.” Daiya’s brown eyes were sad. “Reiho was my friend. He accepted me, while those here turned from me. I was afraid that his successor would not come here. I wanted to touch his mind to see if the Reiho I knew had left something of himself there. Well. You, at least, are here, sister.”
Lydee nodded, feeling that Daiya was disappointed. “Why did you want one of us here?”
“You are needed. I can’t explain it to you fully, but I felt that someone from your world should be here now. Maybe the Minds here are working through me — I don’t know.” She paused. “At first, it was only fear that made me call out to your world, fear of the wall that now surrounds us. Then Homesmind told me of Its discovery that your people could use the mindpowers we have. I knew then that if one of you returned here, the fear that my people have of your world might be dispelled — they would see that you are not really separate selves.” She sighed. “I wish we could show that to other villages, but we are cut off, and the wall remains.”
“The boy Marellon thinks I am useless.”
“He is fearful. We don’t know what will happen now. The Minds inside these mountains, and the other Minds in other regions of Earth, have been silent for many cycles of seasons. Once, They spoke to me and told me that we must awaken. Now it is They who sleep. They leave us power, but have abandoned us. They could break down the wall, but do not, and we can’t summon enough strength to break it ourselves. We have tried, but our bodies weaken with the struggle. A strong mind in a weak body is of no use, for body and mind are wedded.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t stay,” Lydee said. “There is nothing I can do.”
Daiya’s eyes narrowed. “You say that only because you’re afraid. You don’t know what you can or can’t do, what your purpose is. You came here unwillingly, and now you want to run away.” Lydee sensed the woman’s icy anger. “You are one from our village and should remember that.”
“That was long ago.” Lydee, responding to the feelings she sensed, was growing angry herself. “You would have killed me.”
Daiya laughed harshly. “I saved you.”
“I’m a cometdweller now.” The tenuous blue and violet veils fluttered, and she felt a breeze.
“Control yourself,” Daiya said. “Do you want to raise the wind?” She leaned forward. “Training you will be difficult, and I can’t take you to the village as you are. I know that the skydwellers don’t share thoughts easily. You will have to let down your barriers and be willing to let us enter your mind. Think of us as unimportant creatures, or lower animals, if that makes it easier for you.”
Lydee nodded, embarrassed by the words.
“It was hard for me, too,” Daiya said more gently. “I have always sought solitude, and have kept apart from others. I understand you better than you think.” She waved a hand. “Go and rest. We’ll begin tomorrow.”
Lydee nodded as she stood up. Daiya’s thoughts were hidden; she was already lost in contemplation. As Lydee walked back down the corridor, one last, gentle thought reached her.
— I am happy that you have a life, Lydee —
* * *
Lydee had been careful to keep her link closed during the night, afraid that her dreams might otherwise become all too real. She had awakened once to see the comet overhead, a streak against the sky, and then had dreamed that she was on a river, alone in the boat in which she had celebrated with her friends, drifting past a desolate, empty plain.
She sat outside the shuttle in the pink light of dawn, her feet dangling over the ledge, and nibbled at a protein cake. As long as she kept near the ship, the discomforts of Earth would not be too onerous; the synthesizer could provide her with food and water indefinitely, and she could tend to her bodily functions. Other supplies were tucked away in the craft’s shelves in case the synthesizer failed; she had never heard of such a thing happening, but it was best to be safe. The ship had a small library, and she could always speak to Homesmind, so she would not lack entertainment, though she was unlikely to have time for such pursuits. Her spirits were lifting. If she was ever in great danger, her shuttle would carry her away from Earth.
She recalled her meeting with Daiya, trying to sort out her feelings. The woman was ignorant and much too direct, but her thoughts had conveyed strength and clarity, and Lydee had sensed her longing for wisdom.
Slowly, she opened her link. Power flowed through her; she took a deep breath. Someone was near her. She touched the mind gently and recognized Luret NenlaKal; she could, it seemed, distinguish one mind from another. Daiya’s thoughts had felt hard and probing, while Luret’s were more tentative. She let her thoughts expand and flow outward, strands of a web. Marellon BariWil was also nearby; his thoughts were grating and abrasive. She no longer sensed hostility, only doubt and suspicion. Shivering, she withdrew into herself, afraid that she might lose herself in the thoughts of others.
Luret crept around the front of the craft and sat down next to Lydee. “Did you sleep well?”
“Of course.”
“Is it true that skydwellers do not have to sleep as we do? I see that it is.” Luret blushed. “Your wall is thin, so I couldn’t help seeing your answer. I’ll touch only surface thoughts — it’s hard for me to speak only with words.”
“We have to sleep sometimes,” Lydee replied. “We can go without it for long periods, but we have our limitations.” She turned toward the other girl. “How do you control your dreams and keep them from disturbing others?”
“We keep our walls up during sleep. Small children have trouble doing that at first, so we must all shield ourselves. Their parents often have to cloak them so that they don’t wake one another.” Lydee felt a pang; Luret had seemed unhappy when she had mentioned children. “Sometimes people draw together and share a dream.” This thought was also paining Luret.
Lydee was embarrassed, unwilling to explore the source of the other girl’s sorrow. “I can sense,” she said hastily, “that Marellon is near.”
Luret raised an arm, pointing. “He’s up there.” The boy was sitting in a recess above them, gazing out at the desert. “He did not want to eat his morning meal near you — he felt how it bothered you yesterday.” She could hide nothing from them. “He’s trying to abide by your courtesy.”
“Courtesy is simpler when you don’t know what people are thinking. That’s the point of it, I guess — to hide thoughts. We can link our thoughts, but most of us don’t until we have known someone very well.”
“But you can’t know someone well without touching her thoughts, can you?”
Lydee shrugged. “It’s a paradox, I suppose.”
“It seems strange. I’ve touched the minds of everyone I know. But even we shield our thoughts at times. Many keep them from Daiya, as you know, and she must live apart from the village. It was a judgment passed on her, for many died when she revealed separateness to us.”
“I don’t know how that alone could have killed anyone.”
“Everything they were taught seemed false, and they could not bear it. The mind can turn against itself.” Luret shook her head. “I still think it’s cruel. We’ve shared Daiya’s knowledge, and we’re all trapped behind that wall now, but many avoid her, and
she has grown so used to her solitude that she may not be able to end it. Poor Daiya must live on a hill near our village, and though she can enter the village, she can’t stay. Cerwen, father to Daiya’s father Brun, was the one who decreed her punishment.”
“Why did you seek her out, then?”
“My parents brought us to her at first, when we were children. Nenla, my mother, has been her friend since they were small, and my father Kal is Daiya’s cousin.” Luret smiled as a strand other mind touched Lydee’s. “Kal is your cousin, too — his father is brother to your mother.”
Lydee tried not to show her indifference. Cousin, father, brother — they were only words designating a few shared genes, that was all.
Luret’s smile faded. “Daiya told us stories of the world in the sky, and taught us mindcrafts. But we stopped going to her when we were older because others called us solitaries and saw dark places in our minds, voids filling with questions.” Lydee saw an image in the other girl’s mind; a dark young man with intense black eyes held up a hand, as if warding Luret off.
— Wiland — the Earthgirl thought as the image faded, and Lydee felt love mingled with pain. Luret raised her wall. “Daiya asked us to come here with her to meet you. She thought you might want to see someone your own age.”
“That was kind.”
“I know that she hoped another would be with you. Marellon and I must go now, so that she can train you.”
“To your village?” Lydee asked.
Luret nodded.
“Isn’t it a long way?”
“Two or three days, that is all.”
“I could take you there in the shuttle and come back here much more quickly than that.” She felt that she had to make the offer.
“You must not. You have to stay with Daiya for now, and the others are not yet ready to see you — you might find their thoughts hard to endure.”
“At least let me give you some food and water.”
Eye of the Comet Page 6