by Josi Russell
Sol waved, an unspoken understanding between them. “I’ll think about it.” He took one last look at the beautiful Stracahn and walked into the dim tunnel. A rock chip the size of Sol’s palm fell next to him, and he jumped.
He flinched again when he heard Meir’s voice. “Don’t worry. You’ll make it through.”
The Stracahn leader stood just inside the tunnel.
Sol didn’t know whether he should bow to him or what. He bowed, just to be safe, and Meir nodded acknowledgment. He was moving his hand in an unusual motion as if drawing in the air. Sol didn’t ask if it was the same thing that Zyn’dri had done to break the stone outside, but he wanted to.
“You’re a unique person, Sol,” Meir said. “You are a combination of many things.”
Sol supposed that was true.
“I sense connections to both to solid mountains and ebbing tides.” Meir continued. “Unusual for your species.”
“Well,” Sol said, “I grew up by the ocean, then I moved to the mountains.”
“Ahh.” Meir seemed to be pleased by that information. “And other combinations.”
“My mother and father are from different races,” Sol said, enjoying the thought of being more than he had realized.
Meir nodded. “Perhaps it is why I sense in you,” he said, “an unusual capacity for peace and teaching. Also a depth of compassion unique among your species.”
Sol wanted to discount that. He didn’t want to believe that such things could be sensed, but he remembered the comfort that his father had always carried with him. It was a tangible feeling of peace and serenity.
An aftershock made the floor of the tunnel tremble. Fine sand sifted down and dusted them. Meir went on. “These seismic events, as you call them, are increasing. Zyn’dri was very quick to tell me that she feels the Earth’s turmoil is connected to humans’ turmoil. She believes it will not be soothed until your species is at peace, and perhaps mine, as well.” Meir waved his free hand at Sol. “You may play an important role in achieving that peace.”
Sol thought about yesterday’s long battle, about the anger and hatred he had carried all these months. “I don’t know about that, Sir.”
A cracking sound came from above them. “It is something to consider,” Meir said softly. His eyes held a certain strain, and though his expression hadn’t changed, Sol noticed that the hand he was moving in the air seemed to be shaking a bit.
“Are you all right?” Sol asked.
“I will be momentarily. You must go soon, I know. But please,” Meir said, “consider the Ranger’s offer to come back to Yellowstone. Our people will not always remain in this park. A permanent integration must occur if we are to truly live on this planet. And I would like you to help us prepare to make the next integration more successful than the first.” Meir searched Sol’s face. “Consider it, please.”
Sol was taken aback. “I will. Thank you.” He tried not to make it sound like a question.
He saw that Meir was ready for him to leave, so he bowed again, just in case that was the proper thing to do. He ducked back out through the opening into the broad pasture.
Sol had worked his way through the boulders and back toward the hauler when the tunnel collapsed, shaking the ground around him and spewing pebbles into the air. Sol ran back toward the tunnel to see if Meir was all right, but to his surprise, the slabs had shifted backward, and the fault in the fence was gone. Yellowstone was again impenetrable.
He cupped his hands and shouted. “Is Meir okay?”
The reply was faint. “Yes! He’s all right.”
A thought crossed Sol’s mind. Could Meir have been holding the tunnel up for him? Somehow? Using the same principle that Zyn’dri had used to break the rock?
Sol thought about it on the long, quiet ride back to the farmhouse.
During the next week, Sol didn’t have much time to think about anything but the amount of ranch work to be done. Sol’s work had tripled since his mother was busy mending patients in the barn and Uncle Carl was busy mending Liberty’s relationships with the Cascadians and the Harvesters. All three regions were embarrassed that they had been fooled by the Consolidated Terrene Leadership, and Cascadia was quick to offer assistance to rebuild Liberty’s damaged equipment and weaponry.
As Sol fed the cows outside and checked the Rangeright system under the pastures, he realized he didn’t mind the work. Thought, probably, that he would miss it when he left for Shoreline. And he was going to Shoreline. His time with the First Avowed had convinced him of that.
If he was going to make a difference, he needed to talk to those who had lived among the aliens before, who had known Empyriad firsthand.
It was three weeks after the battle when he had worked up the courage to tell Uncle Carl and his mother. They sat at the kitchen table, where Uncle Carl was going through the mail and Molly was working on a small, perfect quilt to send into the park for the Stracahn baby whose life she had saved.
Sol shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Listen, I want to talk to you both about something.”
Uncle Carl looked up with interest, and his mom said, “Hmm?” around the pins she held in her mouth.
“I want to go study in Shoreline.” Sol blurted. He instantly regretted his bluntness, but his uncle looked up with a surprising smile.
“I never went to the University. What do we need to do?”
Sol felt the closeness that he and Uncle Carl had shared since he began doing things that mattered. His mother was smiling, too.
It was going so well that he kept talking. “And I want you guys to come with me.”
Molly blinked. She looked up, searching his eyes. Uncle Carl just laughed. “Thanks, son. But I’d better stay here and look after the ranch. The cows don’t know I don’t have a university education, and as long as you don’t tell them, they won’t find out.”
Sol couldn’t help but smile. He glanced at Molly, who was looking at her quilt again, stitching furiously, not saying a word.
Sol saw Uncle Carl looking at her, too. He saw a softness in his uncle’s eyes. Uncle Carl was more gentle than normal when he said, “Your mom will go with you, though.”
She looked up, quickly, then back down. She took the pins from her mouth. “Oh, Carl, I couldn’t go. You can’t take care of everything around here.
“What do you think I did when you were off in Shoreline the first time?” he joked. “I made my own dinner for ten years. I think I can still remember how.” Uncle Carl’s smile faded, and he looked earnestly at his sister. His voice was soft when he spoke again. “Go, Molly. Go home.”
***
They left two weeks later, just in time for Sol to begin his studies in Shoreline. Uncle Carl sent them in the hauler, and Sol saw Molly’s tears mirrored on the face of her brother as they lifted off and flew southwest over the mountains.
65
Zyn’dri had been home over a month, and after participating in the Stracahn mourning services for those who had been killed in the integration, she had settled again into the comfortable routine of family life with Walt and Sylvia.
This morning Walt had brought home a bag of fresh morels and a full package of bison sausage to share with his family. It had tasted fantastic and had given them plenty of fuel for a snowshoeing trip they were planning that afternoon.
Snow had piled deep overnight, and the cozy apartment kept the bitter chill outside as Zyn’dri gazed out the window. The morning was bright, and she squinted down at fresh tracks across the snow-covered meadow below, trying to figure out what had made them.
Walt came up beside her and gave her a little hug. “What do you see, kid?”
She pointed. “Usually, there are wolf tracks down there, but those are too big. And they can’t be elk because they’re too close together. They’re not bear tracks because they’re too narrow. I can’t figure it out.”
Walt chuckled. “They are from the most dangerous animal of all.”
Zyn’dri put a ha
nd on the window, trying to think what that would be.
“Humans,” Walt said. She could see that he was smiling, but the description was too accurate to be a joke. She told him so.
Walt sobered quickly. “I guess you’re right.” He said, then went quiet for a moment.
“Walt, did you patch that leak on the landing?” Sylvia called. “I nearly broke my neck on a little patch of ice when I stepped out the door this morning,” Walt promised he would do it.
“Come help me,” he said to Zyn’dri.
Zyn’dri held the bucket of Quickpatch while he worked. She looked around the dismal little space. Her eyes came to rest on the door of Caldwell’s old apartment across the landing.
“Is that supposed to be open?” she asked.
“Huh?” Walt said, glancing down to dab the brush in the bucket she was holding.
“That door. To that other apartment. Is it supposed to be open?”
Walt looked over at the door. She saw his gaze shift to the floor. There, coming up the stairs and across the landing, were wet spots the same size and spacing as the tracks she had seen in the meadow. Walt grew very still.
“Zyn’dri, you need to go back into the apartment and lock the door.” He said.
The tone of his voice was new to her. It was sharp, commanding. She did as he said. When Sylvia asked what she was doing, she told her what they had seen.
Sylvia’s hand went to her mouth. She went to the door and opened it a crack, hissing, “Walt! Get back in here! Don’t go in there by yourself.”
When Zyn’dri peered around Sylvia, she saw Walt pushing open the door of the other apartment. His twister gun was drawn.
“Lock the door.” He said, and that same tone echoed in the landing. Sylvia tried to convince him, but when he stepped into the other apartment, she reluctantly closed the door and locked it, pulling Zyn’dri behind her in a protective way.
The minutes were long until Walt shouted, “All clear!”
Sylvia opened the door.
“Nobody is in there.” He said. “At least not right now.”
“Walt, do you think it could have been—” Sylvia stopped, and Zyn’dri knew she didn’t want to say it.
He nodded grimly. “No forced entry. Survival staples are gone, plus the junk from his little shrine. It was definitely Caldwell.” He slammed a palm against the doorframe. “I knew it. I knew that shot wasn’t enough to kill him. I thought the wolves would finish the job, but that was naïve.”
“You didn’t have a choice,” Sylvia said. “You had to save O’neva.”
“He also took all the drugs from the drawer and that weird paper holder or whatever it was,” Walt said.
“The cylinder you told me about?” Sylvia asked.
Zyn’dri grabbed Sylvia’s arm. “A cylinder?”
Walt looked surprised. “That’s right. About this long,” he held up his hands, “dark gray. Have you seen one? Is it Stracahn?”
Zyn’dri shook her head. She took their hands and pulled them into the apartment. Walt and Sylvia watched with concern as she carefully locked the door and turned back to them. Their concern turned to horror as she told them about Damen’s strange weapon and what it had done to him.
Walt radioed Karson immediately and explained.
Karson swore. “I should have had that place emptied months ago,” he said. “I just didn’t have the manpower, and with no new Rangers coming in, I didn’t think there was any rush. I’ll put a call into the new Agent in Charge and see what he can tell me about these cylinders. Walt, you put out a call for everyone to be on the lookout for that maniac.”
“I’ll do that,” Walt said. A shadow had crept into his eyes, and he and Sylvia canceled the snowshoeing trip so the three of them could stay safe inside the walls of the apartment.
Late that afternoon, a heavy knock sounded on the door, startling all three of them. Walt peered out the peephole and breathed a sigh of relief. He opened the apartment door and found Meir standing outside it.
Walt and Sylvia welcomed him in warmly. He was alone, and he sat in a chair in the living room and stared intently at Zyn’dri.
“You are rested from your traumatic excursion?” Meir asked.
Zyn’dri nodded. She found herself shy in the presence of the First Avowed, partly because he now knew her secrets.
“We’re still a little confused about what happened out there,” Walt said. “Though we’ve figured out it had something to do with the tay’ren.”
Meir’s eyes were troubled. He shifted uncomfortably. “I find myself in an unusual situation.” He began. “I want to answer your questions, but I have never had occasion to discuss the tay’ren with those who are not Avowed.”
“Much less those who are not Stracahn,” Walt said.
Meir nodded, and there was a grateful tone in his voice when he spoke, “That is true. Thank you for being understanding. I don’t even know if I have the right words in your language.” He went on. “But I feel that Zyn’dri has powerful gifts, and in order for her to develop them—” he glanced at Zyn’dri. She knew what was coming.
“In order for us to teach her fully, all we know about the tay’ren and the Allbeings—”
She had just regained her parents. Zyn’dri would not lose them again. The fence had fully fused now, and they were safe in the park, away from the terrors of the outside world. And they would keep her safe from the dangers of the park, including Caldwell. She didn’t need the tay’ren now. She didn’t need anything except Walt and Sylvia and Yellowstone. Zyn’dri stood, catching Meir’s eye.
“I will not go to the Vault.”
His voice was desperate. “Zyn’dri, we need to teach you. Please, let us share with you what we know.”
She shook her head and fell beside Sylvia on the couch. She felt sobs welling up, and she was aware of Meir’s discomfort over them. She would never be, she knew, fully Stracahn. But she would never be fully human. The realization made her cry harder.
Sylvia pulled her close. “No one has said anything about leaving us,” Sylvia spoke to Meir. “Leave the teaching for now. Can we just discuss the tay’ren?”
Walt spoke. “Right, like how she can . . .” Zyn’dri could tell that Walt didn’t know how to continue. “How she can crack stone?”
Zyn’dri glanced at Meir. She wanted to know, too, the mysteries behind these symbols.
“Very well,” he said. “The tay’ren are the patterns of life. They are all around us, on every planet, in every star, in every universe.”
“Like the elements?” Sylvia asked, standing. Zyn’dri stayed close to her and stood, too.
“Yes, yet even more basic. The elements themselves contain these patterns. You have seen them yourself, Walt.”
“Right. In the clouds and the eddies of the river. I’ve seen them in the bacterial mats and the wildflowers. They are everywhere.”
“Yes.” Meir seemed to be warming to the topic, “Within them lie the answers that your species and mine have spent countless millennia searching for. Within them lie the secret to communication between species, and connection with our planets as well as connection with beings beyond our sphere. Within these patterns lie the secrets of health and disease, turmoil and peace.” Meir sighed. It was a long, weary sound. “All knowledge is connected to them.”
“And they have effects on the physical world?”
Meir sighed again. “Not effects. They are the physical world.” He was searching for words. “They are the fundamental units of life. They give structure to everything that exists." Meir reached for a carved wooden talisman, called a mea, attached to his sash. He pointed at the pattern on it.
“This is the genesis tay’ren. It is made of the same pattern of ellipses seen in tiny molecules and vast solar systems.”
They were nodding, but Zyn’dri could tell that Walt and Sylvia were as confused about the mechanics of the tay’ren as she was.
Absentmindedly, Zyn’dri traced the healing tay’ren on Sylvi
a’s hand. It was a pattern she’d come to know well.
Meir’s eyes rested on her. Had he seen the tay’ren? Did he know what she was trying to do?
Meir answered her question. “There is great power in the tay’ren, but also great danger.”
Danger? Zyn’dri looked at him.
“If you want to help people,” he said, without revealing what he had seen, “you need to learn how to use the tay’ren responsibly. You cannot expect to use them in ignorance and avoid their destructive consequences.” Meir caught Zyn’dri’s gaze and held it.
“Zyn’dri,” he said, and his voice was solemn, “I have something to tell you. Something which you have heard before.”
Zyn'dri looked at him. She held tightly to Sylvia’s hand as she stood in front of the First Avowed. Her head was spinning. There was a chance of destruction? Of danger? What if she were putting Sylvia at risk by drawing the designs? She realized that Meir was right. She needed to know more. Suddenly, she wanted to know everything about them.
Still, a familiar knot twisted in her chest as he went on. "It is your choice whether to accept or not. As you know, no one will force you. But you should understand that this is a great honor, and you should understand, by now, that it will not go away." Meir paused, allowing heavy silence to fill the room.
She knew, of course, what he was about to say.
"Zyn'dri, the everwatchful eyes of the Allbeings are upon you."
Zyn’dri closed her eyes. She thought back to the moment on the ship, standing with her first parents in this same way, hearing these same words. She thought about the tumult in the Earth, about the semballa and the bison. She thought about the massacre, and she thought about the patterns of life.
Accepting the calling was as easy as speaking four words. Zyn’dri spoke them, softly. “I will be seen.”
When she opened her eyes, she expected to see a happiness or relief on Meir’s face, but he was stoic as usual.
She immediately regretted it.
“But I don’t want to live in the Vault,” she blurted, her too-human emotions surfacing again. Her gaze passed from Meir to Sylvia and back, and finally settled on Walt. He stepped forward.