If only it were that simple.
After the carnage, I was eager for peace at almost any price. I’d wearied of seeking the truth, doubting if such a thing existed, and had become content to leave the world a little better than I found it.
Much of what we once aspired to would be lost, but some would be gained. Once again, we would grow as a people, although without the wisdom of the past, that growth would take generations. I envisioned how the future would unfold. After a proper respite to let our people adjust—and after this generation of vicars had passed to the light—Kara’s descendants would reach out once more and reveal our secret. Over time, using the knowledge saved in the dreamers’ mountain fortress, they’d ease our way.
But my people had tasted the blood of their enemy and had come to view the dreamers not merely as allies, but as all-powerful, avenging gods. Nothing short of total victory would satisfy them.
Nathaniel and I stayed awake far into the night, grasping at fragments of hope, groping in the dark as we searched for ways to convince these new zealots to accept an improbable peace—to no avail.
The next morning, after breakfast, I roamed the village, accosting anyone who passed by and preaching the benefits of the proposed truce.
Most listened politely and nodded before extolling the might of the black cube. Why concede so much as a finger’s breadth when we commanded such power?
As I trudged about, searching for answers, I noted the curtain to Kara’s bedchamber closed.
Still sleeping at mid-morning? Unlikely. Fearing some mischief, I went to check on her.
Caleb had posted guards around the inn, to provide privacy to the leaders, but also to protect us from temple assassins or spies.
Now, as I headed there, a guard at the entrance snapped to attention and blocked my way. “Kara ordered me to allow no one upstairs.”
“You know who I am?” I said.
He nodded. “A seeker of truth.”
“Then you know she keeps no secrets from me.”
While the hapless guard wavered, I brushed past him and went upstairs, recalling her previous lie.
What is she up to?
As I slipped down the hallway to her room, a muffled roar came from inside, loud enough to make the walls shake.
I took a deep breath and knocked. “Are you all right?”
The noise stopped at once, and an instant later, Kara opened the door. Her white bonnet highlighted a scarlet flush on her face, and pieces of parts lay scattered about the floor.
She looked at me sheepishly and waved at the machines. “I was experimenting in case the truce fell apart.”
“But you said you couldn’t make new weapons without help from the dreamers.”
“I can’t make weapons, but I can still perform tricks. If your bluff failed, I figured I’d conjure up a bluff of my own.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. Seconds later the air before me shimmered and a creature appeared, all green with sharp, webbed talons. Overlapping scales armored its chest, and its leathery wings whipped up a storm, though strangely I felt no breeze. Its jaws opened, exposing knife-like fangs, and it let out a roar.
I tried to hold my ground, hardly believing my eyes, but I fell back a step nevertheless.
“Now watch closely,” Kara said.
The creature circled my head three times, then hovered in front and breathed out a fireball of flame. I threw up my hands to protect my face. A single thought flashed through my mind—Goodbye Nathaniel, I’m burned to ash—though I sensed neither heat nor pain. When the roaring ceased, I checked my arms—no blackening of the skin, not so much as a charring of my tunic.
Kara opened her eyes, and the creature winked out like the lights protecting the machine masters’ city.
“Did my creature frighten you?” she said.
I collected myself and gazed at the machines on the floor, recalling my lessons with the mentor, and how we’d practiced with images floating in the air.
“Holos,” I mumbled, the only word I could get out.
“Yes, but the deacons won’t know that. Of course, I need to figure out a few details—how to simulate a wind to make the flapping of wings more real, and how to create a draft hot enough to convince our enemies to flee from the fireball. Do you think my bluff could work?”
I placed a hand over my chest and slowed my heartbeat. “I pray we won’t need to find out. Where did you get the idea for such a hideous creature?”
“When I was little, my parents told me fantastic tales of mythical creatures, just as Nathaniel’s father told him about knights. They called this one a dragon.”
“You might have warned me first. Your holo could have stopped my heart. Light knows it’s had enough strain these past days.”
Kara laughed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to test if my ruse would work.”
“How did you take a holo from your imagination and make it seem so real?”
She waved a hand at the machines in the corners of the room. “I grabbed these from the synthesizers, not the parts that make food—those were too delicate to survive the voyage across the sea—but the ones that project holos. I’ve been learning from the dreamers how to make them work.
“The projectors are driven by a complex set of numbers. All they need is the algorithms stored in the archive. Once I have the mathematics to describe an image, with its accompanying sounds and smells, the holo machines can recreate it. Since I joined with the dreamers in their fortress, they have access to all my memories, as well as those of my parents. I started simple—a picture of a little Kara spinning around while my father beamed, and then I moved on to more complex images. The dreamers gave me all the information I needed. From there, programming the dragon into the projector was simple.”
I circled the room, gaping at machines as magical to me as the sun icon had once been.
Nothing they do is simple. As I brushed the various devices with my fingertips, a new thought came to me: How might I use this trick?
“What else can you project?”
She half shrugged. “Anything they hold in their archives.”
“Even from my past?”
She nodded. “When you entered the dream, you gave them permission to share your deepest memories. Anything you’ve ever experienced, anyone you’ve ever known, has been stored and can be turned into a holo.”
Anyone I’ve ever known.
I recalled the figures I’d dreamed of on the steps of the fortress. Perhaps they could help me now. A special one flashed through my mind, blurred and indistinct, a face I struggled to recall at will.
My heart raced, and I swallowed to moisten my throat. “Can you make a holo for me?”
“Of course, but for what purpose?”
“Sometimes our desires have no purpose and make no sense at all, but in this time of trial, there’s someone from my past I’d dearly love to meet once more.”
Kara drew in a fleeting breath and shook her head. “The dreamers can give me the algorithms to display anyone, to make them appear and move about in their normal manner—at least as you remember them. I can even replay their voice as it once sounded to you, but the holo you’ll see won’t be intelligent like the dreamers, not even responsive like the helpers in the keep. It will be nothing more than a three-dimensional moving picture from the archive.”
Events swirled before me, all that had transpired since returning from the distant shore. I’d tried to use my brain to solve the unsolvable. What harm in turning to my heart?
I approached Kara and grasped her by the arms. “Can you conjure up for me... an image of my father?”
***
Kara spent a half hour with the dreamers, accumulating the mathematics to make my father appear.
To ease her task, she’d requested a specific memory. “Pick an encounter and describe it in a few words, so they can use those terms in their search.”
My recollections of my father were few and vague, foggy images of a seven-year-old
or younger. The strongest centered around his death, memories I had no wish to revive.
All but one.
Now I stood with Kara in her bedchamber, surrounded by machines I’d never understand. My breath came in short bursts, and my palms became clammy with sweat.
“Won’t I need my bonnet?” I said.
“You won’t be joining with the dreamers. You won’t be interacting with the holo at all. You’ll only be watching and listening.”
I circled the outer wall of the room, pausing at each corner to stare at the projectors.
Kara came near and brushed my arm with her fingertips. “Would you prefer I leave you alone?”
“Can you do that?”
“I’ve programmed the devices and set a timer for when the images will start to play. All that’s left is to issue the command. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
She closed her eyes and concentrated. The room filled with light as she turned to leave. “I’ll wait outside. Call me when you’re finished.”
As the door latch settled into place, the shimmering glow took shape, and there, floating in the middle of the room, a holo of my father appeared.
He sat at the edge of what would become his deathbed, barely able to hold his head up, but with arms outstretched, embracing nothing but air. He had a face more handsome than I recalled, but I recognized at once the turn of his cheek and the sadness in his eyes, forever marked by his teaching.
After a moment, he patted the space where the seven-year-old Orah’s head would have been, and repeated the words I remembered so well.
“Now, little Orah, don’t cry. You have a wonderful life ahead of you. Study hard in school and don’t let the vicars set your mind. Think your own thoughts, big thoughts based on grand ideas, and find someone to love.”
My lower lip trembled, and I reached out a hand, but my feet stayed welded to the floor. How I wished to step closer, to slip into that spot and be embraced by those arms, though I knew they lacked the warmth of his touch. How I longed to ask him what I should do.
“No,” I cried aloud.
This apparition was neither helper in the keep nor dreamer in the cube. Before me shimmered nothing more than my own recollection projected by machines from an algorithm, a specter from my childhood. I was no longer that little girl. I was a leader, and my people depended on me.
I recalled the moment I stood alone with the helper in the keep, absentmindedly requesting pictures of boats and wondering: What if they could print my words? Could they also record my voice? These questions grew into the seeds of the revolution.
Now, seeing my father, my mind churned once again, an inspiration from what the mentor would call the subconscious, but what I still considered a gift from the light.
I whispered goodbye to my father and turned to fetch Kara.
Just a holo, yet it had moved me as once I’d been moved by made-up stories playing out on screens in the keep. Might I now move others instead?
Just a holo. Not like the helpers in the keep or the dreamers in the cube.
Yet in the voice and image of my father, I’d discovered a way forward.
Chapter 26 – Plots and Plans
To hatch my scheme, I needed help, so I started with my most trusted companions—my fellow seekers. Nathaniel once spoke of temple ritual as theater to control minds. Thomas loved to perform music for others, a way to touch their hearts.
The two listened as I described my plan, as they once listened while I laid out the path to revolution.
When I finished, Nathaniel grimaced even as he nodded his approval. “I hate this plan, but I’m so tired of conflict I’ll try anything for peace.”
“And you, Thomas?” I expected his pained expression from the steps of the Temple of Truth.
Back then, he’d argued against me, but finally agreed despite his better judgement because he believed in his friends.
This time, he appeared bemused. He flashed his grin and released a laugh from his belly.
“What’s funny,” I said.
“You. Even as an adult, everything you do is an adventure game.”
I smiled, but my smile faded into a frown. “An adventure, yes. Perhaps even a game, but if we lose this time, people will die.”
“What if we refuse to play?”
His question hung in the air.
After four heartbeats, Nathaniel answered for me. “If we refuse to play, people will die anyway. Winning this game is our only hope.”
Thomas pulled out his flute and tooted a note or two. “All right. Last time, I contributed little. You humored me, tossing me a few morsels—letting me unscrew the plates at the base of the temple trees and post some messages.” He stared out a moment, recalling a distant time. “Of course, I did rescue you, but only after I had no other choice. This time, I’ll do more. To provide the proper effect, your ceremony needs music. I’ll compose a tune for you, one worthy of such an event.”
“If we all agree,” I said, “let’s make a pact of the Ponds.”
I thrust my hand into the center of the circle as I did that day on the steps of the Temple of Truth.
Thomas grasped my wrist at once, but Nathaniel hesitated before joining. “To complete this pact, we need more than three. We can’t do this without Kara. What if she doesn’t agree?”
I withdrew my hand, fearing bad luck. “I’ll go talk to her now.”
***
I peppered Kara with questions. “You created the dragon’s image from nothing but numbers derived from memories in the archive, yet you added the roar, a sound you never heard. What about people? If I compose new words, can you make the image speak them in the voice of someone I once knew? You made the fireball glow, but wanted to add wind and heat. What other effects can you contrive?”
Kara scrunched her nose and eyed me sideways. “What are you scheming, Orah?”
“Can we hide these devices in bushes and beam larger images overhead?”
“Yes, but these projectors aren’t as powerful as the ones that displayed the city walls. The holos won’t show well in the sunlight.”
“What if we tried after dark?”
She gaped at me, head tilted to one side. “That might work, but—”
“How far can they project?”
“I’m... not sure. We’ll need to experiment.”
I patted her on the arm to ease the worry from her brow. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you after midnight, and we’ll try when no one is around.”
***
Kara, Nathanial, and I stood alone in the training field. The air had chilled, but the breeze blew softly, and a moon just short of full provided light for our task.
We’d carried the parts from Kara’s bedchamber and positioned them in the surrounding brush, covered with branches to be unseen, all but for a space from where the beams would project.
At Nathaniel’s suggestion, we devised a simple test, mixing words and images we’d already tried. No need to involve the dreamers. Not yet.
When all was set, Kara circled the setup one last time, checking the devices she’d checked twice before. Then with her silhouette outlined by the bone-white light of the moon, she donned the bonnet and rested her slender fingers on her forehead, as if trying to draw out some forgotten thought.
I couldn’t tell how long she stared at me—not at me, but at the spot where I stood. Time didn’t apply here, with the seconds and minutes folding into one. I waited and listened—nothing but the rustle of wind and birds cooing in the night.
At last, she closed her eyes and concentrated. The air at the front of the field shimmered and an oversized image of her dragon appeared, but this time, the creature hovered calm overhead, even dignified. Its mouth opened, but instead of flames, words came out... in my father’s voice.
“Now little Orah, don’t cry....”
Nathaniel gasped, and I clapped my hands. A moment later, the creature winked out.
Kara removed the bonnet. “A successful test. I knew
I could display any image. Now I’m sure I can make it mouth whatever words you compose in any voice you wish, as long as the memories reside in the archive. What’s next?”
As I explained my plan, a hint of a smile gathered at the corners of her lips, but the shadows cast by the moonlight kept me from making out the rest of her expression.
“It might work,” she said, “but I have a lot to do in a short time. How soon can you give me the details?”
“The usurper expects our answer the day after tomorrow. The ceremony will have to be tomorrow night.”
I outlined for her the required images, and promised to provide the script by noon the next day.
As she turned to leave, Nathaniel caught her by the arm. “Can you do it?”
“I won’t get much sleep, but I think so... if the dreamers cooperate. They have minds of their own. Any odd question triggers their curiosity, and they want to know why. They may once again refuse.”
How I longed to return to the inn and curl up in bed with Nathaniel. I glanced at him and sighed. “Very well. I’ll speak with them now.”
***
Still three hours before first light, I approached four sleepy bearers of the cube and ordered them outside, my appearance at such an odd hour only increasing their awe.
Now, I stood alone with the repository of the dreamers’ minds, my hands resting on its surface and the white bonnet nestled on my head. I struggled to focus my thoughts. If my plan failed, the conflict would continue and many would die.
“Welcome, Orah,” the speaker said. “Does all go well?”
“Not well. We negotiated a peace with the vicars, one that’s not ideal but better than war, but our people refuse to accept it. Nathaniel and I devised a scheme to convince them, but we need your help.”
“The logic remains the same. It makes no sense to provide you with weapons.”
“Not weapons. We need your help to promote an illusion. Our people are not logical like you. Their passions overwhelm their thinking. We plan to use their faith to channel those passions toward peace.”
I proceeded to enumerate the images and voices Kara would need, memories from the time when I dwelled in the dream on the far side of the sea. Then I waited while the usual buzzing rose and settled.
The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3) Page 17