“A simple problem,” the speaker said. “We’ll have the algorithms ready when Kara comes next.”
In the twilight state I experienced whenever I communed with the dreamers, my heartbeat slowed and my hope surged, yet my doubts surged as well.
I cast the thought into the void. “The ruse I propose.... Am I doing the right thing?”
Many thoughts swirled, too rapid for me to follow.
When they silenced, the speaker summed up their response. “We’ve calculated the probabilities with alternative paths. If we turn down your plan, many may die, but if we provide you powerful weapons even more will die. Your idea provides the best chance for peace, although we worry about unintended consequences.”
“Like what?”
The buzzing rose and fell before settling into an orderly stream, with each dreamer saying their piece.
“The living....”
“So prone to illogic....”
“To grasping at totems....”
“If you follow this path....”
I jumped in. “How will they respond?”
Then all converged into a single chilling thought: “The future becomes unpredictable, the outcome unknown.”
Chapter 27 – Priests and Priestesses
Nathaniel and I worked on the script until our eyelids drooped and the words crawled across the page, but neither of us cared for the text we’d composed. As daybreak seeped around the edges of our window shade, we resolved to take time apart, to pause and ponder what we wanted to say.
When we’d sailed to the distant shore, we found people on the brink of war. Though many were far wiser than us, we managed to bring them together. Why? Because as outsiders, we viewed their problems with fresh eyes.
Now, with my own people at war, I sought out those whose beliefs differed from our own, hoping to gain from their perspective.
I wandered the village, praying for inspiration from the light—despite my lagging faith—and found Jacob in his shed, carving away.
“What are you working on now?”
He set down his hammer and stared off as if contemplating the coming battle. “Another of the war carts. I hate them. I hate all they mean, but Caleb insists we might need them.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Best to be prepared, and building them gives my hands something to do.”
I brushed the sawdust from the wooden bench at the back of the shed, settled on it, and beckoned for him to join me. “Take a rest from your work and share your wisdom with me.”
His brows rose. “Wisdom? I’m no earth mother, but a simple craftsman.”
“Sometimes simplicity is the best wisdom. My mind has become so cluttered that simplicity may be what I need.”
Jacob’s custom was to speak little and only when he had something to say. Now, as he sat beside me on the bench, he folded his hands in his lap and crafted his words with the same care that he crafted wood. “A strange world you’ve brought us to—so many good folks who can teach me so much, so many useful skills I can learn.” He shook his head without facing me. “Yet so much heartache.”
I rested a hand on his arm. “We can end this heartache if we accept the usurper’s terms, if we abandon the knowledge of the past as your people did not so long ago. Still many among us want to keep fighting and call for revenge. Why would anyone spurn the chance to stop this horrible war?”
Jacob rubbed the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “I work with my hands and leave others to think and live as they choose, but I can tell you what I’ve observed of my fellow creatures. Most feel a need to define the other as evil, as if they themselves can’t be good on their own... as if light can’t exist without darkness.” He glanced up, his faced etched with pain. “What if your vicars preached the truth: unless people are forced to believe the same, they’ll eventually focus on their differences, and some poor soul like me ends up making carts of war.”
I shifted in my seat and squared my shoulders to him. “What do you think I should do?”
His eyes narrowed to slits, but through them, a stream of warmth wafted my way.
I waited, letting it envelope me.
He reached out and covered my hand with his. “You and Nathaniel have found a way to view the world anew, different from the beliefs into which you were born. You envision a better way and, with the best intentions, you try to pass that hope on to others. The world you aspire to is extraordinary, but people are uncomfortable with the extraordinary. They prefer the familiar, to know what to expect, and so the possibility of change frightens them. I’m only a craftsman with no more wisdom to impart, but I believe this: you have been blessed with what the earth mother calls the gift of insight. I hope you use it well.”
***
I dragged my gift of insight through the village like a prisoner’s chains, more curse than blessing.
Perhaps Devorah might help. She’d studied at the feet of the earth mother since childhood, and now, with Kara’s mentoring, she’d touched the souls of those in pain.
The healers scurried about in their red tunics with the white star upon their chests, caring for troopers still recovering from the battle, or stocking medicines and bandages in case the fighting resumed.
I asked them for Kara’s apprentice.
“Gone off to learn another craft,” one said.
Devorah’s leanings trended more toward the gentler arts, and I’d be unlikely to find her among the coopers or woodworkers, skills more like Jacob’s domain. So I searched the potter and basket maker, and the needle worker who stitched fine quilts, but to no avail.
Then I remembered my young friend, the shoemaker’s daughter.
I found the two of them huddled over a workbench, tapping away at a half-soled shoe with hammer and awl.
Both glanced up when I entered, and paused their work.
“Good morning,” Lizbeth said. “I’m surprised to see you here with such a weighty decision hanging over you.”
Devorah approached and embraced me. “You look awful, like you haven’t sleep in weeks.”
Lizbeth set aside her tools. “She’s been up all night, I bet, and who can blame her with the burden she bears.”
I regarded her, a woman now and honored as an elder by her townsfolks, but still I recalled our first meeting, with her so much younger and grieving for her father. Though underage, she’d endured a teaching because of us—our first victim. In our search for truth, more victims had followed.
“Will the fighting resume?” she said.
“I don’t know. A leader can only lead if those they lead will follow.” My gaze wandered up to the rows of boots on the shelf, and I inhaled the steady scent of freshly tanned leather. “The troops are flush with their most recent victory, and now want revenge. They’ve become hardened to the horrors of war and lost sight of the need for peace.” I turned back to her. “What do you think we should do?”
She came out from behind her workbench and formed a circle with me and Devorah. “What should we do? I find myself of two minds. I understand now what the vicars taught, that if change comes too fast, the darkness may return. We may have witnessed its beginnings. Yet nothing can take away what we’ve learned. If you destroy the keep, the progress will continue, though at a more modest pace, and the war will end.” She raised her chin, as she did years before when she presented us with the final scroll. “But I’m also bound to honor my father. He and his ancestors kept faith for a thousand years to preserve the secret of the keep. Recovering its treasures was his fondest wish. How can I let them destroy it now? It seems worth fighting for.”
As she spoke, Devorah shuffled from foot to foot, looking like she longed to be back on the slopes of her mountain home, gathering berries.
What is she thinking?
To find out, we needed time alone.
“Thank you, Lizbeth. I appreciate your thoughts and all you’ve done to help. May I interrupt Devorah’s lesson and borrow her for a bit. I have a task for her to do.”
I led De
vorah to the outer bounds of the village, and we settled on the banks of the North River. Both of us stared at the water flowing by and listened to the splash of waves sloshing against the shore.
After a moment, she glared at me. “You have no task for me. What is it you want?”
“Your wisdom.”
Her lips thinned into a pale line. “In the folly of this world, I have no wisdom to share.”
“Then your opinion. You apprenticed to the earth mother, a leader in waiting. What would she do in my place?”
Devorah stood and made a small circle through the river grass, before returning and hovering over me. “Saving the keep is a noble thought, but Lizbeth hasn’t felt the pain of the wounded as I have. That which has transpired here is what the earth mother warned of—the evil of machines. She would destroy them all, if it would bring peace.”
“My thoughts as well. I pray I can convince the troops to follow.”
Her lips curled upwards into a weak smile. “You pray to your light, and I’ll pray to my earth. Perhaps between them, our prayers will be answered.”
I laughed for the first time that day. “If only I could make peace without losing my new friends. I’ll miss you if you have to go.”
“I’ll miss you as well, though for an end to the violence, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
I scrambled to my feet, and we embraced. When we separated, I grasped her by the arms and stared at her, until both our eyes misted.
My voice cracked as I spoke. “I’m sorry to have dragged you into such a mess. I hope you’ve found some value in this voyage.”
She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and blinked back tears. “Despite it all, I’m glad I came. I learned skills I can bring back home to improve the lives of my people, but most valuable, I learned to mend. Kara has promised to make me a mending machine of my own when we return, a blessing I’m sure the earth mother will allow. Then I’ll add healer to my skills, and those sick or injured like Zachariah will never have to trek up the mountain again.”
***
One task remained before the plan could proceed. No matter how realistic the illusion, the ruse would fail without the support of the troops’ leader.
I found Caleb drilling his men, as always planning for the worst.
When he spotted me, he mumbled a few words to his aide, stepped away from his would-be warriors, and approached. “What news?”
“I need fresh air, to be away from the crowd, but I’m afraid of an ambush. Will you come with me?”
He nodded and hefted his axe. “Shall I bring others?”
“No, you and I alone.”
We followed the side path to the small clearing where Thomas had taught me the magic of his flute, and I settled on the same bench.
Caleb loomed over me and spread his huge hands. “You brought me here for more than fresh air. Tell me what you want to say.”
In a rush of words, I explained my plan. When I finished, I fixed on those eyes, which had seen so much sorrow and pain. “It’s our only way out. Will you support us?”
He joined me on the log and laid his axe at his feet, staring as if wondering at its power. Here sat one of the few who’d straddled both worlds, a learned scientist who’d turned against progress, a rebel whose anger had moved him to try and destroy what remained of his former peers. Now, after mastering his impulse for violence on the far side of the sea, he’d stumbled into the seekers’ war.
His lips twitched, and for a moment a cold smile showed like a ripple on the surface of the water. “After my dear Rachel died, I longed for something beyond the pursuit of science and knowledge. I didn’t care what. Any god would do—the light, the earth. It didn’t matter. But nothing explained what had happened, and none of it eased my pain. When I left the machine masters’ city, the people of the earth embraced me more than any god, so I made a leap and accepted their faith. Though I believed it nothing more than superstition, their faith gave me comfort. Who am I to deny that comfort to others?”
He stood, unfolding himself to his full height, picked up his axe, and started to walk away, but before exiting the clearing, he turned.
“Perform your magic. I’ll support your ruse, and the ignorant fools will follow.”
***
When I returned to the inn to partake in the midday meal, Nathaniel was waiting with a pile of fresh notes in his lap, and we soon agreed on a plan.
Next, we went over the script with Kara—outlining who would appear and what words they would speak.
As she reviewed it, I searched for any hint of hesitation.
At last, she nodded, though the doubt lines in her forehead persisted. “These memories should be easy to find, and I can insert the speech you want. Words are words and sounds are sounds.”
Then she gathered our notes and went off to commune with the dreamers.
Nathaniel and I poked at our food as the minutes ticked away.
If Kara failed, the only option was war.
An agonizing hour later, she came back clutching the bonnet in her hand. Her lips spread into a smile. “Success.”
“Can we see what it looks like?” Nathaniel said.
Kara fluffed her hair where the sensors had matted it down. “We’d need the projectors, which we left hidden in the bush, ready for tonight. If we try to use them while others are about, we’d ruin the illusion.”
She assured us we needed no test, that the images, words, and sounds were nothing but numbers. Once she received the algorithms from the dreamers, all should function as planned.
With so much at stake, Nathaniel refused to accept the magic on faith. “There must be some way to preview it?”
She sighed and shook her head. “Not unless we sneak the projectors back to the inn.”
His shoulders slumped. “Then we’re to risk all on the hope your numbers are correct.”
She glared at him. “My numbers are correct, but if it will put you more at ease, Orah can commune with the dreamers, and they’ll play out the scene in her mind.”
***
The three of us gathered in the chamber with the black cube. Since Nathaniel lacked a way to communicate, I promised to tell him if I approved of what I saw.
Kara and I donned our bonnets, and though it made no sense, we held hands and closed our eyes. For an instant, I felt like the troopers in the village square, zealots praying to the cube.
At once images flashed through my mind, a scene from my past. The speech Nathaniel and I had scripted emerged in a voice I remembered so well.
Kara ended our session, and I opened my eyes to find Nathaniel staring, his lips parted with an unasked question. I smiled, no words needed for friends since birth.
The worry on his face eased, and he blew out a long stream of air.
The ruse would work, swaying the children of light as they’d once been swayed by the sun icon.
Yet one concern remained.
Years before, I’d described my thoughts on coming-of-age—that as adults, we needed to have no illusions.
Yet now, as leaders of our people, what we’d present them for their own good was not only an illusion... but a lie.
Chapter 28 – Resurrection
I asked Caleb to pass the word to the troop leaders and through them down to the squads—everyone must attend a meeting on the training field after dark.
A murmur spread through Riverbend and swelled to an uproar, like the excited thoughts of the dreamers, but a sound everyone could hear.
Workers set up torches surrounding the field, and the bearers placed the black cube at the center, decorated with more than the usual array of flowers. The yellow of daffodils, the white of day lilies, and the blood red of roses reflected off its glassy surface. The faithful came to stare at the bits of lightning flashing inside, with many leaving offerings—a coin or a scrawled note or a scrap of clothing—while others mumbled a prayer to their would-be greater god.
Thomas cloistered in a secluded spot outside the villa
ge, practicing his new composition with his musicians.
Nathaniel, Kara, and I rehearsed where to stand and in which direction to face, memorizing the part each of us would play.
When satisfied the preparations were complete, Nathaniel and I retreated to our bedchamber at the inn to rest after the long night, but neither of us slept. We kept peeking past the curtain, gaping at the sun as it plodded its way across the sky.
At last, the yellow ball flamed red and began its slow drift toward the horizon. Along with Kara, we donned the silver tunics from the machine masters’ city—for the first time since arriving from the distant shore—and headed to the training field, but we paused at the tree line to remain hidden.
The bearers lit the torches, and their flames flickered off the faces of the expectant troops.
Once the light dimmed, Thomas and his musicians, dressed in white robes normally reserved for temple ritual, took their place on either side of the cube.
At the first strains of music, Kara and I put on our white bonnets and fiddled with them until they seated just right. Then the three of us locked arms, Kara on Nathaniel’s left and me on the right. At the agreed sequence of notes, we started down the path.
The throng hushed as we paraded past, gliding to the beat of the music. When we stopped in front of the cube, gasps escaped from gaping mouths as our presence caused the lightning to seethe and swirl, sending sparks reflecting off our tunics.
For an eternal moment, we waited while Thomas and the musicians finished their piece, a tune more solemn than the one that kept the troops marching, but less hopeful than what he’d composed on our way to the keep.
When the lingering hint of the last note had faded, Nathaniel raised his arms to the heavens, and the crowd quieted, a congregation well trained by a lifetime of attending the blessing of the light.
He spoke as if he’d studied in the seminary. “Followers of the seekers of truth, children of the true light, we come before you today in our time of trial to seek guidance from the dreamers—a secret rite only we three have witnessed. Now you will see their power. Listen and heed their words.” He stepped aside.
The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3) Page 18