The Mother Land
A darkened chopper approached the Mother Land, its rotors in whisper mode, and it was high enough that the remaining sound of its passage was almost hidden by the wind.
The ship hovered for a moment over the central plaza of the town, and Smiller pushed Magistrate Darron’s body out the open door. It thudded into the soft dark earth in front of the meeting hall.
The meeting hall had been kept open and lit against the night. Rumors of an imminent attack had been circulating through the town for hours and armed guards patrolled, some of them carrying weapons that looked strange and ugly to the people of Linnea. It was one of these guards who heard the sound of the body smacking into the ground. He shouted and came running. Others came hurrying behind him, some carrying torches.
The body was face down in the grass. It lay at an oddly broken angle. At first, no one recognized the magistrate. There were no magistrates in the Mother Land, and the presence of one in a red robe of command caused immediate consternation. Peter Hale-Stone, the acting mayor of the Mother Land came hurrying out of his burrow, still wrapping a heavy boffili robe around himself. He was followed by his two younger brothers, both carrying lanterns.
“Turn him over,” he ordered.
No one moved. They were reluctant to touch the body. But the guards prodded several of the townspeople with their strange guns, and finally three of them rolled the body onto its back. The man’s face was badly distorted by its collision with the soil of Linnea, but the robe was recognizable enough, and someone shouted in alarm, “I know that man. Magistrate Darron!”
The crowd pushed forward in its eagerness to see the horror close up. They reacted with cries and gasps and more than one person confirmed the hasty identification. Others joined the crowd, hurrying from their beds, or their late-night meals, to see what the alarm was about. Soon, almost everyone in the village had come to the central plaza. Lamps were lit and the space in front of the meeting hall became the focus of a dozen arguments. How had the body gotten here? How had the magistrate died?
One witness, a fellow of negotiable credibility, claimed the body had fallen from the sky. He saw it. He had stepped out of the tavern to urinate, and while he was looking up at the stars, he saw something dark pass overhead—and then he saw a flicker of light and something tumbling down. And then he heard the sickening sound of the body hitting the ground. His story was greeted with laughter and jeers. Clearly, the man had tilted a few too many jars of beer this night.
But Peter Hale-Stone and the elders of his family retreated quietly to an alcove of the meeting hall and nodded together in dark conversation. They began directing the guards to increase their patrols around the town’s perimeter. But before the guards could take up their position, a dreadful clattering noise began filling the air. It seemed to come from several directions at once.
And as the villagers stood, gaping up into the night, the source of the noise made itself visible. Six air-stropping chariots abruptly lit themselves up as they circled around the town. Each one seemed to glide on multiple beams of light, which swept back and forth around the town, sometimes picking out a group of people, sometimes sliding around the perimeter, examining doors and windows.
More people came up out of their burrows now, came down out of the buildings, until it seemed as if everyone in the Mother Land was in the center of the town, staring up at these strange aerial visitors. There were other things in the sky as well—smaller devices, dimly sensed in the reflected light of the choppers. Some of the things looked like the shadows of eagles, others looked like indistinct halos spinning just over the roofs of the buildings.
And then a voice was heard. It came from everywhere at once. It spoke in a language unfamiliar to most of the townspeople, but the Hale-Stones reacted sharply. Peter and Brent Hale-Stone began snapping orders to their associates. The elders began moving quickly toward the entrance to their burrow—
And that’s when Jorge set off the flash-bangs.
The light was so intense that everyone not wearing goggles—and that was everyone on the ground—was struck instantly blind. Their sight would not return for at least an hour.
Some of the people fell to the ground. Others grabbed their eyes and screamed. Some passed out. A few tried to run for shelter, stumbling or colliding with each other.
Teams of commandos dropped from the choppers on zip-lines, six from each machine. They were carrying taser-rifles and sticky-foam. They moved through the crowd, immobilizing everyone with a weapon—and all the Hale-Stones. They gathered the Hale-Stones in a sorry-looking group near the meeting hall. They tossed their weapons into a pile. Soon, the choppers began landing. Technicians in jump-suits shackled the Hale-Stones and led them to various choppers. They began loading the weapons and other gear into a heavy-lifter.
Meanwhile, the commando teams were searching and securing the town, entering every building, every burrow, rousting anybody still inside. They moved with efficiency and precision—and finally, with great shouts of joy and relief, they brought out four very thin and very pale-looking Scouts from one of the burrows. Jaxin, Sykes, Val, and Corda. They waved as they came blinking out into the light. They looked weak and gaunt, but they were walking. Jaxin and Corda were leaning on the shoulders of commandos, but their smiles were broad.
We watched it all on the monitors. When our Scouts appeared on the screens, we all cheered and yelled and hollered like crazy.
“That’s all I need to see,” said Byrne. She shouted forward to the pilot. “All right. Let’s go! Take us in.”
Gifts
I stood barefoot on the holy lawn, waiting. The night was cold and shivery, but several of the lights had been tuned to the infra-red bands and I stayed within the beams of warmth. The wind tugged at my hair. Mordren was on a plateau, but even this high above the sea, I could still smell the salty-sweet scent of the razor-grass. It smelled like home.
In my ear, Byrne’s voice said, “We’ve picked up movement, Kaer. In the big building on your right. The main temple. Turn to face the big double doors. Good. We’ve got a large group of people. Very agitated. Probably Magistrates and novices. But it doesn’t look like anyone has decided to come out yet.”
“I can wait,” I whispered. “I like it out here. The night smells fresh. No machine smells. Just the wind and the grass.”
“Whoops—I spoke too soon. Put on your best smile, Kaer. Here they come.”
“I see them,” I whispered. “They look like purple penguins.”
“All right, no more talking—”
The Magistrates clustered just outside the large double-doors of the temple. None of them looked like they wanted to come down the stairs to the lawn. For a few moments, they did nothing but arrange themselves in rows along the upper steps.
The magistrates were all dressed like Magistrate Darron, long-sleeved white robes, with shorter sleeveless robes over them. Their robes were dark. Several novices—again with painted faces and yellow kilts—clustered nervously behind them—until one of the Magistrates barked an order and they fell immediately silent.
After a moment more, The Senior came out, followed by even more magistrates. His robe was gaudy red, just like Magistrate Darron’s had been. But that didn’t mean that Magistrate Darron held the same rank, we already knew that he didn’t. It meant only that whoever was in charge wore the red robe.
The Senior was very tall and very thin. The thinnest Linnean I’d ever seen. He had a mane of flowing white hair that made him look older than he really was. He ignored the other Magistrates and turned his attention completely on the chopper and me. I began to realize how unnerving we must be to these people. The Senior studied me for a long moment, then came slowly down the stairs. The rest of the Magistrates stayed where they were, trying to look more official than terrified.
The Senior reached the bottom of the steps, hesitated, then began to cross the lawn toward me. He took his time approaching. It wasn’t just age that slowed him down. His
eyes were wide. But he didn’t look frightened as much as he looked awestruck and amazed—like someone who’d just discovered that life still has surprises. He kept looking from me to the chopper and back again with unashamed curiosity. It seemed to me that he found it easier to accept the presence of a flying machine on his lawn than a naked long-haired child. He stopped a respectful distance away and inclined his head in a ritual bow.
“Sefan says the bow signifies great respect.”
I took a few steps toward him, even though it took me farther away from the heat beams than I wanted to go. I inclined my head as he had done, but when I lifted up again, I spread my hands out in front of me in a gesture of peace. “Gracious Senior, please call me Kaer.”
He looked surprised. These people did not exchange names easily. We’d already seen that with Sefan. And Magistrate Darron.
“Please say it, Senior.”
“Kaer,” he said. His voice was almost a whisper. And I realized just how awestruck he really was. This man really believed.
“May I offer you tea?”
Now his eyes widened even more. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Yes, thank you.”
Almost immediately, Byrne and Beck, dressed only in white jumpsuits, came down the ramp of the chopper. Beck carried a folding table and chairs. Byrne carried a tray with teapot and mugs. Beck set up the table beside us—not between us. Byrne put out the two bowls and poured tea into them. Beck unfolded the chairs and set them facing each other, then both she and Byrne went back to the chopper—The Senior’s eyes followed them every step. How had they known when to bring out the tea? I hadn’t moved or gestured at all. Everything we did must look like a miracle to him.
When they had disappeared back inside, I indicated the chairs. “Please sit.” He did and I picked up one of the tea bowls with both hands and offered it to him. Without hesitation, he took it. He held it in both hands, brought it up to his face, and inhaled the steam. He looked up at me and smiled his approval. Despite his office, he had a kindly manner. I sat down opposite him and picked up my own bowl. We both sipped at the same time.
“May you never thirst,” I said.
“May you always know the blessings of the Mother—” he started to reply, then stopped himself, uncertain if that was the right thing to say.
“Thank you, Senior.” I put my bowl back on the table. He put his aside as well. Now that we had safely stepped past the ritual greetings, we could actually talk.
“As you have probably already guessed, I have come from Oerth. I have not come alone. Others have come with me. We mean no harm.”
“We have heard stories about Oerth,” he said. “Very strange stories.”
I smiled. “Yes. We have heard some of these stories.”
He indicated the chopper behind me. “I see that the storytellers did not exaggerate.”
“No, they did not. If anything, Senior, they gave you but one blade of grass from the entire sea.”
The Senior nodded. “I had surmised that the stories lacked accuracy—but not in that direction.” His expression became one of concern. Why did you and your people come to Linnea?”
I hesitated, trying to figure out how to answer. Byrne started to whisper something in my ear, but I ignored it. I folded my hands in my lap—so he wouldn’t see me click the no-button on my ring. Instead of following Byrne’s script, I said, “We came for many reasons, Senior. And I will not insult your intelligence by trying to tell you that we have behaved without fault. We have not. Some of our people have behaved very badly. And we apologize greatly for that.”
“The stories of the Mother sending her only-begotten son. . . ?”
“Yes,” I said. “They had no right to bring those stories here to Linnea. We have begun the job of removing these people from your world, so they can do no more damage. The stories they have told do not serve the Mother.”
He smiled condescendingly. “Kaer. How can you, apparently a mere child, speak with such certainty about what serves the Mother?”
“I have met the old woman who lives in the grass,” I said.
The Senior did not react with skepticism, only curiosity. “The Mother speaks to Oerth people?”
“She speaks to all her children, doesn’t she?”
He inclined his head, conceding the point. “And what did she tell you?”
I reached for my tea bowl and took another sip. “She told me to brew tea as salty as tears.”
“She told me the same thing once,” The Senior said. “A long time ago.”
“In the time before time. . . ?” I suggested impishly.
“Child—” He gave me a look of mock-indignation. “I have many years, yes. But not that many.” And then he smiled. I decided I liked this man and smiled back. “What else did she tell you?”
“If you ask, what messages did she give me, she gave me none. She told me only what I needed to hear, nothing more.”
“Yes, that sounds like the Mother. Will you share your blessing anyway?”
“I’d like that, yes. She told me not to tell other people what to do. Because people don’t listen when you give them orders. She said you can only ask people to make promises. Because our integrity lives in the promises we keep.”
The Senior nodded thoughtfully, considering it. Finally, he said, “She gave you great wisdom.”
“What wisdom did she give you? May I ask?”
“She told me to keep her love alive inside me, no matter how far away I went. I think I understand now what she meant. So, young Kaer—what do we decide here tonight? You did not come just for tea.”
“I came to give you a gift, Senior. The promises of the Oerth-people.”
“Ahh?”
I stood up and pointed at the blank white wall of the novices’ dormitory, off to our left. “May I write on your wall?”
He waved a hand generously.
Despite my resolve not to be dramatic about working miracles, I couldn’t help myself. I raised a hand toward the wall. “Behold.”
Golden writing began to appear on the wall, as if an invisible finger were etching the words into the stone surface. Byrne had programmed one of the chopper’s tunable lasers. The words took form quickly—as fast as a man could read.
I will take care of my own well-being, for if I do not I will have nothing to give to others.
I will forgive others as I would have them forgive me.
I will love my partners and find joyous work to share.
I will love my parents and honor them for the gifts they have given to me—my life, my family, and my heritage.
I will love my children and pass on to them the gifts that my parents have entrusted to me.
I will love my neighbors and honor them as part of my community.
I will love the land, and everything that lives upon it, all the beasts of the field and the forest and the air and the sea, without exception.
I will celebrate my love throughout every part of my life, in my work as well as my play.
I will hold all life everywhere sacred. I will bring humility to my world.
I will make a difference, everywhere I go.
It was a mistake. It was too much. The Senior came to his feet in astonishment—as much at the words as at the manner of their occurrence. Behind him, on the stairs, the other magistrates erupted with consternation and moans.
When the beam finally finished its job and winked out, the words were etched permanently into the stones. They glowed with residual heat. The Senior took a few steps forward, wobbling on his feet. I grabbed his elbow to steady him.
He looked at me, horrified. “What power do you people wield?” he asked in a breaking voice. He pulled his hand away. “With such power, you could destroy us, couldn’t you?”
“Senior—I cannot speak for all the people of Oerth. I cannot even speak for all the people of Oerth who have come here to Linnea. But I can tell you that if we meant such harm to you, we would have already done it. Most of us want only the s
ame thing as you—to serve the Mother. We serve in a different way. But we do serve. We mean no harm to you or your people—and we want no harm to ours.”
“All right, Kaer,” da said in my ear. “You’ve made your point. Let’s wrap it up.”
I clicked the yes-button on my ring, but The Senior turned to face me directly. There was an edge of anger in his voice. “Child. Of the stories we have heard, all have the same theme—that the Oerth people have maiz-likka intentions. The storytellers have warned us not to trust you—what do you say to that?”
“Don’t trust us!” I said. “Trust your own experience.” I pointed at the wall of promises. “See if we keep our promises. Trust that.”
He didn’t look satisfied. “The stories—notice I do not call them new revelations, not yet—but the stories say that Maizlish quotes scripture for his own purposes. Maizlish will tell the truth if it furthers a larger lie. Demon child, do you lie to me now? How can we see the truth?”
That’s when I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I remembered what da always said to me about bullshit. “The truth lives all around you, Senior. Just open your eyes and look. Maizlish doesn’t live anywhere but inside your head. Maizlish lives in lies and rationalizations and justifications and manipulations and all the crap that people do to avoid taking responsibility for themselves. Maizlish lives only in what we make up about each other. If you want to banish Maizlish, stop hurting people. Stop hurting us. Stop hurting each other. We will not interfere in your world—I promise that. I know that. But neither can we allow any of your people to hurt any of ours. No more.”
“Kaer—!” That was da. “Time to stop.”
“No,” I said to da. I said it aloud. The Senior flinched. “Yes, we have power. No, we don’t want to use it. The Mother has greater power than all of us. She doesn’t want to use it either, does she? She wants us to work things out for ourselves.
“Listen to me—we’ve had to do some very nasty things tonight. Things we didn’t want to do. In three days, you’ll hear about the destruction of Magistrate Darron's rail-caravan. We had to do that to rescue our people before he tortured them to death. In six days, you’ll hear about the greater destruction of a town in the Mother Land. We did that too—to stop a greater evil. The spread of false revelations about the Mother. We didn’t want to do either of those things. We don’t want to have to do that ever again. We came here tonight to apologize for that—and to assure you that we mean no further harm. We want the same assurance in return.
Child of Grass: Sea of Grass, Book Two Page 32