The Stuff of Stars (The Seekers Book 2)

by David Litwack

  “Unlike the techno machines, these nourish the spirit. That’s why we maintain them so perfectly, painted and polished to a fine gleam.” She waved a hand to show off the brass surrounding each animal. “We call it a carousel, an ancient symbol for the circle of life. The carousel for us is the center, the end of the beginning, and the beginning of all there is. It’s all we are or ever will be... as long as our center remains whole. The carousel is like riding in a prayer wheel twirling in the wind. Hold on now and you’ll see.”

  She motioned to Jacob, who flicked a switch attached to the inside of the gate. At once, the platform came alive. Multi-colored lights in the canopy brightened, adding bursts of color to the mirrors.

  Then, with a whir from deep inside, the carousel began to spin.

  I held on to the mane of my mount and marveled at the sight. As we whirled around, lights and mirrors conspired to create the illusion of rainbow-colored bubbles floating in the air. I gazed up at the angels and thought of my childhood.

  The mentor had taught us about the mysteries of the mind and how the dreamers believed the answer to all problems were hidden inside, deep in ancestral memory. In my years in the keep, I’d asked the helpers to play music to relieve the tedium of my studies. Though they’d chosen melodies from before I was born, tunes long since banned by the vicars, I could have sworn I’d heard some of them before.

  Ancestral memory.

  Now the rhythm of the song echoed in my mind as we rode our mounts in a circle—Nathaniel on his armored horse pretending to be a knight; the earth mother giggling delightedly; and I floating on air as if the burden of my worries had vanished.

  How would we return home? What would happen to the dreamers? At this moment, I no longer cared.

  The lights in the painted heaven glinted, and I was suddenly a child again. Could the source of this magic be nothing more than spinning on this wondrous machine? I stayed perfectly still, clutching the mane of my golden wolf and laughing from my belly over the music from the pipes, a carefree laugh—as if I’d never sought the keep or learned the truth about the darkness, as if the vicars had never locked me away in the prisons of Temple City, as if my life had been transformed into daydreams.

  I was startled from my reverie by a cry from the earth mother. “No, Zachariah, you know the rules.”

  The silent boy, Zachariah, had slid off his sea serpent’s seat and was staggering toward me, pointing excitedly at the unicorn.

  He believes the story, and wants to be nearer the princess.

  Suddenly, he lost his balance and stumbled, bounced off the flank of my wolf, and tumbled to the platform floor. I reached for him, but before our hands could touch, he flew off the carousel and landed on the ground with a thud.

  We spun past—fantasies don’t wait for reality. When we came round again, the boy lay crumpled on the ground, his arm bent at an odd angle and his face contorted in pain.

  Shouts and screams rose as greenies rushed everywhere.

  Jacob turned off the switch, and I waited an eternity for the carousel to slow enough to allow me to jump off.

  When I reached the boy, he stared at me with eyes too big for his head. No sound escaped his lips—not a whimper, not a moan—but his clenched teeth spoke of his pain.

  Others raced in bearing a litter made from tree branches. At the earth mother’s direction, they fastened the boy to it as tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “Where will you take him?” I said.

  She pointed up the mountain. “To the mentor, where I’ll beg him to use his science to heal him, if the mending machine still works. Caleb, I need your men and their strong backs. Will you carry him?”

  Caleb eyed the boy and his face softened. “Of course, earth mother, though as always, the trip back will be painful for me.”

  She rested a hand on his arm. “I know, Caleb. Thank you.”

  As I emerged from the gate, Nathaniel came to my side, grasped my hand and squeezed. Above us, a canopy of clouds had replaced the angels in heaven. A lonely wind wailed and I became disoriented. Was this gloom caused by an encroaching storm or the advent of twilight?

  Or had my joy on the carousel been nothing but a dream?

  Chapter 21 – The Mending Machine

  The somber procession lumbered up the mountain, bearing the injured boy. Each of us took a turn at the litter.

  When mine came, I clutched the tree branch handle and fought to set each footstep firmly on the scree for fear of jostling the child.

  The earth mother accompanied us, leaning on her staff to one side while supported on the other by one of Caleb’s stoutest men. Lines of strain marred her features, but she refused to slow the procession. Between breaths, she chanted words of comfort to the boy.

  Halfway up, Zachariah went still. Had he fallen asleep to the magic of her crooning, or had he passed out from the pain?

  Ahead, the city lights flared up suddenly. No surprise. The mentor had his ways, and with his enemies approaching, he’d use every trick in his bag.

  By the time we reached the arch, Kara and the older boys aligned in a half-circle to block our way with repair machines protecting their flanks, pincers and protrusions pointed at us.

  She glared at me. “Why have you brought them here?”

  I stepped aside and motioned to the boy. “He was hurt in a fall and needs help.”

  She took one look, and her defiance melted away. “Oh my, Zachariah, what happened to you? I’ll fetch the mentor at once.” She spun around and dashed through the arch.

  As we waited, the greenies eyed the two stone warriors who guarded the gate. Even Caleb’s men seemed cowed by the statues, as if afraid the rays might flash from their eyes at any moment and burn them to ash. Fear borne of experience, or of the masterful illusions of the mentor?

  Nathaniel and I had access. How I longed to lift the boy into my arms and rush him inside, but I hesitated for fear the watchers would deny him entry.

  After too long a moment, the mentor appeared, rolling through the archway in his wheeled chair. He removed his broad-brimmed hat and wiped his brow. What I now knew to be sensors blinked and flashed furiously inside the rim.

  He replaced the hat and regarded the earth mother. “Hello, Annabel, I see you need my help again. I was hoping you’d found some healing powers on your own. Our machines won’t last much longer.”

  The earth mother bowed her head. “These apprentices of yours have taught us a great deal, but even in their world, cures were considered a form of magic. Does your science still possess magic enough to heal this boy?”

  The mentor rolled to the litter. When he recognized the lifeless child, the corners of his mouth sagged, turning his sneer into a frown. “My dear Zachariah, John and Laura’s child.” The arrogance left his eyes, but only for a moment. Then he set his chin, and his features hardened. “I will help him, but first a trade. I must ask for something in return.”

  The blood rushed to my face, and I stormed toward him. “The boy’s in pain. How can you barter at a time like this?”

  He waved his hand to encompass the techno city and everyone within it. “And what of these children? Who will treat their wounds when I’m gone? How will they eat? What future will they have?”

  The earth mother placed a hand on my arm and eased me aside. “What do you want from us?”

  “Two things, as we approach the anniversary of what you call the day of reckoning. First, that my apprentices—” He tilted his head toward Nathaniel and me. “—recommit to fulfill their vow, and you do nothing to dissuade them.” He regarded the earth mother with a look of anguish that mirrored her own. “I’m sorry, Annabel, but we both know time is running out. These two may be our last hope.”

  “And the second demand?” Her voice was thin with no hint of inflection.

  “A treaty between us, an oath from your people that there’ll be no reckoning, no foolhardy attempt to harm the dreamers, especially from my angry former colleague.” He pointed a bony finger at
Caleb, who scowled. “I have my ways to know the measures you’ve taken, how you try to bypass my defenses.” Then back to the earth mother. “His men work at night in the darkness with picks and shovels, carving a new path through the rock face up the mountain. He’s near to breaking though.”

  The earth mother turned to Caleb. “Is this true?”

  Caleb lowered his eyes. “They haunt me, earth mother. How can I live with myself while their souls suffer, lost in a machine. It’s my fondest wish to set the dreamers free.”

  “You mean to kill the dreamers,” the mentor shouted.

  “How can I kill what’s already dead? I only want to—”

  “Enough!” Despite her age and frail appearance, the earth mother’s voice resounded. “While you debate, Zachariah suffers. Listen to me. You must renounce these plans at once. Swear it for me, if not for the boy.”

  Zachariah stirred in his litter and opened his eyes. Though he stayed silent, his face spoke a heartbreaking moan.

  The earth mother cast a pleading glance at Caleb, who stared down at the boy.

  “Aye,” he said at last. “I swear.”

  She glanced up at the gleaming lights, aware they were illusions, closed her eyes and nodded.

  The mentor scrunched his face and concentrated, sending silent commands to the watchers. “I’ve granted the boy temporary access to the city, and you too, Annabel. Nathaniel and Orah may carry him. Kara will help as well. I’ll go ready the machine.”

  She rested a hand on his shoulder as he turned his chair to go, and whispered loud enough so I could hear. “Thank you, William. I knew you would help.”

  “Why is that, Annabel?”

  “Because I had a vision about the two of us.”

  “Now what myth have you concocted?”

  She gazed up the mountainside where the dreamers dwelled. “I dreamed the people of the earth and the machine masters will join together one day to hoist our coffins and carry us off to our final rest. Do you believe that’s possible?”

  “Yes,” he said, his lips spreading into a grim smile. “I’ve sometimes had the same dream.”

  ***

  Kara and I grasped one side of the litter, and Nathaniel carried the other. We moved along as fast as we dared without upsetting the child—through the archway, under the dome of the commons, and into another of the protected chambers lining its back wall.

  “The healing room,” Kara said, without my having to ask.

  Inside, a stark metal table stood at the head of a round tunnel, slightly longer than an adult body and made of a white, glassy material.

  The mentor directed us to lift the boy onto the table.

  Kara gently placed a mask over his eyes, smoothed his hair and whispered something in his ear. As she circled the machine, setting its controls, the soft foam floor muffled her footsteps, while a quiet whimpering issued from the boy.

  Seconds later, a humming sounded, and the table began to inch forward. Once the tunnel encircled the boy’s torso, the mentor squeezed his eyes shut. Sweat beaded on his forehead, this machine apparently needing greater concentration than the others.

  A blinding light filled the tunnel, brighter than the beam from the stone guards or the rays from the repair machines. The air crackled, and the boy’s body quaked.

  “What’s it doing?” I whispered to Kara.

  “The healer works much like the food synthesizers. From the most basic of materials, it rearranges the elements of matter into the appropriate form. The food synthesizers create food. This machine generates new bone tissue to mend the break in Zachariah’s arm, something that would naturally take months. Watch. His pain will soon subside, and his arm will heal in days.”

  Minutes later, the light dimmed and the tremor stopped.

  Zachariah’s body stiffened and relaxed as he emerged from the tunnel. The anguish in his face had eased, replaced by exhaustion.

  I gaped like a small child beholding the sun icon for the first time. “A miracle,” I said.

  A small smile played around Kara’s lips, betraying her pride at their science. “Not a miracle. The mending machine relies on the mind that guides it. It could heal more complex injuries before the day of ascension, when the most skilled of the dreamers would control it, but even then, it had limits. The dreamers are far from gods. They haven’t conquered death.”

  She approached the boy and handed him a single tablet. “Here, Zachariah, swallow this medicine and sleep. When you awake, the pain will be gone.”

  I once believed the vicars’ claim that medicine was Temple magic. In the keep, I’d discovered such wonders were the result of dedicated efforts by brilliant scientists. Now, with a thousand years more research, how far these people had come. I knew their efforts had sprung from science, but it seemed no less a miracle.

  I glanced at Nathaniel and read his thoughts. This is why we’d crossed the ocean. This is why one of us must go into the dream, risk be damned—not to be true to our oath, but to bring back these miracles to our people.

  Kara wiped the sweat from the mentor’s brow, his face laced with strain.

  What a thin thread this miracle hangs from. Only he can perform this miracle, only he and the dreamers.

  “May we take him home now?” the earth mother said.

  The mentor nodded, but Kara intervened.

  “He’s not yet fully healed. Please, grandfather, let him stay. In three days, he’ll be able to walk down the mountain himself, but now the trip on the litter will cause him more pain. He can stay with his cousin, Timmy, and I’ll care for them both.”

  The mentor and earth mother gaped at each other, and then each broke into a weary smile.

  PART THREE - Dreamers

  “First in the heart is the dream, then the mind starts seeking a way.” ~ Langston Hughes

  Chapter 22 – Deepest Dread

  “Deacons!”

  I startled awake to the word.

  Nathaniel must have cried out in his sleep, since no one else on this side of the ocean knew of the vicars’ henchmen, but when I rolled over to wake him from his nightmare, I found him sleeping like a child.

  Had I dreamed the cry in the night? I replayed the sound in my head—not Nathaniel’s voice, but another just as familiar.

  Thomas.

  Years before, I’d sensed Thomas reaching out to me from his teaching cell. Until then, I believed the teaching was an honor for those selected, a coming-of-age ritual into the Temple of Light. Yet even though Thomas had been in far-off Temple City, I somehow knew he was trapped in a cold and dark place. I could feel his fear.

  Had I now sensed him again?

  He lived in Little Pond, more than five weeks’ sail away. I’d always been protective of him growing up, shepherding him through school and covering up for his mischief when trouble loomed. Maybe seeing the silent boy in pain had triggered these memories of Thomas in danger. My subconscious at work, the mentor would say.

  In this strange land, I’d discovered the mysteries of the mind—more powerful than the sun, more vast than the stars. Might my connection with Thomas have the power to span the ocean?

  But what trouble could he be in? Once the three of us revealed the secrets of the keep, the vicars’ power was diminished forever. In the harsh light of truth, their mystical aura had been stripped away, their magic exposed as science. My people were enlightened now....

  Yet even at the time we left, the desire for change had weakened, and some longed for a return to the old ways. The upstart vicar who’d once ministered to the Ponds—the same one who’d dragged Thomas and me off to the teaching—had been elevated to bishop and enjoyed a zealous following. Might the situation have degraded so badly as to endanger my friend?

  A rapping of knuckles on metal interrupted my musing.

  I stumbled out of bed and opened the door to find Kara waiting, her fists balled at her sides, and the blood drained from her face.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “The mentor i
nsisted I wake you.”

  “It’s hardly morning.”

  “No matter. He said to come right away.”

  ***

  The mentor sat in his work area, slouched in his chair with face drawn and shadows cloaking his eyes.

  “Enough of greenies,” he said. “You have a lot to learn and not much time. Today, I’ll teach you the final lesson—how to let go of your conscious self.”

  I glared at him through bleary eyes, “Our conscious self? Isn’t that all we are?”

  “Your vicars may preach such myths, but we were once no different than animals, passing our lives without purpose, a part that still remains. When we awake in the morning, before our minds reload with memories—where we slept, who we care about most, our aspirations for that day and for the rest of our lives—there’s a moment when we cling to our subconscious selves. The feeling of blissful innocence is too calming, free from fears of the future or the annoyances of daily life. That’s the state of mind you must attain before your thoughts can be downloaded into the machines.

  “After we learned to transfer brain impulses from animals, one final barrier remained before we could do the same with humans. Animals are unaware of what’s happening to them, but humans know. Despite my colleagues’ highly developed logic and fierce desire to evolve, their consciousnesses resisted abandoning their bodies. They called this phenomenon the survival instinct. To overcome this resistance, they trained to become like the beasts of the field, to release the controlling mind. You must practice this state until you can achieve it at will. Only then will you be able to enter the dream state. You’ll find it more difficult than you imagine.”

  ***

  For three long days, we concentrated on this new mind game, breathing from deep within our bellies, focusing on each breath, and clearing our minds. The mentor drove us harder than ever before, as if obsessed by some greenie demon.

  Now, the hour was past midnight, and we’d been practicing since dawn.