The Stuff of Stars (The Seekers Book 2)

by David Litwack

  Dreamers and vicars, technos, greenies, and deacons all reeled in my mind. I recalled the morning of the stoning in Little Pond, how I’d begged Nathaniel not to go. We had no good choice then, and we had none now. The best we could do was to be true to ourselves. Reluctantly, I nodded.

  We needed no more words. I gave him a final kiss, rushed and clumsy so our cheeks rubbed, and a tear from mine was transferred to his.

  Then we separated and I turned to the controls, my training taking over.

  Nathaniel strode to the cocoon, leaving his fate in my hands. My fingers hovered over the controls as he clambered into the cocoon. He crossed his arms over his chest, gazed toward me one last time, winked and closed his eyes.

  To the machine masters, the cocoon was a complex apparatus made of metal and glass, like the telescope in the keep’s observatory, nothing more than a scientific instrument. To me, it gaped like a forbidden gateway, a portal to a place we were never meant to go. The earth mother had said we were intended to strive, to fulfill our potential, but to what limits?

  I longed to be a little girl again, to return to a time when I believed in the goodness of the world, before my father died, before the teachings and our imprisonment in Temple City, before I’d ever heard of machine masters or people of the earth. I longed to return to a time before I’d learned the harshest of lessons—the folly of man.

  No matter. No turning back now.

  I bit down on my lower lip and pulled the lever.

  The cover of the cocoon whirred in a slow descent, finally closing with a whisper as if made of air.

  The red numbers smoldered on the glowing panel. Three hundred seconds turned to two ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven.... Above them the display flickered and changed, and the field of flowers vanished, replaced by the same chaotic and ill-formed images I’d viewed on the wall of the mentor’s chamber—a window into the dream.

  As I stared, mesmerized by the blinking numbers, I recalled the mentor’s words.

  Who knows what form their minds have taken, how startled they’ll be by a newcomer? How hard will it be for them to communicate? I have no scientific theory for how long you should stay in the dream. If the dreamers’ consciousness exists in a rational way, five minutes should suffice. More than that, and I fear your untrained minds will become addicted to the dream, and you’ll struggle to reenter the world of the living. Five minutes. It’s my best guess.

  I abandoned the controls and checked through the window of the cocoon. Nathaniel appeared as if sleeping, his eyes closed and his face serene. Back at the panel, the numbers counted down: two fifty-eight, fifty-seven—a lifetime until he’d awaken.

  My father’s final hours came to my mind. Like Nathaniel, his face had appeared serene, but when I spoke to him, he failed to respond. So I sang him the song he always sang to me, when I had trouble sleeping or was afraid.

  Now, as the pale blue mist filled the cocoon, hiding my beloved Nathaniel, and the cruel red numbers scrolled at a deathly pace, I began to sing.

  Hush my child, don’t you cry

  I’ll be here with you

  Though light may fade and darkness fall

  My love will still be true

  ~~~

  So close your eyes and trust in sleep

  And dream of a better day

  Though night may fall, the morn will come

  The light will show the way

  ~~~

  Though you may roam to far off lands

  And trouble comes your way

  You’ll still be here within my heart

  I won’t be far away....

  A thump from the cocoon interrupted my song, a banging from within as if Nathaniel was fighting to get out. I fled the controls to peek into the window.

  His eyes remained closed, but he was no longer calm. The cocoon rocked as he thrashed inside.

  I raced back to check the numbers: two hundred and forty-two.... Less than a minute had gone by.

  What should I do?

  I stretched out my left hand for one emergency button but withheld the right. Two hundred and thirty-three, thirty-two....

  The banging became louder and more desperate.

  I’d lost my father. I would not lose Nathaniel.

  ...Twenty-five, twenty-four....

  Images streamed in my mind like the holos in the air before me—the vicars’ prison, the peephole, the threat of them taking Nathaniel away forever. To have survived so much and lose him now....

  I pressed both buttons and the thrashing stopped.

  Chapter 26 – Return to the Living

  A puff of air rushed by, as if a breeze blew through a fissure in the wall, and the cover of the cocoon whirred and rose. A puff of air—whuff—like the sound one makes when blowing out a candle. A puff of air—like a living breath, but coming from a machine and not Nathaniel.

  The pale blue fog swirled and cleared, and I ran to the cocoon.

  Breathe, Nathaniel!

  I grasped his hand and squeezed; his fingers lay limp and still. I patted his cheek; his skin felt cold as death.

  Please, Nathaniel, come back to me.

  At last, his breath returned in shallow, panting bursts. The tortured expression left him, replaced by a look of serenity more complete than any I’d seen before. His face almost glowed.

  I released the breath I’d been holding in sympathy, and the tension drained from my shoulders, but just as I became hopeful and readied to embrace him, a spasm racked his body, so violent his boots kicked the cover.

  The glow vanished. He pulled his hand away, opened his eyes, and stared through me as if I were a stranger.

  I called his name.

  No response.

  I helped him climb out of the cocoon.

  He set his feet on the floor but wobbled, lost his balance, and fell into my arms.

  I held him up with all my strength, praying to the light he’d return to me. After surviving so many dangers, how could I lose him now? What if he stayed with me, yet not fully here? I’d wonder for the rest of my life where his mind had gone, the essence of who he was.

  I stroked his hair, still damp with sweat.

  His heartbeat strengthened, and his breath whispered in quick bursts across my cheek.

  I stared at him for a long time, at his face inches from mine, at the familiar pulse in his temple, the lump in his throat bobbing up and down, and the deep shadows beneath his eyes.

  Finally, I said, “Do you know me?”

  He blinked as if waking from a dream, but said nothing. Instead, he ran a finger along my jawline, sending a shiver down my spine. Then, he grasped me by the arms and drew me close.

  I resisted, holding back, still searching for the man I loved, but he pulled harder until I gave in.

  Then he closed my eyes with his fingertips and kissed them lightly, once upon each eyelid. I raised my lips to meet his, and we shared a kiss like the one we’d shared after Thomas freed us from the vicars’ prison, the first time we’d touched after months apart.

  “My Nathaniel,” I said in a whisper, as if afraid to wake and find his return had been a dream.

  I led him like a child out of the chamber, through the hall of heaven held up by giants, and around the garden of glass.

  Outside the dreamers’ fortress, by the statue of the earth mother and the mourning mentor, we met Kara. I had no need to explain Nathaniel’s state; his condition was reflected in the concern in her eyes.

  She draped one of his long arms around her shoulder, while I supported the other. Together, we half-carried him on shaky legs down to the stream. The spring gurgled and trickled over mossy rocks, and I dipped my hands in to wash off the grime of the chamber. Then I tore off a strip from my tunic, soaked it in the icy waters, and lifted the moistened rag to Nathaniel’s face. He flinched but steadied as I wiped the sweat from his brow.

  Kara brought over the flask of sweet water and raised it to his mouth.

  He balked, recoiling as if the drink w
ere poisoned.

  I drank instead, to show him the way, like a mother teaching a babe.

  He waited an eternal minute before raising the flask to his lips and taking several painful gulps, as if his throat had narrowed from weeks of thirst. After a while, the color returned to his cheeks, and the fog lifted from his eyes.

  “Are you ready for the hike down the mountain?” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Let me hear you say it.”

  “Yes.” The word sounded dull and distant, like the sound a pebble makes falling into a deep well.

  On the path down, he said little more, and when he did speak, his voice lacked passion, with each word spaced by seconds from the next.

  Nevertheless, I thanked the light he’d returned to me alive.

  The world had come alive as well, in stark contrast to the dwelling of the dreamers. Sounds of life rang out everywhere—the trilling of insects, the whistle of birds, the rustling of squirrels hidden in the brush, and the croaking of frogs. A breeze rustled the leaves of the trees overhead as if to assert that they too were alive.

  Nathaniel stumbled silently down the trail, but I sensed his troubled thoughts in a way only possible between friends since birth—friends and lovers, whose love had been tested so many times before. Though now we’d been tested again, no words were needed because we’d spoken them already, in silence and in darkness, through the fear of losing our lives, or worse, of losing each other.

  After far too long, we came to the lake, no longer darkened but gleaming with late afternoon sun. A brisk wind rippled the surface now, tipping the waves with whitecaps. I gaped at them as if seeing them for the first time. Their tops looked like tiny hands reaching out for Nathaniel, clawing at his soul, trying to drag him back into the depths. Would he yet slip from my grasp?

  We stopped there to rest, settling on the same log where we’d shared our breakfast. Kara offered the sweet water, while I opened the pack, which I now carried. I handed him a portion of the greenies’ berries and flatbread, treats we’d saved for the hoped-for celebration on the way down.

  The three of us sat on the log and ate and drank, as we used to do at the NOT tree, with Kara taking the place of Thomas.

  When Nathaniel had nibbled away on less than half his food, he set it down and turned to me. “I felt light... as if I were made of air.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” I said.

  “Not wonderful.” His faced contorted with horror. “You should never go there.”

  “Why?”

  “Because... it’s the lightness that enchants you at the top of a mountain, with a sight so beautiful you believe you can step off the highest ledge and fly. It’s the lightness that dazzles you deep underwater, as you admire the fish and the slow dance of watery plants, but you forget to breathe, and you drown. In the dream, I was everything and nothing. I understood the infinite, so much more than ever possible from the helpers in the keep. The knowledge of all mankind lay bare, but....”

  He looked away.

  I placed a hand on his cheek and forced him to face me. “But what?”

  “There was no place in that infinity for you.”

  ***

  Even with our support, Nathaniel had barely managed to stagger down the mountain to the lake. Now, as his mind cleared, he refused to go any farther, as if his confession had drained him of all remaining energy. If we hoped to reach the machine masters’ city this day, Kara and I would have to carry him.

  With the hour getting late, I determined to camp that night by the lake. I gathered kindling and struck two stones together until they threw a spark, as I’d done so often since childhood.

  Kara’s eyes grew wide as she watched the kindling catch. “Fire from sticks and stones? You have many surprises.”

  We all watched as the twigs sputtered and caught. Smoke rose to the treetop canopy but lingered, unable to penetrate, creating a haze that dimmed the setting sun. As the fire crackled and rose, a night bird called in response, but otherwise silence.

  The three of us huddled around the flames, warming our hands, as those who made carvings on the cave walls must have done thousands of years before. So much for the miracles of the machine masters.

  In my youth, I worried about my friends. Would Nathaniel outgrow his boyish notions and accept the wisdom of the Vicars? Would Thomas stay out of trouble in school? I dwelled on these worries as I worked the loom or helped my mother knead dough to bake bread. Later, I worried that we’d betray the keepmasters, or lack the courage to confront the vicars with the truth, or that my guidance would be flawed and we’d be lost forever at sea.

  Now, new worries haunted me. Would Nathaniel return to the man I loved? Would our choices change the world, and if so, for better or worse?

  As the sun set, a chorus of birds sang their twilight song, unseen among the branches and vines of the forest, raucous chirps and a pair of whistles that repeated three times in a row. These same birds called as dusk approached in Little Pond; their familiar sounds consoled me. When I was little, I imagined one of them—the one with the three whistles—was my father’s spirit, sent out in the shape of a bird to watch over me. Now, I imagined it promised Nathaniel would come back to me by morning.

  Soon, the sky transformed from blue to red to purple, and the twilight to a deep and early night. The moon rose fat and orange on the horizon, turning the wildflowers silvery grey, as if the color had been sucked out of them. Fireflies glittered in the leaves of the surrounding trees, flickering on and off like candles lit in the windows of a distant village.

  The three of us gathered piles of pine needles and readied for bed.

  I lay on my back, eyes closed but awake, listening to Nathaniel toss and turn, assessing his every movement until his breathing settled into its nightly rhythm. Only then did I too fall asleep.

  ***

  I startled to the crack of a twig—Nathaniel feeding the fire. Once it blazed anew, he paced around it, slapping his hands on his upper arms for warmth.

  I rose as well. “Are you all right?”

  “Can’t sleep,” he said.

  “May I join you?”

  He nodded.

  The lake spread before us, bathed in gold from the glow of a moon a sliver short of full. I stared at the view and waited for him to say more, hoping he’d tell me what he’d experienced in the dream.

  He shuffled to the rim of the lake and gazed down the steep embankment.

  Fearing he might do himself harm, I rushed to his side and clutched his elbow with my arm.

  He let me hold on.

  I braced myself to probe as I’d done years before, trying to get Thomas to talk about his teaching, picking gingerly at the wound like a mother easing a splinter from the finger of a child.

  Before I could begin, he turned to me, the folds of his face shifting between light and shadow, his eyes reflecting the flickering fire and throwing off sparks of their own. “I’ve been trying to understand what happened. First, I saw—or imagined I saw—tiny blue and yellow lights buzzing around like bees. Then all the colors of the rainbow burst out at once and blended into a pure white that filled my mind, driving out all thought. Suddenly everything went dark... or light. It didn’t matter. The buzzing grew louder... or became silent. I didn’t care. I found myself joined with the minds of others, not like meeting the greenies in their village center, but like experiencing a multitude of dreams at once.”

  “The machine masters,” I said. “Still alive.”

  His eyes shifted downward and to their corners. “I can’t explain what I found, only that I had... thoughts that weren’t mine—marvelous thoughts, like having all the knowledge of the keep inside my head at once, but many times more. Something wondrous stirred in me, an understanding of the universe greater than the loftiest notions I’ve ever had. Suddenly, I lost interest in things of the physical world. This lake, the glow of the moonlight, the stirring of the leaves in the breeze, the warmth of the fire... and all those I love, me
ant nothing to me. That’s why I fought being immersed in the dream. I fell under its spell for only a matter of seconds. After years, what have these machine masters become? I sensed their thoughts, but does that mean they live? I can’t say.”

  A rustling sounded behind us, and I turned.

  Kara brushed Nathaniel’s arm. “Of course, they live. How can you doubt it? You’ve mingled with their minds. They live, and someday I’ll reunite with them as well. Did you meet my parents? Did they think of me?”

  Nathaniel slowly shook his head. His lips parted, but the words stuck in his throat.

  Kara sailed on, floating on a sea of hope. “Of course the dreamers live. Had you stayed longer, you’d know for sure. They’d need time to learn to speak with someone like you. You’re not one of us. You haven’t studied as we have, and they’ve been in the dream for so long. Like a hermit with no one to talk to, the first visitor they encounter would be a shock. Words would come slowly.”

  I recalled what the earth mother had said: The dreamers may not have died in the way you know, but they do not live.

  “We don’t know that,” I said. “We can’t be sure.”

  Kara’s jaw set, and her brows pinched in, forcing a crease to form above the bridge of her nose. “Then we should go back and try again.”

  I rested a hand on her shoulder. “We have only a few hours till daylight. We’re exhausted, and I need to get Nathaniel back to the city. There’ll be time to—”

  “There is no more time!” She pulled away. “Two more days bring the anniversary of ascension, and the greenie fanatics will destroy them forever. The mentor said they’re near to breaking through. You’ve given me hope the dreamers live, but not proof enough to stop the zealots. I’ll go myself if need be.”

  “What about leading the children?” I said.

  She raised her chin and gazed up at the moon. In its light, her eyes glistened. “In two weeks, I’ll turn sixteen. I won’t lose my parents for a second time so soon before the day of my birth.”

  Nathaniel slipped between us and rose to his full height for the first time since emerging from the dream. “I have a better way. Rather than risking a return to the dream, go back to sleep and get some rest. In the morning, we’ll go to the greenies and tell them what I found. Once the earth mother hears my story, she won’t allow any harm to come to the dreamers.”