To the mountain, take my rhyme
Keep this poem so you will know
My mother, I love you so.”
I opened my eyes to find the boy’s face streaked with tears.
Caleb’s axe trembled in his thick hands and dropped to the ground with a thud.
Kara’s repair machines stilled.
And the earth mother clapped her hands and laughed, a sound like a mountain stream.
Chapter 33 – The People of the Earth
We, the eight pallbearers, shuffled together in time, left foot, then right.
The earth mother had convinced Kara to adopt the new tradition for burying the dead. Kara and Devorah walked in front followed by Nathaniel and I, then two of the older techno children and a pair of Caleb’s men who, at the earth mother’s request, had volunteered.
Many others had been needed to carry the mentor’s lanky body down the rugged terrain from the city to the greenie village.
Despite the effort, Kara admitted the trek helped ease the pain and gave her time to say goodbye—better than flipping a switch on a machine.
When we reached the village, the people of the earth wrapped the remains in a ceremonial robe made from sheepskin, and covered it with a blanket of day lilies and a sprinkling of blue bells. Then we formed a solemn procession to the graveyard. Those not bearing the body carried a single apple blossom cupped at their waist, all except for Zachariah, who clutched a bouquet of daisies.
At the woodland glade, with dappled sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves, we placed the mentor on a stout platform, more ornate than the others, with scrolls at the corners, carved to perfection by Jacob.
The earth mother turned to him. “Such beautiful work in so little time. Will you do the same for me someday?”
“Of course, earth mother, but not for many years.” He smiled back and winked. “More likely, you’ll outlive me.”
She laughed the throaty, full-bodied laugh that had so enamored her to me when we first met. “Oh dear, I hope not.” She turned to Kara. “It’s our custom for anyone who knew the departed to say a few words. Will you speak for your grandfather?”
Kara swept away a lock of hair that had fallen across her eye and opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.
“Why don’t I speak first while you gather your thoughts?” The earth mother placed both hands palms-down on the blanket of flowers. “My childhood friend, William, whom I will soon join. A brilliant mind, matched by a kind heart. Your elder years, like mine, should have been a time of reflection and peace, but that awful day came and thrust us both into reluctant roles. Each of us chose a different path, but we did the best we could for our people. Rest well, mentor to the young and dear friend.”
Kara stepped forward next. “My mentor and grandfather....” She blinked back tears. The earth mother came to her side and rested a hand on her shoulder, helping to steady her. “You cared for me when my parents were gone. You taught me how to lead. I’ll always have my memories of you, and thanks to you, the memories of my parents as well.”
Nathaniel and I both spoke, but as outsiders, we kept our words brief, mostly thanking the mentor for believing in us and preserving the miracle of the dreamers.
After the speeches finished, everyone bowed their heads and whispered their private farewells. A breeze blew through the glade, sending white petals from a surrounding honey locust floating to the ground like snow. Those mourners with apple blossoms lined up to place their flowers on the grave. At the end, Zachariah handed out a single daisy to each of the pallbearers so we too could pay our respects—greenies and technos, Nathaniel and I, Devorah, and last of all, Kara.
As I watched the mentor’s granddaughter linger over his remains, I realized the earth mother’s vision had come to pass—the former enemies joining together to bear the mentor to his final rest.
***
The following months brimmed with energy and hope, though to my chagrin, they kept Nathaniel and me apart more than the arch vicar’s prison cell ever did.
Nathaniel took charge of building the new boat. The dreamers had concocted the design, a vessel that could carry more passengers, sail across the ocean in a fraction of the time, and guide us around storms with precision.
In the beginning, he balked at reentering the dream, but I reassured him, promising to monitor the controls and limit his stay. Gradually, he ventured deeper into the minds of the machine masters and received a section of the plans—the whole design was far too complex to digest at once. Then he hiked down the mountain, past the greenie village to the shore, and supervised the construction.
Jacob became his right-hand man, translating the design into a series of manageable tasks and providing the expertise to transform plans into reality.
Caleb’s men provided the muscle.
I was surprised at the vigor with which the former zealots supported our efforts. Yes, they were among the strongest and most adept with tools, but I suspected most of all, they needed a new outlet for their zeal.
I spent my time learning how to create a device to hold the replicated minds of the dreamers, one we could bring with us on the boat, a new and more portable keep—and far more advanced. I felt the same shortcomings as I had in my lessons with the techno children. Despite sharing minds with the greatest of the machine masters, the concepts involved proved beyond my ability. I had difficulty remembering anything when my thoughts returned to my brain, so I leaned heavily on Kara, who joined me in the dream. After weeks of study, the device took shape, a new temple of knowledge and hope for the future, what Kara dubbed the dream machine.
But boats are built by the shore and dream machines high on the mountain, so Nathaniel and I spent long days apart.
After several weeks with little time together, he was readying to enter the dream again to receive plans for what the machine masters called the propulsion system.
I proposed to join him, a chance to share minds.
Kara assured him it was safe and promised to monitor the controls.
The result was less dramatic than expected. We already knew each other so well, and kept no secrets from the other, but the reaction of the dreamers surprised me.
***
“Welcome, Nathaniel,” the speaker said, “and a second mind, Orah.”
The buzzing rose to a crescendo, their way of showing their enthusiasm for something new and stimulating..
“Why the excitement?” I said. “You’ve merged with each of us before.”
“Ah, yes,” the speaker said, “but never the two at once.”
“Such thoughts,” another said.
“...and passion.”
“...a feeling difficult for us to sustain....”
“...without being together in the physical world.”
The buzzing silenced, followed by a long pause. Then the voices of the machine masters combined into a single phrase, a thought so strong it echoed in unison.
“How we envy you.”
***
Kara and I entered the dream together dozens of times. I became comfortable communing with the dreamers, an admittedly strange and exhausting sensation, like meeting the helpers in the keep, but more flexible. These helpers could respond to my most ignorant and poorly worded questions, and often responded with questions of their own, ones I’d never thought of.
Kara’s reunion with her parents seemed both less and more than she expected. With no eyes to cry or arms to embrace, their time together lacked affection, but she treasured their shared memories. She told me she’d never before appreciated the love of a parent for a child.
Gradually, she introduced several of the older technos to the dream. She’d learned her lesson from the mentor—leading was too painful to bear the burden alone. As any good leader would, she made sure to train those who would follow.
I later discovered she had an additional motive.
The two of us worked with the machine masters to design the device that would hold a replica of thei
r minds.
“The concept is simple,” Kara said. “We’ll copy the sum of their impulses, the bits of lightning that constitute their thoughts and memories, into a second machine. The hard part will be to improve on this first generation, to create something smaller that can withstand the rigors of travel on the ocean.”
My head swan, the concept far from simple to me. “Then will there be two of them, like... twins on either side of the sea?”
“Not exactly. At the instant the copy is made, their memories will be the same, but these minds are alive and will continue to learn. Everything they think after the split, all their interactions with us, will be unique to the second machine.”
“Do they become different people then?”
The corners of her eyes sagged. “Not people. They have the memories of those who once lived and the ability to think, but their only input from the physical senses will be what they learn from our visits. This new device will be the most powerful thinking machine ever built, but it will need us to be its eyes and ears.”
My brows arched and my mouth opened into an O, but no worlds came out. I understood the benefit such a device might provide—the invention of more useful tools, an end to hunger and disease, miraculous medicines far beyond what I had once believed to be temple magic.
How would it all work?
I’d quell my curiosity for now. Kara knew more of their science as a six-year-old than I would ever know, even if I spent my whole life studying in the keep. I’d take the rest on faith.
But the thought of being the sole proprietor of this thinking machine terrified me.
***
One time, when Kara and I entered the dream, she invited me to join her deepest thoughts, a privacy protocol the dreamers had established out of respect for each other.
“When I let down this barrier,” she said, “you’ll know me at a deeper level than anyone else living.”
I heard no crash of thunder, saw no flash of blinding light, but my mind flooded with memories: Kara as a small child with her parents; the day they left for the mountain; her pleading to go with them; the pain of their loss.
Yet one image struck me above all.
I saw the two of us on the bow of our new ship as vividly as if it were happening now. In the distance, the familiar granite mountains rose up from the fog.
“How can this be,” I said. “Your memory of Little Pond is exact, though you’ve never been there?”
“The image is from your memory, not mine.”
“But the two of us on the boat...?”
“That’s no memory,” she said. “It’s an aspiration.”
“...that can only happen if....”
“...I go with you.”
“But....”
“No argument. What survives of my family will remain with me. I’ve trained the new leaders to merge with the dreamers, so they can help this side of the world, but to help your people, you’ll need someone who understands the repository of dreams. You’ll need me by your side.”
Chapter 34 – Going Home
The day dawned clear with a blue sky and an offshore breeze, perfect conditions to launch our new ship, with its gleaming metallic sail rising proudly above the deck.
Caleb’s men scurried up the gangplank, lugging the last provisions and storing them in the hold—berries that would last but a few days; smoked fish that would last much longer; flat bread baked from the first harvest of wheat; and casks of sweet water produced in abundance by desals, now fully controlled by the minds of the machine masters’ children.
Though our dreamer-designed ship would complete the voyage in half the previous time, we needed more supplies with so many joining us onboard.
Devorah and Jacob had insisted on coming, eager to study with the best craftsmen on our side of the world.
To my surprise, Caleb joined us as well, along with Jubal and several others. He asserted we might have need for their muscle in case of unforeseen problems, especially if the children of light proved to be as weak-willed as the machine masters or the people of the earth.
I suspected his motivation lay elsewhere, that he longed to leave behind his grief and find a new cause.
Kara came as she’d promised, but she ordered the other techno children to stay behind. They were so few, and they had a great deal to learn if they hoped to one day reestablish their mastery over all the machines.
I decided to bring Zachariah along. Even before he found his voice, he’d insisted on staying by my side. Now that he could talk, he gave neither me nor the earth mother peace until we agreed to let him go.
At Nathaniel’s suggestion, the technos built a replica of the mending machine, which we stored safely in the hold, cushioned by foam packing in a wooden crate. This would provide our people back home the first tangible benefit from our journey across the sea.
Several smaller packages clustered alongside it, devices that Kara insisted on bringing along. She’d spent the past few weeks scavenging, salvaging parts from spare machines, anything she deemed potentially useful and portable.
I asked their function, but she merely waved her hands. “Pincers and turrets from the repair machines, projectors for holos from my grandfather’s work chamber. Whatever I thought might come in handy. One never knows.”
Of course, we also brought our most important cargo—or passengers; I remained unsure what to call them—the repository of the dreamers’ minds. The remarkable black cube had been secured to the deck with thick ropes and encased in a waterproof container. As had been the case with much in the keep, the device was powered by the sun.
I danced around it and touched its slick surface like an old friend, feeling its energy tingling on my fingertips. When I gazed inside, a billion bolts of lightning flashed back, a cosmic storm in the depths of a seemingly infinite universe, the accumulated knowledge of all humankind.
On a whim, I pressed my ear to it; nothing but a faint buzzing. Kara had made me a bonnet like hers, which the dreamers adjusted to my brain waves, so the two of us could communicate with them. I’d tested it numerous times, a wondrous experience, but much less demanding than the dream. My mind stayed limited, as always, but I could take advantage of their knowledge, like the helpers in the keep, but wiser.
I breathed a sigh. So many years working to make a better world, and here before me lay my greatest hope.
The day was drawing to a close. We needed to shove off soon, before the ebb of the tide.
Annabel, the earth mother, was too frail to travel with us, but with Devorah’s help, she climbed on board to make her goodbyes. She nodded to everyone, kissed each of her people on the cheek, and bid them safe voyage. Then she and all those not sailing scrambled off the boat.
Caleb and three others cast aside the gangplank, which landed on the shore with a dull and final thud.
In the light of near-dusk, I glanced up the mountain to the village, the city, the fortress of the dreamers, and beyond, to the mountaintop crowned with snow. The sun was sinking behind its western wall. For a breathless moment, the distant dome seemed to burn with flames. Then the slope below it became blanketed in shadow as night poured down across the land. A sea breeze kicked up and blew hair across my face. Somewhere a nightingale warbled a farewell song.
Time stood still as I looked out over the crowd, greenies and technos alike, former enemies who joined to send us off.
As we readied to weigh anchor, the earth mother called out from the shore. “Zachariah, will you grace us one last time with your song.”
“Not the last time, earth mother,” he said. “I’ll sing again when I return.”
“Ah, yes,” she said. “Of course.”
She winked at me, a gesture of shared knowledge. She’d aged so much in the time since we’d crashed on her shore; though Zachariah might return someday, they may never meet again.
Nathaniel hoisted the boy on his shoulders for all to see.
Though I’d become accustomed to hearing his voice, I remai
ned in awe of its sound when he sang.
As I listened, the myth of the song changed to fact. I studied the faces of our crew, seekers all, and pictured our little band of three—myself, Nathaniel, and Thomas—setting out to the keep, younger then and so much more innocent. I recalled the moment I first showed the vicars a helper on a screen, and watched their faces blossom with wonder at the recording of a wise man from what they’d once believed to be the darkness.
The final verses of the song wafted away with the sea breeze, as if we’d already left the shore.
Until a sailing ship arrives
From the ocean’s farthest side
It comes to us upon the wind
Bringing hope with the morning tide
~~~
The ship sails in upon the waves
With those who’ll show the way
And all the children of mother earth
At last learn how to pray
Nathaniel set the boy down and came to my side, and we stood arm in arm on the deck, watching the land recede. On shore, an ascendant moon reflected off the white sand, and lit up his face with a radiance that seemed to draw from some fire deep within. His eyes sparkled with a look so intense that I would have fallen in love with him again... if only love did not already possess every fiber of my being.
EPILOGUE
I startled awake, embarrassed to have shirked my duty. On this night, our third of the voyage home, I’d volunteered to stand watch until sunrise, but as I admired the stars and listened to the waves breaking over the bow, a gentle breeze had sent me drifting off to sleep.
Perhaps my failure had been preordained, because while I slept, Thomas once again joined me in a dream. This time, we visited in a cell in the underground prisons of Temple City. He hunched cross-legged on the cot, looking more comfortable than in the teaching cell but no happier.
I sat sideways on the edge of the chair, with one arm draped across its top.
“Back again,” he said.
“How could I stay away?”
The Stuff of Stars (The Seekers Book 2) Page 23