by Isaac Petrov
“No, Redeemed van Dolah. Do not let go of your hate.” Rew waves an arm at her and, whoa! Ximena gasps at the sudden surge of rage. “Do feel it burning inside you. Very good. Now,” she raises both arms at once. “Do stoke it up.”
Ximena leans back and gasps anew at the ravaging force of the emotion. It is like a fire burning her alive from the inside out. She wants to hurt Rew. She craves to tear the fucking mare to pieces. Edda’s expression is distorted in an ugly grimace of murderous hatred.
“Let it burn deeper and wider,” Rew says. “Let it fill your body and hold it there. Very good. Do embrace it until you feel like only hatred flows through your veins. Very good. That shall suffice.”
Rew gestures at Edda’s head, and the hate vanishes in a beat, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. Ximena’s body jerks forward as if suddenly released from an unknown force. What a ride, she thinks.
“What was that?” Edda asks.
“In order to dive from the wake, you shall cleanse your mind of emotions, Redeemed van Dolah.”
“I know. Elder Qoh repeated that like a parrot.”
“Alas, fear is a primitive emotion, Redeemed van Dolah. Ruled by animal instinct, not by reason. Once inside of you, it lingers like a parasite. You shall not get rid of it, not directly, no matter your mental discipline. Fear is shy at first, as it slowly creeps out of your amygdala. But it gets more daring with time as it grows, until it inevitably overwhelms your brain, and thus, your destiny.”
“Oookay, got it. Fear equals bad.”
“Anger, on the other hand—and its younger variant hatred—are a marvel of evolution. Both, together with your other high-order emotions, are the pillars of your sentience, and thus can be tamed by a strong will.”
Edda frowns. “I’m not sure I follow…”
“The human brain is mechanically simple, unable to cope with the nuisances of too many emotions at once. Thus, a potent emotion must necessarily drown a weaker one. Your fear is subdued now, is it not, Redeemed van Dolah?”
Edda’s eyes widen. “Oh, you’re right. My… anxiety is gone! I got so steamed up, that… wow!”
“Your emotions are too erratic for an apprentice of the first step—that is your weakness. But you do possess an even more formidable strength: your power of will. You must learn to use your will to supplant insidious, primitive emotions like fear with high-order emotions—like hatred.”
“Or love?”
“If you are so inclined. And yet those higher emotions are equally harmful—they must be cleansed out of your mind to pierce the wake barrier.”
“So then, what’s the point?”
“Unlike primitive emotions, high emotions can be tamed by a strong will. Thus, you must use your will anew, to dissolve any lingering emotion into nothingness. So shall you cleanse your mind, and ready it to Walk the first step of the Path of Light.”
“Right,” Edda says, her anxiety creeping back into her guts. Goahdammit. “Isn’t that asking a lot from my, uh, will thing?”
“Your will is disciplined, Redeemed van Dolah. And relentless. Do lie down on your sarc and shut your eyes.”
Edda nods slowly. Willpower, she is thinking. Can I do it?
She lies on the bed, faceup, letting her body embrace its familiar comforts. She draws a few deep breaths to relax her body and mind, like Qoh taught her what feels like weeks ago, and shuts her eyes.
And as she does so, the room disappears from the auditorium, and a spotty blackness takes its place. Ximena and her peers are watching what Edda is watching behind her lids: the darkness of night, and the onset of sleep.
“I sense fear in you, Redeemed van Dolah.” Rew’s voice comes through as if it were whispered in Ximena’s own ears. “Do rid yourself of it.”
“Easier said than done,” Edda’s voice says. The blackness becomes more grainy, like an old TV plagued with interference.
“I shall not assist you this time. Do as I say, and succeed.”
“I’ll try, yeah? But what if—?”
“If you are incapable of controlling your mind, Redeemed van Dolah, then I have misjudged your capabilities, and shall give my time to other more promising apprentices.”
Ximena feels Edda’s anxiety spiking. “At least give me a few days to practice whatever you teach me.”
“Your extensive training with Walker Qoh should suffice. Now you shall impose your will, or fail.”
“Pure sin!” A nervous crawl twirls in her stomach and up her chest. “No pressure there. Not helping.”
“I shall assist. Once. Do signal your readiness.”
Edda draws another deep breath. Ximena feels her mental effort to bring her nerves under control. Okay, that’s better, Ximena thinks. Marginally better. “Bring it on, Elder Rew.”
“Very well. Do picture with your mind a white square.”
“Oh, the purification technique!" Mark whispers to Ximena, eyes beaming. He seems to be enjoying himself. Perhaps Ximena is more sensitive than him to the psych-link, or more empathic to Edda’s distress. Or, more likely, Mark is just a dreamtech geek about to have a nerdgasm.
“A white square. All right…” Edda says.
The blackness thickens across the amphitheater, and a square appears floating over the stage. It is indeed white, but noisy—spots come and go, and the edges wave in amorphous chaos, as they usually do in daydreams.
“Very good. Do keep the square fixed in place, as you focus your will on ridding yourself of your fear, Redeemed van Dolah. Do fill your mind with a high order emotion.”
Hatred, Ximena hears Edda’s thoughts through the psych-link, or love.
Flashes of images begin to project on the whitish square in quick succession, like a film on a canvas. It’s people—mostly Hans as a baby, and also Willem, Anika and yes, even Bram. Aline also features often; shared moments of happiness—and sadness. A balmy warmth extends up her trunk and along her limbs, filling her up, pressing against her skin from inside. She feels like love streams out of her pores.
“Very good. A sharp will, indeed. Now do cleanse the square of impurities.”
Ximena feels Edda’s mental exertion as she puts her mind into cleaning the white surface. But no matter how hard she tries, impurities of thought keep tainting it like black rain on a snowy field.
“No, Redeemed van Dolah. No will in the universe can break free from emotions. You shall first cleanse your mind of all emotion. Do rid yourself of love.”
Right, Edda draws a deep breath and focuses her attention into herself. She focuses her own mind into her own body, still overflowing with love. With another breath, she puts her mind at work. First on her chest, cooling it, absorbing all warmth like the vacuum of space absorbs light. Then along her limbs, up her head, down her trunk, systematically, until she feels empty. Not sad, nor happy. Just empty.
Like a vacuum.
The square is pure white, resplendently so, hanging in perfect stillness in the undiluted blackness that is Edda’s mind, edges sharp and straight like they have been engineered by Goah awsself. Ximena is in awe at Edda’s capacity to focus her attention on something, and then subjugate it so completely. Such purpose. Such power.
“A sharp will, indeed,” Rew’s calm, female voice resonates like an impurity as it intrudes in the mathematical perfection of the scene: a perfect white square in a perfect black background. “Were this not a simulated permascape, that square would be your gate to the dreamscape. Now, do open your eyes.”
Ximena feels almost pain, as the godly white and black created by Edda’s concentration is violently substituted by Edda’s dark bedroom, like returning from Goah’s Embrace to the dirt ball that is her Earth.
Edda sits on her bed and smiles radiantly at Rew. “Not bad, huh?”
“Indeed not. And to prove your worth, you shall now wake up in your real world, refocus, and dive back to this same dream.”
“What if I fall asleep, but can’t join this dream?”
“Then you shall have failed,
and must return to your life of powerless frustrations.”
“But that’s not fair!” That anxiety again. Ximena feels it creeping up Edda’s spine. “The others still have plenty of time to train with Elder Qoh, yeah?”
“Shall you fail now, then you shall irremediably fail later.” Rew gestures awkwardly around with her arms. “Do embrace this dream, Redeemed van Dolah. Dig into it. Look and feel around you. Know deeply where you are, and what this dream represents. Digest its essence and push it into your memory, ready to be pierced by the will of your wake mind.”
Edda takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes in concentration. Deep concentration, Ximena feels. Then she extends her hands and opens her eyes, sharp, focused.
Absorbing.
This place—this dream—is now an extension of her consciousness.
“You are indeed ready now, Redeemed van Dolah. I do hope to see you again. Do wake, and dive back. Now.”
The scene changes visibly, although Ximena still sees Edda’s room from the same angle. But it feels more natural, somehow more real. The dreamy quality—so nicely crafted by Miyagi’s production team into the dreamsenso—is now gone.
Edda, a moment ago sitting on her bed, is now waking up from under the sheets. She sits, breathing slowly. Then stands up and walks to the window, opening the curtains. The night is still long ahead, the street silent. Edda caresses with a timid finger the intact cactus plant on the table.
She draws a deep breath, closes the curtains tightly and returns to bed. Facing the ceiling, blankets up to her chin, she closes her eyes. “Let’s fuckin’ dive,” she mutters, as her breathing slows.
The scene seems to vibrate ever so slightly with every further breath she takes, back and forth, like a slow-beating heart.
Its dreaming texture gently returning.
And then, Rew is there in the room, back turned to her, looking at the empty bed.
“Boo!” Edda says, waving her hands.
Rew turns to face her, calm and smooth. “You did scare me.”
Edda waves a fist in the air. “I made it! First try, baby!”
Rew studies the room, as if trying to find something out of place.
“And?” Edda asks, smiling with expectation.
“I am a most talented instructor,” she finally says.
“Now you shall go back to your world’s Wake,” the three Yog bodies say with a single voice, “and return to this permascape with utmost haste.”
The almost four dozen humans standing in grouplets on the infinite emptiness of the staging permascape exchange nervous glances.
“The earliest twenty-four piercers among you shall be allowed access to the second step in the Path of Light. The rest shall be discarded.”
Ximena feels how Edda is already trying to gather her emotions. Trying to calm down. Whoa, it’s hard, even after what feels like an eternity of mind-focus training. A dream month at least of continuous practice and concentration, without sleep, without food, without even rest. Permascape’s time dilation doing its magic. And Edda’s ironclad motivation, of course.
“The first trial begins,” the three Yog bodies say. Rew and her eight mare Walkers wave a hand and all the humans vanish. Only the flat dark stone remains, empty, stretching forever towards the horizon, where it meets the black sky.
Good luck, Edda, Ximena thinks, and turns to look at the twelve mares, which without a hint of movement seem to be waiting patiently. As if they could wait impatiently. Ximena chuckles at the thought.
“What’s up?” Mark asks, his blue eyes fixed on hers.
“Huh?” She blinks at him. His gaze makes her uncomfortable—in a strangely pleasant way.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing. Uh, how long until they return?” Ximena points at the place where the humans last disappeared.
Mark turns his head back at the floating scene. “Good question. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”
“But you’re a Walker. How long takes you to… uh…?”
“To dive back into a dream? Pfff, not my forte, I can tell you that. Requires so much mental discipline… Gets easier with age, they say.”
“So? How long?”
He sighs, thoughtful. “About five minutes on a good day, I would say. Ten max.”
“So I guess we’re going to be here for—”
A human reappears. A teenage woman.
Ximena feels her mind through the psych-link as soon as she begins scanning her surroundings with expectation. And then with sheer delight.
Edda.
Rew waves an arm, and a numeric symbol is bestowed upon her.
The number one.
The symbol shines inside her, like a telepathic lighthouse—the equivalent of a signboard, but not one made to be seen by eyes, but to be felt by minds. Guess marais can’t read, Ximena thinks.
“Incredible!” Mark mutters next to her.
A young man appears a few seconds later, not far away from Edda. It’s the Oosterbeek farmer, worn working tunic over brown pants. Rew bestows a number two on him.
“These Geldershire mensas are… wow!” Mark says, still wide-eyed. “Funny how nobody’s ever found out what made them so good at this.”
It’s almost half a minute until the next person appears: the farmer’s sister, three. Then, a few seconds later, Aline, four, and Gotthard, five. And then some people Edda doesn’t recognize. There comes Pieter—Aline’s lover—nine. By the time the count reaches the high teens, a couple of minutes in the waiting, the next familiar face arrives: Janson—Pieter’s brother—eighteen. Rutger—Gotthard’s best friend—nineteen. Valentijn van Kley, twenty-four. Louisa van Kley, twenty-five.
The last familiar face, eleven-year-old Marten, makes number thirty-two. His face is a mask of disappointment as the number falls into him like a tombstone. He watches as many of his peers—inevitably the low numbered ones—cheer and hug each other. He begins to weep—the boy still very much under the surface of the man—and then disappears at a gesture of Rew’s Walkers, together with Louisa van Kley and the other high-numbered people.
Only twenty-four remain.
Edda releases Aline’s exultant embrace. We’re both still in the race. Ha! Ximena can hear her thoughts, threaded together with exhilaration. I was the best of all, Goah’s Mercy! The best! Edda sighs inwardly with satisfaction. It was all worth it, every dream minute of painstaking concentration. The price—the Path in the Shadow, the power to infiltrate others’ dreams and manipulate them to her will—is hers to lose now. She’s really got a chance at it.
Edda smiles widely, eyes beaming as she scans the other… human piercers—she imagines Yog’s voice in her thoughts. She feels strong, energized. No, more than that. She feels… liberated! What she has achieved—this awesome success—was a pure act of will. Literally. Elder Rew just taught her how to deploy her will, and the results… Ha! She feels like she can do anything if she just wants it enough; if she puts every atom of her soul into it. Why hasn’t she acted before? Life is short, and she feels like she has been adrift, at the mercy of the winds of convention. But now… Is she going to keep taking everything that life throws at her to show her her place, or is she going to do something about it? She could of course wait and learn more. There is power to be found in the Paths of the Mind Walker. But why wait? She could begin acting now. Yeah, like she should have years ago. Like a true, free woman, that deeply knows what she wants, and reaches for it, consequences be damned. Consequences are for the weak-willed. For those free of the shackles of convention, consequences are just, yeah, steps. Steps on a path. A path to self-fulfillment, to control over your own fate—and the fate of others.
A path of will.
A path to power.
Fifteen
Juf Edda
“Sixteenth of December 2399,” Professor Miyagi says. “Barely two weeks until the Century Festival.” As he paces across the amphitheater stage, he points at the scene floating over his head. “And Edda van Dolah
is pumped up.”
The scene is frozen in time, but vivid, as if they were watching a set of actors that have been asked to kindly stand still. It is a classroom, recognizable in every age and place: a blackboard covered with chalk-written dates and names of people and places, a world map hanging on the wall, six rows of young adults with bored expressions, elbows and forearms on wooden school desks, tunics wrapped tightly against the chill. And looming over them all at the front of the classroom, like an altar in a temple of knowledge, the teacher’s desk, and Edda standing next to it, staring down at her pupils like a priestess of wisdom at her faithful.
“Can you feel her energy through your psych-links?” Miyagi asks rhetorically. “Her zeal? Yesterday she was just a girl trying to learn the first step of the Path of Light. Today she’s a woman with a mission. And she’s using the only weapon she knows how to wield: the teacher’s pulpit. This,” he points at the classroom, “is her Mondays’ and Thursdays’ evening lessons for adults. What do you say, people? Can a schoolteacher on a remote colony cause a shock of historical proportions?”
Ximena smiles to herself. Another rhetorical question.
“Let’s watch. Ank, please.”
“So picture this, mensas,” Edda is saying, “Rewind the clock to the twenty-second century. We’re at the peak of the second collapse, yeah? Death,” she gestures passionately with her arms, “is all around us. People are dying younger and younger, society is breaking down everywhere at the same time. It’s so bad, Goah awsself comes to the inevitable conclusion that we are truly too stupid to keep ourselves alive, and decides to take matters in aws own hands. And you know the rest, yeah? Kaya Fahey flees to Townsend, Goah’s revelations, aws Gift, aws Compacts, aws Womb, yada yada yada, and,” she claps her hands, “Goah’s first Imperium began. Initially just a small area around Townsend,” she points at a big black star on the world map, in North America, “in the province back then called Montana,” with vigorous strokes she writes the name on the blackboard. “But since they were the only ones staying alive, other than a few scattered barbarians still giving birth through vaginas,” some students, mostly the females, cringe at the image, “here we are now,” she points at the six Imperia of Goah, covering with bright colors most of the inhabitable parts of Earth’s landmasses. “You’ve heard it before, yeah? Peace and prosperity for all. The Goahn Pax. Worldwide. Blessed be Goah, our Pontifex and all that. Sounds familiar?”