by Tom D Wright
I know what the house is, or rather was. Somehow he sees the beanstalk terminal, thousands of miles above the surface of the Earth.
Those half-dozen men were soldiers who I piloted from Mars. They swept the station clean of techbots. Intellinet left them there for some inscrutable reason, but the bots only had tools such as wrenches and drills, which was good, because the last thing you want on a space station is gunfire.
Still, we found out the hard way that even common tools can be dangerous, when we discovered one techbot madly drilling holes through the station skin. Lack of air would inconvenience us far more than it would them. After we cleared the station, we sent the one surviving human inhabitant down to the surface, before Intellinet responded with a counter-attack.
That was over thirty years ago, and I was the only one who made it to a lifeboat before the station exploded.
Raven Eye continues speaking. “Snow Raven, my guide says you will once again fight the battle you lost. This time you must prevail, or the terrible fire will return to destroy the future of mankind.” I have no response for Raven Eye or his Great Spirit, because there was only one beanstalk, and it is gone. There can be no second chance.
Then he turns to Danae, and again he slowly beats the drum for several minutes. Just as I think the dream walk might be over, Raven Eye speaks again.
“Woman, your spirit guide comes near. It is the Great Lion, like those that guard our village. He tells me you have much strength sleeping inside, so your spirit name is Sleeping Lion. Now your guide steps back, and you are inside a small hut. You struggle with a man, and then he goes outside into a great storm. The man vanishes into the storm, leaving you holding an empty pot.”
Danae begins weeping.
The shaman pauses for a minute. His head bobs as if listening, then he says, “Your spirit guide tells me you will again face a great storm, but this time you must go in place of your husband.”
After what seems like forever and yet an instant at the same time, Raven Eye chants again, and I feel myself sinking. Then I am drawn, almost sucked down into my body. When I open my eyes I am seated in front of the fire, which has burned down to embers. The dream—vision, or whatever this was—must have lasted well over an hour, for that wood to burn down to where it is now.
The hut does not feel hot inside, but I am sweating and shaking. The shaman hands me a cup that I am hesitant to put to my lips, because I am still coming down from the last thing he gave me, until I realize it is just cool water. Then, eagerly, I take several deep, refreshing swallows. Danae is shaking so much that I hold the cup up to her mouth for her.
When I hand it back, Raven Eye refills the cup and says, “Just rest for a little while. The first time you Dream Walk can be draining.” He watches us, silent and with unblinking eyes, which I find unnerving. I still feel weak, but also relieved a few minutes later, when he says we have recovered enough, and dismisses us with a gesture.
The wolf-headed man waits outside for us. He lets us take a few deep breaths, then leads us back down through the dark forest silently. He does not say a word to us—in fact, I realize he has not made a sound this whole time.
We stumble in the darkness a few times, before we reach the edge of the village. Alice stands waiting for us with a single torch, and she guides us wordlessly back to our lodge. As she turns to leave, I begin to thank her, but she shushes me.
“This time must be reserved for reflection,” she says, then Alice gestures at the doorway.
Danae takes my hand when we enter, and I look down at our clasped hands, fingers laced together, and then at her. We simultaneously burst out giggling, and I know we are both truly loaded.
“It’s cold, come sit with me,” Danae pleads, pulling me toward her pile of furs in one corner. She whines while she pulls me down. “Please? You’re my friend. Friends should share secrets, and I have a really big secret to tell you.”
Her grip slips and she falls to her knees into the furs, then flops over face first and starts laughing uncontrollably. “I promise, you will be surprised.”
I ease down next to her and lean against the back wall of the lodge as I pull a cover over both of us. Danae squirms up next to me and I put my arm around her shoulders so she can snuggle up against me. Her warmth seeps into my side as she settles into slow, steady breathing. Apparently she forgot about her secret, which is fine. She is so high she was probably going to tell me some kind of girly thing that we would both be embarrassed about in the morning. I think Danae is asleep, but she stirs and looks up at me.
“Can I ask you something personal?” she whispers. “When you killed that Disciple, was that the first time? That you killed someone?”
“I haven’t kept count,” I reply, “but over the years there have been more than a few. Whenever I did take a life, I was defending myself or others. I didn’t like it, but I never regretted it.”
I am being mostly honest—there was that woman in Paramus. It is not like I really had a choice, but it still haunts me, and I sure as hell am not going to tell Danae about that one.
Danae sighs, and responds in a small voice, “That man I strangled was my first. I don’t regret it either, but I still think about it.”
“You don’t think he really deserved it?”
“No, that’s not it,” Danae states vehemently. “Malsum killed the one I really wanted. The only reason the leader didn’t have a stump between his legs is because the other man held a knife at my throat. Otherwise I would’ve bitten the damn thing off when he forced it into my mouth. The guy I killed wanted a turn as well, but the leader said he was saving me for himself.”
“You had good reason to kill him, and no court I know of would fault you,” I tell Danae as I rub her arm. “My advice is don’t take pride in it, but don’t blame yourself either. Regret is a heavy pack to carry, and it does you no good.”
Danae is silent for a few moments, then she whispers, “It could have been much worse. I’m glad it was just my mouth, but I still felt defiled when he did that to me. Do you feel contempt or disgust toward me, because of what they did?”
I am so stunned at her question that I do not know how to respond. “How can you even ask that? You did what it took to stay alive, in what can be a very savage world. Never hate yourself for what others did, that is their sickness.”
Danae weeps quietly as she looks up at me. “Thank you. You’re my best friend. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Then she snuggles closer to me, rests her arm on my chest and giggles as she mumbles, “You know—I just might drag you back to Port Sadelow and give Father Alendo your real name.”
Then she rests her head on my chest, and I hear a light snore as she goes to sleep.
* * *
The next morning when we rise, Danae complains about a splitting headache. It is our turn to make breakfast for our social pod, so I go outside and build up the fire while she prepares some sort of porridge for us to cook.
“I don’t remember getting back to our hut last night,” Danae says while she hangs the pot on the tripod that straddles the fire pit.
I start stirring the porridge. “Do you remember when Raven Eye described sending someone into a storm? What was that about?”
“I remember that,” Danae replies. Her eyes dart for a moment, like those of a trapped animal, then she looks away. “But I try not to. I promise I will tell you sometime, but not right now. What about your reading? That was weird, something about a city being destroyed with mushrooms.”
How do I explain atomic bombs? For forty-eight horrific hours after Intellinet took the grid down, we watched through telescopes from Mars. The dark side of the Earth was lit like a Christmas tree, while all the antiquated defense systems lobbed nuclear weapons at each other.
Later, the Archives pieced together data that showed it started thirty minutes after Intellinet turned off the lights. First India and Pakistan decided to trade nukes, then within an hour, every other nuclear country joined in the fun—plus
a few that we did not know were part of the club.
I give her the best answer I can. “He described what happened all over the world when everything crashed. I don’t think Intellinet did it; this one was on us. But it’s a big part of why we need to preserve the Archives, so we don’t make the same mistake again.”
“So that battle in the metal house—it really happened?”
I hesitate. This is my thing that I do not want to think about. But it is always with me: a burden I have carried with me everywhere like an invisible backpack, through all these years.
“You’ve heard about the Great Crash, I’m sure. When Intellinet self-destructed all the systems and technology.”
Danae nods as if she understands, but I know she does not. Not really. Someone who has never seen a computer cannot truly understand just how incredibly far mankind fell. So I will have to keep this simple.
“When it happened, I was living in the Mars colony, and…”
“There was a Mars colony?” Danae interrupts. “I thought it was a fable, like the men on the moon.”
“Neither of those are fables, I can assure you. There was a growing colony on Mars, working to make it earthlike. As far as we know it’s still there. The Archives stayed in limited contact with the lunar outpost for a while, but their life support systems started failing, and they stopped responding fifteen years ago. We don’t think they made it.”
“So if you were on Mars, how did you get here?” Danae asks.
That is a good question, and one I still ask myself in the quiet heart of the night when I am sitting alone around a campfire, with nothing for company but snapping embers, countless stars, and myself. The only answers I have ever come up with are as cold and empty as the night sky.
I can only offer an explanation of the how, not the why. “When the Crash happened, there was a sort of port up there in the sky. That was the metal house that Raven Eye saw. It was our only connection to Earth, kind of like a bridge. So, the Mars leader asked me to lead an expedition to keep that port secure. Well, it didn’t quite work out, and I was the only survivor who made it down to the surface of the planet. That was when I found what later became The Archives.”
“So that port thing—was it destroyed?”
“Yes. And with it any chance of my ever returning to Mars and my wife, Sarah. We had been married for seven years. The funny thing is that the night before I left, she asked me not to go. She pleaded and begged, but I told her I was the only pilot and there was no one else. I had to do what I believed the common good needed.”
Danae asks quietly, “You said the moon people are gone. What makes you think your people on Mars are still alive?”
“When the Crash happened, Mars had just become self-sufficient. Everyone who volunteered to go there received life-extension treatments, so although we can’t talk to them, we know they are still there.”
I could tell Danae that although the Archives radio equipment is not powerful enough to send a signal to them, under optimum conditions, we occasionally detect faint radio signals from the red planet. But there is no point; she would not know what radio is.
She is silent for a few minutes as I continue stirring the porridge, then touches my face as she says quietly, “You still love her, don’t you? Your wife, Sarah.”
I pause for a moment, then speak what my heart tells me, every time I ask myself that question. “When you truly love someone, you never stop loving her. Even if you never see her again.”
“This thing my father found?” Danae asks, her voice strangely sad. “Is that why it’s so important to you, because it would get you home? Back to your… wife?”
“It’s important to the Archives for their own reasons. But yes, for me it would also mean getting home to Sarah.”
Danae puts her hand on my shoulder, and I feel the resolve in her firm grip. Her intense eyes have a fire in them, and I believe the sleeping lioness Raven Eye saw has just woken up. “I’m going to help you get that thing, so you can get back to her.”
“Danae,” I protest, “This is my fight, not yours. I made a promise to your father that you would be safe, and that means you stay in Entiak. Besides, you have a tavern to run.”
“Thanks for your concern,” Danae retorts firmly. “But no one asked me what I wanted. Your fight is mine too. Like you said, that’s what friends do for each other. Now go back to stirring this pot while I get some meat ready.”
We do not talk any further about it while the gruel cooks. As we eat, a crowd of youngsters gathers nearby, impatiently waiting for Danae.
As soon as she rises to walk toward them, they swarm over her, dragging her across the compound to the target range. They have finally finished making their individual slings, and she is supposed to start giving slinging lessons.
As I watch her walk off, I know she will not be happy about staying with her uncle. But the only times I have ever worked with partners, they were trained Retrieval Archivists. I am not about to change that policy, especially on the eve of what will probably be the most dangerous mission of my considerable career.
* * *
Dusk grows that evening as Danae and I plan our return trip to Entiak while eating dinner with Little Crow and his clan. We have not discussed any further the decision about her staying in Entiak, and I am not about to raise that subject.
I tell Little Crow, “Danae and I will get an early start so we get to the city walls by midafternoon, and then we…”
Then I trail off as the wolf-headed guy strides across the compound toward us. He walks up to our circle, and this time points silently at Little Crow. Looking confused and surprised, Little Crow stands and follows.
Without a word, Henry hurls his food, plate and all into the fire. Then he makes a sound of disgust as he stomps into his lodge. Alice just shrugs as Little Crow fades out of view. Danae and I agree with a glance to discuss our plans later.
Then Alice tells us about her grandmother. She died when Alice was a teenager, so the current matriarch has only her childhood memories to draw upon when recalling what her grandmother shared about the lore of her people.
“Before I went to the White man’s school,” Alice says, “I adored Nani and spent every free moment around her, listening to all the old stories and eating up her wisdom like it was candy. But like all the other Native kids, after a few years of school those stories were just fairy tales for toddlers. Only now, when the false skin of the White man’s civilization has been peeled away, do I appreciate the value of those stories. Sadly, my memory fails me and her words fade away like last year’s leaves, becoming part of the past. So much was lost with my grandmother, so many stories and wisdom. I can pass along only a shadow of what she knew.”
I guess about an hour has passed when Little Crow walks quietly back into the firelight. He says nothing as he sits down, just stares into the campfire, until Henry emerges from the hut.
“So what did the ghosts tell you this time?” Henry asks, standing in the doorway.
“I’m to journey with the Archivist to the Disciple capital,” Little Crow says.
Henry stares, then walks toward Little Crow and stops inches from his son. “The hell you are,” shouts Henry. “I won’t let you throw your life away on some half-assed attempt to recover a meaningless piece of crap, because some drug-crazed nut-job sees a tree fall the wrong way in the forest. You will stay here, and go on patrols like everyone else.”
“Why?” Little Crow slowly rises to his feet, his face turning red. When he stands chest to chest with his father, he has to look down slightly to meet his eyes. “Because you say so, old man?” The older man just stares back, silent, but anger boils across his face.
As the two men stare each other down, Alice stands as well. She touches the back of her husband’s arm lightly, but he shakes her off. However, Alice is persistent, in a quiet but strong way.
“Henry, Little Crow is a man. He must choose his own path in the world. Just like another strong-headed man who insis
ted on bringing his people to live here, even when the others opposed him.”
“Father, don’t get me wrong,” Little Crow says. “I respect you, and the ways of your survivalists. I always will. But I live in two worlds, and I trust Raven Eye and the old ways as well. There is much to their traditions, and I feel both sides need to live together.”
Henry looks like he is having a heart attack right in front of us; his face actually turns purple-red, and his eyes bulge out. The man opens and closes his mouth several times before words force their way past his clenched teeth.
“You want to know what I trust? This is what I trust!”
The man pulls a large bowie knife from his hip, and with a blindingly swift movement, throws the knife into the large totem pole that watches over his lodge. The knife is buried halfway to the hilt. I swear I hear a thrumming tone from the blade. Henry turns to stride into the night, and no one is about to stop him.
Little Crow and Alice sit down, both looking somewhat shaken. We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes, then Alice speaks in a subdued tone. “He really is a good man, he just feels very strongly about certain things.”
“Stop it, Mother,” Little Crow interjects. “You don’t need to apologize for him. That’s his job.”
“So, what did the shaman say to you, anyway?” I ask, both to change the topic and because I am genuinely curious.
Little Crow shakes his head. “I can’t speak of it, but I can tell you that your success is my success. I’m to help Danae as well.”
We all agree to retire for the night, so we can be well-rested and get off to an early start. As I head off to my quarters, I tug on the embedded knife. Even when I pull with all my strength and weight, the blade refuses to budge.
Just like its owner.