Harmony

by C. F. Bentley

  “I intend to put an end to this. Guilliam!” he shouted for his assistant. “Guilliam, get back to work. You’ve sulked long enough.”

  Sissy sat cross-legged on the floor of the mural cavern. Two dozen candles burned straight and steady. Not a whisper of a breeze to disturb them.

  She had no idea of the time. Midnight and noon made no difference this deep inside Harmony’s womb. She felt as if the world held its breath, waiting to see if Empathy would rise again in the morning.

  No one entered this cave without her permission now. If anyone watched over her, they did it from a distance. Even Jake.

  He seemed strange and altered lately. Distant and grim.

  Maybe she was the one who was altered. She found no solace from her grief. Here, at least, she felt close to her dead family, as if someday she could reunite with them when she, too, was nothing but planetary dust.

  The colors on the mural alternately faded and jumped into focus and she allowed her eyes to wander randomly over the scattered images. Big here, little there. Very important and filler information, she decided.

  “Speak to me, Harmony. Tell me what I need to know,” she whispered. Or shouted. She couldn’t tell anymore.

  Even the cave winds were silent.

  Then a wisp of air stirred around her. The walls seemed to vibrate in a disturbing counterpoint to the clanging in her head. Her head was out of tune and out of rhythm with Harmony. The constant ringing behind her ears clashed with her perceptions. It pulsed, but not with her heartbeat.

  She closed her eyes, trying desperately to understand this odd silence that was so loud.

  Three deep breaths. She listened to her head until she could almost hear the whispers of many long-dead voices.

  Then she opened her eyes. The center of the mural jumped out at her, the other images around it receded in a tight spiral.

  Sissy stood and touched the picture of Harmony standing with her winglike sleeves stretched away from her body, as if gathering her people to her. Dozens of birds flew around her. But they weren’t birds. They were people with wings. Marils.

  This was the beginning of the mural’s story.

  Then Sissy followed the narrative around the spiral. When she came to the final group of figures in the far corner, the one that had been altered, she wept.

  “I am so sorry, Harmony. How could we do this to ourselves. How could we do this to them, and to you?”

  Jake followed Sissy’s finger as she pointed out the path of the unreadable mural. “I knew you’d figure it out.”

  If she understood the mural, then she undoubtedly had grasped more of human history on Harmony than most of Her residents.

  He didn’t need to examine the images closely. He knew the story. The great grief of Harmony as her people and the newcomers lost understanding of each other’s religion, grew suspicious of each other, blamed each other for the cyclic instability of the planet.

  “When did the caste system begin?” Sissy asked in her flat voice. She looked directly at him, demanding.

  Jake shrugged, knowing the explanation was too long and complex for writing on the tablet he carried with him.

  She continued to stare, unflinching.

  Nothing for it. He had to try. No chance of taking her back to the Crystal Temple archives and letting her read that very disturbing journal.

  He picked a group of images near the end. “Here.”

  “Long after humans came to Harmony.” She filled in the pieces he didn’t know how to explain to her.

  “Two hundred years,” he said as he wrote the figure on the tablet. He always spoke, hoping against hope that her hearing would return unexpectedly.

  If she caught any of his words, she never gave any indication.

  “After we killed all the Marils: holy people who sought understanding of the universe in prayer and meditation,” she stated.

  Jake nodded and erased the tablet with a soft cloth, waiting for her next question.

  “Why?”

  Good one. He pointed to the next group of images showing a funeral procession of humans carrying humans. “Too many dead. Need more people.” Ten thousand settlers reduced to less than one thousand. They’d endured disasters, famine, the resulting plagues. Those that remained were weak and disheartened.

  They barely had enough people left to do the work of continued survival. Many generations would have to pass before they could resume something akin to the industrialized civilization they aspired to.

  She tapped her foot impatiently. “How?”

  He hoped she’d understand the science. “Frozen embryos on mother ship. Livestock and people.” They’d also cannibalized the mother ship for building materials, and equipment, crashing it into the desert for easier retrieval.

  Sissy started pacing. As restlessly as he usually did. All he could do was stand and wait.

  “The survivors became Temple and Noble,” she said.

  Jake nodded. A ruling elite over the lesser mortals they created.

  She stopped short in her circles of the room. “Mothers? How did they make the babies?”

  “Artificial wombs,” he wrote and said.

  A look of disgust crossed Sissy’s face. She touched a skeleton reverently. “Unnatural.”

  Jake nodded. He didn’t need to fake his own disgust. With improvements in hyperspace drives and faster travel, new settlement ships had forsaken generation ships and human embryos. However, they still used them for livestock as animals didn’t travel well.

  Most of the CSS had outlawed the practice of artificial wombs.

  “The caste system is unnatural.” Sissy’s head reared up and her eyes grew wide. “The survivors manipulated the embryos!”

  A controlled environment where they could introduce the caste marks by manipulating the gills present in every fetus in the earliest days of development.

  She turned abruptly and marched out of the cave.

  Jake’s heart wrenched. He needed to go with her, help her understand and come to terms with this information.

  Three seconds later she returned, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know this?”

  For once he had a logical explanation. “Guilliam gave me an old document to read.”

  “Get it. I want to read it.”

  No, you don’t! The arrogance of the diarist, the cold-blooded contempt for the people who came out of those embryos, would destroy her.

  “I will ask Guilliam,” he said instead, hating the lie because he would never ask.

  “Tell him I order it.” She stalked away again, head high, determination firming her chin.

  “For once I think I need to outstubborn you, Sissy. Though it hurts me not to give you everything you want.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  SISSY FLICKED HER GAZE toward the entrance tunnel of the caves without moving her head. She detected footsteps marching toward her.

  Some of her hearing had returned after she’d interpreted the mural— almost like a reward for a lesson well done. No sense in letting the world know about her recovery. Even if it was only partial and Harmony still clanged inside her head, discordant and annoying, telling her things she couldn’t translate or understand.

  She’d spent the last week studying all of the murals, taking notes, looking for patterns, seeking more understanding in the symbolism.

  She compared skeletons and drew conclusions that shattered her faith and her trust.

  The scientists left her alone. She heard them mumbling and grumbling behind her back. They thought she should grieve. They thought she should react. They acted like they were family.

  NO!

  She firmly closed her thoughts on that subject and drew a thick black curtain across her mind. If she thought about family, she’d remember.

  Jake left her alone with a kind of reverent fear. They both knew too much and couldn’t talk about it.

  Concentrate. Look for patterns. Follow the symbols. Learn new things.

  Only deep within
the womb of Harmony did the noise in her ears calm down. With profound concentration and the absence of interruption, she began to understand many things no one taught in school. Complex things that Laud Gregor, in his arrogance, had forgotten. Or hidden.

  Slowly, she began to rebuild her faith in Harmony. But on a different level of partnership. Her ancestors had done horrible things. But they had sought out Harmony here for many of the same reasons the Marils had.

  For her and for them, Harmony was the center of the universe. True understanding of life began here, in the womb of the Mother.

  Eventually, she’d have to return to Harmony City and reopen the Temples. Revise the rituals. Change the lessons. But not yet.

  Eventually, she’d have to think about her family.

  Not yet. Never. Never. Never.

  Jake approached her cautiously. He waited at her shoulder, hesitant to touch her to gain her attention.

  She watched him from beneath lowered lids, pretending not to hear him. She let her fingertip trace a shower of stars descending upon Harmony.

  Only they weren’t stars.

  Finally she looked at him. “What?”

  He held up a tablet of paper with a message hastily scrawled across the top sheet. “Guilliam is here.”

  She removed the dust mask from her mouth and nose.

  “Did he bring the document?”

  “No. Something else brought him.”

  “Tell him to go away.”

  Jake shook his head. Then he scrawled another word. “Important.”

  Sissy scraped her filthy hands across her brown coveralls. Then she looked at them. Not much cleaner. Her clothing was as filthy as the rest of her from kicking up the dust of the ages. Her mask was close to clogging. She needed to change it and get back to the story the murals told her.

  “I will see him after I clean up.” Slowly she retreated to the outside world, Jake trailing behind her.

  She should send him away. He didn’t belong here.

  She still needed him.

  A decision best postponed.

  Like her grief.

  “You are angry with me,” she said at the entrance. A momentary pause to allow the dazzle blindness to pass while her eyes adjusted from cave darkness to autumnal sunshine. She took the time to breathe deeply, like a baby taking its first gulp of air after the protection of its mother’s womb.

  A pause seemed to stretch forever while he stood too close.

  And yet never close enough.

  He scribbled on the tablet then held it up to her. “Upset. Worried.” He wrote some more. Stopped abruptly and grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Never angry.” He said slowly, mouthing each word carefully so that she could read his lips.

  She didn’t need to.

  “Why?” Why upset and worried or why not angry? She didn’t know which she asked. Only that she had to.

  He ducked his head and shook it. With a gentle prod he urged her to descend the long and twisted path to the Temple.

  Sissy lingered in the shower, reveling in the hot water and how much lighter and freer cleanliness made her feel.

  Finally, she could hide no longer. She emerged into her reception room in the guest suite wearing black slacks and tunic top with a black shawl for warmth. Even with a fire in the hearth the seasonal chill penetrated the stone walls far sooner and deeper than in the city. She’d resorted to wearing thick socks and soft furry slippers—also black—to keep the cold at bay.

  If she thought about it, she hadn’t been truly warm since that day . . .

  “Don’t think about it,” she told herself and put on a calm face to greet Guilliam.

  She walked resolutely toward him, ignoring the woman who sat beside him on the double armchair. They were squeezed together intimately, and quite comfortable that way.

  “My condolences, Guilliam, on the loss of your daughter. Have you had the benefit of a grief blessing?”

  “We have, Laudae,” Guilliam said. He and Penelope rose together and bowed to her. They wore the full black of deep mourning.

  Sissy returned the greeting with a lesser bow and took the chair opposite them.

  “All very polite and cordial. And utterly meaningless,” Jake muttered from his post by the window, where he could observe the entire room including both entrances.

  Sissy heard him but pretended not to. His overt cynicism shocked her. When had he become so bitter?

  She knew when. She just would not think on it.

  “What brings you here?” Sissy asked.

  “Laud Gregor sent me,” Guilliam said and wrote the same on another tablet.

  Sissy raised her eyebrows at Penelope.

  “I no longer travel without my spouse,” Guilliam wrote on a tablet and held it up for Sissy.

  “Spouse? Temple do not marry.”

  “Some do. We just don’t allow Laud Gregor to know.” He wrote neatly for all his haste.

  Penelope produced a sheaf of papers that she had stuffed between herself and the arm of the chair. She looked at them long and hard, then handed them to Sissy. “Please read,” she said, mouthing the words carefully.

  Sissy looked from the pages to Penelope’s face. A lot of the hardness had left her eyes, replaced with lines of sadness. A new sincerity radiated out from her.

  Sissy read.

  “Forgive me, please.” A large and flamboyant hand. Yet Sissy sensed many more of the curlicues and flourishes had fallen away in the act of writing.

  A quick glance at Penelope showed quiet tears slipping down her face.

  Sissy read on.

  “I was shallow and played mean tricks on you; seeing you only as an outsider with no right to the position promised to me from birth.

  “While Marilee lived, we saw her only in moments of glorious pageantry and honor. To this day I do not know if she did any of the work of managing the government and the Temple caste that should have fallen upon her shoulders. My own work overseeing the Temple schools and the religious curriculum for the other castes seemed trivial in comparison.”

  Sissy took a deep breath. Penelope suddenly became a real person to her. More than a shallow troublemaker.

  “Now that I have studied you—granted, for the purpose of pushing you to abandon the position of HPS—I see that you are the best person for the job. Possibly the only person alive for the job. My beloved spouse has shown me the cracks in our culture that need repair. As our children have grown toward their own priestly roles, I see more depth in our responsibilities than I thought possible.

  “Again I beg you to forgive me and make use of me as you will in the hard tasks ahead of us. We fear change. Yet we have changed without realizing it. Now we must change again to come back to the path of Harmony we have ignored and obscured. Yours in Harmony, Laudae Penelope du Marilee pu Crystal Temple.”

  Moisture gathered in Sissy’s eyes. She read the pages again.

  Guilliam thrust another sheet of paper at Sissy. She took it, not trusting herself to speak without dissolving in tears. This one was written in Guilliam’s neat hand. “With the loss of our daughter, we can only begin to touch on the grief you must feel. We understand. We share it with you. Allow us to perform a grief blessing with you. Please.”

  “I . . . do . . . not . . . need . . .” She couldn’t continue. A large lump formed in her throat. She tried to swallow it. Couldn’t.

  Jake’s hand squeezed her shoulder.

  Penelope knelt at her feet.

  The papers crumpled in her hands.

  Something hard and twisted broke inside Sissy’s chest. All of the pain and emptiness assailed her. Her family brutally murdered. Neighbors maimed. Shanet and her girls. Jilly. All innocent. All unknowing.

  The madness of the original survivors had been perpetuated down the generations and grew among them like a cancer.

  And Sissy was alone as she had never been alone, even in those first horrible days of separation when she went to Temple.

  Alone.


  The tears came in great shuddering sobs; racking her body; twisting her heart and her mind. She felt as if her heart was being ripped out.

  The mountain sighed and sobbed with her.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  JAKE GRABBED SISSY AS SHE doubled over, gasping for breath. The sobs overwhelmed her body. He reached for the ever-present inhaler.

  Guilliam stayed his hand. “The drugs will not help her. She needs to complete the process.”

  “How can you be so calm? She’s tearing herself apart!” He cradled her head against his shoulder. His cheek rested against her hair.

  And still she choked out her sorrow.

  “Have you ever lost a dear one?” Penelope asked. She busied herself pouring a glass of water from a pitcher on the side table.

  “Yes,” Jake muttered. He had to remember that his Harmonite persona had parents and a sibling back on H6 and not blurt out his continual pain at the loss of both his parents and brother.

  His throat tightened.

  Let them think he grieved for the out-of-caste lover. Let them think what they wanted.

  He wanted to choke on the gaping hole in his soul where his family had been before the Marils bombed their home and sucked all the atmosphere off the planet.

  Revenge for a genocidal crime centuries ago. A crime that no one living was responsible for.

  He hugged Sissy all the more tightly, burying his face in her dark hair.

  They held each other for a long time. At last her body quieted, and she relaxed her clenching fingers across his back. He eased away from her.

  Penelope was right there with a tumbler of water, urging Sissy to sip. “Just a little at a time. Don’t want you choking.”

  “Now it is time for your own grief blessing, My Laudae,” Guilliam said. “Please allow Penelope and me to share it with you.”

  “Will you preside for me?” Sissy whispered looking to Penelope.

  The older woman nodded. “I’d be honored. You must come, too, Jake. As odd as it seems to bring in one of another caste, you are part of this family. You need the grief blessing as much as we do. Bring in her acolytes and her siblings. We all need to share this.” She offered her hand to Jake.

  He took it, not trusting himself to speak.