Logically, we shouldn’t have made it down, yet here we were, lying out under a strange sky, whispering about what the days ahead might hold in store – with none of us really trying to fall asleep.
And I began to understand why some people believed in destiny or some fatalistic power beyond all reason, which chose some for salvation and others for – whatever was the opposite of salvation.
Well, if fate was responsible for us being here, it obviously had some further plans for us and that was, in its own way, quite a comforting notion. On the other hand, if there was no such thing as destiny, if it was all just an amazing fluke, then we certainly weren’t any worse off.
I decided to count my blessings and see where the days ahead might lead us. Which, except for another intrusion from the powers beyond, might have been a place that none of us wanted to go.
BRAN
Their clothing is strange, with a gentle sheen like burnished metal, yet as soft and clinging as fine wool. And they gaze around themselves as if everything is a new and exciting experience.
– We’ll trail them for a while; see what we can find out about them, before we do anything. He sends the thought to Alek and Reggie, as they move on ahead, cautiously Shielding it from the newcomers. And be careful. Whoever they are, and wherever they come from, these strangers are Esper and their powers are strong. A single unguarded thought could reveal our presence.
A possibility that he is, for the moment, reluctant to allow.
The arrival of the strangers has disturbed the calm of the Village like nothing in recent memory. The trail of fire across the afternoon sky and the roaring, like angry thunder rolling across the ancient forest. Then the impact, which tore up the surface of the Western Clearing like the gouging of a giant hand.
Before the dust settled and the plume of black smoke drifted away to the west, Bran and his two friends had already set out for the clearing to investigate. The Village Council would decide on the appropriate response, but only after hours of deliberation and discussion and with the usual need to err on the side of safety.
It is the approach that has kept them safe for almost fifty generations. Hasten slowly. Action within reason. But this is an event too momentous for such caution. They have come from the sky! Nothing has flown but the birds in all the centuries since the Fall. And besides, the Esper of the WildWood villages will not be the only ones interested in the momentous arrival.
Already, from the garrison of the Fortress de Vries, an expedition will have been despatched to investigate the happening. The messages will be flashing from flag-tower to flag-tower along the extensive communication link between the Fortress de Vries and the distant Citadel of the Family Hartman. Semaphore signals will bring members of the elite Black Guard hurrying down from the Central Capital and the Guard-stations closer by.
Bainbridge Hartman, master of the Hartman Clan and leader of the Council of All Families, is not one to let such an event pass without investigation. His obsessive suspicion (or is it fear?) of anything out of the ordinary, especially if it involves the Esper or the lost magics of the Old Ones, is what drives so much of the cruelty and violence of the Guard and the garrison soldiers.
Though they differ on many issues, according to Sharonne, the Families – from the Lylyks and Raysons in the north and the Hartmans in the capital, to the de Vries Family in Old Bourne and the strange mystic Lloyd-Ondine Clan in the far southwest – are all in agreement when it comes to anything that smells of the unknown.
They know that apart from the strength of the garrisons, their fragile grip on power rests on their monopoly of the Knowledge: the universal belief that only they control the surviving magic of the Ancients and can wield it in their favour.
According to the Family Histories, it is the only thing that keeps the Chaos at bay.
Sharonne had wanted to come with him and he had almost given in and allowed it, but in the end, logic had prevailed. She had been in the Village only a couple of hours when the strangers’ arrival had shaken the afternoon calm and as long as they didn’t know what they might find, they could not afford to risk her slowing them down.
She was standing in the shadow of his hut, watching them as they left the Village, waving at the last minute, as the trees cut them off.
Bran crouches behind some cover, watching the group. Alek and Reggie have moved ahead to scout the Wood’s edge for others who may have been attracted by the strangers’ arrival.
They look human enough. Six males and four females, all around his own age, they plan and act as a team, but defer to the dark-haired young woman they call Erin. She is short in stature and fine featured, but strong willed and clearly intelligent, and she listens to all their opinions before arriving at any final decision.
He thinks of the Council, with its laborious decision-making processes, and smiles.
Beside her, as he usually is, the one they name Jordan shares a silent Shielded comment. She nods and addresses the others.
– Time for a short break, guys. Fifteen minutes. Find some shade, but don’t go in past the first line of trees. I think we might have company.
– You sure, Boss? The blond-haired one called Alvy moves up to stand beside her and gaze back at the trees.
– No. Not sure. Just a feeling.
– Well, maybe we should try to contact them. You know, ‘Take me to your leader’. I mean, okay, they won’t be able to read thoughts, but this country was English-speaking—
– Nine hundred years ago, the one called Jordan cuts in. You don’t know what might have happened to the dialect in all that time. Especially judging by how primitive everything else seems to be. Besides, if they wanted contact, they’d have approached us by now. We don’t exactly look scary. When they’re ready, we’ll see them. If they really are there.
Nine hundred years ago.
Before the Fall.
They speak as if they are from –
Suddenly it all fits. The trail of fire in the sky. The strange accent of their mind-tones. Their sense of wonder at ordinary things.
The memory of Carlin’s words echoes in his mind.
– One day, boy, they’ll return. One day.
Words, from a day much like today – a day when a young boy had asked a question about the world before the Fall. The world that lived still in the Archives of the Sect.
It was not the first time that the old man had mentioned the legend of the Other-Worlders – humans who had flown on great ships of metal through the black of space, to a world like Earth, so far away that the sun it circled could not be seen among the million points of light in the night sky.
Humans like us, with all the magic of the Old Ones still intact. With the ability to fly through space and time and with machines that talked across distances far beyond what an Esper could reach.
– One day they’ll find a way to come back to Earth and seek us out. I wonder what they’ll think of us then.
Primitive.
That was the word he used. Like the Ferals of the No-go Zone, or the savages of the Tribe.
Are these the people of Carlin’s promise? Have they returned as he believed they would? Or are they something else – something unpredictable and dangerous.
He watches from his hiding place, reading the thoughts they share, building up a picture of these strangers who promise so much – not yet ready to reveal himself, or his friends, until he is sure.
– Bran! Reggie’s mind-tone is urgent. We’ve got company. I think it’s time.
Reaching out with his mind, he strains to catch the approaching mind-tones. They drift gradually into range. A mounted patrol from the Farm-garrison on the Bourne side of the Wood. They are almost through the Cut already. Twenty men, maybe more, all armed with one intent. Another few minutes and they’ll emerge. And the newcomers, whoever they are, will be trapped in plain sight.
H
e makes his decision.
– You’re right, Reg. It’s time.
ERIN’S STORY
When it happened, it took us a little by surprise – even though it was pretty much what we’d planned for.
I mean, it’s not like our arrival had been exactly subtle. We couldn’t have made a much more spectacular entrance if we’d set off a thermal-fusion flare in the upper atmosphere and written our names across the sky in red smoke.
Our original plan had been for a gradual deceleration, then a 300-kilometre glide path down to the landing site. Minimal retro activity; allow the atmosphere to act as a brake. Silent and secret.
What we’d ended up with was a pyrotechnic descent, designed to wake the dead and alert every sentient creature within a 150-click radius. So, we were expecting a welcoming committee, or at least some interested locals.
As it was, apart from a few inquisitive forest creatures, who watched us from the cover of the undergrowth a safe distance away, we saw no one. That told us two things. Firstly, that our choice of landing site had been a sound one – far enough from any settlement to give us a measure of safety. Secondly, that our assessment of the level of technological degradation was pretty accurate. They had no rapid surface transport that could have got them to where we landed swiftly and efficiently.
We had been grounded more than an Earth day, without encountering another human being and every hour brought the inevitable contact closer. But, in the end, it didn’t happen the way we’d expected. We were walking with the trees on our left, skirting the forest’s northern flank and aiming for the point a few clicks to the southwest, where a rough road cut through a narrow sparsely wooded section, along the path of what looked like an old subsidence, or perhaps an ancient stream bed.
From there, we planned to cut through to the cultivated area we had seen on the aerial shots.
About half a click from the place where our route met the road, Hanni stopped.
– Did you catch that?
I paused and listened.
Nothing.
Hanni’s reach was always more sensitive than other people’s. He had the widest range of anyone in our graduating class.
By now, we’d all stopped and were straining to catch –
There it was. A large group of minds approaching along the road. Human minds, definitely not telepathic. The welcoming committee – though they didn’t seem too welcoming. Their thoughts were a cloud of aggression, tinged with more than a little fear. Not a winning combination.
– Not too friendly. Jordan had moved up beside me. Perhaps we should get off the path, and into the woods. Check them out, before we make contact.
Before I could respond, a youth of about our own age stepped out of the woods a few metres away. He was dressed in a brown handwoven material, with a belt that held a small pouch and a sheathed knife. He was smiling, but just a little ill-at-ease, as if confronting us had not been his preferred option.
– It’s a plan. The words were in mind-speech. We stopped and faced him, as he continued. You most definitely don’t want to be caught out here when the patrol arrives. Once they capture you, they’ll hold you till the Guard arrives from the north, then you’ll wish you’d stayed wherever it is you’ve come from. He half-turned, then looked back over his shoulder. Well, come on. You have about fifteen seconds before they pass the tree-line and see you.
His tone was urgent, but five of the fifteen seconds passed while we slowly came to terms, not as much with the fact that he was there, as with the fact that he could communicate mind to mind.
– Yes, I can. Which is another really good reason for us to get out of here. NOW!
The tone was like a shout and we responded instinctively, following him through a small gap in the undergrowth. Part of me was anxious, stepping into the unknown, but he had spoken in mind-speech, and I had sensed no evasion. He was genuinely scared of the approaching group, and that was good enough for me.
We stepped past the first line of trees and into the cool shadows of the forest beyond.
23
Something Out of the Ordinary
‘The Archives’
Old Bourne
November 30, 3383ad
LEANA
– Something huge is happening. Mykal sends the thought, while he is still in the hallway outside J Archive. Inside, Leana stops shuffling through the pile of documents on the crowded surface in front of her and looks at the door.
When he enters, he moves directly across to join her at the desk. She stands and kisses him, but he is preoccupied and his response lacks the usual enthusiasm. She is unfazed. She has become accustomed to his distance, when he has something major on his mind. At first, it troubled her. After existing so long without love, she was hypersensitive to even the subtlest of shifts in his emotions, but gradually her fears have faded and she has begun to understand a comforting truth – the truth that underpins her new life – that his mood-swings are nothing to worry about. They are just a part of what makes him who he is – which is, when she thinks about it, something pretty special.
– Caleb sent word back from the northern lookout, he continues finally. The semaphore towers have been running hot all day, right along the chain between the Fortress and the Citadel. What happened yesterday has them in quite a lather.
– What are they saying about it? Did he mention it? Do they know what it was?
– They don’t know what it all means any better than we do, but it’s got them running scared and that’s not good for anyone. Anything they don’t understand sends them into reaction-mode. It means there’ll be a lot more garrison activity around the whole area to the north and west of the Fortress, and we can probably expect a pretty significant Guard presence in the sector over the next few days. They’ll move all the patrols from the north and the south into the region and they’ll probably send reinforcements down from the Citadel – double speed. That means they’ll be here in two weeks or so. We’ll need to take precautions.
He pauses momentarily, to gather his thoughts and looks distracted, as if the part of his mind that remains behind the Shield is considering possibilities he isn’t prepared to share.
– I’m not a kid, Mykal. The irritation rises, but she doesn’t communicate her frustration. She has also learnt not to resist his over-developed protective instinct. When he is ready, he will share what he knows.
He sits down in the seat she has just vacated and shifts a few of the Plastisheets around on the desk top, as if he is looking for something – though she knows that what he seeks is not on the desk, but inside his own mind.
Finally, he is ready.
– The semaphores keep talking about a major happening on the northern edge of the WildWood. They’ve sent a patrol from the closest Farm-garrison to investigate and the Citadel is issuing instructions for a major sweep of the surrounding countryside as well, to look for anything unusual. That’ll bring them close to the northern tunnel entrance. It’s the Archive’s most vulnerable access, because of its size. If they were to accidentally discover it—
The thought runs out. Sometimes, what remains unsaid speaks more than words.
Leana moves across to the map of the Central Archive and its surroundings. The long tunnel to the northeast winds gently from the Archive itself, under the ruins of the old city, to emerge in the bushland near the eastern boundary of the forest.
She closes her eyes to better visualise it.
– You could walk right by it and not see anything, Mykal. I don’t—
– That’s true – if you were just travelling and not watching for something out of the ordinary. But who knows how closely they might be looking, if they suspect—
– And what, exactly, do they suspect, Mykal?
– What do you suspect?
He has a knack of putting her on the spot. It’s one of his strategies for maki
ng sense of his own confusion, when he is still working things out. Ask a question, bring the intuition into play.
She picks up a small metal artefact from the table beside the map-wall and turns it over and over in her hand, trying to work out what on Earth it might have been used for all those centuries ago. And failing completely. It shines, silver and heavy and unknowable, in her hand.
– Suspect? I don’t have enough information to suspect anything.
That isn’t exactly true, and she knows it.
She places the object back on the surface and turns to face him.
– Carl thinks—
– You talked to Carl about it?
– Who else? You weren’t here and no one else explains things half as well as he does. Which means I understand about ten per cent of what he tells me, instead of the usual five. Mykal smiles, but he doesn’t interrupt. Carl thinks this could be the most important event in nine hundred years.
– Because?
– Because he doesn’t believe it was just some natural phenomenon. He thinks it was – what did he call it? – Man-made. He was like a little kid. He could hardly contain himself. He showed me pictures of flying machines from before the Fall that were built to travel between the stars. Mykal, he thinks – well, he thinks what happened yesterday might signal the Return.
From the expression on his face, it is obvious that Mykal has been considering a similar explanation.
– After nine hundred years. His mind-tone hovers somewhere between disbelief and awe. But he continues, then the thought falters, as if he isn’t sure he wants to face it.
– But what?
– But everything I’ve read about the flying technology of the Ancient Ones speaks of silent flight. Of unimaginable speeds and – Lea, there was never a mention of fire in the sky and a sound like thunder. If it is the Other-Worlders returning, then I’m scared that – Another pause. She waits, watching his face. That something must have gone wrong. They might not have made it.
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