* * *
According to Maddie, the council met every evening around the main fire pit in Helicon. There was also a daily big meal and a drum circle. Nora, Owen, and Maddie had come to the fire pit to eat, and Nora had found the food delicious but a little odd in that the dishes didn’t seem to go together. There were several big pans of lasagna, for instance, but the sides were green beans, an Asian sort of seaweed salad, and rows and rows of absolutely yummy tamales. Maddie explained that the food muses who prepared the food didn’t really plan out the meals. They made whatever they were inspired to create. Things didn’t necessarily have to go together. Besides, Maddie said, enforcing too much structure killed creativity anyway. Muses needed to be free to create whatever they wanted to.
The council meeting took place during dessert—an assortment of positively delectable fruit pies—and preceded the drum circle. Maddie, Owen, and Nora were sitting on benches around the fire pit, balancing plates of pie on their lap.
Phoebe Rain stood up and called the council meeting to order. Almost immediately, nearly twenty of the muses got up and left.
“Some people think the council meetings are boring,” said Maddie, “so they usually leave. More people are staying tonight because of the portal that was open today. People are curious.”
Phoebe was talking. “First up for this evening, we have an appeal from the philosophy enclave. I’ll turn the floor over to Themis Branch.”
A man, who Nora assumed was Themis Branch, stood up. He was wearing a ratty suit jacket that had been patched in several places with fabric that didn’t match it. Also, he seemed to have spilled lasagna all over the front of himself, because there was a red stain on his shirt. Judging from how stained the shirt was already, he did that often. His uncombed hair hung to his shoulders, and he ran his fingers through his beard as he began to speak. “Two days ago, before the Solstice celebration, the engineering enclave demanded that a large number of the philosophy enclave assist them with repairing the bathrooms for the architecture enclave. We don’t object to helping out when assistance is needed, but we feel that the amount of philosophers taken from us was detrimental to our creativity for the day, resulting in fewer inspiration threads created and ultimately damaging Helicon as a whole. This is not the first time the engineering enclave has cannibalized the philosophy enclave for help on some project. In fact, we believe engineering asks us to assist far more often than it asks any other enclave. We’d ask that, in the future, the engineering enclave turn to another enclave besides ours first.”
Another man stood up. “May I speak?”
“The council recognizes Coeus Dust,” said Phoebe.
Coeus was wearing a dirty t-shirt and corduroys. He had broad shoulders, big hands, and thinning hair.
Maddie leaned close to Nora. “Coeus is the head of the engineering enclave. He and Phoebe are together.”
“With the Solstice celebration so close,” Coeus said, “most of the other enclaves were engaged in preparing for it. They were practicing dances, making food, writing songs, sewing garments. What was philosophy doing?” He put his hands on his hips.
Themis straightened up. “We believe that your implication that the creation of tangible product is somehow superior to other kinds of creation is small-minded and prejudiced, and I believe we’ve said this before.” He looked at Phoebe Rain. “Perhaps if the head of the council were not biased—”
“That’s enough,” said Phoebe. She gave Coeus a hard gaze. “Engineering will recognize that philosophy is a necessary and integral part of Helicon and that their work is as important to the whole of inspiration we provide as any other enclave.”
“We do,” said Coeus. But he rolled his eyes, showing that he absolutely did not.
“This council will not be used as a stomping grounds for the individual feuds of certain enclaves,” said Phoebe. “Far too often, we’ve got either engineering or philosophy complaining. You will respect each other.” She looked back and forth between Themis and Coeus. “Is there a motion on the floor?”
Themis crossed his arms over his chest. “I move that the engineering enclave does not ask the philosophy enclave for help for three full months.”
“I second,” spoke up a muse behind Themis.
“The motion has been moved and seconded,” said Phoebe. “Is there any discussion?”
“Three months?” said Coeus. “Where’s this arbitrary number coming from? And what if we need assistance from philosophy before then?”
A grumbling number of affirmatives sounded near Coeus, most likely coming from the engineering enclave.
“There are a lot of other enclaves from which you could get assistance,” said Themis. “The story enclave produces nothing tangible, but you never pick on them.”
“Let’s not get into the tangible discussion again,” said Phoebe, sounding tired. “Any other objections to the three month rule?”
Coeus looked annoyed, but he didn’t say anything.
“All right then,” said Phoebe, “all in favor of the engineering enclave not asking the philosophy enclave for assistance for three months, signify by saying, ‘aye.’”
There was a resounding number of “ayes.”
“Those opposed?” said Phoebe.
The “nays” came almost exclusively from the engineering enclave.
“Motion passes,” said Phoebe. “Moving to other business—”
“What about the portal?” called out someone.
“Yeah,” said someone else, “I move that we rearrange the order of topics and discuss the portal right now.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Phoebe. “We actually have no other business, considering this is the day after the Solstice and most people spent the day relaxing instead of squabbling.” She threw a pointed look at the heads of the engineering and philosophy enclaves. “Alexander Night has a report on what happened.”
Alexander stood up. He was sitting on the opposite side of the fire pit with a woman and a teenage boy. The boy was bent over a sheaf of paper, sketching something, but when Alexander stood up, the woman nudged the boy. When the boy paid no attention to her, she yanked the paper out of his hands. He glared at her.
Nora whispered to Maddie, “Is that Alexander’s son?”
Maddie nodded. “And his wife. Neither of them are creative, but their son is a full-fledged muse. He stays in the tweens and rebels enclave with us.”
Alexander cleared his throat. “Well, as most of you saw today, there was a breach in Helicon. A portal to the mundane world had been left open and the Influence found it. We were able to go through the portal and close it up pretty easily. Luckily, no one was hurt.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
Behind Alexander, a woman stood up. “May I speak?”
Phoebe nodded. “The council recognizes Techne Lift.”
“She’s the head of the science enclave,” Maddie told Nora.
Techne tucked a strand of her white-blonde hair behind one ear. “The portal was created last night when Owen Asher and Nora Sparrow returned to us, yes?”
“That’s correct,” said Alexander.
“But the two of them are sitting among us as equals,” said Techne. She pointed at Nora and Owen.
Nora shrank from the gazes that shifted to her. Was this Techne woman implying that they’d left the portal open on purpose?
Phoebe folded her arms over her chest. “If you’re going to make an accusation, come out and do it, Techne.”
Techne snapped her head to face Phoebe, her blonde hair flying. “I simply think that it’s suspicious that another portal shows up the day after they arrive. This is the third portal in Helicon in a very short time. And I’ve heard stories from those who worked in the babies and toddlers enclave about Owen Asher as a child. Perhaps he’s been behind these portals all along. Now we’re giving him shelter and food? We’re not even questioning him?”
What was Owen like as a child? Why did people keep bringing that up? Nora didn
’t understand.
Phoebe looked annoyed. “The last time Owen Asher was in Helicon, he was six years old. And before that the boy was three or four when he was in Helicon. He very likely doesn’t even remember what it is you think he did back then. I can’t believe you’re suggesting we judge someone’s character based on the way he acted when he was a toddler.”
“Uh,” said Alexander, “this portal was different anyway.”
“How can you know that?” said Techne.
“The two portals that have let the Influence into Helicon were both much smaller, for one thing. This was a portal created for people to travel through. It was quite large. The others have been tiny tears. This portal was also much easier to close. The portals we encountered before were interwoven with charms that repelled the security enclave’s weapons. This wasn’t the same thing. It was clearly an accident. Owen didn’t know the portal would stay open.”
“So he’s charmed you, then. That’s what you’re saying?” said Techne.
“That’s enough,” said Phoebe. “There is no reason to suspect Owen Asher of wrongdoing.”
“Perhaps he’s charmed you too,” said Techne. “His mother—”
“Is not him,” said Phoebe. “We do not judge people on their parentage. And I think it’s highly unlikely the woman had much influence on him, since he spent so little of his life with her.”
Owen’s mother again. Nora looked at Owen, but he was staring straight ahead, his face perfectly composed.
Techne shook her head. “Just like you, Phoebe. You won’t let anyone speak whose opinion is different than your own. It’s exactly the same as last year, when we brought the idea to the council of using excess muse energy to help starving people in the mundane world, and you shot it down before we could even properly discuss it.”
“That issue is closed.” Phoebe’s voice was ice.
“Hold on,” said Alexander, “now Techne, you know I was on board with that idea last year. The police see more suffering in the mundane world than most of you could possibly imagine, and I thought you were right about doing something to ease it. But you’re not right about this. Owen hasn’t been opening those portals. He wants to be here in Helicon. If he’d been able to figure out a way to get back to Helicon before this, he’d have taken it like a shot.”
Techne didn’t look pleased, but she held up her hands in surrender. She sat back down.
Another muse stood up. “Wait a second. I wasn’t at the council meeting last year where you discussed using excess muse energy to help people in the mundane world. Why is that issue closed?”
Phoebe heaved a huge sigh. “You should have been in the council meeting then. I’m sorry. Perhaps now you’ll realize that everything we do here is not boring.”
“Now Phoebe, that’s not fair,” said a different muse. “We all know these council meetings mostly amount to the food enclave or the architecture enclave bitching about how other enclaves aren’t pulling their weight.”
“Bitching?” said an obviously offended plump woman.
The first muse who’d objected held up a hand. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? The whole reason we have enclaves growing food or actually using raw materials to make our tents is to cut back on overusing energy, isn’t it? Otherwise, we’d simply be magicking up whatever we needed to be creative. But you—” the muse pointed at Phoebe— “are always harping on the fact that we need to be sending out more energy to the mundane world than we consume. So if we have this excess energy, why aren’t we helping the mundane world?”
“You could hardly believe it if you saw it,” said Alexander. “There’s starvation and conflict and abuse in the mundane world. There are so many people who are hurting every day. And we could be doing something about it.”
“No,” said Phoebe. “That is not the purpose of Helicon.”
“But the muses lie around all the time, doing nothing except dancing and playing drums,” said Alexander. “You say you’re helping people by inspiring them, but people who are starving can’t be inspired. They can only be hungry.”
“Wrong,” said Phoebe. “People who are starving need innovative inspiration to figure out how to feed themselves and solve their own problems. We empower humans. We don’t coddle them. We don’t interfere. We send inspiration threads. That is all. And this subject is indeed closed.”
After the meeting, back in the tweens and rebels enclave, Nora asked Maddie about some of what they’d heard. She was sitting outside her tent with Catling in her lap. The duck-cat was rubbing its head furiously against her legs and then shaking its head out, purring loudly the entire time.
“Helicon is powered by human creativity,” said Maddie. “The muses send inspiration to the mundane world, and the mundane world creates. That sends energy back to Helicon. We can use that energy to make things that we need to be creative if we want. My mother used to do it sometimes. If we didn’t have any basil in the gardens or we hadn’t planted any eggplants or something, she’d use a little muse magic and make some. But every time we use the energy for ourselves, we can’t use it in the inspiration threads, so it’s less energy we can send back to the mundane world.”
“So it’s like a cycle?” said Nora. “Like the water cycle or something? Energy flows back and forth between the humans and the muses?”
“Yeah,” said Maddie. “And Phoebe says it’s important for the muses to give back more energy to the mundane world than we use.”
“But could the muses really stop world hunger or something?” Nora asked.
Maddie shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think that if the muses used the energy for something like that, instead of to inspire people, they’d get less energy back from the mundane world, because people would be less creative, you know? So, in the end, it would hurt everyone.”
Nora supposed that made sense. But she could also see Alexander’s point. It didn’t seem right that the muses got to spend all their time having fun and being creative when people were in pain. On the other hand, Phoebe was right. People got themselves out of jams all the time with creative problem-solving. If the muses could help people help themselves, then the muses needed to create more, not less.
Owen sauntered through the archway into the enclave. He sat down next to Nora. “I’m going to stay with the security enclave,” he said. “I think, after what people said about me at the meeting this evening, it would be best if I do whatever I can to show everyone I’m committed to helping Helicon.”
Nora nodded. “I can see why you’d say that.”
“You’re going to stay here, aren’t you?” said Owen.
Nora scratched Catling on the head. “I want to.”
“Okay,” said Owen. He didn’t sound particularly enthused about it.
“I’m sorry, Owen, I just—”
“It’s fine,” he said. He smiled at her. “As long as you’re happy. And you promise that we’ll still see each other.”
“Of course we’ll see each other!” She couldn’t imagine life without Owen.
“Good.” He got up and began to gather up the pieces of his tent, which hadn’t been put up yet.
“Owen?” said Nora. “Why did they say stuff about you when you were a little kid? What did you do?”
Owen looked at her, a blank expression on his face. “I really don’t know, Nora. It’s like Phoebe says, I don’t remember.” He hiked the tent pole over his shoulder. “I was probably a brat, though. My parents sort of tossed me around between them, and whenever one of them got bored with me, they’d dump me here in Helicon.” He turned back to Nora, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen him look quite so vulnerable. “You’re the only person who’s never abandoned me.”
Dancing Days Page 10