The Stuff of Stars (The Seekers Book 2) Read online

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  The Stuff of Stars

  (The Seekers – Book 2)

  Copyright © 2015 David Litwack

  Cover Art Copyright © 2015 Mallory Rock

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  ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622534352

  ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-435-7

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  Content Editor: John Anthony Allen

  Senior/Line Editor: Lane Diamond

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  eBook License Notes:

  You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Disclaimer:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

  Other Books by David Litwack

  Along the Watchtower

  The Daughter of the Sea and the Sky

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  THE SEEKERS

  Book 1: The Children of Darkness

  Book 2: The Stuff of Stars

  Book 3: The Light of Reason

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  www.DavidLitwack.com

  Dedication:

  For Mary Anne, who always knew I would write again.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Books by David Litwack

  Dedication

  PART ONE – The Masters of Machines

  Chapter 1 – The Shining City

  Chapter 2 – The Mentor

  Chapter 3 – A Safe and Dry Place

  Chapter 4 – A New Adventure

  Chapter 5 – A Cry in the Night

  Chapter 6 – Seekers Once More

  Chapter 7 – The Welcome Feast

  PART TWO – The People of the Earth

  Chapter 8 – Greenies

  Chapter 9 – The Ragged Lady

  Chapter 10 – The Hall of Winds

  Chapter 11 –A Dread from the Past

  Chapter 12 – The Gilded Prison

  Chapter 13 – A Tapping on the Door

  Chapter 14 – Truth at Last

  Chapter 15 – Images on the Wall

  Chapter 16 – Mind Games

  Chapter 17 – Honeysuckle and Reeds

  Chapter 18 – Butterflies and Spinning Wheels

  Chapter 19 – Shift and Weave

  Chapter 20 – Wolves and Unicorns

  Chapter 21 – The Mending Machine

  PART THREE – Dreamers

  Chapter 22 – Deepest Dread

  Chapter 23 – The Darkened Lake

  Chapter 24 – Antechamber

  Chapter 25 – The Chamber of Dreams

  Chapter 26 – Return to the Living

  Chapter 27 – Insurrection

  Chapter 28 – Kara’s Time

  Chapter 29 – Sides of the Ledger

  Chapter 30 – To the Mountain

  Chapter 31 – The Dreamers

  Chapter 32 – Would-Be Warriors

  Chapter 33 – The People of the Earth

  Chapter 34 – Going Home

  EPILOGUE

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  What’s Next?

  More from David Litwack

  More from Evolved Publishing

  PART ONE –The Masters of Machines

  “I will tell you a great secret, Captain, perhaps the greatest of all time. The molecules of your body are the same molecules that make up this station, and the nebula outside—that burn inside the stars themselves. We are star stuff. We are the Universe made manifest, trying to figure itself out.” ~ Delenn, Babylon 5

  Chapter 1 – The Shining City

  I startled awake to the touch of a ragamuffin boy with long hair tangled into knots. He wore a threadbare shirt and leggings with holes at the knees, and seemed no more than nine years old. I blinked at him three times to drive the cobwebs from my mind.

  The boy stared back with eyes too big for his head.

  After a moment, he reached out a finger and brushed something coarse from my cheek. Wet sand caked on my skin. I must have been lying face down.

  I rolled over and sniffed. The air bore the brackish odor of low tide, thank the light. Had the tide been higher, I’d have drowned. I inhaled more deeply. Low tide for sure, a stale smell of tides gone by, of half-conscious sailors who had crashed on the reefs before me. The air still reeked of their fear at finding themselves, as I did, alone in a new land.

  Well, not entirely alone.

  “Who... are you?” My voice sounded scratchy like the sand. How long have I been lying here?

  The boy stayed silent as my memories trickled back in. My name, Orah Weber. My birthplace, Little Pond. The discovery of the long-lost keep. The building of the boat, the first of its kind in hundreds of years. Its once unthinkable launch from the far side of the granite mountains. The endless days at sea. The storm.

  Nathaniel!

  I raised up on one elbow and scanned my surroundings. “Do you know where my friend is?”

  The boy shook his head. Still no sound from his lips.

  A clamor from behind, and I twisted around to catch a gaggle of children approaching from the dunes above the beach. Arms were raised, fingers pointed, and the younger ones squealed with delight. Then a cry of relief from a deeper voice, one I knew so well.

  I turned to thank the boy for leading Nathaniel to me but saw only his back as he raced off down the beach, leaving a trail of bare footprints in the sand.

  I shook off the crick in my neck and sat up to greet the newcomers.

  These new children were different, cleaner and better kempt than the silent boy. Their hair was short and razor cut, like the hair of all who had come of age in Little Pond.

  A girl marched at their lead, barking out orders for the younger children to stay in line. She strode down the dunes, flush with the fragile self-assurance of early adulthood, so much like me when I first set out to seek the keep. She wore tight-fitting pants that reached midway down her calves, and a tunic with no visible belt or button to hold it in place. Her clothing was made of a material like none I’d ever seen, gleaming almost metallic in the sunlight.

  The fog in my mind continued to clear as an onshore breeze kicked up, making the girl’s tunic billow.

  I scrambled to my feet, checking for injuries as I stood—nothing but bumps and bruises. Then I limped off to meet Nathaniel as he sprinted toward me like the winner of a race at festival. Neither of us slowed until we were wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Nathaniel. My best friend. My husband.

  I held him close, consumed by the same fear that had haunted me after our escape from Temple City—that one day we’d be separated forever. But now, like then, I had little time to savor the moment. I pulled away to assess his wellbeing. Sand mottled his hair and beard, and a purple welt blossomed on his right forearm where the sleeve of his tunic had torn, but no other wound showed.

  As I breathed a sigh of relief, he glanced over his shoulder.

  The girl had whirled on her troop, quellin
g their excitement with a wave of her hand and urging them to retreat up the dunes, as if coming to the beach had trespassed on enemy territory.

  I questioned Nathaniel with my eyes, but he answered without a word, reaching out a hand and beckoning me to follow.

  I did my best to keep up with the children on legs unsteady from the weeks at sea. As I staggered along, I studied them.

  Each wore a hand-sized black box in a pouch at their hip, and carried a sack filled with fresh fish. Some of the older boys brandished sticks with sharpened points. Spears for fishing, or weapons for defense?

  At the top of the dunes, their leader stopped before a series of stone benches. “Rest here,” she said. “We mustn’t stay long, but you’ll need to get your legs under you before you make the trek uphill.”

  “What if more IBs come?” the youngest boy whispered.

  “Hush, Timmy. Can’t you see how tired they are? Besides, we have time. The IBs don’t worship till sunset.”

  My legs throbbed too much to be concerned with sunset or IBs, whoever they might be. I collapsed with Nathaniel on the nearest bench.

  “Who... are you?” I struggled to form the words through parched lips.

  “I am Kara. You sound as if you need a drink.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a soft-skinned bottle, like a Little Pond goatskin, but made from the same shiny material as her tunic. “Have some of mine. Take as much as you want. The streams on the lower mountain have all gone foul, but the desals make all the water we need from the sea. At least when they function.”

  I took a sip from the bottle. The water tasted sweet with a hint of apple.

  Kara hovered over me as I drank. Her eyes shone with a forced pride, like someone filled with doubt trying to look confident. She blinked and turned her attention to Nathaniel, who sprawled on the bench beside me, then lowered her voice and spoke in the way people back home addressed a vicar. “Are you from the ancient land?”

  “If you mean the land across the sea, then yes.” His voice sounded raspy like mine.

  I passed him the water skin.

  “We learned about you in our lessons,” Kara said. “The mentor taught us that people lived on the far side of the ocean, but they’d forgotten how to think. One day, he said, they’d remember and sail here.” Her smile broadened. “And now you have come.”

  The boy who had asked about the bench stepped forward and tugged at Kara’s thumb. “Could they be dreamers?”

  “No, Timmy.”

  “They might be.”

  “You mustn’t pretend. It’s unseemly. Use your brain. We have no reason to believe they’re dreamers.”

  Undeterred, the boy huddled with the other children and whispered.

  I picked up snippets of his words. “... might be... what if... the dreamers returned.”

  “Who are the dreamers?” I said.

  The children stopped their chatter and stared at their shoe tops.

  After an awkward moment, Kara stepped forward. “The mentor prefers we call them machine masters.”

  “But—”

  “You must be hungry. We’ve caught fish to cook, and hopefully, the synthesizers will work today and make something tasty to go with them. Come now. We need to leave this place before the grown-up IBs come for their sunset nonsense. Come with us to the city.”

  I scanned the woods bordering the beach, hoping to catch sight of the shimmering towers I’d seen from our boat before the storm struck. Nothing. We sat too near the slope, and tall trees blocked our view.

  I looked to Kara instead. “Is the city where your elders live?”

  She eyed me. “What are elders?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know the words you use. We’re seeking the descendants of those who first came here, the kin of the keepmasters.”

  The girl stared open-mouthed.

  “The ones who built the city,” I said.

  More chatter from the younger children, and Kara hissed at them to be quiet.

  I overheard the same phrase as before: the dreamers.

  At last Kara turned back to me. “Those who built the city have gone to a higher place. The mentor can tell you more. We’ll take you to him.”

  I took one final swig of the sweet water and forced myself to stand. My muscles groaned, but my mind churned. Desals and synthesizers, machine masters and dreamers? We had lots to learn.

  The children hoisted their sacks and led us along a muddy road that straddled the rim of the cliffs. Breakers from the storm still pounded the rocks and sent an angry spray across our path. Clouds of squawking gulls wheeled overhead, eyeing the catch of fish.

  After a while, we left the gulls behind and entered a well-trodden trail cut through the woods. The scent of the sea dwindled with the offshore breeze, replaced by the welcome smells of land—pine resin and moist earth, growing plants and animals with fur instead of scales. How good to leave the tumultuous sea behind, even if its waters represented our last link to home.

  The line of children rambled along without speaking. What must they think of us, these strangers who’d crashed so unceremoniously on their shore?

  A rustling in the trees distracted me.

  Not far from the start of the inland path, the silent boy peeked at us between the branches. The other children ignored him.

  I caught up to Kara. “Who is that boy, and why do you pretend he’s not there?”

  Kara shrugged. “He’s an IB.”

  “What’s an IB?”

  “They call themselves people of the earth, but we call them greenies, just as they call us technos. The younger children prefer IB, short for ishkabibblers. The mentor teaches us that their thoughts are nothing but babble. That’s why we started calling them ishkabibblers.”

  I gaped at her, my mind too tired to comprehend.

  Her mouth spread into a grin. “You know, the sound you make by running your fingers over your lips while humming.”

  She demonstrated, making the silly sound, and the other children joined in.

  I had to laugh despite the cramps in my legs, and she laughed with me. I glanced over my shoulder, taking in the last glimpse of the ocean. How different this new land is from our side of the sea.

  Nathaniel smiled and squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. Then I looked past him into the woods, searching for the young IB, but the boy had vanished, devoured by the trees.

  ***

  We followed the techno children on a serpentine path steep enough to challenge our breathing. In places where the footing turned treacherous, with slick roots and loose scree, some craftsman had embedded stone steps to ease the way. After too many weeks on the waves, Nathaniel and I tottered along, clinging to each other for support as we fought the lingering sense of the ground undulating underfoot.

  I swallowed to wet my throat. The water Kara had shared had been insufficient to quench my thirst, but my stomach growled as well. How long had I lain asleep on the sand? To the west, the sun sank low on the horizon, heralding the advent of twilight. Our boat had crashed before dawn. A whole day lost.

  Our last week at sea, we’d rationed both food and water. Now hunger and thirst conspired to muddle my mind, and the usual fire in Nathaniel’s eyes had dimmed as well. I willed myself to keep up with the children, driven by a new hope—that any second the shining city I’d seen from the boat would appear. I prayed it was no illusion.

  After a while, we emerged from the woods into a rounded knoll, its edges too perfect to be natural. The clearing marked the start of a paved road with the blackened surface I’d viewed on screens in the keep. This road, however, had buckled from weather, leaving cracks and hollows. Recent damage, I prayed, for these descendants of the keepmasters would never tolerate imperfection. Then I glanced up, and my doubts evaporated.

  The shining city was no illusion, no trick of the dark or the storm. The road led to a hilltop adorned with beams of light streaming to the sky, more glorious than anything in the keepmasters’ city, even before it fell into ruin
. These rays glimmered in the impending dusk, bringing joy to the heavens, the first row as high as I could see, but then the next, farther back and even higher, and then another and another.

  The keep had opened my eyes to the past, but my people had shunned what we’d found, wary of a return to the darkness. After centuries of stagnation, their vision had narrowed, and their sense of adventure had dulled. We’d crossed the ocean to prove the possible, to show what a boldness of spirit could achieve. We’d hoped to discover the future.

  Now we’d done it. We’d found the kin of the keepmasters. How far had these people advanced in the past thousand years? What wonders awaited?

  Nathaniel threw an arm around my waist and pulled me tight. “You see it too, don’t you? It’s all real.”

  I clutched him closer as we stared up. “Your dream come true.”

  “Our dream.”

  The city had been cut into a sheer rock face that girded the midsection of the mountain. Higher up, a second cliff loomed, with another man-made structure carved into it. I strained to distinguish its features, but mist from a nearby waterfall veiled its lines. To be visible from so far away, the place must be a fortress for giants.

  Far above both, a snow-covered peak lorded over the land, as if to remind its citizens that, despite their genius, a greater power ruled their world.

  As we drew closer, I had to cup a hand over my eyes to see through the glare. An arched gate straddled the road ahead, providing the only access to the city or the mountain beyond. The wall of light combined with the rock face to create an impassible barrier, seemingly built to keep out the most powerful of enemies.

  When we rounded the final curve, the road straightened, letting me grasp the details more clearly. The arch was made not of light like the wall, but of sandstone, with carvings etched across its top, faded images I could recognize only by squinting and using my imagination—men and women, it seemed, clutching scrolls and instruments in their hands, with tiny wings on their shoulders. On either side of the opening stood a statue of a stone warrior, four times Nathaniel’s height and twice his girth. Each carried two swords crossed on their armored chests, and their eyes glowed red and unblinking.