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

  At last, the time had come—the end of the day. We embraced our new friends and made our goodbyes, with a promise to return soon. Then, Nathaniel and I began the long trek up the mountain.

  A short way out of the village, the tree branches along the trail quivered and quaked. Caleb and several of his men burst through and blocked our way.

  “What do you want?” Nathaniel said.

  Caleb glared at him. The cords of his neck bulged, so thick his shoulders seemed to merge directly with his head. “Going back to report to your master?”

  I stepped between the two. “We have no master but our own minds.”

  “Then use those minds to see our differences.” He tightened his grip on his axe, and spoke with a voice accustomed to giving commands. “The people of the earth treat each other with respect. Every one of us is valued. Technos use people as tools, objects to be studied and experimented upon. That’s the difference. You’ll find no way to straddle that line.”

  I softened my tone to hardly more than a whisper. “Do you treat us with respect, when you keep us here by force?”

  Caleb backed away and laid his axe on the ground as we’d seen Devorah do. Then he raised his arms and showed his hands, palms outward. His powerful fingers were crusted with callouses.

  “The good earth gave us these hands to provide for ourselves, not to become slaves to machines. You’re welcome here if you heed the earth mother’s wisdom. Think about it long and hard before you return. Think and choose.”

  With that, Caleb motioned for his men to step aside, and we continued on our way.

  Chapter 18 – Butterflies and Spinning Wheels

  The mentor never asked about our visit to the greenies, but drove us harder than ever. He needed no words to show this urgency. The dreamers were his legacy, and he was determined to save them.

  At the greenie village we’d witnessed the extremes—kindness and serenity, vengeance and hatred.

  The mentor believed hatred would prevail. If not for us, the dreamers were doomed.

  “I’ve delayed long enough,” he said. “Time you learn about cocoons.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and crumpled his brow. Shortly, a life-sized holo floated before us, a cramped container in the shape of a coffin.

  I gaped at the image as it spun in the air before me. “A cocoon, like the birth pod of a butterfly?”

  “Its technical name is Personal Life Support Pod, but for all their brilliance, the dreamers had no lack of whimsy. This container sustains the body while the mind evolves. They believed when they emerged they’d be reborn to a higher form, but unlike the silky pods for which they’re named, I fear these cocoons will never sprout life again. Too much time has passed. The butterfly has flown beyond the physical world.”

  I inched closer to the holo and reached out to touch it. My hand passed right through. “So small.”

  “Nothing bigger is needed. You’ll be conscious in them for only a matter of seconds.”

  My heart quickened. “We’ll be conscious. Why will we need to be in them at all?”

  “Because every one of your brain impulses will be downloaded into the storage device with the dreamers. We can capture these impulses but have no way to distinguish between higher level thoughts and the more primitive functions of the mind—those that allow your lungs to breathe and your heart to beat. The cocoon will perform these functions for you, keeping your body alive while your consciousness dwells in the dream.”

  Nathaniel turned from the holo to the mentor. “If their bodies are preserved, why haven’t you been able to awaken them?”

  The mentor’s bony shoulders heaved as his lungs drew in air and released it. “I wish I knew, but here’s what I surmise. Our thoughts change when separated from the body. A newly freed animal refuses to be caged again. So too the liberated consciousness resists returning to the physical world. The longer it stays away, the greater the resistance. I suspect my colleagues now find their bodies too confining. You’ll have no such problem, however. Your stay in the dream will be brief.”

  I shuddered, recalling my hours locked in the teaching cell. Thomas’s teaching had left him terrified of closed spaces. Would I be the same? Would I panic when the cover closed, and scream to be let out? “How will we know when it’s time to leave the dream?”

  “That’s why we have two of you. One will go into the cocoon and enter the dream. The other will monitor the controls. It’s good you care so much for each other, because the one’s life will rest in the other’s hands.”

  I recalled the mentor’s words: We will see how great your courage may be. Had he chosen us for our courage or our willingness to throw our lives away?

  I turned to Nathaniel.

  His jaw twitched and tightened, and the familiar vein in his temple throbbed.

  Before he could speak, I pressed two fingers to his lips.

  “Hush!,” I said. “A decision for another day.”

  ***

  I’d spent much of my childhood at the loom, weaving spun thread into cloth. If I became lost in the dream, my sole legacy might be this craft my parents taught me. But how could I cram so much knowledge into the three remaining days?

  I’d often traveled to Great Pond with bolts of cloth strapped to my back to barter for thread. Following the four-hour trek, the spinner would offer me tea with lunch and teach me the workings of his wheel. I knew its every detail, and my mother’s loom, as well. In my few waking hours away from the mentor, I used the paper Kara had supplied to sketch diagrams of these simple machines from every aspect and angle.

  When the mentor granted our second day with the greenies, I rolled up the finished diagrams and brought them with me, tucked away into my waterproof pouch.

  In the center of the village, we found the earth mother perched on a stool, surrounded by the younger children squatting on the ground and hanging on her every word.

  “And so,” she said, “the prince and princess boarded a boat with white wings and flew across the sea.” She raised her arms over her head and flapped her hands like a bird.

  As the wide-eyed children followed her gesture, one of the little boys spotted us. “Oh, look! Here they come.”

  The excited children scrambled to their feet and gathered around us, clutching at our clothing and grasping my left hand.

  “What are they doing?” I said to the earth mother.

  She laughed. “I told them about your magic ring. They want to kiss it.”

  “I don’t have a ring.”

  “Of course you do. It’s just invisible. Now you don’t want to disappoint them, do you? Children, the princess will let you kiss her ring, but only if you form an orderly line.”

  The children obeyed at once, arranging themselves in a line by height, smallest first. Then each in turn bowed or curtsied before me and kissed the third finger of my left hand, while I giggled embarrassed.

  “Such a beautiful ring,” they said.

  After I’d shared my enchantment with the last of the children, the earth mother sent them off to play. I struggled to ease the flush from my face and adopt a tone more appropriate to the task at hand.

  “We’re new to your customs,” I said, “and understand little about them. What was this game of yours about?”

  “I told them you were a prince and princess who sailed in from afar on a quest to make our lives better. They asked how you managed to cross the sea, so I made up a magic ring that protected you from sea serpents and guided you through storms to our land.”

  I thought of the compass and sextant, still tucked in my pouch, and the study and hard work that had guided us here—the true magic. “But... that’s not true.”

  Her lips spread into a patient smile as if she’d heard this question before. “Which truth would you prefer I tell them? That you crashed your boat and washed ashore? That we must boil our water, eat fish and berries, and dress in rags, because the dreamers overreached and are lost forever? Isn’t it better to spin a tale of a prince an
d princess who brought magic to improve our lot?”

  She waited for an answer, but I had none to give. She stared until I blinked and looked away, and then she continued. “You told me where you’re from the people still tell tales.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “The vicars frowned on such stories, especially ancient ones from the darkness, but our parents told them anyway. My father used to tell me of knights with swords riding on the backs of horses, and wizards with magic staffs—all things banned by the Temple of Light. The vicars preferred to keep magic to themselves.”

  She nodded, more with her eyes than her head. “Why, despite the ban, did your parents keep telling you these stories?”

  I shrugged. “They made us feel good.”

  “Yes, and much more. Stories let us slip into the heads of strangers and view the world through different eyes. Those who ban stories fear we’ll see the world anew, wake up from our sleep and change the established order.”

  “As we did,” Nathaniel said.

  “So in your own way, you are a prince and princess, who have created your own kind of magic.” Specks of light danced in the earth mother’s eyes. She was a throwback, neither vicar nor elder, but a wise woman from an ancient time.

  I imagined her living in Nathaniel’s fantasy past, when wizards and knights roamed the earth, on a quest for something greater than the saving of souls or the pursuit of knowledge.

  She shattered the mood with a laugh and clapped her hands. “Very well, your majesties, now tell me what magic you bring us this day.”

  ***

  Nathaniel marched off with his would-be farmers, while I spent the morning reviewing my drawings with Jacob. He studied each detail, tracing its lines with the tip of his finger and asking pointed questions.

  I waited, watching his mind churn.

  As the sun reached its highest point, he nodded, slowly at first, and then faster.

  “Can you build these?” I said.

  He rolled the drawings up and tucked them under his arm. “With the blessing of the earth mother, I’ll do my best.”

  After I’d shared the noontime meal with the others, I led Ruth and Devorah to the surrounding hillside.

  Zachariah, the silent boy, rushed out as we were leaving, and signed frantically to Devorah.

  She checked with me. “He wants to come with us.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  We waded through fields of waist-high flax as I pointed out the flowers—yellows and oranges, blues and greens.

  “How long have they been flowering?” I said.

  Devorah consulted with Ruth. “Three, maybe four weeks.”

  “Nearly perfect.” I knelt down and fingered the stalks. “Look here. Pick those turning yellow but with some green in them still. This one’s ripe. Watch how I pick it.” I plucked the plant from the ground, root and all, by pulling straight up. “Now go gather as much as you can carry.”

  The others scattered.

  Zachariah raced through the stalks, checking the color. He returned with a fistful of flax.

  An hour later, the group reassembled at the edge of the field as I laid out the next steps. “Tie these into bundles and leave them standing upright in the sun until they dry. Then you can strip off the seeds with a rippling comb—I’ll help you make one when we’re back in the village. Once the seeds are gone, you’ll need to separate the fiber from the inner core. The fiber sticks to the stalk like bark to a tree. You can release it by soaking them in a shallow pool. A few days in water, and it comes free easily. Manage all that while I’m gone, and we’ll have plenty to spin into thread when I return. Then, on the following visit we’ll perform the real magic—thread into cloth. Pick all you can, but don’t wait too long. The longer you wait after flowering, the coarser the fiber. Do you understand?”

  The two women nodded, accepting my instructions.

  Zachariah gaped at me, eyes wide, as if he believed turning flax into cloth would really be magic.

  I grasped him by the hand. “Come, Zachariah, there’s one more use for flax. I’ll teach you how to make a winner’s wreath.”

  After choosing flowers in a variety of colors, we brought our harvest back to the village. I made a simple rippling comb out of a block of wood and nails, and in the few minutes remaining, showed Zachariah how to weave a wreath and decorate it with flowers.

  ***

  At the end of the day, we gathered with the earth mother and the other greenie leaders, including Caleb.

  Nathaniel left instructions for the farmers, and I stressed the need to harvest enough fiber before my next visit. Neither of us mentioned we had only two trips remaining, after which we might never return.

  The elders listened as if I were a vicar. No, not a vicar, because no fear showed in their eyes. More like a wizard from a magical time. I prayed not to disappoint them.

  Before we adjourned, Caleb rose from his seat and strode to the front. “So wise, so all knowing, but answer me this. Why don’t you stay with us? Why do you keep returning to the technos?”

  Nathaniel stood and confronted him, the two tallest in the village. “Please trust us. We made promises to both sides, commitments we take to heart. We mean neither of you harm.”

  Caleb faced the others and waved his hand in the direction of the techno city. “Trust is something to be earned. Only those with bad intentions hide behind secrets and lies.”

  “What are you afraid of?” the earth mother said. “Do you think they’ll turn our children into dreamers? Look at how much they’ve taught us already—ways to grow our own food and better clothe our families. Let them continue their teachings. We owe it to the people we lead.”

  Caleb turned, towering over her where she sat. “I wish I could share your kindness. You may have forgotten what our former friends are capable of, but I’ve lived among them more recently than you. Your affection for these two has blinded you to the risk. Don’t expect me to be a part of it.”

  His message sent, he stomped away and never looked back.

  The earth mother watched him until his hulking form vanished into the trees, then shook her head and sighed. “So many hours we’ve talked, as I’ve tried to teach him the way of the earth, the path to find peace. He possesses such passion and skill, but his passion is fired by a pain he’s never shared. For these past years, that pain has simmered beneath the surface. I fear your arrival has brought it to the fore.”

  When all had been said, the others lined up to embrace us and wish us well, with the earth mother last of all.

  As she grasped me in her arms, she whispered in my ear. “Like Caleb, you too are filled with passion. Use that passion wisely to find the end you seek.”

  As we prepared to leave, Zachariah dashed out from his hut smiling broadly and preening for his friends. On his head, he wore a newly made, flowered wreath, reminding me so much of a young Thomas after winning his first race at festival.

  “Why do you make these wreaths,” the earth mother asked. “They provide neither shade nor warmth.”

  “They’re prizes,” I said. “A way to show others we trained hard and excelled. Don’t you have anything like festival, a time when people gather to play games and celebrate?”

  “Of course we do.” Her eyes sparkled, and she flashed a secret smile. “I’ll show you when the time is right.”

  Chapter 19 – Shift and Weave

  The morning after our return from the greenies, Kara came to fetch us bright and early, but this time she seemed more downcast than usual. Her shoulders slumped, and she mumbled her response to my greeting.

  “Are you not well this morning?” I said.

  She ignored my question and sped away.

  I caught up and grasped her by the elbow, forcing her to face me. “Have we done something wrong?”

  She yanked her arm away. “What is it you plot behind closed doors in the mentor’s chamber? He shares nothing with me.”

  I softened my expression and tempered my words. “I’m sorry, Kara,
but he insisted we tell no one.”

  “Yet I’m the one he relies on. I’m the one he teaches special skills. You’re our guests, but strangers nevertheless who know little of our ways. Our problems are ours to solve.”

  I understood at once. I too had been a headstrong child—headstrong and foolish. I remembered my anger when Nathaniel offered the keepers’ scrolls to the vicar of Bradford. My thoughts from that day still echoed in my mind. I know the task before us might end in our death, but it’s my adventure, and no one will steal it from me. I recalled my relief when the vicar refused the scrolls.

  Kara turned to leave, but I stepped in front and blocked her way. “Trust that whatever we do will be for the good of your people and ours.”

  A tremor racked her slight frame, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to stop it. Once she steadied, she made an awkward bow. “As you wish. I follow the mentor’s lead.”

  Then she whirled around and stomped off without glancing our way again.

  ***

  Day after day, we played the mentor’s games. During our grueling sessions, the muscles in my back cramped from long hours lying on the floor, trying to clear my mind while concentrating on my breathing. Then each night, in the few hours left for sleep, I’d lay awake, my head throbbing as those suppressed thoughts came raging back.

  What would it be like to dwell with the dreamers? Would I find the geniuses I’d imagined, or a torrent of thoughts from minds driven mad from years in the void? Would we risk our lives with nothing to bring home to our people? Would the miracles we found justify the risk?

  And which of us would venture into the dream while the other hoped and prayed?

  At the end of each day, I asked the mentor when we’d visit the greenies next, and each time he berated us, telling us we were doomed unless we focused more and worked harder. But after nine days, even the mentor could no longer deny our request.