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

  And so, our third visit with the greenies came at last.

  As we crested the hill overlooking the village, Nathaniel paused and pointed. “Look at the change, more like the farms around Little Pond.”

  I cupped a hand over my eyes and gazed into the distance at furrows of freshly turned earth, marking where seeds had been sown by the hard-working greenies. So much progress in so few days.

  One of the children weeding a vegetable garden spotted us and cried out. No restraint this time. Several of his friends raced off to spread the word, but most poured down the path to escort us.

  When our procession reached the heart of the village, we were greeted by Devorah and a beaming Jacob.

  “Come with us,” Devorah said.

  We followed them past the burial place in the trees to the first of the work shelters. Mounds of flax fiber nearly obscured the shed. Yes, we’d been gone longer than planned, thanks to the mentor’s frantic rush to complete our training, yet I’d never expected the greenies to produce so much. The earth mother must have taken my words to heart and mustered an army.

  Inside, another surprise: they’d cleaned out the shop’s contents and replaced them with not one, but three spinning wheels and two looms.

  I gave the nearest wheel a whirl and touched the wooden frame of a loom with my fingertips, feeling like I’d been transported back home to my cottage in Little Pond. Jacob hovered nearby awaiting my approval, but I had no words and embraced him instead.

  We spent the morning spinning fiber. I worked the wheel first, and a team of apprentices followed. Soon, all three wheels were spinning, and spools thickened with thread.

  The earth mother joined us for the midday meal, along with the other leaders.

  Even Caleb came. He glared gloomily at our progress but held his peace, perhaps finally appreciating the benefits we brought to his people.

  Everyone assembled outside the shed and sat cross-legged in a circle on the ground. After plates were heaped with berries and cups filled with sassafras-flavored tea, we joined hands, bowed our heads, and thanked the earth for its bounty.

  After the meal, I took stock of the thread—enough to make a sample of cloth.

  I gathered my would-be apprentices around the loom. “First, we wind the warp—the lengthwise threads that form the backbone of the cloth—to the rear beam. Here.” I demonstrated. “Then we pass them through these holes and tie them as tightly as possible to the front. Today, we have thread to weave only a narrow strip, about a hand’s width, but enough to let you learn on your own. The weft is the thread we’ll weave from side to side using the picking stick and shuttle.”

  It took a bit over an hour to set up the loom, not bad considering their inexperience.

  When everything was in place, I sat down, rested my feet on the pedals, and fingered the shuttle—like meeting an old friend after a long time apart. Suddenly my hands flew while my feet danced up and down, making space for the shuttle to slip through the warp—shift and weave, shift and weave.

  Devorah threw up her hands and laughed. “You need to slow down if you expect us to learn.”

  The greenies were bright and eager. After a few missteps, each was able to take their turn. None were as adept as this lifetime Little Pond weaver, but they soon found the knack, and their first strip of cloth took shape.

  “You’ll get faster with experience. Then you can weave wider pieces, adding colors and patterns. For now, you’ve learned the basics.”

  The earth mother looked on proudly as her people weaved. Once the cloth had taken shape, she waved at the loom. “Like magic, clothing from the land.”

  I shook my head. “Magic is what our vicars claimed. None of this is magic, but the result of learning, of experimentation, of the pursuit of knowledge, and of hard work. The magic resides in the power of our minds, and in the strength of our desires. As you once told me, it’s in our nature to strive.”

  “To strive, yes, but how far?” She gazed at the apprentice weavers, now fully absorbed in their work, and grasped me by the arm. “Come, walk with me.”

  She led me past the basket-making hut, now filled with sturdy baskets of various shapes and sizes. We strolled along until we reached a field of wildflowers at the edge of the forest, where she stopped, tilted her head back, and drew in a long breath.

  “The heart away from nature becomes hard. A lack of respect for growing things soon leads to a lack of respect for people.” She turned to me. “I used to be one of them, you know, one of their better scientists.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I spent most of my childhood locked away in their lessons, learning to master the machines. Sometimes, I’d stay inside for a week at a time, never seeing the light of day. In the world of the machine master, once you’ve passed the exam, you sacrifice everything in the pursuit of knowledge. As I grew older, I started to question their ways.”

  She wandered over to a patch of daisies, picked one, and reveled in its scent.

  “What made you come here?” I said.

  “When my colleagues began to research the dream, I refused to participate. I couldn’t accept the premise that we’re nothing more than impulses and logic. Even if true, even if the soul is a myth, we still needed mystery, humility, and that mix of fear and fascination in knowing our lives must end.”

  She rolled up her sleeve and stretched out an arm to me. “Here, touch this.”

  I stared at her bewildered, but did as she asked.

  “Old and wrinkled, but flesh nevertheless. Now touch your own arm.”

  I did.

  “Someday your flesh will age like mine. You say you’re a seeker of truth. Do you think this flesh will last forever? Do you think it’s all there is?”

  I nodded, then shook my head.

  “All of us suspect there’s something more to us, an essence. It’s the way we’re wired, but who knows? All I’m certain of is that today, I’m closer to being dead than being born. What am I to do with that knowledge? Would I prefer to live forever? I’ve never given it much thought, because I never believed it possible. The dreamers wouldn’t accept such an answer. They deluded themselves, hiding from the mystery of life and denying this marvelous home we call Earth, yet I wished them no harm. I called many my friends.”

  She sighed deeply. “Now, you might say they’ve achieved their goal—their minds are one with eternity, unencumbered by frail bodies—while I spend my dwindling days watching the splendor in the sunsets and listening to the music of the children’s laughter. Which of us has the better lot?”

  I saw my chance to find out more about the dreamers, to learn what the mentor had concealed from us, but I had to choose my words carefully. “What can you tell me... about the state of your former friends, those who are lost in the dream?”

  She turned sideways and eyed me across her nose. “Why do want to know?”

  “I have dreams myself sometimes that seem so real. Some mornings, when my mind’s in the shadowland between wake and sleep, I hesitate to open my eyes, afraid which world I’ll find myself in? Is it that way for the dreamers?”

  She wet her lips ever so slightly with her tongue, a hesitation while she decided how to respond. “The dreamer’s dream is no more like your night dreams than the techno is like the greenie. Their dreams lost their sense of whimsy, of serendipity, of caring. I believe they’ve become pure logic.”

  “How do you know? Did you ever go into the dream?”

  “No. I left before they started the first experiments. Even if I’d stayed, I would have been too old for its rigors. But I’ve heard about it. Yes, they solved the unsolvable problems of mathematics while in the dream, and found solutions to enhance the machines. Yet none ever claimed that the experience made the sunset more striking or the stars shine brighter, or that when they awoke, they loved their children more.”

  “Was it the mentor... William, who told you about the dream?”

  “No, it was Caleb.”

  “Caleb?”


  “Yes, he was one of the first to research the dream, but like me, he eventually rejected it.” Her eyebrows drew together so a deep crease appeared between them, and she fixed me with her gaze. “Why are you so obsessed with the dream?”

  Unable to bear her stare, I turned away and wandered deeper into the flowers, pretending to search for one to pick.

  I recalled my first night with the technos and thought to use it as a diversion. “I once dreamed I was floating on the sea, but without a boat, just on my back. I could see a million stars and count each one, but then the stars turned to numbers, and my mind filled with all the knowledge anyone had ever known. I wondered what it would be like to have such power.”

  The earth mother pressed her fingertips against her temples and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she regarded me with a lifetime of sadness. “I was afraid of this. You and Nathaniel are planning to go into the mountain, to join the dreamers in the dream.”

  I shook my head so hard my hair swished across my face.

  She tried to smile, but a glistening in her eyes belied the gesture. “No need to mislead. I promise I won’t betray your trust, but I know my friend, William, too well. He’s too old to dream and too kind-hearted to send his children into danger. You and Nathaniel are strangers, not kin, and you’ve come brashly into our world. He means well but will use you as another of his experiments. If you fail, he’s no worse off, and will continue to drive the children in the hope they’ll one day re-create the past. You think he honors you, but you underestimate the risk. I beg you: don’t go back to the city. Stay here with us. Be safe and welcome.”

  I glanced around where I stood, knee high in daisies. The sun had climbed to its zenith overhead, brightening a hillside emblazoned with flowers of every shape and color, a bounty no machine could ever create.

  The earth mother handed me her daisy. “Stay, please.”

  “We’ll come back for one more day,” I said. “After that, who knows? If we never return, spin your fiber into thread and weave your thread into cloth as I’ve taught you. Plant and reap your wheat. And as you wear your bright, new clothing and eat your freshly baked bread, forget we ever existed.”

  The corners of her eyes sagged. She stretched out a hand to me, but it lingered in midair. After a moment of indecision, she closed the distance between us, grasped me by the arms, and squeezed. “No, we won’t forget you. We’ll remember you as the prince and princess from across the sea, and tell stories about you until the end of time.”

  Chapter 20 – Wolves and Unicorns

  We set out for our fourth visit to the greenies as soon as first light allowed, weighed down by the prospect that this might be our last time. Neither Nathaniel nor I said a word on the trek, with the only sound the muffled beat of our footsteps on the mossy ground.

  Devorah met us in the heart of the village, forewarned of our arrival by the squeals of the children. An impish expression stole across her face as we approached, and she said, “Wait here.”

  She dashed into her hut, and moments later emerged wearing a dress made of newly woven cloth. She twirled before the crowd and preened, as her friends hooted and whistled. “Mock me if you will,” she shouted back at them, “but today I feel like dancing.”

  After besieging us with their usual greeting, the children had mysteriously scattered. Now, they began to reappear, first in ones and twos and then in dozens, each sporting a flowered wreath on their head.

  The earth mother ambled in, laughing. “Since you taught Zachariah to make these flowered hats, they’ve become all the fashion, but I insisted the children save them for this day. You told them they were used as prizes for your festival. This morning we’ll work hard, learning what you promised us—how to color the cloth and weave patterns, how to care for the seedling wheat and harvest it when ready. Then, later this afternoon, the people of the earth will give thanks—our own kind of festival.

  ***

  The rest of the morning passed as a blur, overshadowed by the uncertainty of our fate.

  Nathaniel went off with his farmers to teach them how to reap what they’d sowed.

  I led my weavers through the fields picking an assortment of plants for dye—bloodroot for red, lichen weed for gold, dandelion roots for brown, raspberries for pink, blueberries for blue, and snapdragons for green.

  Zachariah followed me everywhere.

  When we returned to the work hut with our gatherings, I showed them how to chop the berries, flowers, and roots into small bits and set them boiling in pots. While they simmered, we soaked the thread in briny water.

  After an hour, we strained the dye, leaving six vats of distinct colors. I let Zachariah be the first to dip the threads.

  He skipped from one end of the row to the other, eyeing the colored liquids, and finally settled on blue.

  The older apprentices followed, each picking their own.

  As the greenies stared in wonder, the bland threads transformed into a rainbow of colors.

  Devorah raised a batch of thread with a stick and gazed as its drips made ripples in the pot. “I’ve always wanted a red dress.”

  I smiled at her. “Why settle for a single color?”

  I spent the rest of the morning showing them how to set the loom for patterns. Devorah kept careful notes, and I pictured her one day dancing in the village in her newest dress, a mix of reds and golds and greens. I hoped I’d be there to see it.

  In midafternoon, when the shadows had lengthened, the earth mother joined us to inspect the fruits of our labors.

  She nodded in approval. “You’ve done so much for my people. Time for us to give back. The whole village is assembled and waiting.” She waggled a finger. “Come with me.”

  A frantic Zachariah tugged at her sleeve and signed furiously.

  She laughed and nodded. “Of course you may be the one to escort the princess.”

  The silent boy smiled up at me and reached for my hand.

  We skirted the edge of the village, following an unfamiliar path. Soon, the trail narrowed, winding through an overgrown patch between downed branches. Winter-dead trees crept close on either side, twisted by storms into almost human shapes. With the path so cramped, Zachariah released my hand and strode before me as if to protect me from the trees.

  “We leave it natural,” the earth mother said, “to maintain its sense of mystery. Unlike the Hall of Winds, we don’t come here often, only to celebrate our most special occasions.”

  Ten minutes later the debris diminished, and we emerged into a natural tunnel formed by the branches, so different from the techno arch—not dark and somber but with sparkles of afternoon sun filtering between the leaves.

  As I started through, my eyes confounded by the dappled light, I caught sight of a tall figure waiting ahead, his face seemingly surrounded by stars—Nathaniel, my prince. I grasped his arm, and the procession resumed—Zachariah, our page, leading the way, the prince and princess next, and Devorah and the earth mother as maids-in-waiting attending from behind.

  At the tunnel’s end, the trail opened into a broad clearing. At its rear, obscured by a flash of light, loomed some sort of gate. I squinted, but my mind refused to accept what my eyes presented.

  The sun reflected off the window of a rusted hulk, the mangled remains of what appeared to be a fast wagon. More than one, in fact—a graveyard of wagons piled two high to form a circular fence. Stacks of three on either side formed the grand entrance, crowned by a seventh. Each of the seven faced frontward, its lights reflecting the sun like the eyes of a beast.

  Devorah dashed ahead and disappeared through the gate.

  I shivered, recalling that night in the forest—Nathaniel, Thomas, and I, surrounded by deacons on two-wheeled wagons, the beams from their lights assaulting us in the darkness.

  Moments later, I relaxed as a calming music came wafting from inside, a tune unlike any I’d heard in the keep—flutes, perhaps, dozens of them harmonizing with each other in ways that only Th
omas would have understood. I tapped my foot to the rhythm: one-two-three, one-two-three, like some sprightly dance.

  Devorah reappeared at the entrance and waved us through.

  Inside, we found the source of the music. Two of the older boys sat on a bench and worked pedals with their feet, pumping a bellows that blew air into shiny brass pipes. A third turned a crank, and out through the pipes came the melody.

  Greenies lined the circular enclosure, all staring at the center where a large, round, knee-high platform arose. A canopy hung above it, decorated with winged angels on clouds, interspersed with mirrors so each angel reflected the others, creating the impression of a heavenly host.

  Upon the platform, statues of animals stood frozen in mid-stride—real creatures and imagined, and combinations of the two. I recognized a few from the forests near Little Pond, or from the fantastic stories my father had told me when I was little. Each creature was different— a man-sized frog and a wild boar; a sea serpent with three seats upon its back; an armored horse with fierce eyes staring out from behind a metal helmet; two swans pulling a carriage; an eagle with the body of a lion; a golden wolf frozen in mid-roar; and next to it, a unicorn. Each was painted in bright colors without regard for reality, though the expressions on their faces made them seem more than real.

  Devorah hopped on the platform and helped the earth mother up, then urged Nathaniel and I to join them and choose an animal. As a member of the royal party, Zachariah followed. Nathaniel picked the armored horse, and I the wolf, while the earth mother nestled into the swan’s carriage. Zachariah raced between the animals, touching one, caressing another, before settling for the middle seat of the sea serpent.

  When each of us had selected a mount, I turned to the earth mother. “What is it for?”

  “For celebration, as I said.”

  “How can you exert so much effort on these toys, but not on the machines that sustain life?”