The Stuff of Stars (The Seekers Book 2) Page 2

  Through the arch, I was surprised to find not a glorious city, but a cluster of dwellings cobbled from sheets of metal and covered with gray slate roofs. These appeared humbler than a Little Pond cottage and crammed together to fill every inch of space. Neither land nor trees separated the dwellings; no vegetable garden or flower box added color to the gray.

  Behind the dwellings, a sturdier structure dominated, more substantial than the others. It was capped with a dome that seemed to mimic the mountain, a place where the interior might meet my lofty expectations. Yet even at this distance, I sensed something wrong. The walls of light blazed too brightly for the dwellings inside, too magnificent even for the austere dome. And a sadness pervaded the place, as if some tragedy had happened there and left its mark in the bones of the city.

  A flutter unsettled my stomach, different from hunger. What if these aren’t the visionaries we’d come all this way to find?

  A rush of feathers churned the air as a flock of blackbirds startled and took flight, a foreboding cloud darkening the already dim sky. They squawked and swirled and flew off toward the distant cliffs, as if the fortress that loomed higher up was their resting place. In an instant the sky had cleared and all was silent again.

  With the birds announcing our approach, the dwellings came alive. More techno children poured forth from the gate to greet us, all bearing the same hand-sized black box carried by our companions

  Two red-haired girls raced to the front, one about eight and the other ten—they might have been sisters—jostling each other to reach us first. They unlatched the pouch as they ran and pulled out their boxes. Each tried to point hers at us, but the other kept swatting it away.

  “Let me,” the older one said. “Yours is broken.”

  “You promised we’d pretend,” the younger girl cried.

  Kara stepped in between. “Behave, Marissa, and you too Maisha. Remember the rule: those with goodies mustn’t gloat. There someday will go all of us.”

  “What are they doing?” I said.

  “Our way of greeting. Like all our machines since the day of ascension, many have failed beyond our skill to repair.” She studied her toe digging a hole in the sand. “Some of the children pretend they work to keep up the tradition.”

  More people poured out to greet us, dozens of them. Mostly children, they swarmed, a few reaching out to touch our clothing, and others waving their black boxes at us. The younger ones asked the familiar questions. “Who are these strangers? Where are they from?”

  And the same phrase repeated—the dreamers.

  In this way, they swept us along until suddenly, all conversation stopped. We’d reached the archway, the entrance to the city.

  Kara stepped in front and held up a hand.

  “Wait here.” She gestured to the stone statues with the glowing eyes. “The guards won’t let you through. Not yet. I’ll ask the mentor to grant you access.”

  She ran through the archway, dodged among the hovels, and vanished into the dome.

  We waited before the silent crowd, shuffling our tired feet and eyeing the guards.

  Moments later, Kara reemerged, smiling and relieved. She turned sideways and waved us through.

  I grasped Nathaniel’s hand, and together we stepped into this new world.

  Then, as we strolled through the gate of the city, basking in the glow, the wall of light surrounding it shimmered one last time, rippled, and winked out as if it had never existed.

  Chapter 2 – The Mentor

  After the wall of light winked out, my eyes flitted everywhere trying to adjust to the suddenly drab surroundings. In my more innocent youth, I’d gone to Temple City expecting virtue, but found corruption. Then I’d sought the keep anticipating magic, but found knowledge. Here, I’d hoped for wonders, but found fantasy.

  This place was not as it seemed from the sea.

  After the long weeks on the waves, buoyed by the hope of discovering a better future, I’d found a city in ruins. The shimmering light was nothing but a mask, but what lurked behind?

  I spun around to Kara. “The wall? What happened?”

  She shrugged. “The lights stayed on all the time when I was younger. Now that the mentor is alone, he rations the power of his mind, showing the city walls only as needed. In that way, he saves strength for the desals, synthesizers and other machines.”

  No, not yet in ruins. Not like the abandoned city of the keepmasters. People still lived here, but the place reeked of decay.

  I glanced up at the underside of the archway and took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose the keep wasn’t what we expected either.”

  Nathaniel’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “And we have nowhere else to go.”

  I grasped his hand, and we passed through the gate, ready to share whatever trials might come, as we had since childhood.

  With the shimmering lights gone, the city lay bare. A clutter of makeshift hovels lined a narrow street, with little space in between except where a building had fallen. What passed for windows were covered with a clouded material, and neither curtains nor flowers graced their sills. It had the look of a deserted village recently ravaged by a storm. A few more impressive structures still towered over the rest, but even these were remnants of their former selves, with cracked roofs and surfaces bearing holes where material had been plundered for repairs.

  Strangely, a series of shoulder-high, insect-like machines flitted about on treads, clicking a series of grippers and pincers, and flashing a red-hot welding beam as they patched the hovel walls.

  A well-beaten path led to the largest structure, a village commons of sorts. A warm man-made breeze wafted from its entrance, warding off the night chill. Capped by a marble dome, a grand hall awaited inside, a vestige of prior glory. At its rear, twins of the two stone statues guarded a second arch leading to a tunnel up the mountain, making the building a way station on the road.

  “Who has access through there?” I whispered to Kara as we marched in.”

  “None but the mentor.”

  Inside, the dome was shrouded in its own dusk. A pyramid of oval windows, set into the rear wall, gave a view of the fortress higher up, but now cloaked in the mountain’s shadow, they yielded little light. Cables had been strung through the rafters overhead, leading to a dozen naked bulbs. The rest of the lighting came from torches set in sconces along the circular wall—not unlike those that lit the chambers of the vicars.

  Their smoky glow flickered off the expectant faces of a few hundred people, a handful of older men and women, but mostly the children who had accompanied us. Their silver garb reflected the flames and made them seem ablaze.

  No one spoke up to welcome us. They merely gaped as we approached, our footsteps echoing off the dome overhead. The only other sound was a low humming like the one I’d heard in the keep, a heartbeat of sorts that provided power to the lights and warmth to the air.

  Nathaniel strode in front and faced the gathering. “Are you the descendants of those who crossed the ocean, kinsmen of the keepmasters?”

  No reply. Some turned away and huddled closer together.

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. These people seemed worlds away from what I’d imagined.

  “Where are your mothers and fathers?” I said.

  I expected them to point to the village outside or to the many doors lining the walls, but instead, they raised their arms and pointed through the oval windows.

  I followed their fingers to the columned fortress carved high up in the rock face. It looked much like the Temple of Truth, but I feared we’d find something more forbidding than truth there—a resting place for the dead.

  The girl, Kara, gestured to a mark in the center of the floor. “Wait here.”

  I accompanied Nathaniel to the spot, while Kara cracked open a door in the back wall and whispered a few words before returning.

  “The mentor needs a minute,” she said.

  While we waited, the chamber became so still I could c
ount each breath.

  Kara fiddled with her hair, pulling it back behind her ears, and chewed on her lower lip.

  A moment later, the door swung wide, and the man who must have been the mentor emerged, rolling on large brass wheels that bracketed an elaborate chair. He moved not a muscle, yet the chair whirred along as if with a mind of its own.

  The mentor was much older than the others, with a long face, partially obscured by a hat angled low over his brow. The hat was unlike any I’d seen, high-crowned with a broad brim all the way around, a hat made more for shade than warmth. Stray locks of white hair slipped out from beneath its rim, framing a face marked by a prominent nose with a bump in the middle. His crystal blue eyes belied his age.

  He glanced around the room, tossing a friendly nod to the smattering of adults and waving to the children, acting more like a father than leader.

  Though seated, he seemed the tallest person I’d ever known, perhaps due to the respect the children gave him. As he rolled closer, I realized why. His knees rose nearly to his chest, all bones and legs. I wondered how he’d be able to rise from the throne.

  The chair came alive again with no apparent effort from the mentor and stopped an arm’s length from Kara. He smiled and motioned for her to approach.

  She paused in front of him, and lowered her head in what seemed almost a bow.

  He placed a huge hand behind her neck and pulled her close, giving a kiss on her forehead. Then the chair rolled forward until it rested in the center of the circle.

  Kara signaled to one of the children to untie a rope secured to a stanchion on the wall, and a bar dropped from the ceiling toward the throne.

  When it was level with his chest, he slid his arms around it and four children tugged at the rope. The mentor rose, more unfolding than standing, until he reached his full height, a head taller than Nathaniel.

  The children bowed, and I struggled to keep from bowing as well.

  The mentor shuffled toward us in obvious pain, his feet hardly lifting off the floor. Despite his infirmity, he straightened his back and held his chin high, a picture of grace and dignity.

  Nathaniel and I stepped forward to meet him halfway.

  He extended his right hand and grasped mine in his. His hand was large and knobby, with long, slender fingers, except where the knuckles were swollen. He added his left to his right, so the shake became more of a hand embrace. All the while, his blue eyes stayed focused on mine, as if we’d known each other before—not just known but liked each other, if not in this life then in another.

  “Welcome,” he said, “to our side of the world. You must be brimming with questions, and we have many of our own. Though we knew you’d come eventually, you’re the first contact since our ancestors fled. I’m eager to share stories like long lost brothers, reunited after a lifetime apart. But I can tell you’re weary.” He turned to Kara. “Have you offered them something to eat?”

  She shook her head.

  He gestured toward the far wall. “Some of the synthesizers still work, some of the time. Kara, please show them the way.”

  Kara brought us to the north side, grinning like a child about to show a friend a new toy. She waved her hand over a panel attached to a table and, at once, a sumptuous feast danced in the air before us, and with it, smells like those of the festivals of my youth.

  But these were only temptations. I could see right through them to the wall behind.

  “Is this... what you eat?” I asked Kara.

  “No, these are just holos.” When I furrowed my brow, she said, “Pictures to choose from. This is the main menu—meats, fish, fruits and vegetables, breads and cakes. Touch one, and more choices will appear.”

  I reached out a doubting hand and touched the air in front of a plate with fruits.

  A message appeared. “Error. Selection not found.”

  “Oh dear,” Kara said. “Bad luck. You’ve chosen a broken one. Try another.”

  I smiled, hoping to soothe her disappointment. We’d seen such failures before in the keep. I thought of the machines outside, dashing about making repairs. The keep had repaired itself for a thousand years.

  “It’ll be fixed soon,” I said.

  “Perhaps, but more stop working every day. Some the mentor can fix. Most only the dreamers can repair.”

  At her urging, I touched another, and this time a selection of plates with meats appeared. I sniffed at one and caught the distinct aroma of lamb.

  “Go ahead. Touch it.”

  I did. To my delight, a bright light flooded the table before us and seconds later, a dish of steaming lamb appeared.

  “They’ve done it,” I whispered to Nathaniel. “Gone beyond the keepmasters. No more dusty powder revived by hot water.”

  Nathaniel gaped at the meal, seemingly freshly cooked on the table, and turned to Kara. “Real food, conjured out of air. How could you possibly...?”

  “The synthesizers do it all.” Kara smiled, but her smile quickly turned into a frown. “How does it work? Only the dreamers know.”

  “If your machines make all your food,” I said, “why do you bother to catch fish?”

  “We need to learn, the mentor says, because someday the machines will fail, and we’ll be on our own.”

  The two of us proceeded through the menu, touching holos of carrots, yams, and braided rolls. We made choices until the smells were so enticing, we could no longer resist.

  Like good hosts, the children waited until their guests were settled in with their meals. Then the mentor reached up and rang a bell overhead, swinging it until the peals filled the hall and echoed to the rafters. At this signal, the assembled formed an orderly line at the food wall to partake in the feast.

  ***

  At the mentor’s invitation, Nathaniel and I joined him and Kara at one of the metal tables. With little strength to ask the many questions rattling around in my head, I focused instead on filling my stomach. The food, though better than the paste of the keep, lacked the taste of a home-cooked meal. Still, after the past week on beef jerky and flatbread—and not much of either—I found it more than enough to satisfy my hunger. I watched relieved as the color returned to Nathaniel’s cheeks.

  The mentor ate little, mostly poking at his dish as he waited for us to finish. After we had eaten our fill, he folded his hands on the table, leaned in and fixed us with his blue eyes.

  “I’m curious about you,” he said, “and I’m sure you’d like to know more about us, but you’re tired from your journey. As a good host, I’ll contain my curiosity until tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to rest. I’ll be happy, however, to answer whatever questions you have that can’t wait.”

  I straightened in my chair and assumed the demeanor of the scholar Nathaniel knew so well. “Can you tell us why the children were waving around those black boxes when we first arrived?”

  The mentor wiped his mouth and hands with a cloth napkin, refolded it and set it back down.

  “These are devices from the time before.” His voice was kindly but remote, as if speaking from the past. “Like all our machines, they are failing bit by bit. Once they performed many tasks to make our lives easier—taking pictures, playing music, providing answers to our questions. They let us speak to each other from far away and showed us the way if we were lost. We few elders have given up on them, frustrated with their lack of reliability, but the children insist on using them—or pretending to do so. A new tradition perhaps... or a morbid memory.”

  “Can’t they be fixed,” Nathaniel said.

  “You don’t understand. These machines are unlike any you may have known. They’re... thinking machines, with a simplistic intelligence of their own that thrives only when connected with the minds of their creators. Without that connection they become like lost children, and over time cease to function, unless the creators return or the minds of our next generation grow strong enough to take their place.”

  Then he closed his eyes as if praying, a remembrance of times gon
e by.

  “The mentor is always sad,” Kara said, “because the others like him have flown and now he’s alone. Yet he teaches us to have hope.”

  The mentor’s body shook with a tremor and he glanced up. His big hand patted Kara’s head and smoothed down her hair. “Our children are the hope for the future. Ah, before I forget, we must give them the medicine so their brains will grow, and they can master their lessons tomorrow.”

  He sent Kara off, and a few seconds later, the children lined up before the mentor to wait as he placed a small tablet on their tongues. After they finished, he urged them to go to bed and get ample rest in preparation for another day of learning.

  As soon as the chamber had cleared, I asked the question I’d been saving until the children were gone.

  “These creators... are they the same as the dreamers?”

  The mentor cast a questioning glance at Kara, who flushed and turned away. He tilted his head back and gazed out the oval windows to the darkened mountain beyond, as if waiting for permission to speak.

  At last, he drew in a long breath and blew out the air like a silent whistle. “I try to tell them they’re not dreamers, but their little minds can’t comprehend. Those they call the dreamers should be properly called machine masters. They’re the ones who built this city and learned to merge their minds with the machines. They did all the research and hard work, while the rest sat back and reaped the benefits.”

  I thought of the scholars isolated in the keep, with a thousand years of learning added on. “What happened to them?”

  “They’ve risen beyond themselves, ascended to a higher plane, a concept too lofty for the children. I don’t blame them. Sometimes I have trouble understanding it myself. Perhaps I should give in and call them dreamers too.”

  Machine masters, whose minds were one with their machines? I found the concept too lofty as well, but of one thing I was certain: if anyone could help my people back home, it was the dreamers. They seemed so much more than the keepmasters, the reason Nathaniel and I had risked our lives to cross the ocean.