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

  “Wait here a moment,” Devorah said. “I’ll tell the earth mother you’ve arrived.” Then she entered the hut.

  I strained to listen, but caught only murmurings.

  A few seconds later, Devorah emerged.

  “The earth mother will see you now.”

  Chapter 9 – The Ragged Lady

  Nathaniel bent at the waist to clear the entrance, but I had only to duck my head. Inside, I needed a few seconds for my eyes to adjust.

  The round room was low and ill lit, with a dirt floor and a single wooden bench to one side, no bigger than my cell in temple city. But where the vicars’ prison reeked of mold, these branch-covered walls gave off a scent of pine. A small fire smoldered within a ring of stones, providing warmth and a little light without much smoke. Against the back wall lay a heap of rags I took for bedding.

  No, not bedding. As my vision brightened, I recognized a rumpled old woman seated crossed-legged on a bed of straw.

  I stifled a shiver. Before me squatted the revered earth mother. No wonder the technos called her the ragged lady.

  The woman’s silver hair hung in half-formed ringlets as if cut with a dull knife rather than scissors. A few stray locks grew long on either side, and these were bound in braids dangling down to her breasts. The braids framed a square face with sharp angles and a strong chin, as if her features had been chiseled out of stone. She regarded me with striking green eyes, the color of a newly sprouted leaf in spring with the sun shining through it. After a moment, the lines around her eyes crinkled, and her mouth widened until her teeth showed.

  “Welcome to our home,” the ragged lady said in a voice too deep for a woman. “Devorah tells me you bring wisdom to our shores.”

  I made an awkward bow. “More longing than wisdom. Longing to learn more than we know.”

  “Ah. That, my child, is the beginning of wisdom. She tells me you come from a world with no machines and are familiar with the ways of the land.”

  I nodded, and then cast a glance at Nathaniel. We’d risked a voyage across the ocean to find advantage for our beleaguered people, but here everyone looked to us for help.

  The ragged lady flashed a warm but vulnerable smile. “My people tell me you’re staying with the technos. What lies has William been filling your heads with?”

  “William?” Nathaniel said.

  “You’d know him as the mentor. The children started calling him that, but he’s never discouraged it. I think he likes it.”

  “Yet here they call you the earth mother.”

  The ragged lady let out a full-bodied laugh that started in her belly and rose to her chest, before escaping through her lips as a howl.

  How could one not like a woman with such a laugh?

  “An unfortunate term, but it’s hard to get them to change. You may call me by my given name if you prefer. Annabel.”

  “Why, Annabel, do you believe the mentor lies?”

  “Because I know him so well. William and I are old friends—we used to play together as children, even though the stubborn fool speaks poorly of me now. No matter. His time will come, like mine, probably sooner rather than later. He puts on a brave front, the wise mentor, but I bet he wishes he’d died with his so-called dreamers.”

  A shudder ran through me. The dreamers dead? They were the last of the keepmasters’ kin. “He said the dreamers still lived. Why would he tell such a lie?”

  “He uses the myth of their return to inspire the children so they’ll study harder, become as wise as the dreamers someday, and regain control over the machines, but since the day of reckoning, too much has been lost. Over time, like us, they’ll need to learn to live off the land—a harder life, but we’re all headed that way.”

  Live off the land—the life of every family in Little Pond. A harder life, yes, but my mind filled with memories of childhood, and my heart ached for home. Yet I’d learned such a life led to stagnation and dreams unfulfilled. We were meant to strive and grow.

  But what of the technos with their city in decay? Had they taken a wrong turn in their quest for knowledge? Or was theirs the fate of all knowledge seekers, as the vicars had claimed—a path leading back to the darkness?

  An agreed upon silence settled between us, the ragged lady letting her words sink in, and me needing time to accept them. I felt Nathaniel’s gentle touch massaging the small of my back.

  He finally broke the silence. “The mentor claims he speaks to the dreamers. Is that a lie too?”

  “Not exactly. The dreamers did not die in the way you know, but they do not live either. Perhaps he can speak to them... after a fashion.”

  Nathaniel bent low so he could peer into the ragged ladies eyes. “Enlighten us, Annabel, though we may not be as wise as the earth mother. How is it possible to not die but not live? Are the dreamers gone or not?”

  “Believe me, they’re gone.”

  “To where?”

  The ragged lady motioned upward, where the smoke from her small fire danced and swirled before sneaking through the hole in the roof to the sky. “They dissipated like the smoke. Nowhere. Or everywhere, if only old William would open the vent and let them go.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they shine not as if they were burning from within but as if sunlight shined upon them, even in the dark of night. It means they are flaming souls yearning to be set free.”

  Ishkabibble. I recalled the sound Kara made with her mouth. No wonder the techno children called them by such a name.

  Nathaniel saw no humor. His hands clenched, and the color rose in his cheeks.

  I pressed between him and the ragged lady to give him time to settle down. “In our homeland, we’re called the seekers of truth. Don’t muddle your answer with riddles or speak falsely to us. Tell us only what is true. “

  The ragged lady laughed again, this time with an unpleasant cackle, more like someone who’d been offended.

  “They seek the truth, these people from the land of the past, but what kind of truth? The dreamers sought only a truth they could prove through experiments. Where has it led them? Here, we believe in a different truth. Where you’re from, do you have legends, stories of the past?”

  I nodded. “Such stories were frowned upon by our leaders, because they were from the darkness and fantasies, but our mothers told them to us anyway.”

  “Yes, yes,” the ragged lady said. “So they should. We need such legends. We need to pass them on to our children, as our mothers told them to us and their mothers to them. Our children need more than science and knowledge and things they can see and touch. They need to learn about things not of this world, of the magic that dwells in our hearts, of angels that fly in the heavens and demons that dwell in the dark. They need to experience the mystery of this life and the awe we feel for this world, not just that the stars shine on a clear night, but that we ourselves are made of stardust.”

  “Why make up angels and demons,” I said, “when your ancestors visited the stars? What good to teach such things? They bring no knowledge nor do they create a better world.”

  “You asked me for truth, and I told what I believe. All is not knowledge. There must be mystery as well. Each child must create their own secret world to live in, and they must believe in things unseen, so when their suffering becomes too great, they may seek refuge in a kinder place.

  “Even at my age, I need to find wonder in little things, because unlike the dreamers, I accept I’ll pass from this earth one day. Despite all their science, I’ve learned more than they did. Not what makes the wind blow, but that it feels so good on my cheeks. Not what makes the grass grow, but that it tickles my palms and the soles of my feet. Not how the Earth came into being, but that we would have no life without her and should give thanks. You’ve stayed with the technos, and now you’ve come to us. It’s for you to decide which truth you believe.”

  This ragged lady was no dreamer. No light shone upon her in the dimness of her hut, but as she recalled places s
he’d never been and visions not of this world, a light burned within, making her face glow.

  Might she be like our dotty old neighbor back in Little Pond, who believed in ghosts and fairies and all things of the shadows? That lady brewed potions if you were ill and afraid to ask the vicars for medicine, and produced charms for sickness of the spirit—a woman who would have been sent for a harsh teaching if the vicars knew. Everyone in Little Pond believed she was mad, but they protected her from the Temple of Light, just in case there was something to her charms.

  The ragged lady had finished speaking, and now stared up at the smoke leaving the hut, as if communing with the dreamers.

  I crumpled my brow, and a great puzzlement slowed my heartbeat and made me still.

  A flash of orange streaked past. A tabby cat with black stripes had slipped into the hut and was winding its way between the ragged lady’s legs, oblivious to demons or angels.

  Devorah dashed in after her, clapping her hands. “Here, Bella, leave the earth mother alone. She has important visitors and no time for your foolishness.”

  The earth mother reached down and stroked the cat behind the ears. “Oh, leave her be, Devorah. She’s no bother to me.”

  Devorah glared at the cat, now with its eyes closed and its satisfied purr filling the room. “Bother or not, you need the time. You only have a few minutes left.”

  With that pronouncement, she scooped up the unwilling cat and hurried her outside.

  “A few minutes?” Nathaniel said.

  “Each day, after we’ve gathered our berries and caught our fish, and finished our labor at weaving our baskets, mending clothes and doing other chores, we take a few minutes to meet and reflect on what we’ve learned. Then, before we eat the evening meal, we give thanks for the bounty of the earth.”

  “Like a prayer?” I said.

  “Oh no. Just a meeting, nothing more.”

  Just then, a distant bell began to peel, ringing once, twice, a dozen times, like the bell at the top of the Little Pond commons announcing the arrival of the vicar.

  Devorah returned, clutching the cat in her arms and petting it, apparently having made her peace. “The people are gathering, earth mother. Time for your blessing.”

  “Fetch me my walking stick,” the ragged lady said. “You, my strong young man, lend me your arm.”

  Annabel, the ragged lady and earth mother, tucked her legs beneath her, grabbed Nathaniel’s arm, and unfolded herself until she stood upright. Then she grasped her walking stick, lifted her chin as the mentor had done, and followed Devorah outside while Nathaniel and I gaped after her.

  Chapter 10 – The Hall of Winds

  We followed the ragged lady beyond the circle of huts to a well-groomed path through the woods—another procession like our grand entrance into the technos’ welcome feast—but this time we weren’t the guests of honor. The trail was lined with adoring greenies who whispered as we passed, “Bless you, earth mother,” and then fell into a solemn step behind her.

  The earth mother—protector of the land, purveyor of wisdom—sauntered unfazed, waving to her people as if she’d done this many times before. Along the way, she gave us a lesson on their progress. “You’ve probably observed the crudeness of our skills.”

  I nodded, careful to hide my disdain.

  “The machines produced tools with precision, and we still have a few, but as they wear down, we’re learning to make our own. We started with stone, chipping away to shape them, a long and arduous process with poor results. Now, we’ve learned to take metal from the ground, heat it in a flame and pound it on a hardened stone platform. Though we’re not yet able to match the quality of blades produced by the machines, we improve daily.”

  The ragged lady rambled on, boasting of their accomplishments, their fashioning of dwellings from wood and their coaxing of food from the land. None filled me with awe. Little Pond was a tiny village at the edge of the Earth, yet its meanest inhabitants possessed greater skill than these people. Beyond Little Pond, blacksmiths and carpenters, coopers, shoemakers and others labored at their crafts, all more advanced than any I’d seen here.

  The greenies were like children snatched from their cradles and left to fend for themselves without parent or past. They’d learned enough to survive, but their path to mastery had been clumsy and flawed. The village of the greenies contrasted with the keep, not a leap forward, but a step back. Not a past rediscovered, but a past lost.

  The ragged lady curled her lips and snorted. “You’re unimpressed, I see. No wonder. You come from a people who have benefited from the resourcefulness of their forbearers. Our forbearers yielded their resourcefulness to the machines in exchange for a life of pampered leisure. All but the dreamers. In the nearly three years since the day of reckoning, the machines have gradually failed, and we’ve had to grope our way forward in the dark. You may belittle our accomplishments, but we’re pleased with the progress we’ve made. Now, Devorah tells me you can teach us which plants to eat and show us a better way to weave baskets. What other skills do you bring to our shores?”

  I glanced at Nathaniel, asking without words who should respond first. A tilt of his head sufficed, the language of friends since birth.

  “In our world,” I said, “I was raised as a weaver, a craft that produced cloth for the garments we wore. You have a rich crop of flax on the hills surrounding your village. Its fiber can be spun into thread, which in turn can be woven and stitched to make clothing better than what your people wear. You can do all of this with simple machines, spinning wheels and looms, powered by nothing more than your hands and feet. I can teach you to build them.”

  I nodded for Nathaniel to take his turn.

  “My family has always been farmers,” he said. “The soil of this land is ripe for planting. I can teach you to grow more than these few vegetables, crops you can bake into bread, grains you can store to eat long after the season for growing has ended.”

  The column of greenies paused as the ragged lady stopped to gaze up at the treetops swaying in the breeze. At last, she looked down and fixed us with her green eyes.

  “If what you say is true, you must abandon William and come live with us. You can teach us your ways, and we would make you most welcome.”

  “We could teach you more,” I said, “if you’d help us return to our land. We could bring back others with skills beyond our own. Those who know how to make bricks and cut granite from the mountain, to forge metal and make better tools, to build hardened dwellings protected from the weather, to cobble shoes for your children, to till the land, to sow seeds of wheat and corn and reap their harvest, to plant trees that bear fruit, and much more.”

  The ragged lady began walking again, but slower this time.

  Nathaniel cut in front. “To do so, we need your help to build a new boat.”

  “A boat? What do we know of boats?”

  “The dreamers would know,” I said. “They know more than all of us together, even more than the keepmasters. Help us with your friend, William. Convince him to let us speak with the dreamers.”

  The ragged lady all but spat out the words. “I have no desire for the knowledge of the dreamers.”

  “Why?” I said. “Don’t you want to be more than you are?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I believe we were meant to be much more than we are. We were meant to aspire to the divine, but how can the way to the divine be through machines?”

  Before I could respond, we rounded the next curve and our destination came into view. Like so much in the greenie world, this gathering place seemed tossed together, far less crafted than the great halls of Temple City or the domed commons of the technos.

  Its walls consisted of odd-shaped stones, marbled gray and flecked with rust, stacked one on top of the other with no mortar in between. Straw and mud filled the cracks but imperfectly, so rain and wind could blow through—a building that would need repair after every storm.

  Overgrown holly bushes framed its entrance
, with their spiny-toothed, shiny leaves and red berries—probably why the greenies feared such fruit—an easy mistake. When I was little, I’d watched the birds nibbling at the holly berries and assumed them safe to eat. My mother stopped me after I’d swallowed a few, but I still had a dreadful night.

  Three stairs, bracketed on either side by log railings, led up to a modest doorway. Above the door, unvarnished wooden beams sloped to a peak, topped by an arched steeple. An ancient, brass bell hung in the hole in the arch, so much like the bell atop the Little Pond commons. The bell’s curved lines were so perfectly formed it seemed beyond the skill of the greenies.

  The ragged lady caught me eyeing it. “We came upon that bell buried in the ground when we tilled one of our gardens. A relic of the past, from a time before the machines, proof our forbearers had a sense of wonder. It became our inspiration to build this communal hall. We chose a style to contrast with the cathedral of the dreamers, built into the rock face of the mountain. For them, no setting was grand enough, so they had to keep moving to ever higher ground. Their minds had exceeded their humility, and they began to view themselves as gods. Now their cathedral has become their tomb. Here, on this humble flatland, we dug out every stone and set it in place by hand. We built this hall with honest sweat and without the aid of machines—a tribute to our humanity.”

  I followed the lines of the building, from stairs to door, to the sloped roof and steeple framing the bell. The structure was simple, not like the monuments of the vicars or the miracles of the keepmasters—not even as well made as our village commons back home. Yet it possessed a raw beauty, and based on how the greenies gazed up to its steeple, they had imbued it with meaning.

  At its base stood a formation of men, positioned on either side of the door. Unlike the others, they had arrived before us. They aligned in two perfect rows, backs straight, feet wide and chins jutted out, looking grim as deacons. Their apparent leader towered over them from behind, a man of middle years with wild black hair tempered by gray at its edges, as tall as Nathaniel but half again as wide. While the rest of the greenies had left their tools behind, these men carried axes and pruning knives on their shoulders, high up and threatening.