Watchstar

Watchstar (Book One of the Watchstar Trilogy) Pamela Sargent Copyright © 1980 by Pamela Sargent. Published by E-Reads. All rights reserved. www.ereads.com To Pat LoBrutto 1 The comet was a bright slash against the black sky, an omen scratched by God on the dark dome. Daiya AnraBrun looked up at the intruder, craning her neck, wondering what it meant. No one in the village seemed to know; even the Merging Selves were not sure. The comet dominated the sky, brighter than the tiny twinkling fires of heaven, almost as bright as Luna's Shield. Daiya thought of her approaching ordeal. The comet had appeared just as she had begun to prepare for it. Another fire, closer to her, flickered in the darkness near the foothills of the mountains. She walked toward it, lowering her eyes. The night air had grown cool. She concentrated on that, forgetting the comet, adjusting her perceptions until she felt warm again. Mausi LinaPili sat next to the fire, stretching her slender arms toward it. Her blonde hair glistened as the flames danced. Daiya approached and sat down, folding her short stocky legs. Mausi smiled and made the fire flare. The wood crackled. She moved her blonde head, pointing toward the distant village with her chin. Daiya heard the murmur of her friend's thoughts. —My mother is in labor now— —Is she all right?—Daiya asked. She felt the answer almost as she thought the question. —Yes, it will be over by morning, my father is with her now— Daiya had expected the answer. Having children was easy, which was why, she supposed, they had so many. A more disturbing thought nudged her. She quickly closed her mind to Mausi, not wanting to disturb her friend. The village needed many children to make up for the few who were born defective, and the many who did not survive the ordeal. Daiya's own parents, Anra LeitoMorgen and Brun RillaCerwen, were expecting their fourth. She was sure that they would have at least one more after that, though perhaps they would not if Daiya lived through her ordeal. Daiya remembered the birth of her sister, Silla, almost seven cycles ago. Daiya had been seven at the time; her brother Rin had been nine. They had sat with their mother, helping her block the pain with a web of pleasant thoughts, though Anra could have done that by herself. But she had wanted them with her. They had rubbed Anra's shoulders while she squatted, her naked body beaded with sweat. They had watched as Brun placed the newborn child on Anra's chest after bathing the infant in warm water. Anra and Brun had searched the baby's mind; she had been whole and healthy. Daiya and Rin had smiled at each other, congratulating themselves, before Brun finally sent them to bed. Rin was dead, part of the Merged One, Daiya supposed, his soul with God. He had died two cycles ago during his ordeal. He had been stronger than she was, afraid of nothing, his mind clear and brave as he left the village with the others for the desert. She could still see him tossing his head arrogantly, his black hair swaying around his shoulders; she had been sure he would come back. How could she live through something Rin had not survived? A small creature was near her. She felt its presence and turned. Mausi had already noticed the rabbit. The animal watched them, its ears up, its eyes gleaming in the reflected firelight. Mausi held it with her mind, soothing it. The rabbit drooped drowsily.—Thank you, little brother—the girl thought ceremonially.—We are grateful— Mausi skinned the rabbit quickly while Daiya prepared the spit, placing two forked sticks on opposite sides of the fire, then stripping the bark off a piece of green wood. While the rabbit cooked, Mausi cleaned her knife, then tucked it in her belt with the piece of rabbit fur. The rabbit sizzled, turning golden. Smelling it, Daiya realized how hungry she was. She had not eaten for two days, trying to toughen herself before it was time to go into the desert. She concentrated on the fire, pressing its heat around the rabbit so that it would cook more quickly. —Lucky for us—Mausi was thinking.—If it hadn't come so close to us, I would have gone looking for food, I was starting to get weak, even catching the rabbit was hard— Daiya found herself wondering how long they would have to go without food during their passage. —I don't know—Mausi replied.—We probably won't have time to worry about it—The blonde girl peered up at the sky.—What do you think it means?— Daiya looked up at the comet, shrugging. —It must be a sign—Mausi went on.—I wish I knew whether it was good or bad. I keep thinking of the stories the Merging Ones sometimes tell, the ones about other beings who live in the sky, do you think it might be a sign from them?— —Just an old legend—Daiya responded.—Only the stars live there, and we cannot grasp their thoughts. If there are others, they've never shown themselves, or touched us with their minds. I do not think people can live in the sky—She gazed up at the darkness, at the tiny fires twinkling as they sought to join their minds to one another, trapped in loneliness. A few stars roamed the sky, changing position from time to time; those did not twinkle. They were the wanderers, and once in a great while their minds would bring them together for a time. One day, at the end of the world, when the Merged One sought to join all life, all the stars would move, drawing closer together, to burn in one great final fire. So the Merging Selves of the village taught. She did not know what the comet meant. Older people had seen comets before, but even they were not sure about what they signified. Some called comets the fingers of God; others said they were solitary minds cast out of heaven. The rabbit was done. Daiya cut it up with her knife.—Peloren's worried about our ordeal—Mausi thought.—What a turmoil her mind is in, I don't like to be near her— Daiya watched her friend, knowing Mausi was just as frightened, though she would not admit it. She suddenly felt protective toward the other girl. Mausi smiled, sensing Daiya's feelings, and shook her head, as if telling her not to worry. They ate quickly, gnawing the meat off the bones. Mausi wiped her hands on her tunic, then lay down, curling her trousered legs, resting her head on her hands.—Good night, Daiya— There was a mental barrier around Mausi's mind now, blocking any thoughts from reaching Daiya and protecting her from being disturbed by her dreams. Daiya withdrew into herself, surprised once again at how easy it was to do so. She withdrew a lot lately. Maybe there was something wrong with her. She did not even like to share many thoughts with her parents any more. She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on the rough fabric covering her knees. Suddenly she wished she were younger again, as young as her sister Silla, or else that she were old and past her ordeal. She wondered if she was really ready for the passage. Anra and Brun said she was; she was becoming a woman, and fourteen was the usual age, though some people were ready at twelve and others, the boys usually, when they were fifteen or even sixteen. Anra had looked at her one day and thought:—You're ready, Daiya—That had been the day Daiya, in a fit of rage at Silla, had made the pot fly up to the rafters, forgetting all the training she had in controlling herself. She had picked up Silla, too, holding her suspended in the air upside down while the younger girl screamed, then spinning her around while Silla, trying to defend herself, made a chair zip across the floor, almost hitting Daiya. She had put Silla down gently after that, and had run from the hut in tears, certain she was going mad. She had learned to control her monthly bleeding very quickly and would soon have control over ovulation, as the older women did, so they could choose when to become pregnant. She was even getting used to her breasts, those fleshy protuberances that often ached and seemed to get in her way; she frequently wished for a skinny, flat frame like Mausi's. But her feelings were like a flooding river out of control, threatening to overrun its banks. She would feel them welling up inside her, ready to rush forth. She would open her mouth and babble in words instead of thoughts, her training deserting her when she needed it most. At other times, she would build her mental wall and retreat behind it, shocking herself with her desire to be alone. The fire flickered. Sparks danced on the stones around it. She sniffed at the smoky smell of the charred embers. She picked up one of the large pieces of wood next to Mausi, floated it over the sleeping girl's body, then lowered it carefully into the flames. Alone. She shuddered at the thought. People were once alone; so went the legends. Sometimes a child would say or think the word to shock his parents, or call a playmate a solitary, a sure way to get someone mad. But she was never really alone, not even out here with Mausi sleeping and the village far away. She could close her mind and no one would intrude, but the Net was always there, the web of the village's minds, a dimly felt presence just below her consciousness. It bound them all together; as she grew older, it would become stronger, until she became a Merging Self like the older people whose children were grown. She might even in time become strong enough to have a tenuous mental bond with another village, as some of the Merging Selves did. That was what she was supposed to want. She wondered if she did. She lay down and closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep. It was easier to sleep out here, away from the almost nightly disturbances of Silla, who hadn't quite learned how to keep her dreams from waking up everyone in the hut. She twisted a bit on the ground, trying to get comfortable. She worried too much, that was her problem. She had to stop it. She had to concern herself only with getting strong enough for her ordeal. She would have to be able to rest under worse conditions than these. She built her mental wall quickly, leaving only a small space to alert her to any danger. She calmed her body. She did not really need the fire to keep her warm, but it comforted her and kept animals away. She slowed her breathing, and at last fell asleep. Daiya, still stretched out on the ground, felt her friend stir. She and Mausi were covered by the shadow of the nearby hill. The sky was just beginning to grow light, the sun still hidden behind the mountains. The other girl got to her feet quickly and began to scatter the embers with her mind, making sure the fire was out. Mounds of dirt floated over the blackened crumbling sticks, then fell, until the area was safely covered. Mausi gazed solemnly at Daiya with sad blue eyes. Daiya caught her thoughts immediately. Mausi's mother was calling her, she had to return to the village right away, the child had been born. Mausi's thoughts stopped abruptly. Daiya could read no more. But she had already caught a glimpse of shame, swallowed quickly by black despair. She put an arm around Mausi's shoulders.—You can stay—Mausi murmured.—You don't have to come with me—Daiya, sensing that her friend wanted company, shook her head. They set out for the village. Mausi moved swiftly, her long legs covering the distance in great strides. Daiya hurried after her, trying to keep up. She reached out tentatively, trying to touch Mausi's mind and comfort her, but the girl was hidden behind her wall. Suddenly Mausi rose in the air, lifting herself, apparently wanting to cover the distance as quickly as she could. Daiya soared, following her. She struggled to hold herself aloft. Flying was always difficult, and she had little strength left after the deprivations of the past days. They flew over the grassy plains, startling a flock of red-winged birds, narrowly missing two tall trees. Daiya dipped closer to the ground, almost exhausted. Mausi, her energy flagging, hurtled on, a hand shielding her eyes, her body fueled by worry and sorrow. At last they passed over a few sheep and Mausi alighted, her energy gone. They were near the village. Daiya landed and followed her friend, feeling drained. Her legs wobbled as she walked. Mausi stopped; the two girls leaned silently against each other, trying to recover. Ahead, Daiya saw the fields, and their ripening crops. The village had been built on one side of a wide river. Sturdy huts made of mud bricks with thatched roofs had been laid out in concentric circles around an open space where everyone could gather. Most of the huts were shaded by trees. The village's fields were outside the town, irrigated by ditches running from the river. Small herds of cattle and sheep clustered together on the plains beyond. As they approached the village, Daiya saw a small group making its way through one of the wheat fields, stopping just outside it. Their heads were bent. She recognized the blonde head of Mausi's mother Lina, the auburn hair of her father Pili, and her two redheaded brothers. Mausi began to walk toward the group. Daiya hurried after her, then realized Mausi did not want her to follow. She stood still, watching Mausi's parents dig the grave. The hole grew bigger in the earth as dirt settled near their feet. She knew what had happened, she had seen it before. Mausi's parents had given birth to a solitary, a child whose mind would never be able to lift the earth as they were doing now, who would never be able to read the thoughts of others, or be part of the Net. There was no place for such children. When a parent looked into the mind of a child born with this deformity, there was nothing to do but to put it out of its misery quickly. Daiya found herself trembling. An unthinkable notion seized her; why was there no place for these children? Why couldn't they be raised and sent to a place of their own? Why were they condemned to death, and eternal separateness? But she knew the answers; she had heard them often enough. If they lived, they would become the victims of those with normal minds. They would be outside society, separated from the Net. They would threaten the world with their separateness and eventually they would have to be killed anyway. It had happened in the past. Individuals had warred with themselves and with the world, separated mentally from one another, separated from the world by machines, apart from God and nature. She hugged herself with her arms, trying to suppress her feelings for the solitary ones, reminding herself that they were only like the animals, not beings with souls. It was good that so few of them were born. She went toward the village. It was a large community of almost two thousand people, big enough for a strong Net. She walked through the fields alongside a ditch, passing cornstalks and then cabbages. She came to a dirt path and wound her way among the huts, past chicken coops, courtyards, vegetable gardens, and wallows where pigs rooted noisily, toward her own home. 2 Silla was playing in front of Daiya's home. Two cloth dolls, the puppets of Silla's mind, danced in front of the child. One doll extended a leg and whirled on one foot while the other collapsed, its limbs contorted. Silla frowned, brushing back a lock of black hair, then looked up at Daiya. She got up and ran toward her, reaching out with her chubby arms while the second doll crumpled behind her. Thoughts burbled from the small girl's mind, reaching Daiya in bits and pieces. She saw little children playing an elaborate game with pieces of rock, the face of her grandfather Cerwen, a corn cake, her parents walking toward the fields.—Speak—Daiya thought firmly.—I can't understand you— Silla opened her mouth. Daiya heard her words and read her thoughts. “Cerwen's here,” Silla said. “He's inside.” She turned to race away and Daiya caught her. “Let go, I have to see Jooni, she made up a new game.” “Listen to me,” Daiya said, holding the child by the arm. “You have to stop babbling, you're getting too old for that. You have to concentrate, you act as if you've had no training at all, I can hardly understand you sometimes.” “Let go.” Silla pulled her arm loose. “If you don't learn,” Daiya said, her voice rising, “you'll die, like Rin.” Silla squealed. She tried to kick Daiya. Daiya, grasping the thought, dodged her sister's foot. She wanted to slap the girl. She compressed some air, sending it toward the child, then stopped it, leaving her sister untouched. Silla hurried away, running toward the public space in the center of the village. It was only a few huts away; Daiya could feel the gathering of minds there. The public space was already filled with Merging Selves in communion, teachers of mindcrafts, and raucous children. Daiya swallowed, then took a breath. She had to control the urge to strike out; she had spent years restraining herself. Anra had warned her that lack of control could kill her during her ordeal. She sighed and went inside. Her mat, and Silla's, were rolled up against the wall near the tiny room where their parents slept at night. Sometimes, when her mother and father were making love, Daiya would catch pleasant wisps of thought drifting out from behind their mental barriers; the wisps would entwine and melt together over her and Silla. Her parents and her grandfather were sitting at the square wood table in the center of the room. Anra LeitoMorgen was tall and slender; her black hair was pulled back from her pale, fine-featured face. Her hands were folded over the belly that bulged underneath her brown tunic. Her long trousered legs, parallel to the table, were propped up on another wood chair. Brun RillaCerwen had his elbows on the table. His chin rested on his stubby hands. He was a stocky, big-boned, brown-skinned man not quite as tall as Anra. Daiya looked like him, and so did Silla; only Rin had resembled their mother. Cerwen IviaRey was next to his son Brun; he smiled as Daiya approached the table. An earthen pitcher and a small cup floated toward her; the pitcher poured water into the cup, then settled on the table. —You're not in the fields—Daiya thought, catching the answer almost immediately. —Cerwen asked me not to go—Anra replied.—Lina and Pili were burying a solitary, he thought it might be bad for me to witness ... I see you already know about that— —I was with Mausi, we came back here together— Anra frowned.—Poor Mausi, and right before her ordeal, too, her parents will be very concerned—She pulled her feet off the chair in front of her and rose. Her belly did not seem to belong to her slim body. Brun got up also.—We'll go to the fields now—he thought.—Will you be with us tonight, Daiya, or are you going out to train some more— Daiya realized her father was hoping she would not stay. She caught a glimpse of his doubts before Brun's mind closed. He doesn't think I'm ready, Daiya thought behind her wall. —Let the girl stay if she wants—Cerwen thought. The old man's words rippled in her mind, clear and strong, sweeping away the wisps of Brun's doubts. Daiya smiled gratefully. Brun patted her cheek as he and Anra left for the fields. She sat down. Cerwen sailed a loaf of bread toward her and she tore off a bit, stuffing it into her mouth. Her grandfather, one of the Merging Ones, was a big dark-skinned man with thick graying black hair. His brown eyes narrowed.—You need more training, Daiya—The words were hard and solid, pressing against her like round smooth stones. —I know—Her own thoughts seemed weak and insubstantial.—I almost lost my temper with Silla again— —I didn't mean that—the old man replied.—You must harden your body more. Anra and Brun are right. Rest here tonight and go out again tomorrow, take only a knife and some water. Travel alone. Train your body and your mind— Daiya was irritated. She already knew that. —I see, you think I'm telling you nothing—Cerwen continued.—But it's extremely important that you understand it. There were those whose minds could have withstood the ordeal but whose bodies were too weak, and those who survived it, then died in the desert while returning. You young people too often think you can compensate mentally for any bodily weakness, and often you can, but not indefinitely. Why do you think we insist on doing some physical labor when we could use our powers almost as easily? It is because, without strong bodies, our minds would also weaken in time. Mind and body are not things apart, they are intertwined, at least until the Merged One calls us, gathering the mind to Itself as the body fails— Daiya frowned as she tore off another hunk of bread. The crust crunched against her teeth as she chewed. —Again you think you know all this, Daiya—The thoughts were sharp, pricking her, stabbing her with sharp pointed edges.—But if you knew it, I wouldn't have to tell it to you again— She glared at him.—Why don't you tell us what we'll face?—she asked.—You could prepare us for it— —But we already have. It is your character that will be tested, your ability to become a Merging One. Let me point out one thing. You can master every trick, you can be the strongest young person here, and still not survive if your character is defective. You had better remember that, child. Who will live and who will die was decided a long time ago. It is the kind of person you have become that will matter—Cerwen drew his heavy brows together.—I worry about you. You sometimes hold too many thoughts behind your wall, keeping them to yourself. You have even doubted the Merged One— Daiya tensed. The bread in her mouth tasted stale. She threw up her wall quickly, blocking her grandfather's probing. She had doubted the Merged One, and tried to rid herself of the blasphemous notion. It had started as idle musing; why did the Merged One never reveal Itself to them? Why, if the body and mind were intertwined and not separate, did the mind not die with the body? Why, if separateness was an evil, did God remain separate from men and women instead of making them part of a universal Net right from the start? Why did the Merged One allow solitaries to be born, condemning them to death and eternal separation from all existence? She had not asked these questions as a child. Later, like many of the others, she had asked them of her teachers and received answers, but the questions kept returning. All the answers seemed only to be one answer: the Merged One had ways not easily expressed. Too much curiosity was an evil and could, she knew, lead to isolation. Once she had asked Mausi if she still had doubts, and her friend had kept her barrier up for days. —Prepare yourself, Daiya—Cerwen thought.—Remember that even though you cannot sense it, the Merged One is always with you, our entire world is part of God. Go out tomorrow and strengthen yourself—His body blurred, then disappeared, though she still felt his presence. It was a familiar trick, but one that only the Merging Ones could do easily. She sensed his movement across the room to the doorway. Then he was gone. Her doubts returned. She could tell when a Merging Self was near, even when one made himself invisible by intercepting the vision of the viewer. She felt it. But the Merged One remained apart. She buried her head in her arms, pressing her cheek against the table top. She could not force belief; it was there or it was absent. She had to pray for it to a God who might not exist. She wondered if it could ever be regained, or if she was condemned. Daiya was ready to leave in the morning. Brun kissed her and started to give her a piece of bread and some fruit to take with her. She shook her head; he nodded and put the food away. —Goodbye, Brun—she thought. She turned toward her mother, who was sitting at the table with Silla finishing breakfast.—Goodbye, Anra—She stared at her mother's abdomen, suddenly realizing that she might not be alive when the child was born. Anra, reacting to Daiya's thoughts, shook her head and smiled reassuringly, but Daiya picked up her fear. Silla stuck out her tongue and said, “Bleaaaah.” Daiya made a face at her and then went outside. The sky was clear, the sun bright. The odors of corn cakes, ground wheat, and baking chickens mingled with the scents of flowers, the stink of latrines, and the smell of dirt and dust. She passed a hut where vines crawled over the walls as the minds of the residents tried to form a pleasing pattern; the green leaves fluttered as the vines twisted around one another, forming living ropes. She turned toward the riverbank, deciding to follow the river out of the village. It was a roundabout route, but she would not have to go through the fields, where people would be gathering after the morning meal. She was trying to keep to herself again, she thought. She shook off the self-accusation; Cerwen had told her to travel alone. She was beginning to understand why. Perhaps, he must be hoping, if she knew or felt how truly fearful loneliness was, even when one was still bound to others by the Net, she would be more prepared for the ordeal, more willing and determined to survive and take her place in the community. At the river bank on the edge of the village, a few young people had already gathered. Some were swimming; others sat at the water's edge sculpting the liquid into the shapes of birds and animals, holding the sculptures with their minds. Daiya watched them, envious. They had been through their ordeals and had survived. They lived in their own huts now and would soon be raising children. Nenla BariWil was with the group; she was Daiya's age but had matured earlier. Once Daiya had sat with Nenla and Cina RiisHomm as a teacher trained them in making their words and ideas clear thoughts. They had all studied thought projection together, had made up mindsongs while burying compost in the fallow fields. Nenla was alive. Cina was dead. Nenla shook back her long red hair and waved; Daiya waved back. Nenla shaped a bird out of water and flew it toward her. It dissolved, sprinkling her with droplets. A boy and a girl lifted themselves from shore, flying over the water, soaring and dipping. They dove under the surface and emerged; they turned on their backs and floated indolently. Daiya turned from the carefree scene and continued along the bank. She came to an irrigation ditch and floated over it, extending her arms and pointing her toes. She touched down on the other side and paused, taking a deep breath after the effort. She climbed up through reeds and shrubs and stopped by a willow tree, sensing other presences. Ahead of her, two boys were walking, one tall and auburn-haired, the other small and thin. She recognized Harel KaniDekel and Oren KiaEde. She caught her breath, remembering the first time she had let Harel see her thoughts about him. She hurried after them, wending her way through a patch of yellow wildflowers called goldstems. As she approached the boys, they walked more slowly, waiting for her to catch up. She came up to Harel and he smiled, showing his even white teeth. He draped one muscular arm over her shoulders, she put an arm around his waist, and they walked together, letting their thoughts mingle. She felt the rough woven fabric of his pale blue shirt against her palm, and smiled. Oren put up his barrier and slowed to walk behind them. At last Harel withdrew his mind a bit. His wavy auburn hair swayed around his face as they walked.—I wanted to stay with you tonight—he thought.—But my grandmother told me I should go out by myself this time— —My grandfather told me the same thing—she replied. Oren caught up with them again, dropping his wall; he had been thinking of Mausi. He had pulled his brown hair back on his neck, making his thin face seem even more pointed.—Everyone was told that—the smaller boy thought.—I keep wondering why, we'll be together when we go to the desert, and no one likes being apart— Apprehension settled over all of them, darkening the sunny sky, fading the green of the trees and plants around them. Then Harel's mind cut through the mist, giving them a glimpse of the future: the ordeal was past, all of them stood in the center of the village, alive and healthy. The vision rippled; Daiya was standing with Harel in front of a hut. She peered up at him, startled. The images faded. Oren was grinning at them. Daiya had already known how Harel felt; they had discussed it before without committing themselves. But showing her his wishes in front of Oren made it more public. Harel stopped and turned to face her. —Oren already knows what I think—he thought.—I told him I was going to ask you as soon as I could, I don't want to wait until after the ordeal's over. Will you live with me then, Daiya— She smiled and clutched his hand.—You know I will, Harel, you didn't have to ask after all the times we've shared our thoughts— —I wanted to anyway, and Oren's my best friend, I couldn't keep it from him. I kept thinking, if we promise to partner now, maybe the pledge will give us strength during the ordeal— She assented silently. They stood together, leaning against each other while Oren shifted his weight from one foot to the other, bobbing up and down. Then they drew away from each other. Harel wanted to know which way she would travel. Daiya waved an arm, pointing southeast. She would follow the foothills in that direction as far as she could and camp near the mountains that night.—You're going northwest, aren't you— Harel nodded. When they were both younger, they had gone northwest to see the wild horses. They had crept up on two horses near the edge of the herd, holding the minds of the animals while trying to slip on their backs. Daiya had been thrown. Harel had managed to stay on for a time, clinging to the horse's mane, his hair flying as it galloped, until his control slipped and he landed on the ground with a loud grunt. Harel shook his head at the image.—Not this time—he thought. His mind rippled, amused as he remembered his sore rump. He was to travel with Oren part of the way; then the two would split up. He held up a hand and they parted. She watched as the boys wandered off together. Her mind brushed Harel's briefly, then withdrew. Harel was confident now, his anxiety gone. She would be with him when the ordeal was over, so he had to survive. She turned and began to move toward the grassy plains that led to the foothills. She thought of Harel. With him, she could almost forget her doubts, the feelings that threatened to make her separate. She had shared those doubts with him, asking him the same questions that had made her friend Mausi throw up her wall. Harel had not retreated. His mind, clear and steady, had taken her doubts and made them a fine mist like a fog, dispersing them with warmth and light. When she saw things through his eyes, the questions seemed meaningless abstractions, ideas of no importance. She saw the village, existing as it would until the end of the world, pieces of God's mind replacing those that had rejoined the Merged One. Harel had no doubts and rarely put up his barrier. He lived in the world, accepting it, sure of its rightness, looking forward to the day when he would be a Merging One. He seemed older than fourteen, almost a man. Her doubts could not affect him; they were like bad weather, and they would pass. That was probably one of the reasons she loved him. She wished she were more like him. She emptied her mind of thoughts. A warm breeze ruffled her hair. The grass of the plains rippled, becoming dappled waves of green and yellow. She walked quickly in the direction of the foothills. The evening sky glowed red; the sun was an orange disk on the horizon. Daiya was thousands of paces from the village, as far away from it as she had ever been. She had gone southeast, keeping the foothills to her left. She had jogged part of the distance, occasionally floating over obstacles along the way. Her mind was drained and her feet ached. The Net still bound her to the village, one barely perceptible strand lying gently against her mind. She stood still for a moment and opened her senses. A part of her seemed to float overhead as she surveyed the area. The region was unfamiliar. She saw a creek between two hills; she could camp near it for the night. She drew her mind inside herself and began to climb the small hill in front of her. She stumbled over a rock and wished she had enough strength left to float over the hill. The shrubs leaned away from her as she passed. She reached the top and paused. The creek was in a hollow below. She scrambled down toward it, clutching tree limbs and releasing them as she went. As she came nearer, she heard the creek gurgle as it flowed over rocks, cutting through the earth. She knelt on a flat rock at the edge of the brook, splashing her face with the cold water. She cupped her hands and drank. Then she folded her legs and sat down, back straight, hands on her thighs. Again her doubts and questions returned, after being held off all day by her concentration on the landscape. This time they were practical questions, shared by others, even by Harel. Why did so many die during their passage in the desert? The Net would be with them, after all; why couldn't they summon aid? Or wasn't the village allowed to help? Daiya could not imagine a parent willingly neglecting to answer an anguished mental plea from a child. She had asked her friend Nenla about all this, but Nenla had given her no answer, telling her only that she would find out when she faced her own ordeal. Daiya rose. Lengthening shadows cast by the trees alongside the creek covered the ground. The sky was growing darker. She shivered. She warmed the air around herself while clearing a space for a fire, making a hollow in the ground, then surrounding it with small rocks. As she moved away to look for firewood, a distant shriek made her look up at the purple sky. Something was coming over the black mountains, something she had never seen before. It fell from the sky, a blurred solid object, glowing faintly. It hovered for a moment over the hills to the southeast, then disappeared among them. Daiya stood still, fists clenched, trying to understand what it could be. The Merging Ones sometimes told stories about large stones which had fallen from the sky long ago. But this thing could not be a stone. Stones did not hover before falling to the ground. She waited, expecting to sense a shock wave after the thing hit. She felt nothing. She thought of pulling the Net, alerting the village, summoning adults to aid her in an investigation. She rejected the notion. She was older now; Cerwen would be disappointed in her if she asked for help to explore something which might be unimportant. He had, after all, told her to come out alone. She would find out what it was by herself; she could always call someone later if necessary. She steadied her mind, not wanting to disturb the Net with her thoughts, and began to walk in the direction of the fallen object. 3 Daiya crept over the side of a hill, sensing something ahead. She was far from the creek now, and sure she did not have the strength to return; she would have to spend the night somewhere else. Her mouth was dry. She reached for the water sack she had carried with her from the village and drank. Her mouth still felt dry. She was beginning to wish she had paid no attention to the falling object. She took a deep breath, summoning all her energy, then sent her mind ahead, keeping her senses alert in case her body was threatened and she had to depart quickly. She probed the area below, sensing a thing without life, a thing as inanimate as the stones pressing against her feet. She probed around it, then stiffened in terror. A mind was there, without walls, and completely unlike those in the village. Incomprehensible ideas raced across it, glistening like the colored stones of Anra's necklace and Brun's belt, hard and solid. She could not grasp them. Her mind pulled away, fleeing back to her. Daiya waited, crouching near a bush. Her toes curled inside her moccasins. She had touched the mind; it must have sensed her. She waited for it to reach out to her, but it did not. Tentatively, she sent out part of her mind once more. She caught flashes of brightness, and below them, trapped in a turbulent mass of grey and black clouds, a pulsing light, a tiny speck inside the mind but not of it. She brushed against the thoughts and again received no response. She withdrew and sat down quietly, trying to understand. Afraid of disturbing the Net, she tightened her wall. Either the mind was choosing to ignore her or it had not sensed her at all, and that was not possible unless it was a solitary, a separate self. And that was impossible. Daiya trembled. She stood up slowly, ready to creep away. Her feet slid against the stones, loosening them. She fell, sliding down the hill toward the strange being below. She threw out her mind and stopped herself, holding her body still until she found a branch. She clung to it. Something below was moving; she realized she had disturbed it. She stood up straight and slipped again, sending a shower of dirt and small pebbles down the hillside toward the being. She thrust out her hands and seized another branch. She waited, too tired to do anything else. She could now see the clearing below. A vehicle was there, large enough to hold several people. She assumed it was a means of transport; she could not imagine what other purpose it might have. Unlike the wagons the villagers sometimes used to bring in produce from the fields, it had runners, long flat pieces of metal which curved at the ends, instead of wheels, and there were no tame horses to pull it. Inside the vehicle, a light shone, illuminating part of the area around it. Something moved near the craft. She had the feeling that it could see her in spite of the darkness. The thing moved closer to the light. Daiya cleared her mind and gazed at it with her eyes. At first she thought she saw a human face looking up at her, its dark eyes wide; she sensed a ripple of curiosity and fear. Her mind reached toward it again. It blurred and changed. She saw a metal cylinder; it stood on two rounded metallic limbs while two other limbs, attached to its torso, waved at her. It was like a machine, yet it had a mind. Something alien had entered her world. It began to move toward the hill. Terrified, Daiya lifted herself from the ground with all her strength. She soared swiftly over the hill, back in the direction from which she had come. She dipped toward a cluster of trees, knowing she would have to land before her strength gave out. She circled one tree and alighted on a thick branch. Too tired to build a fire, and afraid to stay on the ground, she settled herself in the hollow connecting the branch to the trunk and curled up to await morning. Daiya awoke feeling stronger. She concentrated on her muscles, removing the aches, then looked up at the sky through the leafy limbs overhead. It was already growing light; she had slept a long time. She sat up and dangled her legs over the branch. She knew what she had to do. She knew she should contact the village and let the Merging Ones explore the meaning of this intruder. Something welled up inside her at the thought, tightening the barrier around her mind. She had seen it first; she had a right to find out what it was and what it was doing here before she informed the others. She trembled as she realized the implications of her thought. This was no longer a matter of hiding behind a wall with inconsequential youthful notions and doubts. She would be keeping something important from the village, making herself separate in a fundamental sense. She hugged the tree trunk, certain that the horror of the notion would shake the Net, but it did not; her wall was too tight. She searched frantically for rationalizations. She would have to face the unknown during her ordeal, so she might as well explore this new thing now. It would be good training for her; if she did not survive it, she probably was not ready for her ordeal anyway. Besides, she thought, it's not as if I'm going to keep it from the others forever, it's just for a while. She drifted toward the ground and landed lightly. She straightened her clothes and took a sip of water. Then she turned and started to walk back toward the intruder. Daiya stood behind a tree on the hillside, concealing herself as well as she could. It was a simple enough trick; she had used it on Silla, pressing herself against the side of a hut, masking herself mentally and physically so her sister could barely see her. The trick worked with younger children who were not as skilled in mental disciplines, but she did not know if it would work with this strange being below her. The clearing was barren and dusty, unlike the dell where she had planned to sleep the night before until terror had driven her to a tree. A few thorny bushes grew at the bottom of the hill; the land below was strewn with stones and flat gray rocks. A few patches of green weeds were managing to survive, along with some of the bright red wildflowers called earthflames because they looked like fires from a distance. The creature stood near its vehicle, moving its limbs over the shiny surface. Cautiously, Daiya reached out, trying to grasp its surface thoughts. She caught diagrams, pictures, symbols, concepts she could not comprehend. She concentrated on its feelings, trying to ignore the alien thoughts. She realized it, too, was frightened and worried. She withdrew her mind and considered what to do next. She could try to communicate with it, but how? Its mind was that of a solitary. It could not read her thoughts or even sense the presence of her mind. That meant it had to rely only on sight and sound and other senses. Perhaps it had a voice and could speak, though she was not sure how she would understand it even if it did. She would have to wall up her mind and approach it only through its body, its physical senses. Daiya built her wall, closing her eyes and ears as she did so. She opened her eyes. The cylinder was gone. She saw only a boy, a human being like herself. At least she thought he was a boy. He had thickset shoulders under his tight silver garb, a flat chest, narrow hips, and a bulge at his crotch; he looked too young to be a man. He moved away from the vehicle and circled it on legs, not cylindrical limbs, turning his head as he gazed around the area. But her mind had sensed a machine, something mechanical. Shocked and confused, she let her control slip. He looked toward her and she knew he had seen her. His mouth opened; it was a black gap in his light brown face. He drew back his lips, showing his teeth. Sounds reached her ears. He was speaking, but she could not understand his words. He held out his hands, palms up. She waited. He stood perfectly still, then let his hands drop. He said other words, more guttural than the ones he had spoken before, but she still did not understand. He motioned with one arm, as if drawing her to him. Daiya reached out with a mental feeler and skimmed his mind again quickly. The figure below blurred again, flesh becoming metal; the eyes glittered and shone. She sensed curiosity and some apprehension. She withdrew, realizing he would not hurt her. She sat on her heels, showing the palms of her hands to him. He was still and silent. She had peered into his mind enough to realize he did not have mental powers, which meant he was incapable of fooling her with an illusion, showing her eyes the shape of a boy when in fact he was something else. Then why did her eyes sense one thing and her mind another? He lifted a hand and spoke again in a more musical way. The syllables seemed to rise and fall and for a moment she felt she could grasp a word here and there. Then he stopped. She still had not understood a thing. She climbed to her feet, and went down the hill slowly, moving closer to him. She stopped several paces away and waited. He stepped toward her. She took a step back. He spoke again, pointing up at the sky with a finger. As he spoke, she reached out carefully and grasped only his unvoiced surface thoughts. Then she saw the meaning of the sounds he was making. She saw his face, then his body in the vehicle as the craft moved toward the foothills. He was saying he was from the sky, or from above, or from heaven; she was not sure which. He said another word, and pointed to her; she realized it was a question. He was asking who she was. She did not answer. Instead, in her own language, she said, “You are from the sky.” He seemed startled. His surface thoughts rushed together, blurred and incoherent, so she concentrated on his feelings. He had recognized some of her words and that had surprised him. Haltingly, he answered her in her language, though the words were so badly accented she could never have grasped them without reading his mind. “I am from above,” he said, and then a thought reached her, ancient language, very old. She waited for him to say more before realizing that he only recognized the words, had heard her speech before, but did not know more than a few phrases in the language. He went over to the craft and reached inside. He took out a small object wrapped in a shiny substance. He held it out to her. She caught the thought. “Food,” she said, pointing to it. “Food,” he repeated. Daiya was hungry. Her stomach gurgled. She suppressed the hunger and shook her head, waving the food away with a hand. She had to remember her training. Anyway, she thought suspiciously, the food could be poisoned or made of dangerous herbs; she had to guard herself. The boy peeled away the shiny covering and stuffed the food into his mouth, chewing it quickly. Then he pointed at the ground. He thrust out his hands, motioning downward. He seemed to be telling her to sit down. Daiya sat, folding her legs. He sat down across from her and motioned again, but she could not tell what he meant this time. He closed his eyes. She watched him. He seemed to be in a trance. For a moment, she thought of touching his mind again, but she did not want to intrude—not that he would notice even if she did. She felt that he did not want to be disturbed. It was almost as if he was communicating with another mind. But that was impossible; he did not have the ability. Daiya fidgeted, unfolding her legs, then tucking them in again. The boy was being very foolish, trusting that she would not harm him while he sat entranced. She knew what she should do now. She had only to pull the Net, call the Merging Ones, tell them about this strange boy. They could decide what to do. It would be out of her hands, and she would be free to continue with her training. She got up and walked over to the boy's vehicle. She touched the metal and pulled her hand back quickly; it had been warmed by the sunlight. He said he had traveled in this machine. If he had been from another part of Earth, he would have come here on foot or on horseback. But she had known he was not from another village. The ways of other towns were like those of her own community. Her father's own great-grandparents had come from a village several days’ travel to the south; they had been part of a group following an ancient custom which decreed that, every few generations, a number of young people past their ordeal must leave their own home and settle in another, so that human settlements did not grow apart from one another. So the boy had probably been speaking the truth when he said he came from the sky, unbelievable as it seemed. She thought of the comet; it had been a sign after all. A dark translucent dome covered the top of the boy's craft. Daiya touched it gently. Unlike the metal of the machine's body, it was cool. Puzzled, she peered at it. The night before, when she had first seen the craft, the dome had been transparent, not dark. She retreated from the vehicle and stood over the boy. His eyes were still closed. She knew she had to call the village. Something seemed to grip her mind. Her muscles tensed; she felt the skin of her face tighten. Something inside her was keeping the wall in front of the Net. She did not want to call the village. She had found the boy, she had a right to find out more before telling anyone about him. She had seen him first. She shook; her skin prickled. She was keeping something from the others, she had a secret, she was acting like a solitary. She tried to push the thought away. It isn't like that, she told herself. She only wanted to find out more about him first, discover whether or not he had weapons or might be dangerous. She was protecting the village. She would tell them later. She looked down at the boy. His blue-black hair was straight and thick. His light brown skin glistened. There must be others like him, she thought. She tried to imagine it, a group of separate minds like his; how could they possibly live together, able to speak to one another only with words? How could they feel love? How could the Merged One allow such beings to survive? She remembered her own doubts about God and shuddered. Perhaps the boy was a sign to her that the Merged One did not exist. Perhaps there was another Great Force in the world, one who sought to separate what God tried to unite, and this boy was one of its worshippers. Thinking such things was blasphemous. The air was cold around her. She hugged herself with her arms, feeling as though she was trapped in a dark abyss. If this boy's presence brought on such thoughts, he was dangerous, as dangerous to the village as the solitaries, perhaps even more dangerous. Her hand was on her knife. Separate selves could not be allowed to live. The boy suddenly opened his eyes, looking around quickly before he saw her. She sat down again, gazing into his dark brown eyes, noticing tiny folds over the inner corners of his eyelids which made his eyes look almond-shaped; only a few villagers had eyes like that. She prayed silently, wishing God would answer her. The corners of the boy's mouth turned up; he was smiling. He wrinkled his nose, as if smelling something rank. Daiya rested her hands on her knees. Surely the Merged One would not condemn her for trying to reach out to a separate self before acting. Clinging to this shred of belief, she forced herself to smile. “Reiho,” the boy said, pointing to his chest. “My name is Reiho.” She scanned his surface thoughts as he spoke. His accent was still strange, and he gargled some of the sounds, but his words were clearer. “Daiya,” she answered. “My name is Daiya.” “Accident,” the boy said, gesturing at his craft. “Have to repair.” He pulled at the silvery garment he wore; it was as tight as skin against his body. It separated, showing part of his hairless chest. “You speak old language, old speech,” he went on. “Implant give me some words, I learn more later with hypnotraining when asleep.” She shook her head, not knowing what he was talking about. Even scanning his mind could not help her interpret those words. He pointed to his forehead. “Implant,” he said again. “Inside. You have no implant?” Daiya shrugged. Since she did not know what he meant, she assumed she did not. She got to her feet. She needed time by herself, time to figure things out. “You go?” he asked. “Find others?” She felt his apprehension. “No,” she responded. “I'm by myself. I have to go now, I'll come back later.” “More slowly,” he said, wrinkling his thick eyebrows. “I have to go now,” she said carefully, motioning with her hands. “I will come back later.” She felt irritated with him as she spoke, wishing they could mindspeak instead of using this cumbersome method. He held out a hand, obviously wanting her to stay. She drew back, then lifted herself off the ground so that she would not have to wade through the bushes at the bottom of the hill. As she landed on the hillside, she saw his mouth drop open. Good, she thought, wanting him to be a bit afraid of her; it might protect her. She carefully approached the place where the boy was. She peered cautiously around a tree, almost expecting to see others of his kind in the clearing below. He was still alone. Now that it was night, the top of his vehicle was transparent again. A light bathed the inside of the craft. The boy sat in one of the doorways, his feet on the ground. He held a thin flat rectangular object on his lap and was bent over it, peering at it as he bit into the bar of food he held in his right hand. She frowned, wondering at his strangeness. She came down the hill slowly. She had still not called the village. She had put the boy out of her mind while she practiced physical and mental exercises, forcing herself to prepare for her ordeal. She was beginning to realize that the longer she waited with her secret, the harder it was going to be to tell it when the time came to do so; she would have to explain why she waited. That, she thought, must be why isolation was so dangerous, so feared. Reiho looked at her as she picked her way through the bushes. She touched his surface thoughts; he too was glad she was alone. Again she saw him as cylindrical and machinelike, until she withdrew and saw him only with her eyes. “Hello,” he said. “Hello,” she answered, accenting the word properly. She sat down in front of him, searching for something else to say. She pointed at the flat rectangle. “What is that?” The surface of the rectangle gleamed, lighting the boy's face with a yellowish glow. He said a word she did not know. She gestured with a finger. “Say it again.” He repeated the word as she skimmed his mind; she grasped an image of a surface covered with symbols. “A book,” he said once more. “What is a book?” she asked. He stared at her for a moment. “Let me try to say,” he answered very slowly. “I have learned more of your speech while you were gone, Homesmind taught it to me...” Daiya drew back, pulling her legs up to her chest. “There is someone else here!” she cried, in her panic shouting with her mind as well. Reiho seemed to hear only the words. He shook his head. “No, I am alone. Homesmind is far away from here. I speak to It through my implant.” He pointed at his forehead. She searched his mind again, finding the small, pulsing light amidst the clouds of his thoughts, the light that was not part of his mind, but something else. She withdrew. Confused, she wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. “You speak to another mind?” she asked. Reiho nodded. “One that is very far from here?” He nodded again, pointing up at the sky. She shook her head vehemently. He was a separate self, he could not do this thing. He was trying to frighten her. He could not see her own thoughts as she sat near him, nor could he know when she touched his mind, yet he wanted her to believe he could speak to a mind in the sky. “You cannot,” she said. “I don't believe it.” “Through the implant,” he said. “I could not do it by myself. If you had an implant, I could speak to your mind, too.” Daiya laughed. Reiho clutched his flat rectangle, looking startled. “You are primitive,” she said. “My people don't need such things to mindspeak.” “Please, speak more slowly,” he said, raising a hand. “My people do not need such things to mindspeak,” she said carefully. The boy was still for a moment. His eyes narrowed. “You can read my mind?” he asked softly. “It is too hard with you,” she answered. “You have no training, it is hard to read what you think, and you cannot touch my thoughts, so we must use speech.” She paused. “That does not mean I cannot grasp your intentions or feelings,” she added, just to be safe. She was about to explain that he was a solitary, without mental powers, but she decided against it. She would have to tell him that infant solitaries were always killed, and that might provoke him. She realized that if Reiho could not get back to his home, he would have to die. But if he did go back, he might return with others like himself. She swallowed. The longer she sat here with him, the greater the distance from her village seemed to be. Yet she could not bring herself to leave. She was too curious; she would damn herself with her curiosity. “This Homesmind,” she said, thinking it was a peculiar name for anyone to have, “does he know you spoke to me?” “It asked. I did not say, I said only that I wanted to learn the old language, your language.” The light from the rectangle's surface made his face seem sallow and drawn; his shadowed eyes were dark pools. “I am not supposed to be here. I said only that I was all right and I shall return when I repair my craft. I told It that I ... that I ... I do not have the words in this speech. I told Homesmind I wanted to learn this language to pass time. It is strange you still speak it.” “Why should speech change, when the world does not? It is mindspeech that is important, we need words only for children.” Questions threatened to flood her mind as she spoke. How could a being from the sky know Earth's language? She suppressed the question. “You're not supposed to be here,” she went on, “so you told no one.” He nodded. “That is true. We thought there was no one here, that you were all dead many ages ago.” Daiya coughed, trying to choke back her laughter. “Dead! You come from the sky where no human being can live, to Earth, the home of all men and women, and you thought we were dead. You are very foolish, and your people must be ignorant.” She paused, thinking that he might find this rude, then saw that he had not understood the rapidly spoken words. “I've told no one about you either, at least not yet,” she continued. “I can't imagine what they would think of you.” She pointed at the rectangle. “This thing, this book, what is it?” “It is words, writing.” He tilted it toward her. Just beneath the surface, she could see scratches and marks which seemed to form patterns. “I always keep a small library ... a small number of books ... with me. They are very small, tinier than the pebbles here, but when I put them in here"—he pointed at the rectangle as he spoke—"I can read them. If I wish to have other books, Homesmind can transmit them to me.” She could not understand a few of his words, and wondered if it was because her speech was still new to him. “You look at these patterns?” She squinted at them. “What for? Is it an art?” The boy stared at her. “You have no writing?” “I've never heard of such a thing.” “I shall try to say what it is,” he said very slowly. “These symbols, they are words, like the ones we speak or say. Each one of these stands for a word or part of a word. When I look at these signs, it is ... it is as if the person who put them down is speaking to me. I do not need the book, I could speak directly to Homesmind to learn what is here, but I find enjoyment in the words and their patterns. In a way, it is an art now, though long ago it helped people preserve learning.” “People put down these symbols?” He nodded. “Why? Why doesn't this person tell you his thoughts? Did a friend of yours do this?” She stopped, trying to remember not to speak so quickly. “This person was not my friend. She is dead for a long time, I do not know her. But her work is part of Homesmind, and with this book, I can read what she thought.” He pressed the edge of the rectangle; the light went out. He was now a black, alien form, lit from the back by the light inside the vehicle. She could not see his face. “This book is about history,” he went on. “What is that?” “About the past. It is about a long time ago. But it says little about Earth.” Daiya peered at him. “You are very strange,” she said. “You look at patterns to tell you about the past. I don't understand you. What is there to know?” “Do you know about the past?” “Everyone does. There were those like us and those not like us and they fought long ago. Then there were only those like us.” She suddenly realized that Reiho's presence contradicted that statement. “And some have said that the ones not like us live in another place, but many consider that a heresy. I didn't believe that before.” “What about after that?” Reiho asked. “What do you mean?” “What happened to your people after that?” “We are as we are. The passing of time is an illusion, a warp in eternity. What else is there to say?” “What about your history?” Exasperated, Daiya stood up. “I don't know what you mean. You look at signs and patterns on a surface and you ask what only a child would ask. We are as we are. We always were like this, we shall always be like this.” She was afraid to show the boy that she too had questions about her world, afraid he might see it as weakness. “It does not change at all?” “Why should it change? People die and children are born. The older ones tell us things and teach us, and we shall do the same.” “But change is part of life.” “We have always lived as we do. Your life is very distant from truth if you look for change.” She shook her head. “I must go, I have many things to do.” He took her hand. Startled, she jumped back, pulling her hand away. His skin felt dry and smooth; his hand, oddly enough, had no callouses. “Do not go,” he said. “I must.” “I shall leave you alone. I am frightened, I will say it. I have not ever been in a place like this.” She touched his mind and felt both his fear and his pride. He had struggled with his pride to make his admission. Earth's night covered him; the darkness hid unknown threats. A wild creature hovered near him and he did not know whether it would strike. That was how he saw her. She withdrew, annoyed but sorry for him as well. “Very well,” she said softly. She turned and pointed to a spot several paces from the craft. “I shall build my fire there, and sleep there, but you are not to disturb me.” “You may sleep in here, there is space. I will put down one of the seats for you.” “No. I'll sleep outside.” “I will not do anything, I will not even touch you.” Daiya leaned closer to him. She sensed he did not really want her in the craft. Why had he asked? Perhaps he was trying to trap her. She searched his surface thoughts, but could sense no hostility. “I must sleep outside, that is all,” she said. “I would not be comfortable in there. And you must leave me alone, or I'll go. Then you will be alone.” His body stiffened and his mind became a coil. “Very well.” She left him and went for wood to build her fire. Something was near her. Daiya swam into consciousness, releasing part of her mind from behind her wall. She touched another mind—it was Reiho's. Angry, she sat up quickly, blinking her eyes. The boy was retreating, hurrying back to his vehicle. She looked down at herself. He had covered her with a piece of shiny cloth. She got up, pushing it from her, and ran up behind him. He spun around, apparently startled. “I thought you would be cold, so I...” She didn't wait for him to finish. She seized him with her mind, lifted him from the ground, and sent him sailing toward the craft, releasing him near the side. He fell against a large rock and rolled over, then climbed to his feet. “Do you understand?” she shouted. “You must do nothing. Leave me alone.” She waited. He began to crawl back inside the vehicle. “You are cruel,” his voice said in the darkness. “I warned you.” “You do not seem to understand a kindness.” “Be careful of what you say.” She waited, ready to strike at him again. “This world must have done this to you. Do not threaten me, you cannot hurt me.” She realized she had roused his anger and his pride. “Don't tempt me,” she said. “I can do more to you than you think.” She waited, for a moment hoping he would give her an excuse to destroy him. The door of the craft slid shut. Daiya turned away. She clenched her fists. Suddenly, she felt ashamed. Taking out her anger on the boy was as bad as taking it out on an animal—maybe worse. It would be kinder to kill him than to torment him like this. He might be an inferior being, but he had feelings like hers, and a mind that could reason, powerless as it was. She thought: I am a bad person, keeping secrets from the village, getting angry, asking questions. The boy's presence and his questions had disturbed her more than she had realized. She would die during her ordeal, she knew it now, it was beyond doubt. Her skin felt wet and cold; her stomach was tight. She would die. Maybe it was the only thing that could save her now, dying; after her suffering, the Merged One would rejoin her to Itself. If It existed. She thought: if I still doubt, at the moment of death, will I be condemned to eternal isolation? Of course, if there was no God, she would be condemned anyway. She walked slowly to the craft and peered inside. Reiho stared out at her suspiciously through the transparent dome, his face lit by the waning moon and the comet's bright light. She put her hand on the clear surface; Reiho shrank back. He probably thought he was safe inside the vehicle, but he was not. If she used all her strength, she could lift the craft and dash it against the hillside, or spin it so rapidly the boy would grow faint. She was beginning to understand why those without powers had to die. She said, “I am sorry.” The boy blinked his eyes and was silent. “I am sorry,” she said, as loudly as she could. “Please open the door.” At last the door slid open. Reiho, still seated on one of the reclining seats, peered out cautiously. He held one hand in front of his face, as if guarding himself. “I'm sorry,” she repeated. “I should not have lost my temper. You were not trying to harm me.” He put his hand down and frowned. Daiya carefully explored his surface thoughts. He was a frightened boy, far from his home, puzzled by her. He too was keeping a secret, telling no one about his encounter. His thoughts brushed against her. He was gripped by a loneliness so intense she could not bear it. Then another feeling rippled from him, capturing her; she struggled to recognize it. The feeling was curiosity. It was a cold blue light inside Reiho, dispelling his fears. It shone brightly, seeking out the dark places inside her. She withdrew from him. She had never touched anyone whose curiosity was this strong. The boy had to be a great sinner. She shuddered. “Why are you sleeping out there without a covering?” he asked. “I thought you would get cold.” “I'm training,” she replied. “I am preparing myself for an ordeal I must endure, and to live through it, I must be able to control my mind and body.” “I do not know one of those words.” “An ordeal? Is that the word?” He nodded. “It is a passage.” He still seemed confused. “It is something all people my age must endure,” she went on, “before we are accepted as adults. I must go with others into the desert and face something so terrible that no one will say what it is. Many die during an ordeal. My own brother Rin did not live through his.” Reiho's eyes widened a bit. “Don't you have such a thing?” she asked. He shook his head. “Don't you have to pass an ordeal before you become an adult? Perhaps yours is different. I have heard that in other villages, the young ones go high into mountains taller than those here, mountains that touch the sky, while in other places they are sent out in boats on the salty lake which surrounds the world.” She spoke slowly, so that he could grasp all her words. “I have even heard that in the north, young people travel across a cold white moisture which covers the ground like a blanket to places so cold that water stands still and solid. But the custom is the same everywhere. You must have your own ordeal, or how would you know when you are grown?” He said, “That is barbaric and cruel.” “Who are you to pass judgement?” “I must say what I think. I would refuse to go.” “You would have to go, or you would be cast out.” He stretched out a hand toward her. She kept her arms at her sides. He withdrew his hand. “What is your ordeal like?” she asked. “We do not have that kind of thing, not something that might kill us,” he said. “We have other things. We must study and learn, we must master many fields of study and then decide which one we wish to specialize in, and what will be our work.” “What are fields of study?” He shrugged. “Cybernetics, anthropology, astrophysics, different types of engineering, genetics, history, those sorts of things.” It sounded like gibberish to her, a chant, words running together in a stream; she could not tell whether he had said one thing or many. She thought of a field of study and saw the boy on a plain, roaming over it as he learned about its plants, animals, and weather. “I think I see,” she said. “You learn some things, then you learn one thing more than others. Is that it?” “It is something like that. When we decide on what we want to do most, we are adults. There are some things so difficult or demanding only a few can do them.” Daiya puzzled over his statements, wondering why one would want to know only a few things. Those in the village who lived long enough could know everything there was to know. “What thing is the hardest?” she asked. “I do not know. Perhaps raising our children.” Daiya began to laugh. She tried to restrain herself, then noticed that Reiho was smiling a little. “That is very strange,” she said between giggles. “You have men and women, don't you? Surely their feelings tell them how to make love.” “I said raising children. We all have them, we all contribute our genetic material to the wombs, but only a few are skilled enough to raise them properly, though the rest of us can spend time with them when we wish to do so.” She shook her head; he used strange words to describe lovemaking. “I am sorry for laughing. We all raise our own children, those who pass the ordeal are considered fit to have them. We must have many, because many die.” The boy wrinkled his brows. “It sounds like a very hard life.” She shrugged. She had never thought of it as hard, knowing, at least until now, that it was the same everywhere. “It's no harder than living in the sky,” she said, waving her hand. “Why must you go through this ordeal?” he asked. “I have already said why. We must become adults.” “Why must you go through it to become adults?” She folded her legs and sat on her heels. “Here it is,” she said. “As children, our thoughts are weak and confused. Whatever trouble they may cause can be controlled. I have a sister, Silla, she is very young, and I must often speak to her with my voice, as I am doing now with you, and listen to hers, for she has not yet mastered the ability to project her thoughts clearly.” She gazed into Reiho's eyes and saw that he understood her so far. “As we grow, our minds grow stronger, and we must learn something even harder, how to control our minds. It's difficult sometimes. I threw you into your craft here, I should not have done it, I might have hurt you. You see that a village could not survive if it had many who would do these things.” The boy nodded. “That is why we must go through a passage in the desert,” she continued. “I won't know exactly what happens there until I go through it myself, but I know one thing. Those who are able to control themselves and fit into our community return, and others do not.” As she spoke, she once again felt doubts about her own ability to survive. “But why must you sleep outside with no covering to train for that?” “Body and mind are one thing. It does no good to have mental control if the body fails. I have heard one can die returning from the ordeal. We must go with nothing, we must return with nothing.” Reiho slouched, resting his arms on his thighs. “It is very puzzling,” he said. “I do not know very much, but I do not understand how you can have these mental powers at all.” Daiya smiled. “And I don't understand why you do not,” she replied. “God gave us these powers so that we would no longer be separated from one another and the world, that is what we are told.” “But the power, the energy needed for such things must come from somewhere,” Reiho said. “Your bodies cannot provide it. Something else must generate it.” “God provides us with powers,” she said quickly, not knowing what the boy was talking about and afraid to ask. She stood up slowly, feeling weak and knowing she needed to sleep. Her stomach, which had been rumbling with hunger hours before, now sat inside her like a hollow space. “You tell me you live in the sky,” she went on, “and yet you ask me questions. What do you do, build villages on clouds?” “Of course not. We don't live there, we live above the clouds.” She said, “You cannot,” and turned to leave him. “We do, we live there, that is my home.” She turned her head and saw Reiho lift his arm and point his finger. She looked up to where he was pointing. He was pointing at the comet. 4 Daiya awoke at dawn. The clearing was still clothed in shadows, but the sky was blue. Reiho was already up, standing in front of his vehicle. He held a small flat metallic object in his hand, passing it over the surface of the craft. She stood up and watched him, then turned to stir the embers of her fire. She scattered the burnt, blackened wood and covered it with dirt. She walked over to the boy. He stopped what he was doing and nodded at her. “Can you repair this thing?” she asked. “Oh yes, I have tools, and this shuttle can repair much of the damage itself, it's already doing so. Then I'll do what it cannot, and check things afterward.” She noticed that his words were more fluent today, though still heavily accented, and recalled that he had said something about learning her speech while asleep. “Then you will go,” she said. “Yes.” “And you will not come back.” “I am not supposed to be here now.” She touched his mind. Again his form changed, becoming cylindrical and metallic. She sensed a wish: he wanted to return to Earth. They were both infected with curiosity.—You must not come back—she thought, pushing the words at him, but of course he could not read them. “There is something I must ask you,” she said, withdrawing her mind and seeing only the boy's body now. “It will sound strange to you, it's strange to me. When I look at you with my eyes, I see one thing, but when I sense you with my mind, there is something else where you stand.” Reiho drew his brows together. “What do you mean?” “Right now, I see a boy of flesh and bone. That's what my eyes see. When I reach out with my mind, I see an object, a thing like a machine, a body not of flesh but of metal, a thing which should not have life. That is how I first saw you.” The boy was silent. “Why do I see that?” “I'm not sure.” He peered at her closely. “Maybe it is because part of me isn't flesh. We are...” and he said a word she did not know. “Say that again, explain it,” she interrupted. “Part of us is not flesh and bone. My skin, for example, it is like skin, but it is actually made of a stronger substance.” He pulled at his arm with his fingers. “My muscles are supplemented by electrodes, my heart has been made stronger by artificial valves, even my eyes are shielded by a thin lens to protect them. I am also wearing a lifesuit to protect my body here.” He paused. “Perhaps that's why you saw me as you did. We are born as flesh and blood, but as we grow, we add these things to ourselves so that our bodies can live longer and survive in regions where otherwise we could not. Our implants are the last thing we acquire, just before we are ready to become adults.” He stretched out his hand to her. “But you can see that I'm still human in spite of it. We modify our humanness, we do not lose it. We originally came from Earth also, we're not so different really.” Speechless and sick with horror, Daiya stepped back, away from Reiho, away from the monster. From Earth, he had said: cast out was the way he should have put it. She trembled, feeling the sweat on her face and under her arms; the back of her neck prickled. Reiho was separate from other minds, separated from Earth, apart from Nature; he had mutilated his body in his separateness. He moved toward her and she threw up her hands, warding him off. “I should never have talked to you,” she cried. His face blurred. She blinked, suppressing her tears. Despair gripped her as she saw her world torn apart by these beings, these creatures who had been cast out and should have died. “I mean no harm, Daiya,” he said, using her name for the first time. She covered her face, wishing she had never told it to him. She moaned, trying to control herself, feeling that even the ordeal could not be as bad as this. She wanted to pull at the Net, call others, but she was afraid to infect them with this horror, this solitary blasphemer. She could not do it; better to bear it alone for the sake of the village. She felt his smooth dry hand on her arm. She pushed it away violently, then pinned his arms to his sides with her mind, holding him there. He struggled, then relaxed, staring at her with his dark eyes. “Listen to me,” she said. “You must leave, and you must never come back, you nor anyone else of your kind. Let me tell you something you had better know. Sometimes, in my village, a child is born with a mind like yours, a separate mind which can't ever master mindcrafts or have mental abilities, a mind which is born without them. Such children have to die so that they do not destroy us with their isolation. Do you understand?” She saw him swallow and knew he understood. She released his arms and he moved closer to his craft. “If you or anyone of your kind returns, we shall kill you, too. If you come back, I'll kill you myself. Already you have built a wall between me and my village, but I'll tear it down and you'll never do it again. If you come back, I'll kill you.” He slumped against the side of the vehicle. She touched his mind, wishing that she could impress him mentally with her will. She felt his resistance. He had heard her words, and understood them, but he did not feel their force. His thoughts of death were dreamlike; he did not seem to connect the idea to himself. He was still mired in his curiosity. She readied her mind to crush him, but could not do it. She had spoken to him for too long, had touched too many of his feelings. She could not strike. She thought: God, help me. It is in your hands now. She spun around and hurried quickly to the hillside, carelessly thrashing her way through the bushes, and began to climb the hill. She stopped near a tree and looked back. Reiho was still standing down below, watching her, the corners of his mouth turned down. She turned away and clambered up the hill. Daiya lay on the ground by the creek, listening to the water gurgle as it rippled over rocks. The fire near her crackled, as if defying the water. She twisted her body, her mind and muscles tired from the long day of exercises and training, of trying to forget what had happened. Unable to sleep, she found herself staring up at the sky, at the comet Reiho called his home. It was a fire burning in the heavens, dividing the night with its long tail. She thought of Reiho dwelling in the fire with his monstrous body. She wondered again if she should have killed the boy. But maybe she had done the right thing by sparing him. She had practiced restraint, as she should before an ordeal. He had been able to contact another on his world; if he had done that before dying, he might only have brought others seeking revenge to Earth, making things even worse. He would go, and that would be the end of it; he had said he was not supposed to be here anyway. She tried to forget that she had, for a while at least, treated the thing as a person. Even now, she found herself thinking of him as a boy, as a human being, though he was not that, he could not be that. The thought tormented her. The feeling and sympathy he had engendered were his most dangerous weapons. They had saved his life.