Stewards of the Flame (28 page)

“Altered state? I haven’t been taught a mind-pattern for that one.”

“Remember, firewalking was done on Earth long before neurofeedback was invented.” She frowned. “Not having real-world experience with useful altered states prior to lab training may have handicapped you, Jesse. Better late than never.”

“But in the world outside, getting into altered states requires drugs, except maybe for gifted individuals.”

“No, not at all!” she said, surprised. “There’s the traditional way, the time-honored way, that’s produced them in gatherings throughout history.”

“The traditional way?”

“Mob psychology, the uninformed call it. Or mass hypnosis, though it’s rarely true hypnosis. It’s telepathy, group telepathy, triggered by a charismatic leader. What do you think inspires heroic deeds in wartime? Or religious ecstasy? Or riots and violent demonstrations, as far as that goes—it has been used for evil as well as good. Fanatics like Hitler and Osama bin Laden were all too good at putting their followers into altered states. But on the whole, it’s a positive force.”

“And you’re saying Peter can—trigger it?”

“Oh, yes. He could even if the rest of us weren’t trained telepaths, and since we are, it’s even simpler. All he has to do is rouse concerted enthusiasm and we’ll carry the novices along.”

“You mean the guests—people without any mind training at all—will
do
this, not just watch?”

“Most of them will. People with no special skills have been doing it for centuries on Earth. Skeptics try to pass it off as some strange physical phenomenon; they say the coals aren’t really hot or don’t conduct heat, or something. They can’t bring themselves to admit that the mind has such power; it would shatter their belief system. That’s exactly what it’s for, of course. Underneath, the scoffers know that, which is why they deny vehemently that it’s real.”

“So why didn’t we do it earlier, while I was a guest, if that would have been better?” he asked curiously.

“Because we don’t have enough wood to build big fires often.”

Jesse had wondered about the extravagant use of wood while hauling it. The trees on the Island, genetically engineered on Earth for terraforming colony worlds, were fast growers; new ones were planted frequently. But it would not take many fires such as had been built today to deplete them faster than they could be replaced.

“This is a bit ahead of schedule, actually,” Carla went on, “but Peter thinks it’s important not to wait any longer. Maybe he wants to recruit others before Ian dies. He took a chance subjecting you to the test without your having firewalked first—I’m still not sure what the hurry was. Most people who join us have motives different from yours, you know. They’re seeking something you don’t yet quite want to believe in.”

She was troubled, Jesse realized. No doubt she sensed his deep doubts of his paranormal potential. Could she, through the unconsummated love they shared, see into him more clearly than Peter, the expert? Or had Peter had second thoughts? Would he be tested again tonight, and found lacking?

She looked at him, pleading with her eyes for him to share her confidence. “He asked you to talk me into this,” he realized.

“To explain it to you, yes,” Carla admitted, “and to make sure you get into the spirit of it. Come on, Peter’s about to start.”

People were clustering around the Lodge porch, sitting on the steps and on benches; the buffet tables had been pushed back. Peter, wearing his blue shirt, stood in their midst; he looked younger and less preoccupied than he had since the first week Jesse had known him. He suddenly became aware of how the man had changed recently. The looming responsibility of full leadership evidently had been weighing on him, or perhaps merely grief in anticipation of Ian’s passing. The ability to forget cares and enjoy life, so central to the Group, had in his case seemed to fade. But tonight, at least, he did seem to be having fun.

Next to Peter stood a slim, brown-skinned man Jesse hadn’t met. “That’s Hari,” Carla said, “one of Ian’s protégés. He’s a Council member and the teacher for the front group. He also gives training in some of the more esoteric psi powers to those in the Group who want to experiment with them. Between those two things and his official job teaching anthropology at the university, he rarely has time to come to the Island.”

“How large is the Council?” Jesse asked.

“Just five—Ian, Peter, Kira, Hari, and Reiko. I guess you haven’t met Reiko yet, either. She’s a university professor, too. She teaches history and sociology, but her real work in those fields isn’t revealed to outsiders. It’s coordination of our research on how unconscious telepathy shaped human progress in the past.”

The group hushed and Peter began to speak, welcoming the guests to what they believed was simply his private island retreat. There was an air of excitement; Jesse realized they’d looked forward to this occasion and had high expectations of being transformed by it. Hari would have prepared them for believing in the power of mind to protect them from burning. Firewalking wasn’t meant to be an ordeal, he realized. Probably those who did it successfully would get high.

Unconvinced though he was that he would be among them, he had no choice about making the attempt. He sure as hell wasn’t going to balk at anything Carla asked of him, even apart from not wanting look like a coward. Don’t think about it, he told himself. Just do it. Just hope to be put into enough of an altered state to pass muster if Peter checks up before letting people try.

Peter went on talking, instructing the listeners to acknowledge and face their fear. “Don’t try to hide it,” he said. “It’s normal, and it’s good! The whole point of walking on fire is to discover that fear needn’t hold you back from anything you want to do. If we weren’t consciously afraid, we’d never learn that. . . .”

Which was, of course, the same advice he’d been hearing all along, Jesse realized. What was the matter with him, that he apparently still had fears he couldn’t identify, much less face? Was he suppressing them even now? It was true that he had no reason to fear burns. He knew pain wouldn’t bother him—yet minute by minute his dread of them was growing, not fading. It was mortifying. These others, the guests, would suffer agony if they failed; how could he be more frightened than they were?

Carla took his hand, tightened her fingers on his. It was the first physical touch she had allowed for weeks, and his heart began to pound. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re
supposed
to be scared your first time, Jesse! Admit it!”

He couldn’t admit it, not to her. He focused on what Peter was saying. “You must be willing to be burned . . . paradoxically, the only way to control your mind is to let go, and let whatever comes, come. . . .” As Peter continued, elaborating on the principles of volitional control, it all came together for Jesse. There was no difference in method between dealing with pain, or controlling his blood pressure, or even preventing his skin from burning. He had managed to do it during the test. Could he possibly, in this new crisis . . . ?

“It’s up to you to choose whether to walk or not,” Peter said, “and if you don’t feel ready for it, you mustn’t try. I will judge you individually, but that’s not a substitute for
feeling
that you’ll succeed. People who don’t feel they’re protected can get severely burned—it happens sometimes, though it has never happened here. People who aren’t focusing their attention can also get burned. I have walked on coals many times, but even I would be burned if I let my mind wander.”

The sky was dark now, and the coals glowed red on the beach behind them. Peter took off his shoes and rolled up his pant legs, telling the others to do the same. As he came down from the porch, everyone rose and turned to face the fire. Up-tempo music emerged from speakers that had been moved outside; Peter used a wireless mike to be heard over it.

“I’ll go first,” he said, “and then the people who’ve had experience. After that we’ll come around and check each one of you. When you enter the bed of coals, move quickly—but don’t run. Keep walking, and whatever you do, don’t stop before you’re across. Once you have taken the first step, you’ll find it’s easy to go on. You’ll notice heat, but not on the soles of your feet. The coals may even feel cool. . . .”

I can’t believe I’m doing this, Jesse thought, moving into the single-file line now snaking toward the fire. The people ahead of him he recognized as Group members; Carla held back so that he was directly behind her, the first of the novices. The volume of the music swelled. So too did the excitement and confidence of the participants. He had gained enough sensitivity during his weeks at the Lodge to be aware that this was indeed enhanced by unconscious telepathy. It occurred to him that under its influence he might finally make contact with Carla—but no, he must focus now on what he was about to attempt.

The line circled the fire rather than heading directly to it, so that Peter was visible to everyone as he stepped onto the red-hot coals. He was calm, smiling; firelight reflected onto a face already illumined by an inner glory. This was beyond mere fun, Jesse saw. And in that moment he wanted more than ever before to become like Peter, to experience whatever it was that made him—made all the Group members—what they were. He had thought he’d achieved it, that first day, the day he’d freed himself from pain . . . why had he never felt that freedom again? Why was he terrified at the thought that the fire might give it to him?

One by one, the experienced firewalkers followed Peter, sharing Peter’s exultation. Almost before he knew it, Carla stood at the edge of the coals. She did not hesitate. Her arms held out for balance, she moved forward, and in four steps, she was across. Jesse knew he must not hesitate either. What the hell, what would it matter what became of him if he could not match Carla’s courage?

Peter had come around to judge the waiting novices; he smiled at Jesse and nodded. “Go for it,” he said.

Then to his own surprise, Jesse became suddenly, inwardly, sure that he was in some way protected—not by Peter’s reassurance, but by the state of his own mind. The nameless terror he felt was not of burning. He hardly knew when he took the first step. The coals were not very hot under his feet; they felt like beach pebbles warmed by the sun. More intense heat rose around him, enveloped him, and he strode quickly ahead to get away from it. Two steps . . . three . . . four . . . and the fire was behind him. Incredibly, his feet weren’t even blistered—the feeling in them was normal.

Carla, then other friends, hugged him exuberantly. They were high, he realized. This was the kind of triumph that produced natural highs, that had done so even in him on several previous occasions. It hadn’t done so on this one. Her excitement fading, Carla stepped back, and he watched disappointment, even sadness, overtake her. “Oh, Jesse,” she murmured, “I’d hoped—”

To share a high with him? He recalled the high he’d shared with Peter—he’d have given
anything
to experience that with Carla! And perhaps to share more; had she been hoping that tonight it would become possible? Peter’s words echoed in his mind:
In the case of potential sex partners a shared high, especially following stress, often does lead to bed. . . .

But Jesse was not high. He felt none of the inner joy that had transformed the others, including, by now, most of the guests. Knowing he could walk on coals unharmed was not a comfort to him. In fact, the sense of foreboding that had plagued him the past few weeks seemed stronger than ever.

~
 
30
 
~

By mid-morning the guests, who’d camped in the woods, were gone, and the bed of ashes had been washed away by high tide. The memory of the firewalk seemed unreal to Jesse. He saw no concrete evidence that it had happened, certainly not on his feet, which were unmarked when he examined them. And though his mind assured him it
had
happened, what, after all, did that signify? He’d been told firewalking wasn’t limited to Group members and had even been common on Earth among ordinary people in the past. Incredible as not being burned might seem, it was not really a sign that he was progressing.

The day was hot; after lunch he and Carla hiked along the shore, wearing only light shirts over their swimwear. Not having been particularly eager, he was soon ready to turn back. But Carla, as always, was full of life. He had been, too, his first week on the Island, Jesse recalled wistfully. He was vaguely aware that his loss of that vitality signaled conflict in his unconscious mind. It held him back from enjoyment and also, no doubt, from the immunity to aging he was supposed to acquire. Yet he couldn’t shake the worries that weighed him down.

For Carla’s sake, he went through the motions of having fun. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll race you to the point.” She was off, leaping from rock to rock where the rising tide lapped between them. Jesse followed, pretending that he felt young and carefree.

And then, with a shriek, Carla disappeared.

“Carla!” Jesse shouted. His heart pounding, he rushed to the place from which he’d seen her fall. There wasn’t a big drop; she was lying on the pebbly shore not far below him. As he scrambled down to her, she turned onto her back. “I’m okay,” she said. “A rock gave way under my foot. I didn’t break anything—I just need to stay still a few minutes.” But she was not okay. There was blood on the stones beside her, and more blood gushing from a long gash on her leg.

“Oh, God, Carla.” He tore off his shirt, wondering whether a bandage was going to be enough. A wound bleeding that profusely might need a tourniquet. She might go into shock. They were too far from the Lodge to call for help; he would have to carry her. . . .

He knelt beside her, wiping her leg with a corner of his shirt to examine it. The laceration was longer than his hand, and deep; she’d evidently fallen onto a sharp rock. It must be incredibly painful, he thought in dismay—and then he remembered that Carla, like everyone in the Group, was immune to physical suffering. For the first time the full significance of Kira’s warning struck him, the warning that once he stopped minding pain, he’d need common sense to judge when an injury needed treatment. His common sense now told him that whatever Carla might think, she did need it.