Watchstar (2 page)

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—