The Blue-Spangled Blue (The Path Book 1)

by David Bowles

  “Thank you for receiving me today, arojin-zin. I know it was short notice.”

  Pishan took a sip of their water. “Not at all. Once you explained that you’re on the Path, that you had the vision—and in Jinja ra-Shamanga, no less—it became my duty and my joy to let you walk in my shade for a time.”

  Brando turned slightly, sipped his own water, then nodded. “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t expecting any of this. I turned my back on my parents’ faith when I was a teen. Eased into agnosticism. Hadn’t given my religious needs much thought till I got here.”

  “Do you think,” Pishan asked, “that the incident at the fair and your relationship with Tenshi-shi may have influenced you?”

  Brando tilted his head side to side. “Probably? But even before the fair, Professor Modupe and I had a conversation that got me thinking. He started off by conceding what I had long believed: religion isn’t reality. Then he carefully argued that we humans don’t build our identities out of reality, but out of stories. To him, religion is the most important story humans tell. Reality’s always going be reality. We can’t change that, though it’s clear we are incapable of perceiving the totality of that reality. But we can decide what stories to live by, Modupe said, and whether we’re the protagonist, villain or just some by-stander.”

  “And those arguments moved you?”

  “Yes. I think I just needed permission, you know? To set aside the shield of agnosticism.”

  Pishan set down their clay cup. “Yes. I think that’s right. I think you may have crossed the vastness of space, coming to this world of all possible destinations, because in the depths of your kludged self, you knew you needed to believe.”

  Unbidden, tears came to Brando’s eyes. “When the ramatini called me matakite, I was filled with such unexpected joy, arojin-zin. But it’s not enough. Because I want to walk the Path alongside Tenshi-shi. Her mother has given me her blessing.”

  Pishan sat back, astounded. Then they gave a light chuckle. “You continue to surprise me, child. I would not have predicted such an outcome.”

  “Of course, she underscored the obvious obstacle. I have to become a teyopanjin.” Brando leaned forward. “I want this to be my community. I want you to be my giya. And I’m begging you, once you’re installed as this town’s spiritual leader, to let the woman I love return. Not because you two are friends. No. Because she walks the Path with clearer eyes than most on this world, and Kinguyama needs her.”

  “There’s no need to twist my arm where Tenshi-shi is concerned,” Pishan answered. “One of my first acts will be to welcome her back. But if you wish to join us, you have to affirm the Three Tenets.”

  Brando turned and drank the rest of his water in a single draught. “Okay. What are they?”

  “One, that humans are born without souls.”

  Brando nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Two, all the universe is a fractured piece of the Ogdoad.”

  “Even before my vision,” Brando explained, “I’d been thinking about this idea. I had long accepted what science tells us: there are multiple universes, higher dimensions reflected in our visible three. It didn’t seem too much of a stretch, even then. Yes. I affirm the second tenet.”

  “Three,” the arojin concluded, “humans’ fate is to create souls for themselves through self-knowledge and in that way help to restore the Ogdoad.”

  Brando swallowed heavily. “There’s the rub, no? I’ve never thought about my own fate, much less humanity’s. But self-discovery or self-creation have long been the work of the wisest among us.”

  Pishan served the water this time.

  “What we are, Brando-wa?”

  “Science says we’re physical beings whose minds are legions of cognitive subsystems and symbol sets forming alliance after alliance. The winning group gets control of the consciousness, which can be best definied as the group reporting back to itself what the organism’s doing. A rewritten account of what it just did.”

  “Symbol sets? The ideas we absorb, they become part of us?”

  “Yes. Part of our internal monologue.”

  Waiting for Brando to take a sip, Pishan took up their own cup. “Pathwalkers call this the kludged self. You had no control over its creation, Brando-wa. Now that you’re on the Path, you must shatter it and rebuild it around the spark that spoke to you. If you agree that this work will be the center of your life from now until death, then you in effect affirm the third tenet. The other details will come into focus as you study and meditate.”

  “Yes, Arojin-zin. I affirm the third tenet.”

  Setting down their cup and standing, Pishan began to pull something from the right sleeve of their robe. “Then you must kneel before me, Meji Pishan, your new teacher and guide. This is the Rite of Upanayana. Stip to the waist, Brando-shi. I will mark you as a teyopanjin here in the town that now embraces you.”

  That evening, Tenshi had many questions, but Brando asked her to wait until their picnic. Impatient and a little irritated, she went to bed early. He eventually eased under the covers beside her, not ready to let her see what now lay beneath his shirt.

  Tenshi was up before him, preparing the basket of food. After a pleasant cup of koro brew, they both showered and headed toward Anakwa Park.

  Resting on a blanket, watching water fowl catch insects and fish beneath the midday sun, they began to talk.

  “I don’t think I can take the suspense much longer, Brando,” Tenshi said. “I’m going to scream pretty soon.”

  He raised a hand, palm forward. “Okay. I’m sorry that I’ve had to keep you in the dark. But there were things I need to sort out first, my love.”

  Taking a deep breath, he continued.

  “I went to Kinguyama yesterday.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “To do what, exactly?”

  “It’s easier if I show you,” he said, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Brando, we’re in public!” she said, laughing a little.

  Then her smile faded and tears stood out in her eyes.

  “Oh, baby. You didn’t.”

  Brando put his fingers on the Pathwalker cord that crossed his chest, passing over his left shoulder and under his right. It was woven from eight strands, each a different shade of blue. “I met with Meji Pishan. Affirmed the three tenets. They agreed to be my teacher and draped the intambo over my heart.”

  Overcome, Tenshi reached out and hugged him to her. “Oh, Brando-shi. Welcome, Seer. I am so filled with joy.”

  He pulled away from her and reached into his pocket.

  “Conversion wasn’t my only purpose. I want to be part of your story, Tenshi. I want your story to rearrange the symbols in my mind. I want your voice to be my voice. So I, uh, visited your home. Spoke with your mother. Presented her with koro nuts, sat at her table and drank the tea.”

  Tenshi’s hands went to her mouth. Her eyes were wide, tears flowing freely. She couldn’t speak, so Brando pushed on.

  Drawing his hand from his pocket, he held out the ring.

  “Tenshi Koroma, love of my life, will you let me walk the Path alongside you?”

  Bawling now, her normal stoic strength washed away by a storm of joyful tears, Tenshi nodded, extending her left hand.

  Brando slipped the strange ring on her finger. It glittered almost impossible hues of silver and blue as the couple embraced and then kissed beneath the twin suns, that glowed like the watchful, approving eyes of Sopiya herself.

  CHAPTER 18

  Archon Mutemi Rawe inhaled deeply. The smoke from the mohiyo incense eased its way into his mind, loosening the ties that bound his created soul to illusory flesh.

  In a low monotone, he began to chant.

  “Annidaru nidaru nizikwepachu. Annidaru nidaru nizikwepachu.”

  He yearned with every fiber of his enlightened being, striving to push past life’s prison and touch the Ogdoad. The world around him faded. He could sense the black veil at the edge of false reality, ready to be torn away.

 
The Blue surrounded him, layer upon layer of numbing azure light.

  In the midst of his ecstasy, Mutemi called out with all the zeal he could muster.

  Aroha. Aroha, my love!

  But he faltered. Could not pass beyond.

  The blue-spangled Blue faded into swirling black.

  No answer came. Not from without, and not from within. Aroha’s simran, the echo of his bricolage self in the intaglio of Mutemi’s soul, had long ago fallen silent.

  What sort of kedarumsha am I? he scolded himself. I can no longer even hear the whispering of the Eight, much less cross into ra-Yindawo and speak with the translated soul of my beloved husband.

  It was a privilege reserved for Oracles alone. The archon knew his limits. Yet he could not let go, not even now, a decade after Aroha had been translated, his body burned, its ashes scattered.

  If only I were certain. If only he spoke to me directly. Then I would know that she is truly tapping into yogijen and not some other, darker place.

  In the absence of such surety, Mutemi Rawe could only go through the established routines. His regularly scheduled audience with the Oracle was today. Sighing at his own inadequacies as a leader, he dropped a silver lid over the bowl of incense and slowly stood.

  “I am ready to be attended,” he called.

  A half-dozen acolytes filed into the room, their personal regimens for satori bound up in service to their Archon. As they cleansed and dressed him, Mutemi began steeling himself for whatever ordeal awaited in Jinja ra-Orakuru.

  An hour later, the archon stood outside the White Room, deep in the labyrinthine heart of the honden. The omedeyo security guards stood aside, and Mutemi Rawe stepped through the shimmering entrance.

  Inside, the Oracle was sitting in the lotus position on the floor. Behind her stood the insectoid chirurgic, glittering like a cypher.

  “Archon,” Samanei said simply.

  Rawe knelt on the floor and lowered his head. “Oracle.”

  “I’m sorry, Mutemi-yi.”

  The archon’s eyes came up. “For what, Enlightened One?”

  “You failed to reach ra-Yindawo today. You didn’t get a response from the Ogdoad.”

  His heart quickened its pace. It was always startling, how much she knew.

  “No, Oracle. I did not.”

  Samanei crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s because you’re abusing ukaribu. One connects with the Eight to be guided, not to make demands. And you’re flirting with heresy, you realize. Were I to tell Santo Koroma, for example, that you’ve been attempting yorukaki, that you want to speak directly to the translated soul of your husband, he could convene a Quorum of Arojin and have you removed from your position. He would love that, believe me.”

  The archon’s palms ached with fear. “Forgive me, Enlightened One.”

  “It’s partly my fault. I’ve been too accommodating of your weakness, my child. I’ve used my yorukaki ability to create a bridge between you and Aroha. I wanted to show my love for you, to make clear that you’re my chosen representative, but I’ve let this go too far. Your physical and emotional yearning for your husband, who has escaped this Grey Prison and does not deserve to be recalled here agan and again, has begun to taint your Quantum Enlightenment. Changes must be made.”

  Shame forced the archon’s head to the floor. Sprawled in total obeisance, he could only bear to whisper. “Command me, Samanenim Ummanim.”

  “Removing the temptation is the only answer. I need to retire from your touch. To put myself out of your touch.”

  Tears spilled from Rawe’s eyes onto the blinding white tiles.

  “Chirurgic, explain,” Samanei instructed.

  “We will put Miss Samanei Koroma in cryogenic hypostasis,” explained the AI medbot in its almost childlike yet frigid voice. “As if she were on a spaceship. In that state, her flesh will be preserved at its present cellular age, age twenty-five standard years. At the same time, she will be able to continue overseeing religious affairs and having audiences with government officials via faux-conferencing.”

  Shocked, the archon pushed himself up to look at Samanei.

  “Oracle, other arojin will object. You predicted my possible removal. Such a drastic act could also bring that about.”

  In an unexpected, fluid movement, Samanei stood and walked toward him, her demeanor changed, her steps a swagger.

  “Listen, Mutemi,” she growled in the Founder’s voice. “She’s not just trying to protect you from yourself, fool. She’s trying to protect herself.”

  The archon’s eyes dropped to the crinkled ebony of Samanei’s toes.

  “From whom, Founder Dresch?”

  “Santo Koroma. He’s been abusing Samanei’s yorukaki abilities as well, communicating with his dead mother. And that voice represents currents within the Ogdoad that are decidedly not in your favor. I suggest you just obey the girl and quit whining. The arojin will accept an official decree from her. We know it will take some time, but you can meet singly with those that support you the most, prepare them for the announcement. By the end of the year, however, she needs to be in d-sleep.”

  Then the Oracle knelt, putting her hands on the archon’s cheeks and lifting his eyes to meet hers.

  “Beloved Mutemi-nim,” Aroha said through her. “It’s for the best. Soon we will comingle within the source itself. You can endure a few more years without me.”

  “But …”

  The Oracle’s hands clenched into fists.

  “Follow your fucking vow,” she snarled in a voice he’d never heard before. “Keep your ancient cock beneath your robes, Mutemi. Have some fucking self-respect.”

  Squeezing shut his eyes, the archon shuddered with shame and fear.

  Samanei sighed. He felt her kiss him gently on the lips and stand.

  “Good. It’s settled,” she said in her own voice. “Go, my child. Get Jitsu ready. Change is coming. I’ll tell you more soon. Bit by startling bit. You’re going to be so surprised.”

  When Mutemi dared to look again, there was a terrible smile on her face.

  CHAPTER 19

  “That’s a strange ring,” Nikki Trinh quipped. “But then again, you’re dating a strange guy.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Tenshi,” Areshan Yesuro replied. “I think it’s lovely. But not as lovely as him converting for you. What a beautiful gesture!”

  The three friends were sitting at an outdoor café near the Mito Haraka River, which flowed through the business district of Station City. Areshan was the prefect of Inkungu, land of pale misty forests and many reformer communities. Nikki Trinh was the owner of Trincon, the biggest supplier of construction materials on Jitsu.

  “I think he converted for himself more than for me,” Tenshi told Areshan, putting her hand on theirs reassuringly, “but it certainly was beautiful. I couldn’t stop crying.”

  Nikki arched an eyebrow. “Wow. I wouldn’t have predicted that. Don’t think I’ve seen you cry since Isabella left. Plus, Brando doesn’t really seem your type.”

  Tenshi scoffed. “I have a type? Come on. I’m as pan as can be.”

  “Sure you do, Ten. Tall, lightskinned offworlders.”

  Tenshi made an incredulous gesture. “What? I’ve dated plenty of my fellow Aknawajin from this planet.”

  Areshan took a sip of water. “Most of them a shade lighter and a lot taller than you.”

  “Uh,” Tenshi pointed out with a shrug, “that’s a good chunk of the population, friend.”

  They all laughed for a moment. Dabbing at her eyes with a napkin, Tenshi explained, “He’s definitely shorter than other folks I’ve dated. And darker than some off the offworlders I’ve been with, sure.”

  “Isn’t he Italian, like Isabella?” Areshan asked.

  “Yeah, but they aren’t all the same, Are. His mother is Black.”

  Nikki leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Okay, spill. How is he in bed? I mean, you haven’t been with a man for a while. What was what you used to say? ‘
In the sheets, a girl completes.’ Isn’t that right, Are?”

  Covering their mouth with one hand, Areshan nodded. They swallowed, then added, “Though after that one omedeyo she dated, what was their name? Jiho something? She declared that we were a close second.”

  “With men trailing far behind.” Tenshi scratched at her head, annoyed but bemused. “Yes, you jokers, I did indeed say all of that. But to answer your question, Ms. Trinh, ahem: the sex is very good. He’s not quite as—accomplished?—as Ambar and Isabella, but he focuses on my needs better than any other man I’ve been with.”

  “Good,” the businesswoman replied.

  “But that’s not the most important part, yall. He’s warm-hearted. Sensitive. Brilliant. And willing to shut up and listen.”

  Are raised an eyebrow. “That’s … pretty uncommon among men.”

  “Yes, it is. He also isn’t burdened with deep-seated ideology. He tries to understand others before judging them. Keeps his mind open to the possibility that he might be wrong and they right. Above all, he supports me. Isn’t humiliated or threatened by my success. Wants to take care of all my physical needs so I can focus on the important work I’m doing. And by the Grey Prison, that man can cook. Yall just don’t know. Wait till I invite yall over to our house.”

  Nikki sat up, blinking. “House? What house?”

  “I got reinstated in the community. As an official satorijin, no less. They’ve granted me that plot of land I showed you a few years ago.”

  Pulling her tablet from her bag, Nikki started clicking on the screen. “I think I have that quote I gave you saved. I mean, you are getting the materials from me, right?”

  Tenshi put her chin in her right palm. “Depends. Is the discount the same?”

  The wedding took place on the 20th of Tenmezi, the last of Jitsu’s ten forty-day months, in local year 136—July 26, 2683 by the Consortium Calendar.