by David Bowles
“Come, love,” she whispered, her eyes full of tears. “I will be with you as you shatter. I will help you pick up the shards and rebuild yourself afresh.”
At the bottom of that dry shaft, there only existed the darkness, the distant circle of light, her hands in his, the soft glow of the rings that seemed to bind them together.
Pretense stripped away. Naked self revealed. But no shame.
Her whispered voice.
Your spark. I’ve seen her, too. Doubled in us both.
Brando saw himself. Saw his self. It was not his, not really.
Fragments of his mother. His father. Childhood friends. Professors. Books he’d read. Lies he’d told. Languages, one atop another. Attendant cultures he shouldn’t have ever claimed but could not keep from absorbing.
An amalgamation. Creation of no one. Without purpose or deliberate form.
Lost. Blind.
He both pitied and reviled it.
He yearned to be more than this collection of detritus.
In the swirling black at the bottom of the well, the blue glow rose from their rings and floated away. Though still sitting lotus style before his wife, Brando also stood and followed.
The glow began to spread. It filled his perception. It was a veil, he realized. A thin membrane between him and something beautiful.
Empty yourself.
It might have been Tenshi speaking. It might have been his spark.
It might have been the Eight.
He obeyed.
Thought no longer mattered. Brando D’Angelo di Makomo wasn’t real. His thoughts were even less so.
There was the Blue, and there was the spark.
Yearning with every ounce of his illusory, empty personhood, the blind one known as Brando began to dance.
He spun wildly, laughing.
The Blue was drawn into the vortex of his dervish dance, sucked into him through every orifice, every pore.
Inside that false self, it started to swell, pushing at the edges of Brando.
And then, with a harsh cry of utter joy …
… he burst.
CHAPTER 25
By the time Tana was old enough to eat solid food, terrorist activity had tapered off and stopped. Though it might have been just a lull, the people of Jitsu breathed easier. Reformers had blocked the worst of the extremist power-grab. In-person classes resumed at the University, and curfews were lifted.
Tenshi and Brando’s marriage had improved since their time in the Well. Emerging, Brando had been calm, accepting. He now spent several hours each day deep in meditation. He faced his work with a glad heart and didn’t complain about the stress of grading, the endless meetings. No longer did he pout or recriminate her. He simply stood at her side, like he had promised. Understanding. Contributing.
Pushing toward their common goals.
Like the new teyopan she had promised their giya she would design and build.
Every time she sat down to brainstorm ideas, however, her mind echoed with her sister’s screams as she’d been dragged away.
How do I erect a shrine to my omenim when I don’t even know if she’s even okay?
As always, it was hard to imagine her twin as the Oracle, in constant communication with the Ogdoad. Tenshi could never admit this fact to anyone, but as much as any factor, her social and political ambitions were driven by her need to know.
Flip control of this world. See a Reformer Archon put in power. Then visit her, after all these years. Pull her from hypostasis and ask—whose voice do you truly hear, Samane-yi?
Amidst all the doubt, a plan for the shrine eluded her.
Then one Saturday afternoon, in the midst of meditating with Brando—their hands clasped, the world fading around them—Tenshi had the clearest vision of her soul, a delicate web around a glowing spark.
For the first time, she beheld the design in all its unique beauty.
Gnosis.
Total self-knowledge.
When the house AI chimed her back to the Grey Prison of reality, she hugged Brando tightly, shuddering with joy.
“What? What is it?” he asked, startled.
“It’s done, Brando.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I’ve finished Hanga ra-Roho.”
He put his hands on her heart and her temple, eyes wide. “You’ve been other-born?”
Unable to speak anymore, she nodded.
Before shattering, Brando would not have known what to say, might have ruined the moment. But he was closer to her now. She could feel him on the Path behind her.
So when he kneeled before her, the pride she felt in him was almost painful.
“Acharya-zin,” he rasped, his voice full of emotion. “Be my guide. Be our guide. Take up the mantle of arojin and serve your people well.”
That evening, she began to sketch, unable to even sleep. It was like the wende: she felt Sopiya’s wisdom flowing through her, guiding her hands.
Samaneino Teyopan took form, an echo of her soul.
When at last she took the plans to Meji Pishan, they were dumbstruck.
“You don’t like it?” she asked.
“Oh, Tenshi-shi. Like? What a feeble word. This structure is transcendent. Like a Pathwalker grounded in the world while at the same time stretching toward the Eight. I don’t think I ever beheld something that so perfectly encapsulates in physical form the struggle for gnosis. A perfect design for the Oracle’s own teyopan. Be enlightened, Tenshi-shi. I can see your nascent soul fluttering in every curve!”
“That’s because I—I had the second vision, Giya-zin.” Tenshi ran her fingers along the strong lines she had drawn. “I saw my soul. Complete. Unending.”
Meji, overcome, crushed her to them. The two had been friends for a decade, but she had never felt the omedeyo’s arms around her.
“Welcome, Arojin. Welcome to forever.”
Tenshi swallowed heavily as they pulled apart. A giya could submit the name of a newly other-born person to the religious hierarchy, but only the Archon could declare them an official arojin. “I’m nervous. What if he refuses to recognize my created soul?”
Her giya shook their head. “No. He won’t refuse. I shouldn’t tell you this, but he’s been keeping an eye on you. He told me to make sure you rebuilt our teyopan.”
Relief flooded Tenshi, a weight lifting from her heart.
“Oh, what a blessing. I had hoped he didn’t oppose our work. Speaking of which, I wanted to ask you something. I could bring in an outside construction crew for this job, but I think it would be better if our congretation itself lent their hands and backs to the project.”
Pishan nodded. “So many of them have already learned the essentials from your classes. I think it’s wise. They will do well, and the work will move them further along the Path. When the chapel is finished, our mediation will be enhanced by the knowledge that the stones around us were set with our very hands.”
Tenshi’s eyes teared up. “The projection of our collective sparks into the physical world. What a beautiful notion.”
Tenshi’s life became a whirlwind of activity. Archon Rawe, to the dismay of Dominian leaders, declared her an arojin, fit to hold office if she chose. The old teyopan was razed and carted off, leaving a gaping hole in Kinguyama’s heart. But not for long. Soon Tenshi was overseeing teams of her community members, digging into the rocky soil, pouring the foundation, laying quarried stone in sinuous lines.
As the structure began to go up, Tenshi and Brando’s other project began to move forward. Ra-Koreji, they christened it. The College. Toddling little Tana in tow—for the girl refused to be separated from her father—Brando met with investors and educators, building up a team of people who could help launch the unparalleled project.
“I’m pretty sure,” he said one evening, putting down the spoon he was using to feed Tana and wiping his hands, “that she’s my secret weapon.”
“Oh, yeah?” Tenshi laughed. “How’s that?”
“You know how she likes to babbl
e in Standard, Baryogo and Italian, right? It delights the hell out of them. They are utterly taken in by her wide-eyed wonder and joy.”
“So it’s her endearing personality and not your business acumen that’s getting us financial backing?” Tenshi asked with a wink.
Tana grabbed the spoon and tried to feed herself, getting more peach puree in her curls than in her mouth. Brando shook his head and tried to pry her fingers open, but she wouldn’t give the utensil up.
“Absolutely. When I don’t know what I’m doing, which is often, I just plunk her down, and their hearts melt. Of course,” he added, “they’ve never seen her eat.”
Tenshi laughed. “We’ve started getting visitors, by the way.”
“At the construction site?”
“Yeah. Word’s been spreading.”
Brando gave her a thumbs-up. “it’s the largest reform carried out in the Pathwalker community since Domina’s revelations got shared after her death, no? And that was a hundred and fifty years ago. It’s news.”
“True. They seem pretty mesmerized, too. Like it touches them.”
Wiping his fingers clean on a napkin, Brando reached out and took her hand. “It’s a symbol, Tenshi-shi. Looking upon it, they realize that they, too, are rooted in this world while simultaneously striving for enlightenment. The shrine stands for all of us. For Jitsu itself.”
Tenshi snapped upright in her chair. “The vote. It’s happening now. Query: project holo of live coverage. Chamber of Deputies.”
The house AI softly asked, “In the kitchen?”
“Query: yes.”
Despite all the good will toward Tenshi’s project, Dominian Deputies had been railing for weeks against the new teyopan, decrying its complexity as nako and alien to the goals of the Path. They’d used parliamentary gimmicks to force a vote on a motion to halt construction.
Tenshi knew the Chamber like the back of her hand. They didn’t have the votes. Still, though she wasn’t worried, she wanted to see the defeat as it happened.
“The final vote has just been cast,” an infotainment anchor narrated over a graphic that tallied the yeas and nays. “And the measure has been defeated. The moderate and reform blocs of the legislature have ensured the continued construction of Samaneino Teyopan in Kinguyama using a design developed by Tenshi Koroma.”
“Ha!” Brando laughed, jerking his head at the holographic image. “Fools. I don’t understand why they even bother. We have the majority. Next elections aren’t for another five years. They can’t stop us.”
Tenshi took a sip of water. “No, they can’t. And by the time elections roll around, we will have so transformed this world that they won’t be able to turn back the clock.”
She was about to query the projection off when the anchor raised his voice with excitement.
“Viewers, this is an unexpected blessing. For the first time in a decade, the Oracle will address Her people.”
Tenshi almost choked as she swallowed. “Wait, what?”
Her twin’s face glimmered into existence there before her. Her short hair was covered by her rebozo, the blue-edged white shawl that only a kedarumsha could wear. Her face was painted with the Marummo—the four double diamonds, symbolizing the umbini that made up the Ogdoad.
Otherwise she was Tenshi’s mirror image.
“That Umma?” Tana asked.
“No, baby,” Tenshi whispered. “That’s Umakazi Samanei. Umma’s sister.”
“My children,” Samanei said, her voice even and light. “I have been asked to give a dogmatic ruling on the building of a new shrine in my honor. Hear me well. A teyopan is like the collective kludged self of a community. As we must dismantle our own illusory selves in order to create a soul, so is it right and reasonable that a teyopan be torn down so that a better one, a temple more aligned with the sparks of its members, be built instead.
“Therefore do I decree: fight no longer against Kinguyama’s will. No longer should you revile my sister, our clever Arojin Tenshi Koroma. She and her fellow teyopanjin have found their Way. Let them walk it. Their translation or lack thereof will be proof enough of its holiness. I will make you one promise: this shrine is essential for all upon the Path. Time will help you understand my words. Good night, all. Be enlightened.”
Samanei’s face winked away into darkness.
“Query,” Tenshi said, her voice cracking. “Shut off transmission.”
Brando got up and hugged her tight. She leaned into his embrace, unsure of her the strange feelings that swirled in her breast.
Construction took a year. By the end of those ten Jitsuan months, the terrorist attacks had resumed, more vicious than ever, as if someone wanted them to come to a head right when the teyopan was completed and the school preparing to open.
“It’s done,” Tenshi told Meji Pishan one afternoon. “We just installed the last of the interior furnishings. You can start conducting services there as soon as you choose.”
“I want to hold a dedication ceremony first,” they said. “You’ll give the keynote.”
Tenshi took a deep breath. “Is that really a good move? Extremists are more incensed than ever, despite the Oracle’s admonitions.”
“Why, because members of the congregations have started making alterations to their homes?”
She sighed. “Exactly.”
The giya laid a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, but I am the one permitting that. Fostering it. I want them to express their exploration of self in the physical world that surrounds them.”
“Sure, but I’m the one they consult with. Thirty different families now. Dominians don’t blame you. I’ve corrupted you, in their eyes.”
“Tenshi-shi, your siblings want, need, to hear you address them. With all this new violence, people are achingly aware of their own mortality. The time for unity has come. And you are best suited to bring the community together, to insire them, Arojin-zin.”
Though reluctant, she agreed.
That night as she lay beside Brando, sweat from their lovemaking cooling on her skin, she shared her concerns.
“It’s not getting up and talking that worries me. It’s saying the right thing.”
Still a little out of breath, Brando asked, “What do you mean?”
“I still think Santo is behind these renewed attacks,” she began.
“Maybe, but syndicate battles are breaking out all over human space,” Brando put in.
Tenshi shook her head curtly, ignoring his lingering tendency to play devil’s advocate. “I don’t see more than one group fighting here, Brando. So if it is Santo, then his plan is just not working. Assuming that he wants to try and get people to go against reform, I mean. The attacks are having the opposite effect.”
“Ironically, the attacks have shocked even some extremists out of their daze.”
“Right. More towns have moved toward Reformer ideals. But we have to keep the momentum up. This can’t be just a temporary moment of lucidity. So I’ll say some things in my speech that will be controversial, for some. I’ve got to catch our people while they’re listening,”
“Can I take a look? You were dictating furiously all evening in your office. I’ll try to gauge what the reaction could be.”
Tenshi grabbed her datapad off the night table and pulled up her draft. She handed it to her husband, who skimmed through it. Then he reread it more carefully, nodding.
“You’re right. This is going to piss off all the wrong people.”
Tenshi frowned. “So…”
“You should definitely give the speech. Piss them off, Tenshi. Then lead them.”
Tenshi took a deep breath. “Here we go, Brando. Time to change the world.”
On the day of the teyopan’s dedication, a crowd of thousands stood on the cobblestone courtyard that fanned out from the loose semi-circle of the building’s gently curving form. The gathering of Pathwalkers and off-worlders was the largest since the ill-fated fair, so Giya Pishan, wary of the continued terrorist attacks on Jits
u, had contracted a security firm so the ceremony would go off without a hitch. Scores of armored guards stood at the edges of the crowd, unsettling some, but mostly putting people at ease.
As both suns stood overhead, a massive blue eight-pointed star was lifted into position in its suspension field above the teyopan’s apex. A deafening cheer went up. Somewhere a group began a chant that soon spread throughout the happy crowd.
“Tenshi! Tenshi! Tenshi!”
A platform had been erected at the center of the half-hoop formed by the motherly embrace of the teyopan’s two wings of offices and classrooms. Atop it sat Meji Pishan, the other five anshyano on the town’s council and Tenshi herself.
Pishan stood and approached the podium. “Welcome, siblings and friends. I am Meji Pishan, giya or spiritual leader of Kinguyama and head of its governing council. Today we have come together to dedicate our breathtaking new teyopan, our place of worship, meditation, and learning. And who better to address us now than the building’s architect, Arojin Tenshi Koroma!”
Nerves jangling, Tenshi rose to her feet amid thunderous applause. Brando, standing in the crowd close to the stage, lifted eighteen-month-old Tana to his shoulders, gripping her pudgy hands tightly.
“Guarda, tesoro. É mama!” Tenshi heard him cry above the din.
Smiling with delight, Tana started shouting, “Mama, Umma, Mom! Mama, Umma, Mom!”
Tenshi waved at her daughter as she approached the micwire that sprouted nearly invisibly from the wooden planks. She waited a moment for the volume to drop, then began addressing her audience.
“It’s an important day for all us. Here before this temple, the work of a thousand hands, we put the tragic events of the past behind us, moving toward the peace and security we need to walk the Path in our myriad, beautiful Ways.
“A year ago our Oracle—my twin—declared this shrine essential for all upon the Path. She spoke of shattering and rebuilding objects like teyopan that reflect our souls in the physical world. Jitsu is still reeling from her dogmatic ruling. Our extremist siblings have not yet fully internalized its import. But let me be clear: my sister supports the Reformer vision of Jitsu, one kept alive by Ona ra-Shamanga and other oppressed Ways. On this world, she declares, individuals are free to seek enlightenment as the Eight and Founder Dresch always intended: as human beings, part of a physical universe that reflects us back.
