by BC Powell
“The expression means it looked exactly as it should,” I answer, not wanting to launch into an explanation of currency on Earth.
“I’m pleased I could show it to you.”
He steps into the tunnel again and I follow him deeper under the hills. We stop by two openings to caverns that are located directly across from each other.
“A Keeper’s room,” he says, pointing to one, “and a child’s across the tunnel from it. When they first arrive, infants sleep in cradles in the Keepers’ rooms. Once a child has grown enough, he or she is given their own room. But their primary Keeper is always in the room across the tunnel from them while they sleep.”
I poke my head into the child’s room. “Awaken,” I say.
The Swirls illuminate an oval-shaped room that’s not much larger than my bedroom was on Earth. Although there’s no door to the cave, a curtain hangs by one side that I conclude can be drawn shut for privacy. A mattress lies on the ground by one wall with two pillows on top. A broom and bucket for cleaning reside in a rounded corner. A table and stool stand against one wall, and shelves containing personal items are carved in the same wall. The sound of a waterfall filters through an opening at the far end of the cavern.
“Does each cavern have a fall?” I ask.
“Of course,” Marc replies. “Once they’re tall enough, the children are responsible for keeping themselves and their caverns clean. We have small gates that lock across the entrances to the waterfall caverns. Until they’re old enough to safely go in there by themselves, the children aren’t allowed near the water unsupervised.”
I start to turn away, but the golden light reflected on the wall across from the bed seems to slowly dance across the granite surface. As I examine the lights more closely, an image gradually develops. The unmistakable shape of the Tree of Vision comes into focus with its branches calmly swaying back and forth. The Tree eventually dissolves into random patterns of light, but they soon shape a large hill. Several small pools form on the slope with ripples of light defining their surfaces. A golden silhouette of a Serquatine soars out of one, dives over a small waterfall, and splashes into the next pool below.
“The Swirls of Home are unique,” Marc says to me. “They can cast their light through the crystal in such a way that different images of Krymzyn appear on the walls. No one can explain it, but it only happens in the children’s rooms.”
“I hope they don’t show them Murkovin,” I comment.
“Never,” he says. “It’s always creatures or places pleasing to the eye.”
We walk past several more bedrooms before reaching an enormous cavern with a vaulted ceiling roughly twenty feet high. Padded mats cover almost the entire floor of the room. Scattered across the mats are a dozen balls ranging from baseball-sized to basketball-sized and made of the same leathery, black material as my clothes.
About two feet under the ceiling near the back of the room, a single steel beam extends from wall to wall. Two ropes hang from the steel beam to the floor. Both of the ropes have a series of knots tied from top to bottom, much like the climbing ropes I used at school as a child. On opposite sides of the cavern stand a small jungle gym and a set of monkey bars.
Marc explains that the inside exercise room is used when Darkness comes during the middle of the morrow. He also tells me that several more pieces of exercise equipment, including swings, are located in a broad, grassy crater that’s centered in the hills above us. The back entrance to Home that he referred to earlier is in that crater. I’ve never traveled directly over the hills we’re under, so I didn’t even know something like that existed.
The next cavern we stop at isn’t as large as the exercise room, but still more spacious than my habitat. Marc calls it the common room, a place for the children to play or relax. Similar to bean bags, stuffed seating pillows are piled in the center of the floor. Several small tables and stools stand near the outer edges of the room. Neatly arranged in shelves lining the walls are a variety of toys, all made of either steel, padded fabric, or a combination of the two.
They include concentric steel circles stacked on a small pole that an infant would use, and a complex rolling marble maze about three feet wide. A huge metal box on the floor under the shelves holds what looks like a combination of an Erector Set and Legos, all the pieces made of steel.
After leaving the common room, we pass by another series of bedrooms. Near the end of the arcing tunnel, we reach the last room of Home. It’s currently occupied by all the Keepers and children.
“This is the sustenance room,” Marc whispers to me.
Ten steel tables are spread out across the room with two stools at each one. At three of the small tables sits a Keeper and a child. Profile to us with her long, black hair hanging down her back in a single braid, Maya sits alone at another table. Since Marc is her primary Keeper, I assume that he’d be sitting with her if it weren’t for me being here.
At two of the other tables, infants sit in steel high chairs no different than those on Earth. Seated on a stool beside each of them is a Keeper. Pitchers and cups stand on top of the occupied tables, and more utensils are stored on shelves carved in one of the walls.
As everyone in the room sips from their cups, they’re silent. The children—excluding the infants—all have distant, almost hypnotic looks in their eyes. I try to get Maya’s attention with a wave. Although the eyes in her thin face are looking in my general direction, she doesn’t seem to notice me. Marc tugs my shirt and pulls me away from the entrance.
“I don’t want to interrupt them,” he says quietly.
“Why isn’t anybody talking?” I ask.
“During sustenance, the children learn to meditate. It’s a chance for them to share their thoughts with the world they live in and develop their senses of awareness. We teach them to appreciate the sap the trees provide for us. As the energy from the sap flows inside them, they share their gratitude with Krymzyn. Always remember that sap feeds more than just our bodies.”
“It really does,” I say. “I guess I should work on developing my sense of awareness more.”
“It’s a lifelong process,” he replies. “You didn’t have the advantage of starting as a child.”
We walk to the end of the tunnel and step outside through the western entrance to Home. After thanking Marc for the tour, I bid him farewell. Instead of immediately traveling to my habitat, I walk across the field and digest everything I just saw. I pause when I’m about halfway across the meadow to look back at the hills over Home.
I guess I’ve always thought of Home as one step above an orphanage. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It may be a different way of raising children than what I’m used to, but there’s no doubt that it’s a nurturing and safe environment. More importantly, the children are cared for by Keepers who dedicate their entire existences to the education and well-being of the kids.
In Krymzyn, a person’s connection to the world around them is just as important as their relationship with other people. One of the most important lessons at Home, so I just learned, is teaching the children to open their senses of awareness. Maybe not having that foundation is why my mine only seems to reveal itself through Sash.
Even though I’ve accepted that it won’t happen, part of me still clings to the idea of having our daughter live with Sash and me. But after what I just saw, I might finally be able let that go. Baby girl is a child of Krymzyn, not a child of the world I come from. Since Krymzyn is where she’ll live her life, I now believe the best thing for her is to be raised at Home.
Chapter 9
With black veins pulsing under their pale skin, a male and female Murkovin race down a hill. They both lurch forward at the bottom of the slope, but only the female ignites into the light. The male stumbles on a rock, crashes to the ground, and slides on his stomach across the gravelly dirt.
“That one is useless!” the former Watcher of the Delta sneers.
“Give him more time,” the woman replies. “He’ll
learn.”
Standing on top of the hill that the two creatures ran down, the woman and former Watcher return their attention to the female Murkovin who successfully blended her light. The fluorescent shape soars across miles and miles of flat land, makes a broad arc, and then returns in their direction. As she rises the slope towards them, her beams evaporate into the body of a young woman in full sprint. She slows near the crest and coasts to a stop in front of them.
“Well done,” the woman says to the female Murkovin. “Your progress is impressive. We’ll travel greater distances on the morrow.”
“Your guidance has been helpful,” the creature replies.
“Return to camp,” the former Watcher orders. “You’ve earned your sap for this morrow.”
After nodding to the man and woman, the female Murkovin jogs down the hill towards the nearby encampment. The man and woman focus again on the Murkovin who fell. Now walking up the hill towards them, the muscular creature wipes blood-soaked dirt from his scratched arms.
“We have fifty who can blend their light,” the former Watcher says to the woman. “We need five hundred.”
“I’ll take care of it,” she replies.
“I’m sure you will,” he says. “There’s no one better for this task than you.”
In the Barrens, the woman knows, his statement is true. Few of her kind ever master the skill of blending their light. Over time, she’d developed the patience and self-control needed to teach others. Immense distances separate the Murkovin, keeping many of them isolated in remote areas of the Barrens. She’ll soon change that.
The woman first learned to travel by sheer accident when she was still a girl. Or maybe it was fate. After the horrific Darkness that took the life of her Ovì finally ended, she pulled her Ovì’s corpse to an area of flat, soft ground. Using only her hands, she clawed and scraped the wet dirt. By the time she dug a hole large enough for a body, her fingers were bloody and raw. Handful by handful, she covered the corpse with dirt.
She found two long lengths of tattered rope inside her cavern. After returning to the sustaining tree, she threw both strands over the highest bough. Struggling across the muddy ground, she dragged the bodies of the two men she’d killed to the base of the tree. She tightly bound their ankles with the ends of the ropes and used all her strength to hoist the corpses high in the air. Dangling upside down from the tree, the bodies would be a warning to others. Any creature who stepped foot in her territory would meet certain death.
When the task was completed, she returned to where she’d buried her Ovì. While standing over the grave, she felt an emptiness she’d never known. For the first time in her short life, she was alone in the expanse of wasteland.
Many creatures of the Barrens found death at violent hands, some of them children. The small had always been easy prey for the strong, especially if their Mürs and Ovìs had been killed. While staring at the mound of dirt, her heart sank with sorrow that her Ovì was gone, but her hands began to quiver with rage. The fury she’d felt when the two creatures had defiled her Ovì rekindled inside her.
She whirled away from the grave and sprinted across the wasteland. As she charged down a hill, an interwoven web of light unexpectedly flashed in her vision. She wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but when she jolted forward, she knew.
With fervid determination in her mind, she transformed her anger to focus. She narrowed her vision to a few isolated beams and blasted into the light. Glittering wisps of white trailed behind her as she sailed across the dreary wasteland.
Before half the morrow passed, a wall of undulating colors spread across the distant horizon. The dirt under her feet tinted with red. The girl was filled with wonder that she’d journeyed to the western edge of the Infinite Expanse. Her speed would need to have matched that of a Traveler of the Delta to cover so much ground in so little time.
Using nothing but instinct, she withdrew her particles from the beams. As they reshaped into her body, she tried to slow to a sprint. She tripped on the uneven, rocky ground and tumbled forward. After sliding to a stop on the red dirt, she wiped blood off the gashes in her face and arms. She vowed to practice the transition as many times as it took to achieve perfection.
Since that morrow, her speed had more than tripled. No other Murkovin could come close to keeping pace with her. Even a Traveler of the Delta would fall well behind her when she sailed across the open space. Only the gifted Hunter could equal the woman’s speed.
The woman refocuses her eyes on the male Murkovin walking up the slope. He reaches the top of the hill and stops in front of the man and woman. Still breathing heavily, the brutish creature bends over and rests his hands on his knees.
The former Watcher snaps his spear up and lodges the point under the Murkovin’s chin. As he lifts the beast’s head with his weapon, the Murkovin has no choice but to return to an upright position.
“You said you know how to travel!” the former Watcher growls.
“I’ve done it before,” the Murkovin argues.
“You’re a liar! Sap is wasted on you!”
As the former Watcher’s eyes narrow, he presses the weapon firmly against the Murkovin’s neck. The woman realizes that he’s wrestling with the urge to rip open the creature’s throat.
“Stop!” the woman shouts.
She throws a hand up, grabs the weapon, and jerks it away from the Murkovin’s neck. The former Watcher glares at her. The woman steps in between them and removes a flask from her belt. After she hands it to the Murkovin, he gulps down the sap inside.
“You were looking off to your sides when you saw the beams,” the woman says to the Murkovin. “You need to keep your focus directly in front of you. I’ll work with you more on the morrow. I promise that if you listen to what I say, you’ll be traveling by the end of the next morrow.”
“I’ve done it twice,” the creature replies. “I know I can do it again.”
“That’s the most important part. Believe in yourself. Go back to camp now. Drink all the sap you need and get plenty of rest. We’ll resume on the morrow.”
The creature nods his head and then holds out the flask to return it to the woman.
“Keep it,” the woman says.
“Thanks,” he replies.
The Murkovin jogs down the hill in the direction of the camp.
“Your benevolence is wasted on them,” the former Watcher says quietly to the woman. “They need discipline.”
You weren’t born in the Barrens, she thinks to herself. You don’t know what it’s like to be raised in the wasteland.
The woman shakes her head. “They need confidence. That’s how they find the focus to travel.”
“Sap gives them focus,” he grunts. “But as long as we end up with five hundred who can travel, I don’t care how you do it.”
“You’re in a foul mood this morrow,” she says.
The former Watcher drops his spear to the ground, slips his arms around the woman’s waist, and lifts her off the ground. “I was away from you for too long.”
The woman leans her face to his and kisses his lips. She longed for his touch while he was in the Desert, the feel of his muscular arms around her body. But more than anything else, she missed the adoration in his eyes when he gazes upon her.
After their kiss ends, he lowers the woman’s feet to the ground. He turns to look down the side of the hill and drapes one arm around her waist. At the bottom of the slope, the female Murkovin whose life the woman had spared sits on a rock. Resting on her lap is an infant boy, the child of the woman and former Watcher.
The female Murkovin’s child kneels in front of the boy and holds up a small rock. The boy grabs the stone in one of his hands. Scrunching his eyes, he briefly studies the rock and then drops it to the ground.
“Are you sure we can trust them with our child?” the former Watcher asks.
“If I didn’t trust them,” the woman answers, “they’d already be dead.”
“I don’t
doubt that,” he says, returning his attention to the woman. “How is the cavern?”
“It’s perfect. Large enough for the four of us, but far enough away from camp that we have privacy.”
“I know you can take care of yourself, but I feel great comfort knowing that several of those who have been with us for so long are close by.”
“As do I,” she replies.
Their new habitat had proven to be more than she’d hoped for. Large and spacious, the cavern contains a small waterfall at one end that spills into a shallow pool. Plenty of tiny grubs burrow inside the granite ceiling, casting their soft purple light from the maze of holes they leave in the rock. A small connected cave that’s big enough for the woman’s servant and the servant’s child to sleep in allows the woman privacy with her child at each morrow’s end.
Within a two-mile radius of their cavern, five healthy sustaining trees grow. All are bound by rope and have stakes with tubes attached to them stabbed in the bark. The tubes lead to sap transports, some old and weathered, some newly created in the Desert. During each Darkness, sap flows freely into the transports for all of those at camp.
The woman and former Watcher were fortunate to find an area with so many small caves inside a circle of hills. With plenty of trees close by, they have sustenance and dwelling space for fifty of their kind. Thirty Murkovin currently reside at the camp, including three who had been loyal to the woman and the former Watcher since long before he left the Delta for the last time.
Another Murkovin, the tallest the woman has ever known, lives in a cavern just a stone’s throw away from hers. He’d been an ally of the woman’s since long before she met the former Watcher, and he’s the only creature of the Barrens the woman has ever trusted without question.
The camp lies only one thousand miles north of the Desert, close enough to the hidden canyon deep in the sandy expanse that the woman can visit as often as she wants. With the woman’s traveling speed, she can make it there and back in a single morrow. Several times, she’d taken her child to the Desert to see his Mür.
