Watchstar

by Pamela Sargent

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know it. At times, some travel from one village to live in another, so that we do not grow separate. And sometimes a very old Merging One can touch a mind elsewhere. It is the same. How could it be different? To be different is to be separate. Only space separates us.”

  Reiho seemed bewildered. She touched his mind, sensing his feeling of guilt. You should feel guilty, she thought, trying to penetrate his consciousness, amplifying the feeling. His face contorted; she had made him feel worse. Then she realized that he was reading her face, not her thoughts.

  “Will you come with me then?” he asked.

  “Where?”

  “To the mountains. Up there.” He waved a hand at the nearby peaks. “I want to explore them.”

  She sighed impatiently. “I have told you about the mountains. Now you want to climb among them.”

  “I do not want to climb. We can go in my shuttle over there, set it down on a ledge.” She glanced at his machine, feeling the sin of curiosity once again, wondering what it would be like to travel in the craft. “Do you want to come along?”

  She looked down. She twisted her hands, wishing once more that she could step into the past and change everything. There was nothing she could do now that would make things any worse.

  “Very well,” she said.

  The shuttle swooped and dipped. The mountainside tilted, replacing the sky. Daiya clung to the sides of her seat, feeling nauseated. On the panels in front of her, lights blinked, symbols scurried across the surfaces like small insects, lines and curves bent and twisted like grass snakes and leafless vines. She closed her eyes. Oddly enough, she could sense no movement of the craft; it did not lurch from side to side as did the village's carts. The shuttle hummed. She opened her eyes, saw the ground spin, and closed them again.

  Another hum filled the air, louder and higher than the soft sound of the craft. She glanced at Reiho, careful to focus on him and not the movements outside. He leaned forward, wrinkling his brows. The craft slowed, then hovered near a ledge. She waited. They settled down on it slowly.

  She peered through the darkened surface of the dome. Some rocks and stones had been shaken loose by their landing; they bounced and skittered down the slope. She was stiff and still, afraid that if she moved, the vehicle would tumble after the stones.

  “You had better get out on this side,” he said. “There's more room to stand.” His door slid open and he got out. She crept carefully over to his side. “Do not worry,” he went on, “it will not move.”

  She got out and stood next to him. He put his hand on the flat rocky surface in front of him. He stared at it silently for a few moments. Daiya waited, once again feeling that there was power and strength beneath the rock. She thought of God and the web Jowē had shown her in her vision. God will strike us down, she thought, partly hoping she was right. She sorted her thoughts, trying to pray, forgive me. The Merged One would show Its power, would swallow Reiho, would perhaps forgive her and gather her into Its holy communion of minds.

  Reiho took her arm. His touch scattered her prayers. “I'm not sure,” he said, “but I do not think these mountains are natural formations.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That these mountains were built, put here by someone. Look here at this surface, it's as if a machine or something sheared some of it off. Feel how smooth it is. It's been worn away a bit, but still...” He turned toward her slightly. “You may stay here if you like. I am going farther up.” He pointed at a hollow several paces above them.

  “How? You can't climb up there.”

  “My belt.” He patted his waist. “It cannot lift us both. Wait here.” He put a hand on the belt. He floated up, his feet leaving the ledge. He lifted above her, drifting toward the hollow in the mountainside.

  She waited until he had alighted, then lifted herself with all her strength, floating up after him. She landed next to him, smiling slightly at his feeble show; he could not even summon the energy to lift himself without some strange device.

  She stared into the hollow, seeing that it was a cave. The boy fiddled at his belt, removing a small cylinder. He pointed the cylinder at the cave. Light shone on the walls, revealing tiny bright specks embedded in the rock. The specks sparkled. The darkness beyond the lighted area seemed even blacker.

  Reiho motioned to her and she followed him inside. He focused the light on the ground under their feet. They went forward for a few paces, the darkness still before them. The boy pointed the light ahead; the beam seemed to vanish into the blackness.

  They continued to walk. Daiya clenched her fists, trying to stay calm. She peered over her shoulder. The opening of the cave already seemed far away. They went around a bend and the entrance disappeared.

  She touched Reiho's arm. “We're going to get lost,” she said. “Even with my abilities, it might be hard to find our way out if we go too far.” The words reverberated against the rock, sounding as though they came from the bottom of a chasm.

  “No, we will not,” he whispered. “I can home in on a signal from my shuttle if need be.” She did not know what he meant, but he sounded sure of himself. The surface under them seemed to dip. She moved more slowly, stepping down a rocky slope, creeping deeper under the ground. The boy was an invisible breathing body next to her, attached to a hand which held a light. The air was thick. The passage narrowed. She barely squeezed through it. The passage widened again. Reiho stopped suddenly; she bumped against him.

  He moved his arm, circling the area with the light. They were standing in a cavern; the top of it was several paces over their heads. Reiho walked to one side, removed a small square object from his belt, and held it to the wall, walking around the cavern as he did so. Daiya heard a low soft humming. “We should go back,” she said. Her voice bounced around the cavern.

  Reiho shook his head. He signalled to her and she went to him. “There is something here,” he said. He lowered the light; she could not see his face.

  “Of course there is,” she answered, careful to speak in low tones. “God touched these mountains.”

  “Tell me something. Have not you ever wondered, really, how you could have your mental abilities, how you could lift an object using only your mind?” The question seemed to come from the darkness instead of from the boy. She leaned against the wall. “Have not you ever wondered how it was possible?”

  “No,” she said, meaning it. “I have asked other questions,” she continued, wondering if she should admit such a vice in what might be a holy place. “But I have never questioned that. That is how human beings are. I might as well question why I have eyes or hair or fingers. I have wondered why solitaries are born.”

  “I do not have those powers, and I am human.”

  “You are like the ones who are sometimes born to us, whom we kill,” she said. “I have told you that. You are not a person.” She fidgeted nervously, realizing how often she fell into feeling that he was a person. “I do not see how you can have a mind, but you do. You cannot see why I have my abilities, but I do. It's a mystery, I suppose, but I can't understand all the dreams of God. We should go. You should not be here.”

  Instead, he turned and moved along the wall, holding his light and the other object. He seemed unable to make a move without a device of some sort, she thought contemptuously, when all a person needed was a knife and a water sack. Even in the desert, one could probably survive on snake and lizard if necessary. The humming rose in pitch, hurting her ears. He stopped, moving the square over the rocky surface.

  “Move away from me,” he said.

  “Let's leave.”

  “Move away from me.”

  She stumbled over the dark ground, anxious and afraid. “What are you doing?” she cried, ignoring her echoing voice.

  “There is something beyond this wall, a hollow space. I am going to try to find out what is there.” He pulled out another thin cylinder and aimed it at the wall. Suddenly a bright beam of light sh
ot out from his arm, piercing the rock. Bits of rubble crumbled to the floor.

  Daiya shrank back, throwing an arm over her eyes. She huddled against a wall, expecting the cavern to bury them, waiting for the Merged One to strike. She peered over her arm. Rock was still crumbling under the boy's light beam. The power within the mountain was undisturbed. She sank to the floor. His light was burning through her brain, she felt, destroying the vestiges of all her ideas, wiping out the little she had left of her world and her life. The Merged One would not strike; It was absent, uncaring, or...

  She shook her head. She began to wish that Reiho would turn the beam on her and finish the job. She no longer felt curious; that too had been burned out of her. She felt the wall of the cavern against her back. She could shake it herself, make it her grave, and the boy's as well. It would not matter; there was no one to judge her.

  “Look.” The boy's word interrupted her reverie. She got to her feet and hurried over to him. Reiho put away the thin cylinder and shone his light on the wall. The rock was gone. A flat shiny surface was there. She put her hand against it and felt cold metal and a low vibration.

  “What does this mean?” she asked.

  Reiho was pressing his hands against the metal. “Can you not see? This mountain has covered another construction, this is part of it.” Daiya recalled the vision Jowē had shown her, the soulless people among tall towers. She brushed her hand along the surface again, touching a tiny indentation in the metal near the edges of the remaining rock wall.

  The metal slid along her fingers. She jumped back, bumping her foot against a few stones, and tumbled to the ground. The metal wall was moving. Pieces of rock pelted her legs as the wall slid. Reiho threw himself over her as stone fell; the ground shook slightly. Then there was silence.

  Reiho rolled over and pulled her to her feet. “Are you injured?”

  She shook her head. Only the backs of her hands were cut. She concentrated on them, healing the wounds. She looked up slowly.

  The metal wall had disappeared. A dull light penetrated the cavern. She followed the boy toward the light, and found herself peering into a large chamber. It was bare, its walls glowing. She felt a sound; her bones vibrated. She entered and the walls altered slightly, changing from a dim amber to a brighter gold.

  She glanced at Reiho. His skin was gold. His eyes widened as he gazed around the chamber. He crossed the room, moving toward a gap in the wall opposite her. His boots clicked against the floor. She followed, her moccasins silent on the surface, her feet slipping along the smoothness. She skidded to a halt.

  Reiho pointed toward the gap. She saw only darkness. He pulled her closer. She was now staring down a tunnel hundreds of paces deep; there was a faint glow at the bottom. She stepped back, feeling disoriented.

  “There is a legend,” she managed to say. “People built such places before God touched their minds. They must have been very strange, to live so high off the ground.” She remembered that the boy lived even farther away from land. She tried to laugh and release her tension. “Look here, there is no place for food or a fire, no mat to sleep on. Perhaps they lived down there.” She shuddered, wondering why anyone would care to live in darkness like a mole.

  “I do not think anyone lived here,” Reiho murmured.

  “Why else do people build?”

  The boy did not seem to hear her. He put his light back inside his belt and stepped to the edge. She held him with her mind for a moment, afraid he might fall. “I am going to go down this passage,” he said. “Can you float down it? Will you come with me?”

  She peered over his shoulder, standing on her toes. “You want to go so far into the ground?” she asked.

  “If you do not want to go, just wait here.” He stepped into the tunnel, touching his belt, and disappeared into it, blotting out the light below.

  She looked around the chamber hastily, suddenly afraid of waiting alone. Dimly, she sensed a presence, as if someone else were here with her. She took a deep breath, gathered her strength, and stepped into the passage. She drifted down easily—too easily, as if her body was being fed with more energy. She fell through the darkness, holding her arms at her sides, feeling as though she was growing stronger instead of using her strength. The walls around her grew lighter. At last her feet touched a surface; the walls were gone.

  She looked from side to side, bewildered. The air around her glowed and vibrated. Waves of blue and violet hung over her. She stepped forward a few paces and glanced to her right. She saw a vast empty corridor, stretching so far into the distance that she could not see where it ended. She looked to her left and saw the same kind of corridor. The veils fluttered; tiny bits of light twinkled along their blue and violet folds. She stretched a hand toward the veils and felt only air.

  Reiho walked through the veils, his mouth open. The gauzy blue and violet swirled around his body. She went to his side; the mistiness settled on her, insubstantial and transparent. The boy swallowed, apparently unable to speak. She touched his arm. He jumped back, startled.

  “What is this place?” she whispered.

  “I am not sure.” He began to walk toward a railing in the center of the area, a railing which circled a large hole. She followed him. They moved to the railing and rested their hands on it.

  Daiya looked down. Far below, there were golden pillars and crystalline stelae with twinkling lights dancing along their shiny surfaces. The structures went deep into the earth, down to another circle with a railing. She could see that there were more pillars beyond that. She gripped the railing, feeling dislocated and unbalanced.

  Reiho spun around violently and ran down the corridor. The colored veils of air and light danced around him, then were still. She raced after him. He slid to a stop near another railing, his boots squeaking, and peered down another hole. She stopped next to him and saw, far below, more golden and crystal pillars.

  What is this place, she thought, forgetting to speak, sending out part of her mind with the question.

  Deep inside her, she felt something begin to form. She shook, unable to stop it. Something was touching her, trying to speak. For a moment, she thought of building a wall against it. Then she gathered up her courage and reached out to it.

  Images formed in her mind. She was seeing the land around the mountains, but only the foothills remained; the mountains were gone. In their place she saw gleaming metal towers and understood, without seeing it, that the towers also went under the earth. The desert was not barren; it was green with life. Small groves of trees dotted the grassy landscape to the horizon.

  The towers began to glow. A wave flowed from them, touching the minds of the people who stood under the towers, uniting them mentally, feeding their minds with power. The people lifted themselves, swooping through the air like birds.

  The picture changed. She saw men and women standing near large machines which looked like crabs made of metal. The crabs lifted golden pillars with their pincers and claws and lowered them into the earth, and she understood that they and the people with them were building the towers. The image changed again. A city stood near the completed towers. People moved through the wide streets, mind-speaking, sharing themselves.

  The images vanished. Daiya, still clutching the railing, sank to the floor. Reiho bent over her. “What is it, Daiya?” She let go of the railing and wrapped her arms around her knees. “What is it?”

  She opened her mouth. Words would not come. God must be present here. The boy sat down next to her, watching her quietly as she tried to sort her thoughts. She felt numb and cold, without the fear and worry and anger she had felt before; even her despair was gone. A part of her stood aside, passive, an onlooker.

  At last she said, “Didn't you see the vision?”

  He shook his head.

  “I saw people building this place. A wave came from tall towers here ... there were no mountains, only the towers. It touched the people.” She looked down at her hands and folded them. “There was another vision, of p
eople in a great place, a great village, they were happy and content. But something must have happened to them later.” She frowned. “They had our abilities, our mental powers. I do not understand it.”

  “Was this what they built?” the boy asked

  “I believe so, I saw them put the pillars below here into the ground.”

  Reiho clapped his hands together. “Perhaps this place is the source of your power,” he cried.

  “How can that be?”

  “You say a wave touched the people in your vision. The structures here may draw on power from outside this world and feed it to you. Those who have dormant mental abilities can make use of it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I do not know if I can explain. I can tell you my hypothesis.”

  She shook her head and wrinkled her brows.

  “My hypothesis ... a story about why and how a thing might have come to be.” She nodded. “People long ago believed that human beings might have telepathic and telekinetic abilities,” he went on, “the powers of the mind that you have. Yet demonstrations of such abilities were intermittent, infrequent. Even my people know of that work, though our records show that, after our flight from Earth, we abandoned such research. But the human body by itself does not have the energy required, say, to lift oneself from the ground ... if one could do such a thing unaided, it would seem to violate the laws of nature as we know them. Perhaps these machines, somehow, can tap into a source of such power, either within this universe or outside it. Then they could direct it to minds with the capacity to receive it and make use of it. That would explain your abilities.”

  She did not comprehend everything the boy was saying, and yet she felt she understood too much of it. She thought of the village, the Merging Ones, their legends, everything she had been taught. She had sought illusions, and found something quite different. All that she had thought she knew, and had sometimes doubted, now seemed a lie, a distortion. Reiho was saying that machines, the things which separated people from the truth, were themselves the devices that had made the village and its ways possible. Somehow she sensed that he was right. How could she reconcile such a contradiction?