Watchstar

by Pamela Sargent

  She let out a wisp of consciousness.

  A mind touched her. It pushed against her wall. She kept up the barrier easily. It withdrew for a moment, then spoke.

  —Daiya—It had recognized her. She approached the mind tentatively.—Daiya. We have searched, and searched again. We looked elsewhere, in case you had wandered off in madness, but now we find you again—

  The thoughts seemed to be from Jowē's mind, though with the Merging Selves it was hard to be sure, especially at such a distance. Only a Merging One could send a mind so far.—-But you are not mad—Jowē went on.

  —No—Daiya thought.—I am not—

  —There is something different in you, we can feel it. Harel KaniDekel has told us what happened during your ordeal. We were not sure he would live when he arrived, he was so ill and feverish, but he is better now—Daiya, shoring up her wall, felt relieved to hear that.—What has happened to you?—

  Daiya felt Jowē push at her wall. She drew more power and held it up.—What has happened to you?—Other Merging Selves were now speaking through Jowē.—Why couldn't we find you before? Why did you stay in the desert for all these days? Why did you not return to the village?—

  —I did not know if I could—she answered.—I knew that somehow I had not passed my ordeal, and I was afraid to return—

  —It was your duty to return and let us decide what to do. We cannot understand how you could remain so isolated there, without the Net, without others. You are very strong, even now we can sense your strength. You have endured something. It is your duty to return and share it. You have brought something different into the world, and we must find out about it, in case it happens again. Do you understand?—

  —Yes—

  —Will you return?—

  —What will you do if I return?—

  —That is not for you to consider—Jowē's words were angry and sharp.—We shall decide when we see you. Will you return?—

  —Yes—

  —We shall await you—Daiya felt Jowē withdraw. The Merging Selves were gone. A strand brushed against her, settling in her mind; the Net. She was bound to the village once more. It did not feel wispy and light this time; it tied her with heavy thick cords.

  She kept her wall between her and the Net, not wanting anyone in the village even to sense the strangeness of the knowledge she held. She turned cautiously to Etey and Reiho, still shielding them mentally, drawing on the power under the mountains, wondering if there was any limit to it.

  “What happened?” Etey said. “You looked as though you were in some sort of trance. There is something strange in the air, I feel it around me.” Daiya felt as though she was in segments, one part touching the Net, another part behind a wall, a third part listening to Etey.

  “The village has found me. I shielded both of you, so no one knows you're here. I must go back.”

  Reiho smiled. “Then you can go home,” he said, obviously relieved. “They will accept you.”

  Daiya paused. “Yes,” she said at last, hoping that if they believed her, and thought she would be safe, they would leave Earth. Their thought of lingering in case she was endangered so that they could take her to the comet again was wrong. Reiho thought it to soothe his guilt; Etey used it as an excuse for her own ends. Daiya did not want to look into her own soul too closely. She might be seeking a punishment for her sins, still unable to give up all she had been taught, incapable of shaking off her training. At the same time, she knew, part of her was embracing her new power and knowledge. The village had accused her of seeking isolation; now she was separate, more knowledgeable, more powerful than others.

  Etey was frowning. “Are you sure you will be safe?” she said. “How do you know that? From what I have learned of your people, I cannot believe they will take you back so easily. You might need us.”

  “I don't need you. You would be in danger, and you might make things worse for me. You should be able to figure that out, Etey. You must go.”

  Reiho seemed worried again. “But what if you cannot stay there? If we are near, at least we can take you with us.”

  Daiya clenched her teeth. Somehow the pair believed they were invulnerable to danger, in spite of their knowledge. Between Reiho's concern and Etey's arrogant curiosity, she would never get rid of them. If she hurled them from Earth, Etey might well take it into her head to set down near the village. For a moment, she thought of planting suggestions in their minds to make them leave, but she was not skilled enough in those techniques to take the chance. She had almost killed herself simply by erasing memories, leaving only a black spot of despair and no way, without the lost knowledge, of dealing with it. She could not risk damaging their minds. With the machines to draw on, she might destroy them altogether. Having so much strength, she realized, was very tricky.

  “Very well,” she replied, trying to sound calm. “But you must stay here, you must not come to the village. I'm sure you will find much of interest here. You can, for example, go inside the mountains and explore the wonders there.” She looked very hard at Etey as she spoke, hoping that might keep the woman satisfied and her curiosity at bay.

  “Then I guess you will have to go,” Reiho said. “Can you at least get back to us if you must leave again?”

  Daiya swallowed, knowing she would have to let them believe she might want to return to the comet. “Wait for five days, five risings and settings of the sun. If I am not back on the sixth day, go. It will mean I am safe in the village and will not return.”

  “It may mean you are dead,” Etey said, gazing at Daiya without blinking.

  “Yes, it may mean that,” Daiya replied, trying not to shout: Reiho narrowed his eyes and frowned. “And what could you do then? It would be even more dangerous for you.” She glared at Etey. “If you don't care about yourself, think of Reiho. Do you want him to die because of your foolishness?”

  “We shall be careful,” Reiho said in a soft voice. He looked at Etey as he spoke. “We will not be reckless.”

  Daiya glanced at the woman, than at the boy, sensing the division between them. “Remember,” she said to Etey, “that what you see here is not just a picture inside your Homesmind, from which you can withdraw as you please.”

  Etey nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Daiya sat down.

  “Are you not going now?” Reiho asked.

  She brushed some hair off her forehead. “It is too late to go now, the sun will soon be behind the mountains.” That was not the only reason. She could fly back to the village fairly easily if she drew on the power beneath the mountains, but so rapid a journey would arouse the suspicions of the Merging Selves, who would wonder where she had found the strength and overreact out of fear. She also needed time to prepare for the encounter.

  Her stomach gurgled; she quieted it. “I am hungry.”

  Reiho went into the shuttle to get some food.

  The dome above her was darkening as the sun rose. Daiya crept from her seat carefully, not wanting to disturb Reiho.

  The boy was still asleep, his legs stretched out, one hand hanging over the side of his reclining seat. She watched him for a few moments, certain she would not see him again. A weight pressed against her chest as she breathed. Reiho had tried to do what he thought was right, and he had paid a price for it.

  She was not yet sure how she felt about Reiho. She had a bond with him, though it was not like the bond she had once had with Mausi, or with Harel. Reiho would remember her; she would remember him.

  She climbed out of the craft. The door slid back quietly behind her. Etey sat on the ground, awake, as she had been all night, kept warm by her lifesuit. Her eyes were half-open, her irises hidden under her lids; only the whites showed.

  Daiya tapped her lightly on the shoulder. The woman looked up, focusing on her. “What are you doing, Etey?”

  “Playing a game with Homesmind.”

  “A game?”

  “It is difficult to explain. Homesmind presents images to my mind,
and we play with them. It is partly a mathematical game, partly an artistic effort. You are going now?”

  Daiya nodded. She wanted to dawdle, postpone the journey, now that it was upon her.

  “Do you wish to say farewell to Reiho?”

  She gazed at the shuttle, and swallowed. “I think it is better if I do not. Remember what I have told you.” She touched Etey's mind, sensing that the woman's dream of speaking to the villagers directly was now at war with her concern for Reiho.

  “I shall remember.”

  “There are machines under the mountains to whom you might speak. Satisfy your curiosity there, if you must. Even your weak mind should be able to contact theirs.”

  Etey pursed her lips and was silent.

  “Farewell.”

  Daiya began to walk away from the craft, to the northwest, toward the mountains. She felt the strength of the machines flow through her, knowing it would be her defense against the villagers if they would not accept her. Without her knowledge of what lay under the mountains, they could not focus on the machines and draw the power from them that she could; their strength would be more diffuse. And they were more used to restraint than she was, being older. She could protect herself against them if necessary; at least she had a chance. She tried not to think of what she would do if the villagers rejected her, and she survived. She would have to settle that when she came to it.

  She trembled as she thought of the encounter. She was going back to Anra, to Brun and Silla, to Cerwen and Leito and Morgen, to Nenla, to Harel. She was going back to those who might turn out to be her enemies. They would all stand by passively if the Merging Selves wished it; they would pour their power into the Net to destroy her if need be. She tried to imagine that, knowing her own weakness. If she had to endure watching those she loved trying to kill her, even the machines might not help her. The despair might destroy her; she might turn her power against herself.

  She continued to walk, knowing she wanted to be out of Etey's sight before she flew, though not sure why. She thought of Etey and the people of the comet. They knew nothing of life, nothing of despair or work or love. They hid from life, making parts of themselves lifeless, and called it living. They played with images and symbols, calling it both work and play, contradicting themselves. They engaged in teaching and training children and called it being a parent. They amused themselves with sex and called it love. They had built a machine, and it had surpassed them. They were truly great fools. Yet they too were people. The Merged One, if It truly existed, had created them, and Cerwen had said that God loved fools; they made people laugh, and laughter could join one to eternity for a brief moment.

  She tried to laugh. A gurgling rose in her throat; she choked, her belly contracted. Tears stung her eyes. A sound escaped her, a cry, harsh and bitter. Her stomach heaved. Tears rolled down her face.

  Her people were fools as well. They had built machines and then denied them. God must love her people greatly; God's laughter must have shaken the stars. The minds under the mountains were awake once again. She thought of that, and the sand under her feet grew brown as the sunlight dimmed. The machine-minds were waiting for something; she sensed their anticipation and was frightened.

  She shook her head and the blue sky brightened again. She lifted herself and flew, up toward the mountains.

  13

  Daiya flew over the foothills, seeing the shimmer of a brook below her. It looked like the brook where she had rested just before seeing Reiho's craft for the first time, when her world had still had permanence and solidity. She hovered over the plains, feeling no loss of strength, knowing she could float there indefinitely if she wished. Somehow she found that difficult to accept; it was against all her training. The power might be infinite, but her body's ability to channel it and her mind's capacity for using it were not. She would still have to be careful. She flew on for a bit, then alighted in the tall grass. She reminded herself that she was going home. She did not feel as though she was.

  She walked, keeping up her wall with little effort. She would be keeping many things from the village, or trying to do so. She no longer felt guilt about secrets; she had gone too far for that. She could not yet reveal her knowledge to the village, to people who had no way of comprehending it. She was startled by the thought; it seemed more like an idea Etey would hold than one of her own. She was ashamed at the notion.

  A cloud of birds suddenly rose in front of her, singing. They fled over the plain, becoming specks against the sky. Flocks of birds did not lack unity. She recalled the ducks and geese of the village and how they waddled together, moving with one another to one side, then to another. Their young, piping, were a fuzzy yellow entity. People, she thought, should have been more like birds.

  She tried to keep her mind calm, to preserve herself for her meeting with the village. Her shoulder muscles were tight, her neck stiff. She wondered if she should be frightened; she seemed to have left her fear back in the mountains. She was going back to her home, to see those she had lived with all her life, the people she loved. It was an event that should have made her feel something, and she was numb.

  She lifted from the ground again, deciding at once that she wanted to get back, that thinking about it for too long out here would only make things worse. She flew, throwing an arm over her forehead to protect her eyes from the wind. The plain raced beneath her. She felt the pull of the Net, stronger now; the village would be waiting for her. She approached the plains bordering the village. Wooly sheep clustered in groups as they grazed. She set down at the edge of the fields, gazing toward the huts in the distance.

  The village seemed altered. The huts were smaller and shabbier, their grassy tops flimsy, their brick walls drab. The water in the irrigation ditches was cloudy and dirty; the field smelled of manure and compost. The paths among the huts were cramped and narrow. Several people working in the fields nearby were watching her; she sensed their concern. She noticed the frayed edges of their tunics, the roughness of their weathered skin. They stared at her, but did not approach.

  Iron bonds seemed to bind her chest; her lungs pressed against them as she inhaled. She squinted, trying to see the village as she remembered it. She let part of herself past her wall, trying to see the village with her mind as well as her eyes. She saw the streets grow wider, the huts cleaner, the water clearer. She was home. She clung to the vision, wanting to return to the remembered village, not the one her eyes had seen. She swallowed, and her jaws tightened. She hid behind her wall again, thinking that what the minds under the mountains called consciousness only made the world uglier.

  Another group was leaving the village and coming toward her, led by Jowē TeiyeVese. The old woman walked slowly and cautiously. The wind ruffled her silver mane. Leito was next to Jowē, clasping the old woman's elbow; Cerwen was behind her. Daiya caught a glimpse of auburn hair; Harel. Her heart fluttered, then thumped. Suddenly the others were only shadowy shapes around him.

  —Harel—she cried. The name shot out from her, calling his soul. She was thrown against the wall surrounding him.—Harel—A tendril touched her. She felt his reluctance. He began to withdraw.—Harel, don't—

  —I don't know you—he replied as he shored up his wall.

  —Don't tell me that—

  —I don't know you. You've changed even more. There is something in you, you are even more separate now—She sensed a bit of his love, now drowning in fear.—What have you done to yourself, Daiya?—

  She longed to tear his wall apart, knowing she could do so with little effort. She held back, wrenching her eyes and mind from him and looking toward the others. She was tied by invisible bonds. The world was now smaller, the village a prison. She pushed and the bonds snapped like bits of thread.

  Jowē's head jerked up. She came toward Daiya. The others lingered behind, afraid to come closer. She peered at Daiya with her brown eyes.

  —You have not passed your ordeal—the old woman said,—and you still live—Daiya felt the thoughts of
all the Merging Selves in Jowē and trembled.—Have you suffered another kind of ordeal? Something has happened to you, and we must know what it is—

  —I saw the darkness, the creature with no mind—Daiya replied.—I saw it growing in the desert, ready to swallow me, and I tried to resist, shielding myself from it. I was sure I would die. And then I saw that it was only our fear, our separation from the Net, that created it, and I realized that it was an illusion. When I understood that, it had no more power over me, and then it disappeared, I could no longer perceive it, though my companions still did. I know that this shouldn't have happened—She paused.

  —I see that you have said part of the truth, but not all of it—Jowē thought.—You are changed, you are something that has never existed in our world. We must know more, so that we can make certain it doesn't happen again—

  She felt the force of the Merging Ones pushing against her wall. It shook; the air around her vibrated. She reinforced the wall, hiding behind it.

  —Why do you say it mustn't happen again?—Daiya asked.—Is that all you can say to something you don't understand? You don't even know what's happened, why do you assume it's evil?—She felt the villagers withdrawing, protecting themselves from dangerous thoughts.

  —It is something new, something which separates you from us—

  —People like us were once something new—Daiya replied.—Even our legends say that. Why was that newness good and anything else bad?—

  —The Merged One touched us and changed us, showing us the truth, and the Merged One embodies all good. You have not been touched by God. You ask too much. You keep up your wall and we cannot see what is inside you. You have power, too much power, and you have not yet learned restraint. Let down your wall—

  Daiya strengthened it, drawing on all the power she could.

  —Let down your wall—