Pathways

by Jeri Taylor

  Even Daggin became concerned. “You mustn’t go on these expeditions alone,” he warned. “You could fall, and no one would know. I’ll go with you any time you want.”

  But Kes preferred the thrill of exploring on her own. She knew it might be dangerous, but that was part of what tantalized her, and she didn’t want to give it up. If she wanted safety she’d go back to standing in line for food rations.

  It had been an accident that she found the tunnel. She certainly hadn’t been looking for one, since she didn’t know they existed, and almost passed by the opening without realizing what was there.

  It was the color that caught her eye. The stone of the caves was gray-white and striated in a horizontal pattern, without variation. As she moved through a particular passageway, magnasite lamp in her hand, she swept the beam over the walls that surrounded her.

  A dark, orangish streak, faint and dimmed with time, intersected the gray striations of the stone. She’d never seen a mark like that, and she stopped to stare up at it.

  It seemed to emanate from a crack in the stone about a meter above her head. As she played the light over that crack, it seemed that she could discern a pattern in the fracture that made it seem planned rather than random. Curiosity began to burn in her.

  She looked around for a boulder to roll against the wall so she could climb on it and reach the strange stain and the unusual fracture, but there was nothing except a large and imposing stone that she couldn’t possibly move by herself. She would need help.

  A short while later, she was back with Daggin, who was as excited as she by her find. Together they were able to roll the boulder into place, and Kes started to climb onto it. Daggin put a hand on her shoulder, restraining her.

  “I’ll go first,” he cautioned, and Kes rankled at the implication he would be better qualified to deal with whatever surprises their find might lead to. She started to protest, but Daggin was already on the boulder and shining his lamp onto the stain.

  “It’s rust,” he announced, tapping on the stone face with a small tool he’d brought from the farm.

  “Then there must be something metal behind that rock-face,” said Kes, becoming more excited every second.

  “Let me see if I can pry this section of the rock out,” replied Daggin, inserting the flat end of the tool into the crack and wedging it back and forth. Slowly, gradually, a piece of stone was worked from the casing into which it had been placed.

  “Watch out—as soon as it’s out far enough, I’m going to let it fall onto the ground.” Kes backed away. The stone would be dangerously heavy.

  Another few minutes of wedging each side of the stone and it came tumbling out of its housing, crashing heavily to the ground and throwing up plumes of dust. Kes waved her hand to dispel them as Daggin moved close to the opening he’d created and shined his lamp into it.

  “What is it? What do you see?” Kes asked, almost dancing with impatience.

  His smile was eager, excited. “Come up here.”

  She scrambled up beside him and stood on tiptoe to peer into the opening.

  She could see before her a round, darkened chamber, symmetrical to a degree that told her it had to have been constructed. She shone her lamp carefully around the periphery, and soon it revealed a long-unused control panel of some kind. And immediately adjacent to the panel was one of the most remarkable things Kes had ever seen: a staircase, old, rusting, dilapidated, leading upward.

  Kes and Daggin exchanged glances, amazed. What could this be? Daggin extended his arm and ran his hand around the periphery of the opening on the inside of the chamber wall.

  “There’s hardware on this wall. That’s what caused the rust stain.”

  “What is this, Daggin? What are those stairs for?”

  He looked down at the stone plug, now lying on the bottom of the cave floor. “We have to figure a way to put that back,” he said, and Kes was frustrated again.

  “Why? Why can’t we go in there, see where those stairs lead?”

  “Because they lead up—and up is where the surface is. And if we can come up those stairs, the Kazon can come down them.”

  The Kazon again. Why was everyone so frightened of these mythical monsters? Who was to say they’d ever existed, much less lurked on the surface after so long a time? Wouldn’t it be better to find out if they were still a threat than to live one’s life in fear of the unknown?

  But Daggin, for all his enlightened attitudes, apparently was just as cowed by the Kazon as everyone else. He was testing the weight of the stone that he’d pried out of its housing, and apparently found it daunting. “We’ll have to get some help with this. It will take three or four of us, at least.”

  “Do we want others to know about this? Is that wise?”

  Daggin pondered. She knew he realized she had a point. A discovery like this wasn’t the kind of thing one wanted to be general knowledge. Soon word of it would get to the Elders, and who knew what they’d make of it?

  Kes decided to press the point. “Why not just leave it? It’s not likely that anyone’s going to wander this far from the city. In all this time, no one’s found it before—I think it’s safe to say no one else will.”

  “It leaves us vulnerable if anyone were to come down that staircase,” mused Daggin, but she knew he was ambivalent.

  “If anyone got that far, one small stone wouldn’t provide much protection. If the enemy comes for us, we’ll just have to fight.”

  He glanced quickly at her, hearing the steely tone in her voice. He looked back at the fallen stone, then up at the opening in the wall. “All right,” he said uneasily. “But I want you to promise you won’t come back here by yourself.”

  She hesitated. She had every intention of doing just that, and of climbing at least a little way up the staircase. But she couldn’t lie to Daggin, couldn’t make a false promise.

  “I thought so,” he said knowingly. “Kes, what am I to do with you? Curiosity is one thing, and courage is certainly a virtue—but together they can easily turn to foolhardiness. You have to learn to temper your impulses. That’s what true wisdom is all about.”

  Silently, Kes simmered, and blocked her mind so he wouldn’t sense her attitude. Who was Daggin to be lecturing her? Had he developed “true wisdom”? He was barely older than she.

  He drew near her and took hold of her arms just at the shoulders, looking down at her with concern. “Please promise,” he said softly, and something in his voice caught her attention. “I couldn’t stand it if anything were to happen to you.”

  An unaccustomed feeling began to stir in her, a sensation she’d never felt. It was strangely pleasant, like a piece of odd music that haunts the mind. She felt Daggin’s eyes on her, peering through the darkness, and she looked up at him. “I won’t promise not to come here again, but I’ll tell you before I do.”

  He nodded, and they held a look for a moment; then Kes turned and started back down the passageway.

  Kes’s first run-in with the Elder known as Toscat came shortly before she cut off her hair. Whether one precipitated the other was a matter of concern to her parents, but not, frankly, to Kes.

  It was unusual for someone to request an appointment with an Elder before they were three or four, and there were lifted eyebrows when Kes spoke to his aide, Marlath, about an interview. Bemused by the thought of a child seeking audience with an Elder, Marlath arranged the meeting with a manner that Kes found condescending.

  But she didn’t say anything. She was trying to learn to control her tongue, realizing as she grew older that it often created difficulties for her. She had a goal in mind now, and was determined not to sabotage her own efforts.

  The afternoon she met with Toscat, she dressed carefully, choosing a sober, conservative outfit—something she thought an Elder would approve of. It was so neutral in color and style that it called no attention to itself. Kes thought it was boring, but knew she wasn’t dressing to please herself. She vowed that when her growth cycle was complet
e, she would never adopt the bland dress style of the Ocampan women. She’d find some way to be different.

  She brushed her long golden hair thoroughly, until it shone. She tied it back in a modest style and assessed herself. She looked colorless and dreary, probably just right for a meeting with Toscat. But as she gazed at herself in the glass, the thought came to her that she was very nearly grown. She looked almost as mature as she would for the next seven or eight years, at which point she would enter the morilogium, or final phase of existence. Then, aging would be rapid, leading within months to the end of life.

  All the Elders had offices in the Assembly building, and Kes waited in the stark white anteroom while Toscat, in his office, finished a conversation with another Elder. She wondered what they talked about, how they occupied their days. There really was nothing for them to do: the Caretaker provided for everything, and most of Ocampan society had become serene and complacent, so there were never any problems. Yet the Elders always seemed to think they were very important.

  She looked up to see Marlath eyeing her. He was probably only a year older than she, but acted as though he were an Elder himself. She found him arrogant.

  “Tell me, Kes,” he intoned telepathically, “just what do you want to discuss with Toscat?”

  “I have some questions for him about our past,” she answered frankly, out loud, then frowned with irritation as she saw him erupt into a smug grin.

  “I see. And what could a little girl who’s barely finished her growth cycle possibly want to know about our past?”

  “A great deal. Everything. No one seems to know the details and I thought if anyone did, it would be an Elder. So here I am.” Marlath’s smile only grew larger, and Kes felt anger beginning to stir in her. That wouldn’t do. She couldn’t allow this petty aide to annoy her; she had to keep herself composed for Toscat. So she forced herself to smile back at him, her mouth feeling like a frozen slit on her face.

  Fortunately at this point the doors to Toscat’s office opened and he strolled out, arm around another of the Elders, chortling at some shared witticism. The men said their telepathic farewells and then Toscat turned to Kes. His face was pudgy, the skin of his cheeks stretched taut below eyes that were small and vacuous.

  “Well, Kes, there you are—and looking more grown-up by the minute. You must be nearly at the end of your cycle.”

  “I’m already finished.” She insisted on speaking out loud, even if no one else did.

  “Well, come in, come in. I’ve been looking forward to this.” He gestured toward his office and Kes preceded him inside. It was a spacious room, pale and unadorned, with windows that looked down onto the floor of the Assembly. Kes could see throngs of Ocampa below them, standing around, staring at the entertainment screens, standing in the food lines. She shivered slightly.

  “Are you cold? I can warm up the room if you like.”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  Toscat smiled and gestured to a large black sofa. Kes sat on it, sinking into soft cushions and feeling quite small in their vast depths. Toscat sat opposite her, in a large chair with a high back and rolled arms. It was quite imposing, and Kes was feeling smaller all the while.

  “Well, then,” Toscat said, beaming, “to what do I owe this visit from such a pretty little girl?”

  Kes’s cheeks burned. He was treating her like an infant, like a worthless tot good for nothing more than minding her manners and looking pretty. He was speaking telepathically even though she continued to speak aloud. It was all so irritating. She took a breath to calm herself, then looked directly into Toscat’s eyes. “I want to know if there are any written records from our ancestors.”

  The look on the Elder’s face was worth the indignities she had suffered. It was at once perplexed, surprised, and wary—a panoply of emotions that rolled around his plump face like the light patterns on the entertainment screens. Kes felt a tiny twinge of triumph.

  “Written records . . . ?” extemporized the older man.

  “Yes. I can’t believe there aren’t writings of some kind. We had an extraordinary past, and it doesn’t stand to reason no one would have recorded it.”

  She held his look firmly, unwilling to look away or do anything that might make her appear weak in his eyes. Finally it was he who broke contact, who rose and strolled to the window that overlooked the Assembly floor. “Why are you asking about this?” he asked, still not speaking aloud.

  “I’m curious. I think we should know as much as possible about our true origins. How can we know what we’re meant to be if we don’t know what we came from?”

  Toscat turned slowly and stared at her, as though he were inspecting an alien insect, something quaintly repulsive. He sighed, and the sigh rippled through her mind like wind on water. “Kes, Kes, Kes . . . you’re much too young to be troubling your mind with thoughts like these.” He smiled avuncularly. “You’re going to etch worry lines on that beautiful forehead if you try to think so deeply. Why not get your food rations and spend some time in front of the entertainment screens? That should settle those restless thoughts.”

  She felt anger stirring in her again, and this time she wasn’t so quick to suppress it. She rose to her feet, and her voice, when she spoke, had taken on a certain edge.

  “I don’t want to settle them down. I want to keep them churning. I have a lot of questions, and no one seems to have answers, so I came to you because you’re an Elder and you should be showing us guidance but you won’t help me, either. I’m quite serious, Toscat—I want to know if there are any written records and where they are and why no one knows about them and most of all, I want to read them.”

  He blinked in what seemed to be stupefaction, and Kes realized he was completely unaccustomed to being addressed like that. Probably it was the first time anyone had challenged him, much less a child barely through her cycle. She kept her eyes fixed on him.

  His voice in her head had hints of steel to it. “Be careful, young lady—I won’t be threatened. You mind yourself or I’ll take you back to your parents and tell them what a rude girl you’ve been.”

  With a great struggle, Kes calmed herself. She wanted answers and this man might be able to provide them. It wouldn’t do to alienate him. She lowered her eyelids in a docile gesture and spoke to him with her mind, like a good girl would. “I’m sorry, Toscat. I meant no disrespect. I’m just burning with questions and I knew someone as wise as you would have answers. You’re an Elder because you have great wisdom, and I only wanted to have the benefit of your knowledge.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes, and saw him soften perceptibly. He walked toward her, arm extended in an ameliorative gesture. “There, that’s better, now you sound like a proper Ocampan child.”

  It made her queasy that he was so easily manipulated. How could this man be an object of respect? He was a narrow-minded fool. She carefully closed her mind so he wouldn’t intercept her thoughts. He moved toward her and stroked her hair, and she forced herself not to wince under his touch.

  “Such beautiful hair . . . and your ears—so delicate. You’ve gotten those from your mother, I’m sure. Benaren’s are thick-tipped.”

  Kes was confused and uneasy. She didn’t know why he was suddenly assessing her physical qualities. It made her decidedly uncomfortable, but more to the point, it had nothing to do with the reason she’d come here. She eased herself away from him. “You must know so much, Toscat. I can’t imagine all the knowledge you possess. Please tell me . . . are there ancient writings? Is that how you became so wise?”

  Toscat’s face was wreathed in a smile. Flattery had oiled his mind so that the information she wanted came slipping out. “There are indeed. Only the Elders are allowed to peruse them. Frankly, I don’t think you’d find them to be particularly interesting, or of any use to us now.”

  Kes couldn’t believe what he was saying. Not interesting? The records of their ancestors and the tale of their diaspora underground not interesting? What cou
ld he be thinking? She tried to still her hammering heart so that she could continue to question him. “Do they tell of the Caretaker? And why he decided to protect us? And what it was like on the surface? Did they talk about the sun?”

  But Toscat had apparently offered up as much as he intended to. He patted her hair again, his fingers lingering to stroke the silken strands. “None of this is of any value to you. Before you know it, you’ll find a mate, and go through the elogium. You’ll have your child and, believe me, there won’t be time to be asking yourself these pointless questions.”

  He stepped back as though to signal that the interview was over. “This has been most pleasant. My door is open to you at any time, as it is to all of Ocampa. Please give Martis and Benaren my best wishes.” And he gestured toward the door.

  Kes hesitated for a heartbeat, knowing the next seconds would be perhaps the most important in her life so far. She could do as she should—bid good-bye to Toscat and go sit in front of the screens—or she could do the unthinkable, and defy him. It took only seconds.

  “Where are they?” she demanded, feet planted squarely, hands on her hips. “They belong to all of us, and I demand to see them.”

  Toscat’s face took on a decidedly purplish hue, and his cheeks quivered. He opened his mouth and spoke aloud to her. “I’ll let your parents know about this insolence, you can be sure of that. Marlath!” He yelled out a call for his aide, who instantly opened the door, amazement etched on his face. “Escort the young woman to her home and tell her parents to expect a visit from me.”

  Marlath nodded, clearly caught unawares by these events, and held the door open for Kes. She turned directly to Toscat and, quite calmly, said to him, “I got you to speak out loud, Toscat. That’s a step in the right direction. Maybe there’s hope for your lazy mind yet.”

  And she swept past him, head erect, with as much dignity as she could muster.

  When she arrived home, she immediately took off her drab outfit, loosened her hair, and bathed in a tub of warm, fragrant water. It was as though she needed to wash away any reminder of her encounter with Toscat. She soaked for a long time, washing every part of her and rinsing her hair over and over. But when she dried herself and donned fresh clothing, she could still feel the touch of Toscat’s hand on her hair.