Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  Keeley kept a steady hold on Mary as best as she could, her face tightened against the sharp nausea in her gut. She knew that Mary would move through this, and that she must. All Keeley had to do was stay present with her while she did, and focus her breath to calm her own sour stomach. She kissed the top of Mary's head and held her close. "I know, hon," she whispered. "I know."

  Mary raised her face to the ceiling and howled with desperate rage. She pounded the mattress beside her as she screamed, then buried her face in Keeley's breast and sobbed again. Keeley's shirt was soaked with Mary's tears.

  At last, her grief largely spent, Mary rolled onto her back and inhaled noisily. She blew out a vast sigh and slowed her breathing. Keeley rolled onto her side to face her partner and put a hand on Mary's stomach. Mary opened an eye to find Keeley watching her. "I knew," she said, her voice ragged. "I saw. But I couldn't stop it."

  Keeley gently massaged Mary's stomach, ran her fingers up Mary's chest and placed her hand over Mary's heart. "What couldn't you stop?" she asked.

  Mary sighed deeply and grabbed a cloth handkerchief Keeley had put beside her to wipe at her eyes and nose. "I couldn't stop them leaving. I knew they would. I saw it: the... the darkness reaching out to them from the computer. I knew then that they would try to leave. But I never guessed it would happen so quickly." She folded the handkerchief and daubed her eyes. "Oh, Keeley, I'm so afraid."

  Keeley’s face was warm with understanding. "Because of what you saw in their fields," she said. "The images of fire and screaming and falling."

  Mary closed her eyes tightly, as if that would keep the images from assaulting her again. She reached out and grabbed Keeley's hand. "I'm so afraid," she said again.

  "And yet they're with Alice, they said," offered Keeley. She grabbed another handkerchief from the bedside table and wiped Mary's nose and mouth, drying the last bits of moisture that Mary had missed, then leaned over and kissed Mary's forehead.

  "Oh, I know," said Mary, exhaling loudly. "And maybe Alice can keep them safe. I don't know. But the darkness I saw..." she looked at Keeley. "There's something out there, sweetie. Something... powerful. Something that will stop at nothing to get what it wants. And I'm afraid... the kids are putting themselves right in its path."

  "Then we had better find them," said Keeley. "I know Stan and Mike are on it. They've probably got the entire US security machine searching for them by now."

  Mary laughed quietly and shook her head. "Earlier I scolded Ness for blaming herself..." she said.

  "And now you're taking on the blame."

  Mary squeezed Keeley's hand. "Humans are just... crazy," she said. An image from an earlier time popped into her mind. Of herself as a kid. And the aliens. And her brother... Mary knew she had good reason to feel guilty.

  "Humans in this culture, at least," said Keeley.

  Keeley gathered the soaked handkerchiefs in one hand, swung her legs off the bed, and sat up. The nausea rolled around in her stomach like a caged tiger seeking escape. She inhaled sharply. Mary rolled onto her stomach and put a hand on Keeley's back. "You okay, sweetie?" she asked.

  Keeley took another deep breath, turned, smiled weakly down at Mary, then rose to toss the handkerchiefs in the laundry basket in the closet. "I think it was something I ate," said Keeley. She turned back toward her love. "Hospital food, you know? I had a salad in the cafeteria. Who knows where the army's getting their produce these days?" Keeley motioned toward the bathroom with her head. "I'll be back in a minute, hon. You'll be okay?" Mary smiled and nodded. Keeley went into the bathroom.

  Mary turned onto her right side, noticed the television remote on the nightstand, and grabbed it. She powered up the set, lowered the sound, and tuned to ACN, hoping for some news that would ease her heart. She caught the very end of a story on the summit Linda had called. Leaders from all around the globe would soon gather for an online conference hosted by GooglePlex. Linda would attend from her confinement on Squirrel Island. The virtual format would put them all in a similar situation. And because it would require no travel, and therefore produce no carbon, the conference would be "green" as well. There was footage from the President's press conference the day before, and old file footage of her meetings with various heads of state over the past three years. Mary wished she could see people's fields through the television screen. She desperately wanted some insight into her President's current state of being.

  The anchorman switched to a new story as Keeley emerged from the bathroom. She crossed the room to lie on the bed beside her partner. Keeley's face was gray and her eyes were tight with pain. Mary pulled her in and hugged her to her side.

  The new story came from Augusta. The headline on the screen said "Alien Flu Spreading?" Mary turned up the sound and Keeley turned her head to watch. A second person had died in Augusta, Maine, this one just hours ago. The television showed a photo of the heavy, balding businessman Mary had seen on the hospital gurney, a visiting contractor apparently in town to attend some meetings. And it showed what must be a passport photo of the young woman, an attorney for the Mayor's office, whom Keeley had seen die on the sidewalk in front of the Burger King. Two more people had just been admitted at MaineCentral, the reporter said. Though their condition was not yet known, unofficial reports said that one of them has now died as well. And there were reports of people collapsing on the streets coming in from elsewhere around the country. The reporter mentioned "speculation" that these mysterious deaths were in some way connected to President Travis's illness. "Let us hope and pray," he intoned gravely, "that such speculations are false, and that our President will not fall to this frightening new plague. This is Kenneth Wild, ACN News."

  In a moment of panic, Mary attuned herself to Keeley's field. All she could see was an image of her lover sleeping peacefully. With a deep exhalation of relief, she hugged Keeley to her side once again. "I saw that bald man at the hospital this morning," she said. She checked her watch. "Just a few hours ago."

  "And I saw the young woman on the sidewalk yesterday," said Keeley.

  "I know."

  Keeley glanced briefly at Mary. "Did you... I mean, was there anything in his field?"

  Mary shook her head. "I didn't have time," she said. "I was too panicked about the kids."

  "Do you think…" Keeley motioned toward the television with a wave of her hand. "Is Linda...?"

  Mary scrunched her eyes shut and inhaled sharply. "I don't know," she said after a moment. She opened her eyes and looked at Keeley. "I don't know." A wave of angry determination crossed her face and she rolled to get out of bed.

  "You've gotta go, don't you?" asked Keeley.

  Mary nodded, hunched over on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry sweetie. I wish I could stay here and take care of you."

  Keeley waved away the notion. "I'll be fine," she said.

  Mary stood slowly, making sure there was no dizziness waiting to trip her to the floor. She slipped her feet into her shoes and headed toward the door, her limp more noticeable after her time in bed. "I have to find some way to help," she said. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to Keeley. "I love you," she said simply.

  "I love you too, Mar," said Keeley.

  "It feels like everything is falling apart," said Mary. With that, she stepped into the hallway and closed the door softly behind her.

  3.9

  "You said I wouldn't have to stay locked up in this container," said Linda.

  "Indeed," said the Fisherman. "Perhaps we should begin your training. I have so much to show you."

  "Training?"

  "The Astral Realm for Dummies, as you Americans might put it," said the Fisherman, obviously amused with himself. "A primer, of sorts, to help you navigate the next step up."

  "You mean-"

  "Yes I do, Madam. A half-step, anyway. We'll be essentially free of the constraints of the physical, but we'll stay closely tied to that level. Things will look very much the same as they do to your flesh-and-blood eyes, even as you'l
l be able to move anywhere you wish, including up into the sky and through solid matter. Think of yourself as Ebenezer Scrooge and me as the Ghost. The metaphor is familiar to you."

  "Yes," said Linda.

  "Please know that you will be restricted to Mars and near-Mars space. You will not be able to flee the evil lizard overlord and return to Earth for help."

  "Are you evil?" asked Linda.

  The Fisherman sighed sadly. "It is my hope, Madam President," he said, "that by the time we finish our work together, you shall actually love me."

  Linda had no idea what to say to that.

  "Hang on," said the Fisherman

  In an instant, Linda was hovering high above the Martian plain, clad in her favorite jeans and "Go Spartans!" sweatshirt. Before her, no more than a couple of arm-lengths away, hovered a slight, wiry man of maybe sixty-five. His feathery white hair was short and wavy and his white beard was crisply trimmed. His face was nicely tanned and his eyes, alive and fierce, sparkled from behind wire-rimmed glasses. He wore khaki slacks and a Hawaiian shirt covered with an intricate pattern of palm fronds and tropical birds. "So you're the Fisherman," said Linda, sizing up her opponent.

  The Fisherman bowed at the waist. "Perhaps we should dispense with the soubriquets as well," he said. "Why don't you call me William?"

  "Is that your name?" asked Linda.

  "It will do," said William.

  "I thought you said you weren't human."

  The Fisherman smiled. "All in good time."

  Linda turned to consider the space around them. They were hovering in the yellow-pink sky at what seemed to be the cruising altitude of a small plane, though it was difficult to tell, with no known reference points. She peered down to see a glinting white speck on the rust-red plain below. "Is that the lobster tank?" she asked, pointing.

  The Fisherman winked. "It is."

  From this height, the hill to her east took on more definition. It was clearly the Martian mesa known as "the Face," though it looked quite different from the photographs she had seen. Linda remembered reading an article or two about it decades ago. Perhaps that was why it felt so familiar. To the south and west, the various hills and mountains, many of them roughly pyramidal in shape, pushed up from the ground, a few of them reaching almost to her altitude. One mountain in particular stood out to the south, a large pyramid that was heavily weathered on the side facing her. The morning sun warmed its eastern side to a bronze glow.

  "Below us is Rumi's Field," intoned William with a flourish, as though he were a ringmaster at the circus. "That is what I call it, at least." With sweeping gestures he named a number of other features: the Face, the D&M pyramid, the Tholus, the City. "These are the names given these formations and structures by those who first studied the photographs back on Earth," he explained.

  Linda followed his gestures, trying to memorize names and features. She surveyed the flat plain below them, then looked at the Fisherman. "Why 'Rumi's Field,' William?" she said, knowing that her use of his name might help create a bond between them that would serve her later.

  William smiled, flashing his eyebrows upward. "You remember the poem Obie recited?" he asked. "During your long conversation in the trailer on Bathurst Island?"

  "Only vaguely," said Linda. "Something about right and wrong, I think. Do you mind telling me how you know so much about my conversation with Obie?"

  The Fisherman waved off her question as if it were of little consequence. "You don't think we let Presidents run around unsurveilled, do you?" he said.

  "I suppose not," said Linda.

  William winked. "Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī , known simply as Rumi to most Westerners, was a Sufi poet and mystic who lived during the 13th century. He's quite popular in both America and Britain. I can send you a packet, if you wish."

  Linda remembered Obie speaking of these "packets," bundles of information that could be shared instantly in the Astral realm. "Not right now," she said. "I'll let you know if it feels important later."

  "Agreed," said the Fisherman with a nod. "The poem Obie recited was this: 'Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase 'each other,' doesn't make any sense.' Do you remember it now?"

  "I guess," said Linda. "I remember Sina saying something about the field as well."

  "Yes."

  "So this," Linda pointed again to the rusty, rock-strewn plain below them, "is the field where we meet to discuss right and wrong?"

  "I anticipate that right and wrong will lie at the heart of our discussion," said the Fisherman. "We will move out beyond them both."

  "I see," said Linda. She noticed again the white glinting speck below her and began to drift downward, as if curiosity alone was propelling her toward the object of her attention. "I want to go look," she said to William, who had begun to follow her. Her words translated directly into action and she sped toward the container. As the plain rose up to meet her she worried that she would crash into it. She slowed immediately, as though a parachute had opened. The "lobster tank" grew slowly larger. It was coffin shaped, sitting at a slight angle on a black pedestal. And it certainly looked like glass. As she neared the container, her physical body inside became visible. She stopped, found the Fisherman right above and behind her, and frowned. "I'm naked," she said, her face tight with irritation.

  "You are," said the Fisherman.

  "Do you mind telling me why?" asked Linda.

  William lifted an eyebrow. "Rightdoing and wrongdoing, Madam President," he said. "The work has begun."

  3.10

  "So there was no... violent death in this life?" asked Mary, struggling for her words. She sat on the rolling office chair facing Cole, her nose wrinkled in disgust from the strange taste in her mouth.

  Cole sat across from her in one of the armchairs. He stared down at his hands in his lap, then brought his eyes back up. "No death," he agreed. "Or if there was, I didn't get to that part yet. Just me as an old man, walking through deep forest, searching for something. My hair was long and dirty and gray."

  "And you don't know what you're looking for."

  "If I do, I don't remember it now," said Cole.

  Mary rolled back in the chair to get a better view. Cole shifted in his armchair as she gazed at his field. No matter how many times she'd done it, he still felt profoundly uneasy, afraid that some long hidden secret would pop to the surface and embarrass him. Afraid that she might discover that, deep inside, he was not the good person he thought himself to be.

  Mary's eyes slid up and down and across his body for a minute or more before she spoke. "I don't see any sign of it," she said at last. "The only image I see is of you speaking on the... telephone. And I sense your worry for the kids. And your anger about Linda. But these spells you have, these “hops,” don't seem to leave anything behind."

  "I've wondered if these are my own past lives I've been jumping to," said Cole warily. He didn't know if the idea was silly or insightful.

  "I've wondered the same thing," said Mary. "You said there were lights coming from your hands as well?"

  "That's what they said: Sten and Mike and Stan and Albert. Little flares, they said. Little fireworks. Coming right out of my palms. I was off traipsing through the woods so I didn't see them. But I saw them earlier, when I hit my head."

  "You hit your head?" asked Mary. She motioned to him. "May I?" she asked. Cole nodded. Mary stood and examined Cole's head closely, running her fingers across his scalp to feel for cuts or bumps.

  Cole told her about falling and hitting his head on the toilet after his earlier "hop."

  "I don't know what to make of all this, Cole," said Mary, taking her seat again. "It sounds like this has been... hard... on you."

  "It's gotten worse the past couple of days."

  "And this has been going on how long?"

  Cole thought for a moment. "It started a few days
before they took Linda away. I figured they were just dreams at first. Most of them of that old man with the dog."

  Mary inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Her body folded into itself as she breathed.

  "Do you think this all has something to do with the Strangers coming back?" asked Cole.

  Mary opened her eyes. "I don't know, Cole," she said. "Apart from that note from the kids, we haven't seen any real evidence that they have come back." She pointed toward the sky and the Grid. "Not that they've ever really gone away."

  "But isn't that note enough? I mean... if Alice is back and they've gone to find Linda, they'll be able to bring her home, right? If… she can… you know. There's her flu to think about." Tears welled up in Cole's eyes as he spoke.

  Mary reached out and touched his cheek. "You're scared," she said.

  Cole's head dropped and he exhaled sharply. He wiped his face with both hands before he looked up again. "I'm more angry than anything," he said, hoping that his words were true. Anger was so much easier to bear. "But, yeah. I'm terrified."

  "Your wife is ill and she's been taken away from you," said Mary.

  Cole nodded.

  "And your kids have run off into a dangerous world," she said.

  Cole let his head hang down in helplessness.

  "And you want to hope that somehow the Strangers will put everything right again."

  "Yeah," Cole breathed, his voice raw.

  Mary sighed wistfully. "And they might, Cole. They just might." She reached out and took Cole's hand. "But I need to tell you something."

  Cole exhaled his fear.

  "There's something... I saw. When I saw the kids yesterday."

  "Tell me," said Cole, meeting Mary’s eyes.

  "I saw images, Cole. In their fields. Images of pain and fire." Mary hesitated for a moment, then continued. "An image of Grace screaming. An image of Iain falling."

  Cole shook his head slowly back and forth as he listened.

  "And I felt something, Cole. Something dark. Something reaching out. Something... powerful." Mary's own tears rose up as she described what she'd seen. She swallowed the weird taste and continued. "And I fear that the kids will... whatever this darkness is... the kids are headed right to it."