Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  It was going to be another scorcher. Already Cole could feel the heat, even walking through the trees. He spotted a young maple beginning to bud and felt a bit of hope rise in his heart. This winter-summer one-two punch was causing untold damage to the state's trees and forests. Perhaps some would survive.

  Up ahead, Stan and Ken stood at the tailgate of a pickup, laughing and talking. With him were the two young road wardens, Keith and Simon, a plump, balding older man whom Cole assumed was the reporter, and the young mandolin player, Marionette. His crew, it seemed. Ready to help him. Ready to help the Wayfaring Stranger, at least. He still had no idea if the two were one and the same.

  9.13

  Paul DuPont sat at his workstation. On one screen was an image of the Virtual Linda Travis. The day's Summit proceedings had not yet begun, so she was on hold, her eyes blank and lifeless as Paul waited for the live feeds to begin. On another screen was a news feed. Paul scrolled down through the headlines, noting in particular the stories about Greensleeves and the dreaded "alien flu." All in all, there was less panic in the streets than he would have predicted by this point. Perhaps the VLT was providing the bit of hope they'd predicted. And perhaps the virus's designers had been right, to create the Quietus as they had, giving the Sleepers such an easy, peaceful way out. They were probably ready to go, most of them, and good riddance. Much less destruction to property that way.

  Not that that mattered. The Families were leaving soon, and the new owners wouldn't want it.

  9.14

  They sat together on the surface of Mars, the President of the United States and the mysterious Family member known as the Fisherman. They sat in two finely-crafted leather armchairs, deep reddish-brown in hue, with brass claw-and-ball feet digging into the dusty desert surface. They sat with no protection from the cold, the heat, the grit, the radiation, or the lack of breathable air. They sat as mirages, ghosts, images, reflections, habits of spirit, with bodies resting elsewhere while their essential selves could travel the Cosmos. They sat facing each other, seeming opponents and enemies, one holding the other captive, both determined to get what they needed. On William's face was a look of patient interest. On Linda's face was a thunderstorm of rage.

  "You cannot do this, William!" she said again, her voice tight with fury. She leaned forward in her chair, hoping to force her words into him. "You want me to love you? Well this is not the way to do it. Tell me what's going on with Cole and the kids. Tell me what in the bloody hell my body is doing lying in some underground lab beneath my cottage. I've had it, William. You lied to me. You're keeping me prisoner. I want it to stop. I want to go home." Linda slumped back in her chair.

  "Yes," said William evenly.

  Linda glared.

  William waited.

  "Yes what?" said the President at last.

  William nodded slightly. "Yes it's time to more clearly tell you what's going on," he said. "Yes I need to do so as efficiently as I can." He looked up and scanned the Martian sky, as if searching for their home planet. He returned his gaze to Linda. "Things are moving quickly back on Earth."

  Linda stood and looked down at the Fisherman. "So let me go home and deal with them, William," she said, her eyes pleading. "The kids..." She glanced at the sky in the direction the Fisherman had just looked. "They need me."

  William raised an eyebrow. "Then we'd better hurry," he said. "Shall we begin?"

  Linda's eyes flashed with anger. "I want to go now," she said, her voice a low growl.

  William gestured for her to sit. Linda shook her head in frustration, then sat lightly on the edge of her armchair, leaning forward, poised to stand again as though she might make a run for it. Or attack him. The Fisherman watched Linda with interest, his face open and curious. He seemed neither afraid nor perturbed by her anger. After a moment Linda turned her gaze to the ground.

  William took a long, resonant breath and spoke again. "You Americans have the phrase 'half-cocked,'" he said evenly. "As do the British. I'm sure you know it."

  Linda did not respond.

  "To go off 'half-cocked' is to act prematurely and without a plan, and ultimately, to fail due to that lack of preparation."

  Linda glanced up at William but did not speak.

  "I'm sure you remember what happened the last time you went off half-cocked, Madam. People near and dear to us lost their lives, did they not? And others simply vanished."

  Linda looked down at her lap. "And your Plan got messed up," she muttered.

  "Indeed," said the Fisherman. "And while we have yet to determine whether that will ultimately prove to have been for good or ill, we in The Families have a strong tendency to stick to the path we've chosen."

  Linda looked back up at William.

  "So you need to understand, Madam: you are not yet ready to be released. You are being prepared, so that you, as our agent, will function properly. There will be no sneaking away from Mary Hayes this time around, I'm afraid, no matter how much you might wish for it. Do you understand?"

  "But the children..." said Linda. Her voice trailed off, as though she knew there was nothing more to say in the face of the Fisherman's resolve.

  "There's nothing you can do for them there that is not already being done," said William. "Your work is here. Complete that work and then you may go home."

  "So how did I get to Earth, then?" demanded Linda, changing the topic in search of sense of control. "You said I couldn't but I did. And how did you know I'd be there?"

  The Fisherman relaxed back in his chair. "I've been working with human beings for a very long time, Madam," he said. "And I know where this is going. I needed to see what you're capable of figuring out on your own, and I needed you to see for yourself what's at stake now."

  9.15

  "Cats use eyes," explained Dennis. "Dogs nose."

  "For the love of all that's holy and good," muttered Mihos. He sat off to the side as the kids crowded around their old dog, laughing and petting him and asking questions. None of them seemed to hear the cat's words. Mihos licked his paws.

  "So do you have a different plan we should follow?" asked Grace of her dog. Dennis was leaning against her leg and she was scratching his rear, which caused his right leg to jerk uncontrollably, scattering the gravel underfoot. Dennis seemed to suffer no loss of dignity in the exchange.

  Dennis looked up to Grace as though she were a goddess. "Follow smells," he said.

  Mihos cleared his throat loudly and the kids turned to regard him. "If we follow Old Yeller's plan," he asked dryly, "are we not destined to end up either at a fire hydrant or another dog's butt?"

  "Don't be silly," scolded Emily. "Dennis knows what we're trying to accomplish."

  "Oh," said Mihos, returning his attention to his rear paws. "Right. I forgot. Whippet. Whippet good. Got it."

  Iain leaned down to add to the petting. "So how do we follow the smells?" he asked.

  Dennis closed his eyes in bliss, speaking softly and slowly, as the ecstasy allowed. "Murk," he said. "Inside. I could smell. Fresh air. Ocean. I smell."

  "You do at that," offered Mihos, but nobody paid him any mind.

  "So that means..." said Emily, trying to draw Dennis out.

  "Murk... has... holes..." said Dennis through the bliss.

  "And you can find your way through them?" asked Iain.

  Dennis opened one eye a tiny bit. "Follow smell," he said again. "Follow ocean. Smell gets through."

  The three kids turned to Mihos, wondering what this cat, who lived in this realm, thought of Dennis's plan. Mihos assumed a regal, Egyptian pose, his chin out, his face serene. He studied the wall of Murk towering over them, then returned his attention to the kids. "There must have been something wrong with my map," he said at last. "So... yeah. Sure. Let's give the dog a bone and see what he can do. I'm smart enough to use every tool at my disposal." Mihos closed his eyes and licked his paws some more. Didn't matter that the stupid dog came up with the plan, now, did it? They still turned to Mihos to lead
the way.

  The cat sighed, then stepped a bit closer to Dennis. "C'mon, Bandit. Jonny and Hadji are ready! Let's go find this President Linda monkey! Okay? Find her? Find her!!? There's a good boy." He turned to the kids. "My eyes. His nose. Shouldn't be a problem."

  Dennis reached out and licked Mihos on the face again, then started off. The rest of them followed. Even Mihos.

  9.16

  The President sat back in her chair and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Start by telling me what has happened to the children."

  William looked down at his hands and took a long breath. "Their bodies, as you saw, are quite well," he said, examining his fingernails. "But their conscious selves have chosen to leave their bodies and go off in search of their mother." He looked up at Linda. "You," he said.

  Linda raised an eyebrow.

  "As I told you earlier, they'd begun to unravel the ruse of your virtual doppelganger and were anxious to explore that mystery. Some other players in the game unexpectedly stepped in and helped them on their way. The children are, as far as I know, now exploring the Astral realm in an attempt to make contact with you, while their bodies are being guarded back in Augusta. Just as you’re here, speaking with me, while your body lies safely on the surface of Mars."

  "Right. So there's that, too. I mean... what the hell, William? How can my body be on Mars and underneath my cottage at the same time?

  The Fisherman nodded. "It was important that we do our work without alarming your opponents, Madam. That required that I leave behind a copy."

  "You're saying that was a fake I saw?"

  "Yes."

  Linda sat for a moment and breathed, her head wandering back and forth in disbelief, her eyes tight with anger. She didn't know what to trust anymore. And there were more important matters. "But they can't do that, can they?" asked Linda after a few moments.

  "Who can't do what, Madam?"

  "The children can't make contact with me, William. Like you said. Because I'm here with you, kept under lock and key."

  The Fisherman shook his head. "So it would seem," he said.

  "That's all you have to say?" asked Linda. Her words were sharp and fierce.

  "Believe it or not, Madam," said William, "I am not in control of everyone and everything." He reached up and smoothed his ruffled white hair.

  Linda opened her mouth to reply but then bit it off. She took a couple of long, even breaths to calm her furious heart, all the while staring into the Fisherman's eyes. "Can you promise me that they'll be safe?" she asked at last.

  William shook his head. "I believe their bodies to be in safe hands at this time," he said evenly. "But as for their conscious selves, I cannot say what adventures they may find, or how it will turn out for them. I trust that those who have stepped in to help them are not of evil intent, and are interested, ultimately, in the same thing I am interested in. Beyond that, I cannot say, nor will I release you such that you can go off and try to save them from their choices. As I have said, the needs of this time are great. They outweigh the needs of yourself or your children. Whether you agree with me or not, I believe that, when we are finished here, you will at least understand why I say this." The Fisherman's eyes softened as the corners of his mouth twitched up, a wistful smile that conveyed a deep hopefulness on his part, that he might be understood.

  "You're playing word games, William," said Linda. "Who was it that stepped in to help them?"

  The Fisherman closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as though fighting a natural inclination to withhold information. After a moment, he nodded slightly and looked at Linda. "I believe you know her as Alice," he said with a meager smile.

  Linda's eyes widened at that bit of news. She had no idea what to make of it, or what it meant. Linda knew Alice to be a good soul. She'd live with the little hybrid long enough to feel that in her gut. But Alice had left them three years ago and was off elsewhere in the universe, as far as Linda knew. If she was back, then who else was back? Spud? Alice's mother, Bob? And could Alice be trusted to keep the kids from harm? She was just a little girl.

  Linda sat for a long time just staring at William, one eyebrow raised slightly as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. At last she exhaled loudly. "We’d best get to it then," she said quietly.

  William nodded again. "Indeed," he said.

  9.17

  The board Ted placed on the table was no longer a Scrabble board. This one was old, multi-colored, with cartoon drawings of animals and strange creatures and numbered paths connecting various places. "Uncle Wiggily," said Ted in a low, awed voice.

  Carl bent forward to examine it, then looked up at the other. "You know this game, Ted?"

  Ted nodded. "Played it as a kid. Had a great aunt with an old wooden box full of toys. This game was in there." Ted picked up the bag that had held Scrabble tiles and pulled out a deck of small, tattered cards and half a dozen painted wooden markers. "Looks like it's all here," he said.

  "Wibble Wobble Duck Pond, Ted?" said Carl, reading from the board. "Aren't we a bit old for this?" Carl smiled.

  Ted ignored Carl's question and just stared at the board, his eyes darting from place to place and character to character and all around. Without taking his eyes off the board he placed the deck of cards on the table, then chose the red marker and placed it gently on a picture of a rabbit standing in front of a cottage.

  "Uncle Wiggily's Bungalow," read Carl.

  "That's where we start," said Ted, glancing up to meet Carl's gaze. A tiny flash of smile flickering across his face.

  Carl chose the blue marker and placed it next to Ted's. "You go first, Ted," he said. His tone was kind and gentle.

  Ted leaned forward and picked up the top card.

  Chapter Ten

  10.1

  Gabrielle was jostled awake by the lurching of the bus as its brakes started to hiss. Peering through the front windshield, she saw a border crossing sign: Beecher Falls Station. Stretching into the distance on either side of the station, following the lay of the land, was a line of tall, razor-wired fencing. They were about to enter the United States.

  Though the border guards looked big and dark and mean, Gabrielle had no reason to expect trouble. She'd shown her passport to the bus driver before they'd left Montreal, and had been passed through without question. Since the Crash, buses like this were used primarily for troop transport and official or corporate business travel, and she stood out like a sore thumb amidst the uniformed soldiers and well-dressed movers and shakers who sat all around her, she in her college attire and scarves and backpack. But it wasn't illegal for her to be on this bus. It was still open to the public. There was even an older couple three rows ahead of her, obviously on holiday. She was fine.

  Images flashed in Gabrielle's mind as the bus slowed. Oncoming headlights. An overturned white van. Zacharael's dead body splayed out in the middle of the road. Gabrielle understood that these were after-images from the long vision Zacharael had given her while he'd been in her head. Their sharing of minds. But the flashes faded quickly, and Gabrielle was glad to be rid of them. She had to get her belongings back into her backpack.

  They slowed behind a row of three vehicles, two of them military. One of the border patrolmen waved their bus into another lane closer to the station. The driver steered them awkwardly to the right and came to a stop. Directly outside the bus door stood a newly installed sign with bold black letters on a yellow background, apologizing for delays in processing due to the threat of the alien flu, Greensleeves.

  Gabrielle closed her eyes and breathed slowly and deeply. Another image flashed in her mind, this one of the same white van, but this time from overhead. Sitting behind the wheel, she knew, as though she could see right through the van's roof, was a large, bearded Frenchman. Beside him, in the passenger seat, sat the American President's husband. Another flash, this of a small black cube hurtling through the air. Then the flashes were gone.

  Gabrielle opened her eyes. The bus drive
r opened his door and stepped down off the bus to confer with a border patrolman. Then he stepped back onto the bus. Gabrielle could feel the heat from the parking lot push in behind him, overpowering the air conditioning. "They're ready for you in Customs," the driver told them. He stepped back down to open the luggage bays.

  The driver had explained how customs would work a half-hour out from the border crossing. Passengers would step off the bus, bring all of their personal belongings with them, grab any luggage they had stored underneath, then make their way into the Customs office. There they would present their documentation, answer a few questions, and submit their bags and belongings to be scanned. Next they would step into the scanners themselves, including a secondary scanner, newly installed, which would screen for the presence of infectious diseases.

  After passing through the scanners, they could use the facilities before re-boarding. The driver had told them they should consume any food they'd brought along with them before going through customs, as it would otherwise be confiscated. The entire process would take approximately thirty minutes, even with the extra screening for Greensleeves, since there were so few civilian passengers these days. The customs procedure for the soldiers was separate and much more streamlined.

  Gabrielle stood and waited for the rows in front of her to clear. She grabbed her backpack and her water bottle and headed down the aisle. At the top of the steps she caught the eye of the first of two border patrolmen, a thin, wiry young man with a shaved head and large nose who was sweating profusely in the heat. Smiling, she stepped off the bus, glanced up at the hot sun, and followed the others to the Customs office. She flashed for a moment on a vision of a tall, red-haired man striding quickly and purposefully toward her, and she whirled to face the Canadian station across the way, a shudder rippling through her body. It was striking to her, how much that man in the vision looked like Zacharael. And yet they were not the same person.