Gradient

by Anders Cahill

  By the time this new branch of the starnet was approximately seventy percent complete, the second ship was projected to arrive. By using the starhubs completed so far, that ship could jump much closer, to a new hub that would be built around a massive star called Dromedar. From there, the crew would travel two hundred twenty-three years at near-light to Eaiph, only a third of the original journey.

  By then Saiara and her team would have already been gone from Forsara for almost a millennium. And, if they had survived the journey across space, that means they would have been on the planet for over four hundred years. Who knows what kind of world would be waiting when the second ship arrived? And, if Saiara was still alive, who knows what kind of woman she would become?

  When we made love that night, she tasted of salt and rosewater. I drank her in, moving my hands and lips across her body. It was a desperate, gentle, bittersweet coupling. As we drifted off to sleep, I pictured her surrounded by descendants, the first generations of people born on Eaiph. I vowed to myself that I would be on that second ship.

  * * *

  When I woke the next morning, Saiara was gone.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Shugguth will rise in twenty minutes,” the roomheart replied. “Which means Saiara and the rest of the frontier party will arrive at the crystal garden for the ceremony in four hours and fifty-seven minutes,” it answered my real question.

  Today, Saiara walked the garden of forking paths. After dozens of years in training on Transcendence, and four years in the academy on Forsara, she was graduating.

  Four years. Most cadets spent well over a decade at the academy. But when the majority of us first-years were still in large lectures and introductory coursework, she had already begun her apprenticeship with Viziadrumon, one of the most respected teachers in the academy. As always, Saiara surged ahead.

  After that first-year of common core curricula, cadets started branching into different specializations, guided by drumons like Vizia, who took on apprentices based on interest, ability, and temperament. With privileged access to the academy’s training facilities and information archives, we also had the freedom to pursue our own interests, chasing down flights of fancy and wild ideas in our spare time. Or we might sign on for praxis assignments, like my work with Starnet and my ill-fated expedition to the Linstar.

  This combination of guided learning and personalized exploration and experimentation ensured each cadet ended up in a place of competence and expertise. There were even some cadets who never left the Academy. They discovered that they could best serve the Fellowship from within. When they graduated, they became scholars. Archivists. Caretakers. Drumons.

  There is no actual garden of forking paths. It is metaphor. Jorn Borges, a scion of Eledar and one of the three founders of the Academy, along with Sebedas and Dwon Ru Wot, was the first to conceptualize the idea. His controversial theory of a unified, interconnected multiverse led him to conclude that space-time is like a garden, every choice a seed that fosters new growth or a vine that chokes off one path and opens another. Each choice alters all the choices to come. Some paths lead us apart, while others all end up arriving at the same destination, no matter the route. Endless forking paths dividing and coming together again, weaving through the universes.

  Over time, the notion took root in the academy, and his metaphor came to represent the moment when a cadet completed her training, and made her own choice about how best to serve the Fellowship. Any one of the dozens of gardens scattered across the campus might serve as the ceremonial location, and each one is unique; manicured botanaereums; wild patches of gorse and whisper grass; sculptured hedges and evergreens; sweeping flower beds, kaleidoscoping with color.

  Some gardens were well-known and well-trod, places for gathering and communion. Others were obscured; nestled in a courtyard; hidden behind a false wall or beneath a cellar door; perched on a rooftop; lining the walls of a deep cavern. Each garden was beautiful in its own way, and each drew certain people to it, as if the gardens were visible expressions of the ineffable interior qualities that define us.

  Saiara’s ceremony was taking place at the crystal garden. Graceful sculptures and lush fountains huddled between dense crystal and gemstone formations. Quartz. Citrine. Agate. Tourmaline. Lapis. Countless varieties, some of the minerals so rare that no other known specimens existed on the planet.

  The caretakers of the crystal garden tended to these stones as if they were living entities, and a part of me liked to think it was true. Crystals held a deep internal symmetry that manifested in a dizzying variety of natural shapes resulting from the intense tectonic pressure of the planet. They could then be carved to form dazzling gems. Or sculpted into gorgeous, impossibly fluid forms. Or shaped into resonant bowls and spheres that produced rich, harmonic vibrations. Some people even claimed they had healing properties, as if the symmetry of the crystals might somehow influence the physical world towards deeper harmony.

  So it made sense to me that this was where Saiara should make her walk. She had been forged from a young age to shine with a dazzling brightness. Her presence was healing. Inspiring. Humbling. She found patterns and symmetry where others only experienced chaos. She resonated with those around her, bringing out the best in them and in herself. These qualities that I loved were the same qualities that had helped her excel as an apprentice with the Farseers.

  When I arrived, I found a group of seven ovates praying at a large crystal bowl filled with limpid water. Each one bowed in succession, bald pate swinging low, forehead touching the surface of the water, then rising back up, eyes open wide in an expression of shocking intensity, lips moving with some silent psalm. I sank into a trance as they repeated their devotions, over and over, a silent, hypnotic rhythm, punctuated by the quiet splashing water, until I heard approaching voices.

  I turned and saw another group of people rounding the bend of the path. They emerged from behind a beautiful and somewhat terrifying sculpture that depicted figures climbing from the very rock from which they were carved, hands and feet and faces pushing out from the solid mineral core. As the group passed the sculpture, it seemed for a moment that they were all of one piece, that these people had come from inside the stone, and were free now, vibrant with life.

  Four were at the front, talking and laughing with each other. They were followed by pausha Sen Sennet speaking in hushed tones with another person I did not recognize. As soon as I saw Sen, I realized that this was the crew of the frontier ship, here to participate in Saiara’s walk.

  Saiara came last, calm and focused, her blue eyes glinting like agates. When she saw me, she smiled, and walked over.

  I embraced her.

  “Thank you for coming, Oren.”

  I sighed. “Thank you. I would not be here, a hundred times over, if not for you.”

  She touched my cheek. “This garden is beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.

  “It reminds me of you,” I said.

  Her laugh was a shining pearl. I ached to hold the sound of it in my hands, to keep it safe with me, even after she was gone.

  “How so?” she said.

  “Beauty. Resilience. Purity of form. This is your garden. This garden is you.”

  Her eyes started to water.

  “Saiara?”

  She wiped away her tears, but more came on. “What if this is a mistake?”

  “A mistake?”

  “Leaving you like this. What if we never see each other again?”

  I felt helpless. We looked at each other, searching for something.

  “You pulled me back from the edge,” I said. “I was running away, lost in the dreamtime, but you brought me back. Now you’re leaving, and I honestly don’t know what I’ll do without you. I would keep you here with me forever if I could.

  “But this… Saiara, this is your chance. This is why you left Jarcosa. Not for me. If I made you stay for me, that would be the mistake. You have been one of the greatest gifts of my life. But you
do not belong to me. The galaxy needs you.”

  It was all true. That didn’t make it any less painful to say it.

  She took my hand. “You won’t be alone after I’m gone. I have one more gift for you.”

  “You do? What is it?”

  She smiled. It made her look sad. “You’ll find out tomorrow. I don’t know if you’ll like it, but I promise you, in the end, you will be grateful for it.”

  “I’ll take whatever you have to offer. Always.”

  She seemed about to say something. Instead, she leaned up, and gave me a long, lingering kiss, running her hands through my hair.

  Then elder pausha Sandara arrived. The ovates stopped their devotions at the crystal pool and came to stand at her side, forming a semicircle, with the elder pausha at the crest.

  “It’s time,” I said.

  “I know,” she said, but she stayed facing me.

  “Here,” I said, reaching into my cloak. “I brought you a gift too.”

  Her eyes went wide as violet light bathed her face. “The aurastal! From Dunsemai’s theater. I can’t believe you still have it.”

  “Take it,” I said. “So that some part of me will always be with you.”

  She took a deep breath, her face a play of different emotions, and hooked the amulet around her neck.

  “I love you, Oren. With everything I have.”

  “I love you too. Now go. They’re all waiting for you.”

  She turned away from me and walked towards Sandara and the ovates. She stood in front of the elder pausha and bowed. The rest of the frontier party stepped in behind her, completing the circle, Saiara at the center. Everyone lowered their heads.

  Everyone except Sandara. The elder pausha found my eyes. She smiled, lifting her hand to me. One of the ovates stepped back, creating a space in the circle. Sandara nodded encouragingly.

  I came and stood between the ovate and pausha Sen Sennet, closing the circle again.

  Sandara gave a satisfied look. Then she spoke. “Saiara Tumon Yta,” she said in a quiet voice. “Today, you become another in a great lineage of explorers and pioneers. The path you have chosen comes with great sacrifice, for you must turn your back on Forsara and look now to the stars. To the new world that you will help create. In the journey to come, you will bring life to another corner of our galaxy. The light of the Fellowship shines brighter with your energy. We raise our voices in welcome to you, and in farewell.”

  Everyone lifted their heads, voices swelling as one, singing out the long, beautiful tone of making, echoing in the crystal garden, gorgeous harmonies vibrating through the gemstones.

  I sang with them, quiet, letting my voice get lost in the sound.

  One by one, the voices faded away until there was only the gurgling of the fountain, the quiet rhythm of our breath, and my heart in my chest.

  The circle parted.

  Saiara looked up at me, sadness and joy playing on her face. She reached out and squeezed my hand. We were both crying.

  “I will come for you,” I whispered. “I swear it.”

  The aurastal at her neck blazed with purple light.

  “May the light of awareness shine forever in your favor,” Sandarapausha said, touching her hand to the Fellowship sigil clasped to the blue sash above her cream cloak, “and may the spirits of the Scions travel with you.”

  Saiara stepped through the breach in the circle and followed the winding path through the crystal garden until she was lost from sight.

  16 Eclipse

  Someone was shaking me. “Come on now, young blood. Rise up and claim the day!”

  I kept my eyes closed and swatted at the air.

  “Ah ah ah. No you don’t.” A palm smacked against my cheek. “Up now.”

  I opened my eyes. My vision was still blurry with sleep. I saw bright eyes and smiling teeth, but I could not make sense of the person’s features.

  “Darkness is coming, Oren. The suns are moving into alignment. In three days, Shugguth will eclipse Appollion, casting the whole eastern hemisphere in a bath of silvery purple light, leaving the western hemisphere in total darkness. An auspicious time.”

  I was dizzy and confused. Smoke filled the air, a palpable haze. There was the sound of bubbling water. Someone nearby coughed. I looked up, and a figure stood over me, looming huge in the smoky chamber.

  “Who are you?” I asked him. “What have you done? I… I don’t feel right.”

  “Your mind is weak right now. Your failure eats away at you.”

  I knew this voice. It was the voice that had filled my mind during the qualifiers. “Viziadrumon?” I propped myself up on my forearms and hung my head towards my chest, scrunching my face, trying to focus. “Is this… is this a test?

  He smiled. “A test? Yes, I suppose it is. A test of your personal resolve.”

  “My resolve to do what?”

  “Do you remember the training session on Ourthian? You were willing to risk your life rather than fail the simulation. I think that was because you did not truly believe you could fail. The gift of youth, and also its curse. But now, faced with your losses on Lin Den, you want to run away.”

  My head was spinning. I felt a sickness in my stomach.

  “If you cannot stand and face failure, then it will destroy you.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “It is time for you to choose, Oren. Either you come with me as my apprentice, or you leave the academy. If you cannot decide, we will choose for you.”

  “Your… did you say your apprentice?”

  He placed his hand on my forehead. It felt warm at first, gentle. Then it started to get heavier. Soon, his hand felt like a massive weight. I tried to resist him, to lift my arms, to move my head, but I could not.

  “You’re hurting me.” My voice sounded pitiful, weak, distant.

  “The pain you feel is all the pain you carry inside of you. The psychogenic serum is working its way through your system, cleansing you. It is going to get worse before it gets better. But it is a necessary first step to prepare you for the road ahead.”

  He lifted his hand, but the weight and pain were still there. It felt as if my whole body were pinned beneath a hot iron plank. I wanted to scream, but I could not open my mouth anymore.

  Vizia leaned in very close, searching my face. “Soon, Oren, the pain will be too much to bear. You will cross a threshold. Try your best to remember what you see. It will not be easy. But you really must try. When you return, we can talk about what comes next.”

  He stood, looking down at me. He was not smiling. My vision turned red at the edges. It felt as if my whole body was vibrating with my screams, but no sound came out. The pain was beyond hearing. Searing light enveloped me.

  * * *

  I walk the streets near my quarters in Manderley. I am shirtless, in the popular fashion, and my seeker drones are resting quiet, looped like a chain around my neck. I want to see it all with my own eyes, not with the digital eyes of the drones. I look around at all of these incredible beings from across the universe. A towering giant with emerald green skin. A humanoid robot, varnished in gold. Tiny, winged creatures, no bigger than my hand, flitting through the air. One lands on my shoulder, speaking in a strange tongue I do not understand. I swat it away.

  A beautiful woman with skin the color of the earth and dark hair curled in tight ringlets bumps into me.

  “Pardon me,” I say.

  She looks shocked to see me, recognition flashing across her face. But before either of us can say another word, the crowd sweeps us along in opposite directions and she is gone.

  I enter a temple at the edge of the market place. Broad marble and metal columns rise up and come together in wide arcs high overhead. Light pours in through the windows, shaped into perfect cones, edged so clearly that they seem immutable against the surrounding darkness. This view goes on so far that I can’t see where it ends. The columns come together at the point at the edge of my sight, a massive alleyway, stretchin
g out ahead of me.

  There is no one around. The silence of the space is like a physical presence. I try to step quietly, but even with bare feet, each step echoes in the room. I begin to run. The sound of my feet is a rhythmic tattoo, driving me on. The air is ice in my lungs.

  I run for a long time, but I don’t get tired. Ahead of me, there is an altar. I stand in front of it. Two tiny idols sit on the altar. They are both molded from a lightweight metal, smooth and polished. The detail is staggering. A snake, curled in a circle, eats its own tail. I can count every scale. I look into its slitted eye. It looks back at me. The other icon is a bird of prey, wings tucked at its side, eyes closed, head bowed, each feather carved with striking precision.

  I pick up the bird. A vulture. It opens its eyes and nips my hand with its beak, drawing a spot of blood. I drop it. It spreads its wings and flies away. The snake releases its tail and slithers after the bird.

  I am not alone at the altar. Something else moves in the shadows. I call out. My voice booms in the chambered space, surprising me. I don’t recognize the words echoing back. They are foreign and strange. Is that my voice?

  The shadows darken around me. Someone is whispering in my ear, but I still cannot make out the words. Something brushes my neck. I turn. Nothing. No one.

  I turn back, and Cere is standing in front of me. Her eyes are completely black. No whites. No irises. Just two deep wells of darkness. She opens her mouth, and there is a shining silver point of light coming from the back of her throat. The whisper in my ear grows to a shout. I cover my ears, but it is futile. The sound is getting louder and louder. I scream, but I cannot hear my own voice over the roaring.

  I collapse to the ground.

  Cere stands over me, but she is not Cere anymore.

  She is Ifrit.

  The silver light is winking in her mouth like a signal beacon. It is a coded message. In spite of the crushing noise in my head, I try to focus on her message.