by Sharon Hinck
When I didn’t move, she grabbed the other horn and shoved it at me. With the open side of the horn over her mouth, she stepped away, stretching the wires. “The Every would never speak apart from our talking tool.” I barely caught the words as she whispered them into the carved shape.
She gestured sharply, and I cautiously lifted my horn to my ear. “What be your ailment, that you can’t use a talking tool?” Her voice now carried loudly.
I jerked in surprise. Somehow her speech traveled clearly through the instrument.
“I truly meant no offense. I’ve never seen a talking tool.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then pointed to my mouth. I quickly copied her, repeating the words into the horn, as she moved her end over her ear. What a confusing way to communicate!
She waved a hand, and we switched positions of the tool again so I could listen to her. “My name be Plexia. I’ve never ventured past the lake to other villages, but they must be as backwards as I’ve heard.”
A repeating theme. Each village believed they were superior, and as far as I was concerned, they were all troubled. I smiled at her, hoping that wasn’t forbidden as well. Learning the rhythm of the tool, I shifted it from my ear to my mouth. “From what I’ve seen, each village has different skills.”
She puffed out her chest. “And ours be the best.” Her brow furrowed. “Though since we haven’t convened in a long time, some can’t work as well.”
Continuing to use the horns and wires and trying to ignore how ridiculous they felt, I invited her to show me more of her village. At her instruction, I tied Windrider to a post supporting her store’s porch roof. Then I followed closely—linked to her by the wires between us—as she led me deeper along streets that wove a complex pattern between shingled buildings that seemed to cant inward like leaning trees.
Curving between the rear of two buildings, we emerged at a patio. An old man moved energetically about a bench that held what looked like a strange sculpture. Yet pieces of the sculpture moved. He twisted a knob, tinkered with a blade, and scurried to one end of the bench. With a sharp crank, he set the whole sculpture into motion again, as I puzzled out its purpose. A wheel spun and knocked a lever, which pulled down a thread that reached several feet up from the bench to a weight. As the weight lowered, a knife pulled across a persea fruit that had been pierced by a stick and held in place.
A few swipes of skin came free. The man leaned forward and stared hard at the effect, then hurried back to the starting point and turned the crank again. Then he pulled his attention away from the contraption and smiled at us.
“See?” Plexia said into her talking tool, worry shading her tone. “He notices us. He becomes distracted. He cares for people around him. He may need to be staying extra at the lake. He does much better work after a convening.”
Still trying to understand the purpose of his machine, I moved to a full basket of persea, picked one up, and peeled it. A few easy movements, and the fruit was ready to eat. I handed it to the man. A rueful smile tugged the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t offer one end of his talking tool to me.
Plexia pulled me away. As we walked to the next building, she spoke into the horn. “Did you mean to mock his skill?”
“Not at all. I just don’t understand. Why make things so complicated?”
“With his machine, there is no need to touch the fruit.”
And that was important? I loved the texture of the bumpy persea skin, even the taste of my fingers after peeling the creamy fruit. Before I could question her further, we reached a tall tower constructed with flexible branches and vines. A young woman balanced on a platform higher than any nearby buildings. A fragile railing surrounded her, and as a wave rolled beneath us, I caught my breath. The movement could make her topple from the high perch.
She didn’t seem alarmed, even as the tower swayed. Both her hands held a glinting telescope. She scanned the sky, angled away from the setting subsun.
“Does your village study the sky?” Plexia asked.
A huge mounted telescope rested atop the Order’s tower but was used to spy on the villages or study weather patterns out to sea. “Can she see over the barrier trees from up there?”
“The what?”
Conversation this way was tedious, so I waved toward the side of the village furthest from the lake trail. Her mouth puckered, but she nodded and led me onward.
Deep in the town, more torches lit the streets and plazas. Devices mounted on the buildings held three or even five torches, and glinting metal panels reflected and amplified the light. As the sky darkened, the village still glowed and buzzed with activity.
I wanted to hurry to the rim and see if I could finally find a path to the sea, but my steps slowed often as I passed more curiosities. Some of the inventions seemed useful, and I wished I had time to draw diagrams of their lighting devices, the lens for telescopes, the vat that churned laundry. Ginerva would love that.
Most of the people wore trousers and tunics covered with pouches and pockets, straps and buckles. Most also wore a talking tool draped around their necks. Two young men seated at a table didn’t even glance up as we brushed past them. I stopped. Their feverish eyes stared, unblinking, at the surface of the table where springs and gears and tubes passed a colored liquid back and forth between them. One man snatched up a carved channel, added a few drops from a mug in front of him, then replaced it. Liquid swirled through, and the color altered subtly. He sat back and crossed his arms, nodding to the man across from him.
A frown of concentration puckered the other man’s brow, and he shook his head. I wanted to keep watching and figure out the purpose of their efforts. They both looked as if they hadn’t slept in days. When I asked Plexia, she beamed. “A complex game. When we design or play or build, our focus is true. Sleep be a waste of time.”
I limped along behind Plexia with a coil of tension winding up my spine. The spinning, whirling motion on all sides made my head throb. Frenzied and absorbed expressions strained everyone’s faces. They were so driven, so lost. I hadn’t wanted to come here, but now I prayed I could offer this people a breath of truth and peace.
We reached the last few cottages on the seaward side of town. As with the other towns, a wide field provided room for village gatherings, although tonight the fire pits were cold and bare. Plexia stopped. “What did you mean to see here?”
Hope sped my pulse as I let go of the talking tool and limped more quickly across the field and whispered to myself. “A way home.”
Plexia crossed her arms and settled on a bench near one of the cottages at the edge of the village. I hurried across the daygrass meadow toward the barrier trees, glad to leave behind the smoky air trapped between buildings and the incessant grinding and buzzing of machines in perpetual motion.
I broke into a loping gait and quickly reached the barrier trees. As with everywhere else along the island’s rim, the foliage towered many stories above. Supple trees wove together, and vines bound them to create a tight cage. I traced the edge, pushing aside bracken, poking my head into small gaps, searching for a path toward the sea.
Nothing.
What should I do next? The Maker must have a purpose for guiding me to this village. But how could I help the people here? The familiar throb pulsed through my tendon again. Jalla’s liniment had helped for a while, but now every limping step took huge effort. I could use more of the balm, but there was such a small amount, it was probably wise to save it for my most dire need.
Don’t delay. The multicolored star rain comes soon. The powerful yet nearly imperceptible voice of the Maker resonated through my being. I turned from the rim to study the strange village. People scurried about, so involved in their projects that I had no idea how to even get anyone’s attention. Another woman approached Plexia, whose head tilted as she listened on her talking tool. The woman gestured, although her face was hidden by the carved horn. The two women didn’t even face each other, more concerned about keeping t
he wire between them taut.
I crossed the open field toward them, noting again the empty fire pits. When I reached Plexia, she offered me one end of her talking tool. “Do your people gather here after the work of the day?” I asked. Plexia relayed my question to her friend. They both laughed. The other woman said something to Plexia, then handed the free end of the tool to me and walked away.
Plexia lifted her chin. “The work of the day never truly ends, does it? We only gather for the revel before the convening.”
I blinked against the blazing torches that lined the nearest alley. “But the land is full of tubers and fruit and easy bounty. You have sturdy shelters. Why work so hard?”
“The Every knows we must.” It was hard to tell with the tool over her mouth, but Plexia seemed annoyed at my questions.
My eyes stung from smoke, my ankle throbbed, and my stomach growled and reminded me of my long day of riding. “Have you considered that the Every can be in error?”
She drew back, gaping, then tugged the tool away from me. She slung it around her neck and stalked up the path into town. I’d become as undiplomatic as Brantley, but I wouldn’t berate myself.
I caught up to Plexia and touched her shoulder. She bristled but stopped walking and allowed me to pick up the mouthpiece.
“I’m sorry. I meant no offense. I’m from a different land where the voice of the Every was spoken through the Order. Yet that Order damaged our people.”
She sighed. “It’s clear you have no understanding of how the world works. Perhaps you’re addled from your journey. Do you have a place to rest tonight?”
I shook my head, relieved that she actually looked at me to see the movement, so I didn’t need to speak into the infernal tool. She beckoned, and I followed. We returned to the lakeward edge of town and moved Windrider. We tethered her where she could nibble tender daygrass and reach a low water trough. Then Plexia led me into her home.
The entryway was a closed box surrounded by doors. She hung her talking tool on a peg and opened the left door. I followed her, fighting to shake off the claustrophobia that the segmented space—and the entire cluttered village—evoked. The room held a tiny hearth with a small fire. When she stirred it, the flames pushed back the room’s shadows and revealed walls lined with shelves. The shelves held small cupboards and drawers with a variety of handles. Tools whose purpose I couldn’t discern hung from hooks, filling one wall.
“Have a seat. I’ll heat water for tsalla.” Unamplified, her voice sounded more gentle and sweet than when it carried through the wire.
“We don’t need to use the speaking tool?” I perched on a stool near the hearth.
She rolled her eyes. “Not indoors, strange girl. How far away is this land you claim to come from?”
My ribs contracted around an empty longing inside my chest. A good question. How far was Meriel right now? Had it followed the currents and traveled far across the expanse of the sea? If Navar had safely reached Meriel, and if Teague found the message, and if Saltar Kemp found a way to move the island toward this one, my land may be just on the other side of the barrier trees. But if any link in that chain had broken, my land could be lost to me forever.
Lost like Brantley. The insidious whisper in my thoughts was as different from the Maker’s guidance as shadow from firelight, and I reached my hands out to the warmth of Plexia’s flame as I fought back that dread. That was not the voice I wanted to listen to. “Our island floats on the currents, just as yours does. When we saw you in the distance, my companion and I traveled here, seeking help for our people.”
She cast her gaze around me, and her eyes narrowed, gauging if I was addled enough to imagine a friend that no one else could see. “And your companion? Be he invisible?”
“He is visiting the red village.”
Her expression relaxed. She lifted a pitcher, poured water through a tube, and watched as it dripped into a kettle, which pivoted on an ingenious holder to rest over the flames. Then she opened a ceramic jar and pulled out a handful of herbs. Instead of crumbling them and sprinkling them into the kettle, she placed them in a box on the table that held round stones suspended by string. After the herbs were in place, she vigorously shook the box, sending the rocks into a clacking frenzy. Once she was satisfied, she shook the shredded herbs into the kettle.
I stretched my ankle out toward the fire. “What’s the purpose of that tool?”
“Don’t you smash your herbs when you make tsalla?”
I picked up some stray leaves from the table and rubbed them in my palm. “Like this? Does your tool do so much better?”
Plexia frowned. “Perhaps not, but it saves time.”
I still didn’t understand. “And why do you need that time?”
A log popped, and sparks flew upward. Plexia’s eyes reflected their glint. “There is so much more to be done.” Her words jammed together with pressure behind them.
She was every bit as trapped as I had been at the Order, when a saltar would make us jump over and over until our muscles screamed for mercy. Little difference that these villagers held the whip to their own backs, they were still trapped.
Plexia served me a mug of tsalla. Homesickness washed over me at the flavor of sweet seawater and citrus herbs, and I pushed aside the melancholy, preparing for a fruitful conversation. If the Maker wanted me to help these people, this was the place to start.
My hostess had other plans, though. She took only a few sips before setting down her cup and opening a nearby cabinet. A desk-like surface folded down from inside the cabinet, and rows of compartments glittered with metal gears and rods and bits. She hustled across the room and grabbed parchment and a willow pen. Soon she was lost in scribbling and assembling the metal bits.
If I waited for her to finish her work, I might be waiting a long time. “What are you working on? Can I help in some way?”
She jerked and looked back at me, blinking a few times. “Oh.”
Clearly, she’d forgotten I was even there. I sighed and passed her the cup she’d left on the table. She managed a sheepish smile and rolled her shoulders. “We all be getting lost in our work.”
Maybe that could be a point of connection. I nodded. “I was a dancer, and when I was memorizing a new pattern, nothing could distract me.”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “But this close to the convening, I do get distracted. Our people be needing this, and I’m getting behind.”
“What is it?” I asked again.
“A way to measure fractions of the hours between primary sunrise and subsunset. We be needing to mark time.”
My people marked time by days passing. And the gradual movement of the suns throughout the day. “I never thought of measuring time in smaller pieces.” I took another drink, rolling the thought around in my mind. “Although at the Order the bells declared midday and first sunset.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Yes, yes. You see, don’t you? We have so much to do, and if people feel the time beating past, they will work harder.” She set down her mug and turned back to her work. “I almost have the first part figured.” With a squinted adjustment, she lifted her hands away, and a metal rod swung side to side with a loud tick as it bounced off each side of a triangular box.
I stood and leaned over her shoulder. As much as I worried about the strange obsessions of Plexia and her people, I couldn’t help but admire the shining machine. “It’s like the drums I used to dance to . . . or like a heartbeat.”
She rubbed her eyes, bags from sleeplessness darkening beneath them. “Next I be calculating how many beats in a day. Then I be making this larger.” Another flare of energy surged through her, and she picked up the pen. “Imagine the whole village hearing the measure of time all day!”
The frenzy was taking hold again. I didn’t want to lose her in her frantic work again. “Plexia?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you eaten? You’ve accomplished something amazing, but maybe now would be a good time for a meal?”
>
“No time.” She scrawled another diagram on a scrap of parchment.
“But you told me you saved time with the herb smasher. You’ve probably used other contraptions today that have saved you time. So why not take some of what you’ve saved and eat?”
Her hands stilled. “Where does the time go that we have saved?” A thread of weariness wove through her quiet question.
“I don’t know. But I do know your village will endure even if you pause to eat and sleep.”
Persistent coaxing finally wooed her away from her project. I helped make a rich soup full of tubers and mushrooms. Much as I loved the abundant fruit always available for the picking, I appreciated the warmth in my belly and new flavors that the soup provided. The lunch of roasted fish had been many hours ago.
“How’s your soup?” I asked, ladling another helping into Plexia’s bowl.
She leaned her chair back against the wall and rested her feet on a stool. “You were right. The lenka pit added a nice bite to the broth.”
“I’d like to return your hospitality with a gift. A better gift than a new soup recipe.”
By the firelight, while Plexia was in a warm, receptive mood, I shared my story. The years in the Order, the darkness hidden behind perfection, the discovery of the Maker’s letter, and how He offered us freedom.
Her gaze drifted to the invention and her parchments. When she rubbed her eyes, I felt her exhaustion. Endless studying, designing, improving, and altering must be a heavy burden. For a moment a wistful longing wafted across her face.
This was my chance to convince her. “The Gardener does something to each village when they arrive at the convening.”
She focused on me again. “Of course. The convening unites us. Protects us. Puts our attention back on what is important.”
I shook my head. “No. He changes people. Think about it. It’s nearing time for the next star rain. How are people acting?”
“Terrible. They linger in conversations. They slow their efforts.”
