Preserving Hope

by Alex Albrinck

  Will merely inclined his head, accepting what he assessed to be a compliment, or, failing that, a positive comment.

  “I have work to do to prepare for the Trading mission tomorrow, Arthur, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get to work,” Eva said. Arthur nodded, and Eva shut the door. Will was still unclear as to what Elizabeth was doing there, or why Eva had given Arthur a silver coin if the two had such an adversarial relationship.

  Arthur walked the handful of steps to the room to the right of Eva’s, and opened the door, ushering Will inside. The layout was a mirror image to that of Eva’s home, with the beds and tables sharing a common wall.

  “This will be your room,” Arthur said. “We will get one of our scribes to write your name upon the door…”

  “I can write my own name,” Will said. He immediately realized he should have stayed silent.

  Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You can write? And presumably read, as well?”

  Will silently cursed himself for speaking on impulse, but it was too late to deny it now. “I can, a little bit.”

  Arthur smiled. “We’re talking about trying to teach everyone how to read and write, for it’s essential to our work. You can assist in that way as well. You’ve only been here a few hours, Will, and yet you’re already proving yourself to be quite valuable.”

  Will sat on the small bed and looked at Arthur. “And yet I don’t know what it is that we’re striving for here. You’d indicated that you’ve made some advances but that there’s still greater potential to reach. What does that mean, exactly? And what do you mean that some here have already seen it?”

  Arthur sighed. “I feel that I’m doing all of the talking, and I’m sure that Eva will provide her rather unique views on everything. But, I shall answer your question. Tell me this, Will: do you believe in magic?”

  Will blinked. “Magic? You mean, witches and cauldrons and wands? No, I don’t.”

  Arthur nodded. “I don’t, or more to the point, I didn’t. And yet somehow, we’ve always had stories of people doing the miraculous, haven’t we? How do you suppose that stories of people flying or turning invisible or reading thoughts began?”

  Will shrugged. “People have imagination. They see a bird fly, imagine that they can do it, and tell a story about it.”

  “Yet we’ve been told all our lives that people can’t fly. Why not simply talk about someone quite skilled at something everyone can do? A person who can run more quickly than anyone else, or cut down trees at a high rate of speed, or something of that sort? Why do our stories so often focus on what we know people can’t do?”

  Will considered the question, then glanced at Arthur. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s because we know, deep down, that we can do those things. It’s simply buried inside us, waiting to be unlocked. We know that somewhere, out on this flat world under the great dome of the sky, that there are people who are flying or reading thoughts or other such impossible things. They are seen, and those reports travel around. That’s where we get our stories.”

  Will stared at him. “So, you’re saying that there are people who actually can fly?”

  “No. I’m saying that all of us could fly. Only a very few actually have unlocked that ability, however. But that will change, because that is what this group exists to do. Some of our members, our Travelers, track down these stories of people doing the impossible. They travel around until they find those actually performing these feats, and see them with their own eyes. Then, most importantly, they seek to learn how these people have managed to do it. And then we assemble that knowledge here and teach ourselves to do the same.”

  Will laughed. “So you’re telling me that there are people here, in this village, who can fly?”

  “No, but the Travelers have seen it with their own eyes.”

  “So you have your own people return and tell you stories, and you believe it? Even though no one yet has flown, here, in this village?”

  Arthur’s eyes flashed, and Will could read his anger. This was a man who did not like being challenged. “Our Traders are quite skilled at what they do, and they seem to be able to accurately sense emotion and thought, beyond what mere chance or good fortune could explain. The information collected by our Travelers indicates that these abilities are the gateway into the more impressive feats of legend.” He looked uncertain, though only for a moment. Will suspected that he wasn’t quite as convinced of what he was saying as he seemed.

  Will nodded. He could do everything mentioned, of course, though he’d not had much time to practice flying and only knew the basics of the theory from his studies with Adam. But he could see that this is where it all began, and decided he needed to show interest lest he seem in any way unusual. “I see. Those skills would be incredibly useful for a Trader. You’d know when to push for a better deal or when to stop, for example. How do I learn to do these things? It would certainly help me contribute.”

  Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “You can be part of the community effort to learn from the bits of knowledge the Travelers bring to us. That’s the purpose of this community. It’s a place where we share information so that we can all grow to be the most powerful people we can become.” He nodded to Will and headed toward the open door. “You’ll want to get some rest. Eva will likely be here shortly to prepare you for your first Trading mission.” Arthur shut the door behind him and left.

  Will reclined on the small bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. He could sense Elizabeth’s Energy in the room next door. As sensitive as he was to Energy at this point, it was as if she was shouting at the top of her lungs. His tracking senses picked her Energy up as a clear flute-like sound, a beautiful tone that he committed to memory and to his heart. He’d be able to track her easily with such a recognizable tone.

  A knock at his door startled him, and the faint waft of Energy — with a harp-like sound — told him it must be Eva. He strode to the door and opened it, confirming his suspicions. “Will, we have a Trading mission starting tomorrow morning, and must prepare ourselves throughout the day today. Come with me.” She turned and walked away, clearly expecting him to follow. Will smiled. She was a strong woman in a time where women were expected to be subservient. He imagined that caused Arthur no end of grief, and his respect for a woman he’d only just met increased as a result.

  Will caught up with Eva, who began speaking without preamble. “Our carpenters ensure we have enough wagons to allow one per Trader, and that enables us to carry the maximum amount of material into each city. We obviously had no idea you’d be joining us, so you’ll ride with me this time and we’ll use that time to teach you our approaches. We rotate cities and towns randomly, because they’ve all started to figure out that we’re quite skilled at what we do. The longer we can go between visits, the better. It’s been at least a year since we’ve visited this particular destination.”

  Will noticed that the village had come to life during the time he’d spent walking to Eva’s room and resting in his own. The craftspeople worked the various shops to full capacity, with much more noise emanating than during his previous pass. He watched as carpenters assembled components into wagons that could haul large amounts of material. “We’ve found that the wagons take up a large amount of space, and we don’t have the kind of space inside the walls,” Eva explained. “And we don’t want to leave them outside the walls, lest any random traveler discover them and help themselves.” She gave a pointed glance at Will at the last point, and Will smiled. “So they build the bodies and wheels and axles and seats and store them in pieces, which is much more efficient than storing the entire wagons. It’s unusual, but it’s something one of our carpenters thought of a few years back and it seems to work.”

  Will nodded, impressed. They’d essentially arrived at the concept of an assembly line and interchangeable parts centuries before Ford and Whitney popularized them in the final quarter of the millennium. As each wagon finished assembly, the carpenters used horses to pull th
e them in front of the Stores of finished goods, where they were loaded down with ruthless efficiency, and large tarps were added to constrain the bundles and provide protection from potential storms. The horses pulled the wagons into a line near the gate, as if they were preparing floats for a parade. Will, with nothing better to do, spent the day assisting with the loading of materials into the wagons, meeting people named Aldus and Maynard, Eleanor and Matilda, Joseph and Gerald, among others.

  He watched Eva throughout, both with his normal sight and his enhanced senses, noting that she was painting numbers on thin slivers of wood which were loaded into the wagons; clearly, Will wasn’t the only Trader who could write. She also conversed with the various craftmasters as their Stores were emptied into the wagons. Others approached her, appearing to rattle off lists of information, which Eva captured with her paint on similar slivers of wood while nodding. By nightfall, when Will was able to break for a meal of bread, vegetable stew, and water, he was sore and tired but felt like a greater part of the community.

  The next day, he’d see if he could contribute as a Trader.

  IV

  Mission

  Will woke early the next morning, stiff and sore from the previous day’s exertions. Though he was in prime health due to the exercise and nutritious eating habits he’d developed while living with the Alliance — and that hideous Purge — he still wasn’t used to intense physical labor. In the past, such exertion would have left him in pain; now, it was somewhat exhilarating.

  He sensed that no one else was yet awake, and felt the need to explore the forest around the community a bit more. He knew that the gate at the front would be closed and locked, and given that the villagers had seemed ready to maim him for entering the village by climbing the walls, he decided he should leave the village without being seen. Eva, who lived in the next room, had shown a hint of Energy development; he wasn’t sure if she’d be able to detect the burst of Energy he’d create by teleporting. Nor did he know the area around them well enough to visualize a target location. He glanced at the window nearest to the the protective outer walls of the village, and smiled.

  Will made more noise than he’d expected wriggling out of his room through that window, and he wondered if Eva or others nearby heard him. He used the wall of his room and the outer wall of the village to shimmy up to the roof, and then jumped onto the top of the outer wall, landing with a thud that temporarily knocked the wind from his lungs. He took several deep breaths, and then dropped to the ground outside the village. He felt an inordinate amount of pride in his accomplishment.

  He wandered around, enjoying the fresh air and the sense of freedom. He’d only just now recognized how quiet it was here; he’d lived nearly all of his life in the twenty-first century, an era marked by a constant thrum of electrical devices and motorized vehicles. The Alliance camp had seemed nearly silent by comparison, for the nanos used to perform most chores and build nearly all of the buildings made no sound. The silence in this era was nearly deafening, and yet the silence provided him with a sense of tranquility he’d not felt in months. His children were alive and well, and his wife – young though she might be – was here, under his watchful and protective eye.

  After spending time sharing Energy with the trees, a practice he resolved to perform daily, he decided he needed to get back to his room. He wasn’t certain that he could get back in without causing a commotion, and appearing suddenly in his room seemed a poor idea as well. Somebody might be looking for him to start the day. He compromised, teleporting himself to the top of the roof, which slanted down toward the outer wall, and hoped Eva wouldn’t notice the Energy burst. He then dropped to the short distance to the ground — the rear wall was only around five feet high — and climbed back in through the window. He’d need to figure out a way to ensure sufficient privacy to allow teleporting directly out of and into his room, one that didn’t rely upon him having to in and out of the window and then on to his roof to get in and out. Perhaps he could figure out how to use the nanos to accomplish this goal; he certainly had plenty of time to work that out.

  Uncertain as to what was expected of him to start the day, Will elected to exit his room and head toward the front gate. The sun was just over the horizon, as best he could tell through the walls and thick cover of trees; he could see the drops of dew still on the leaves overhead. The five wagons, burdened with the goods produced by the residents of the community, sat in a state of readiness near the gate, as if they, too, were eager to begin their mission. Will passed the silos which held the various grains stored by the community, aiming for his target location. He slipped quietly past the Lowell house, moving to the largest building, the building with the sign reading ALIO INCREMENTUM SCHOLA.

  Will’s Latin was a bit rusty, but he believed that translated to “personal growth school.” It was, in his mind, the obvious forerunner of the name Aliomenti, a contraction of the words naming a building holding something of great importance. Whatever secrets the building held would not be discovered by normal means, for a lock sealed a metal chain fastened the large double doors. Will reached inside with his Energy, but found it difficult to sense what was there. He could get in, of course, but doing so in any of the various approaches available to him would most certainly give away more about his abilities than he cared to reveal at this point. Though the community seemed sleepy, he had a hunch that his vanishing while standing in front of the Schola would be noticed.

  He needed privacy before vanishing. Ah, the irony.

  Will turned and began to head back to his room. The morning walk, though short, had the effect of helping to loosen his muscles. He could flood his joints with Energy to the same effect, but found that working them in this way gave him more satisfaction.

  As he approached his room, he saw Eva approaching his door. “Good, you’re awake. I wasn’t sure if Arthur had explained the community’s morning ritual.”

  Will shook his head.

  “Our original mission, years ago, was one not chosen by our founding members. There were ten of us — five men and five women — and all of us were serfs.”

  “You were slaves?” Will asked, surprised.

  “Serfs, not slaves,” Eva corrected, glancing at the ground. Will’s empathic and telepathic skills, however, caught the truth; being serfs was a modified view of their history. They had, in fact, been slaves. They were property to be used up as their masters saw fit, rather than serfs who retained some distinct sense of self and had the right to buy and own property. “The baron who owned our lands watched many of his… serfs… die at an early age, and live their few days in poor health. He reasoned that if he could keep us in a less-sickly state, we could work harder. If we lived longer lives, he’d get more work out of us. It was easier to get work out of someone by extending their lives from twenty-five years to thirty, than to wait for a young child to grow strong enough to take the place of one dying so young.”

  Will shivered at the cold calculation.

  “So he pulled the ten of us out of servant quarters, out of mines, out of forests, out of his fields, off of the roads of his properties. He put us up in his smallest home, and charged us with figuring out why, exactly, we died so young. More critically, he wanted us to figure out how to change that, so that he could get an extra five to ten years worth of labor out of us. He left a handful of servants to handle day-to-day chores so we could focus on completing that task, rather than the daily hard labor we’d been accustomed to performing.”

  Will picked up on the historical revisionism once again. The other servants were there to handle day-to-day activities, to be sure, but the serfs in the experiment were not free to do as they wished. The baron would suggest something to test, and the serfs being tested would be forced to do as he pleased. If the tests succeeded and the serfs showed improvements in their health, the baron would order those techniques administered throughout his lands.

  If those techniques failed, the serfs died. And those acting as servants moved
in to take their place as test subjects, and were themselves replaced by other servants. Will felt a sudden sense of horror at the human test factory, but realized he needed to go along with their revised history.

  With some difficulty, he acknowledged her statement. “And I take it that you succeeded?”

  Eva nodded, her face contorted in the pain of the memory. Whether it was the memory of the “research” or the memory of being a slave that drove the expression, Will did not know. “When we finished, when he’d found satisfaction with what we’d learned, he told us to report back to our old stations the next day. We didn’t. We took various supplies, coins, and horses, and fled as far away as we could. We had no interest in going back to being sla—serfs. We had tasted a small sliver of freedom, and we wouldn’t live any other way. We’ve been here since.”

  “That’s why this place is hidden and has walls, isn’t it?” Will reasoned. “So that he can’t find you and take you back?”

  “Initially.” Eva’s face turned cold. “He wouldn’t be able to take us anywhere now.” The threat in the tone chilled Will to the bone. There were certainly more than ten people living here, and they were heavily armed at all times, both men and women, with two exceptions. Will and Elizabeth.

  “So what did you learn?” Will asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “It wasn’t terribly difficult to make a large difference. We found that something as simple as washing our entire bodies daily was a good thing, for example.” She glanced at Will. “I know most of us wash in that fashion once a month or less, but trust me, you’ll be glad of the results. We walk as a community to the Halwende each morning before beginning our daily work. I’m heading to the gate now to wait for the others.”