He had mentioned Carlin and his years with the mysterious Sect earlier, but for some reason, this vital bit of information had remained hidden.
– I had to be sure I could trust you. He sent the thought to me. I had the feeling he didn’t want Sharonne hearing it, in case she got mad with him for the implied insult. I wasn’t insulted, though. In his position, I might have been even more careful. After all, what did he really know about us? Anyway, the fact that he was willing to share it now showed that we had ticked whatever criteria he had set for us.
‘So, how do we contact this Sect?’ I said. ‘If they have as much information stored as you say, it’s the obvious place for us to go.’
‘It’s simple. We use the graffiti telegraph.’
Of course. Simple. Why didn’t I think of it?
‘What’s the graffiti telegraph?’ Erin’s question saved me the trouble. So, Bran explained.
The Village
Centre of the WildWood
December 9, 3383ad
SHARONNE
It is both simple and ingenious, a way of contacting the Sect that is totally visible and totally safe.
Jordan and Erin listen with growing respect, as Bran outlines the principles of it and she notes the rapt expressions on their faces.
‘It’s like a cipher,’ he begins. ‘A code that only members of the Sect and their sympathisers know. To arrange a meeting, you write a message on one of the message walls, in the form of a quote. There’s a lot to choose from, but my favourite is, “You are what you Serve!” It has historical significance, but I’ll explain that another time.
‘Anyway, you watch the wall and within a day or so, you’ll see a reply. It might be, “Know first yourself” or “Beware the second coming” or “Three’s a crowd”. It doesn’t matter what, because the clue is hidden in the wording. Any reference to a number identifies a location somewhere around or outside of the city. “One” or “first” or “only” is a small hut near the eastern edge of the Wood, while “five” or “fifth” or “on the fingers of your hand” is one of the market stalls near the south wall of the castle. The location is good for twenty-four hours from six o’clock in the evening of the date under the message. If for some reason you can’t make it, another message will appear the next day, with a different location, and so on for three days. After which you have to leave another message and start the process again.
‘Once you have the location, you go there and find coded instructions for the rendezvous point. There are twenty different spots, each one represented by the name of a tree, which is included in an otherwise irrelevant paragraph or poem. The meetings always take place at sunset, to minimise the chance of being seen. And your contact is always masked. You never see the face of your contact, so there’s no chance of identifying them later.
‘If there’s a reason for you to go to the Archive – and it has to be a good one – you’re blindfolded and taken there in a closed cart. At every stage, there’s at least two fail-safes to stop infiltration by the Families or their agents. That’s the way it’s been done for centuries, and it seems to work. And if it seems unnecessarily complicated, remember they’ve been protecting the Archive for over nine hundred years, but it would only take one slip-up for them to lose everything. The stakes are huge.’
‘When can we contact them?’ Jordan, of course. In the short time she has known them, it is clear that he is the risk-taker. Erin’s natural caution is the perfect foil for his enthusiasm and Sharonne can’t help envying their connection. Though they are careful to maintain the professional distance in front of the other crew members, when they are alone, or with Bran and herself, they relax into an easy oneness that speaks of something deeper and elemental.
‘I’ll get onto it straightaway.’
25
Questions
‘The Archives’
Old Bourne
December 11, 3383ad
LEANA
Mykal can hardly contain himself.
– It’s the most important thing that’s happened to the Sect since – forever. Do you realise how much we can learn from them? In a few days, they could solve mysteries we’ve spent centuries puzzling over. There are so many gaps we need filled and they have the answers.
Leana watches the young Esper, who sits with the members of the Council at the far end of the meeting space, discussing what the Other-Worlders want and making arrangements to bring them to the Archive.
Bran, he calls himself – a WildWood name. His clothing is brown and dull, designed to blend in with the trees of the forest, but ordinary enough not to stand out in the town or the surrounding villages. The Esper are experts at blending in. They have to be. Leana knows from bitter experience what it can mean to be discovered.
Mykal is watching him, not even pretending to hide his attention, but Bran doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. Because he is here in the Archive, there is an excitement in him that shines unShielded.
Perhaps he is unaware that there are Espers here. She is sure no one has mentioned it to him. His mission and the news he bears are far too important for any digression.
– Should we mind-speak him?
Mykal turns to face her.
– No hurry. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Let’s wait until they’re finished with their Council.
Their chance comes a few minutes later, when the meeting breaks up and the Council members go off to consider their plan of action. There is no question that the newcomers, or some of them, at least, must be brought to the Archive; the only questions are how and when.
Bran, on the other hand, is looking around himself like a new arrival in Paradise, unsure what to do next, now that he is here.
– Would you like a tour? Mykal’s question takes him by surprise and Leana intervenes to put him at ease.
– It’s just the two of us, Bran. No one else here can mind-speak. You must forgive Mykal for not warning you. He’s just a little excited by your news.
– You could say that. Mykal smiles. It’s only—
– The most important event ever. Yeah, we get it, Mykal. It still doesn’t excuse bad manners.
Mykal looks a little sheepish and Bran smiles, relaxing.
– I just didn’t expect—
– Espers? Why would you? According to Carl – he’s like the Sect historian for the Southern Archive – before Mykal, and then me, there’s only ever been one Esper Sect member, and that was decades ago.
– Carlin. The name slips out unguarded. Bran sits on a spare chair, facing them. He was my teacher. Everything of any importance that I know I owe to him.
– So would you? Like a tour, I mean?
There is no need for him to answer. His mind-tone is response enough.
ERIN’S STORY
Bran was away two days and when he returned to the Village he was glowing. Understandably.
It was all set. Five of us would accompany him to the Archive to meet with the Sect and share information. The details would be arranged in the usual way, when we were ready.
Ready? We’d been waiting almost nine hundred years for answers. We were definitely ready.
Before Bran had set out, we’d already decided on the make-up of the team who should undertake the trip to the Archive. As leader, I was an automatic choice, then Hanni and Eliita, as expedition historians and Alvy and Jordan as tech-experts. As it turned out, the Council had requested someone with technical expertise. They too had questions that had waited centuries for answers.
At first, I hadn’t really considered that this opportunity was as exciting for them as it was for us. For generations of Sect members to spend the centuries risking their lives in the service of one ideal was incredible enough, but the frustration of knowing that you might never gain the slightest understanding of what it was that you were safeguarding – that was unthink
able.
About as unthinkable as the journey we had just completed.
The only sticking point was Sharonne. We really wanted her unique perspective, with insights that no one else could bring to the history of the past nine centuries, or to the present. But it was a huge threat.
Jordan was all for taking her and telling them nothing about her Family origins, but Bran was vehemently against the plan. ‘We’d never get away with it. She’s Family, Jordan. That might not mean much to you, but around here it’s as obvious as a third eye. As soon as she opens her mouth they’ll know – if they don’t recognise her immediately, that is. She’s Sharonne de Vries of the Family de Vries. If we took her in without their agreement, they’d never let us bring her out. They can’t afford to. After all these years, they’re not about to take that kind of risk, so if we can’t convince them she’s no threat, she’ll have to stay in the Village.’
I could tell it was an option that hurt him even to express. He wanted her with him when we went and I understood his thinking, but there was too much at stake to risk jeopardising it.
‘What about getting one of their own resident Espers to read her?’ Jordan suggested, just as I was beginning to think we’d have to bail on including her.
Bran had mentioned the two telepaths living with the Sect, Mykal and Leana – both rescued from certain death and taken in by the secret organisation.
Bran brightened and looked at Sharonne. ‘That would work! As long as you’re willing to let them in, there’s no way you could hide a secret agenda from either of them. You’re not Black Guard, after all.’
We’d already been introduced to the threat of the Guard: merciless, relentless and unreadable.
A mind that couldn’t be read was a concept that had no meaning on Deucalion. For a whole group of individuals to have the same ability was disturbing, to say the least, especially the way they used it.
It added a significant degree of difficulty to an expedition that had already shifted a long way from its operational parameters in recent days.
– We’re in!
It was four days later. Bran sent the thought as soon as he was within sending range. The meeting had gone well. You could feel it in the excitement that tinged his thoughts. The Espers on Earth had clearly never developed the Etiquette that had been drilled into us by the tutors, from the day we were old enough to understand, which was pretty early on. In the end, the Sect had agreed more easily than we’d expected: Sharonne was in, subject to their reading her at the staging point, before we made it to the inner sanctum. Fair enough.
Within a week, arrangements had been made and we set off under the cover of dark. They had arranged to meet us at a disused farmer’s cottage that lay quite close to the perimeter of the Wood. The less time we spent out in the open, the less risk there was of our revealing ourselves through some ignorant action. The Sect was taking no chances where we were concerned.
The day had been hot and humid and a blanket of heavy cloud refused to allow the heat to dissipate, so although it took less than twenty minutes to reach the staging-point, the rough woven shirt I was wearing as part of my disguise was already soaked through and chafing me.
Jordan and Bran were walking ahead of the rest of the group, while Sharonne and I brought up the rear. She was filling in some background about the Families, when the subject of the Sect came up.
‘We were never really sure they existed. There were rumours, of course,’ she said, ‘a kind of folklore – but no one was a hundred per cent sure that they were anything more than that. Their precautions and their security must be amazing. If they’ve really been around since the year of the Fall, as Bran says, and no one from the Guard or any other Family organisation has been able to infiltrate them, or even prove that they exist, well—’ She shrugged, watching the others plod through the dark ahead of us.
I changed the subject. ‘What’s it like? Life in the Families, I mean.’ I was fascinated by the way she held herself: the calm, controlled exterior that masked a deeper emotional existence.
Living in the most democratic society in human history makes it hard to make sense of the notion of privilege. Intellectually, I could understand the castes and classes, gender-dominance and feudal systems of the past – we had studied them in school and I had read up on them again as part of my preparation for the expedition. But I had never felt them, turned them over in my emotions; made any rational sense of inequality. Certainly not the sort of inequality that faced us here on Earth and into which Sharonne could provide a unique insight.
She stopped for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, then moved on again without speaking. I took it as a hint and we walked on in silence for a few more paces. When the words finally came, it was as if they were speaking through her. She didn’t look at me, but sort of stared into the darkness surrounding us, as if she was listening to her own voice from a distance.
‘At the centre of the Fortress there is a small orchard that someone planted, who knows how long ago. I could look down on it from my apartments. Hundreds of immaculate green trees lined up in perfect rows, carefully tended and surrounded on four sides by huge buildings. It’s like a living work of art. In spring the blossoms come and when they bear fruit, the apples are large and red and shiny. But you can’t eat them, because the trees are blighted. Somehow somewhere, the disease got into the core of the trees or maybe the soil.
‘Though they look perfect, they rot on the trees from the core out. Every year, the flowers bloom and the fruits grow and every time they hope that this year—’ A sigh and a pause. ‘I guess that’s what it’s like for me. Being Family, I keep looking for something under the skin – hoping I’m wrong – and every time, the corruption seeps out. But we still cultivate it, to keep up appearances.’
We continued in silence for a few moments. Questions rose to the surface of my mind, but failed to make it out. When she was ready, she would –
‘They have a small clearing near the Village,’ she went on, finally. ‘They planted fruit trees in it years ago and that’s about the last time anyone paid much attention to it. Bran took me there the first time he brought me back to the Village. The trees are so overgrown that some of the branches reach the ground and the skins of the fruit are marked and uneven in colour, but when you pick one and eat it, the flesh is firm and sweet and juicy.
‘I don’t think I ever tasted anything so real in my life.’ She stopped then and turned to face me. ‘Bran saved more than my life, that day. He saved my soul, or awakened it, at least.’
I reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. ‘It was always awake, Sharonne. Otherwise you’d have been—’
‘My father?’
Five minutes later, we had arrived and I was being introduced to Mykal and Leana.
JORDAN’S STORY
The trip to the Archives went off without incident. We travelled inside a closed cart, as a precaution. Only members of the Sect knew the location of the entrances. Even visiting Sect members from other Archives were blindfolded before they were led in. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust them – or us, for that matter. It was simply that the journey between Archives was dangerous. They knew all too well the persuasive methods of the Guard – and what you don’t know can’t be tortured out of you.
It was one of the safeguards that had kept the Sect secure throughout the centuries.
We arrived to a special meal set up in the communal dining area, where various Council leaders gave speeches of welcome and spoke of the importance of this momentous event. Then it was down to work. We split into three groups: Hanni and Eliita moved off with the historians, while Alvy and I and Bran, found ourselves bunkered down with Mykal and three or four technophiles, who had more questions than a four-year-old in a natural history museum.
Erin and Sharonne spent much of the time in conversation with Leana and one of the old women, fleshing out the key soc
ial groupings that had evolved over the preceding centuries. Each of them had a unique perspective on life and how it was lived so long after the Fall. At times, Erin would leave the conversation and make the rounds of the different groups, listening in and monitoring our progress.
It was the most amazing and exhilarating week of my life.
I had arrived assuming that I would be taking the role of teacher, explaining all the mysterious technologies that they had been unable to make sense of. And, of course, there were thousands of those. Far more than we would be able to cover in a few days.
Although over the centuries the Sect had scavenged an amazing array of hard-copy notes and artefacts and although they had been painstaking in their cataloguing and descriptions, there were still huge gaps in the information available to them. And the biggest gaps were in the more elementary areas.
Which makes sense, when you think about it. Much of the information that survived was in secure repositories, specifically set up to safeguard important inventions and designs, blueprints and patents. You don’t store elementary science and technology in a place like that. You teach it in schools and store it on the data frames for students to access and learn. So it all disappears as soon as the system crashes.
According to one of the Sect historians, there was a time when everything was written down and stored in books and there were libraries that held millions of copies. But that was centuries before the Fall. The few libraries that still existed when the lights went out tended to be in the key population centres, which were hardest hit by the rioting and destruction that took place after the Meltdown. And any of the books that did survive initially were burnt for fuel in the years that followed, when a fire could mean the difference between survival and death.
Without the elementary understandings, of course, all the complex technical data was meaningless, and as the centuries stretched further and further from the source, any chance of making sense of the precious documents receded.
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