Children of the Land

By B.A. Chepaitis

Lord Aroc rules the world, giving the gift of immortality to those he chooses. But now a change is at hand, signaled by the dancing of the Northern Lights, when one young woman's choice to plant a small seed will determine world dominion.
That woman is Vareka, a Citizen working for Lord Aroc as a Watcher for the village of Eryahsa. Though both Citizens and Villagers are under Aroc’s rule, only Citizens are given the gift of immortality. The villagers live apart from the City, and their lives end when the Servants of Aroc absorb them to feed the City’s energy.
The balance between City and Village has been preserved for a long age, but now it is being unsettled. Heavy Solar Flares are disrupting the City’s technology, and the resultant northern lights cause the villagers to recall ancient stories of the Dreamers - gods and spirit beings who would someday return. Then an old man in the Eryahsa tells Vareka that she is inheritor of a task that only she, daughter of a Dreamer and a human, can complete.
She bears a locket handed down from mother to daughter for ages uncounted, and the seed it holds must be planted , though none yet know where. If the Dream is to continue, Vareka must reclaim her past, and take her friends on a perilous journey to find the place and time of planting. As they make their way through ancient forests and ruined cities, they encounter terrifying enemies sent by Aroc to stop them. In the tunnels of Rondole they meet a stranger who rules the dead, and offers to lead them to the land of Okara, where Vareka must choose whether or not to plant the seed that will end Aroc's rule.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483540672

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COPYRIGHT2 2014 by B.A. Chepaitis

ISBN: 9781483540672

Chapter One

The soft night gathers, and dreams begin.

Old stories wake, rising from dark into light.

They have come singing, from within a dream,

and out of the dreaming, a song.

They are the song, and we are the singing.

We are the song, and they are the singing.

--Songs of the Mothers, Primary Text.

At dusk, when the sky was bruising from blue to black, Vareka emerged from the forest, into the clearing just outside the village of Eryahsa. She called her horse to a halt, and turned to look back at the land she’d just traversed. The woods were already thick with shadow, but where her horse stood there was still ample light to mark her way. A fluttering of wings caught her attention and she looked up to see an owl soaring toward her. It circled her before it flew back to the shelter of the trees.

The old bird had followed her, as it always did when she rode between City and village. Now it would return to the forest, seeking rest. She raised a hand in farewell, then patted her horse on the neck.

Another mile and then we’re home, Chaos, she said to him.

He raised his head and whinnied softly. They were both glad to be done with this routine survey of the areas surrounding her assigned village. Though Vareka was lean and strong, perfectly suited for her work, she’d be glad to stay still for a while. She looked forward to her ale and her rest, to getting out of her white Citizen’s jumpsuit, which was too warm for such a night. She tucked a stray curl of dark hair behind her ear, rubbed at the white stone necklace she wore, and tapped Chaos into a canter, moving toward Eryasha.

When she arrived at the village’s wooden gates they were already shut fast, but Dan was there, asleep in his old rocking chair, directly in front of the latch. She could only call his position guard duty if she counted his snoring as a deterrent to potential vagabonds.

She tugged on her reins and Chaos stood still. She stared down at Dan’s rough face, etched with grooves from years of exposure to sun and wind. The people of Eryahsa lived outside more than in.

I could walk away with the whole town if I had a mind to, she noted loudly.

Dan’s snoring subsided. Not likely you’d want to, is it? he muttered back, his eyes still closed.

She chuckled. Dan shifted, yawned mightily and opened his wrinkled eyes, scanning her. How was your small journey then? he asked.

Good, Dan. All is well in the world.

He stretched his thick arms and legs comfortably, then cast her a doubtful glance. Still, it’s not right. A young woman like you throwing down her days to seek dis. You should be spinning joy.

Dis was the local term for trouble. Each village had its own dialect, nurtured in isolation after the plagues and wars that preceded Lord Aroc’s rule. Even the name they called her – Vareka – was just a local word that meant The Watcher. In the City she was Citizen Dian, Watcher for Village 223, called Eryahsa by those who lived here. But she’d worked here for so long she’d grown accustomed to her local name, and Dan’s opinion on her job. He’d made his views on it clear many times.

Maybe I am spinning joy, Dan, she replied, as she always did.

I find doubt in that. Though we like your efforts well enough. If you hadn’t misted out that Upriver gang we’d be in a raw mess now.

I only warned. You took care of it, she said.

The few Wanderers who traded goods between villages were generally not a problem, but this gang from Upriver village some fifty miles north carried clubs and knives, and they’d recently had a failure in their food system. She’d learned of them, and her warning allowed Eryahsa to turn a potential raid into a neighborly negotiation for supplies. Of course, Upriver was dismantled by City orders soon after. Such behavior could not be allowed.

And how’s everything now? she asked. No trouble? No dis?

You think we can’t care of ourselves? Can’t do by without our Vareka?

Of course not, she said.

His face worked itself into a grin. You do add color to the landscape. Any rate, all’s well. Except Mara needs talking to.

Vareka raised her eyebrows. Mara, daughter to pub owner Harold Deere, was someone she thought of as a friend. What for?

He sniffed hard, ran a finger under his long nose. She’s got notions, he said portentously.

Aah. Well, she always did, didn’t she?

She likes a good story, as we all do. But now she’s taking them serious. Notions, I’m saying.

About what?

He gestured up toward the sky. The Lights. She scribes them a meaning.

Vareka looked where he pointed. The night was coming on star-studded, and wispy planes of white showed at the horizon. The Aurora Borealis, known here as the Lights, was putting on an astonishing show this year, at the peak of its twelve-year cycle.

It’s thrash Zadai told her, Dan continued, and his face twisted into disapproval. He didn’t trust the old man. And where’d he get his stories and his dressmaking and his medicines? I’d like to know.

His talents are his own, and worth appreciating. More than that I can’t tell you, except that he’s from the north, Vareka replied.

Hmmph, Dan said. He stood and opened the gate. If I was Watcher, I’d look to him first for any dis.

Would you? I’ll keep that in mind.

Meaning you’ve got fresher fish to fry?

Vareka laughed. Only if they’re for my dinner. I’m headed to the Tulip.

You’ll find Mara there – though you’ll have a wait to gather her sitting. She’s kept busy with her sister’s upcoming nuptials. You’re back in time for it, I see.

I’d better be. Mara and I are standing up for her.

Well, the dash and dance is already on at the Tulip, so you’re just in time, Dan said. There’s some singers been brought in special, and your City friend Tomaz is giving strong help to the celebrating, especially with the young ladies.

No surprise there, she said. Tomaz, a City researcher, had a reputation that way. But who brought singers?

Rikki and Dossos. Mara says they’re better than birds and prettier than rainbows, but they’re giving nothing away so I can’t confirm her opinion. He tilted his head. And when will you favor us with a wedding?

She shook her head. Only a madman would wed a Watcher.

Then I know a madman nearby.

She supposed he meant Tomaz. Because he was also from the City people made assumptions about them. And why would I want a madman? Vareka tossed back.

To please us, Dan said. After Emily, we’re out of weddings.

Eryahsa loved a wedding above all else, and the best time to marry or announce your intent to do so was when the sun rode high in a clear summer sky. The people preferred to celebrate when fireflies danced in the fields, and the guest list wasn’t restricted by the size of a house or hall. Emily’s wedding to Glenn Hunt was the last of the season, held just before the official beginning of the harvest.

You’ll have to look to others, Vareka said. Watchers don’t wed. And you need not remind me of your objections to that. I know them already. How is Emily holding up?

Strong and tall. But her Dad’ll pay dear. He’s opened the pub for free a night a week, lasting ‘til wedding day.

Then I’d better contribute my share to his bankruptcy, before he comes to his senses, she noted.

Dan waved her through the gates. Pass by and know peace, he said, the ritual welcome of this village to all who were admitted within its gates.

As he said it, harmony draped her like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. She was glad to be back.

She lifted a hand to him, and moved Chaos forward.

Inside the Tulip, a crowd was already taking advantage of Harold Deere’s generosity. Mara had been pouring ale and cider like water for some time and now she wiped a strand of dark hair back from her face as she turned to the tap to pour yet another.

Tomaz? she shouted. This one’s yours, so you’d better show for it before someone else does.

That man lifted his head and reached for the glass she shifted his way, then returned to his conversation with Jess Tandor, whose eyes sparkled as she leaned close to him.

Wasting air, girl, Mara muttered. He’s sweet on the eyes, but mad for dashing, Tomaz is.

He was, like her friend Vareka, from the City. But he didn’t ride out on the roads as she did, and he spent much more time at play. In fact, there wasn’t a girl in the village who hadn’t studied his fine face, liking the way his hands moved through his sandy hair when he brushed it off his forehead and cast a practiced glance with his blue eyes. Mara knew they’d get nothing from him beyond a night of fun. City men came and went, usually not in a village for more than two cycles of the seasons. Still, Mara thought, a night of fun was not a bad gift, and Tomaz was generous with that.

She continued to pour out refreshments for the orders that kept coming. Everyone was here, it seemed. Even Donald Forrest, a farmer who rarely came to town, had ordered two ciders - one for himself and one for his old black dog who sat on a bar stool next to him. Nearby, gap-toothed Annie occupied another barstool, with her black cat, Fortuna, on her lap. They had both ordered ale.

Mara looked around for any sign of Albert, who was to relieve her. She’d had no break for hours and her feet were aching. She lifted one to wiggle it about, listening to the pieces of talk that made their way to her. There was Jana, telling Amanda about the dress she’d wear to Emily’s wedding. It was red silk, cut low, with beading along the hem and down the front. Zadai made it, so it was finely made, she said. Finely priced, too, Mara thought, counting the cost for her own dress and Emily’s, also tailored by Zadai.

At the bar Rudley Pitt, the baker, waved a large hand and argued with his friend Skinny Burns about the best way to grow melons in a short season.

Don’t matter this year, Skinny said. Lights’ll suck the sweet out of them.

You’re mad, Rudley barked back. Lights don’t touch melons. Now, tomatoes you have to watch. Cover ‘em or they’ll drain color off the skin.

Mara shook her head. The Lights were on everyone’s mind. They’d shown all winter and stayed through summer, a most unusual occurrence, and everyone had their own ideas about that. She’d asked Zadai for information, because he had whole shelves of books, a rare thing in this village. He confirmed there was a book about the Lights and told her some of what was in it. And it said nothing of melons or tomatoes.

She took Rudley’s cup and filled it. The Lights have naught to do with garden matters, she said. Now Zadai tells –

Zadai? Skinny shouted. Who listens to him?

As he spoke a tin cup was slapped down on the bar, and behind it she saw Rikki’s craggy face, framed by golden curls. Zadai, he said, is a man of great perspicacity.

Rudley frowned. He smells okay to me.

Wanderers, Skinny muttered, and the two men took their ale and their argument back to their table.

Go gentle, Rikki, Mara said. You’ll break the place.

He laughed, showing gold among the white of his teeth. I’m apprehensive your supplies will be depleted before I obtain refreshment, he said. Business is prolific.

She smiled back at him. Both Rikki and his twin sister, Dossos, used big words and were teased for it, but she liked the way the syllables tripped off their tongues and fell into the room.

Always is when it’s free, she said. She filled his cup, gave it back to him. What’s news from far places?

He climbed on a stool and sipped at his ale. Nothing scintillating, I’m afraid.

Then a story will do, she said. You can tell it while I pour.

Mara was one of the few who listened to the stories Rikki and Dossos told. Their golden curls, bright dark eyes and round, weathered faces were well known at the Tulip, but they were Wanderers, risking the road to other villages to gather goods for sale and barter. Everyone knew how unsafe that was. The City regularly sent bulletins warning of plague or violence on the road, which kept all but the most intrepid at home. The brave Wanderers who ignored such hazards were regarded with a mixture of grudging respect and deep suspicion.

The respect came from their willingness to traverse lonely and dangerous lands, as well as the goods they procured in the process. They could be relied on to fill any order, if at a price. The suspicion grew from the fact that nobody knew if they obtained those goods through trade or thievery. But Rikki and Dossos had brought back the silk for Emily’s wedding dress, as well as the material for her own and her friend Vareka’s dress. They’d done countless such works for others in the village.

Still, only Mara and a few others – Zadai and Vareka among them – were actually sociable with them. Mara was forgiven this because a bartender had to cultivate custom, and their custom was generous. For her part, she liked the light in their faces, different from others, and enjoyed their reports from places and people outside her ken. She didn’t necessarily believe all they said – stories of carts that ran without horses, and white stone buildings so tall they looked like mountains in the distance. These might be just amusing confabulations, but she didn’t care. She liked their manners and their talk. Rikki, in particular, was always more than courteous to her.

Well? Mara said. Tell me something, then. You look full of story.

You look weary beyond the help of stories, he replied. Perhaps a a more tranquil time would be better.

We’re busy tonight, she admitted. But don’t lose the tales before I hear them.

They don’t go stale.

I might, at this rate. Mayhap later you can coax those singers to show their style?

They want to save their voices. If you appreciate their worth, the rest can wait.

Oh, they’re a wonder, Mara exclaimed, and she meant it. One was a handsome fair-haired man named Gavriel and the other a lovely young woman called Tabbris, with hair red as fire that she braided and twisted round her head. She wore long green leather boots and a fine blue cloak that Mara admired with envy. Rikki and Dossos brought them just yesterday, and offered their singing as a wedding gift for Emily.

Don’t know about that, her father had protested. Seems a new horse’d be more useful. Besides, Clara had it all figured to do the honors.

But we must listen to them at least, Mara had insisted. Clara, she thought, sounded more like a hen being plucked than a singer.

At this, Gavriel and Tabbris had raised their voices in a lyrical duet that left a tear even in Harold’s eye. He’d consented, though Clara complained loud and mighty about being left out of the wedding of the year.

And is Emily also enamored of the gift? Rikki asked. She’s said nothing to us.

She’s caught up in busyness, Mara apologized for her. I’m sure you’ll hear her thanks at the wedding.

Certain we will, Rikki replied, but his eyes said he knew better. For Emily, like many in the village, suspicion outweighed gratitude.

Mara, on the other hand, often envied them. She cast a glance at Dossos, sitting at a corner table with the singers, leaning back in her chair, her short legs pushed out in front of her as Gavriel and Tabbris amused her with some tale. She wondered how Dossos dared road and village, living as she pleased and worrying for no one’s clatter about her.

You didn’t say before - where are the singers from? Mara asked. She wouldn’t ask in front of her father. He didn’t want to know, and preferred his daughter didn’t either.

Far from here, Rikki said. From a land of sweet rolling hills and deep lakes where the spirits of animals roam under dark, still waters.

Say more, Mara demanded.

It’s called the Eye of the Story, ruled by the flower of the land. She offers sweet dreams to the weary. Who she is, and how she came to be there is a long tale.

Mara sighed with contentment. A story was about to occur.

Hey, Mara! came a call from the end of the bar. You sleeping? I called you twice.

Mara startled, and cast Rikki a look of abject apology. He bit back a grin, and waved her on as he climbed off the stool. Mara was already clipping down the bar to deliver the next order when she heard a familiar voice.

What was your father thinking of, giving ale away in this town? the voice said.

A man don’t think when his daughter weds, Mara said. He just spends.

There was a quick laugh and Mara turned. Her face brightened as she saw who it was.

Vareka! Our Watcher returns, she called out. Welcome back.

She sped over to her, leaned across the bar and kissed her quickly on the cheek. You find me in stressation, she said quickly, but I’m to be relieved soon. Then I’ll sit and toss trash with you. Meantime, Mara nodded to where Tomaz sat with Jenna, there’s another who missed you, though how he’ll reach through this muddle I don’t know.

Vareka shrugged and took the ale Mara placed in her hand. He’s not pining too badly, she said.

Mara laughed and continued with her work.

Vareka climbed onto a seat and gave the room a practiced glance, taking in who was there, who they were with, what their mood seemed to be. She caught a glimpse of the twins and the two people who sat with them. They must be the singers Dan mentioned. They were the only unfamiliar faces in the crowd.

She saw Mara speak to Tomaz at the end of the bar. He glanced at her, then leaned close to Jess, whispering something to her. He patted her shoulder as he stood and made his way to Vareka, taking a seat next to her.

So you’ve returned, he noted mildly.

I have, she replied just as mildly. And what a scene awaits me here.

Yes. And there’s some new faces. He tilted his head toward the singers.

Dan mentioned them, Vareka noted mildly. They sing.

So they say. I reported their presence to the City. You’re to keep an eye on them.

To see if they stay on key? she asked, a little sharply.

To do our jobs for Lord Aroc, he replied. Isn’t that enough?

Tomaz was quick to report, slow to grasp the idea that the more reports the City received on a village, the more likely they were to dismantle it, even if there was no actual threat. She wasn’t sure if he did so to gain favor, or if it was just his nature to be meticulous in these matters.

He was a Researcher, trained to attend to details. He stayed in villages briefly, his job to search out any possibilities of trouble and report them. Her job was to prevent trouble, to keep her village safe and under the radar. For him, it seemed, the more noise he made the better. For her, quiet was a sign that all was well. Still, she’d known worse Researchers. In most things he was congenial enough, and amenable to her suggestions.

Tomaz, I’ll watch the singers, as I do everyone here, she said. If there’s something in particular I’m to look for, let me know.

Nothing specific. I just don’t want surprises. And you’ve given me one or two of those in the past. Like that Upriver gang you never reported.

I told the village about them, she said.

But not the City.

I didn’t think it necessary to bother the City with such a small affair.

Nor would you report the singers. And if something happens with them – well, you might be relocated. Or worse.

She ignored the threat inherent in these words. His truculence grew from his worry, and she appreciated that. If I’m relocated, you’ll be assigned someone who won’t surprise you, she noted. Wouldn’t you prefer that?

No, he said coolly. I like having you around.

She ducked her head down and took a sip of ale. Now he was surprising her. You’ll be transferred this year anyway. Your two cycles are almost up.

Actually, I found out today I’m to stay at least one more cycle.

But – why?

It suits the City’s convenience. It’s getting more difficult to find Researchers willing to take on these low-tech villages.

If it’s what you want, congratulations, she said, lifting her ale to him. She was glad enough not to have to worry about who might take his place, but she had some concerns about why he wanted to stay, which he promptly confirmed.

He leaned closer, touched her arm lightly. You’ll dance with me at Emily’s wedding, won’t you?

I’ll dance with every man in town, just as you’ll dance with every woman.

His face darkened, but he covered it with a smile. Well, save one or two for me, would you?

I will, certain, she said, softening her tone. She didn’t really have to worry about his attention. He didn’t hold on to women. He just liked to obtain them. She might even enjoy his company, except that researchers were a strange breed to her. They seemed to relish trouble as an opportunity to prove themselves, while she went out of her way to avoid it.

General applause interrupted them, preventing any further awkwardness, as Emily entered the room to a round of cheers. Here comes the Bride, shouted Skinny, and all raised their cups and drank.

Emily made a small curtsy, then waved away the offers of congratulatory kisses as she moved to the bar.

Vareka, she said, coming close. Just who I want. Zadai’s arranged fitting times for the dresses. Did Mara tell?

She’s been too busy to talk, Vareka said.

Certain she has, poor thing. Am I not queen of good fortune with such a sister? But the fitting’s soon, and you must be here for it. And you, Tomaz – you promised help on the day and I want you in the kitchen to fashion that.

Now? he asked.

Yes, now. She tucked a hand in the crook of his elbow and tugged. Vareka won’t dash, and if she does, Jenna waits close by, and if she doesn’t --"

Yes, yes, Tomaz said, rising. I understand you. Let’s go then.

He allowed himself to be led away and Vareka laughed at his chagrin. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mara wiping her hands on a bar towel, talking to Albert as she did so. Mara slapped the towel down, turned and exited the bar from the rear. Vareka finished her ale and followed, making her way to the back exit of the pub.

It was a moonless night, and the village was not lit, but Vareka was used to finding her way in the dark from her time on the road. She easily spotted Mara sitting on the bench under the old White Pine that had been the largest resident of the village for hundreds of years. Vareka walked over and sat next to her.

A fine night, she noted.

Yes, Mara agreed. If the weather holds the wedding day will be perfection. And Dan says it stays fine for another week. So his knees tell him.

Well, they’re usually right. And how are you taking it? Mara showed no sign of jealousy, but Vareka wondered if she felt like the serving wench to her older sister.

I’m tired, Mara sighed. It’s all work, getting wed. So it seems.

When your turn comes, others will work for you.

Maybe, but I’m not waiting on it, nor wishing it closer, Mara said.

Don’t you want to marry? Vareka asked. I know the village is pining for more weddings. And for babies, too.

That, Vareka knew, was a problem being discussed in the City as well as the villages. Birth rates were well below what the City prescribed, here and elsewhere, and it was growing worse. Stillbirths and miscarriages had plagued women in the last few years, and recently many babies born alive suffered from a strange malady that rendered them mute, senseless, unable to talk or walk, though they continued to eat and stay alive. City investigations turned up no physical reason why this should be so, but there had not been a well-born baby in Eryahsa for over a year.

Mara shook her head. I’m no more pining than you. If you wanted to wed, Tomaz’d have you in a heartbeat.

Vareka leaned against the tree, feeling the rough bark against her back. Sometimes she thought of it as the talking tree. Those who sat under it seemed inclined to share confidences, as if its shelter made them safe to do so.

He’d have me, she agreed, but City men don’t marry. You know that. Nor do City women. We’ve got other calls to answer.

Mara’s mouth curled into a smile. Maybe I’ve got, too, she said.

What calls?

I don’t know certain. Just a shiver, sometimes, that there’s something for me to do, going out from here like Dossos and Rikki. I’ve wanted to, spite of sense.

She shifted, and in her small motion Vareka could feel her restlessness. Mara was a young woman of energy, and that energy must be spent. Mayhap some fine night when you ride out, I’ll ride behind, she continued. You see powerful roads, do you not? Mara was the only villager who asked about her life outside this place. Vareka answered as she was allowed, seeing no harm in it. I see dark roads, usually. Chilly, and not very comfortable.

Yes, but it’s more than here, Mara said wistfully. I’m told there’s places of wonder out there. Great white cities, and - and canyons all red and gold in the sun.

Who told you that?

She shrugged. Rikki sometimes tells this or that. And, well, Zadai now and then likes to offer a tale.

That he does. But not all tales are true. Where is Zadai tonight? It’s not like him to miss a gathering.

He’s caught in our dressmaking. Too busy to come around.

I’d like to know what he’s told you, Vareka said, hoping she didn’t sound worried. But Mara wasn’t listening anymore. She gave a small gasp and leaned forward.

Look, she said, pointing to where the rounded outline of distant hills guarded the horizon. Just above them, long streaks of dusty rose and sage green radiated up toward the cool blue of distant stars. The Lights, busy in the dance.

Though Vareka understood such phenomena in scientific terms, she was unprepared to meet such beauty at the back of a pub. Sheer as the lightest silk, their shifting colors moved to no wind, brushing softly against the darkness. Vareka felt rather than heard a whispering of distant voices, calling to mind a song of beauty and yearning from long ago. Come dance with us, they sang. We wait for you.

Her hand moved to her small stone necklace and grasped it. She rubbed it gently, then quickly pulled her hand away. Touching the necklace when she was uncertain had become a nervous habit. She should not do it.

The Dreamers are singing, Mara said softly.

Dreamers? What are they?

The old gods, Mara replied. The Dreamers, singing of their dreams. You know.

No, I don’t.

Mara folded her hands and raised her face to the night sky. Their Dreaming is a song that called us into flesh, spinning this and all worlds. Some still dwell here, secret from our eyes. Only our ears catch them, when the Lights dance and they sing for us.

Vareka knew of the days before Lord Aroc’s rule, when people relied on gods to solve their problems. The low-tech villages more than others kept these stories alive, tending their local gods in their own ways. Though Citizens generally saw it as a sign of the villagers inferiority, Aroc did not forbid it, if it caused no trouble. She cast through her learning of these gods, but could remember nothing of Dreamers. She’d have to look it up on the City computers the next time she was there.

In the meantime, at least Mara’s story sounded peaceful. Others were interpreting the Lights in less benign terms. Those in the Western zones said they meant a time of war and upheaval. Southern villages said they meant the Thin Ones would rule all, making a new world based on their own dark dreams. Northerners predicted a time when Aroc’s order would fall into chaos, and disaster would follow. All such stories were being monitored, because a shift in spiritual practice often preceded trouble. The gods make dis, Vareka thought wryly.

But the Lights were still a thing of great beauty, and what Mara said mirrored Vareka’s feelings as she watched them: that there were others waiting, dancing and singing, trying to make their presence known. In spite of all her knowledge, some part of her yearned for this to be so, longing for connection with whatever played beyond the night sky. But that was imaginings, caused by too much ale after too many days riding alone. Vareka laughed, dispelling vagrant emotions.

Did Rikki and Dossos tell you that? Or was it Zadai? she asked lightly.

What if he did? Mara sniffed as she returned from her faraway places.

As I said, not all stories are true.

Not all are false, either.

Again Vareka had that sense of whispering, and again she shook it off. The Aurora made no sound. It must be the crickets, singing their summer serenade.

You hear them, Mara whispered.

I do not.

You did just now, Mara insisted. Your face tells me true.

Vareka wanted to tell her about the geomagnetic fields that really caused the Aurora, a complex but well-known physical phenomena, but she stopped herself. Watchers were forbidden to teach any science or technology without permission. Wanderers such as Rikki and Dossos might say what they wanted because few villagers believed them, but Watchers were taken seriously, and had to be careful not to divulge too much.

Right now, Vareka found this difficult. She’d grown close to Mara, and didn’t like withholding information from her. That might be a dangerous error. Watchers who developed close bonds with villagers were removed from their posts, sometimes permanently removed from all posts. There would be no exemption for her decades of service, and rightly so. The City and the villages continued to function smoothly only through careful maintenance of boundaries. Only in this way were they all kept safe, in the order Aroc had created to serve them all.

Never mind, Mara said. I won’t give you away. No dis here. She leaned in close to Vareka. And I’m not afraid of what the Lights portend. I think it will be good.

What will be good? A voice asked behind them, and both women turned. It was Tomaz, and he was looking at them closely, his lips pinched in a particular way that Vareka recognized as official observation.

Emily’s wedding, of course, Vareka said quickly. We were discussing the cake. Mara says it’s chocolate. She pushed herself to standing. Mara moved to do likewise, but Vareka gestured her to stay. Don’t get up on my account. I have to be leaving.

What? Already? Tomaz asked, looking both irritated and crestfallen.

I’ve been on the road three days, she said. If I don’t find my bath and bed, I’ll fall down right here.

Then good night, Mara said. We’ll talk more of this again.

I’m sure we will, Vareka said. On impulse, she bent down and kissed her hard on the cheek. Of that and more, she whispered.

Let Tomaz make what he would of it. Mara was a friend to her, a lively and intelligent young woman whose confidence she appreciated. She straightened herself, gave Tomaz a nod. Good night.

He nodded back to her, his eyebrows raised in some surprise. She left him to ponder his own thoughts under the drifting veils of color that draped the horizon.

Chapter Two

The early days were filled with light, and the song of the Dreamers lived in all things. Strawberries grew sweet and ripe in the fields. The trees rejoiced with the summer rains and the soft wind whispered contentment. The Children of the Land, newly formed, played upon the face of the earth and were joyful at her gifts.

But children grow, and grow restless. So it always has been. And the Dreamers grieved for what would be.

-- Songs of the Mothers, Primary Text

Vareka woke to a morning that was already warm and promised to get warmer. Her house, near the outskirts of the village, was small and tidy; bedroom, living room, kitchen, bath, all on one level. But outside her window was a large yard with a corral and small barn for Chaos, a large garden, and a view looking out to the hills that sheltered this valley region. Bird song and breeze moving through the trees was what she heard first when her dreams were done.

She rose and dressed in her village clothes, so unlike the synthetic Citizen’s uniform which lay tight against the skin. Here she wore loose cotton pants and shirts, mostly dyed in the colors of the plants that grew in the area. Sage green and cool blue, rusty red and sandy browns - these were the shades of Eryahsa. The local cobbler made her sandals of cloth and reed, and boots from tanned hides of the animals who provided meat for those who lived here. Here she also untied her long dark hair from its knot and let it fall in its abundant curls around her shoulders.

Most Watchers requested posts in mid-tech villages because of the advantages they provided, but she preferred the quieter ways here. She liked the old wood houses painted in many colors, the softer torchlights and cobbled streets, the slower pace. They had basic amenities - plumbing, which City workers maintained to make certain of a healthy environment, and heat in the winter months from the stone stoves they cooked on, of their own making and remarkably efficient, the stone radiating heat that lasted hours beyond the fire. But they had no electricity, no computers, no vehicles other than horses. The minimal technology was sometimes less convenient, but it changed the pace of her days in a way she found soothing.

She took her time getting breakfast, then brought the local mix of herbal tea out onto the back porch, where she sat and watched squirrels dart from oak tree to maple in her yard. It was nice to be back. She’d been gone a little more than two weeks, stopping at a few villages to gather reports, checking on the roads between for hostile Wanderers. Given the recent rise in attacks in many villages, there was some discussion about issuing laser weapons to Watchers even in low-tech villages. Those in mid-tech villages were already carrying such weapons.

Between that and the lowered birth rate, unrest was at a level not known since Aroc’s rule, unbalancing a system long held stable. City scientists believed the solar flares might be