LYNX
Wandering aimlessly around Quancee’s cave, I arrange and rearrange the ancient books on the shelves in the rear. The Rewilding Reports are especially heavy and very fragile.
I don’t know what else to do.
Quancee is still gone. The crystal panes that cover the ceiling and walls have a faint glow, but they are slowly, inexorably dimming. Where is she? I haven’t felt her presence at all, and she hasn’t called to me.
Running a hand through my long black hair, I walk over and gently touch the pane that has blinked three red, three green, and three red lights for as long as I have known Quancee. It’s gone completely dark, like a black wound in her midsection. She’s no longer crying out for help. What does that mean?
“Are you all right?” I softly ask. “Where are you?”
The silence has a ring of eternity to it.
“You didn’t leave without me, did you?”
Letting my hand fall to my side, I sit down cross-legged beside the cup of water I filled long ago, but haven’t taken a single sip of. I brace my back against Quancee. She’s usually warm. Not today. This morning she’s cold.
It’s a curious sensation, sitting here beside her without the nuances of thoughts and dreams—subtle as fragrances on the wind—that have always pierced my heart with beauty. The cave feels devastatingly empty. I haven’t had the strength to build a fire, so the only light is her faint glow.
Leaning my head back, I blink up at the patchwork of panes I glued back in place. They create an irregular mosaic of black squares. A few drips of pine pitch run down the panes like dark tears. I didn’t notice them until now.
“Do those hurt?” I whisper. “Do they restrict the energy flow?”
Quancee never told me so, but she wouldn’t have. She doesn’t criticize. Even when Sticks got so frustrated that he started throwing things at her, she just retreated into the qubits until I managed to talk him down. Toward the end, his tantrums became constant and unbearable. It was as though he wanted to destroy her very existence. And mine, too.
Tenderly, I pet the panes beside me.
“Did you walk into the wasteland where the others wait for you?”
I expected her to be here. She’s always been beside me, guarding me, loving me, as unobtrusive as my own shadow, even when I was a child, though I didn’t know it at the time. Would things have been different if I had known it? I’ve often wondered. Arakie did, as well. I recall one long winter night after a brutal mathematics session, when Arakie looked at me and softly inquired, “Wonder what happened in a future where I said yes.” I asked what he meant, and he gave me one of his enigmatic smiles. “When you’d seen barely four summers, Quancee asked if she could bond with you. I said no, that you were too young to understand. I suspect I made a poor decision that day.”
A future where he said yes . . .
Who would I be now? What would have happened to the Sealion People if Quancee had been teaching me my whole life? Would they be thriving and happy, rather than doomed to extinction?
“Can you hear me?”
The cave magnifies my voice, making it sound as hollow as a cast-off old flute.
A short distance away is a small pile of pane fragments too shattered to be glued back together. I pick up one, a tiny triangular shard, and frown at it as though I’ve never seen it before. Laying it down, I pick up another and turn it in my hand, examining the spiderweb-like cracks. Shimmers used to play through the depths of these fragments, turning them into translucent gemstones. No longer. I feel like I’m holding the brittle bone of some long-dead magical creature.
Drawing it back, I clutch it over my heart.
“I’m right here, Quancee. I’ll be here until you come back, no matter how long it takes you to find your way home.”
For a moment, dark swirls of galaxies appear in my mind, whisperings of fragmentary visions, but they vanish almost as quickly, and I wonder if Quancee is living in a future where Arakie said yes. A place where I’m smart enough, knowledgeable enough, and strong enough to actually protect her.
Gently, I replace the shard in the pile of pane fragments, and turn to . . .
Outside the chamber, fabric rustles. It has the distinctive whine of trayalon.
“Oh, no,” I whisper. “They’re already here. They’ve come for me and Quancee.”
Trayalon scritches on stone as the person outside walks closer.
“Who are you?” I shout.
More rustling.
Then a deep voice answers, “May I enter?”
Leaping to my feet, I watch Thanissara step into the doorway. The elder Dog Soldier’s bushy white hair frames his dark face like a wreath of clouds.
“What do you want?”
Slowly, so as not to alarm me, he pushes his silver cape back over his shoulders, revealing the green-painted shirt decorated with red designs. I’m not sure what the designs mean. “Forgive me. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded forlorn.”
“You . . . you stood out there listening to me? What did you hear me say?”
His gaze moves over Quancee. “Nothing you should be ashamed of.”
As the old Dog Soldier ducks through the doorway and into Quancee’s chamber, he grimaces at the strange crystal walls. He’s much taller than I am, so I must look up at him. The lump of rust he wears has left an orange arc across the front of his cape.
Gesturing to the softly glowing panes, he says, “Is that it?”
I extend a hand to Quancee. “This is Quancee, but she’s not here right now.”
He gives me a curious glance, as though my words were nonsense. Gazing upward at the panes over his head, then to the single black pane in the center, he asks, “What fuels it?”
I’m backing away from him when I answer, “Light. Time. Uh. Time crystals and entanglement. Bits of light hooked together.”
“Bits of light.” He shows no emotion. Just returns his eyes to Quancee. “Strange. I feel no evil coming from it. Nor good, for that matter.”
Thanissara walks forward, but warily stops when I move to place my body between him and Quancee.
His dark eyes tighten. “I will not hurt it. I give you my oath. I’m just curious about it.”
I glance at my spear, which I foolishly left propped near the doorway. I figured I’d hear the Rust People coming and grab it on my way out of this chamber to face them in the caverns beyond. “Elder, what are you doing here?”
“I needed to see it.”
I look over his shoulder, expecting the rest of the war party to appear at any instant. “Are your warriors outside?”
“There are no warriors, though the other five elder Dog Soldiers stand in the first cave reading the stories painted on the walls.” He squares his shoulders. “I came to meet you alone. I didn’t want to risk anyone but myself. After the stories Sticks tells, I thought you’d kill me with a word long before I could enter this chamber.”
“The stories Sticks tells are nonsense. I have no powers.”
A smile touches his lips. “No waving your hand and having condors fall dead from the sky, eh?”
“Not likely.”
“That probably also means you can’t breathe upon dead heroes and bring them to life.”
“Sorry, no.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” he sighs. “No need to apologize. I’m well aware that Sticks is an inventive liar. I served as his teacher for a decade before he came to you.” Extending a hand, he asks, “May I walk closer to it?”
Instinctively, I thrust out a fist to stop him. “You’re too close right now.”
Thanissara nods respectfully and backs up a step. “I didn’t know. I meant no offense.”
It’s such an accommodating gesture, I frown at him. “Elder, what do you want?”
“I was hoping you could tell me about it. About . . . her. Sticks says you believe her soul is female.”
I stare at him in confusion. “Quancee is female, yes, but that’s a surprising question given that you’ve been listening to Jorgensen tell you she’s nothing but a bunch of mechanical parts.”
Thanissara looks toward the rear of the cave, where the Rewilding Reports fill the top shelf. His expression slackens with awe. “My people think he is the last of the Jemen to walk the earth. They believe he is a god.”
“And you, elder? What do you think?”
His gaze has fixed on one particular volume, but I can’t tell which one. “I think he’s strangely lacking in godlike qualities.”
In the pause, I hear the faint rhythms of the paleo-ocean washing the shore outside. This old Dog Soldier is a surprise. Because of the low domes of their skulls and their big ears, Sealion people have always considered Dog Soldiers to be half-human beasts. But Arakie told me that Dog Soldiers are the oldest human species on earth. Long before either Sealion People or Rust People evolved, Thanissara’s Dmanisi species of Homo erectus was surviving saber-toothed cats, Etruscan wolves, and hyenas the size of lions, as they trekked across half the world in search of better lives.
Using his chin, Thanissara gestures to the Rewilding Reports. “Would you mind if I look at your books?”
I have to think about that before I answer. Rust People believe Dog Soldiers can read, but when I first met him, Sticks could not. He told me that no Dog Soldier could actually read. I’ve always wondered if he was telling the truth.
“Can you read, elder? Sticks says you can’t.”
“Sticks is a novice. He’s never been initiated into the secrets of Dog Soldier society.” He looks at me as though waiting for an answer to his question.
“I would not mind if you look at my books.”
Thanissara veers wide around Quancee, scrutinizing her glued panes, as he makes his way to the Rewilding Reports. His hand hovers for a moment before he thoughtfully trails his fingers down the ancient spines. “You taught Sticks to read.”
“I did.”
“I suppose you regret that now.”
“No, elder. I wish he’d read more. Quancee and I wanted him to return to the Rust People villages and teach others what he’d learned here.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
Thanissara has his back to me and his silver cape has a soft gleam. “He told us . . . myself and the other five Dog Soldiers . . . that you ordered him not to reveal anything he’d learned here. He said it was secret knowledge, and that sharing it would violate the trust of the ancient gods and bring their wrath down upon us.”
“Ridiculous.”
My angry tone makes him give me an askance look, then he turns back to the Reports. “Interesting. I’ve always suspected Jorgensen was behind that order. Jorgensen wants to keep us ignorant, though I’m unsure why.”
“He likes people to think he’s a god.”
“He certainly does.” The old Dog Soldier reaches up and runs his fingers over the vials on the shelf. “What are these clear tubes?”
“Uh . . . powdered medicinal plants.”
“I see.” He moves down the shelf, pulls out Volume Delta, and opens it.
“Careful!” I throw out my hands in warning. “They’re extremely fragile.”
“Yes, I see that.” Thanissara frowns at the words, glances at me, then closes the book and carefully replaces it upon the shelf. “Is Quancee mentioned in the Rewilding Reports?”
I’m not sure what to make of him. He’s made no threatening moves toward either me or Quancee. Neither has he explained why he’s really here.
“She’s mentioned often. But not even her Jemen creators really understood her. My teacher, Dr. John Arakie, told me that Volume Omega was entirely devoted to the question of what Quancee is.”
“Yes,” he says thoughtfully. “Volume Omega is mentioned in several old story fragments. It was entitled, ‘The Origin of Quantum Consciousness,’ wasn’t it?”
Now I’m truly intrigued. “Do you understand what that means? Quantum consciousness?”
“Does anyone?” He smiles. “Where is Volume Omega? I don’t see it here.”
My eyes narrow. He may have simply deduced Volume Omega was not here from what I said, or perhaps he really can read the spines.
“It’s not here.”
He frowns as though he senses I am not telling him the whole truth. “Have you seen it elsewhere? In another cavern, perhaps?”
When I don’t answer, Thanissara nods to himself, and turns to Quancee again. “You know, I assume, that Dog Soldiers are storykeepers? We spend our lives finding and memorizing story fragments, trying to piece together the story of how our world came to be.”
“Sticks told me.”
He steps closer to Quancee and lifts a hand, but lets it hover above the panes. “May I touch her?”
I’ve apparently been holding my breath without realizing it. My lungs hurt. I have to suck in air before I can answer, “Please be gentle. She’s far older than the Rewilding Reports, more than one thousand one hundred summers old.”
Lightly, he places just the tips of his fingers on the closest pane, and with great reverence strokes her face. “I would give my very life to know her story.”
An ironic smile turns my lips. “Well, sadly, your people are going to kill me soon, and Jorgensen is going to tear Quancee apart, so neither of us will be able to tell you her story.”
Thanissara’s white brows angle down over his wide nose. “Would she tell me her story?”
“Of course, elder. Quancee is a teacher. That is her purpose in life. And mine, as well.”
He continues stroking Quancee, and I wonder if he hopes to bring her back or to wake her. “That’s not what Jorgensen says. He says her purpose is to deceive and destroy. He says she was created as a weapon.”
“That is not true, elder. The Jemen used Quancee as a weapon, but it was never her purpose.”
Pulling his hand away, Thanissara closes his fingers, as though to hold onto the feel of Quancee. “She has a cool, waxy texture. Almost like dead flesh.”
The words are lance thrusts straight to my heart. “Usually, she’s warm and silken, not cold and waxy.”
Swallowing hard, I turn and walk to the dark tears of pine pitch. Was Jorgensen right? Did I hurt her when I mended her panes?
Thanissara watches me, clearly trying to fathom my relationship with Quancee. “Is that what you meant? When I first entered, you said Quancee was not here. I didn’t understand.”
I consider telling him that he doesn’t have the background to understand quantum wave theory, but that would make me no better than Jorgensen. Not only that, I know very little about Dog Soldier society. He may have the background. If he knows the title of Volume Omega, perhaps the Dog Soldiers know the contents, or at least some of the basic questions posed. If so, he may know more than I do.
“Elder, I have heard that Dog Soldiers send their souls flying to other realms. Is that true?”
“Into the past and future?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Quancee also sends her soul flying.”
Apparently fascinated, he stares hard into my eyes. “Where does she go on these journeys?”
“To a place where she is both alive and dead,” I say, expecting that to end the discussion.
“Ah. The wasteland.” Thanissara stands so still that Quancee’s wan gleam paints his cape with an edge of white fire. “That makes sense.”
“Does it?” I’m actually frozen in place. He knows about the wasteland.
“Oh, yes. When Sticks returned saying that Premier Elektra was the Old Woman of the Mountain, it contradicted all of our stories: Elektra was a young woman, not an old woman. Elektra was human, not made of crystal tears. Elektra was buried in darkness, not suspended in a glittering timeless world where no shadows fall.”
The phrase startles me. “You . . . You have a story about the place where nothing casts a shadow?”
“You have heard of it?”
“I have.”
“Well, it’s a fragment from a story we call ‘The Last Days,’ a story Dog Soldiers have spent hundreds of summers piecing together. Some of the fragments don’t quite fit. The most curious fragment speaks of the capture of the Old Woman of the Mountain. It says the doctor who captured her had to travel far, far away, to an ocean of light where no shadows fall and death does not exist.”
His deep voice is spellbinding. I long to hear him recite the entire tale.
Thanissara’s gaze roams the chamber as though understanding Quancee for the first time. “Blessed gods, I’m standing in the sacred tomb of the Old Woman of the Mountain, aren’t I?”
The stunned expression on his dark face makes me back up a step. “Maybe. Arakie thought our stories about the Old Woman of the Mountain might be about Quancee, but he wasn’t sure, and neither am I.”
Against the dying glow, the Dog Soldier appears to be suspended, floating above the floor, his silver cape like a haze of moonlight. An almost breathless mixture of desperation and hope strains his elderly face.
“Blessed Teacher, may I sit down and ask you more questions about her?”
I lick my lips nervously. “For a little while.”
Thanissara walks over to sit cross-legged in front of the dead fire and gracefully folds his hands in his lap, as though he’s waiting for me to join him. When I don’t, his hope fades. He gestures to the other side of the fire where my water cup rests beside the hearthstones. “Please, sit with me.”
“Elder, I don’t have much time—”
“Lynx, stories also exist in a realm where they are both alive and dead. Only our breath gives them life. Please, let her story live. I came here to listen.”
He gestures to the other side of the fire again.
Girding myself, I walk over and sit down. “How can I help?”
His astonished eyes return to Quancee. “First, tell me what she is?”
“Well, I’ll try, but that’s a more difficult question than you think. You see, Quancee both is and is not.” I drag over my cup and dip my fingers in the water. As I lift them and let the drops fall back into the liquid, I hold it out for him to observe. “Do you see the waves?”
He leans over the cup, looks inside, then lifts his gaze to me. “What I see is an illusion. Shadows walking on the wall of Plato’s cave. What do you see?”
Awestruck, I draw my cup back and begin to reevaluate everything I think I know about Dog Soldiers. I suddenly realize I am not the teacher here. “I don’t know who Plato is.”
“But Sticks said you studied with a Jemen teacher, Dr. John Arakie.”
“I did.”
“And he did not tell you about Plato? How can you ever hope to understand Quancee if you don’t know Plato?”
I give him a helpless shrug. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“Ah.” He nods pleasantly. “Well, then, let us share stories. I’ll explain Plato’s allegory of the cave, and you can tell me about the ocean beneath the waves.”