William1

Grannie says we’ll go to her brother’s house, get men and women to help, and find a way back into Oculum. So that is what we will do. I look behind us constantly for any sign of Cranker, Mann, and Miranda1, but all is quiet. More carts go past us. There are adults, grown people, even old people, animals, and huge machines, and much more here. It’s not like Oculum. There’s the sky above, and the earth beneath, and all these people on the road and living in the ruined city are free to move and go as they please.

It is not as beautiful as Oculum, perhaps, but it is the real world. I know that now.

We travel the road in the cart pulled by the horses. I talk to the three children in the cart behind me, and they are polite but they all seem in awe of me.

Grannie is growing more curious about my domed world, too, although the questions are few and far be-tween, and are most often about the youngest children and who takes care of them.

“You got Mothers in there?” she asks, surprised, when I tell her. I nod. I hold the book the thieves ruined, For the Children of Oculum, on my lap.

“Yes, but they’re not like you or me. They’re machines, I know that now. But clever machines. The book explained it all. They were made by the people who left us there long ago. You call them Olden Begones. A Mother’s job is to raise her child, but she must also protect her child from the Sentries when the first of us talks of love. Or when the first of us escapes Oculum through a hidden door.” Grannie looks over at me, the reins loose in her hand as the cart rattles along.

“That be you, then? You the first out the door?”

“Yes, and then Miranda1, but I can’t imagine how she did it.” I really can’t. The door must have been guarded by the Sentries after I walked through it. How did she manage to get near it?

“The book says that once a child of Oculum talks of love, then the Mothers must prepare for us to leave. Both of these things seem to be inevitable, love and leaving, at least to the writers of the book.”

“Well, love and leaving is part of growing up,” Grannie says.

I nod. “Yes, Grannie, but none of us has grown up, at least not until now.” I think about that for a moment. Miranda1 and I have the job of being the oldest, being the first in everything.

“But the book says something else. When the first child leaves, the Sentries will try to stop everyone else from leaving, since their only purpose is to keep Oculum safe. And to a Sentry, keeping Oculum safe means keeping everyone inside the dome. No one can leave.”

Grannie strokes her chin, thinking. “Seems like contraries. The Mothers raise healthy children to leave Oculum, as is only natural, but these Sentries protect Oculum by keeping all the children safe inside? Seems like a good reason for a fight.”

I raise my eyebrows. She’s wise, Grannie. And she’s right. The Mothers and the Sentries are opposites: Mothers protect the children, and Sentries protect Ocu-lum. But the children grow up, and change must come. The book didn’t mention a fight between Mothers and Sentries, but for the thousandth time, I worry about what’s happening back in my domed world. It’s more important than ever for me to find Miranda1 and then for us to get back there.

Grannie has given me a sheet of paper, which is rare, she tells me. I thank her, and I use my ink pot and feather quill to write down what I can remember from the ruined book. It had only a dozen pages in a beautiful hand before the thieves ruined it, so it’s not that hard. I’ve written down what I can remember about a Mother’s purpose and a Sentry’s purpose. I have copied the poem about the door. The last three lines run in my head …

Be the brave ones, Then pass beyond it, The Mothers shall rise, at the call.

I write as the cart rolls along, hour after hour, and we stop for midday meal. I hand Grannie my last peach, and she finally takes it from me, and smells it, and then puts it in her apron pocket.

“It’s too precious,” she says, but she smiles. Today, though, I think she will taste it.

The sun beats down. Lisle sleeps, the little boys sleep, and I keep writing upon my paper. Then … I lift my head.

There is a sound like a wave coming toward us.

“What’s that?” I say, peering down the road. We’re near the top of a hill. Grannie stops the cart and listens. The noise gets louder; it’s almost a roar. It’s louder again, coming our way. I strain my ears, and it’s the sound of feet. And talking. A lot of people, talking.

Our cart is almost at the top of a hill, but we can’t see what’s beyond the rise.

Grannie stands up in the front of the cart and shields her eyes from the sun. She looks surprised, then worried.

“What the heck? William, you’re taller. Stand up, have a look.” I lean one hand on Grannie’s shoulder and shakily stand in the front the cart. I can just see over the lip of the hill.

A black dog and a huge gray dog run over the hill and see us, then stop.

“They were with Cranker and Mann!” I shout.

Then I see them. My heart almost leaps out of my chest. Over the hill behind the dogs, flows a river of children of all colors. There are one thousand children, rippling down the road, behind two boys and a girl leading them. I strain and see them clearly. It’s Mann and Cranker at their head!

And Miranda1 with a staff, holding a child’s hand!

Grannie tries to stop me, but I grab my crutch and leap from the cart. I limp as fast as I can toward the mighty girl who has somehow led the children of Oculum to their freedom, and her dearest of hearts back to me.