Oculum

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Miranda1

  Chapter 2: Mannfred

  Chapter 3: Miranda1

  Chapter 4: Mannfred

  Chapter 5: Miranda1

  Chapter 6: Mannfred

  Chapter 7: Miranda1

  Chapter 8: Mannfred

  Chapter 9: Miranda1

  Chapter 10: Mannfred

  Chapter 11: Miranda1

  Chapter 12: William1

  Chapter 13: Mannfred

  Chapter14: Miranda1

  Chapter 15: Mannfred

  Chapter 16: Miranda1

  Chapter 17: Mannfred

  Chapter 18: Miranda1

  Chapter 19: Mannfred

  Chapter 20: Miranda1

  Chapter 21: Mannfred

  Chapter 22: Miranda1

  Chapter 23: William1

  Chapter 24: Mannfred

  Acknowledgements

  AuthorBio

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 Philippa Dowding

  This edition copyright © 2018 DCB,

  an imprint of Cormorant Books Inc.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or

  call toll free 1.800.893.5777.

  The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation, an agency of the Ontario Ministry of Culture, and the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit Program.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Dowding, Philippa, 1963-, author

  Oculum / Philippa Dowding.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77086-512-9 (softcover). — ISBN 978-1-77086-513-6 (HTML)

  I. Title.

  PS8607.O9874O28 2018 jC813’.6 C2018-900879-2

  C2018-900880-6

  United States Library of Congress Control Number: 2017964198

  Cover: Emma Dolan

  Interior text design: Tannice Goddard, bookstopress.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  Manufactured by Friesens in Altona, Manitoba, Canada in March, 2018.

  This book is printed on 100% post-consumer waste recycled paper.

  DCB An imprint of Cormorant Books Inc.10 St. Mary Street, Suite 615, Toronto, Ontario, M4Y 1P9 www.dancingcatbooks.com www.cormorantbooks.com

  For Sarah,and her many boys.

  Oculum (noun): Latin for eye; in architecture, a circular oculus allows light through the top of the Roman Pantheon and similar ancient domed structures.Oculum aperui: I opened an eye.

  We have left you,The thousand chosen,Kept you all safe here, at the fall.There is a door,And you must find it,There is a door, within the wall.Be the brave ones,Then pass beyond it,The Mothers shall rise, at the call.

  — For the Children of Oculum

  Miranda1

  “Mother?”

  “Yes, Miranda my darling?”

  Mother says this as she tucks me deeply under my covers.

  “Mother, have you seen the Seed Park today?”

  Mother hums a bit as she tidies the room and then comes back to my bed. She tilts her head, which always looks so sweet. I wonder where she learned that behavior. The worn leather at her neck creaks, the metal at her jaw squeaks softly.

  “No. What is happening in the Seed Park?”

  I am so excited, I can barely tell her. But I keep my voice calm. As Miranda1, I cannot be too excitable.

  “Buds! Everywhere! The fruit trees are about to return to us, Mother. It has been a long wait.”

  Mother nods and brings her face close to mine. I love the scent of her machine oil. It is so calming, so motherly. She whispers, “Regulus has told me a secret.”

  Mother almost never whispers, because it seems difficult for her, but she does, in a raspy, coughy way. There is no one else here. I can’t imagine why she feels the need.

  “What? What did he tell you?” If she could smile, Mother would be smiling now.

  “Oculum will be opened tomorrow.”

  I gasp and sit up, undoing the carefully tucked blanket.

  “Really? I have to tell William1!”

  Mother whirrs and tucks me back into my bed.

  “William1 already knows,” she soothes. “Now go to sleep.” She holds me briefly in her cool, metallic arms, and I feel calmer. She does give good hugs, along with the excellent blanket tucking.

  “Goodnight, Mother,” I whisper.

  “Goodnight, Miranda my darling,” she whispers back. The silver “M1” on her purple armband glistens in the low light of the room, a perfect match to my own arm-band. Mother blows out the candles, then I hear her leave and roll along to her cupboard. I have fallen asleep to the gentle squeak of her wheels as she exits my bedroom since I was four. It makes me drowsy. Tonight, though, I notice that her wheels are very squeaky again. I shall have to tell Toolman.

  I fall asleep and dream about Mother’s metallic grip, the opening of Oculum tomorrow, and the promise of fresh air.

  The next morning, Mother wakes me with a gentle shake. I sit and draw my knees up as she opens the curtains. It’s gloomy outside.

  “Will Regulus open Oculum today?” I ask sleepily. “It looks dark out.” Mother shakes her head, which is creaky. She really does need a visit to Toolman. I shall have to broach it with her, which is tricky. She hates to be reminded that she is getting older.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Mother stops at the window and looks out at the quiet streets, the spotless marble sidewalks, the pristine row of houses with their color-coded doors. In the distance is the Seed Park, and beyond that, at the edge of my vision, is the great wall of Oculum. All is quiet, gently calm, Oculum dwellers are being woken by their Mothers, just as I am.

  But there is a note to Mother’s voice that is upsetting.

  “Why not, Mother?” I ask again.

  She turns to look at me, and those whirring, almost-human eyes register concern. Or what I know to be her concerned look.

  “A Black Rain is on its way.” I frown and get out of bed. Mother starts to dress me in my favorite long, dark frock. She buttons me up the back and I slip into my shoes.

  “We have not had a Black Rain in a long while.” I say this simply, and we look at each other. She tilts her head again.

  “And yet Regulus says it is so. Oculum stays closed. Now you must hurry. Your Correction Day.” She nods at the door and fusses and whirrs about the room, tidying and straightening. When she is finished, I hear her roll back into her closet and shut the door.

  There is a bowl of fruit downstairs beside the front door, and I take a peach. The flesh is sweet and soft and smells delicious. The Seed Park grows lovely, long-lasting fruit. This is from last year, stored and dried safely in our dark, cool pantry.

  Mother is right — today is a Correction Day. I hate this part of my duties, bu
t someone must correct the misdeeds of the younger children. We Mirandas must do our best. I walk along the sidewalk, say hello to the other children as I meet them, then stop at the quiet, musty Punishment Hall. It is thankfully little-used and empty most of the time. I pick up my assignment inside the door and read it over.

  A Jake. So an eleven-year-old. This is Jake47, a smart, rambunctious boy. The assignment sheet says, “Obstinate refusal to follow rules. Touched the Will-Book. PUNISHMENT: ONE SLAP.” I read it over again. A slap? With my hand?

  This is new for me. Usually, it’s a stern scolding or the setting of extra chores. Or I have to accompany a particularly unruly child to talk to Regulus in the Oculum Senate. I’ve never had to strike anyone before. Regulus must be very cross with this child. I look around briefly, wondering if there’s been a mistake. But I know it’s not a mistake. Regulus doesn’t make mistakes.

  I step lightly into the hall. Jake47 sits on his hands in the chair at the center of the room and looks up at me. He’s sweet, but he is nervous. His green armband has a silver “J” and the number “47” on it. The hall has only his chair and nowhere for me to sit. I suppose this is to make me seem imposing. I tower over him.

  “Good morning, Jake47.” I try to use their full names; it also makes me seem more grown up.

  “Good morning, Miranda1.” He shoots a quick look at my own armband: purple for Miranda, with a silver “M1” on it.

  “Do you know why you are here?”

  He nods. “I touched the WillBook,” he says quietly. I nod too and hmmm a little. How exactly, and when, am I supposed to slap him?

  “I see. And why did you touch what was forbidden?” And where do I slap him? His arm? His face?

  “We … we were talking about seeds in Teaching Hall. How seeds are for everyone.” Jake47 looks up at me, and I can see he is afraid but also confused.

  “Yes, that’s correct. Wasn’t Teacher clear on that? The words are simple. We all learn them: ‘We have given you every plant seed, and every tree which has fruit; it will be food for you.’” I’m puzzled. These are the very first words that we learn in our lessons. Our Teacher drills this into us. Seeds are life. Seeds are for everyone. What can Jake47 possibly not understand about seeds? He looks down at his feet, which swing back and forth. He’s short and the chair is a tall one.

  “Then Teacher said that the WillBook is the seed of all thought, but it doesn’t seem the same, so I touched it, to see.” He looks up at me. “It’s just that I don’t think seeds ARE for everyone. The Fandoms in the Outside don’t have them …”

  “STOP!” I shout this, more in surprise than anything else. It’s not the first time a younger child has men-tioned the Fandoms. Or the Outside. I heard the whisperings too when I was his age. But it is not allowed to speak of such things, and the sooner he realizes it, the better. The shadowy, frightening images of faces and eyes that flare and dance against the opaque wall of Oculum from time to time are Fandoms. Flickers of light, but not alive. Brief reflections of sky, nothing more.

  I use my best stern, scolding voice and draw up to my full height, which is quite tall.

  “That is nonsense, Jake47. You know it. There are NO SUCH THINGS as Fandoms. There is no such thing as Outside. The seeds are for all of us. All of Oculum. I had a peach this morning. Your Mother must have put out a peach for you today as well. The fruit trees are budding in the Seed Park right now.”

  The boy nods at me, and he stops swinging his legs. “Yes, Miranda1. I did have a peach this morning.” I tilt my head a little then stop, realizing I must look just like Mother.

  “Do you promise not to touch the WillBook again?” Jake47 nods.

  “Do you also promise not to listen to the pointless whispers of other children? No more talk of Fandoms and Outside?” He nods again.

  “Do not forget my words. Go to your next activity then, Jake47.” I walk over to him and playfully, gently slap his shoulder.

  “And be a good boy,” I add, watching him leap out of his chair and dash out the door. He doesn’t even look back — he’s gone. Off to Teaching Hall, or chores, or a scheduled play event.

  The assignment sheet didn’t say how forceful a slap to give. A gentle one seemed appropriate for a young boy just listening to rumors. I did my duty.

  I step outside into the gloomy day. The air is hot, unclean. The promise of fresh air gone, I’m even more aware of the oppressive atmosphere, but I can do nothing about it.

  I turn toward the Seed Park, where I have a meeting with William1.

  It is a short walk, and no one waves or talks to me, but I feel heavy and tired when I arrive. William1 waits for me beside the pond.

  The lights are on in the firmament high above, and they shine on the Seed Park, warming the air. Since the fruit trees are beginning to bud, the lights are kept on longer than usual. The great fans run near the Seed Park, cleaning the air.

  The Seed Park is warm and has fresher air than anywhere else, especially when Oculum has been closed for so long. It’s the main reason why I enjoy it. It’s also beautiful and peaceful, with all the growing trees and fruits and some flowers. There are worker bees droning, and Treekeepers prune, tend, and quietly work among the trees. Small greenhouses dot the grounds where we grow greens and vegetables. One greenhouse is full of new cuts from the fruit trees, another is full of seeds. We all have lessons in the Seed Park every week on how to tend fruit trees, how to prune, and how to pick ripe fruit, how to plant and grow. We are even learning how to tend bees, since another hive has just been awakened.

  The pond is at the center of the park, and when I come upon him, William1 is deep in thought. There are a few other Mirandas and Williams nearby, and I greet each one politely. They smile and go back to their talk. Whenever I am with William1, no one approaches us. I suppose we may be intimidating as the oldest children of Oculum.

  He clasps my arm in the regular greeting, his red armband with the silver “W1” upon it brushing my own purple armband. But there is something wrong, I can tell immediately.

  “William1, I am pleased to see you,” I say, straightening my frock. He leads me to one of the long benches, away from the others. The fountain in the middle of the pond gently sprays water toward the distant lights and makes a cheerful, pleasant splashing.

  “Miranda1, I am pleased to see you,” he says in return, but he has a strange look on his face. I have known William1 all my life. We were awoken just days apart. I know his every look. “How was your Correction Day?” he asks, distracted.

  “Oh, that was a Jake. Jake47. He was just inquisitive, lacking in impulse control. He touched the WillBook. He had questions about Seeds. Nothing serious.” I don’t mention the slap or the odd request from Regulus to administer it.

  “Honestly, he seemed so frightened and small, I don’t think he’ll do it again. He was listening to rumors that children tell. About Fandoms. Outside. That kind of thing.” William1 hasn’t really been listening, but when I say Fandoms, he sits up straighter.

  “William, are you all right?” He takes a sudden deep breath. He looks around at the others talking quietly by the pond or along the paths beneath the trees. As the oldest, Mirandas and Williams are allowed the most time in the Seed Park, one hour each day. The younger children, an eleven-year-old Jake or Jane for instance, would only be allowed one hour a week in the park, and none if they had misbehaved. Jake47 won’t be visiting this week, I’m sure.

  It is a privilege to be here, whether we are working or taking our leisure.

  William1 draws close to me and whispers, “I have found something. I must show someone, and you are the only person I can trust.” He speaks so quietly, I can barely hear him.

  “Will you walk with me?” he whispers again.

  I nod. I can’t for the life of me imagine what William1 could have found or what is making him so nervous. We never need to whisper. We leave the bench
, and a few Mirandas sit down in our place, joined a moment later by a William, William32. They laugh and chat. They’re the same age as William1 and I, all awoken sometime after us in the same year, but suddenly I feel very far away from them.

  I don’t like the look on William1’s face at all.

  He quietly steers me along a path that leads to the great curved wall of Oculum. We can’t get too close of course; it is forbidden. There is a well-marked fence that we are not allowed to cross, and there are Sentries to enforce the rules. No one is allowed to touch the walls that ring the world. The vast, opaque walls arch to the firmament and touch far above our heads. They are the edge of everything.

  But why would we want to go near the wall anyway? I cannot understand why William is drawing us so near.

  The Seed Park is large, though, and soon we are out of sight of anyone else. There are no Treekeepers working near this part of the park. We’re all alone. The forbidden wall is not far from us, and I realize as William draws me along that I have never been this close to it. The enormous filter fans work away, taking tired air out, drawing fresh air in. A gentle breeze stirs the leaves at this end of the park, stirs my hair, the hem of my frock. The noise of the fans is like a gentle breath, in and out.

  William leads me to a large rosebush growing up a trellis, where he looks around, then draws me behind the trellis. It is forbidden to do this. Mother always tells me so. Teacher tells us. Regulus tells us.

  We must not hide alone together. Especially not the Williams and Mirandas. We are the oldest. We must set an example for the younger children.

  “What …” I begin, but William shakes his head. His eyes tell me to be silent, then he looks over my shoulder, and I see a Sentry. It’s far away, at the edge of the park, but close enough to catch us if it sees us. It rolls slowly along the curved wall then turns and rolls the other way. It will be back.