Oculum Page 13

  “Thank you,” he says, a little choked himself. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out the Map of Oculum. He pulls out a feather quill and a stopper from a tiny bottle, then dips the quill in the ink. I watch over his shoulder as he writes on the back of the map: Miranda, this is Mann and Cranker. They will help you find me. Come as fast as you can. William1

  “Good writing,” I say, impressed, and William1 shrugs.

  “We can all read and write in Oculum.” Then he passes Cranker the map. “You must give her this, when you find her, to prove to her that you know me. She’ll understand. Please, don’t lose it,” he says. You should give it to me, then, I think. Cranker takes the map, sticks it in his sack careful enough. I pass Lisle back to Grannie and miss her against my shoulder right away. But Cranker and me got a job out in the rubble.

  We say our goodbyes and head back out into the broken-down City to find Miranda1.

  Miranda1

  Iwander all night. The boots save my feet, and I stumble and push myself to keep on my way. The small moon is up, so I am not in darkness. Everywhere is bathed in silvery light. There are no more people, though, no one but me.

  As the moon crosses the sky, I stagger, and soon I’m too tired to move. I know it’s still hours from the return of the sun, so I sit against one of the few trees. I did not mean to sleep, but a moment later, it seems, I wake. There’s a soft, warm body beside me, and I’m so surprised that I yell.

  The body beside me leaps to its feet — all four of them — then runs out of my reach and looks at me. In the moonlight, I can see that it’s dark, covered in fur, and one eye is missing. But the one good eye peering at me is intelligent. The creature gently sways its back from side to side, a peaceful motion, and I do not think it means to harm me.

  “Do you have a name?” I ask, and the creature tilts its head to listen. How like Mother it seems for a moment!

  “My name is Miranda1,” I say. It looks at me, then out of the darkness quietly steps another creature like it, but gray and much bigger. The two creatures wait patiently, looking at me, gently swaying their backs together. Everything about them seems friendly, but they are waiting for something.

  “I’ll call you Ariel,” I say to the smaller one without the eye. “And you I’ll call Caliban,” I say to the huge gray one. These are names from the story Teacher has read us from the WillBook, about the girl with my name, the story that I’ve never read to the end. Ariel and Caliban both wiggle their backs like they agree. We look at each other a moment longer, then as one, both creatures hear something in the darkness, and they vanish. But for some reason, I don’t think they’ve abandoned me.

  I walk farther, the moon sinks and the sky grows pink again …

  … and I find my third person in this world.

  It’s a girl, clutching her arm and crying softly. She sits in the road, and I walk up to her. After talking to Grannie, I assume she can understand me.

  “Why do you cry?” I ask, and she whips around to look at me, afraid.

  “Shove off!” she shouts, and I’m surprised, but I’ve seen this before in younger children when they’re frightened. They yell at you. Although this girl seems my age or older.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, and the girl drops her head and sniffles. “Is it your arm?” I ask, slowly advancing. “I can look at it, maybe I can help? I can set bones.” She still doesn’t answer me, although she shoots me a quick glance.

  “I’m Miranda1,” I say, as though it may help. The girl cradles her hurt arm, and I creep a little closer, crouch, and hold out my hand. As gently as I can, I take her arm and prod like Medicus taught us. I assess. No bones broken.

  “Can you make a fist?” I ask, and she can. “Can you squeeze my fingers?” I ask, and she does, although it’s a very weak grip.

  “You’ve sprained your wrist, I think. Nothing is broken. I need a bandage. Do you have one?” She looks at me.

  “A what?”

  “A strip of cloth? Or linen?” The girl just stares at me, so I tear another strip off the bottom of William1’s shirt, suddenly thankful that it was far too long for me. I carefully take her arm and tie the bandage in place, then I fashion a sling for her and set her arm in it.

  “Don’t use it for seven days, then only for a few hours a day for another seven. It should heal completely.”

  I help the girl stand up, and she whispers, “Thank you.” Then three people come out from around the side of a house, and the girl scampers over to them. One boy has a shaved head, and he stares at me, and says, “Who the jigger are you?” He’s a little old to be missing his front teeth, but he spits this out at me.

  “I’m Miranda1.” I hold my staff and look at the four people, about my age, two boys, two girls. They look underfed, rough, sad. The girl shows them her arm, and they look at me with suspicion, but their malice fades.

  “You a healer?” the boy with the shaved head asks.

  “No. I know how to set bones and treat sprains, though.” The boy wants to say more to me, but sud-denly the group grows uneasy and moves away, back toward the house. They disappear around it without a goodbye. When I turn around, Caliban and Ariel stand behind me like Sentries.

  “They don’t like you two. I wonder why?” The creatures dip their heads and trot ahead of me, one on either side. I’m about to continue on my way …

  “Miranda1!”

  I whirl around, and there behind a house, two boys step out from the rubble, one huge, one short, much like the dogs. The bigger boy raises his hand in hello.

  “Miranda1, we got a message for you,” the short one calls.

  “From William1,” the big one adds. I run toward them and catch them both in an embrace. I don’t care who they are.

  “I am found.”

  Mannfred

  The hot sun beats down. Miranda1 marches ahead of me and Cranker, the dogs at either side of her, leading us through the piles of garbage around the dome. We lost the argument. We’re going back to William1’s door.

  I learn something important today: Miranda1’s got a will of steel. We told her who we were, that Grannie sent us, and showed her the Map of Oculum with William1’s note. Then we said he was with Grannie, but hard as we tried, we couldn’t make her come with us back to them on the road. Not even after I point out he wrote, “Come as fast as you can.”

  “He’s safe?” she asked. We nod. “But he’s hurt his foot?” We nod again.

  “Then he can’t help with what we need to do, and I’ll find him afterward. Come on.” Then she walks away, and there’s nothing for it but for us to follow. Cranker and me shoot each other a look, but we both know we can’t return to William1 and Grannie without her now she’s found, so we fall in step behind. But truth is, I’m awed by her. Cranker, too. We’d follow her anyway.

  With our charcoal marks all over, and the two dogs, we set out for that door in the dome. We walk through the hot day for hours, then in late afternoon we turn down into that weird ditch between all the cars and buses. There’s the garbage man, crowned William1, pointing the way.

  The dogs run ahead, but Miranda1 stops at the man of garbage. She looks close up and then reaches and runs her hand across the face, the name “William1” in the crown. I see her smile, first time all day.

  We walk a little farther, and there’s the door.

  But the door is broke!

  It’s busted wide open! Miranda1 stops at the door and puts her hand into the open space. She looks at us, amazed.

  Cranker rushes up and looks. “Look what we did, Mann! Our piece of metal brought down the door!”

  “Shhh,” I say. “Quiet yourself, Cranker.” I want to whisper. Something here feels strange. It’s true, some-how the door is open and smashed. Could it be our doing? Our crack that spread?

  “You did this?” Miranda1 asks.

  I shrug. “Maybe. When w
e were here a few days ago, we stuck a piece of metal into the glass.” She raises an eyebrow but turns back to the door. A shred of glass hangs over the busted door, and before I can stop him, Cranker whips a rock, and the glass falls. Above the door there’s a web of thick cracks, running straight up. Cranker whips another heavy rock.

  BANG!

  “Cranker! Cut it out!” I shout, but he lets fly with more rocks. This time, there’s a creak and a whine, and a big crack shoots farther above the open door. It’s like watching one of Grannie’s hen’s eggs crack in boiling water.

  “Stop it!” I shout and grab his arm. “You want to bring the whole thing down on us?” And there’s no denying it: the cracks fan out, slow and even, and start spidering above the door. We both hold our breath, watching. The cracks run and run, then stop. We eye the dome, me a little worried and Cranker just about wild with excitement.

  A bigger crack starts to moan, and run along again, bit by bit. I can’t stand the thought of walking through the door now. There’s nothing about the cracks that make me feel good.

  Miranda1 pays no attention. She is through the open door and disappears into the gloomy dome. She sweeps past me, shifts her packs, hoists her staff, and I know that danger or no, I will follow her anywhere. Me and Cranker step through the wrecked door into Oculum City Dome behind her, into the world of Miranda1 and William1. The two dogs run ahead, sniffing and lurking like master thieves.

  As soon as we step through the door, it’s dark and quiet. There’s a smell in here, like a too-closed space, but with lots of green plants. It reminds me of Grannie’s greenhouse, back home, after it’s been closed for days. The dome is high over our heads, the space is filled with trees, and I can see buildings not too far off.

  But it’s gloomy. I look back, and the only real light comes from the busted open door behind us, but the sun won’t travel far inside the dome. It’s too gloomy in here for the sun to light our way. It’s too quiet. Where is everybody? Both Miranda1 and William1 say it’s a busy place, with one thousand children, but it’s silent and still. Our Littluns would never be so quiet, and there’s only a handful of them. Or there was. I try not to think about that.

  Miranda moves into a grove of trees with flowers. It smells sweet, and I whisper to Cranker, “Fruit trees!” My heart pounds, I want to stop and touch the miracle trees, but Miranda1 walks fast, and we run to catch up.

  Then there’s a sight that just about makes my heart jump out of my mouth. Under a huge tree there’s a monster made all of metal and leather, and another, both taller than me by far. The two monsters are locked together by shiny metal hands. They spin around, slow, looking at each other as they spin, spin, spin. There’s a high, sharp whine from one of them. I cover my ears.

  “What the jigger?” Cranker whispers, standing close beside me. I don’t know what the monsters are, but I seen the behavior before. It’s like the one-eyed dog holding a FatRat in its skinny jaws.

  They mean to harm one another. The two metal mon-sters clutch each other in a death grip if ever I seen one.

  Miranda1

  I step into the Seed Park. Caliban and Ariel slip from tree to tree ahead of me, silent as shades, much quieter than the two boys behind me. I leave the door and the sunlight and lead us all into Oculum.

  “Miranda1,” Mann whispers and points ahead of us.

  A Mother and a Sentry are locked together beneath the walnut tree. They spin, slowly, each with a metallic hand arched around the heart of the other. A high, metallic whine comes from them, and my own heart skips a beat. My breathing speeds up.

  What are this Mother and Sentry doing? And where are the children?

  I creep closer and see that the Mother and the Sentry have their eyes locked on one another, as tightly as their metallic arms. I toss a fallen stick near the pair, (I’m shocked that a stick has been allowed to lie untended — where are the Treekeepers to clean it up?), but the Mother and Sentry don’t hear me or see me.

  “It’s Miranda1, returned from Outside!” I call, but they don’t turn toward me.

  “What’s up with them?” Cranker asks. I shrug. William1’s note on his map comes to me: The Mothers will help us. The Sentries will not.

  “I have no idea. But this should be a bustling market day. There should be children and their Mothers all over the common, all across the main street.” I lead the dogs and the boys across the silent Seed Park, then I walk behind the Medicus Hall and onto the main street. There are no children anywhere.

  Then I see another Sentry and a Mother outside the Teaching Hall.

  They’re locked together too, spinning slowly, each with a mechanical hand held deeply into the other’s chest. There is the same high, metallic whine.

  A sudden chill starts at my neck. I do know what the whine is; I have heard my own Mother make this noise when I climbed the walnut tree at twelve during my coming-of-age rite and almost fell.

  The Mother is screaming.

  I get a rise of panic.

  “They fighting?” Mann asks softly.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never seen this before. Tread quietly.” The dogs and the boys help calm me, and I thank William1 again for sending them. We go past the spinning Mother and Sentry, but they don’t notice us.

  “Where are the children?” Mann whispers as we creep along. I shake my head. We slip across the common and look toward the Oculum Senate, and all three of us stop and stare.

  Cranker says, “Festering mercy.” He has a colorful way with his words.

  The square is full of hundreds of Mothers and Sen-tries locked together, their hands grasping the heart of the other as they spin. The air vibrates with the metallic whine of screaming Mothers.

  It makes my hair prickle, my heart race. The dogs stick close to me, the boys too, and once again I’m thankful I am not alone. It’s eerie, and I have no idea what is happening.

  The last line of William1’s poem comes back to me: The Mothers shall rise, at the call.

  Can this be connected? I don’t see how. What call? Whose call?

  We pass the Senate, and I’m afraid to look in, but I must. We creep up the stairs and open the heavy wooden door. The Atrium is full of more spinning Mothers and Sentries, more screaming. The noise is terrifying, amplified in the marble hall.

  I can’t bear to look at my own Mother, but I make myself peek … and Regulus still lies there dead at the bottom of the great Arm, Mother slumped on top of him. So far, they are the only two casualties that I have seen. Cranker swears softly again. Mann just stares with wide eyes, and I realize they are amazed by the Oculum Arm. It is impressive.

  But I have no time to explain. What has happened to the children?

  We step out into the square, past the spinning, scream-ing Mothers and Sentries, and again none of them notice us. We hurry toward the houses, running along the silent streets, but there is no one.

  Then, a quick closing of a curtain, a sly, silent click of a front door.

  We are being watched. “There’s someone over there,” Cranker whispers, and I see a child whip behind a building. I almost faint with relief.

  They are not destroyed.

  I stop running and lead the dogs and the two boys across a street. I stride up the front steps of a house with a red door and “W2” in silver lettering. I bang upon the door.

  “WILLIAM2! WILLIAM2! Open the door! I know you’re in there! It’s me, Miranda1!” The front window curtain flickers, an eye sees me, then the door opens with a quiet click.

  William2 stands in his front hall. He still wears the armband that says “W1,” and he looks at me with deep fear. Terror. William2 is terrified of me. I wave at Cranker and Mann and tell them to keep the dogs back, so they wait on the sidewalk in front of the house. My new friends each grab a dog and stay where they are.

  I don’t want William2 to be too terrified to tal
k to me. I take a step toward him in his front hallway.

  “Stop! Miranda1, I beg you! Come no closer!”

  “William2, what has happened? It’s me!”

  He comes forward then, which is very brave, because he trembles.

  “Are you not … are you not dead, Miranda1? Are you not a Fandom from Outside?” he whispers, his eyes wide. I go forward and grab his arm, and he gasps.

  “No, William2. I assure you I’m not dead. Do I look dead to you?” William2 is not a stupid boy, or a coward, and he agrees with me.

  “No, Miranda1, clearly you’re not dead. But what are you doing here? Who are those boys, and creatures?”

  “They are my friends. You can trust them. And the creatures are called dogs. I’ve been Outside, William2. It’s the real world, and we must all go there. But we must hurry!”

  He stares at me, shakes his head. “I thought — we thought — you told your Mother to kill Regulus, and now the Sentries and Mothers are locked in battle!”

  “I did not tell my Mother to kill Regulus, William2. She did that herself, to give me time to get away and climb the Arm.”

  He blinks at me. “Why?” he asks. The look on Mother’s face as I climbed, on Grannie’s face leaning over her sick, the last line of the poem from William1’s book … there is only one answer.

  “It can only be to help. Perhaps … perhaps it is for love?”

  “Love?” he whispers. I nod. Poor boy, I think. This is all too strange. Death, then a lie, escape, and now love. But there’s no time; we can discuss it later.

  “We do not have much time, William2. Whatever the Mothers and Sentries are doing, it may not last. They may notice us soon. We must hurry and leave. Where are the children?” I ask gently.

  He is calmer now. “They are all hiding in their houses.” He is about to say something more, but there’s a knock at the door and a child’s voice.

  “William? I have seen Miranda1! Is she there?”