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  Her parents and her grandfather were sitting at the square wood table in the center of the room. Anra LeitoMorgen was tall and slender; her black hair was pulled back from her pale, fine-featured face. Her hands were folded over the belly that bulged underneath her brown tunic. Her long trousered legs, parallel to the table, were propped up on another wood chair.

  Brun RillaCerwen had his elbows on the table. His chin rested on his stubby hands. He was a stocky, big-boned, brown-skinned man not quite as tall as Anra. Daiya looked like him, and so did Silla; only Rin had resembled their mother. Cerwen IviaRey was next to his son Brun; he smiled as Daiya approached the table. An earthen pitcher and a small cup floated toward her; the pitcher poured water into the cup, then settled on the table.

  —You're not in the fields—Daiya thought, catching the answer almost immediately.

  —Cerwen asked me not to go—Anra replied.—Lina and Pili were burying a solitary, he thought it might be bad for me to witness ... I see you already know about that—

  —I was with Mausi, we came back here together—

  Anra frowned.—Poor Mausi, and right before her ordeal, too, her parents will be very concerned—She pulled her feet off the chair in front of her and rose. Her belly did not seem to belong to her slim body.

  Brun got up also.—We'll go to the fields now—he thought.—Will you be with us tonight, Daiya, or are you going out to train some more—

  Daiya realized her father was hoping she would not stay. She caught a glimpse of his doubts before Brun's mind closed. He doesn't think I'm ready, Daiya thought behind her wall.

  —Let the girl stay if she wants—Cerwen thought. The old man's words rippled in her mind, clear and strong, sweeping away the wisps of Brun's doubts. Daiya smiled gratefully. Brun patted her cheek as he and Anra left for the fields.

  She sat down. Cerwen sailed a loaf of bread toward her and she tore off a bit, stuffing it into her mouth. Her grandfather, one of the Merging Ones, was a big dark-skinned man with thick graying black hair. His brown eyes narrowed.—You need more training, Daiya—The words were hard and solid, pressing against her like round smooth stones.

  —I know—Her own thoughts seemed weak and insubstantial.—I almost lost my temper with Silla again—

  —I didn't mean that—the old man replied.—You must harden your body more. Anra and Brun are right. Rest here tonight and go out again tomorrow, take only a knife and some water. Travel alone. Train your body and your mind—

  Daiya was irritated. She already knew that.

  —I see, you think I'm telling you nothing—Cerwen continued.—But it's extremely important that you understand it. There were those whose minds could have withstood the ordeal but whose bodies were too weak, and those who survived it, then died in the desert while returning. You young people too often think you can compensate mentally for any bodily weakness, and often you can, but not indefinitely. Why do you think we insist on doing some physical labor when we could use our powers almost as easily? It is because, without strong bodies, our minds would also weaken in time. Mind and body are not things apart, they are intertwined, at least until the Merged One calls us, gathering the mind to Itself as the body fails—

  Daiya frowned as she tore off another hunk of bread. The crust crunched against her teeth as she chewed.

  —Again you think you know all this, Daiya—The thoughts were sharp, pricking her, stabbing her with sharp pointed edges.—But if you knew it, I wouldn't have to tell it to you again—

  She glared at him.—Why don't you tell us what we'll face?—she asked.—You could prepare us for it—

  —But we already have. It is your character that will be tested, your ability to become a Merging One. Let me point out one thing. You can master every trick, you can be the strongest young person here, and still not survive if your character is defective. You had better remember that, child. Who will live and who will die was decided a long time ago. It is the kind of person you have become that will matter—Cerwen drew his heavy brows together.—I worry about you. You sometimes hold too many thoughts behind your wall, keeping them to yourself. You have even doubted the Merged One—

  Daiya tensed. The bread in her mouth tasted stale. She threw up her wall quickly, blocking her grandfather's probing. She had doubted the Merged One, and tried to rid herself of the blasphemous notion. It had started as idle musing; why did the Merged One never reveal Itself to them? Why, if the body and mind were intertwined and not separate, did the mind not die with the body? Why, if separateness was an evil, did God remain separate from men and women instead of making them part of a universal Net right from the start? Why did the Merged One allow solitaries to be born, condemning them to death and eternal separation from all existence?

  She had not asked these questions as a child. Later, like many of the others, she had asked them of her teachers and received answers, but the questions kept returning. All the answers seemed only to be one answer: the Merged One had ways not easily expressed. Too much curiosity was an evil and could, she knew, lead to isolation. Once she had asked Mausi if she still had doubts, and her friend had kept her barrier up for days.

  —Prepare yourself, Daiya—Cerwen thought.—Remember that even though you cannot sense it, the Merged One is always with you, our entire world is part of God. Go out tomorrow and strengthen yourself—His body blurred, then disappeared, though she still felt his presence. It was a familiar trick, but one that only the Merging Ones could do easily. She sensed his movement across the room to the doorway. Then he was gone.

  Her doubts returned. She could tell when a Merging Self was near, even when one made himself invisible by intercepting the vision of the viewer. She felt it. But the Merged One remained apart. She buried her head in her arms, pressing her cheek against the table top. She could not force belief; it was there or it was absent. She had to pray for it to a God who might not exist. She wondered if it could ever be regained, or if she was condemned.

  Daiya was ready to leave in the morning. Brun kissed her and started to give her a piece of bread and some fruit to take with her. She shook her head; he nodded and put the food away.

  —Goodbye, Brun—she thought. She turned toward her mother, who was sitting at the table with Silla finishing breakfast.—Goodbye, Anra—She stared at her mother's abdomen, suddenly realizing that she might not be alive when the child was born.

  Anra, reacting to Daiya's thoughts, shook her head and smiled reassuringly, but Daiya picked up her fear. Silla stuck out her tongue and said, “Bleaaaah.” Daiya made a face at her and then went outside.

  The sky was clear, the sun bright. The odors of corn cakes, ground wheat, and baking chickens mingled with the scents of flowers, the stink of latrines, and the smell of dirt and dust. She passed a hut where vines crawled over the walls as the minds of the residents tried to form a pleasing pattern; the green leaves fluttered as the vines twisted around one another, forming living ropes.

  She turned toward the riverbank, deciding to follow the river out of the village. It was a roundabout route, but she would not have to go through the fields, where people would be gathering after the morning meal. She was trying to keep to herself again, she thought. She shook off the self-accusation; Cerwen had told her to travel alone. She was beginning to understand why. Perhaps, he must be hoping, if she knew or felt how truly fearful loneliness was, even when one was still bound to others by the Net, she would be more prepared for the ordeal, more willing and determined to survive and take her place in the community.

  At the river bank on the edge of the village, a few young people had already gathered. Some were swimming; others sat at the water's edge sculpting the liquid into the shapes of birds and animals, holding the sculptures with their minds. Daiya watched them, envious. They had been through their ordeals and had survived. They lived in their own huts now and would soon be raising children. Nenla BariWil was with the group; she was Daiya's age but had matured earlier. Once Daiya had sat with Nenla and Cina RiisHomm as a t
eacher trained them in making their words and ideas clear thoughts. They had all studied thought projection together, had made up mindsongs while burying compost in the fallow fields. Nenla was alive. Cina was dead.

  Nenla shook back her long red hair and waved; Daiya waved back. Nenla shaped a bird out of water and flew it toward her. It dissolved, sprinkling her with droplets. A boy and a girl lifted themselves from shore, flying over the water, soaring and dipping. They dove under the surface and emerged; they turned on their backs and floated indolently.

  Daiya turned from the carefree scene and continued along the bank. She came to an irrigation ditch and floated over it, extending her arms and pointing her toes. She touched down on the other side and paused, taking a deep breath after the effort. She climbed up through reeds and shrubs and stopped by a willow tree, sensing other presences.

  Ahead of her, two boys were walking, one tall and auburn-haired, the other small and thin. She recognized Harel KaniDekel and Oren KiaEde. She caught her breath, remembering the first time she had let Harel see her thoughts about him.

  She hurried after them, wending her way through a patch of yellow wildflowers called goldstems. As she approached the boys, they walked more slowly, waiting for her to catch up. She came up to Harel and he smiled, showing his even white teeth. He draped one muscular arm over her shoulders, she put an arm around his waist, and they walked together, letting their thoughts mingle. She felt the rough woven fabric of his pale blue shirt against her palm, and smiled. Oren put up his barrier and slowed to walk behind them.

  At last Harel withdrew his mind a bit. His wavy auburn hair swayed around his face as they walked.—I wanted to stay with you tonight—he thought.—But my grandmother told me I should go out by myself this time—

  —My grandfather told me the same thing—she replied.

  Oren caught up with them again, dropping his wall; he had been thinking of Mausi. He had pulled his brown hair back on his neck, making his thin face seem even more pointed.—Everyone was told that—the smaller boy thought.—I keep wondering why, we'll be together when we go to the desert, and no one likes being apart—

  Apprehension settled over all of them, darkening the sunny sky, fading the green of the trees and plants around them. Then Harel's mind cut through the mist, giving them a glimpse of the future: the ordeal was past, all of them stood in the center of the village, alive and healthy. The vision rippled; Daiya was standing with Harel in front of a hut.

  She peered up at him, startled. The images faded. Oren was grinning at them.

  Daiya had already known how Harel felt; they had discussed it before without committing themselves. But showing her his wishes in front of Oren made it more public. Harel stopped and turned to face her.

  —Oren already knows what I think—he thought.—I told him I was going to ask you as soon as I could, I don't want to wait until after the ordeal's over. Will you live with me then, Daiya—

  She smiled and clutched his hand.—You know I will, Harel, you didn't have to ask after all the times we've shared our thoughts—

  —I wanted to anyway, and Oren's my best friend, I couldn't keep it from him. I kept thinking, if we promise to partner now, maybe the pledge will give us strength during the ordeal—

  She assented silently. They stood together, leaning against each other while Oren shifted his weight from one foot to the other, bobbing up and down. Then they drew away from each other. Harel wanted to know which way she would travel.

  Daiya waved an arm, pointing southeast. She would follow the foothills in that direction as far as she could and camp near the mountains that night.—You're going northwest, aren't you—

  Harel nodded. When they were both younger, they had gone northwest to see the wild horses. They had crept up on two horses near the edge of the herd, holding the minds of the animals while trying to slip on their backs. Daiya had been thrown. Harel had managed to stay on for a time, clinging to the horse's mane, his hair flying as it galloped, until his control slipped and he landed on the ground with a loud grunt.

  Harel shook his head at the image.—Not this time—he thought. His mind rippled, amused as he remembered his sore rump. He was to travel with Oren part of the way; then the two would split up.

  He held up a hand and they parted. She watched as the boys wandered off together. Her mind brushed Harel's briefly, then withdrew. Harel was confident now, his anxiety gone. She would be with him when the ordeal was over, so he had to survive.

  She turned and began to move toward the grassy plains that led to the foothills. She thought of Harel. With him, she could almost forget her doubts, the feelings that threatened to make her separate. She had shared those doubts with him, asking him the same questions that had made her friend Mausi throw up her wall. Harel had not retreated. His mind, clear and steady, had taken her doubts and made them a fine mist like a fog, dispersing them with warmth and light.

  When she saw things through his eyes, the questions seemed meaningless abstractions, ideas of no importance. She saw the village, existing as it would until the end of the world, pieces of God's mind replacing those that had rejoined the Merged One. Harel had no doubts and rarely put up his barrier. He lived in the world, accepting it, sure of its rightness, looking forward to the day when he would be a Merging One. He seemed older than fourteen, almost a man. Her doubts could not affect him; they were like bad weather, and they would pass. That was probably one of the reasons she loved him. She wished she were more like him.

  She emptied her mind of thoughts. A warm breeze ruffled her hair. The grass of the plains rippled, becoming dappled waves of green and yellow. She walked quickly in the direction of the foothills.

  The evening sky glowed red; the sun was an orange disk on the horizon. Daiya was thousands of paces from the village, as far away from it as she had ever been. She had gone southeast, keeping the foothills to her left. She had jogged part of the distance, occasionally floating over obstacles along the way. Her mind was drained and her feet ached.

  The Net still bound her to the village, one barely perceptible strand lying gently against her mind. She stood still for a moment and opened her senses. A part of her seemed to float overhead as she surveyed the area. The region was unfamiliar. She saw a creek between two hills; she could camp near it for the night. She drew her mind inside herself and began to climb the small hill in front of her. She stumbled over a rock and wished she had enough strength left to float over the hill. The shrubs leaned away from her as she passed.

  She reached the top and paused. The creek was in a hollow below. She scrambled down toward it, clutching tree limbs and releasing them as she went. As she came nearer, she heard the creek gurgle as it flowed over rocks, cutting through the earth.

  She knelt on a flat rock at the edge of the brook, splashing her face with the cold water. She cupped her hands and drank. Then she folded her legs and sat down, back straight, hands on her thighs.

  Again her doubts and questions returned, after being held off all day by her concentration on the landscape. This time they were practical questions, shared by others, even by Harel. Why did so many die during their passage in the desert? The Net would be with them, after all; why couldn't they summon aid? Or wasn't the village allowed to help? Daiya could not imagine a parent willingly neglecting to answer an anguished mental plea from a child. She had asked her friend Nenla about all this, but Nenla had given her no answer, telling her only that she would find out when she faced her own ordeal.

  Daiya rose. Lengthening shadows cast by the trees alongside the creek covered the ground. The sky was growing darker. She shivered. She warmed the air around herself while clearing a space for a fire, making a hollow in the ground, then surrounding it with small rocks. As she moved away to look for firewood, a distant shriek made her look up at the purple sky.

  Something was coming over the black mountains, something she had never seen before. It fell from the sky, a blurred solid object, glowing faintly. It hovered for a moment over the
hills to the southeast, then disappeared among them.

  Daiya stood still, fists clenched, trying to understand what it could be. The Merging Ones sometimes told stories about large stones which had fallen from the sky long ago. But this thing could not be a stone. Stones did not hover before falling to the ground. She waited, expecting to sense a shock wave after the thing hit. She felt nothing.

  She thought of pulling the Net, alerting the village, summoning adults to aid her in an investigation. She rejected the notion. She was older now; Cerwen would be disappointed in her if she asked for help to explore something which might be unimportant. He had, after all, told her to come out alone. She would find out what it was by herself; she could always call someone later if necessary.

  She steadied her mind, not wanting to disturb the Net with her thoughts, and began to walk in the direction of the fallen object.

  3

  Daiya crept over the side of a hill, sensing something ahead. She was far from the creek now, and sure she did not have the strength to return; she would have to spend the night somewhere else. Her mouth was dry. She reached for the water sack she had carried with her from the village and drank. Her mouth still felt dry. She was beginning to wish she had paid no attention to the falling object. She took a deep breath, summoning all her energy, then sent her mind ahead, keeping her senses alert in case her body was threatened and she had to depart quickly.

  She probed the area below, sensing a thing without life, a thing as inanimate as the stones pressing against her feet. She probed around it, then stiffened in terror. A mind was there, without walls, and completely unlike those in the village. Incomprehensible ideas raced across it, glistening like the colored stones of Anra's necklace and Brun's belt, hard and solid. She could not grasp them. Her mind pulled away, fleeing back to her.

  Daiya waited, crouching near a bush. Her toes curled inside her moccasins. She had touched the mind; it must have sensed her. She waited for it to reach out to her, but it did not. Tentatively, she sent out part of her mind once more. She caught flashes of brightness, and below them, trapped in a turbulent mass of grey and black clouds, a pulsing light, a tiny speck inside the mind but not of it. She brushed against the thoughts and again received no response.