our Befores to find one in our family who was permitted to See. It is an honor-to be able to put aside the curtain of time-“
“I don’t want to!” Simon’s eyes brimmed again. “I don’t think it’s a bit of fun. Do I have to?”
“Do you have to breathe?” I asked him. “You could stop if you wanted to, but your body would die. You can refuse your Gift, but part of you would die-the part of you the Power honors-your place in the Presence-your syllable of the Name.” All this he knew from first consciousness, but I could feel him taking comfort from my words. “Do you realize the People have had no one to See for them since-since-why, clear back to the Peace! And now you are it! Oh, Simon, I am so proud of you!” I laughed at my own upsurge of emotion. “Oh, Simon! May I touch my thrice- honored grandson?”
With a wordless cry, he flung himself into my arms and we clung tightly, tightly, before his deep renouncing withdrawal He looked at me then and slowly dropped his arms from around my neck, separation in every movement. I could see growing in the topaz tawniness of his eyes, his new set-apartness. It made me realize anew how close the Presence is to us always and how much nearer Simon was than any of us. Also, naked and trembling in my heart was the recollection that never did the People have one to See for them unless there lay ahead portentous things to See.
Both of us shuttered our eyes and looked away, Simon to veil the eyes that so nearly looked on the Presence, I, lest I be blinded by the Glory reflected in his face.
“Which reminds me,” I said in a resolutely everyday voice, “I will now listen to explanations as to why those six sandals were left on, over, and among your bed this morning.”
“Well,” he said with a tremulous grin. “The red ones are too short-” He turned stricken, realizing eyes to me. “I won’t ever be able to tell anyone anything any more unless the Power wills it!” he cried. Then he grinned again, “And the green ones need the latchets renewed-“
A week later the usual meeting was called and David and I-we were among the Old Ones of our Group-slid into our robes. I felt a pang as I smoothed the shimmering fabric over my hips, pressing pleats in with my thumb and finger to adjust for lost weight. The last time I had worn it was the Festival the year Thann was Called. Since then I hadn’t wanted to attend the routine Group meetings-not without Thann. I hadn’t realized that I was losing weight.
‘Chell clung to David. “I wish now that I were an Old One, too,” she said. “I’ve got a nameless worry in the pit of my stomach heavy enough to anchor me for life. Hurry home, you two!”
I looked back as we lifted just before the turnoff. I smiled to see the warm lights begin to well up in the windows. Then my smile died. I felt, too, across my heart the shadow that made ‘Chell feel it was Lighting Time before the stars had broken through the last of the day.
The blow-when it came-was almost physical, so much so that I pressed my hands to my chest, my breath coming hard, trying too late to brace against the shock. David’s sustaining hand was on my arm but I felt the tremor in it, too. Around me I felt my incredulity and disbelief shared by the other Old Ones of the Group.
The Oldest spread his hands as he was deluged by a flood of half-formed questions. “It has been Seen. Already our Home has been altered so far that the failova and flahmen can’t come to blossom. As we accepted the fact that there were no failova and flahmen this year, so we must accept the fact that there will be no more Home for us.”
In the silence that quivered after his words, I could feel the further stricken sag of heartbeats around me and suddenly my own heart slowed until I wondered if the Power was stilling it now-now-in the midst of this confused fear and bewilderment.
“Then we are all Called?” I couldn’t recognize the choked voice that put the question. “How long before the Power summons us?”
“We are not Called,” said the Oldest. “Only the Home is Called. We-go.”
“Go!” The thought careened from one to another.
“Yes,” said the Oldest. “Away from the Home. Out.”
Life apart from the Home? I slumped. It was too much to be taken in all at once. Then I remembered. Simon! Oh, poor Simon! If he were Seeing clearly already-but of course he was. He was the one who had told the Oldest! No wonder he was terrified! Simon, I said to the Oldest subvocally. Yes, answered the Oldest. Do not communicate to the others. He scarcely can bear the burden now. To have it known would multiply it past his bearing. Keep his secret-completely.
I came back to the awkward whirlpool of thoughts around me.
“But,” stammered someone, speaking what everyone was thinking, “can the People live away from the Home?
Wouldn’t we die like uprooted plants?”
“We can live,” said the Oldest. “This we know, as we know that the Home can no longer be our biding place.”
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” It was Neil-Timmy’s father.
“We don’t know.” The Oldest was shamed. “We have forgotten too much since the Peace to be able to state the mechanics of what is happening, but one of us Sees us go and the Home destroyed, so soon that we have no time to go back to the reasons.”
Since we were all joined in our conference mind which is partially subvocal, all our protests and arguments and cries were quickly emitted and resolved, leaving us awkwardly trying to plan something of which we had no knowledge of our own.
“If we are to go,” I said, feeling a small spurt of excitement inside my shock, “we’ll have to make again. Make a tool. No, that’s not the word. We have tools still. Man does with tools. No, it’s a-a machine we’ll have to make. Machines do to man. We haven’t been possessed by machines-“
“For generations,” said David. “Not since-” He paused to let our family’s stream of history pour through his mind.
“Since Eva-lee’s thrice great-grandfather’s time.”
“Nevertheless,” said the Oldest, “we must make ships.” His tongue was hesitant on the long unused word. “I have been in communication with the other Oldest Ones around the Home. Our Group must make six of them.”
