Martyr (The Martyr Trilogy) (15 page)

14

We
rose early, before anyone else, so it wasn’t necessary for me to try to sneak
back to my tent.  Still, we checked it each morning for any signs of disturbance. 
On the third day I saw what looked like fresh tracks in front of and around one
side to the back of my tent.  It was the side that would have been least
visible to the rest of the camp.  It gave me a chill, but I found no evidence
that anyone had actually tried to get in.  The ground wasn’t soft enough to try
to determine the size or shape of the feet that had made the tracks. 

We
rode every day.  Packing only water, since it could be scarce in the field,
Maya would always find something edible growing, or kill a rabbit or bird with
her crossbow and prepare it.  She carried small pieces of flint and steel that
she used in combination with a piece of charred linen to make a fire when
needed.  Her survival skills put my old boy scout training to shame.  We set
off in a different direction each day, but never far, and never to the east. 
Maya would teach me how to perform increasingly difficult maneuvers with my
deer, and after a few days I began to feel as though it would take more than
another bullet to dislodge me from my mount.  The deer would be a different one
each time, usually, so I’d have to “learn” the deer’s personality each time to
make the connection essential to riding.  Each evening we’d check in on Doog,
and every time he’d assure us that the work was almost done.

On
the fifth day I told Maya about the vision Reya had allowed me to see through
the instrumentality of the deer.  She asked me to recount it in detail, so
during one of our lunch breaks I did.  “Wow,” she said.  “So that’s what
happened to Tal-Makai.  And that must be why they call him ‘Martyr’.”  She
inhaled slowly, then blew it out with puffed cheeks.  “What a legacy to have to
live up to.  It’s really not fair, you know, that so much has been put on your
shoulders.”

“Tell
me about it,” I said.  “That’s why I’m not trying to fill Tal-Makai’s shoes. 
Besides the fact that I’m wearing them, of course.”

Maya
laughed.  “Ah, the irony!” 

“Maya,”
I said, “Can you show me how to do that vision thing that Reya did with the deer?”

“I
can.  It may come in handy at some point, so it’s important for you to learn
it.  But you should also know that it is very strenuous, both for you and for
the deer.  It saps a lot of the deer’s energy temporarily, so it should not be
overused.  But for you it is more of an emotional strain.  It draws out
memories that are bound to deep-seated emotions and lays them bare for another
to see.  In everyday life we are not so open with our hearts, even if we think
we are.  It’s also done differently from all of the other commands.  You can’t
just hum, this requires a very specific sound.”

“How
did anyone ever figure that out?” I asked.

“Good
question.  In ancient times the people already realized that the puurr-deer
were intelligent.  I suppose someone long ago just stumbled on this ability
when making various sounds to try to communicate with them.  It must have been
quite a shock when images started to materialize in front of their eyes! 
Anyway, the first tricky part is forming the right sound, as it is not
comfortable for the human throat and tongue to form.  It sounds something like
this:”  Then she made the same throaty “Muur-puurrha” sound that Reya had made
before.   Both deer grew alert and gazed at her, apparently expecting something
more.  But Maya stopped making the sound to give me further instruction.  “Then
comes the second tricky part.  After the initial command, you have to make the
humming sound as at other times, but you have to keep it up for as long as you
want the vision to persist.  Obviously you have to breathe, but you have to
take short, infrequent breaths, or else the vision will be disrupted.  It’s
something like what a horn player has to do when performing a piece that
doesn’t have pauses; just breathe when you can.”

“I
don’t remember Reya doing that during the vision she shared with me,” I said.

“No,
you wouldn’t have.  As soon as you are pulled into the vision, your senses only
detect stimuli from the memory-vision itself.  So even if someone touches you,
you won’t feel it.  That obviously means that you are quite vulnerable while
experiencing someone else’s vision.  It is therefore imperative that a degree
of trust exists between you and that person.”

“That
makes sense,” I said. “Also, I did play trumpet for a couple of years, so I
think I can do the timed breathing thing.”

“Yes,”
she said.  “But at the same time you have to concentrate pretty deeply, as you
try to recall the desired memory.  It has to be your own memory.  You can’t
summon a vision of an event you haven’t experienced first-hand.  That might
seem unfortunate, as there is much you could learn from someone else’s
memories, but it also means that nobody else can see anything in your head that
you don’t want them to.  Unless you’re careless with your thoughts while
communing with the deer.  By the way, have you been practicing walling off your
thoughts?”

“I
have.  You haven’t been catching any of my subconscious thoughts while we’ve
been riding together, have you?”

“No,”
Maya said.  “Just when you talk in your sleep.”  I waited for a smile that
didn’t come.  I really hoped she was pulling a good poker face.  She continued
with the instruction.  “One other important point.  Just because it is your
memory doesn’t mean you have to remember it perfectly.  It is like a dream in a
way.  In dreams your mind fills in gaps that would otherwise jar you out of the
trance state.  A similar thing happens with these visions.  Sometimes you can
see things in the vision that you couldn’t possibly have seen from your
perspective in the original moment.  But unlike in dreams, the transitions are
usually accurate to the original events.  No one knows for sure where this
information comes from if not from your mind.  Some philosophers have theorized
that the deer themselves fill in the gaps.  That doesn’t really answer the
question, as then you are left with another question: ‘how do the deer know
what happened?’.  Most people aren’t prepared to say that the puurr-deer are
omniscient, so a little bit of mystery still surrounds that debate.”

“That’s
really interesting, from a metaphysical standpoint,” I said. 

“Isn’t
it?”  She said.  “Also, what is ‘metaphysical’?”

“Oh,
sorry.  That’s the theologian in me talking.  It isn’t really important right
now.  So, other than the command word, the humming, and all, you just try to
remember the events that you want to share, and the other person will see
them?”

“Pretty
much.  It’s a completely voluntary sharing of information, so you decide where
it starts, where it ends, and what you want to leave out in between.  Again,
this requires a fair degree of control over your own thoughts.  You can even
temporarily suspend the action if there’s something you want to point out or
emphasize.”

“Pause. 
Like video.”  This time I realized instantly that she had no framework for
understanding the reference.  “Sorry again.  It’s a device…”

She
interrupted, “That transmits visual images electronically from storage media
such as a disc or hard drive to a viewing screen, mostly for entertainment
purposes.  Am I close?”

“Frighteningly,”
I said.  “You…”

“Read. 
Right,” she said.  “I also tried to get one working once, using battery power,
but I think the battery was too weak, or the machine was just too old, too many
corroded parts.”

I
shook my head, smiling.  “You never cease to amaze,” I said.  “I’ll try really
hard not to underestimate you again.”

“Please
do,” she replied, with no ill intent.  “So, are you ready to give it a try?  I
mean, if you trust me enough.”

“Why
not?” I said.  “What do you want to see?”

“How
about we start with just a short memory?  Nothing emotionally traumatic, just
an event that you remember vividly.  Don’t jump around, just show me a few
consecutive minutes of a time you remember fondly.  And don’t feel bad if it
takes a few attempts.  This is harder than anything else we’ve tried.”

“OK,”
I said.  And after a few seconds’ thought, “I think I have something.  This is
a family trip to Florida, quite a few years back.”

“Show
me,” Maya said eagerly.

I
said the magic words, “Muur-puurrha”.  I tried to pronounce them as Reya and
Maya had, but I realized right away that I was forming words with my lips. 
These weren’t words, they were sounds.  I pushed the sounds farther back in my
throat and tried again.  “Muur-puurrha…”  I was careful this time to slur the
last sound into a steady hum, breathing like a trumpet player.  When I was
comfortable with this rhythm, I pressed my mental ‘play’ button, and heard a
faint crackling sound. 

Suddenly,
I was strapped into the back seat of our family minivan, my younger brother on
my left, Dad driving, Mom reclining in the passenger seat, window rolled down,
her right foot resting on the side mirror.  Dad said something about wasting
AC, as a traffic light changed and we crossed a busy intersection, then over a
bridge spanning the Intracoastal Waterway.  Turning right at the far side of
the bridge we drove south with the ocean on the left, all white sand, palms,
and boardwalks slicing through thick copses of sea grape.  On the right side a
jungle of tropical vegetation.  Lush, beautiful greenery swayed to an
unseasonably warm April breeze, and the late-afternoon sun graced us with a
shadow across my side of the car.  On both sides of the thoroughfare broad
sidewalks played host to countless roller-bladers, bicyclists, and fellow
vacationers recognizable as much by their armfuls of tote bags and folding
chairs as by their pasty limbs.  Dad selected a bikini-clad skater as the
latest object of his disdain, commenting on her obvious lack of modesty and piety. 
So deep was his disgust that he continued to monitor the skater in the
rear-view mirror for several seconds after we passed.  I cut the vision short,
having forgotten how much baggage we had taken on that trip.

I
was back in the present with Maya.  “That wasn’t quite the way I remembered
it,” I said.

“It
never is,” Maya replied.  “That’s not important.  What is important is that you
did it!  You know, it’s funny, as many things as I’ve heard and read about life
before the plague, I could never really imagine it fully.  There were so many
people!  That was weird.  It made me a little nervous.  And all of those cars,
still working, full of people who couldn’t care less about anyone else.  They
weren’t allies or friends, but they didn’t want to kill each other either.  You
do come from a different world.  By the way, I see the memory the way you want
me to see it.  You could have presented it as if I were an outside observer,
able to see you as well.  But you didn’t; you showed me exactly what you had seen. 
Was that intentional?”

“Not
really, at least I don’t think so.  But you’re right, I remember seeing Reya in
her own vision.  I guess it just didn’t occur to me to do that.”

“You
should realize that that only applies to sight,” Maya explained.  “What you
were thinking and feeling, all of that I experienced.  You were with your
family in a beautiful location.  But you weren’t happy.  You were looking for
something.  What it was, I don’t know, because you didn’t know.”

“Sometimes
I’m still not sure,” I said.  “But I think my biggest problem was that I was
looking in the wrong place.” 

Maya
watched my eyes for several seconds, perhaps wondering if I’d elaborate, but I
didn’t.  She continued, “So, that was a single memory.  The next test will be a
little harder.  I want you to show me a series of chosen glimpses.  What I’ve
already seen of your world intrigues me.  Why don’t you show me snapshots of
some of the most beautiful and interesting things you’ve seen in your world.”

I
thought about that for a second, decided that I could probably do that.  “Ready?”
I asked.

“After
you,” she said cheerfully.  I started the whole process again.  Command,
humming, crackling, we were in.  I showed her everything I could think of that
I thought she might like.  Waves crashing against barnacle-encrusted rocks on
the coast of Maine.  Times Square with more people in five seconds than she’d
likely met in her life.  Taking off in a 747.  Cathedrals and statues and
fountains of clean, drinkable water, all in pristine condition, not crumbled
and eroded from decades of neglect and warfare.  Then I had a sudden
inspiration.  I had been to a motorcycle convention once.  I recalled it in all
its glory.  From restored classics to concept prototypes, they were all there. 
Row upon row of beautiful bikes in every imaginable color and all in excellent
repair.  It was my grand finale.  The vision dissolved.  Maya was smiling from
ear to ear.  Her breathing was notably faster.  “Thank you,” she said.  “That
was really great.  Really.  But…”  But?  What was the ‘but…’ when I had just
shown her some of the best things my world had to offer?  “Now I’ve seen a lot
of your world, but almost nothing about you.  Try it again, only this time, let
me see you.  And I’m not talking about the viewing angle.  I want to see a
piece of your life.”