A Gift of Fire

By Stephen B5 Jones

Excerpt:
In a small alcove diametric to the wind, Sharo and her younger brother Pytre huddled together, sheltered within her cloak. The night would reach its bitter coldest in the pause before dawn. She imagined a warm spot in her heart; a spot to radiate to her extremities and force out the cold. Her mother had taught her to think of such warmth in the circle of days when she was young. Sharo knew her imagining would not have the last word, but it guarded her heart against bitter resignation to the early morning chill.

The distant sun would soon climb over the edge of the sky. Blue giant Hera would follow, giving chase with intent to overshadow the light. The mistress of the sky would soon succeed. Already several arc rings alternated in obscuring sunlight and producing daytime snow. The sun would be eclipsed in the circle of a day or two, bringing the dimness of winter to the world of Perma.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen B5 Jones
• Release date: Feb 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311823595

Stephen B5 Jones

Husband, Father, Philosopher, Bus Driver, Writer. Missionary.. but that's just today. I grew up in the U.S. southwest. I've been writing, sometimes coherently, since Jr. High. That was a long time ago.

Book preview

The street was small and named Quiet; a narrow byway placed so well away from the main road there was no simple way to approach it. Somewhere in the dim of night a dusting of snow formed on the stones, blowing lazily through the cracks and to the edges of the street where walkway met cobbled walls. Buildings stood by, tall and silent. Clear panels, framed in short rows, were covered from within to give no clue to what might be housed within.

In a small alcove diametric to the wind, Sharo and her younger brother Pytre huddled together, sheltered within her cloak. The night would reach its bitter coldest in the pause before dawn. She imagined a warm spot in her heart; a spot to radiate to her extremities and force out the cold. Her mother had taught her to think of such warmth in the circle of days when she was young. Sharo knew her imagining would not have the last word, but it guarded her heart against bitter resignation to the early morning chill.

The distant sun would soon climb over the edge of the sky. Blue giant Hera would follow, giving chase with intent to overshadow the light. The mistress of the sky would soon succeed. Already several arc rings alternated in obscuring sunlight and producing daytime snow. The sun would be eclipsed in the circle of a day or two, bringing the dimness of winter to the world of Perma.

In the full of winter adequate shelter could not be found in a corner of the street wrapped in a sheltering cloak, no matter how much one imagined warmth. Winter required hard sheltering, and hard sheltering required more than the small amount of coinage hid in the corner of Sharo's cloak.

Sharo let her eyes close for a last moment of sleep. Time crawled toward first-early when she would have need to be awake. Pytre would be placed in the creche as she sought to obtain work for the day. Work was easily found, but as had happened yesterday, those who hired did not always want keeping. More than once in this season she had gone out a clear frame or through a screen to slip away from a house lord who imagined to have more than cooking or cleaning from her.

If she relented such occupation could pay well; silence was an investment which a house lord would pay. Sharo shook the thought from her mind. It would never be her. She would not walk into wicked ways for a few moments of benumbed warmth and pockets full of coinage. Pytre turned in her lap, pressing his bushy red hair into her stomach.

She would not relent when the recompense might include what her mother had paid.

Too warm, Pytre whispered sleepily.

What? Sharo asked, feeling him shuffle about in the cloak.

Pytre pushed through a fold in her cloak and let out a billow of steam. Then he settled back to sleep, letting the cloak fold back over him as the steam turned to a crystal cloud and floated to the street. Maybe, Sharo thought, the night wasn't as cold as she believed. The cloak was constructed to hold warmth and perhaps it was doing an exceptional work on this night. She leaned back, trying for some rest before time to be awake, but one glance at the sky told her it was too late for such luxuries. The time for rest had ended.

Pytre, she said softly. Awake sleepy one.

Huh? Pytre moved groggily about in her cloak. Her brother was already edging up to her size. His head was at her shoulder, before long he would shoot up and be taller than her. It was a bittersweet circumstance, for he would quickly put his hand to work and cast his childhood aside.

Pytre stood out of the cloak and stretched, taking in a few deep breaths of the chilled morning air. He had retrieved his own cloak and had it wrapped about himself so his hands were free to help fold her cloak and place it about her shoulders. Though it was not a favored activity for him, he let her hold his hand as they walked from the alcove on Quiet Street.

They walked together quietly to the next street over where they dropped by an early vendor for a coin's worth of fruitage. There would be scant little for either of them, but a taste of something good outweighed a taste of nothing at all.

Good early Sharo, a familiar voice spoke from behind them as they awaited their turn.

Good early, Rafe, Sharo said. She glanced up to see his face, but quickly looked back down.

Rafe stood behind Pytre. He was close to her age, a befitted young man. Dark black hair spilled from his head in its usual disarray, a patch covered his missing left eye. They had known each other from the creche and had always been friends. There had been those who foretold a union between them, but the common wisdom of elder keepers did not always have the last word.

Your brother grows tall, Rafe mentioned. Speaking had been difficult between them since she had chosen to abandon all else and care for Pytre. Sharo was the only family remaining for him. Rafe could not disagree with her need, but had kept himself distant from that moment. It did not settle with him to face that need.

Even now he did not wait for a response to his comment. Rafe disappeared into the line of keepers heading for the hiring corner as Sharo received her portion from the vendor which she straightway split with her brother.

Perhaps later in the day there would be opportunity for food with more substance, depending on the sufficiency she found in hiring, and the payment for her work. Keepers could often find an abundance of work, but always found a shortage of pay.

Three children arrived at the creche before Sharo arrived with Pytre. They were sitting at the entrance of the cellar, along with a parent keeping watch over a small one.

Jilly, Sharo said to the woman. Pytre can keep watch over the little ones for now. Walk alongside me to the corner.

Fair enough, Jilly said, kissing her little one. The child had been walking for less than a year, and was truly attached to her mother. The child relented to be taken by Pytre, but not before she had her moment of protest.

Sharo could see sadness in Jilly's eyes as they turned to depart, yet she still had the good graces to say, You are a gift Pytre.

It won't be long before I can labor too, Pytre said as he guided the children through the entry, and then stooped to enter himself. Sharo knew he was right. Pytre was among the larger children. Despite her desire for blindness on the subject, it would not be long before her brother was suited for keeping.

Watch over the smaller ones, Sharo said as she turned to leave. It was by understanding whichever keeper could not find work for the day would return to keep watch over the children. It was a need filled without recompense, one for which Sharo had taken her turn more than once in recent days. She could not afford to do so often.

Jilly walked silently as they hastened to the hiring corner, an open place hid in the shadow of the Deep Cyan Cathedral and its sharp sculptured crosses. An assembly of ragged figures moved en masse against the mid-early chill. A good number were already entrenched in their favored spots. Most knew to huddle together for support and warmth. To stand alone alongside the chill is to invite the chill to stand closer.

Sharo took a place near the walk, in the midst of other keepers of her kind. Jilly walked further in. It never fared well to be offstandish, and sometimes the house lords wanted groups of keepers for large functions, which were rare but paid well. The carts had begun the morning rounds, nobles and lords slid by slowly, more than a few accompanied by their ladies, looking for those suitable to keep, or for those trusted for gainful hire.

It was easy to note a solitary lithe woman as she stood apart from the corner. Sharo held the hurt in her heart for the cause of that young keeper. Chanta wept for her little one, her young son who had run amiss of a cart not two days before; hit and quickly lost. The boy had not yet gained the wisdom to avoid the streets.

Keeper, one of the older women whispered harshly. Swallow your tears. It is not befitted.

Chanta did try, but it was not an easy thing. She stood her ground, but her body shook slightly. Sharo understood how the woman felt. There was no toward way to comfort a mother without a child, nor, on futher thought, a child without a mother. Sharo decided they had best talk at the end of the day. In the face of dread sorrow no keeper should stand alone.

That matter settled, Sharo turned her attention to the carts. From a child she had watched the carts; metallic carriages floating in the air suspended by little more than a hum and a whisper. Curtained clear panels adorned the sides of the carts, and a large clear panel covered the front. They hovered high above at first, in a group, then, single carts would drop to ground level where a group of men were chosen for a day of tough labor where a building had been damaged in the latest quake. A stout and stolid keeper was given charge of a day's meals in a house of good reputation. Deals were made, recompense offered and details negotiated. As some stepped into the carts and were whispered away, others stood forward to take their place, each holding out hope for a day of keeping given in exchange for adequate pay. And still carts gathered above.

Hey red locks! a house lady yelled at her. Often Sharo was named for her fiery hair, it was not a bitter affront but rather a simple means of designation. We have planned a jaunt beyond the edges of Cityscape and require keeping.

On occasion the lords and ladies would jaunt about the edges of Cityscape, to the agriscape and sometimes even into barren landscape beyond. They would bring keepers to cook, to carry or to occupy the children. Their return could sometimes be delayed for days.

I have family ma'am, Sharo said politely. Outside trips often recompensed well, but in all good conscience she could not leave Pytre alone when her return might be delayed. These lords would have to find another keeper, one without family ties.

It is to be a short jaunt, the lady yelled again. We will return by mid late, nightfall if we encounter some untoward delay. We plan generosity.

It is well then, Sharo stepped forward, the deal being sealed with her words.

The cart settled briefly to stoop level, and she stepped into it. The cabin was warm and dry. There was a line of soft seating on both sides and storage bins in the back. The house lord drove the cart with his own hand, the lady in a seat behind him to the left.

The clear frames themselves were a mystery. In the newest carts they no longer contained clear sun panels; in fact they contained nothing at all. Yet somehow wind and weather were kept at bay. Sharo had heard other keepers talk of such things, but had not before witnessed it for herself.

She quickly looked away. It was not a keepers place to be impressed with decorations or machinery. It was a keepers place to keep.

Welcome, the house lord nodded at her. Not all such nobles were polite. She nodded in return, knowing not to speak unless directly asked.

Then it is well, the house lady said, sweeping an arm to a small seat beside the entrance step. Be seated, we have no need of keeping ‘til we arrive.

The cart crept to the end of the street and rose up above the buildings. Cityscape fell below as they turned their backs to the towers. Soon they passed the far edge of estates and houses and slid over the dark green of landscape. Sharo had been out to landscape a few times. As a child it had made her nervous not to have city buildings to surround her, but such anxiety was left behind when she grew to adulthood.

Do you have a name keeper? the house lord asked. The lady opened her mouth to scold, but thought better as the noble leaned to her, eyebrow raised to anticipate her reprimand.

Sharo, sir, she said simply, not wanting to intervene in their disagreement, but having no quarter for failing to answer the lord's question. It was best to make every effort to carry the lord’s favor, but the favor of the lady was often more critical.

Nice name, he continued. I have business near the edge. You are to carry and to cook.

Very good sir, she said.

And after, the lord continued. You are not to talk. Neither family nor friends have a need to hear word or thought of where we go today.

Absolutely sir, Sharo said, sounding as resolute as she was. If Sharo could do anything perfectly, it would be to keep her mouth from telling stories which were not hers to tell. If a keeper's mouth is too often open she will find her means of employ too often closed.

The deal settled, the house lords kept their own council and ignored the keeper as landscape gave way to sandscape, vast and ribbed with only scant vegetation to be seen. Sharo kept an eye to the house lords, waiting to be useful, and wondering whether someone worthy was watching over Pytre. He could handle himself and the other children, should the need arise; a point he often used as proof of his readiness to keep.

Occasionally Sharo would glance to what flew beneath them, but only to note their continued travel in a straight direction from Cityscape, and only for brief moments. Her work was to keep for the house lords and seeing the ground so far downward and moving so quickly made her stomach tingle.

It was sufficiently beyond the early-mid of the day before the house lord slowed the cart and prepared to land.

There, The house lord said, pointing to a spot below. The cart slowed, and lowered as Sharo took a quick look about.

As far as she could see broken white buildings were scattered in every which direction. Piles of rubble were stacked high, giving evidence to the size of the buildings they once were, but in many places the rubble was strewn about, giving no clue to its origins. A few grasses worked their way into the ruins, catching sand from the lower winds and patiently separating rocks into pebbles. There was little room to walk, or to land a cart amid the rubble. The house lord directed the cart to a deep narrow place were the cart would fit, but only if driven with a gentle hand.

It had once been a city, long ago to be sure, and now broken and abandoned. Sharo had not seen or heard talk of such a place, nor of anything of substance existing outside Cityscape except for the tall forest where the lake was, the flatscape where grass grew and the endless sands beyond. It was a place new in her knowledge, yet old by her observation.

Upon landing Sharo was obligated to unload a number of containers; all sealed, and stack them in a central area around a bend. She had worked harder on more than one occasion, and could only hope the pay would recompense higher than the lightness of the work.

It was not long before another cart landed in an opposite area. A house lord appeared followed by a keeper carrying two containers. Sharo did not know the young woman, she had dark hair folded up above her shoulders and a stern look attempting to harden her soft features and age her youngness. Beauty in a keeper could be a source of difficulty.

I am named Jenne, the younger keeper said quietly as the house lords were interlaced with their own business. ...from the Towers.

Sharo of Cathedral she said. Shall we transfer these containers?

The nobles talked as the keepers worked.

I fear I recognize the house lord of your employ, Jenne said softly once she was sure they were beyond earshot. I recently have forgone my payment in order to save my honor from his hands. Take care that he does not find you alone.

The house lady is alongside him, Sharo said, watching him closely. I do not think he will attempt anything untoward under her eyes. Oddly enough, I have much the same warning about the house lord of your employ.

Jenne glanced back at the house lord, marking his face in her memory.

The turn of the days are evil, she said. It's the way the world is.

Set yourself to keeping, Sharo said, glancing about to assure herself none of the house lords had wandered within earshot as she was unaware. Pay them no more than requisite notice. They have failed to recognize us. For many of the nobles keepers appear more alike than different.

If I must I will deter his attentions by the heel of my shoe, Jenne said.

They returned to begin the meal as the nobles rummaged in the nearby rubble, giving no attention to the keepers or their work.

How fare you at cooking? Sharo asked as they approached time for the meal.

Some say I do quite well, Jenne said. Shall I lead in the preparation of the meal while you see to the arrangement of the flat table?

It would be well, Sharo said. I stand ready for any assistance you might need.

Would you have spark stones on hand? Jenne asked. Mine were used up, and with the coming of winter, I have yet to set aside sufficient coinage for a new set.

Then borrow mine, Sharo said, digging into her pocket and handing the stones to Jenne. Her set was the last of the belongings from her mother. While she did not hand them over without a twinge of memory, her mother would have her tools used as they should be, not set aside for the cause of fond memories.

I may need you to stand alongside me in the later preparation, Jenne said. If you require assistance on your part, do not hesitate to ask.

It turned out Jenne needed little help at all. She prepared the meal with propriety worthy of someone twice her age. Sharo did an adequate job at the arrangement, which Jenne was quick to commend. For two keepers who had not met until the day, they functioned well together.

The meal was eaten at leisure. The nobles ate and discussed giant Hera, and how the approaching winter would cause them to fare. Jenne and Sharo stood nearby, ignored, in case they might be called upon. In was early-late before the meal was removed and the arrangements cleaned and packed.

At the end of it all the nobles were in jolly spirits, saying fond farewells as Sharo gave a silent nod to Jenne. The girl was from the Tower district, more than a moderate walk from where Sharo sheltered. Odds were they would not meet again, but odds did not always have the last word. She seemed a gentle soul, and Sharo could hope for reunion and a chance for a possible new friendship.

As they stepped into the cart the house lord noticed a small container near his seat. He picked it up and held it out.

Girl, he said. Take this to the other cart. Quickly, before they leave.

Sharo gave him a quick nod as she took the package, and flew down the step, running as her feet touched soil. She had always been quick on her feet, this occurred to allow her to show her full worth. The other cart was just beyond the clear area where they had eaten, around the curve.

An unexpected impact sent Sharo sprawling to the ground, landing hard on sharp gravel before she could grasp what had occurred. She sat up, nursing a scraped hand, at her feet the bundled form of Jenne, holding a small package.

As both keepers struggled to their feet, the carts both lifted from the ground. The house lords were traversing without the keepers, putting their noses to the air and looking away as their carts whispered to the sky and sped deeper into the ruinscape.

Jenne recognized what occurred even as Sharo did. The other keeper screamed, and without realizing the carts were sliding in the wrong direction, she lit out after them.

Jenne! Sharo yelled out. Jenne was yelling words without significance, running haphazardly through the rubble. She was not inclined to gather her head about her nor to consider her actions. Echoes of her cries danced around the ruins. She soon turned out of sight, her voice faded with the distance.

Alone in the clearing where the house lords had shared a meal, Sharo sat down on a cold stone and cried softly. The tears were not for herself, she cried for Pytre. She would be his first lost one. He had been too young to mourn their mother when she was lost, and their father had never been named.

Sharo could not number how many she had lost, in one form or another; mother, aunt, cousins and friends. Most were lost in the normal ways, or at the neglect of the house lords, some few were lost by jaunting out and never returning, not to be found—that was what she would be for Pytre. It was not fair to him, but nothing could be done for it.

Sharo nodded at the memory of her mother who had told her how sometimes ill events happen, even when one had not done wrong.

Sometimes, she mused, ill events happen because one chooses to do no wrong. The house lords, on the other hand, had earned the full measure of ill-tempered recompense. Whether they would be required to collect was anyone's guess.

Chapter 2

(A very long time ago.)

Captain Talo, are you alive?

Matt Talo sat up slowly, his body trying to do what it hadn't done for a long time. He blinked his dry eyes and the synthetic tear ducts he'd installed after his last trip jumped to life, filling his eyes with tears. Nausea floated through is midsection and he slipped back down into the hibernation chamber.

The reports of my resurrection are greatly exaggerated, he answered, not quite as suavely as he would like. On the last word his voice cracked, and he had a coughing fit.

The machines, of course, had kept his body in nominal condition. He had slept in hibernation and his muscles didn’t atrophy, his bones didn’t deteriorate. It was a miracle of current science; the most efficient way to travel the long distance to the stars.

This miracle, however, was not the most comfortable.

The question had been from a childlike robot which was standing near him. It was a mobile computer interface that served as a messenger between the crew and the ship's systems. The designers had made it to look like a small human so it would be lightweight and user friendly. Aside from delivering information, it also did most of the routine maintenance. There were a dozen of them on the ship.

Matt forced himself up again, made his feet swing over the side and tried to stand. He should have known better. His knees were weak and he had to sit on the nearest chair, which he remembered putting there to take his shoes off when he had gone to sleep. The chair was ice cold. It felt like it was shooting needles through his backside. Then the nausea hit him again and he tried to vomit. There was nothing in his stomach.

Captain Talo, are you alive now? the robot asked.

You could call it that, Matt said in a voice which didn't sound quite right. He could never tell whether an interface was supposed to be a girl or a boy. This one, he decided, looked more like a girl. It wasn't unusually pretty, but it was too effeminate to be a boy.

One of the crew, Bret Timon, had added wings to them; vaporous wings shaped by a directed static shield which collected ambient particles, mist and dust, and gave them a slight charge. Any slight breeze warped the wings. Some of the crew had even started walking through them. Timon had been quite proud of himself. Wings are proper, he said, for messengers. The word angel meant messenger in some ancient language.

The humidity was obviously high today; this messenger's wings looked like dynamic frost. They were almost opaque.

Talo did not know who added the halo.

Matt hated the effects of hibernation. He had been told it was all temporary, he would be his normal self in a few weeks, but there was something unnatural about what it did to him, something the planetbound medics did not understand. The whole 'miraculous' process made him a stranger to his body. Every time he went through hibernation the feeling was worse. He didn’t feel like he had anything in common with the man he used to be.

This would be the last time. He would get a chance to remain whoever he had become this last time under the frozen shield. After three hundred and five years real time, Matt Talo would give up the space race. His body had aged to only thirty eight. Most of his friends had already retired, found comfortable beaches with clean sand and calm water and bought them.

Talo would be the Captain of the colony ship for the next few weeks. As the ship entered the target system the crew would be brought out of hibernation. They would bring the ship in under control, making a cursory map of the major planets and asteroids. They knew where the planets were supposed to be, but there were always surprises in a new star system. The colonists would be awakened once they were in orbit around the target planet. It would be a crowded ship for a few days, but they would be needed to prepare for landing and make detailed maps of the terrain.

Once a suitable location was chosen, the ship would be laid to rest in its final port and eventually taken apart to build the new colony. Talo would take one of the small intersystem ships in the hold and spend his retirement exploring new planets and asteroids. Delivering a colony wasn't just a job, it was a lifetime commitment.

First Officer Awnya left a message for you, the interface said. She said if you were still alive you need to get your butt up to the control room.

Did she? Talo said. Awnya was like that, as nice as she needed to