Doubt Not The Stars

By Susan McElheran

Every unopened door had the potential to change Seren's life when she opened it.  At least she had that to look forward to—and there was little enough to look forward to in the Domain, where everybody was just existing until death to pass a generation so that another generation could do the same, and yet another after them.  Well, that wasn't for her.  She wanted to see to the stars and to learn new things.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597053860

Book preview

One

"A ugustus and his people watched in silence as God locked them in and the lights of the universe went out. The one hundred generations of punishment had begun." The First Book of the Holy Adora, Chapter 27, Verse 12.

A long shrill noise ripped through the dark metallic corridor. Seren froze.

The noise ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving silence once again to slice the intervals between her heartbeats. A few tendays before, another noise had echoed through the halls of the Abandon, the great dark area enclosing the inhabited Domain, but it had been so distant that she had never found its source. This was close. Very close.

Seren fought the urge to run from whatever was ahead of her, to hide in her bed and cry for the security she once had with Ariel. But her mother was dead. All that was left were the morose people of the Domain with their dull eyes that watched to make sure that she was not different from them.

Seren was different.

She took a deep breath and entered the dark tunnel. Her lamp was too weak to shine far, but at the edge of the light two doors faced each other across the corridor.

With no idea what she was looking for, she eased forward, studying the pairs of doors—all closed like the first two—that faced each other at regular intervals. The arched doorways were framed in pale, silvery metal, and the walls were a dark, lustrous blue. She loved the colorfulness and elegance she had discovered in the design of the Abandon. The change in color from the gray-green walls and copper accents of the level just below delighted her.. Where her people—the followers of the Holy Adora—resided, the black trim and maroon walls had come to seem dull and oppressive over the ten thousandays of her life there. Otherwise, this place looked just like the rest of the Abandon. The side corridor ended several doors down from where it branched off from the gently curved main corridor.

Seren’s maps revealed that each level consisted of a number of concentric corridors that were separated by bands of rooms. Narrower corridors radiated out from the center like spokes on the wheels of the small wagon that the Temple’s cleaning woman, Petrin, pulled around behind her. Each level had a smaller diameter than the level below. Did this conical pattern eventually reach a single point at the top level? One day, Seren would find out.

Whatever had caused the noise—perhaps a malfunctioning door—was not apparent.

Seren touched the cold blue wall at the far end and tried to imagine what was on the other side. Corridors like this one intrigued her because they were at the outer edge of her world. In none of the levels she had yet explored had she found any way beyond this outer wall. Three levels down, a solid door had blocked the entrance of what should have been one of these dead-end corridors. She had found no way to open or bypass it and had given up. She had not forgotten. Any passage left unexplored might hold something she could use to escape from the Domain.

Or it might lead her beyond to the stars that she had believed in ever since Ariel had first told her about them and had pulled from beneath the neck of her robe the Startail, a silver earring with a ten-point star at the lobe and a long tail that curved up the outer edge of the ear. A multi-colored, faceted crystal glittered in the middle of the star. Seren wore it around her neck on the same thick string that Ariel had used before she died, although sometimes she removed the Startail, clipped it on her left ear and admired its elegance in the mirror.

So, here she was, trying to find her way to the stars, and all she could find were dead-ends. She turned back, setting little eddies of ancient dust into motion. The hem of her short maroon robe bounced rhythmically off her calves and avoided most of the dust, but the old pair of soft shoes she wore had long since become filthy. Her shadow escorted her—now dancing at her side, now disappearing behind as she raised her lamp or let it swing at her side. When she had first begun to explore the Abandon, the great dark area from which the Adoran people had long ago retreated, her shadow spooked her as everything had, but she had soon grown used to its spastic movements.

Seren stood again at the beginning of the corridor and held the lamp high. Her shadow puddled at her feet. She drew a loose strand of pale hair behind her ear and listened, not just for a repeat of the shrill noise she had heard before, but for anything.

Lately she found herself listening more and more for signs of life, here and even back in the moribund Domain. Sometimes within the privacy of her den, she dug her fingernails into her flesh just to confirm to herself that she at least was alive. Out here in the Abandon, she always knew she was alive because death felt so near. That was one of the many reasons she kept returning.

Now she listened and heard silence, as usual. The frightening shriek was almost preferable. Almost.

This corridor was as far as she had gotten several nights before. She had been anxious to return ever since but had wanted to avoid the unwelcome attention her fatigue would bring. No one knew she was here, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Seren pulled the map from her pouch, and gently unfolded it onto the floor, where she sketched the layout of the junction onto the worn paper. Later in her supply room—the room in the level above the Domain where she kept mapmaking supplies, odds and ends of things she had found, and the old clothes she wore for exploring—she would redraw this onto the master maps she had laid out on a large table. After marking the location of the doors, she carefully refolded and returned the map to her pouch and then pulled the strap over her head and onto the opposite shoulder so it wouldn’t slip. Brushing the dust off her knees, she approached the door on the left.

She stepped into the prayer zone, an unmarked area extending a pace or so in front of every door, and counted the wait with five taps of her foot. Long ago she had experimented with the Passage Prayer and found that doors opened whether she prayed it or not. That had been her first test of God’s presence—or at least his power. She had taken a long time to build up the courage to make that test because she—like everyone—knew all the horror stories of the amputated limbs and crushed heads of those who did not first pray for passage before stepping through a doorway.

The two panels of the door before her slid into the walls with a screech, reinforcing her theory about the cause of the earlier noise. Doors in the Abandon often functioned poorly. Possibly lack of use occasionally caused one to open and close on its own.

Seren stepped back, wrinkling her nose at the stale air. This must be one of the rooms where the ventilation didn’t work. How old was this air? If she had interpreted the History correctly, this area had been abandoned forty-four generations ago during the Second Abandonment in Generation 48. The sensation of being the first person in so long to enter these old chambers still thrilled her. What if she found something horrible like a body? What if she found something immensely important like a map that would lead her out of this maze? That was the dream that called her back to the Abandon all these nights.

The room was large but virtually empty. Some furniture remained: table, chairs, shelves—nothing she had not seen before. Her shoulders sagged. Time and again she had had to curb her expectations over the one-and-a-half thousandays she had been exploring, but still she was disappointed. The less she found, the more curious she grew about the Ancestors and the Ancients—and the more frustrated with the somnolent Adorans with whom she lived.

No, she couldn’t give up now. She slapped her thigh with determination and proceeded to search every nook and cranny and set the dust of generations in motion to cloud the air and make her sneeze.

Finally, she stood back and surveyed the room. Absolutely nothing new was to be found here. For the amount of time she had searched the Abandon, she had accomplished so little, but she had to keep going. What else was there to do but wait for death? Spinning around, she faced the closed door, crossed her arms, and tapped her foot five times.

Why did they make them like this? she shouted, kicking the door just as it opened. Oh, pus on this place! She held her foor and hopped through the doorway . When the pain had subsided a little, she sat on the floor beside the door and rubbed her sore toes. She had to chuckle at herself, otherwise she might cry, and she hadn’t cried since Ariel’s death. With a sigh, she looked across the corridor. Every unopened door had the potential to change her life when she opened it. At least she had that to look forward to—and there was little enough to look forward to in the Domain, where everybody was just existing until death to pass a generation so that another generation could do the same, and yet another after them. Well, that wasn’t for her. She wanted to see the stars and to learn new things.

With a heave, she got to her feet and noticed something strange. The dust in front of the other doorway was disturbed. She hadn’t walked over there, she was certain of that. Back in the Domain, people kept the corridors and rooms clean, but here in the Abandon dust accumulated slowly into a soft blanket. Could that poor woman exiled in Generation 83 have caused the disturbance? Seren had found a few signs of her elsewhere; at least she had thought it was the exile. Now she wasn’t so sure. She looked down the corridor at the trail she had made a short while before. There was little difference between it and the area across from her.

Surely nine generations were enough for another blanket to settle.

Her heart beat faster. Someone else must be in the Abandon. Could it be the Leavers? Ariel’s telling of the story of the people who one night long ago had quietly left was more believable than the terse version in the History, but it was a mere story nonetheless. And the commonly told story of the Leavers eating anyone who strayed beyond the Perimeter seemed just a tale to keep children and adults from venturing into the Abandon.

Could someone else from the Domain be here? She couldn’t imagine any of those dull people being daring enough, not even Hissett or Ness, two of the few who showed any signs of life.

Well, the only way to find out was to go in there herself.

Seren limped to the opposite door and, after a short hesitation, stepped into the prayer zone. Five seconds passed. Ten. She stepped out of the zone then back in. Perhaps it hadn’t sensed her presence. Again nothing happened. This was only the third time she had failed to gain entry, and it convinced her that something important lay concealed behind those closed doors. She banged her empty fist against the door and sent light from the lamp in her other hand swirling over floor, wall, and ceiling.

She was reaching into her pouch to mark the barrier on her map when the door began to stutter open. The air sighing from the room was no different than that in the corridor. She tried to convince herself that the fresh air was just the ventilation working as it had been meant to do.

The door panels stuck halfway in the walls. Cautiously, she held her lamp inside and looked around in the weak light. On a table near the back wall lay something with an unusual shape. Excitement obliterated the frustration and fear she had felt only moments earlier. This room could be what she had sought for so long. Not wanting to be trapped inside, she wedged a chair into the doorway, and then stood a minute, gazing at the object at the back of the room.

Even though Seren’s hopes soared, she hesitated. She had found security in her routine searches of the Abandon, but once she found something important, she would have to act upon it. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t.

As she stepped forward, Seren noticed that the thick layer of dust on the floor ahead of her was disturbed, as it had been outside. Kneeling to study it, she brushed a finger on the floor where someone’s foot had stepped—certainly more recently than nine generations ago, perhaps only a few hours ago. The trail led to the object on the far table. Was this a trap? Had Hissett’s irrational malice toward her led him to follow her into the Abandon?

She peered around the room at the few pieces of furniture it still held. During the retreats motivated by decreasing population, the people of long-ago generations had taken almost everything and abandoned these areas to history and darkness. She saw nothing unusual here except the object on the table.

Taking a deep breath, Seren walked to the table and placed her lamp beside the object. She bent to examine it. No dust had accumulated on it, and confirmed the recentness of its placement. At first she was puzzled as to what the thing was. Then blood rushed to her face, and she stood prim and straight—a naked man and woman were frozen in a carnal embrace. Seren knew she should not look at it—sexual desire was shameful and not even to be spoken of, much less portrayed in any way. She wanted to turn away but could not. Hesitantly she lifted the bronze form. It was heavy. Part of her wondered how such a thing was made while another was drawn to study the large, muscular man and the full, sinuous woman. Seren’s people were small, thin, and angular for the most part, with light hair and skin. And they were never naked in front of one another. The desire in the lovers' faces and the hunger in their pose was most certainly something her people had little knowledge of, even though she had experienced it herself. With a shake of her head, she pushed her old, embarrassing longing for the Successor, Dilon, out of her mind.

Seren heard a sound behind her. She jumped, ready to run, but the door was still held open by the chair. The chair must have shifted a little, still, what could she do with the statue? If she were found with it, she could be exiled or even redeemed. Despite the belief that Redemption returned a body and its soul, or a still-living misfit back to God, Seren—along with every other Adoran—was terrified of Redemption. But she had already taken that a risk with her first step into the Abandon. She touched the woman’s tiny ear, and suddenly a desire to see Ariel’s face overwhelmed Seren. If only there had been some way to make a replica of Ariel, then Seren would not have forgotten the details of her mother’s face. She closed her eyes. No, it wasn’t the details she’d forgotten. It was how they all came together. She couldn’t visualize Ariel anymore except in pieces: her earlobe, her chin, her eyebrows, and her delicate, ink-stained fingers. Seren opened her eyes. Representations such as this held great power. No wonder nothing like it existed in the Domain except the simple Startail, condemned to remain hidden beneath her robe.

Seren wanted the treasure more accessible than it would be if kept in her storage room. It should be safe if hidden in the closet in her den. No one, not even Ness, had been inside her den since Ariel’s Redemption over two thousandays ago.

Redemption supposedly returned a body—or sometimes a living person—and its soul into God’s keeping, either for another chance at life or for future reward on Promise. This explanation didn’t fit Seren’s evolving view of the cosmos, and one day she expected to discover what really happened to the people who disappeared after being redeemed in the Sepulcher.

Another shrill noise jolted Seren. Neither the chair nor the door had moved. Clutching the statue to her chest with one arm, she grabbed the lamp with the other hand. She leaped over the chair, but her foot caught on the edge and sent her sprawling onto the corridor floor. She landed on the statue and cried out at the sharp pain in her ribs, while the lamp slid across the floor and ricocheted off the opposite wall. Sharp knocks clamored from down the dead-end corridor. As she rolled over, holding her side, a siren began to wail, but she could barely hear it above the racket that replaced the shrill noise that had sent her racing. She rose to her hands and knees. A line of red light flashed on the bottom edge of the wide door descending over the entrance of the corridor. Her way out would soon be gone. The air began to drift toward the dark end of the corridor and lifted the loose strands of her hair as she reached for the lamp. It started to slide. She lunged for it and hit her knee on the heavy statue. The small lamp clattered away. Just before the light was extinguished, something moved at the far end of the corridor.

Two

"More than two hundred people disappeared last night. The Ozhir proclaims that if any return, they will be redeemed immediately to appease God." The History, Generation 50, 4.763.

Those who left have not returned. They are considered dead. The History, Generation 50, 4.803.

SandarJe awoke from a restless sleep cluttered with aggravating dreams. He lay in bed awhile until his head cleared and he could decide whether to return immediately to work on his project or to check the surveillance room first. He chose the latter despite the urgency of his work.

For almost two thousandays, he’d kept a wary eye on the unusual Adoran woman who held the Startail, and as her progress had drawn her closer to his territory, he’d watched her more and more, much to M’Swadi Roo’s disapproval and dismay. SandarJe hadn’t thought the stagnant, suppressed society in the depths below could produce a seeker such as Seren the Scribe. His interest in her nonconformity had complicated his life at a time when extreme focus was imperative to the survival of his people.

Impatiently, he finished dressing and hurried down the halls to the surveillance room.

Once there, he frowned at his sleeping assistant. At a time like this, he should have known better than to leave the simple-minded JankoJai to monitor the room full of screens, but he’d had no choice. His frown deepened with perplexity as he studied the screen that interested him most. It appeared dark at first and then he perceived a doorway underlined in intermittent red light. He pushed the key for sound and jumped at the roar that came through.

JankoJai awoke with a start. I didn’t mean to fall asleep!

SandarJe was already running out the door.

ONLY THE PULSING RED light cleaved the darkness, but it wasn’t enough to illuminate the far end of the corridor. The clangor shifted abruptly to a deep, hungry growl that penetrated Seren’s bones, and the gentle drift of air in the corridor leaped to a gale that tugged on her braid and robe. She had to get out of here.

With her pouch against her left side and the statue tight in her right hand, she pressed her body face-down to the floor and pushed her foot against the chair. The wind inhaled with a roar louder than before. The red light was halfway to the floor.

She pushed against the doorframe and gained more distance. After that there was nothing to push against except the floor, so she kept the heavy statue ahead of her as an anchor and clawed her way forward with her free hand. Her smooth soles slipped, so she used her knees to brace against a backward slide.

With one last push, she rammed the heavy statue beneath the door. The line of red light stopped and then rose slightly.

Ignoring the pain in her ribs, she spun onto her back, grabbed the bottom of the bobbing door, and pulled with both hands until the door was above her ribs and her arms lost leverage. Crossing her arms, she grabbed opposite elbows, and heaved against the door’s bottom edge and pushed through as far as her waist.

It was easier now. She heaved until she could straighten her arms and then bent her right leg, yanked it through, and pressed hard against the door with her foot. She pulled back her left leg and kicked the statue. It didn’t budge; the door held it fast.

The din of the siren and the rushing air drowned her angry scream.

Her next kick caught the bronze statue just after the door rose, and it tumbled into the screeching blackness. With both legs free, she thrust them against the descending door until it reached the floor and pinched the roar to a high-pitched wail and at last to silence.

The siren ceased, but the light continued to flash, bathing her in its red staccato glow. It was as if she were covered in blood.

Her adrenaline suddenly gone, she scooted against the opposite wall and collapsed against it and hugged herself. As the fear subsided, her panting broke down into sobs and then hysterical laughter. She couldn’t imagine a more ludicrous sight than her scrambling for her life. Laughter changed abruptly to anger. For her life! She jumped to her feet. You won’t keep me away, whatever you are!

Whether it had been God or Leaver or fellow Adoran who had placed the lovers for her to find and then tried to kill her, she didn’t know right now. She would find out.

You won’t keep me away, she whispered.

She mourned the loss of the treasure—no matter who had placed it—for it would have served as a reminder of possibilities and not so much the possibility for carnal lust, but the lust for life. She needed all the help she could get.

For now, she had to get out of here, not only because of what