Binary by Jay Caselberg (korean ebook reader txt) 📕

The older man held his gaze. "There are several," he said. "The ones best able to fulfill our needs are to be found close to the area of the mines." His expression became slightly calculating. "Will that suit your purpose, Sandon Yl Aris?"

The use of his full name caught Sandon slightly off guard. "Yes, yes. Of course. And I am immensely grateful for all you've done for me, all you continue to do for me."

"It is no more than we would do for anyone." Badrae turned back to look over the camp. "You are welcome to stay with us as long as you need." There was an air of finality about the last statement.

"Um, Badrae..."

"What more, Sandon?"

"Was that a member of the Church of the Prophet I saw with you earlier?"

"That is none of your concern."

"But isn't it -- ?"

Badrae swung then, his eyes full of sudden fire. "None of your concern!"

Sandon swallowed the rest of his question. "Yes, of course," he said, gave a brief tilt of his head and turned away. He could feel Badrae watching him all the way as he walked back across the camp, heading for Alise's wagon.

The noise of breaking camp drew him to consciousness. He stumbled out of the small tent and looked around himself. During the course of the night, much of the campsite had already been cleared down, the remaining items being bundled and packed away in wagons and carts. The camp was much barer now, and only a few of the tents remained in place. Sandon's was one of the last. Without a word, two of the Atavist family, having noticed him emerge, headed toward his tent.

"Hold a minute," he said to them, and they waited patiently while he ducked inside and retrieved the book. It would be likely that they'd have weeks of travel, rather than days, and he preferred to have something else to do other than bombarding Alise with further questions. Eventually she'd get bored with his constant chatter, and he didn't want that at all. As soon as he reappeared, the pair of Atavists started breaking down the tent and folding it away. Within moments, it had been carted off for stowing in one of the wagon beds that seemed to carry more than half of all the camp's equipment. It was all remarkably efficient. Sandon ran his fingers through his hair and looked around for the communal wash facilities, but there was no sign. He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the thought, but it was clear he'd have to make do with being unwashed and unkempt, at least for today. Hopefully Alise could put up with him. Perhaps she might have some sort of herbal scent he could apply to mask the odor of his body. That brought another thought. He'd made the assumption that he would travel with her. He'd better check that it was an acceptable arrangement. Despite the amount of time they'd already spent together, he didn't want to presume, and he wasn't sure about how their whole association was being viewed by the rest of the family. No, he'd better check. He headed for her wagon to do exactly that.

He needn't have worried. Alise was inside, making the final preparations, making sure everything was secured and stowed in its proper place. Bunches of herbs, the results of their gathering exercise, hung upside down from the wagon's ceiling, and a faint vegetable smell permeated the atmosphere inside. Alise looked up from what she was doing as Sandon poked his head through the rear flap.

"Sandon. I wondered when you might appear," she said.

He flashed her a brief smile. "Well, I'm here," he said.

"And not before time. Are you ready to leave? I presume you are coming with us."

"Well, yes. That's my plan. I have nowhere else to go right now."

"Good. Though you should think about a better reason for being here, don't you think?"

He felt slightly chastened by the remark. "No, I didn't mean -- "

"It is all right, Sandon," she said. "You are coming with us, and that's what matters. If you can help me with the last of these things, then we too shall be ready to leave."

He placed the book down on one of the internal side benches, and she glanced at it, then gave a look of approval. With a brief nod, she beckoned him over. "Here, I need to tie this. Hold it in place for me?"

He crouched beside her and held the bundle in place while she secured it with coarse twine. He watched her as she concentrated on her task, the clear blue eyes, the healthy skin, her hair swept behind and tied behind her head. This close, there was the scent of her again, clean, fresh. She looked up from what she was doing and caught him watching her. An almost imperceptible twitch of her lips, and she looked away again, and then crossed to secure one last bundle.

"There we are," she said without turning around. "That is the last of them. If you come up front with me, we can join the rest of the group."

He moved through the wagon, and pushing through the front flaps, positioned himself on the hard board up front. No cushions, no padding, nothing. Hours of traveling like this, days even, and he was going to have hardwood impressed forever on his backside. He refrained from commenting, and turned his attention to the various wagons and carts drawing together in an ordered line in the center of what had, until this morning, been a bustling campsite. There was no confusion, no real noise. It all happened in the unhurried, uncomplicated manner that most of the things undertaken by the Atavists had occurred since he had been here.

"So, you found Badrae?" she asked, as she steered the padders toward their place in the line.

"Yes," said Sandon.

"And did he satisfy your curiosity?"

"More or less. He gave me some idea where we might be heading. Which reminds me. Do you often have dealings with the Church of the Prophet, Alise?"

She looked at him with an almost frown. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

"Well, do you have much to do with them?"

"Our beliefs are based upon the same teachings, but other than that, I still do not know what you are asking, Sandon."

"It doesn't matter," he said. She gave him a curious look, held it for a moment, and then let it pass.

Theirs was one of the last wagons to draw into place. A few moments more, while everything got settled, and then the front wagons drew out, leading the rest of the line. For such a large group, the departure was as ordered as the preparations. The wagons creaked forward in a long column. A few Atavists rode up and down the sides on their padders keeping pace with the general progress, and others walked, either carrying packs, or with the aid of long ajura wood staves. The sound of the wheels turning and the occasional snort from one or other of the padders was interspersed with the clanking of metal pots and containers against the wagon sides. The start of the column moved unhurriedly forward, up the slope and away from the clearing.

"Alise?"

"Yes, Sandon."

"Where are we going?"

"Where we are meant to go. Where the Prophet wills."

"But we're heading the wrong way." Sandon peered around the side of the wagon and looked behind them, then turned back. "The path down is there, behind us."

"So it is," she said. "One of them. But we have something to do first."

"What do you mean?"

She smiled at him. "Wait and see, Sandon. Learn patience."

He clamped his jaw tightly shut and willed himself to calm. Sometimes she spoke to him as if she were indulging a small child. All right. He would wait. He turned to watch the passing landscape, occasionally focusing his attention on one or another of the passing Atavists who rode or marched alongside their wagon. There was still little to distinguish one from the other. He'd have to spend a lot more time with them if he wanted to really know them and be able to tell them apart.

Two hours, they took to get where they were going. It was a long march up and behind the city of Yarik, obscured by intervening rises and inhospitable scrubland, the landscape broken intermittently by a solitary gnarled and stunted spiny-leafed tree or profusion of boulders. This was a direction that the city's population rarely ventured in, up and away into the mountainous wasteland. There was nothing really there for them. Perhaps as kids, they had come this way, exploring out beyond the city's edges, but not for years. He scanned the area around them as they traveled, looking for anything unusual, which might prompt them to come this way rather than down from the plateau. Just a continuous stretch of rock, bare sandy ground and vegetation struggling against the landscape.

Finally, when he had decided there was no reason at all for their direction, the lead wagons drew to a halt. One by one, the rest of the line pulled up beside them, forming a wide arc halfway up the low rise. Individually and in pairs, the Atavists climbed down from their wagons and carts, from their padders, or strode up to join the broad semi-circle upon the hillside. Alise beckoned for him to climb down, and she led him forward to join the rest of them. The entire family grouping was here, now, arrayed before their vehicles and animals. They waited a few moments more, while one or another tethered their beasts to a wagon side, or moved quietly into position. Sandon frowned. He had absolutely no idea what was happening.

"Alise?" She put a finger to her lips and gently gripped his arm to still him. They stood there, unmoving, silent, the breeze blowing around them, stirring their robes, until from the arc's center, a five strong group of elders stepped forward and turned to face their brethren. One of them spoke, an elder that Sandon did not recognize.

"One more season, and we return to learn the lesson of our forebears," he said in a loud, clear voice. "One more season, and we see the legacy left to us by the First Families." He turned and headed up toward the crest. The other four elders fell in behind him and walked, slowly, solemnly up the rise. When they reached the top, they turned, and together, they gestured the rest of the large group forward. Sandon glanced at Alise, but she seemed to be totally absorbed in the proceedings. As she too stepped forward, he took his lead from her, falling in beside her slow, measured step.

As they reached the top of the rise, moving as one, the entire group knelt and clasped their hands in front of themselves. Sandon was left standing, staring down in front of him, his mouth open, barely comprehending what lay before him. Broad arced shapes stuck up from the dip in the landscape below. Curved like vast, rusted claws, they reached up to the yellowing sky. A flat area of wide flat metallic surface ran between these spars, clumped here and there with vegetation as it had pushed through in places, fighting against all resistance. Mounds of indefinable objects lay scattered across this surface, either below, or attached to the ribcage of the huge metallic beast that lay spread out before him. Halfway up one of the ribs, a vast sheet angled to the ground, forming an inclined plane to the sky. A ball of old dried vegetation rolled across the lower surface as the wind rose and plucked at his hair and clothes. He kept