Gillian Anderson - A Dream of Ice

Mikel moved closer without changing the position of his hands. He felt like a kid with his nose pressed to the candy store glass. He wanted more.

The easiest statue for Mikel to see in the dim space stood straight with the robes hiding its feet. The left arm was close to the torso but the left hand pointed away from the hips with all fingers parallel to the floor. The right arm was crossed diagonally over the chest and the right hand pointed with all fingers across the left shoulder. Mikel felt that he’d seen this placement of hands before but he didn’t have time to rake through his memories. Absently, he moved a thumb as he tried to lean closer still.

“Damn it!”

The tableau jumped ahead. There was suddenly more light in the room. Was it earlier? Later? Mikel had no way of knowing. He remained still, not wanting to miss anything. There was so much to see.

Excitement washed over him as he left his hands splayed wide and let the drama play out. A tall man with Dravidian skin and rugged features unfolded himself from one of the couches. By his undeniable sense of belonging, Mikel guessed this was the librarian.

“ Egat anata cazh …”

“So, we attempt the ritual…,” the tall man was saying.

Somehow, Mikel understood the words. But wait, the tiles couldn’t have been translating; English hadn’t existed then . There was some other mechanism at work.

But before he could put his mind to it, a door banged open, wood against rock, and a short man with a splendidly curled white beard hurried into the room. The man left the door open and Mikel could see to the room beyond. Like a horde of red ants, glaring red-orange lava was inexplicably moving up a trellis forming a spiral not unlike those on the library walls. Pale yellow fumes were quickly pulled away from the growing column by a mechanical process that sent the smoke floating out of the building and across the blue sky.

“Pao,” said the tall man.

The man with the beard quickly retraced his steps and shut the door, commenting as he went, “Vol, why are we doing this now with all that’s still going on in the next room?”

Vol smiled. “Why don’t you read our declaration. It’s quite—”

“I’m asking you ,” said Pao.

Vol’s smile faded. “We must know if the ritual works.”

“But how can you know unless you die ?” Pao asked.

“The soul lives even when the body dies,” Vol replied. “There are risks in everything a person does. That’s why we have all signed a declaration.” His emphasis seemed designed to remind Pao that he had not affixed his own signature. “My friend, don’t you think the Technologist plan has risks?”

“Of course,” replied Pao, “But there are controls built into that process.”

“So we’re told,” Vol said. “Does anyone outside the elite core know what those are?”

“We know these people well,” Pao said. “They are honorable. This ritual—we just don’t know what it will do, what it can do.”

“Which is why we must try it,” Vol replied patiently.

“I don’t agree. It’s premature,” Pao said, stroking the rolls of his beard. “I’ve been watching the Technologists’ project. It shows promise.”

Vol smiled. “You know the saying: ‘Give all a chance, but trust your instincts.’”

Pao frowned. “That wasn’t a saying. It was from one of my poems.”

“And wise words they were,” Vol said, nodding. “My instincts, our instincts”—he indicated the others—“tell us that this is the right path. Come back to us, Pao. Come with us. Help us to find out.”

The two men stood like the statues. Then the tall man extended his arms. The bearded man accepted them and the two men linked forearms, lightly, the shorter man seemingly fearful of a tighter embrace.

“We loved, once,” Pao said. “Was that not a bond greater than the flesh?”

“You know it was,” Vol replied. “But the body was a part of that, an important part.”

“That is an understatement,” his companion replied.

Vol smiled. “True enough. Now we must know if that flesh can be shed.”

“ Votah! Inevitably we will lose our bodies, death will see to that,” Pao said. “Why be impatient?”

“To learn,” Vol said. “To see if we can become Candescent.”

Pao’s face twisted unhappily and he released the arms of the other. “That is Rensat’s influence, my friend. She still lives on the myths of the past. Legend will not save you… but the Source might.”

“So might the ritual that you yourself composed,” Vol said.

Just then, at the command of one of the women, half of the people in robes and carrying parchment moved through the room and filed through the door. The others appeared to be trying to see over their shoulders but were not allowed beyond the entrance.

“Pao, Pao!” an older woman called as she passed through the doorway.

Pao looked up to find her, but a moment later she was barely visible as the other parchment bearers swept into the room beyond.

Vol tilted his head at his bearded friend with blatant judgment. “We said no physical attachments before this test. You know this, Pao. The connection must be solely of the spirit. When we achieve that, without distraction, then the body can trained to move aside at will.”

“I tried to create distance,” Pao said, “but she comes to me—”

“And your focus changes to the physical.”

“Of course.”

Vol slightly tightened his grip on Pao’s arms. “I cannot blame her, or you,” he continued sadly. “It tortures me not to have a physical connection with my lovers. A complete connection, to accompany the spiritual.”

“Then make that connection with whomever you wish,” Pao said, urging him. “But give this up, at least for now.”

Vol deflated. He released his friend and turned away. Then he stopped and looked back.

“Pao,” the librarian said, pressing him, “you once had more faith than any of us. Yet now you want to put your trust there?” He pointed toward the door.

“Not trust,” Pao said. “Hope? Optimism? The point is, we don’t have to decide that now, which is why I ask you to wait.”

Vol eyed his friend carefully. “Tell me. Do you truly believe in what the Technologists are attempting to do? Or is it that you lack faith in the alternative, in us?”

“Both,” Pao admitted. “More study is required on both sides.”

Vol regarded his friend silently. The door was shut and the remaining dozen people had now gathered loosely around the two men. Vol turned from Pao and began to walk around the basalt arm of the spiral.

“Pao,” a woman called and took several steps toward him. “Do not let Technologist propaganda cloud your eyes.”

Pao regarded her with fondness. “You have no fear about what we do?”

The woman’s eyes grew stern. “I am afraid, yes. To die, to ascend, but not to transcend—eternity on earth, immaterial and alone? That frightens me more. But there are other views, even among the Technologists. The earth is restless, the ice moves, the animals are fearful. We may not have time to explore alternative rituals as much as we would like.”

“Certainly not if we continue to debate the topic,” Vol pointed out, turning to Pao.

Everyone was silent.

Vol walked back toward the woman and took her arms as he had taken Pao’s. “I will be honored to go forth with you, Rensat, but I do not want to take you from him whom you love.”

“I love you both,” Rensat told him. “Ultimately, however, I love the Candescents above all. If I cannot have that, no life, no love, is worth possessing.”