The Barlgharel called out, “The Blessing of Journey. May the blessing of the Sun be on you—light without and light within.”
Another bot, tall and asymmetrical, a sleek black surface with a dozen sensors scattered across him, bellowed in rhythm, “May the blessed sunlight shine on you like a great home fire, so that stranger and friend may come and warm himself at it.”
A third bot, one of the jellyfish-like water workers, sang out, “And may light shine out of your two eyes. And may the blessing of the rain be on you, may it pour upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean, and leave there a shining pool where the blue of Eden shines, and sometimes a star.”
Arquella added her own voice, “May the great Mystery be the echo of your soul. May those who meet you, know the hope you carry with you. And may the blessing of the world to come be on you, soft under your feet as you pass along the roads, soft under you as you lie out on it, tired at the end of day; and may it rest easy over you when, at last, you lie out under it.”
The Barlgharel picked up the blessing. “May it rest so lightly over you that your soul may be out from under it quickly; up and off and on its way to God. And now may the God above, the great voice of Her amongst them and above the Ecology bless you and bless you kindly.”
In unison, the whole of the representatives sounded, “Aṣẹ.”
On “Aṣẹ,” the entire audience echoed in unison, “Aṣẹ” and then again they said, “Aṣẹ.” The chorus of voices sent a shiver through Syn. She had never experienced a moment like that. She had never felt a part of something so intent, so true. They were strange, they were confused, but they cared for each other, and they cared for her.
The Barlgharel cried out, “And let us celebrate the journey of the Expected tonight! For she has come. She will stay and walk among us. She will soon leave, and then she will return to lead us back to the Garden. Back to Eden. She will bring us with her as she returns to Paradise beyond the Sun.”
With that, the lights turned back to the colored array and the Theater screen lit up. The neat, ordered rows of bots broke up into miscellaneous disarray, chattering loudly to each other.
Then, above all of the noise, as if his voice emanated from the walls themselves, the Barlgharel boomed, “Let’s dance!”
Music erupted—a thudding bass sound overlaid with bright, melodic tones. The entire crowd of bots fell into a moving mass without any organization. Bots circled each other, turned upon themselves, and shouted in joy. The lights above moved in sync with the booming rhythm and bathed the crowd in deep washes of color.
With a tug, one bot, its arms like a crane, pulled her out amongst the crowd. She spun into the center of them, and their energy slammed into her. Syn lifted her hands into the air and added her voice in a shout, unable to hear her own words above the din of the bots and the rhythm of the music. She shut her eyes and lost all compunction, allowing herself to move and turn with the throng. Sweat poured from her forehead, and she danced with abandon.
Long minutes or perhaps hours passed, and she sloughed off to the side, panting and thirsty. She was never given rest as over and over, bots came up to her to meet her and talk. For hours, she was asked questions. For several, she had no answers, but for many, she did.
“What is your favorite color?”
“What music do you like?”
“Do you like the rain?”
“Is the Sun hot?”
“Have you met God? What is she like?”
“What type of metal are you?”
Before she could answer, they filled in their own responses to questions she hadn’t asked. A green thin creature, perhaps what would’ve been a gardening bot, gushed, “I love the rain. I love the haze on the edge of the cradle, where the smoke moves in rivulets through the bright lights. Cantoni, the great painter, drew on those edges, intending for the smoke to blend…”
These bots were in love with existence itself. They were consumed with the myriad details of just living. Oh, she loved it.
And, much to her surprise, there was food. Trays of apples and bananas and other fruit along with carrots and potatoes were brought in. These were all the staples of the garden greenhouses in the lower levels surrounding the Disc—the levels between the base, the livestock pastures, and the body farms below that. The bots would pick up the food and mime as if devouring it, mimicking the actions of eating without ever consuming it.
The first tray was brought near her by a clunky square bot with several tentacles—perhaps this one was designed to serve and cook food, but this black and gray unit was entirely new to her. Syn looked at the apples and was sure they were fake. They were too perfect. Solid and thick and round and gleaming in the multi-colored lights from above. The apple felt real in her hands, though. Its weight assured her, and she took the risk of a bite. The juices rushed across her tongue, and she gave an audible “mmm.” She had tasted apples this fresh on her Disc but had assumed that everything on this side was barren of life. She looked around her at the buzzing crowd, more and more moving in and out to greet her, and laughed. They were mechanical—she knew they couldn’t taste the fruit they had served, but they had surprised her with something amazing nonetheless.
Syn sat down in awe at the scene and in exhaustion, the juice still running down her chin and the half-eaten apple in her hand. The Barlgharel moved close, leaned in and said, “You are much loved here, little one.”
Somewhere deep inside, something moved in Syn. Her eyes welled with tears and she muttered, “Thank you.”
22
THE DAYS OF DELIGHT
Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity or ruin.
Syn woke up the next morning on the Theater floor. The great hall was empty, and apart from loose confetti scattered about the bits of litter and one flashing colored light above that was switching between red to orange to green every few seconds, she felt sure this could have been the Theater in that she had lost days upon days binging movies and shows with Blip and Eku. She took one deep breath after a yawn, and the acrid smell of the air brought into sharp focus the fact that this was not her Theater, and outside the large wooden doors an alien world waited.
She marched back up the theater stairs, leading to the entrance and the outside. She felt the thin carpet on her bare feet—a coarse, thin knit that she had overlooked in her awe the night before. .
She instinctively brought her hand up to plant her spear for support but was surprised to find it empty. Where was her spear? She glanced behind her, back to the front stage, but there was nothing there. Her pack was gone as well. Perhaps the Barlgharel took them. Or perhaps Arquella. For some reason, despite the girl’s assurances, that thought made her shiver—Arquella searching through her belongings.
She did not dwell upon the thought too long—a tap tap tap came from the wooden doors as if something small were knocking to be let in. Syn opened the door with a great heave—an action that brought back a wave of nostalgia—the doors on both sides were unusually heavy and required an effort to open and close. There, at the edge of the entrance, was the small black bot she had spied when she had been first ushered in. Once again, it was on the ground and that unnerved her. Eye-bots were to zip around throughout the air, constantly vying for the best angle to film and observe. They were everywhere on her Disc—as ubiquitous throughout the sky as birds. Yet, this one rolled and didn’t even attempt a hop to find itself airborne.