A Memory of Earth Read online

  A MEMORY OF EARTH

  CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE, BOOK 2

  by

  Daniel Arenson

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  AFTERWORD

  NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

  KEEP IN TOUCH

  Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ayumi was helping her father weave rugs when death rolled into their city.

  Of course, it wasn't their city. Not really. They were humans. Pests. Untouchables. They were kept in the enclave, a dusty hive of misery, walled off from the rest of Palaevia. But this place, a ghetto of poverty and buzzing summers and quiet despair, was home. Was life.

  Until the scorpions came.

  The day had begun like any other. Ayumi awoke in her small bed, in her small room, in her small house, in this small enclave—barely larger than a true prison—where thousands of humans crowded together. For all her twelve years, Ayumi had lived in the enclave. She knew no other life. Many of the elders, those who had seen the outside city, spoke of wide boulevards, of marble fountains and birds of many colors, of trees and flowers—actual living plants that bloomed and gave forth sweet scents. To Ayumi, those were fairy tales, as unreachable as Earth, the planet they had lost. To Ayumi Kobayashi, the weaver's daughter, Palaevia Enclave was the cosmos entire.

  "Ayumi-san!" her mother cried as Ayumi raced across the living chamber. "Slow down and brush your hair! And fix your clothes. You're a weaver's daughter!"

  Ayumi paused and blew her mother a raspberry.

  "My clothes are simple rags compared to the fabrics Father makes for the aliens," she said. "Why should I tend to them?"

  Her mother was a stern, slender woman, her hair still jet black. She stood by the stove, tending to a pot of rice flavored with eel skins. The kitchen, living area, reading nook, and her parents' bed—all shared this single small chamber. Ayumi supposed she was lucky. She had her own room, even though it was barely larger than her bed.

  Mother groaned. "I swear, Ayumi-san, on old Earth you'd be mistaken for an urchin."

  "Well, this isn't Old Earth," Ayumi said. "This is Palaevia, a stinky old city on Paev, a stinky old planet far on the butt of the galaxy."

  "Ayumi, watch your language!"

  Ayumi placed her thumbs on her temples, wiggled her fingers, and stuck out her tongue. As Mother swung a ladle at her, spraying rice, Ayumi fled the room.

  She leaped over her baby brother, who was sleeping in his crib, and around her dustdog, a fluffy critter who grumbled and shuffled away. She reached the window. Ayumi slammed open the shutters and jumped outside.

  For a moment, she flew, legs kicking in midair. The city of Palaevia spread out around her.

  Her home was inside the enclave, the city's human ghetto. Thick stone walls boxed her people in. The enclave was only about a kilometer squared. A tiny place. But fifty thousand humans all crowded in here, among the largest human communities in the Milky Way.

  They could not leave. They were born, lived, grew old, and died here in this stone box. Here was a miniature Earth, reborn thousands of light-years away from their lost homeworld.

  Buildings filled the enclave. There were apartment buildings, workshops, and pagodas that rose many tiers tall, extending tiled eaves, all jumbled together in a haphazard mass. Awnings and balconies hid the alleyways like a jungle canopy hides the forest floor. Ayumi could just glimpse mulers pulling carts. The shaggy animals grunted as they moved down the cobbled streets, occasionally leaving steaming piles. Smithies belched out smoke and sparks. The bells of a bakery clanged, announcing a batch of fresh bread. The voices of actors rang out from the small theater. Hundreds of workshops. Thousands of apartments. Dozens of languages, ranging from old Earth tongues to the Common Human many spoke today across the galaxy. An echo of Earth so far from home.

  The humans were everywhere. They filled the alleyways. They toiled on rooftop gardens, shooing away birds. They stood on balconies, tending to herbs, hanging laundry, and beating rugs. They peered from windows. They haggled in bustling markets. Children jumped from roof to roof, laughed in the streets, and communicated between windows using cups and strings.

  Palaevia Enclave—a hive of stone and squalor, fabric and steel, imprisonment and life.

  Home.

  And beyond the enclave walls—a vast, forbidden world.

  The rest of the city.

  Palaevia was a sprawling metropolis, home to a million Paevins, a race of sentient felines. From here, Ayumi couldn't see much of that forbidden realm. The tops of several towers. The distant palace on a hill. That was all. To her, the rest of Palaevia was as unreachable as Earth.

  Ayumi saw all this within seconds as she leaped out her home window. She had seen this view thousands of times. With a thud, she landed on the roof of a neighboring home.

  She ran across the adobe tiles, vaulted over an alleyway, and landed on another rooftop. Birds cawed and fled, shedding feathers. Ayumi hopped from roof to roof, waving at her neighbors. A few waved back. Others shook their fists at her, and one mean old woman even pelted her with rubbish, shouting that Ayumi was scaring her plants. Ayumi stuck her tongue out at the hag and kept leaping.

  As she leaped toward the bakery, she gave a loud whistle. The baker, a portly man with a white mustache, emerged onto the balcony and tossed her a roll. Ayumi caught it in midair and dropped him a seashell.

  "Konnichiwa, Mister Hiroji!" she said, landed on a library roof, and kept hopping onward. "Arigato gozaimasu!"

  "Slow down, Ayumi-san!" the baker cried, pocketing the shell. "One day you're going to fall down and break your knees."

  "Sayonara, Mister Hiroji! I'll be careful, I promise!"

  She bounded across several more roofs and finally reached the enclave's outer wall. It soared higher than any rooftop, enclosing the ghetto. But Ayumi knew every brick in this wall like every roof in the enclave. She barely had to think as she climbed, her fingers and toes deftly finding the grooves between the bricks. She scrambled up, then pulled herself onto the top of the wall.

  For a moment, Ayumi stood, looking at the city beyond.

  She heaved a deep sigh.

  "Palaevia," she whispered.

  She pulled from her pocket the roll Mister Hiroji had given her. It was filled with raisins and nuts, still steaming from the oven. Ayumi chewed thoughtfully, walking atop the wall, gazing upon the city beyond.

  She came here every morning to see Greater Palaevia. To dream.

  Palaevia was the largest city on the warm, verdant planet of Paev. Its towers of white limestone scratched the sky. Its marble temples soared, filled with hymns and psalms. Gardens bloomed across the city, lush with trees and flowers, plants Ayumi had never seen u
p close. The boulevards were wide, filled not with shaggy mulers and creaky carts but ornate, steam-operated chariots trimmed with gold. Airships floated leisurely above, delivering passengers between the city and provinces.

  The Paevins were a graceful, slender species, bipedal and feline, covered with golden fur. From up here, Ayumi could see several Paevins strolling along a boulevard. The men wore fine red coats embellished with golden thread. They sported red top hats, monocles, and ivory canes, and their whiskers were oiled. The females wore gowns in a dizzying array of colors and patterns. Ayumi's own father supplied many of these fabrics, toiling inside the enclave to produce wonderful gowns and coats for the Paevins.

  One of the felines, a guard in a burnished bronze breastplate, stared up from below.

  "Back into the enclave, pest!" the Paevin shouted. "We don't want to see your kind."

  He raised a crossbow and fired. Ayumi, no stranger to this ritual, leaped aside. The quarrel missed her.

  "Go play with some yarn, cat!" She blew him a raspberry, then hopped back into the enclave.

  She landed on another roof. She heaved another sigh. How often she had wished to explore that realm beyond! There was an entire city out there. Not just the enclave, this small, walled-off neighborhood, but an entire city of a million souls, neighborhood after neighborhood of wonders spreading toward the horizon. And beyond—an entire world! The whole planet of Paev, a world she had seen only in faded postcards. A world of misty forests, trains that chugged between snowy mountains, soaring castles, and deep caves filled with jewels. A world of wonder and beauty. And beyond Paev—the stars! Countless other worlds, and one among them—a pale blue world called Earth. The homeland they had lost. That all humans prayed to someday see again.

  Standing atop a pottery shop, Ayumi lowered her head. She dropped the rest of her sweet roll onto the rooftop. She had lost her appetite. A bird grabbed the morsel, then flew over the wall, heading to the city beyond. Ayumi wished she could follow.

  But I'm human, she thought. I'm a pest. I can't leave the enclave. None of us can.

  Some humans, only a handful, were allowed near the enclave gate. There they could trade their wares—fabrics, tools, leather, and other goods—for water and food. But even the tradesmen could not leave the enclave, only stand at the gate. The Paevins believed that humans spread disease. That they were cursed, twisted beings. Demonic. Evil.

  They let us live, she thought. But they keep us locked up like lepers. Why can't they see that I wish them no harm?

  She raised her eyes and gazed into the sky. The sun was bright. She could not see the stars. But somewhere beyond that sky, invisible to her, shone her star. Sol, the star of Earth. Of all humans. Somewhere their home awaited them. Calling them.

  Ayumi sang softly. The song of humanity.

  Someday we will see her

  The pale blue marble

  Rising from the night beyond the moon

  Cloaked in white, her forests green

  Calling us home

  Calling us home

  Tears filled her eyes. She rubbed them away with her fists. No more tears. She had cried too many mornings. The enclave was her home, and it was home enough. She had her life here. Her friends. Her dustdog. Her family. And her work.

  Ayumi raised her eyes, looked across several workshops, and saw the Weavers Guildhall. She nodded.

  Yes, I have our work. I have weaving.

  Ayumi tightened her lips and moved toward the guildhall, hopping from roof to roof, jumping with more determination now. The Weavers Guildhall was among the oldest, most venerated buildings in the enclave. It wasn't particularly large. It was narrow and only three stories tall. The bottom floor was a store, the middle floor a workshop, the top floor a storeroom. It wasn't particularly pretty. The facade was simple brick, but the doorway's keystone bore the rune of a loom. The ancient symbol of the Weavers Guild.

  For thousands of years, we wove, Ayumi thought. Wove fabric for gowns and coats. Wove the fabric of reality.

  She hopped onto the guildhall's roof, scrambled down a water spout, and climbed through the window.

  The room was shadowy and cool. Dust danced in beams of light that shone between the shutters. Rolls of fabric rose in piles, hiding the walls. There were fabrics of every kind. Rich red wool hung in a beam of light, embroidered with golden dragons that coiled and reared, their sequin scales chinking. Bolts of black fabric lay on a table, as soft and secretive as the night, and stars were woven into them, winking and shining with true light. Green rolls of fabric rose like the lost green hills of Earth, scented of grass. The fabric seemed magical to Ayumi, filled with mysteries and wonder.

  She walked downstairs, the limestone steps cool beneath her bare feet. Her family had been weaving here for generations. The steps were well-worn, polished by the passage of many feet, sunken in the middle. She entered the workshop, and she saw him there.

  Her father, Hiroto Kobayashi, sat at a wooden loom. An heirloom. It had been in the family for generations. A silver rune glowed upon the loom like molten moonlight, illuminating strands of red and blue wool. Hiroto hummed as he pressed the pedal over and over, moving the loom, weaving a rug. He worked as in a trance, not even noticing Ayumi approach.

  Once, other weavers had worked here. Their portraits still hung on the walls, embroidered in cotton—old men and woman in fine robes, faces Ayumi knew as well as her own. But all had passed from the world. Today only her father remained, the last weaver in Palaevia Enclave. There were weavers on other worlds, Father had told her. But what were other worlds to one who could not even leave her neighborhood?

  She padded closer. "Father?"

  He continued weaving, pushing the pedal, humming, eyes closed. He paused for only an instant to raise a finger, hushing her, then continued with his work. He was a wiry man, his cheeks gaunt, his nose sharp. His hair was long and purest white, the color of starlight on snow, and his skin was deep bronze. To Ayumi, he seemed the strongest, wisest man in the world.

  As Hiroto toiled, patterns and figures emerged on the rug. Birds woven of blue and green fibers flapped their wings. Stars of silver thread shone. A stream of blue wool flowed and gurgled. The rug came alive, a vibrant work of art filled with color and movement. Ayumi had seen her father weave many rugs, but she had never seen one of such magnificence.

  "Father, it's wonderful!" she said. "The birds are actually flying, and the stream is moving! Who is this rug for?" She gasped. "It must be for the king of Paev himself!"

  The pedal froze. Father removed his hands from the loom. Ayumi saw the rune on his right hand, a tattoo in white ink, shaped like a small loom. It glowed with pale light.

  The light of aether, Ayumi knew. The light the weavers can weave.

  Father sighed. "Even when I'm deep in weaving, you disturb me, Ayumi-san. Have you no manners?"

  She shook her head. "No. Mother says I'm horrible, that I chew with my mouth open, that my hair and clothes are always a mess, and that I never pray to the spirits. But I think having no manners is fine. I like being wild and rude. It's better than being mild and meek, don't you think, Father?"

  "I think you have been spending too much time climbing the wall and taunting the guards below, Ayumi-san."

  "They deserve taunts," Ayumi said. "It's horrible how they imprison us humans here in the enclave, don't you think? Someday I will break out of here. I will see wonders."

  Father's eyes flared with anger. "Do not speak this way, Ayumi-san. We are humans. The world outside is forbidden to us."

  But Ayumi barely paid attention to his words. She had heard them all a thousand times before. Instead, she was watching the glowing tattoo on his hand. Slowly, the rune dimmed. Soon it just looked like any old tattoo, inked in white, barely visible amid the wrinkles on Father's palm. The matching rune on the loom, which had shone so brightly, faded too. Now that rune appeared as but a simple engraving in the wood.

  The aether has gone dark, Ayumi thought.

 
Ayumi never tired of watching that light glow and fade and glow again. The loom was not merely a tool of wood and metal and rope. It was an artifact, filled with a core of aetherstone. Weavers were the guardians of artifacts, after all. Not just here on Paev but across the cosmos. Every artifact had a rune, a keyhole to the plane above, to the realm of aether.

  Ayumi reached out gingerly and touched the loom. Nothing happened. The rune engraved into the wood did not light up. The loom did not produce its wondrous patterns. She was not yet a true weaver. She had no rune tattooed onto her hand. She could not unlock the wonders of the artifact.

  "I wish I could use this loom!" Ayumi said. "When will I get a tattoo?"

  "It's called a rune, Ayumi-chan," Father said, voice softening. Whenever somebody affixed chan rather than san to her name, Ayumi knew they weren't mad. "Not a tattoo. It's a blessing from the ancients, allowing us to use their artifacts. Tattoos are mere trifles compared to runes."

  He brought his hand closer to the loom. Again, both his tattoo and the symbol engraved into the loom shone. When he pulled his hand back, they faded. Only he could use the loom to create rugs of such beauty. Whenever Ayumi tried to use it, she could barely weave toilet paper.

  "Well, when will I be worthy of a rune, Father?" Ayumi said.

  He smiled and mussed her hair. "Be patient, Ayumi-chan. The ancients are wise. They control the aether. They will know when you're ready to weave."

  "I'm ready now!" Ayumi said. "I'm tired of waiting. I want to become a weaver like you. Like the great weavers of old, the powerful masters who could weave the fabric of spacetime itself. Old Kioshi says the great weavers of old could move mountains, raise the dead, even destroy entire planets. She says that if I become a master weaver, I could even defeat our enemies and lead us home to Earth."

  Father frowned. "Old Kioshi is filled with silly stories and old tales. Do not listen to that crazy old kook, Ayumi-san. We use the aether to toil. To weave fabrics. To weave beauty."

  "But Old Kioshi says that—"

  "Be silent, Ayumi-san!" Father said. "Must I strike you?"