“What happened to the people that built this, Old One?”
The child was holding a shiny metal rectangle picked out of the dirt.
“They died, child.”
“Old One, what is this? It seems too small to be a serving tray, or shelf. It’s too flat to be a plate. I can’t think what use this would be.”
“It is of no use to us child. Come, we must get through this canyon of ghosts before nightfall.”
The Old One glanced back at the discarded rectangle. A wistful expression briefly crossed the weathered face. Then the Old One continued the exhausting task of shepherding the children through the broken terrain.
As the small group moved on, a shaft of sunlight briefly reflected an image of an apple missing a bite, onto the grey stone of the canyon. No-one in the group noticed the reflection.
Several hours later, howling winds and stinging sand forced the group to shelter inside the mouth of the canyon. It was just as well, the little ones were asleep on their feet. The Old One built a fire and gathered the children around it.
Many of the younger children were asleep when one of the older children asked, “Old One, why is this called a canyon of ghosts?”
“Because, the dead live here. You should sleep now we still have a long journey ahead of us.”
“Old One, please tell us about this place.”
Several of the children were looking expectantly toward their elder for a story.
The Old One gave in.
“As you must have noticed, this canyon is strange in many ways.”
The children nodded enthusiastically.
“This is not a canyon forged by a river or wind. This canyon was built by people. The stone isn’t stone at all, at least not in the sense that you’re used to. Merchants and other people lived here. This was part of a great village in which many people lived and still more traveled into each day.”
Several of the children settled on their very worn sleeping mats to listen. The Old One knew they would soon be asleep but continued the story.
“In that time people could travel many days march in just the time it takes the sun to crest the rim of the world. Great machines and small ones made this possible. There was abundance of food and clean water. The people had warm clothing and many goods. There was a great knowledge system that all could access. My knowledge is nothing compared to the knowledge the people had in the palm of their hands. All was bright and shiny. The people could turn night into day and their homes were warm in the dead time, and cool in the hottest of the green time.”
“Old One, how did they do these things?”
“They had great knowledge of many things. What they did not have, they created from the sand, and stone, and metals in the ground. The way they did this is lost to us, but stories tell of fresh fruit at all times of the 13 moons everywhere. It is said that these people could fly and move thousands of days march in a single day.”
Several more children laid down sleepily.
“The stories tell of large silver tubes, some with wings and some without, that the people would step into and be taken somewhere else. When I was very young I think I saw a flying silver tube far up in the sky. Then there was a burst of fire and it fell to the ground. The Old One I was traveling with told us it was of no concern to us and we kept moving. I think each of us hoped we would see the place where the tube fell but our path led us to the mountains and later to our village where you and I have lived our lives.”
“Old One, why did we have to leave the village?”
“Because a darkness has fallen upon our mountains. It is a darkness which has no name, but which is making the game diseased and crops to wither and die. We were sent from the village so that we might live. We must find a new place. As you have seen, I mark the direction we travel so that others may join us.”
One of the children was looking up at the tall walls of the canyon. He asked, “Why can’t we live here?”
“This is a place of death. Not just death of the body but of dreams and joy.”
“How did people with so many skills and so much abundance die?”
“That is a hard question to answer child. Truly, these people had much. Eventually though jealousy and anger won out over their knowledge. They began to divide themselves by beliefs and the color of their skin. They found divisions which had been closed amongst them, and reopened many old wounds. They as a group chose poor leader, after poor leader and fought over the outcome, refusing to accept they’d all chosen poorly. They turned on their warriors and those entrusted to keep disagreements from becoming duels. They lost themselves by turning from being a single group with common goals into more groups than stars in the sky. Each group believed they were the best and pursued their petty goals to the exclusion of all others. When an ascendant group achieved their goals, they found something else to squabble about. They were never appeased, and knew no satisfaction. Over time the conflicts between groups and individuals always resulted in violence. While poor leaders spoke of many ways to make things better, they also continued to divide their people with their words, until they too were ignored. It was a kind of endless madness that swept the land.”
“What could they possibly have had to fight about Old One?”
“They fought over who had more of what shiny thing. They questioned if they needed to work. Shouldn’t someone make their bread and bring it to them with no expectation of receiving something in trade? They chose to fight over the color of skin, many saying skin color made some less equal and others more equal. They fought over who should sleep with whom and over belief in various deities which they all agreed were the same creator of all things but they differed as to the shape, size, directions from, or color of the creator of all things.”
The few children left awake, listened with rapt attention. Some shaking their heads because such division was unthinkable within the village.
“Some stories tell of the release of a disease upon everyone. Other stories say the disease was sent by The Creator to silence the noise of the squabbling. I don’t know which to believe, perhaps neither, or perhaps both. The disease killed many and caused great sickness. The poorest of this land’s leaders was weak and feeble. Other more powerful leaders from other lands, lands beyond the seas saw the weakness and the weakness of the people of this land because of incessant squabbles. In fear, the leaders of this land tried to show they were strong and released machines of terrible power against the other lands. The other lands had already released more diseases but now, in response they released their terrible machines in retaliation. Many of these terrible machines were struck down and fell into the seas. Wherever one touched the land, bolts of lightening and fire stretched up to the sky.”
“Like what the hunters who grew sick and died spoke of?” A sleepy child asked.
The Old One pulled a small tattered blanket from a nearby pack and covered the child.
“Yes, little one. Like that. Then the sickness came into our lands. The Elders of the village would not believe that one of the machines had survived so long or that it could still be potent. I wasn’t sure, so I began searching for another place that our people could live. I found mountains about 2 moons from here. They are blue, purple, and yellow like the sun as it slides past the rim of the land. In one more moon we will be able to see them.”
“That’s a long way Old One,” The child said around a yawn.
“Yes it is little one,”
Old One looked around the camp, all the children were sleeping. After making sure each child was covered against the chill of the night, the Old One returned to the fire.
Throwing back the hood of a tattered cloak the Old one raised a tearstained craggy, but young, face to the stars, the Old One wondered how many of the children would make it to the mountains.
The whole truth had not been told to the children. No-one would be following them. By now, the village, their home, was dead. Everyone had eaten of the hunter’s kill, while the hunters themselves told their tale.
That alone might not have been fatal, but the winds blowing from the sea carried the sickness, what had it been called? Contamination?
The Old One could not remember. Within a season, birds dropped from their perches in the trees bleeding from their eyes and beaks. Then larger game was found throughout the forest similarly afflicted. Winter was colder, the snow stayed longer, Spring plants sprouted then died. More people fell ill, starting with the side of the village closest to where the hunters said they’d seen the fire and lightening.
The Old One was angry and sad to have lived long enough to see this happen again. The first time as a fearful child awakening alone in a canyon much like the one now occupied by the sleeping children.
Somehow this canyon was less stark, less tragic. Time and weather had removed many of the signs of fire. Perhaps it was the lack of screams or twisted bodies, perhaps age had finally blunted the memories.
A shadowy movement and the scrape of metal on stone caught the Old One’s attention.
“Hello you old machine,” The Old One spoke quietly toward the direction of the sound.
“They’re asleep?” Came a question from the darkness.
“Yes old friend, they’re asleep. Come, rest a while. Tell me of your travels, you sound as if you could use some oil.”
“I should point out, ‘Old One’ you’re over 200 yourself… You don’t actually have oil do you?”
The Old One smiled and rummaged in the nearby pack.
“Here, just for you. I found it several days ago before we entered this canyon. Tell me what news you have.”
The machine sat next to the Old One, applying oil to worn joints and moving limbs to work the lubricant in.
“There isn’t much to tell. I’ve wandered through city after city across the continent. It’s always the same result. Those who didn’t die from bombs, died of disease, starvation, or murdering each other. There is evidence that some were still fighting over climate change which, if I had a sense of humor, would be funny.
Outlying areas did better, but in the end they moved on. There are scattered villages similar to yours over about a thousand mile radius. All are peaceful and from what I’ve observed generally kind. Genetic diversity might become a problem over the next 100 years or so. Sterility rates are high among all the survivors, making the breeding pool shallow.”
“So old friend, have you found any others like me?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“How long will I live?”
“Again, I’m sorry. There’s no way to tell. There is no explanation for your current longevity and health. It’s a fluke of nature or physics.”
“Don’t you mean I’m a freak of nature or physics?”
“You know me well Old One. I say what I mean with no malice or bias.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve missed you. You’ve never explained why you pulled me out of the wreckage though.”
“Hadn’t I? It should be obvious shouldn’t it? I am a military rescue droid. A prototype actually. I was built to withstand the harshest nuclear, biological, or chemical environment. You were alive, un-injured, and despite the radiation levels you never showed any signs of radiation sickness.”
“You rescued me, but why did you stay? Why did you teach me? Why did you care?”
“There was no-one to turn you over to. You were my responsibility and since I’m a learning machine, I suppose I learned to care over time. My builder and programmers would be thrilled. When you entered puberty, you were self sufficient and didn’t need me anymore. I left because most humans would have reacted poorly to my presence. I fulfilled my directive by turning you over to yourself and pointing you toward the village.”
“I thought as much. Still you could have stayed.”
“You know better Old One. I had directives to find and help other survivors.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, occasionally. A change in river flow here. Uncontaminated seeds ‘found” there. Arrows pointing the way to fertile valleys, that sort of thing.”
“What about you Old Machine? How long will you live?”
“Unknown, like you. I found a power pack about 10 years ago. So as long as my joints, seals, and motors hold out I’m probably good for another hundred years or so.”
“Oh, that reminds me.”
The Old One rummaged some more in the pack, producing two tins.
“Are those what the label says?”
“Yep, I saw them in my travels, and thought of you. Undamaged seals. They’re various sizes and in their original lubricant, perhaps they’ll help you last more than a hundred years.”
The machine took the tins, “Thank You.”
The Old One looked at the machine’s ‘face’, “You’ve never said thank you for anything. You’re welcome though.”
The machine approximated a shrug, “I must be getting senile in my advanced age.”
From across the fire a gasp was heard. The Old One and the Old Machine turned toward it. Bright inquisitive eyes were looking at both of them.
“Is that a ghost?”
The Old One smiled, “A ghost of the past yes. Also a friend, little one.”
“May I touch it?”
The Machine reached out, “Yes you may.”
A small hand tentatively touched the hand of the Old Machine, “I’m Sky”
“Hello Sky, I’m the Old Machine. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The Old Machine took a pose the Old One remembered very well. It meant the machine was analyzing.
Slowly and gently the machine got up and tucked Sky back under a blanket, “Sleep now Sky, you have a long trip ahead of you and need your rest.”
Sky snuggled a little closer to the fire yawning, “Okay, I am sleepy.”
The machine returned to its position next to the Old One. Both waited in silence until the child was sleeping soundly.
“So Old Machine, what did your analysis reveal?”
“Old One, it revealed that you’ve found another like you. It looks like you’re not going to be alone after all.”
“How is that possible? I’ve purposely not reproduced. I was worried about begetting some horrific deformity.”
“I can’t answer that question. I do wonder if the lower fertility rate I’ve observed, is some kind of natural check to compensate for longer life. I’ll have to look into that when I make the rounds to the other villages. There is a cache of safe foods one block to the West, there are also markers that will lead you and the children to the mountains along a safe route. Don’t stray too far off the path, there are some nasty creatures in the higher contamination zones,” The Old Machine was moving into the shadows as it spoke.
“It has been good to sit and talk, Old One.”
“You could come with us.”
“Not yet, I think I have more work to do. Follow the markers, The place is aesthetically pleasing according to my data stores. You should find Winters mild, game plentiful, and the ground fertile. Teach the children how to swim. Good Night.”
“Thank you Old Machine. Do stop by, or come to stay with us when you’ve tired of traveling the world,” The Old One spoke the last into the wind. The Old Machine was gone.
The Old One looked across the fire at Sky and thought, “There’s hope. Maybe we can do it better this time. Guess I’d better work on teaching stories that don’t turn into religions, dogma, or politics. Thank God, I’ve probably got some time…”
A hundred dollar bill lazily blew into the fire. The Old One smiled as it burned, pulled the hood of the cloak back over the craggy young face it concealed, then leaned against the wall of what had been a bank. The machine would be in the heights above providing overwatch through the night. It would leave at first light.
Sleep came easy for the first time in a long while.
