Technocracy: AIR, Part 2

That evening, Saera laid on her bed, reading. She kept on reading, though she was displeased with what she read.

She was reading the book of poems that her mother had gotten her for Christmas. She had tried to pace herself, reading only a few poems a day; Saera liked to stretch out the pleasures of a book, and so she was a deliberately slow reader, only reading short amounts of any given book on any given day. For Saera, a book ending was cause for alarm, and sadness. So she put that ending off for as long as she could, each time.

In truth, though, she was sorely tempted to read this particular book more quickly, just to be finished with it. It wasn’t her mother’s fault. Aemelia had gotten this book off a bestseller list, and Saera had, indeed, been excited, initially, to start it. But as she had moved further through it, she had realized that each successive poem, though written by one of the leading poets of her day, only served to let her down.

Something was simply… missing. She could not put her finger on what. But the poems she read, by all these new poets, did not fire her heart. A lot of poetry, these days, did not fire her heart. Even those written by the most celebrated poets in the world. The poems did not make her feel enhanced, intense, alive. Not the way she loved to feel when reading good poetry.

So she grimaced, and blew out a breath. She was lying back on her bed, propped up against her pillows. Her hair, new-cut, splayed a bit on her top pillow. Another chunk of it had turned white after her day at Terry’s house. Indeed, at this point, Saera probably had more white hair than blonde, though it was still patchwork. One of her eyebrows was fully white, the other one was half white and half blonde. She now had copious amounts of white hair elsewhere, too. Her silver eyes narrowed at that thought.

She turned a page. And now her eyes widened again, and her eyebrows rose, as she read the title of the next poem:

Bird Poem Fragment (Pre-Ravaging)

Author Unknown

Saera’s eyes bulged. She had only rarely encountered literature from before the Ravaging. Most of it had been lost. It was commonly assumed that art was better before the Ravaging, but she had never been able to investigate for herself. So she sat up straight on her bed, and trained her attention to the lines on the page:

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O'er which clouds are bright'ning,

Thou dost float and run;

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even

Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of Heaven,

In the broad day-light

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

Keen as are the arrows

Of that silver sphere,

Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

Saera’s heart was racing, racing, beating as she read,

Wrapped up in the sounds and in the feeling of the verse.

Racing, gazing with a rapt attention at the page,

As words she could never have dreamed of flew to her eyes,

Flew up like the bird the unknown poet praised so much,

Flew, and pierced her heart, and set her chest aflame, ablaze.

As she read the wind about her blew and swirled around,

Until it blew underneath her, and from off the bed

She began to rise, and floated upwards in the air,

Hovering just off the bed as she again did read,

Read again, once more, a fourth time, fifth, she read the poem,

Feeling that it was so very different from the rest,

Different and better. THIS is what she had looked for!

This was poetry of the type for which her heart yearned,

Reading now for what must have been the twelfth, thirteenth time,

Saera realized suddenly that she was off the bed,

Floating on the air above her mattress, and she yelped,

and crashed back down onto the bed, bouncing off the mattress and the comforter. She shook her head, and once more gazed down at the lines of the poem. “Wow,” she said softly. This was the poetry she’d been looking for. This was the poetry that came into her, “Heart,” she said. She gasped. “Oh. Oh. Oh.” She gasped, and the air swirled and blew around her, billowing her short hair. And she began to think.

A week later, on a Saturday, Aemelia sat in a chair in the entrance hall of her house, sipping some tea. Her phone was in her lap, and she was expecting a text message any minute. Sure enough, the phone suddenly chirped where it lay, and she read the message that flashed across the touchscreen.

>I’m here, Aemelia!

Nodding, Aemelia took a long pull of her tea. Then she set the cup and saucer on a nearby table, and went to the door, and threw it open. “Hello there, Bellona,” she said, smiling at Marin’s mother as she stood just outside the screen door, on the covered porch.

“Hello, Aemelia,” said Bellona, smiling, looking as beautiful as ever. Indeed, it sometimes seemed to Aemelia that Bellona always looked exactly the same… that she had looked the same, for years now, for as long as Aemelia had known her. As though the passage of years had left no mark on her. That beautiful smile, set in that olive-skinned face, was as radiant and vibrant as it had ever been. Now it was bent at her. “May I come in?”

“Oh, of course,” said Aemelia, standing aside and allowing the other woman into the entrance hall. “Thank you so much for agreeing to take Saera to Terry’s house today. I just have too much work, and once I start, some of it is time-sensitive, so I won’t really be able to be interrupted.”

“Oh, don’t think anything of it,” said Bellona. “I’m always happy to help. And it’s always so nice to see Saera. At this point I think I like her almost as much as Marin does.” Bellona laughed. Aemelia smiled a bit weakly, a thing that did not go unnoticed. “Is everything all right, Aemelia?”

Aemelia yawned, daintily covering her mouth with her hand. “I didn’t sleep quite so well last night.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I had…” Aemelia glanced to the side, brown eyes flickering back and forth. “I had that dream again. You know, that strange one? The one I have told you about before.”

“The one with all the black and red, where you’re in that big, empty space?”

“Yes.” She shook her head. “I’ve never been able to figure out what it means. My therapist has offered several suggestions over the years, but none of them have seemed quite right to me.”

Bellona smiled. “Dreams are dreams, Aemelia. They’re not real, and they are very often abstract. Trying to figure out if they ‘mean’ something will tie you up in knots.” Bellona looked past the other woman. “Ah, Saera! Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, Miss Meni,” said Saera, emerging behind the two women. She was dressed in light yellow pants and a white blouse. Today was the first day of Spring, and Saera felt like wearing bright colors. It had been dry lately, so she was only wearing tennis shoes; the ground was not terribly muddy, not in her own yard and not behind Terry’s house, either.

“Great. Marin’s waiting for us in the car.” She smiled at Aemelia. “Get your work done, Aemelia. Then, for goodness sake, go take a nap.”

Aemelia yawned, and this time she was not fast enough to hide it. “That… sounds like a delightful idea.” She wrapped Saera in a quick, but tight embrace. “Have a good time at Terry’s house, sweetie.”

“Yes, Mama. I shall see you later.”

With that, Saera followed Bellona out the door, to the circular drive where Bellona’s car was waiting. The doors slid open as they approached. “Yo!” said Marin, waving at her. She wore a dress of powder blue, which formed an interesting contrast of values with the navy blue of her hair. Saera climbed into the car next to her; Bellona climbed in the front, and the doors slid shut, as the car began to drive itself away.

“How are you?” Saera asked her friend. She was smiling.

“I’m pretty great,” said Marin. And Marin noticed the smile. “Wow, you’re in a good mood.”

Saera glanced upwards to the front seat, where Bellona sat. She leaned in close, and whispered in Marin’s ear. “I have figured it out.” And now Marin smiled as well, to hear the words.

After about thirty minutes of driving, they pulled up to the cracked front sidewalk of Terry’s house. Ardo and Terry were already standing outside. Terry wore khaki pants and a white t-shirt, in addition to his typical field jacket, while Ardo wore a black polo and some olive green shorts.

“Aren’t you cold in those shorts?” asked Marin, springing from Bellona’s car as the doors slid open.

Ardo winked a ruby red eye at her. “I don’t get cold any more.”

“You kids have fun!” said Bellona. The doors shut behind her, and she drove away, leaving Marin, Ardo, and Terry standing there, with Saera a ways apart from the three of them.

Saera breathed, and cool, soft breeze arose upon the air.

Swirling round the other three, it blew their hair and clothes.

“That you, Saera?” asked Terry.

“Yes.”

“Saera says she’s figured it out,” said Marin. “I guess you made the connection.”

“I believe I have,” said Saera,

And as she spoke, she rose briefly up off of the ground,

Wind blowing around her, lifting her off of her feet,

Just an inch or so above the ground—but it was there.

“Yes,” said Saera, sounding vibrant, “I’ve figured it out.”

She walked briskly across the grass, speedily headed for the backyard on her long legs, forcing Marin, Ardo, and even Terry to jog to keep up with her.

“I realized. I am not afraid.” She smiled over her shoulder. “I am not afraid any more. I just need to open my heart, and reach out.”

“I mean, we’ve been telling you that,” said Ardo.

“Yes,” said Saera.

They reached the edge of the woods. The sky above was blue, with fluffy white clouds hanging in it, slowly, lazily drifting by overhead. Marin glanced up. She could feel the water in the clouds. She felt something else, too: the blowing of breeze. It got faster, and heavier, and cooler, as she stood and looked up. So Marin looked back down. Saera was standing there, in front of them. She clasped her hands in front of her, and stared at them, her silver eyes bright.

“Yes,” said Saera. “But I needed to understand. I needed for my heart to understand… in my own way. But I realized.” She smiled, and glanced to the side. “I read a poem. I have been reading it, and rereading it, all week.”

“Is it a good poem?” asked Ardo.

“Actually, it is,” said Saera. “It is the best poem I have read in my life. It came into my heart. It set me on fire, in my chest. It was amazing. And,” she smiled broadly at them, more broadly than she almost ever smiled, “I realized that I do indeed let things into my heart. I do so without fear.” She smiled even wider. “I let poems in. I let stories in. Writing. It comes into my heart, and it makes me more than what I am.”

The wind began to blow harder, rocking the trees with their brand new leaves.

“And I know, now, that I can let it in. It will not hurt me, because I have let things into my heart my entire life, things that were strange to me, outside me, and they have not harmed me. My fears were misplaced.

And this thing, this Air, is NOT a thing from the outside.

Marin, Ardo, you have said that it’s not something strange,

But instead that it is something you already know;

Know, perhaps have always known. It waited there for you,

Waited in your heart, a part of you you did not know.

But now it is here, and you have met it, made it yours,

And you have become MORE of the people you had been.”

Now the wind was blowing heavy, surging through the trees,

Blowing Marin’s hair, and Ardo’s, even Terry’s, too.

“Look!” said Ardo, as he stared at Saera, for he saw

That Saera had lifted off the ground, and hovered there,

Floating on the air two or three feet off of the grass,

And as they kept watching, she was drifting higher still,

As she talked, so loud that they could hear her, but it seemed

That she spoke almost only for herself—her alone.

“So, I wish—I wish to know! To let this thing inside,

This thing that I feel and that is sitting in my chest,

In my gut and in my stomach. I am not afraid

Any longer. I can feel myself now more and more

Long for it, and wish for it, and as I feel it come

I am open--” her eyes flashed a brilliant neon white.

She gazed straight up, into the blue sky filled up with clouds.

“I want this,” she said. “And so I want now to reach OUT—”

Suddenly there came a howl of air that shook the trees,

Rocking them so hard some of their branches were broke off,

Blowing Marin, Ardo, Terry almost off their feet.

And Saera was pulled into the air! Pulled up, straight up!

Soaring higher, first dozens then hundreds of feet high!

And she felt the pull, the tug of something that was BOTH

Deep inside her AND surrounding her on every side,

She could feel it reaching, and she laughed to feel its tug.

Laughed and gave herself and clenched her fists and raised her head,

Willing herself to go higher, of her own free will,

Soaring up into the sky until the ground was gone,

And the sky grew deepened, darkened blue, and here and there

She could see the stars of space begin to twinkle some.

And the wind was howling, howling, pressing at her now,

Pressing, yet for all its harshness she was not perturbed,

Knew that something now was changing, altering itself,

Altering, she felt it, felt it, drew it further on

Further on and further in. There came a swirling gulf

Of the air that twisted itself into a maelstrom

Howling, roaring, wrapping all the clouds in spiral flow.

Howling, roaring, but Saera no longer felt afraid,

Let the maelstrom come and drift down from the higher sky

Come to meet her, breathe upon her, blow her to and fro,

Hover just above her, howling spiral of the wind.

She smiled up at it. “Here I am,” she said. “Come here.”

And for just a moment was a tiny whispering,

Before wind was bathed upon her, and the air was white,

And the glow of brilliant white was flashing in the sky.

Far below the other three could see the bright white glow,

Shining in the air above them like a second sun.

“Saera!” Ardo shouted, fire flaring on his hands

Out of his sheer nervousness. But when he bent to move

Marin tapped him on the shoulder. “She is fine,” she said.

“Just wait. Just wait. She’ll be coming.” Marin smiled up.

Smiled up and suddenly she felt a gentle breeze,

Felt the breath, the kiss of wind, that whipped her navy hair,

And something shot downward from the sky above their heads,

Shot and blasted over them. It flew and arced about,

Swirling, moving—FLYING! Flying like a bird at wing,

Flying, doing loops and cartwheels, soaring through the air,

As that air about them glowed with lines of brilliant white,

Neon white! The neon white lines lit the breeze that blew,

Tracing where the wind was blowing as it moved the air,

Making all the space around them glow and shine so bright

With the shifting of the currents of the wind that blew.

“Here I am!” the voice rang out, and something o’er their heads

Darted past them, flew above them, banked hard in the air,

Banked and bent and came above them, and it hovered down,

As the neon white lines of the breeze wrapped it around,

Feathering the figure in a web of neon white,

That went shifting to and fro—wind gusts that they could see.

“Here I am!” cried Saera as she hovered down to them,

Drifting gently downwards until she hung just above

Their heads, floating, perfectly suspended in the air.

All the neon white breeze lines were swirling around her!

And the white was matched by the new color of her hair.

ALL her hair was white, stark white, as white as brand new snow.

All her hair and both her eyebrows—all her hair was white!

And her eyes shone brilliant white, bright, blazing neon white,

As she grinned at them, and from her eyes there issued forth

The white neon breeze lines—they came swirling from her eyes,

Shining in the wavering neon white lines that hung

All around her temples, and about her brows, as well.

“Here I am!” said Saera, for a third and final time.

Saying this, she breathed on them, and her breath fell upon

All three of their heads, in waves of cool and gentle air

That were cool, yet pleasant, and contained feelings of peace.

Saera smiled at them as she hung above their heads,

Smiled, and she seemed more peaceful than she’d ever been.

“It is… so hard to describe,” she said, and now glanced down

At her hands, around which swirled the neon white breeze lines.

“Everything is clearer now. It all makes perfect sense.

And I realize how foolish I was to be afraid.

If I had known how this would feel, I should not have been

Frightened for so long—I would have opened up at once!

Opened up to feel like THIS, like I have never felt,

In the best of ways! I feel so wonderful! Alive!”

Saera laughed, a beautiful and musical loud sound,

And her laugh was carried on the winds that she controlled,

So the whole entire air was filled up with the sound,

And it seemed the very Air was laughing with delight.

“You did it,” said Marin. She grinned. “You did it! I knew

You could do it!” “Yeah!” said Ardo. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“It feels WONDERFUL,” said Saera, beaming down at them.

Terry glanced from one to other, on the three of them.

And Marin and Ardo felt a tremor in their feet,

Just a hint, and just a gentle thing—but it was there.

“Whoa,” said Ardo. “Did the earth shake?” “Ah,” said Terry, “I

May have done that, actually.” And Saera looked at him.

Looked at him, from where she hovered just above the ground,

As her eyes gleamed neon white, with those neon white lines

Swirling from her left eye and her right. And then she said:

“Terry, you are last of all. It is, at last, your turn.”