(Excerpt from Prologue)

703 AA (after Ascent)

Aboard Gitandar in orbit Celestron Sector Solar System 

A subtle tickle ruffled the outer edge of tiny interlocked filaments, sending a reverberation inward toward the erect central spine of the macaw feather, and it wasn’t the airflow. Whatever the prime mover, the feather was the first to awaken. Its trembling set up a shiver in the thin, dry snake skin lying beneath it, making the first sound originating from within the vault since their arrival 700 years ago. The quivering of the scaly vestige caused it to lose its purchase on top of other items, and as had happened to it before, it was sloughed off once again, but on this occasion, it landed only briefly on the curved, smooth elegance of the shell. Gathering momentum and meeting no resistance, it continued down the pile of strange objects, brushing past the tooth and on down, slowing as it noted the velvety bag of seeds before it sprawled, like a spent spring, across the rock and the heavy ribbed horn. A singular resonance of purpose instantly formed—the great sleep was over. 

CHAPTER 1: The Emissary Trials 

703 AA (after Ascent)

Aboard Gitandar 

“Now, what is it you’ve been waiting to tell me?” asked Mellinar, turning to face her best friend. Mellinar was the taller of the two with a lithe, natural grace. 

Stilana was slightly plump with creamy white perfect skin and a crisp, sharp voice. Mellinar and her friend had just left school and were heading home along a pathway bordered by plants and trees. They paused in their passage through the bioregion in Zone 5 (the highest zone level), the only level of the ship they had ever known in their young lives. The birds in the trees, full of joyful song when dawn and dusk were simulated, were quiet now, keeping careful watch below, sensing a strain that had not been there before. 

“I’ve become a seed woman! I’ll be in the next ceremony,” said Stilana, proudly. 

“Oh, I want to do this with you!” said Mellinar, confronted with Stilana’s gloating attitude. But seeing Mellinar’s distress, Stilana moved closer, her demeanor softened, and she gently grasped Mellinar’s hand. “Well, perhaps your blood-rite will arrive in time.” 

One evening two months later, while passing through the same bioregion on her way to her family’s quarters, Mellinar was startled to feel warm liquid trickling down her upper thighs. Thoroughly embarrassed, she headed for the closest public toilet. Once there, she began to whimper. 

“What is it, honey? Can I help in any way?” asked a woman roughly her mother’s age. When Mellinar shyly told her about her bleeding, the woman gently took charge, escorting Mellinar to a private area, just o the public garden. Once through the doors, the woman turned to her. “It is my privilege to bring you here for your first time. You’re in safe hands. They will take good care of you and explain everything you need to know.” An elder with shining white hair approached them. When the other woman took her leave, the elder cloaked in serenity, turned to appraise Mellinar with kind eyes and a hint of a smile showing on her deeply creased face. 

A small pool with a waterfall emanating its liquid song gently throughout the space set the mood. The pool was edged with ferns, and beyond it, Mellinar saw women lounging on soft sofas and low chairs, murmuring quietly to each other. She looked about and noticed neither men nor children present. The elder woman’s voice reached her as softly as the sweep of a feather. “Welcome, to the Woman’s Sanctuary.” The woman gave her a brief tour of these previously o -limit premises, then led her to a private bathing room, gave her a small foam cone to tuck inside to soak up the blood, and asked, “Who is your patron?” 

Suddenly, the idea of what it meant to have a patron began to take on a new meaning. “Oh, my patron is my Aunt Bekkina,” she said, and then amended, “Bekkina Gunteris.” 

“Very well, I’ll send for her immediately, and she’ll join you shortly,” the elder said, her kindly eyes reassuring and her voice calming the girl in this strange situation. 

Though not a blood relative, Bekkina played the essential role as if she were. Like many, she had not received a permit to 

procreate. Mellinar’s parents both worked in the bioregion, her mother tending the plants and trees featured in their zone and her father as a soil specialist. Though loving, neither was adept at childrearing, so her aunt’s generous and perceptive attention had brought the two emotionally close. Mellinar placed great trust in Bekkina, a gifted empath. Bekkina, worked her day job in the health field, finding ingenious ways to imbue her work with the additional capabilities she possessed. The girl secretly wished she would grow up to look like Bekkina whose unruly beauty and curvaceous figure caused ripples of attraction wherever she went, but Mellinar strongly resembled her mother, with her head of silky, straight hair and athletic physique. 

It was a custom for every young girl to have a patron, for it succeeded in ameliorating the severe limits on procreation by allowing those who had no children to share the joys and burdens of raising children with those lucky enough to have been issued a permit. 

Before Bekkina arrived, the elder hostess ceremonially cleansed Mellinar, chuckling pleasantly as she poured warm water from a pitcher over Mellinar’s hands. “Not to worry, young sprout,” she said, “this will all feel normal soon enough.” She directed Mellinar to have a shower if she wished and then await her patron in the common room. 

Once bathed and dressed in a fresh undergarment, Mellinar joined the women in the lounge area. A few began to sing softly. Mellinar sat, feeling the heavy weight of her womb ache, an utter- ly new sensation. The women’s voices helped distract her from the discomfort, and she suddenly had a reason to smile, realizing, I’m now a seed woman! I’ll be able to join Stilana in the ceremonies! 

When Bekkina arrived, she explained to the youngster the “woman rites” and helped her memorize them. 

The climax of the initiation process for every young woman coming of age was the Seed Woman Ceremony, a public planting ceremony performed four times during the year. Mellinar had initially been thrilled to finally be part of this rite of passage. But after several weeks, she became increasingly anxious. When her mother noticed Mellinar’s distress and asked about it, Mellinar admitted having dreadful dreams of late. 

“You best go see Bekkina then. You know me and your Dad know nothing of that sort of thing.” 

Confiding with Bekkina one evening, Mellinar let tears ow as she admitted, “I keep having a nightmare but as soon as I wake up, I remember very little except a sense of dread.” She looked up into Bekkina’s generous, deep-brown eyes, feeling caressed and comforted. There was no ridicule, no patronizing, only genuine concern. 

“Tell me the dream as exactly as you can,” urged Bekkina. “Well, all I can remember is that I’m very much alone and I’m in a place that is totally strange to me and I’m surrounded by very old and very huge . . . giants with arms reaching out. But not like our arms. They are growing in all directions from a central body, lots of arms. Their voices are rough, inhuman. They sound angry and upset.”

“Go on, what else?” asked her aunt.

“They are roaring and hovering over me with their arms all waving and trying to snatch me. I’m afraid they will trample me. Just as I begin to scream, I wake up.” 

“You say that you hear their voices. What are they saying?” 

“I’m not sure. It’s so garbled. And they’re all talking at once. I only get bits and pieces.” 

“Such as?” prompted Bekkina. 

“Something about a map and planting seeds, and ‘It is time to return!’ Their voices grumble, and they rumble on and on, but I can’t understand their language. I just want to run away or hide somewhere because I’m so frightened.” 

They sat still for a long while, knowing this dream was pertinent to the issue at hand but unclear just how. Finally, Bekkina rose and pulled her deck of oracle cards from a shelf. “Let’s consult the Traveler Oracle, shall we?” She shuffled the cards made of stiff, tightly woven fabric with printed images and a shiny laminated coating. 

She’s never used the cards for me before, thought Mellinar, vaguely aware of her Aunt’s clairvoyance but unfamiliar with the methods and tools she used with her clients. Her aunt fanned the cards out on the table face down. On the back of each of them was an image of an ornately carved flower of burnished brass with a central medallion featuring a deep blue stone. 

“Hover your hand over them and when you feel a buzz or a subtle spike, put your finger down on that card.” She met Mellinar’s eyes expectantly. 

“You want me to pick them?” Mellinar’s heart skipped a beat. She was curious, but also nervous, scared of what she might find out. Bekkina nodded. 

“Hold your dream in your mind as you draw three cards. This is going to help us sort out what’s going on. I promise.” 

Mellinar did as directed and handed three cards to her Aunt, then let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair. 

Bekkina deftly swept up the rest of the deck to the side, stacking them, then flipped over the three cards on the tabletop, turning them to face Mellinar in the order she’d picked them. She took a deep breath. “Okay, the first thing I see is that all three of these cards are about being of service to others. This first one is Responding to the Call. This indicates you have a role to play of significant consequence. It also indicates that there are forces supporting you. You have all you need to bring light into a dark situation.” Her finger now tapped the second card. “A Path with Heart also speaks to this same idea that your life is dedicated to service of the highest order, and that you will learn and develop further attributes and qualities as you proceed.” Now Bekkina lifted the third card. “And the last one, The Sacred Place,” she paused and looked at Mellinar, but her eyes were not focused, and she didn’t lock eyes with her niece. Mellinar saw her aunt sitting there very still, and yet she felt as if the two of them had left the room, as if they were flying somewhere together. Within some pocket of time they existed in some other dimension, and then without so much as a twitch, they were both back sitting just as they had been. 

Bekkina’s normally resonant voice now crackled with electricity, causing Mellinar to shiver as her aunt said, “Tonight, as you go to sleep, I want you to take a question into your dream with you.” When she finished explaining, Mellinar nodded and promised to let Bekkina know as soon as she received an answer. 

Mellinar continued to have the dream every few nights, but it took a while to remember to ask the question within the dream. Floating restlessly in her zero-g sleeping chamber, she simulated the comfort of rocking by gently bouncing o the cushioned walls, which received her like the forgiving boundaries of a mother’s womb and then released her with reciprocal momentum. On this night, the slow-motion ricocheting lasted longer than usual, for Mellinar was increasingly anxious. Her dream experience of being a foreigner and at a disadvantage seemed only to be growing more intense.

The following morning Bekkina was shocked and worried at the state of the girl as she greeted her niece at the portal to her private chambers. Mellinar looked groggy, sleep-deprived, and ill at ease, unlike her normal exuberant self. Bekkina led her into the sitting room and motioned for her to sit. “Did you ask the question?” 

“Yes, but I still don’t understand any of it,” she replied, frustrated. 

“Tell me word for word exactly what the reply was,” said Bekkina with an intensity that made Mellinar squirm. 

“Well, mostly the dream wasn’t in words at all. I experienced strange things . . . I was on a world, not on a ship. A tiny bird with wings beating so fast they were a blur led me through hallways that weren’t hallways. There were no walls. The hallways were made of trees! The little blurry bird led me to a small grassy area and that’s when I asked the question. I heard a strange, deep male voice say, ‘You will sing as you plant the seeds here on Earth. And then you will receive the gift that is meant for you and your people.’” 

Bekkina gasped. “Oh, my world!” She leaped to her feet and began pacing about the room. Mellinar had never seen her like this before. “I think this is what has been prophesied! I believe this could be it! You could be the one who will go back!” She approached Mellinar, put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Now I understand why you’ve been afraid.” 

Mellinar was bedazzled by the complex intensity of emotions on her aunt’s face, but the words were baffling. “Please tell me about the Prophecy; I don’t understand what you’re saying,” pleaded Mellinar. 

The ancient story of the tribals and the gifts they had given had curled into legend over the centuries. Bekkina sat next to her niece now and began to tell the story of the Ascent, about the sacred artifacts locked away in a vault and the Prophecy. Finally, she said, “I believe this dream is an indication that you are the Emissary. Now you must decide whether you are willing to present yourself as a candidate for the Emissary Trials. I will stand with you, as your patron since you are yet underage. Mellinar, you must understand that if you are the Emmissary and pass the tests, it sets you on a path that no one else has taken.” 

Mellinar was as mystified by all this as she was fearful. “There is no way I could be the Emmissary! Me? It’s ridiculous!” She defiantly shook her head and ran from Bekkina’s premises. But a while later she came back. At least Bekkina has a clue what seems to be going on, even if I don’t like it, she reasoned, for her mother and father seemed clueless. She asked if she could stay with Bekkina a few days to get this all sorted out, and Bekkina readily agreed. 

That night, Mellinar dreamed of walking through what appeared to be tall grass swaying in a breeze. As she walked, she became aware that it wasn’t grass at all but individual beings of some kind. The sound—a soft, tinkling, swishing chorus she first mistook for the sound of her own motion through the grass—was originating from these beings. She was drawn forward as the presences genuinely welcomed her. In her deep, now-peaceful sleep, dreaming of the rustling voices around her, she was unaware that her sleeping chamber was actually inhabited by these beings. A shimmering slip of light separated from the multitude and, hovering over the sleeping girl, reached out with a tendril and gently touched Mellinar on the center of her chest. 

Mellinar was instantly awake when the seven o’clock chimes rang. She sprang out of bed with the vigor of a young, feral animal. After a few minutes in the bathroom, she burst back out with a gasping, frightened call for Bekkina. Her patron appeared almost instantly, disheveled from sleep. “What in the world?” she asked the youngster. Expecting that Mellinar had somehow hurt herself, Bekkina’s eyes roved over the lithe little body for blood. In a moment, she saw what caused the fear. Between Mellinar’s newly arisen breasts and rosebud nipples, right over the center of her sternum, was a small, raised patch of skin. It was a shape that Bekkina did not recognize, though it looked somewhat like a stylized bird. It was not red or irritated but was unmistakably and seamlessly embedded in her skin. 

“How did this get here?” she asked the startled girl. 

“I don’t know! I didn’t do it!” And the girl burst into tears, feeling her safe and normal life turning into a strange brew of experiences she was not prepared for. 

“Does it hurt?” Bekkina asked gently as she looked closer at the mark. 

“No.” 

“It’s no accident, sweetheart. It’s precisely over the white star I see in your aura. I think this is another indication that marks you for your path.” 

Mellinar groaned and then tears seeped and ran down her cheeks. “I don’t understand all this. Why me? I don’t know any- thing! I feel like if I do the Trials, I’ll be found out as a fraud!” But her dreams changed after the tattoo appeared. This time it was an even worse nightmare, for she saw Federation ships at war with each other and horrifying scenes of people starving. She saw herself (the Mellinar that did not take the Trials), her parents, and many others emaciated, withered, and hopelessly miserable aboard ships adrift and out of fuel, unable to dock and resupply. It was a civilization in ruin. She knew she was seeing what might happen if she did not accept the Emissary path. She awoke that morning burdened and sobered by the overwhelming magnitude of the consequences that could befall them all. She told Bekkina that morning, “Okay. I’ll take the Trials.” 

Bekkina nodded solemnly, understanding how hard this was for her niece. When Mellinar returned from school later that day, Bekkina told her, “I’ve gotten word that our request has been accepted. We’re to meet Councilman Plazar up in Zone 6 tomorrow morning.” 

Mellinar had never been through the zone boundary that separated the levels where the zoners lived and worked from the CHS section of the ship; nor had Bekkina. In a small o ce o to one side they met a technician who reprogramed their earpatches, allowing entry for this visit only. The boundary functioned like a semipermeable cell wall, allowing admittance to some while preventing entrance to others with an impenetrable force field. Once over this threshold, Bekkina had been instructed to follow the small green lights spaced along the hallways to guide them to the council chambers. 

They arrived at the council foyer and checked in with the bot there. “This way,” it said and escorted them to a meeting room. Five people all sitting behind a wide table sat with serious ex- pressions as Plazar introduced everyone and then asked the two women, “Are you aware of the consequences of failure to pass the Trials, young lady?” 

“Sir,” interjected Bekkina, “She is not, but I am. She will be participating in the next Seed Woman Ceremony. Since she is still legally underage, I, as her patron, wish to volunteer myself to receive the consequence on her behalf should she fail.” 

Mellinar was uninformed and did not realize that custom required the sacrifice of a finger should an applicant fail the Trials. 

This “ritual price” kept those who would otherwise attempt to pose as the Emissary from doing so lightly. Plazar put it to the group whether they would accept that, and when the vote passed, the interview proceeded. When they learned about the hummingbird tattoo, Mellinar was asked to show it to the three councilwomen present. They, in turn, ordered a bot to record a discreet image of it. 

Unbeknownst to anyone, Plazar had recently dreamed about this exact image, a hummingbird—something he had never seen before. Though he was not about to share this fact with his CHS peers and be laughed at as superstitious, he was secretly spooked by it. What is the likelihood of such a thing? Something extraordinary is going on. 

Standing alone before the CHS task group consisting of Plazar, two younger men, and three women, Mellinar looked to them like a typical adolescent. There was nothing in her demeanor, her carriage, or her school records to indicate that she was in any way exceptional. Several of them were slightly hostile, feeling this was likely going to be a waste of their valuable time. From Mellinar’s view, they represented sobering authority with a lot of power over her, yet she stood her ground and faced them in all her unpolished honesty. 

Plazar explained now, “We will take you through a series of chambers, and you’ll be asked to identify things and make choices among an array of artifacts. Are you ready, young lady?” he asked, not unkindly. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then let’s begin. Follow me, please.” He led her through a doorway and into a room with a single chair. He indicated that she could sit down if she wanted. He explained that he and the other task group members would be in the next room, watching through a transparent membrane, waiting until she made her choice. “You will see some holographic images in this room in a moment. They are all people long deceased. You are to choose the one who is not 

fully human, not a whole person. Make your choice by standing next to that person. Is that clear?” 

She understood the words well enough, so it didn’t seem right to say no, but she didn’t have a clue what those words in this strange context really meant. So she just nodded. 

He left her to join the others outside the room. Mellinar saw strangely dressed people appear, one by one, in miniature, spaced evenly around the room. Each one was talking and moving a little, all eighteen of them. She scanned the twelve men and six women from several vantage points, noticing the variations of race, age, body type, clothing, overall demeanor, and the quality of their voices. Her impression was that they were all Earthlings, of a time prior to the Ascent. 

She quieted herself and began to slowly walk around the edge of the room, looking and listening carefully to the tones of their voices, their mannerisms. None of them spoke the Commons language that had developed in space over time. They were all speaking languages foreign to her ear, though occasionally she caught a word or two, a phrase that sounded vaguely familiar. It was not immediately evident which one to select. She wondered about further distinctions and looked for more. She could feel the councilors’ impatience through the barrier as minutes went by. 

One of the figures was a woman with an elaborate headdress, very wrinkled skin, and a hostile expression on her face. One of the men was tattooed all over and wore only a loincloth. He had a wild, penetrating look, and his body was poised in preparation for throwing the spear he held in his right hand. Another man, wearing what appeared to be a uniform with a few elaborate decorations on its lapel, was giving short, clipped commands in a barking, emphatic voice. As Mellinar continued her slow progression, a subtle increase in agitation within her own body caught her attention as she moved in one particular direction. One of the voices caused her to feel as though every cell in her body was being savagely pelted by sand, even though the sound the voice conveyed had a lilting male charm. 

This must be a clue, she thought. She followed its source until she found herself standing next to a pale-skinned man in grey clothes. He was holding a narrow black leather box at arm’s length, next to his calf. Smiling, he was saying, “Consider me a financial architect,” his tone one of friendly confidence. “Your financial dealings are simply legal problems I am a master at solving.” The agitation had pulled her here, and now she could barely move. Still standing next to the man with the leather box, she feebly raised her hand, no longer caring whether she was wrong or right in her selection, for she couldn’t bear the sensation another second and wanted only to dart from the room and escape it. 

The spell was broken as soon as Plazar walked back and pushed a small control button in a panel along the wall. The image next to her disappeared first, and three seconds later, the rest disappeared as well. The pelting sand sensation instantly evaporated too. The councilman was smiling in surprise. “Well, my young woman, you have indeed picked the right one. If you hadn’t, the rest of those holographs would not have disappeared but would all still be showing.” 

“Who was he?” Mellinar asked, her normal sensations utterly restored. She was pleased and relieved to have been correct, and now curiosity flooded in. 

Plazar, still at the panel, read what he saw there. “He was a con-man convicted of swindling many millions of dollars, causing hardship and financial ruin to thousands of innocent people. Even in prison, he enticed and convinced people to trust him.” Plazar looked up at her again. “Sounds like he was the very definition of treacherous.” 

Mellinar shivered. 

“All right, on to the next room we have set up for you. This way.” He escorted her out of the chamber and into another. The task group turned to another nonpermeable, transparent wall as Plazar and Mellinar arrived in a much smaller room. “You are to choose the five cards with the symbols the task group selected earlier from this assortment,” he said. Then he exited the room. There on a table, white cards lay in a neat stack, each with a symbol on it drawn in black ink. She ruffled through them, counting thirty-six total. Several images were vaguely familiar to her, others completely foreign; some she found rather beautiful and others unappealing. She placed each card on the table so she could see them all at once and then stood there at a loss for some time. Then, to the surprise of those watching from behind the membrane, she turned them all face down. Once she couldn’t see the dark images taunting her with their secrets, she felt more at ease. 

Slowly she hovered her hand above each one as she made her way along the rst row, just as Bekkina had instructed her when she had pulled an oracle card. She continued in this way until there was a strange pattern of five voids among the white cards on the tabletop. Picking up her selections, she said, “I’m finished.” 

Plazar and the team watched as her selections were one by one validated against cards the team had pulled earlier. The team had made simple sketches of the cards they’d pulled, which Plazar had sealed in a locked drawer until now. He unlocked the drawer and drew out the envelope. “Let’s see what we have here,” he said, secret- ly enjoying the task. He brought the envelopes over to a small table in the corner, and they all hovered around, curious to see the results. 

Jumri’s expressive face displayed amazement and he looked at his comrades, catching Marta’s eyes. “Yeah!” she blurted, as if he’d actually said something. Excitement was mounting for the first time that morning. 

Plazar was aware, even if these people were not, that other Emissary applicants had gotten this far, and further, so he kept his cool. Returning to the room where Mellinar was waiting, he announced, “You have passed the second Trial. We will proceed to the next one. Follow me, please.” He escorted Mellinar to the bioregion, each of the council members carrying a box or bag full of items none of them had seen. 

 They arrived a few minutes later at an oval of grass about six yards across, surrounded by an herb garden. “Here we are then,” said Plazar. “Would you all please open the boxes and bags care- fully, and let’s lay everything out here on the grass.” Following Plazar’s instructions, they took a few minutes to set up as Mellinar watched, curious and nervous again. 

When everything was set, Plazar gently held Mellinar’s el- bow and guided her over to stand before the motley assembly of objects. “You are to select from this assortment of things the sacred power objects that the Prophecy Delegation gave us just before the Ascent.” And with that, he bowed his head ever so slightly and backed o to one side with the others. They silently watched her. 

She took a deep breath, and remembering the strange hummingbird tattoo on her chest, held her hand there briefly. If you really are a sign that I am the Emissary, then help me know what I need to know. 

She picked up and examined a gourd rattle, a drum painted with a paw print of some kind, and an expensive-looking gold and emerald necklace. There was a worn-looking pink baby’s shoe with white laces and a well-used, heavily padded leather glove. She noted a large, conical tooth and a long, iridescent blue-green feather. A large, ribbed antler lay next to an intricately carved knife. A small metal vessel with a handle almost hid a little glass vial containing a tiny amount of oil. She handled a leather-bound book with writing in a language she had not seen before. She picked up a clear, whitish crystal, heavier than she expected. There was an exquisite wooden carving of lovers in an embrace and a brightly painted, fragile eggshell nested in tissue paper inside a box, among other intriguing objects. 

There would be no further validating by the team until she brought about a “consequence” they could all agree upon. After thirty minutes, she indicated she had made her selection, whereupon Plazar gave further direction. “Jumri, give her a hand carrying her special items. Let’s gather everything else and follow me.” 

They made their way down a level, through one of the main portals of Zone 6 and into a large work site with tables set up for constructing and repairing all sorts of things. Workers busied about in rough-threaded garments that could withstand the handiwork required here. Blowtorches hung in the back, high-temperature ovens were in a far corner, and tools hung in a vast array of sizes and shapes on some of the dividing walls. Plazar nodded to a foreman, who greeted him formally and led the task group back into an inner workroom, where a free- floating focus light for doing intricate work hovered over a large table. 

Plazar instructed the task group members to lay all the objects out around the table’s edge, then turned to Mellinar. “This is your workspace for as long as you need to complete the next task of the Trials. I’m afraid you are on your own as far as what you’re supposed to do now. The instructions are clear that you are to be given all the items that the Tribals gave us as well as a good range of tools. You may ask for a technician to assist you with any tools here.” He swept his arms up to indicate the walls full of implements. “And if you really are the Emissary, you will know what to do, and an unmistakable consequence will occur.” 

She wanted to weep in despair but held herself firmly together and managed to squeak out, “Very well . . .” 

“We will be taking shifts to witness your process,” Plazar said, nodding to the fellow who nodded back and headed for a seat in the corner. 

Mellinar closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and centered herself. When she opened her eyes again, her hands, reaching out for comfort and reassurance, landed first on the rock. She held it gently, as if it held a secret for her. One by one, she did this with each of the artifacts she had carried over. She studied each of them visually, then closed her eyes and shifted her attention the way Bekkina taught her. 

She walked around the edge of the table, continuing the process with each and every item. In doing so, she began to differentiate additional items that seemed to want to be selected, one of which was the antler. She noticed a cap over the root base of it and wondered why it would be there. A thought wafted into her mind. There’s something of value inside the hollow. She placed it in a new pile. 

She picked a few more things, including a stick, darkened at one end, and a block of wood with a matching dark area in the middle. She kept wild, disquieting thoughts at bay and often put her hand over her heart and the scar, as it seemed to help her tune in to the process with greater clarity. 

Eventually she circumnavigated the entire table, returned to the stone, picked it up, and carried it to a bench against the wall, where she sat down. She turned to her witness. “I need a technician to help me.” Mellinar and the technician brie y conferred, then the man disappeared. He returned rolling in a special table saw and set it up; then she told him, “Please cut the stone in half.”