The Connector

Otha's first two bites of the gulgatha were hesitant, but as the rich flavor rushed upon him, his tepidness waned.

“That wasn't so bad,” I said.

He paused, half of its reptilian foreleg defleshed, vaguely aware of the taboo he had committed. No member of the Norws culture should eat the skin of the gulgatha. He swallowed.

“No, it tastes delicious.”

“That's not what I meant,” I said, smiling at his unconscious denial.

Torn between joy of my cleverness and determination to pursue the truth, I deliberated a moment, allowing him his awkward avoidance of reality. Then I coughed politely, and pointed. A thin, translucent line curled from mouth to skinless bone. Slowly, reverently, he placed the half-eaten gulgatha upon the ground and backed away on hands and knees, head bowed to escape the curse of the ancestors.

I saw a colorless, coiled line stretch with his movement, maintaining contact between teeth (flecks of skin still embedded) and the torn flesh. I prodded the line, as if I were reliving the games of my childhood, where we dared one another to hold our limbs in the seemingly fragile, though unbreakable, light. This too remained unaffected, insubstantial but vibrant, as Otha offered numerous prayers of forgiveness to ancestors twice and thrice removed.

From appearance to dissipation it lasted only as long as it takes a gulgatha to hop three times. I pulled Otha to his feet.

“I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't really think,” he pleaded.

“Of course not, I placed you in this predicament. And there existed no malice in your heart. You didn't intend to harm anyone. See the delicate curl indicates that you acted without thought, but unconsciously knew that you were disobeying to disobey. Your intent was neutral consciously, but unknowingly there was a residue of resistance to authority.”

“I thought you didn't believe in the truth of the connector!” he said, a darker mix of emotion replacing his guilt.

“The connector has two characteristics, shape and color. There is no doubting that the shape is determined by the intent of an act. I can't dispute this fact, for it's a hypothesis that can be tested, as I have. It's as concrete as gravity or tectonic plates. Yet, the source of the color is unverifiable.”

“But,” Otha said, beseechingly, “The color was neutral. There was no wrongness in my action.”

“Why must you repeat what the elders have told you! There is no wrongness, no rightness in action. But the Norws have enslaved themselves to these phantasms. We allow them to judge our action by ascribing meaning to the length of a wave.”

“You said it was untestable.”

“While the shape conforms to intent, the color doesn't correlate with emotion, health, benefit, or any other factor. Our distant ancestors found no relation, but invented one that fit. It's not scientific, and it's not correct.”

…

I meant to exile myself, I really did. And I intended to achieve my goal while embarrassing the elders. I would act to prove their theories of the connector false. To throw their whole understanding of the world into confusion. To teach them.

…

It was market day, with our blue sun shining upon the sparse purple forest and reflecting its pale light off the planetrise of our neighbor Tuevir.

I had risen early to speak with elders, before a crowd developed. With conscious effort I had recognized my self-indulgent, self-interest in the meeting, and I had removed it from my brain. I strode with helpful purpose. Norws needed knowledge, and I would suffer so others might see, but without humiliating any personage.

But either I failed to depart as intended or others awoke earlier than usual. A crowd of Norws mingled near the raised seating of the elders, all shrouded by massive, solar powered heaters. The orange-yellow light tinged the whole scene oddly, with most of its effect ringing the hoods of the elders. For though we could go unclothed, they must be attired.

Impatient and frustrated by my error, I delayed entering the queue to speak, but as I was about to leave Otha entered the courtyard. I saw him grin, and it heartened me. I saw among the others my equals, others who would attain the rank of elder some day, and one poor outcast named Olave. She sat apart as the law required, and I considered for a moment how lonely she must be. Then, as needed, I put her circumstance from my mind.

Early morning progressed to midday before I stood as a petitioner. I admit I quailed before their robed eminences, and my plan seemed foolish indeed. There was a deep intake of breath, but it wasn't mine. As one body the elders breathed in, and together; sonorous, chanting, they spoke.

“What is your question, young one?”

I felt strange. They questioned my maturity, though I had existed fifty nine wov cycles? With an immediacy I could not control, I leapt forward and grasped the tenth totem of the elders. Yet at the same time, a part of my mind spoke within. Echoing down caverns of the self it searched for truth and justice. So it was that my divided self struggled as the elders and those assembled stood in shock.

Then, deliberately, with no malice toward anyone, but a mind of inquiry and a desire to teach, did I smash the totem upon the bare earth.

A great breath and release.

“Gledep. Why would you do such an act? And with so much evil?”

“Look.”

We all stared, as a connector traveled from the broken wood to my outstretched hands. It was not red and jagged or green and straight as everyone expected. For a moment it was pale red and fairly straight. Maybe a curl or kink here and there, but mostly good. Then it was as snarled as a Jotum root, but still slightly red. It curled and uncurled, knotted and unknotted, and then faded.

Silence, only punctuated by a whirlwind of breath, some my own.

“We do not know what this means.”

When I heard this I lifted my head, for I had been holding it down; condemned.  I smiled.

“But for the destruction of the totem of the tenth ancestor, there can be no other verdict than exile,” they continued.

“Look at what I have to teach,” I said, but I heard murmurs behind and looked upon a crowd. Their hands were clenched, eyes hard, and faces full of emotion.

“You must learn before you teach,” said the elders. “Go, learn. If there is anything to learn. Return only if you discover something worth knowing, and only if you can explain it.”

I had expected exile, and I had earned exile. But my exile would be an adventure.

“I shall go on a quest, as our ancestors did many ages past, for knowledge. I shall be like the heroes of legend. And I shall have a friend to aid me.”

I turned to Otha, but he pretended not to notice.

“Won't you...”

“I can't. The shame.”

“Betraying a friend brings you no shame?”

He couldn't formulate an answer, contended himself with a sigh, and walked away. My heart broke, and I sank to my knees. I knew then that I could not stand, and in my defiance the mob would smash my skull in the dirt. It was as the connectors decreed, and so it would be.

“Don't give up,” said a faint, but steady voice. “Here.”

I was pulled up into the limbs of Olave and she smiled at me, with joy in her eyes.

“If you shall go, it will not be friendless.”

And though I didn't know where my adventure would bring me, to knowledge or death, I knew it must begin.

For I would not die unknowing in the dust.