NAAN (The Rabanians Book 1) (20 page)

“I know we are new here," continued Daio, looking forward. "We don't yet fully understand your reality, but maybe because of this we see things differently. Maybe we see things you don't see.” He scanned the people around the table. “Can someone please explain to us the nature of this plague?”

“It’s the Sins' Plague,” said Detch and stared at him. “Has no one told you that this plague revisits us every year?”

“What do you mean every year?”

“What do you mean Sins' Plague?” asked Dug immediately after.

Detch, being short even for a resident of Naan, leaned forward over the edge of the table. “The plague attacks the lungs and affects the breathing. It brings heavy coughing and infection that sometimes causes death.”

“It's due to the weather,” said someone else.

“What's wrong with the weather?” asked Dug, “It seems fine to me.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why this place was never inhabited?” asked someone else. “Why do you think there are so few of us?”

“I don't understand what you are saying,” said Daio.

“What is there to understand,” said someone sitting next to Dug. “It’s as simple as it sounds. I recommend you wait patiently and everything will workout fine.”

“You want to wait patiently while people die every year?” asked Daio.

“Yes,” answered few people together.

“How many?” asked Daio hesitantly.

“It's not fixed. A few hundred,” said Detch. “Mostly children. Some survive the disease with disabilities.”

Daio was stunned, not by the things he heard, but by the serenity with which they were spoken. He was suddenly reminded of the great composure the Doctor had shown when telling him about the death of the president of Naan and his family.

“This must stop,” he said angrily. “How can you accept this as if it's nothing?”

“You should keep your preaching to yourself,” said Detch and suddenly started to pace behind his chair. Daio was distracted for a moment. He’d thought Detch was sitting the whole time. His height didn't change when he stood and started to walk.

“We are not happy with this. These are our children, our family members and our friends. But the plague is a part of life here and there is no other way.”

Daio sat down. He covered his face with his hands, shut his eyes, and tried to think of the right words to explain what he was thinking.

“Are there any medicines at all?” asked Dug.

“No!” said Detch. To Daio it sounded like,
No and don't try to find any
.

The hall became quiet for a while.

“There must be a cure,” said Daio removing his hands from his face.

“Is there a cure for natural death?” said Detch from behind his chair.

“Natural death?” wondered Daio.

“It's easy for you to accept natural death because you are used to it. It is logical and inevitable.”

Daio thought the man was only trying to confuse him with simple facts, but Detch continued. “You came here from a remote and advanced planet. People there live long lives, but what would you say if someone came and told you there was another way. That there was a cure that could extend life significantly.”

“I would talk to him. I would try to see if it's possible,” Daio was fast to respond.

“And if it turned out to be impossible?”

“I don't understand,” said Daio.

“If you try and it did not work. Suppose your genetic structure was so different that what this man offered was not compatible.”

Daio spread his hands, “Then it's impossible,” he said angrily. 

“And if someone else came, from another place, two years later and told you again of a cure, what would you tell him?”

Daio nodded, “So you tried it once and it didn't work,” he said.

“Of course.”

“When? How many times have you tried?”

Detch twisted his mouth and said, “Several times. It was a long time ago.”

“But that’s not all,” said one of the people around the table. “It's not only that we tried. One time it got worse.”

Detch nodded.

“Why it is called the Sinners' Plague?” asked Dug.

“When something uncommon happens you sometimes assign it an uncommon cause,” said Detch. He gazed at Dug. “For many years our forefathers lived from mining. There is a belief that this plague is a punishment for our forefathers’ crimes. The plague will end once the White Planes are covered with graves”

"This is…” mumbled Daio.  He wanted to say it was insane but stopped at the last minute.

He looked at Detch. “The death of the children is a penance for your forefathers crimes?” he wondered.

“Yes, the mining, the damage to the land. The White Plains will be forever barren now.”

“On every populated planet there are mining operations, and worse. What is different here?” argued Dug.

“Naan is not like every other planet,” said someone angrily.

The hall was silent again.

“Someone here said something about the climate,” Daio said.

“The climate is the voice of the planet. It’s the planet’s only means of telling us what it feels,” said Detch.

Quiet returned to the room and Dug thought that if the climate was the voice of this planet, they were dealing with a monster and needed to flee from this place as soon as possible.

“I want to find a cure for this disease,” said Daio and once again there was a buzz in the room.

Detch gazed at him and immediately scanned the hall.

“So do we,” he said overcoming the noise, “but sometimes we want things we cannot have, and sometimes trying too hard only brings more pain.”

Daio looked at him and wondered if this was just a twisted worldview or a warning. Maybe it was both. He leaned his elbows on the table with his face in his palms.

“If you don't have anything else I suggest we close this meeting. We all have things to do these days,” he heard Detch say.

Chairs scraped the floor as people stood and the babble of conversation filled the hall. Daio removed his hands only when they’d left. He could not face them. He thought about their composure and tried to understand it. Was it just the nature of adaptability? After all this was the reason some wars never end. After adaptation, apathy develops and war and death become part of life.

Dozens of children ran in the street with big smiles on their faces. They talked, and he understood their language but he could not understand what they were saying. Their numbers grew until the street was filled with children mumbling, with smiling faces. They ran towards him with their hands outstretched as if they were trying to catch him. He was sitting on a wagon led by a horse plodding slowly forward. Suddenly their number decreased, as if they had tired and fallen behind. The smile on the remaining faces faded gradually as well. He smiled at them and tried to encourage them, but their numbers continued to drop until only one girl remained, her little hands outstretched and pain on her face. Her short steps slowed and she began to fall back. Suddenly she stopped and with a clear voice said, “I don't want to die!”

Daio woke with a start and sat up in his bed. His heart was pounding and his eyes gazed at the darkness around him. His face was burning and his skin was wet with sweat. Suddenly he realized why they
really
multiplied so much on this planet. He stood up from his bed and walked to the bathroom and put his head under the running water.

Hundreds died during the next few days, and thousands accompanied them in the endless processions that straggled away to the White Planes. The children's smiling faces from his dream came back to his mind every time Daio saw one of the little coffins. He was furious at the thought that Naan would never change unless he saved it from this damn plague. This became clearer in his mind with every step he took on the way to the White Planes.

Two weeks later the plague was over and everyone went back to their business, everyone but Daio. For him the plague was his only focus.  He believed with all his heart that a cure was out there and all that was needed was a concerted effort to find the origin of the plague. He thought about the things the Doctor had said and focused on improving the daily life on Naan. He worked to gain the trust of Naan's leaders and the support of its people. A year went by. Naan’s Economy soared but to him it was nothing.

A noisy truck, loaded with fruits, drove slowly down the road from the plantations. It stopped at the crossing and the driver stared at me, stunned.  A long time ago when I’d walked this road it was narrow, barely wide enough for one truck. Now it was smooth and black and as twice as wide. I’d watched the town from the mountaintop and I could tell things had changed. Of course they had to have changed because the town was severely damaged during the attacks. 

I gazed at the street leading into town. It felt as if I’d walked here before in a dream. The stunned look on the driver’s face remained, until he finally shifted his focus back to the road, and gunned the engine on the truck. The vehicle let out a long groan before starting forward and moving heavily towards the town.

With a pounding heart I followed it, holding the horse’s reins. Countless times I’d wondered how this meeting with the townspeople would go. Were they even the same people or were they invaders? Either way I doubted they would remember me. A group of young boys and girls were speaking loudly on the sidewalk outside the entrance to one of the houses. Their voices faded as I passed by them. They were just as short as I remembered. This encouraged me. The rebels had been regular-sized people and if they hadn’t eliminated the smaller people in the town, then maybe they wouldn’t rush to hurt me.

A large group of children and adults began following me along the sidewalks, growing as I walked farther into town. From time to time someone pointed at me and said something. Others laughed pointing to the horses and sheep that followed me. 

Before leaving my house I’d chopped all the vegetables and pulled all the roots in my garden, then put everything in baskets. I’d filled all of my containers with water and loaded everything onto the mare. Many days had passed since my illness, but not a day passed without my thinking about what happened. I worried that it might happen again and this time I might not be as lucky. Eventually I gave in to the
discomfort
these thoughts caused and headed out to look for a safer place to live.

I hadn’t planned to go back to the town, and even now, walking down the street with pounding heart, I didn't know why I was here. Maybe it was the illness that had nearly killed me. Maybe it made me understand that living alone made me vulnerable. I wasn't sure. No one needs to experience such an illness to understand how dangerous it can be to live alone. There are lots of other ways to die, it's enough to stumble and break a leg, or get an infection from a minor cut.  Maybe I simply got tired of my lonely life and was willing to take the risk and to turn myself in just for the company. After all, I might spend the rest of my life in the local jail. Or worst of all, they could turn me in to Seragon.

Thoughts of returning to the town came back to me every time I reached a crossroads. Every time I postponed the decision until the next crossroads. Eventually I found myself at the same mountaintop gazing down at the town. I hoped that time had dulled the memories of the people there, and that they would not connect me to the events that took place back then. But the sight of the rays hitting the town was still as fresh in my mind as were the scars on my body. It only seemed reasonable to assume that their memories were just as clear.