THE FAIR HAVEN

One

Into the Void

The walls created a perfect square. Four hundred yards length and width. Two hundred feet tall. A blue, deep sky above. The walls enclosed within them a village of people. In the center of a vast courtyard, there stood a single bland building, painted a terrible white. And sprayed across it with some sort of paint were the words: Freedom is a lie.

Five hundred people lived in this building. Cots made interminable lines along its dank corridors. One corridor for the males. One corridor for the females. There was no such thing as electricity. Candles created the only source of light, and from these the light was dim, creating phantoms that jumped and hissed along the bland walls. There is no truth. There is nothing but these four walls. The view above is a moving ceiling. This is your world. Nothing is beyond the walls. Freedom is a lie.

Jasper stared at the “ceiling” some yards away from the living unit, where those words “freedom is a lie” where sprawled like a spider’s legs. His real name was not Jasper. According to the elders his name was CA-15. Class A, number fifteen. But there was a girl who called him Jasper. She said she had made it up for him because he didn’t deserve a name that sounded like dirt. She was very foolish to say such things. The elders have very good ears. Of course, Jasper did sound better. After the girl (CA-38) had named him, Jasper only found it proper to do the same for her. He was studying the strange, terrifying blue color and the bizarre white fluff balls that periodically drifted past. He wondered what the blue was called. He could not think of a name for “blue.” The only color he knew was the terrible white of the walls and the brown sludge that they all walked on. The elders seemed distasteful to the ceiling. Whenever Jasper saw them standing together in their white robes and staring up at it, he could always see a strange flash dart across their faces. He didn’t know what it was called even though he felt it every day. He felt it every time he looked at the elders. But the five hundred occupants weren’t supposed to feel anything. The five hundred occupants were supposed to succumb to reality. To the fact that this is the world.

At last, Jasper settled on a name. On the ground beside him he spotted a small butterfly. The elders told them that somehow they created these in their labs, for the comfort of the occupants. The butterfly was colored a radiant and perfect orange. Along its head ran a stripe of beautiful purple. “I’ll call you Butterfly,” said Jasper. Softly he caressed the butterfly’s wings and promptly it fluttered up on his shoulder and stood there. Then, like a whiff of wind, it fluttered away and vanished. CA-38 approached Jasper from a distance. If Jasper had known the word, he would have called her beautiful. She had golden hair, but it was cropped short just above her ears, as was all the girls’ hair, and her eyes matched the color of the sky. She wore a dress of muddy brown. This matched the color of the ground. The boys wore brown tunics and brown trousers and no shoes. “Hello, Jasper,” she said in a whisper. “How are you doing today?” Jasper peered around her and behind himself to check that none of the elders were strolling the grounds. Everything was clear. “I think we can talk a little bit more in volume,” he said. CA-38 sat down next to Jasper, and for a moment they were silent. Jasper said, “I came up with something I can call you.” CA-38 stared at him wistfully. “Butterfly.” Her lips softly curled into a warm smile. She wished so hard to say the words that she didn’t know: thank you.

For a while they talked about the ceiling and what kind of mechanisms the elders must use for its maintenance. “They say it’s just like the walls,” said Butterfly. “Except they use some sort of paint.”

The tall walls that enclosed the two children gave them both a sick feeling. Again they stared at the ceiling. “This doesn’t look like any human created it,” said Jasper. “It doesn’t look like the walls at all, or the living unit.”

“Quiet!” Butterfly whispered. “You know what they’d do to us if they heard us say such blasphemy?”

After a hush Butterfly continued, “The elders made the world. They are eternal.” Jasper flamed red and didn’t know why. “Do you….” He strained for the word. “Do you, are you…..certain of this?” Butterfly’s eyes showed confusion. “What else would I be certain of, Jasper?”

In the distance, the gonging of a bell sounded. It was a deep sound, used only for meals and curfew. From all directions the five hundred occupants poured into the living unit where they would be served a single bowl of beans and one slice of bread. The elders never said where they got such things. And with this they gave a shimmering glass of water. Jasper and Butterfly, since they were in the same class, sat together in the eating hall, where ten white tables were lined in perfect symmetry. The other classes ate silently at the other tables. No one was allowed to speak (except for the elders) in the living unit. At the head of the eating hall, the eldest of the elders stood on a raised platform and raised his pale hands before him. Jasper stared at him, and for a split second, his eyes and the elder’s met. “We eat to survive,” he said, his hands slowly falling to his sides. “The elder’s reproduce for the world to survive.” And all together, the five hundred said, “We are the world. There are only the four walls.” The elder’s face turned downward upon Jasper. Jasper had not said these words, and it had been noticed.

The elder’s cold, grey eyes seemed to seep into his heart. Jasper turned away from him and returned to his beans. This was the first time he had not said those words. He didn’t know why. After the midday meal, each class was sent to a room in the living unit, where they would have “school”, or more properly stated within the walls, “sessions of realization.” In these classrooms, they sat according to number. Therefore, Jasper sat in the fifteenth metal chair. Butterfly sat in the back of the room. Jasper could not see her.

 Class A was the youngest of all classes. This was the age group 10-15. Unfortunately for Jasper, the same elder who had spoken in the eating hall was his own “professor.” For ten awful minutes Jasper waited for this elder to appear in the classroom. It was the only day he was late, and this had the students throwing each other perplexed glances. Jasper’s heart turned. He still didn’t know the word that described the feeling. Finally, the elder came through a door and stood in front of the students with his arms folded. His eyes slowly searched the rows of chairs until at last they rested on Jasper. The elder’s eyes glimmered slightly and he turned away. “Today, we learn about the infamous CC-4, as you have all heard about,” he said. The students had been trained to avoid such a name. When the professor mentioned it, some of them gasped. Jasper, however, was curious. “He was the one who believed a great and horrid lie,” continued the professor, “that the world is not contained within these four, sovereign walls.” At this, the large, bland classroom was completely silent. Jasper waited for the professor to go on. “He defied everything the world stands for,” said the professor. “He was about to graduate from the school and become joined to an assigned female. The elders knew he was evil. When he was supposed to be sleeping, and the day no longer lives, he broke out of the living unit and started to run.” The professor again smiled in the same grim way. “He banged on the walls for hours, screaming nonsense about how we were somehow the lie.” After a pause, “I suppose you are wondering what happened to him?” Everyone nodded. “He died of his own insanity, of his own evil. His heart was so black that it turned on his brain and destroyed his cells.” Jasper tried to see Butterfly, to read her face, but she was still concealed behind the heads of other students.

“So you see that anyone who believes this great and horrid lie is subject to his own death. Since the very first elders reincarnate themselves within new elders, we know for a fact that this evil will kill all who enact upon it.” Jasper’s mind was storming. Shakily he raised his hand. The professor’s eyebrows shot upward when he noticed. “Yes, CA-15?”

“Lord,” said Jasper, “where is the grave of CC-4?” For a moment the professor’s face showed that he was blank, but he raised a finger, smiled, and said, “The elders have the power to turn bodies into dust. You may have treaded on him today.” Jasper remained quiet and the professor continued, “So, this being said, it is a grave warning to all of you. Live in the truth, and you will certainly have a good and fruitful life here in the real world.” The remainder of the hour focused on the five eternal elders and how they turned into flesh with new, chosen elders that were selected from the five hundred. “Is it not wonderful?” said the professor. “That the ones who created all of this beauty, and you, allows you to live here for all your days?” Once class was dismissed, the students filed out of the living unit and found their places in the vast span of dirt; all of them were talking about CC-4 and stomped the ground, saying, “I stepped on him! I did!” Jasper and Butterfly ambled away silently, still searching the ceiling above as if it could give them answers. “I wonder what it looks like when the day is dead,” said Jasper. “The elders say it is total darkness and the ceiling is invisible.” Butterfly said nothing in return. Jasper’s mind was still turning, searching for the words that he did not know. For the words that he had not been taught. Suddenly from behind, the professor called his name. “CA-15! Come over here!” They stopped together and turned. “I don’t think I can go with you,” whispered Butterfly.

“Wait for me,” Jasper said. The professor was standing motionless next to the living unit’s white walls.

“Yes, lord?” said Jasper, bowing to one knee and again rising.

“I wanted to speak to you about today in the eating hall. You did not join the others in the ritual.”

Jasper searched for an excuse, could not, and replied, “This is true, lord.”

“Why not?” The professor’s voice went cold. Jasper glanced at the ceiling, his lips trembling, and with no intercession remained silent. “I want to know why you have defied the ritual, CA-15.”

“I can give no answer, lord,” Jasper offered. Quite unexpectedly the elder’s hands flashed and pulled Jasper’s tunic down so his shoulder was bare. Like all the occupants, there was a tattoo in the shape of a square embedded into the skin. “You have no right to defy the truth,” said the professor. “This mark tells you who you are. You belong to the elders, and there is only this world and none other.” The elder pulled the tunic back up. His teeth were bared. “There is a feeling in all of you creatures,” he hissed, “that tells you of a thing called freedom. This is a part of the great and horrid lie.” The elder cuffed Jasper and finished with, “If I see you defying the truth again, I will have you whipped.” Jasper rejoined Butterfly. The ceiling above still shone pleasantly, and he thought to himself, “Could anyone like that make such a nice color?” They were not allowed to go anywhere near the walls. And yet all that stood between an occupant and the wall was a single string suspended about four feet off the ground. The elders said that anyone who touched the wall would experience the same evil as CC-4. Almost reluctantly Jasper felt some sort of hand pulling him toward the wall, telling him that it was all right to touch it. He wondered if Butterfly felt it too. He was trying forcefully to think of the word; the one that he desired so much but could not grasp. And suddenly it came to him. The professor had said, “Come over here!” There was the word. Over. What was over those walls? The thought chilled Jasper to the bone. 

The next morning the five hundred gathered in the eating hall in silent masses. Jasper’s stomach turned when he saw the professor. He was going to have to decide. The professor held out his arms and said, “We eat to survive. We reproduce to survive.” His eyes flashed down on Jasper as the entire occupancy, including Jasper, said, “We are the world. There are only the four walls.” After he had spoken these words, his heart seemed to tumble to his feet. The professor nodded at him and stepped down from the platform.

In class that day, the professor said, “When the day dies, there comes a black void, and the elders turn off the ceiling light. This darkness is deadly, which is one of the reasons CC-4 perished. It’s full of strange toxin that can stop your heart in one minute, on the dot.

“When you graduate from class A, your names will change. You will no longer be CA, but CB. Do you all understand?” Heads nodded. “Good. As for some of you, you will be joined with a female and bear the new generation, which is how the elders will it. You will raise the child on your own behalf. If you have more than one child, however, that child will go through the great veil where only the elders can go.” Jasper’s eyes ambled to the floor. “Only the older ones, a select and superbly healthy few, will be given this job.” Jasper was just fourteen years old; a year away from graduating from class A. Butterfly would graduate with him. “The walls,” continued the professor, “are infinitely thick. They are made of an ancient stone that only the elders can create. That is why, of course, CC-4 could not even dent them. Even if you were permitted to go near them, you would hear nothing but silence. It is a large and infinite span of stone.”

Whenever water came down from the sky, the students were told to come inside. Jasper was sitting with Butterfly when the ceiling turned very dark and droplets of water fled downward. The touch of water was so fresh on their faces that they couldn’t move; it wasn’t possible. Fresh and cold it continued, until it came in white sheets all around them.  A deep and heavy horn blasted, and yet they could not hear it. Butterfly laughed first. She stood, spread her arms and turned her perfect face upward so the water poured over her face as if someone was throwing it on her. Jasper followed her example. Together they laughed. “It feels so good!” Jasper shouted. “It feels so wonderfully good.”

Suddenly a hand clasped both their shoulders. It was the professor. “Get inside!” he roared. “Water from the sky can kill you, don’t you know that?”

They entered the living unit somehow knowing that the water wasn’t at all dangerous. Why would the professor have pursued them in it? The day died with ease. An hour after curfew, most of the boys were asleep. Jasper, however, was lying with his eyes wide open and hardly blinking. Usually he had no trouble getting to sleep. But then, something was holding him back. His heart was thumping quickly. An oddity; and there was sweat beading on his forehead. This had never happened to him. Shaking, he swung his legs over the cot and allowed his feet to meet the icy floor. Shivers raced up his body.

Down the hall, chests were rising and falling rhythmically, and the sound of breathing filled the darkness. Jasper didn’t know where he was going. His legs were taking him to the door that led outside. The unknown hand clutched his heart when he saw it. Where there was usually the light of day, there was complete darkness. “Perhaps they are right,” he murmured. “Maybe the ceiling does shut off.” His hand reached forward and rested on the door knob. It was cold and matched the silence that encompassed him. Just before he turned it, a voice came at a whisper: “What are doing?” Jasper’s heart leaped into his mouth, and his knees grew weak. As he turned, trembling, he saw the outline of Butterfly’s night gown. She was holding a candle near to her face. Jasper nearly collapsed with relief. “I don’t know,” he said. “What are you doing?”

Butterfly came closer, casting wary glances behind her. “I don’t know either,” she said. “Something kept me awake. My legs just started moving, almost without me wanting me them to.”

“That’s exactly how it happened with me!” said Jasper. “I couldn’t stop myself. They led me right over here, to the door.” Butterfly’s breathing came in broken intervals.

“It can’t be the elders making us do this,” she whispered. “They abhor any idea of escape.” Jasper stared out into the darkness and surged with another desire he didn’t know what to call. All of a sudden he wanted to run in it, if it killed him or not.

“Do you think we should go out?” said Butterfly. Jasper nodded.

“I can’t stand it any longer,” he replied. “This something has been eating at me all week. Let’s go.” Immediately he turned the knob; the door swung open and a fresh air rushed to meet them. “Let’s hold hands,” Butterfly said. Jasper glanced at her, then allowed his fingers to join hers. Together they took the first steps into the span of dirt. The first five steps, they dared not look up. They were afraid of what they may see. “The air feels good,” commented Jasper. “I just can’t look up, though. Can you?” Butterfly’s hand was trembling. Jasper held it tighter and whispered, “I think it’s going to be all right. Come on. Let’s look up.” The two faces turned upward, and the sight that flashed into their vision was a beautiful surprise. As far as the walls stretched, small, gleaming splashes of light speckled a black blanket of black. Some of these small lights twinkled. Some of them appeared to be red. But one of them was larger than any other. It was perfectly round and almost as luminous as the sun. Jasper gave a short laugh—Butterfly was shedding tears of joy. “Nothing turns off,” she said. “Never.” They ventured to the wall, under the pathetic piece of string that was supposed to keep them away from it.

“The elders say touching it will kill you,” said Jasper. “I don’t know if I believe them anymore.” He let go of Butterfly’s hand and raised his own until it was just inches away from the looming, pale wall. His fingers brushed it. When nothing happened, he set his entire palm on it. And he didn’t disintegrate. He didn’t collapse. It was just a wall, cool and smooth.

“Now the question is,” whispered Jasper. “Is anything…..” He painfully strained for the word. “Is anything…….” He raised his head and smiled. “Is anything over the wall?” He put his ear to the cold rock, and seeping through it, arrived a soft and simple sound. A chirp, a titter. Jasper’s face clouded with terror. It electrified his very heart. The sound drifted away, and suddenly its source, a swallow, rushed overhead and was seen plainly against the moon’s light.

As it disappeared, new lights appeared at the top of the living unit. A yellow beam streamed through the night and landed directly on the two children. The voices of the elders screamed, “Stop right there! Don’t you dare move any nearer to that wall!” Wailing sirens began to shriek.

“Jasper!” Butterfly cried. “What are we to do?” Jasper turned to the wall. His eyes showed a living fire. He clenched his fist and thrust it forward with all his might. Like the sound of clay pots shattering, the wall gave in and revealed a tattered hole. Jasper gasped. “What…..”

Through the aperture he saw nothing but darkness. The voices came behind them once more: “If you go into that void you’ll never return!” Jasper turned toward them.

“You said the walls were infinite!” he shouted. “They were less than a finger’s width!” He faced the wall again. “I’m going in there,” he said. Like a bear he clawed at the hole until it was large enough for him to fit. He looked at Butterfly. “Come with me,” he said. Butterfly nodded.

“Of course,” she replied in a whisper. Jasper crouched and flitted through the hole like a mouse. Presently Butterfly was beside him.

The shrieks of the elders were waning. Before the two children, they could see nothing, but underneath their bare feet there came a soft and cool feeling. Jasper bent down to touch the ground and found that it wasn’t dirt at all. It was something quite different. The substance came up in bendable blades and was soothing to the skin. Butterfly clutched Jasper’s arm and said, “Look!” Above them, the small, silver lights ignited not just a portion but the entirety of a new and fresh ceiling; I use such a word because they knew nothing else to call it. That name now sounded bland and unfitting. “There are so many of them,” murmured Jasper. He gave a curt laugh. “I can’t believe it, Butterfly. It’s like here, there are no more walls. Look at those lights!” He pointed to the infinite field of silver. “We’re not enclosed anymore.” He stared at her and gave a large smile. “Freedom isn’t a lie,” he said. “It’s real.” Before either of them could say anything more, the professor appeared inside the shattered patch of wall. Jasper turned and held fast to Butterfly. “Go back,” he said. “Go back to your world.” Surprisingly, the professor did not scream at them, but said quietly, “You don’t understand, CA-15. The elders made all of this too. This is part of the actual wall.” Jasper shook his head.

“I’ve had enough of your falseness,” he returned.

“Fine then,” said the professor. “If the elders did not make the things you see and feel then who did?”

“Someone who has truth in him,” stated Jasper. “I don’t know who he is. But I’ll have no more nonsense about freedom being a lie. I believed it for too long.” Jasper paused. “You could have never made such a beautiful color like the ceiling. And I feel something toward you.” He clutched his hair and continued, “I don’t what it is called.”

“It’s called anger!” This time the professor shouted. Jasper looked up, thunderstruck, as if he had finally realized something. “And fear, and love, and hate, and desire, and…..” The professor bowed his head, trying desperately to say the last word. “Hope.”

Jasper and Butterfly began to run. The professor was heard bellowing after them, “That world is all a lie! It is evil! We’ll catch you! Yes, we will catch you. And when we do—”

The children vanished within some sort of thicket. Tall, thin columns of wood surrounded them. They tripped into a pool of water, and laughing in joy, splashed each other and floated on their backs in it. “I can’t believe it,” cried Jasper. “It’s all here. There is so much to….” He thought for a moment, then finished, “Find.”

Two

The Thorn

They slept peacefully on the carpet of green, bendable blades. Shortly later, a pale, white light pressed against the east, and one by one, the silver lanterns above faded. Jasper woke first. As he sat up, he saw the sun rise like fire. He had seen it every day in the ceiling. But there it was told to be an illusion. Here it was genuine. Here Jasper didn’t have to bow to constant doubts. Everything had unfolded like a spring blossom.

Suddenly filled with, what was it, oh yes—desire—Jasper shook Butterfly and said, “Come on! Look at it all!” Her eyes fluttered. During her sleep she had almost forgotten about the night before. When she saw it all before her, however, she jumped to her feet with a dazzling smile. “I wonder how big it really is,” she said. “And are there people on it?”

“Of course there are,” said Jasper. After drinking from the pool, they started at a walk over a green, waving field. In the distance, the field rose and evened off into a flowery hill, where seas of yellow and purple shivered in a swift wind. The fierce dawn turned into a thick morning, as if doused in honey. The sunshine warmed everything, especially the children’s skin.

“I can only barely breathe,” whispered Butterfly. “Who ever knew there was this much?”

“We could hardly imagine it inside the walls,” said Jasper. “I didn’t know what I would see. This, though. It beats everything I could have wanted.” Butterfly gave a slight frown.

“So, everything we’ve ever been told, everything we’ve ever known to be true, is a lie.”

“That makes me think,” said Jasper. “If these people look like us, what exactly will they be like?”

Jasper looked behind them. He could see the four, giant walls, golden in the sun’s touch. Faintly he spotted the hole. The sight gave his heart a turn, and reality slammed into him. That wasn’t the only world. It wasn’t a world at all.

“I want to run now,” he said, turning to Butterfly. “I never want to see that terrible place again.” So they did. Their legs spun like windmills. Over the spans of green, yellow, and violet they rushed, until their breath was spent and their legs exhausted. When Jasper turned around again, he was pleased to see nothing but the sloping hill contrasted with a quilt of pure blue. Even then he didn’t know what to call it. They walked for hours. Streams frequently trickled underfoot; from these they drank prolifically. There was one negative thing, however, that they felt there and had not within the walls. The need for food.

“I’ve never really had to look for it,” said Jasper. “Do you suppose the beans grow on these little green blades?”

“I don’t see any,” Butterfly observed. “Maybe they fall from the sky, you know, during the night when those little silver lights are out.” Both children gave countless suggestions where they might find beans. All of them fell short of reality. “Perhaps,” said Jasper, “there are more than just beans in this world.” Ahead of them about a hundred yards, there stood a thick tree—it was like gold in the sun—and hanging from its branches sprouted hundreds of sphere-like objects. From a distance they didn’t look like much of anything. Jasper was a boy of curiosity; this quality was perhaps the one that spurred him out of the walls. And curiosity made him wonder about these spheres. “Come along, Butterfly!” he said, bursting into a trot. They scampered toward the tree until at last they were underneath it, and the spheres turned into vivid, green things that were bigger than Jasper’s fist. Gingerly he plucked one, stared at it, and offered it to Butterfly. “Do you suppose it’s food,” she said, examining it keenly.

“It can’t hurt to try.” Butterfly pressed it to her lips. After a moment she bit into it. It crunched in her mouth. Her face was quizzical for a moment, but then she suddenly burst into a smile.

“It’s good!” she cried. “It’s very good!” She took another bite, this time with no hesitation. Quickly Jasper snatched some of the fruit and almost swallowed it whole. The food was sweet and wet in their mouths. It washed down their throats and tumbled into their stomachs. They picked dozens of the newfound discovery, packing them into their pockets and cradling them in their shirts. Soon they didn’t look much like children at all, but rather distorted, miniature trolls. Now their clothes were tight against their skin. The food disappeared as they walked, however, and by nightfall there wasn’t one sphere left. All that remained were cores scattered behind them, and all who fed on these were underfed squirrels that were ignorant of any forestland. The silver lanterns appeared again. The sun gave the everlasting “ceiling” a fleck of purple mixed with pale white, and one by one, the silver pebbles splashed against a darkening canvas. This was something the children had not yet seen: twilight. Both were duly impressed, and stopped for a moment to admire the assortment of colors and to feel the cool air descending on them like ghosts. “I’m tired of not being able to call all this something,” said Jasper. “I know now that the real walls are the ones they made inside our heads, where our thinking goes on.” He grimaced as if trying to excavate hidden thoughts. “I want to tear these down too, Butterfly. I want them to crumble.”

For some reason, Butterfly had her eyes closed.

It was cold that night. Clouds crept across the sky and hid the silver lanterns. Total darkness swept over the ground, engulfing the two children so they couldn’t even see their hands. Jasper couldn’t sleep. He asked Butterfly: “Are you still awake too?”

“Yes,” replied Butterfly. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

“I have a strange feeling,” said Jasper. “I keep thinking about what the professor said about ‘getting us.’ I don’t think he was lying.” As if these very words turned into flesh, a blazing light appeared at the top of a hill not twenty feet away. The torch flamed upward and lit up the face of the professor and the other elders. “There they are!” he shrieked, pointing. “There are the blasphemers.” Jasper took Butterfly’s arm and began to flee through the wall of black. Like dogs on a fox’s tail, the elders followed. “I know what it is now,” gasped Jasper, throwing a glance behind his back. “It’s called fear, and I hate it.” The children entered a deep forest where the ground was completely covered in leaves. “Hide,” said Jasper. Quickly they burrowed into the leaves until two earthy bumps remained. Dirt fell into their eyes. In both their hearts, fear reverberated. Jasper did not know this was a negative emotion; that it was necessary to drive it away. Gritting his teeth he invited it, and struggled not to cry out as he heard the elders skid to a stop. “They’ve hidden,” came the voice of the professor. Jasper couldn’t breathe. He could hear the elders kicking the leaves around and whispering to each other.

“This has never happened,” one of them said. “Who knew they would actually go near the wall?”

“Quiet!” hissed the professor. “They might hear.” For several minutes the elders poked around in the thicket, sometimes growing fainter in volume and sometimes increasing in it, but all the time Jasper was bathed in fear; the feeling that he hated and yet thought was a part of him. He couldn’t stop it. Either that or he didn’t know how to. One of the elders said a word Jasper had never heard before, and then the professor: “It’s too confounded dark. There’s a village some miles ahead. We can lodge there for the night.” Jasper frowned. After ten minutes, when the elders were certainly gone, he burst out of the leaves and said, “What’s a village?” Butterfly was heard worming her way out of hiding and brushing herself off. Then she replied, “I’ve never heard of it.” After a pause: “We’re not going to follow them, are we?” Although she could see nothing, she knew Jasper had that fire in his eyes.

“I want to know what’s in this world,” he said. “I have a feeling the elders have been in it before. Come on, we’ll follow them at a safe distance until we get to the village.” They clasped hands and stumbled out of the thicket, where blooming between unfurling balls of cotton, there appeared the silver sun, the lantern that was bigger than all the others. It illuminated a span of rolling hills that were speckled with more of these thickets. Topping one of these hills, the elders’ torch flamed.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Jasper and Butterfly forgot about sleep. Both were stricken with curiosity, an incurable disease. Jasper didn’t know what to call it, but he knew it was a desire that needed to know more. Needed. 

The floating cotton balls dissipated altogether and the silver lanterns returned. They arrived by the billions. And still the children pursued the pursuers, sometimes running through the silver haze, sometimes skipping, but always taking it all in: the fresh air, the coolness that fell on their faces, and the gentle, bendable blades brushing their legs.

“I wonder,” said Butterfly. “What did the elders say to the five hundred when they prepared to chase us?”

“I know exactly,” Jasper returned with a shrug. “He told them that they were on a spiritual errand to disband two doers of evil.”

Butterfly stared at Jasper and clutched his hand tightly in her own. “Are you angry at them?” she asked.

“Why shouldn’t we be? They’ve poisoned our minds for fourteen years. They’ve made themselves to be something better than we are. They’ve made a whole world just so they could call themselves lords.”

A silence hung over the earth; it clung to it, whispered to it within the wind and trees, and meanwhile the children could hear the same chirping they had heard just before escaping from the walls. A cloud of swallows fleeted overhead, rising and falling, chirping and dancing, until they vanished in the darkness.

“I think we should just be glad to be here,” whispered Butterfly. Jasper gave a smile.

“You don’t have to whisper anymore,” he said. “See?” Jasper cupped his hands together and shouted his loudest. Its echo bounced from hill to hill. Butterfly imitated, and before long the silence was totally shattered with prolonged and joyous shrieks. “We are free to run,” screamed Jasper. “Come on!” They broke into a solid run, and when they did, felt the roar of wind fill their ears. It was so swift and perfect that it compelled Jasper to let his head fall back and face the sky. The blueness above him became a swirl. But abruptly, like a glass of water being thrown violently against a wall, Jasper felt pain race through his foot as sharply as a needle. He gave a curt shout and tumbled to the ground, landing squarely on his shoulder and sliding to a stop. Butterfly was on the ground as well. Both of them sat up and grabbed their feet, where they spotted thin, black blades solidly embedded. It was a thorn, something neither of them knew existed. Grimacing, Jasper plucked it out and examined it. The tip was glistening with blood. He was terribly confused, and said, “But I thought there couldn’t be any type of hurting here. How could there?” He glanced at Butterfly. She too was observing the thorn with sadness in her eyes.

“How could there?” Jasper repeated. “It’s all too good for this awful thing.” Slowly he stood up, still holding the thorn. Butterfly stood next to him, shaking her head.

“Do you think,” she said, “that this world could actually belong to the elders?”

Jasper’s eyes showed desperation. “No!” he said curtly. “I can’t believe that.”

Butterfly cringed. “That this possibly could be part of the wall?” Suddenly Jasper seized her by the shoulders and shouted, “Don’t say such things! I refuse to think it! I will not have it!” In his outrage, Jasper gave Butterfly a harsh shove, and she sank to the ground, eyes swimming with tears. Jasper was motionless for a moment, chest heaving and teeth shaking. At last he relaxed, glanced away, and sat down himself.
“I still don’t know what to call anything,” he whispered. Tears dribbled down Butterfly’s face and splashed on the patch of thorns. Jasper clasped his hair and said between his teeth, “They’ve succeeded, Butterfly! They’ve made walls inside my mind.” Butterfly didn’t answer. Sobbing, she stood up and rushed over the hill.

Jasper wondered if he would ever see her again. For a long while he sat still, staring in contempt at the thorns and wallowing in the fact that he himself had done something cruel. He used to think only the elders were wicked. And it was there in the midst of thorns that Jasper, or he thought even CA-15, began to weep. It was the first time in his life that he felt thick tears roll down his face.

::::::::::::

Butterfly ran without ceasing. Her heart was beating rapidly. Still she wept. She dared not look behind her in fear of seeing Jasper. She too wondered if they would ever see each other again.

 A thick forest presently enveloped her with its shadows and branches. They scratched her face and caught her hair, and underfoot she trampled over more thorns and plants with nettle on them. “I will go to the elders,” she said to herself. “They will tell me everything. I know now that we were wrong to forsake the walls.” These words seemed to bear their own special thorn, and yet this one pierced deep into the heart and was not easily dislodged. She felt the thorn in her heart and whimpered from it. “Oh, Jasper,” she whispered, but could not bring herself to turn around.

The elders saw Butterfly later that day when they were topping the last hill leading to the village. She was walking slowly, her face downcast and her shoulders shaking. The professor pointed and hissed, “There’s the girl.” He frowned, then added, “Where is CA-15.”

“It is as I suspected, brothers,” said another elder. “They have separated on account of bitterness!” This was a great joy to the elders. Now they would have a grand excuse, protecting the perfection of their own world, a world where there were no thorns but only that soft and fine dust.

“We’ll tell her that she must be punished, but with an oath she may reenter the walls,” said the professor, rubbing his chin. “Things will not be so easy for CA-15, however.” His eyes glimmered.

“Do you mean,” said the second elder, “that we force him into the void?”

The professor nodded. “He will die like CC-4 did my brothers.”

When Butterfly saw the elders her heart darkened, but she knew it was too late to turn around. She stopped just feet before them, teary eyes trained on the ground and her shoulders still shaking from crying. “Kneel,” said the professor. As Butterfly did, he continued, “What is your name?”

Her lips trembled, and closing her eyes she replied, “Lord, my name is CA-38.” The name was cold and unwelcome in her heart.

“CA-38,” said the professor. “You have committed a great evil, one that has surpassed even the evil of CC-4.” Butterfly convulsed with terror. “But, we will not force you into the great void because you have returned to us. Because of this you are our friend.” For some reason, Butterfly still wasn’t assured.

“That doesn’t mean you will not be punished,” the second elder stated. “Chief elder, what do you have in mind that will justify such an act of wickedness?” The professor laid his hand on Butterfly’s shoulder and pulled the cloth down so the square tattoo jumped against her white skin. “Obviously she has forgotten about this mark, the one in which all are born with.”

“My lord, have mercy,” murmured Butterfly. The punishment that she was about to receive was not at all unknown. Drawing a long and silver knife, the professor cut off Butterfly’s sleeve so closely to the neck that only a tendril of cloth remained. Then he did the other sleeve, and after that he cut her skirt about ten inches below the waist. The white skin had never seen sunlight, nor had any eye but hers. “You will remain like this until we say so.” Within the walls, this was an unspeakable shame. Butterfly was shocked and her breath hardly came. “Rise,” said the professor. As Butterfly regained her feet, the wind went cold and chilled her skin.

“What about the boy?” asked one of the elders.

“We will take the girl back to the world and away from here. Then I will go after the boy.”

THREE

Jasper and the Village

The walls appeared the next morning, when just a pale light was peeking over the horizon. They had walked all night, and by then Butterfly was stumbling to keep up with the elders’ swift pace. Her breath was coming in rasps and she could taste blood on the back of her tongue. As soon she saw the white walls in the distance she suddenly felt miserable, and between gasps she whispered, “Jasper……..Jasper.”

“What’s that?” demanded the professor, spinning around.

“Nothing, lord.” Butterfly was still imagining what the other occupants would think of her in her state of shame. She wanted to run. There was nowhere to run to, however, and no person to run with. The thorn in her heart pushed deeper and made her eyes droop.

“How will you find the boy?” one of the elders asked.

“It’s very simple,” replied the professor, shrugging. “I follow the taste of his fear.” Butterfly’s stomach tightened. They entered into the walls through the same hole in which Jasper and Butterfly escaped, but there were no occupants in the span of dirt. It was silent and somehow colder. When Butterfly felt the dust on her bare feet she shivered. The elders ordered her to go to her cot and remain there until one of them said otherwise. “Where are the other occupants?” she said.

“They are in the sleeping hall, with the same orders.” At this Butterfly started to run toward the gaping hole, where she could see the green of the trees on the other side. “Jasper!” she screamed. The professor was quick. He grabbed her around the waist and pinned her hands behind her.

“What did you say, CA-38?” he said in her ear.

“Jasper,” Butterfly whimpered. “That’s his real name. Jasper.”

“You have no other names but the ones we give you,” declared the professor. Butterfly stared at the beautiful green color until it was hidden behind white doors. I’ll never see him again.

In the sleeping hall, the other girls were talking in low voices to each other; Butterfly didn’t wonder what about. When she arrived, all mouths went silent and all faces turned toward her. She bloomed red and hopped into her cot, hiding her face with the covers. Someone asked, “What is out there?” And another: “Is it really all black and hot like they say?” Butterfly tried to shut the voices out of her mind, but still they came, like clattering pots and crashing cymbals. “Did you see her? She was half-undressed.”

“What did they do to her?”

“Where is the boy?”

Butterfly threw off the blanket and shouted, “There are colors everywhere! And bright lanterns in the sky, and delicious spheres that grow from vertical, wooden posts. And there’s so much air, and water, and breeze and everything nice and pleasant!” Her voice dwindled as her breath ran out. The quiet was stunning. Butterfly lifted her bare arms and continued, “See this! They cut them off, just because Jasper and I wanted something more, something to actually live for.”

Most of the girls muttered “blasphemy” under their breath. One of them, however, came close to Butterfly’s side and said, “There are more colors other than white and brown?”

“More than you can imagine,” Butterfly returned.

“Why did the elders bring you back?” The girl’s eyes were bigger than tea saucers.

“I don’t know,” Butterfly whispered. “I grew fearful.”

“What is fearful?” the girl asked.

“I can’t explain it. All I know it’s a terrible thing. It makes you feel like you do nothing. Nothing at all, except cry.”

“I don’t understand,” said the girl.

“You can only understand when you’re in it and feel it for yourself.”

After a pause the girl asked, “Who is Jasper?”

“He’s the boy who came with me. That’s his real name.”

:::::::::::::::::::::

The next morning, the elders announced that the great evil was almost passed, and that all occupants would be allowed back outside. The professor, for whatever reason, was gone.

Jasper hurried past the thorns and climbed a steep hill blooming with bright, red flowers. He was trying his best to flee from any thought of Butterfly. This was impossible; when he did think of her, he grunted and kicked the ground. “I’m a fool,” he muttered. “She went back to the elders she was so afraid of me.” At the top of the hill, Jasper was taken aback, for below him there stood an array of buildings, all of them contrasting in size and color. And between the buildings there were paved streets, and in the streets there were people. People that looked exactly like him.

“So there are people!” cried Jasper. He trotted down the slope until he reached the grey street, where several men, women, and children passed him. All of them looked at him strangely. For one thing, he was garbed in nothing but muddy brown, and for another, awe was clearly written across his face. He had never dreamed to see such a sight: free people, all living together and enjoying life. Suddenly, while Jasper was staring at a large marble building with pillars, he ran into an old man who was carrying books under each arm. The books thudded to the stone ground. Jasper didn’t know how to apologize, so he said, “I’ll help you.” Stooping he picked up the books (he had no idea what they were) and handed them to the old man.

“Thank you, young sir.” The voice was kind and deep, and yet Jasper didn’t know what the words meant. Nonetheless they gave his heart a spark.

“Is this a village?” asked Jasper. The old man looked quizzical for a moment, then smiled and replied, “Yes indeed. Where do you come from?”

“I come from that way,” said Jasper, pointing behind him.

“Oh,” said the old man, giving a slight frown and glancing at Jasper’s clothes. “Say, would you like to come to my house? I can give you some tea.”

“What’s a house?” said Jasper. This had the old man deeply confused. Still he answered diligently.

“It’s where a person lives, maybe alone or maybe with a wife.” So many questions leaped into Jasper’s mind at that moment that he could hardly contain it all.

“Can I come with you to your house?” he asked.

“I suppose so. But tell me, son, where are your parents?”

Jasper frowned. “What are parents?” The old man gave a grim laugh.

“Come along,” he said, taking Jasper’s hand. “What’s your name?”

“Jasper.” The old man led Jasper down the street and away into the countryside; deep woodland surrounded them. The trees were like letters jumping off a page of crystal. And several streams jumped and laughed like knives through the soil. Frequently Jasper stooped to touch the water and splash it on his face. He laughed.

“Do you have any friends?”  asked the old man. For the duration of their walk he had been thinking up such questions, hopefully to prove that the boy was not insane.

“I have one,” replied Jasper. “She was taken. Taken back to the walls where there’re no streams. Just dirt.”

“Mm-hm. And what was her name?”

“Butterfly.”

Jasper stared at woods with sudden admiration and asked, “What are those called?”

“Trees.”

Excited, Jasper nearly shouted, “Oh you do know! Tell me, what’s the blue ceiling above us?”

The old man smiled and replied, “That’s called the sky.”

“The sky.” The word was the sweetest of honeys, the purest of waters, and the juiciest of all fruits.

He has seen it every day of his life without ever knowing what to call it. Now that he did, he felt satisfaction rush through him like a storm. After this, however, there came the memory of the thorn. Jasper felt the dull pain return to his foot as if someone intently put it there. And suddenly the satisfaction turned back into confusion.

“Sir,” he whispered. “Why are there thorns?” The old man opened his mouth but no words came out. He gave a frown and glanced at Jasper, whose eyes were constantly trained on his.

“I don’t quite know,” he finally said. “You know, perhaps it’s because that if there wasn’t any pain we couldn’t really know what it’s like to feel good.”

Flashing rays of sunlight struck the forest with gold fire. It turned the green into honey and made the water appear like liquid silver. Everywhere the birds sang as if they were symphonies. Jasper saw a small blue flower drooping under the choking grasp of a thorn, and somehow he saw a human under the oppression of slavery. Kneeling beside it, Jasper tore the thorns away from the flower’s stem and cast it into the stream, which consumed instantly. The stem was still scarred, but at least it was free.

“That hurt,” stated Jasper. “Even though, look! The flower’s already turning to that ball of bright fire.”

“That’s called the sun,” said the old man. Jasper smiled.

“Somehow I always knew what they were,” he murmured. “I just didn’t have the words in my mind.” Slowly he stood up and allowed the ravishing light to envelope him.

“On a serious note, where did you come from?”

Jasper turned to the old man. He realized that this person knew nothing of the walls.

“I came from a terrible place, actually,” he said. “I’ll tell you later.” He turned back to the dappled forest. “I would like to meet the person who made all of this.”

“You can meet Him anytime you like,” said the old man.

A small brown house curved into view behind a wall of brush. But it wasn’t a bland brown like dust. It was a dark brown, made from chopped down trees. “There’s  a house,” said the old man, who really didn’t know why he was helping Jasper.

“It’s wonderful.” Inside it smelled of old leather and hints of pipe tobacco. There was a countertop with cheese and bread on it. Jasper touched the food with his finger and ogled especially at the cheese.

“There’s just one thing,” said the old man, “if you’re going to stay here, you have to tell me where exactly you came from.” Jasper noticed the hint of sternness in his voice.

“I came from a fake world,” he said softly. “I came from a world where five ordinary men pretended to be kings.” Now I know it, the old man thought in quiet distaste, he is insane!

“There are four, tall walls, and inside of them nothing grows. There’s just dust and more dust.”

“I know that there’s an old, concrete warehouse out that way. But no one’s been in it for some fifty odd years.”

“You have to believe me,” said Jasper. “I can see it in your eyes. You think I’m lying. But I’m not. There’s really this place.”

Jasper slept on the couch that night. He had never been so comfortable in all his life. Sleep overtook him like an avalanche. Meanwhile, the old man stayed awake in his chair. A single candle was lit beside him on a small table. He stared at the sleeping boy with wise and fierce eyes. Deeply he wondered if these walls could truly hold people. He had certainly heard of utopia. Now that the boy was so calm and silent, the old man did pity him.

Humans are humans. With a sharp puff the old man blew out the candle and stood up. The smoke caught the moon’s light and unfurled in the room like grey, undulating clouds.

::::::::::::::

The professor stood in the village’s midst the next morning, wearing khaki pants and a plaid shirt. In this attire could fool even the other elders of his identity. “I haven’t been here in so long,” he muttered to himself. “Look at them all.” The people filed into and out of shops and parlors, speaking and laughing and shaking hands. “It’s no use to keep up the lie,” he continued under his breath. “He’s seen people who know what life is.”

The professor ambled down the sidewalk. Unexpectedly, hunger met his stomach with a slam. A bakery appeared; he entered it and consequently realized he had no money. This was one of the reasons he started the “five hundred.” Because of money. How people always thirsted for it and trampled each other for just a taste of it. To the professor, it was the god of the age, and when someone absorbed its sickness it was near to being incurable.

A fat baker showed up behind a counter. “What can I do for you?” he asked in the typical English accent.

“I don’t have any money,” the professor stated cleanly.

“What a shame,” the baker sympathized. “I guess you could just look. No harm in that.”

“No harm of course. I’ll just stare at what’s not mine, and wish that everything didn’t have to be priced as if it were gold. It’s just bread. Anyone can make it.”

“You do that chap. I’ve got donuts to make.” The baker disappeared in the back room, leaving only the professor and an influx of delicious smells together. The professor strolled around the glass countertop, stooped, and selected a long loaf of bread. He tore it as he left and stuffed it into his mouth.

Some way down the street he spotted children playing with a rubber ball. They tossed it to each other, rolled it, and ran with it, screaming with laughter. The professor stopped just feet from them and chewed diligently on his bread. The ball was dropped by fumbling hands and rolled to the professor’s feet. A flurry of thoughts came to his head at that moment: he could do the kind thing and give the ball back to the children. Or he could prepare them for reality and disappoint them. It was what he had experienced so why not them? Choosing the latter, the professor picked up the ball and observed it.

“Throw it here, if you please!” called one of the children. The professor did just the opposite. He turned and hurled it into a shop’s gutter, where it bobbled and clanked until finally rolling to a halt.

By then the sun was well above the hills. The professor began to search keenly inside of each and every building for any sign of a ragged, brown haired boy who asked a lot of questions. He had no such luck. It must have been brimming noontime when at last the professor stumbled upon an eyewitness. It was in the beauty parlor, where the ladies were ogling at the professor, thinking he was insane, but the clerk was searching him as if he were James Dean.

“Hey there, veteran,” she said, tapping her cigarette so the ashes trickled down on an array of wigs. “What’ll it be? You don’t need a facial, that’s positively positive. (Sorry, just trying to work on my vocab lately) Boy you’re a cute little old man.” The clerk was just in her mid-thirties, but could have well been mistaken for a sixty-year-old, so the professor decided not to look repulsed.

“I was just wondering,” he said, suavely, “if you’ve seen a little boy of about fourteen walking around. He would have had a brown tunic and pants on. He’s my son, and I’ve just been missing him all morning.” At the mention of the professor having a son the clerk drooped like a wilted flower.

“Yeah, I saw him,” she muttered. “He was with that old sap Jonathan, an old man who works at the college.”

“An Oxford man?” The clerk nodded.

“I may know him. Where does he live?”

“They went out to the woods. I think that’s where he lives.”

The professor entered the forest and was pleased to find a small path that wound intricately through the trees. Presently he saw the old man’s cottage. A tendril of blue smoke fingered upward out of a brick chimney. Inside, Jasper and the old man were having breakfast in the kitchen. Jasper was enthralled to taste eggs and bacon and pancakes, as well as the heavenly drink known as orange juice.

“Do people here have names?” asked Jasper, mouth overflowing with bacon.

“Certainly,” replied the old man. “My name is Jonathon. What a silly boy you are…..” He did not say this in a scolding way but pensively. It was immediately after this that Jasper saw the professor through the window, standing motionlessly in the lawn and staring directly into his eyes.

“What on earth.” Jonathon stood and scanned the professor, then noticed Jasper’s shocked face.

“Take me away from here,” he gasped. “Please take me away.”

“Who is that?” Jonathon demanded. The professor climbed the stairs and turned the doorknob. Like fingers on a chalkboard the door creaked as it opened.

“I’m not lying!” screamed Jasper. “There’s a world that’s a living ignorance, and he’s in charge of it.” Jasper leaped for the back door. The professor, like a tidal wave, swept after him and caught his arm.

“Heaven’s sakes, I’m sorry, sir,” said the professor genially. “He’s mine. He tends to….well, be insane.”

Jasper thrashed against the powerful arms and shrieked, “No, Jonathon! There is a place where there is no knowledge of beauty or pain! Please don’t let him take me back!” Jonathon was paralyzed and stricken with a decision. For a split second he caught Jasper’s eyes. They were filled with unbridled terror.

“Let him go,” Jonathon said coldly. The professor swung the door open and charged into the open. Although Jonathon was nearing seventy, he ran with all his might, caught up with the professor, and tackled him from behind. The professor grunted and collapsed to the ground in a cloud of dust. Jasper, meanwhile, tumbled out of captivity. “Run!” Jasper needed no telling twice. Through the golden morning he fled. He tripped in the streams and tore through thorns until he reached an open green field.

The professor held Jonathon against a tree and drew a glinting knife. He pressed it to Jonathon’s stomach and hissed, “How does this feel?”

“Who are you?” repeated Jonathon, as coolly as ever.

“I’m a god,” replied the professor, and the knife flashed.

Jasper thought of Butterfly. He shuddered to a stop under a large apple tree and sat. He was on the top of a tall hill, and in the distance could see the pale walls as if they were death’s hand.

There was a bout of terror when he saw it. And he fled from them. The field became a swirl inside his blinking eyes. The wind came like phantoms and consumed the sea of grass. He breathed heavily. Thorns shoved themselves into his feet like knives. He kept going, nonetheless. All he knew was that each step took him farther away from the walls. Finally he stopped. He breathed in gasps, suddenly terribly afraid of being alone. He almost went back, but he remembered the professor was there, and his goal was to not be caught by him. So he eased himself into a steady walk.

The darkness fell like sudden rain and the silver lanterns appeared, which by then Jasper had learned to call stars. He walked through the twilight, when the sun’s last rays were like purple blood on the grass. Unconsciously he chanted Butterfly’s name until it grew into a loud monotone.

Four

The Elder’s Fear

The elders inside the walls waited for the professor patiently. The elder who was known as Spadius spoke in the council chamber (at the top of the living unit), “This should have never happened.”

Another elder, Spone, said, “We never thought he’d actually do it.”

“We should kill the girl. She’s too dangerous,” said the elder Maximus.

“By our law, we can’t,” said Spadius. “She returned to us. It’s written that she should live. The boy, however, must die. He will not come back, and if he does, it will not be because he wants us.”

“Does he know the truth?” said Spone.

“One can’t tell. It’s just good that there are many lies out there, and the truth is incredibly hard to find.” Spadius turned to the thus far silent elder, whose name was Hurst. “What do you think, Hurst?”

Hurst turned his eyes toward Spadius and blinked. “I don’t know. What do we have to fear?”

Spadius’s eyes glinted. “We have to fear CC-15 blabbering his head off to the fuzz, you imbecile. Everything would be ruined, especially us.”

“They would sentence us for life,” interjected Spone.

“Why do we do this?” The question came from Hurst, and his eyes showed true sadness. He was the professor’s younger brother and was subject to his authority. Fifty years ago he had been lied to, when he was just fifteen years old. He was trapped like the others, miserable and slowly forgetting about girls and mountains and the movies.

“Utopia seemed reasonable.”

“It doesn’t anymore.”

“The truth isn’t any better.”

“I’m starting to believe that it is.”

“This is very sudden with you, Hurst,” said Maximus, angrily.

“Some things come suddenly. Like a blizzard, the kind I saw on the mountains when I was a kid.” Each of the elders glanced downward. Their eyes showed remembrance and it pained them.

“Were we all under Kidney’s hand?” said Hurst, thrusting his hands forward. “For fifty years I’ve been a miserable wretch, watching poor, beautiful children being eaten up by deathly lies.”

“This is too sudden,” said Spadius. “If Kidney heard you, you would be dead right now.”

“Then he would be contradicting himself, like he does every day. But he would kill me. That’s what’s been keeping me under him. Fear. The very thing these kids see every day but don’t know what to call or do about it.”

“Silence,” ordered Spadius. “Kidney reads minds like the pages of a book.”

“That boy,” whispered Hurst, smiling. “He’s been appointed by God.”

The council room was dead silent until Spone said, “If Kidney heard you say such a word he would—”

“I don’t care.” Hurst stood and swept out of the room. “I’m going to find that boy before Kidney does.”

Hurst left late that night when all the occupants were asleep. He hadn’t seen the stars since he was fifteen. And there they were, like silver lanterns hung in the sky, twinkling and shining over everything. Hurst removed the scraggly board that blocked up the hole and stole into the darkness, where the sound of locusts was thick.
He reached the village that night. He didn’t stop there. Over the hills he walked; hill by hill, grass blade by grass blade. And this entire time the stars flamed above him. Hurst laughed. To be out of Kidney’s grip was like escaping a vast fire. It felt good not to be a coward, to be free of any constraint or false authority. Hurst was sixty-five years old. He ran.

From a distance Kidney scoured behind some brush and stared intently at his brother. Hurst didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know which way to go in order to find Jasper. And yet it seemed so vividly clear that they would find each other since both were in this state of joy.

Kidney cursed.

Hurst slowed to a stop, his breath coming in disoriented chuckles.

Kidney stole out into the field and licked his lips. Like a wolf he prowled toward Hurst, head bent low and fingers caressing the silver dagger. But Hurst suddenly began to run again. He disappeared over the next hill; his figure was nothing more than a black silhouette against the stars. Kidney was too old to run.

Jasper slept in a bed of purple flowers. The dew settled on his nose and eyelids, and when the dawn awoke him, he sat up and the droplets of water rushed off his skin. He hadn’t remembered the night before. It was just him running, then walking, and then running again, all the while in darkness. He blinked. His vision cleared. In front of him there sat Hurst, staring at him with deep and sorrowful eyes. Jasper jumped to his feet and yelped.

“No! Don’t be scared,” said Hurst. “I want to help you.” Jasper’s hand searched for something he could defend himself with. He came upon a stone and picked it up, saying, “I’ll throw it at you. Don’t think that I won’t.”

Hurst stood slowly, hand extended as a peace offering. “I promise you,” he whispered, “I have no intention of hurting you.”

Jasper didn’t drop the rock. “You’re an elder,” he said. Hurst was at full height.

“I’m a man, and I want to help you.” Jasper couldn’t fathom the words. He brought back his arm and prepared to throw the stone; Hurst, however, grabbed Jasper’s arms and pried the stone from his clenched fingers. Jasper screamed. A half mile behind them, Kidney heard.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” shouted Hurst. The rock fell to the ground and Jasper suddenly relaxed. Hurst loosened his grip on Jasper’s shoulders and took a step backward. Gasping, Jasper scowled. “You were one of the elders who approved in disgracing Butterfly. You’re the one who helped kill CC-4.”

“There is no CC-4. He never existed.”

Jasper’s face was blank. “What?”

“It was all a lie, just to keep you away from the walls. Kidney never thought anyone would have the courage to even touch them.”

“Kidney?”

“The chief elder who’s chasing you.”

Jasper was quiet. “Why did you act like you hated everybody? I saw it all the time in the eating hall. You just looked mad.”

“I was incredibly uncomfortable,” admitted Hurst. “If I didn’t obey Kidney then he would kill me.”

“I thought the elders weren’t supposed to die.”

“He’s very clever. I would have passed into the void to create new worlds. Simply put, I would be sent to proclaim more of our holy truth.”

“I still can’t believe any human would be sick enough to do it.”

“Kidney was twenty years old when he found that old concrete warehouse. I was fifteen. We were angry.” Hurst glanced down. A painful shard flashed across his face.

“Tell me more,” urged Jasper.

“Both our parents were killed in the First World War. My father as a soldier, and my mother as a nurse. She died at the hospital when an air raid blew it all up. We couldn’t handle it. Out of anger my brother hated the world so intensely that he set fire to a cruise ship near Rome, claiming they were bystanders in the midst of hell. I believed him. I was just a kid. Thirteen Americans died on that cruise ship. Seventy of them were severely wounded. Out of the thirteen, seven were just children. He hated everyone. People in the war: they were murdering others without cause; citizens: they were blamed for being ignorant of everything.

“Kidney claimed that if people didn’t have any feelings at all then they would be all right. He misses seeing them. I know he does. Why else would he have shouted them all to you when you escaped? Anyway, he ran from Rome and came here, where he found an abandoned warehouse. The roof was decaying so he caved it all in. He hid the doors with mortar. And then he told me he was going to make his own world. He said the true world was beyond cure and was blind with evil emotions. Therefore he grew in his hatred and kidnapped five women who were all his age. They were beautiful, but they came into the warehouse in bonds. I still remember seeing them. They were terrified. He told us we had to make love to one each. I was terrified too, but I did it, because even then Kidney would have killed me. Kidney’s three other friends who were with him did it wholeheartedly. The girl that he ‘gave’ to me was named Janice. She bore a son later in the year. And that’s how the five classes began. A, B, C, D, and E. Once these five were old enough they were told strictly that the desire inside of them was essential for reproduction only. Kidney brought more young women. We started ‘reproducing’ as if we were making pancakes. Fifty years later there are five hundred of these occupants. As for the women, they died from disease.”

Hurst was softly weeping. “We perverted everything that was right. Those women have been on my mind every minute of every day for fifty years. The hell they went through is unspeakable, and it was all just for Kidney and his new world that was supposedly going to be perfect.” Hurst smiled grimly. The tears continued. “So I thank God for you, CA-15. You’re the only one who wondered what such a beautiful color in the sky was.”

“Who is God?” asked Jasper.

“I think He’s the person you’re seeking,” replied Hurst. “It’s time I stop calling you by that ridiculous name. What should I call you?”

“The girl named me Jasper and I named her Butterfly.” Hurst smiled to his full capacity.

“That’s incredibly beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Jonathon had taught Jasper to say these words. When Hurst heard them his eyes narrowed and he gave a small gasp.

“I haven’t seen or heard it all in such a long time,” he whispered.

“I have a question,” said Jasper. “How can there be a rose and a thorn at the same time. How can there be something nice and something ugly?”

“I really don’t know. That was what Kidney really didn’t understand and therefore hated. But, there’s no use battling over it, because after all, a rose is a rose. It’s there and it is beautiful. So you know that there really is beauty here. You see it in the stars and the green hills. There’s so much more nice things than bad when it comes to the things of earth.”

“But the people,” persisted Jasper. “They have wars and kill others. Jonathon told me. They steal and hurt.”

“That’s where God comes in. He’s the One who made all of this. He’s the only good, but all too often we refuse to acknowledge Him for what He is: kind and beautiful. From Him comes what is good, from man comes what is bad. There is nothing more to grasp.”

“I’m interested in this God,” said Jasper. “Where does he live? When can I meet with him?”

“No one can see Him.”

“Can I ever see Him?”

“If you die, which you will of course.”

They began to walk and neither knew where to.

“Why didn’t you try to escape?” asked Jasper. “You knew the walls were thin.”

“Kidney would have never stopped searching after me. And he’d kill me, like I’ve said before. I’ve been scared of him all of my life.”

“I was scared of him, and I broke out.”

“That’s because you desired the truth more than being crippled by the lie. I had no such power.”

 Jasper’s feet were still bare. He had learned to dodge nettle and thorns. The grass there was soft though and needed no dodging. His mind was turning. It was evolving to the fact that the elders were humans after all. Hurst was especially human. He wanted to be free but was scared to try.

“I never really thought there was anything over the walls,” said Jasper. “I just knew there had to be something more. Whether it be a big ball of fire or all of this.”

Hurst was quiet.

“I wanted to escape because the outdoors had to be better than the walls,” Jasper continued.” I knew dust and white walls couldn’t be everything when there’s such a thing as a human eye and all its complexity.”

“It was the sky and the eyes of a human that convinced you?” asked Hurst.

Jasper nodded. “Just looking at Butterfly’s eyes. They looked like blue crystal.”

Something rustled in the grass just behind them. Jasper and Hurst spun around. The sound immediately stopped. Only the wind caused noise when it sifted through the tall grass like invisible fingers.

“It was nothing,” said Hurst. But when they started walking, there it came again; that soft rustling, distinguishing itself clearly against the breeze. They stopped. It stopped. They continued. It continued.

Fear thumped inside Jasper’s heart. Hurst drew a silver knife just like Kidney’s and held it at his side. “Who’s there?” The wind began to moan. “Who’s there?”

No answer. Kidney was crawling on his hands and knees, now so slowly that the rustling was completely gone. Through the golden blades of grass he spotted Jasper’s feet. Licking his lips he grasped the knife’s hilt. “It’s probably just a mouse,” he heard Hurst say with a shrug.

“Kidney is following me,” Jasper mentioned. At that moment Kidney lunged forward with a violent slash of the knife, which hit home on Jasper’s ankle. Blood spurted like a fountain and Jasper screamed. Hurst spotted Kidney’s hand and stomped on it with all his might. Every finger on Kidney’s hand broke in half. The professor shrieked. Jasper was on the ground clutching his ankle as swift tendrils of red jumped through his fingers. Hurst swept him into his arms and ran. This time Kidney was motivated. He regained his feet, eyes bloodshot, and started after them. His knife was held high in his good hand while the other was uselessly dangling at his side. “Traitor!” he seethed. Hurst didn’t realize his old legs could spin so fast. Helplessly Kidney hurled the knife just to watch it disappear in the sea of golden grass. Gasping in pain he cursed.

Woods enveloped the refugees like a dark veil. There, a small stream gurgled from a spring; Hurst dipped Jasper’s ankle into it and watched the blood curl with the water until it was sucked into the stream’s current. Jasper’s face and neck were paler than piece of paper. After the wound was cleaned, Hurst tore a shred from his white robe and wrapped it time and time again over Jasper’s ankle. All the while he stole glances behind him. Kidney was nowhere to be seen.

Five

Jasper’s Crutch

With his knife Hurst cut down a forked branch from a nearby tree. The wood was incredibly hard and took hours to whittle to perfection. Even when it was, Jasper had not woken up. In the meantime Hurst drank deeply from the spring. The water was cold and perfect inside his mouth. The bottom of the spring was pure stone; the water ushered out of a small crevice. It was the type of water he never grew tired of drinking.

Jasper stirred. Dull pain throbbed in his ankle. He saw that it was bandaged. “My name’s Hurst by the way.” Jasper glanced up and saw the elder at the spring’s edge. “Thomas Hurst. Kidney wanted us all to rename ourselves but for some reason he let me keep my last name.”

“I don’t understand names,” said Jasper. “Why have more than one?”

“The surname gives a person a sense of belonging. It tells him what family he’s in.”

“I guess I don’t have a family.”

“The girl you call Butterfly.” Hurst smiled. “She’s more than likely your full or half sister.”

“Does that mean we should have a surname?” Hurst shrugged.

“We’d better get started. Kidney’s bound to be near.” As Jasper struggled to stand, Hurst showed him the crutch and said, “Here you go.” Jasper stared at it.

“What is it?”

“Something to help you walk.” Jasper grasped it and fitted it under his shoulder. He held his foot off the ground and took a step. Whoosh! Down he went like a shot duck.

“It takes practice,” added Hurst. Jasper regained his feet using the crutch. This time he took a step and simply trembled. The next step was firmer. And so on and so forth, until Jasper accomplished a good pace and they were out of the woods.

The pink dawn turned fiery. The green fields were ignited with quilts of gold. Everything was suddenly very vast. “How big is the world?” asked Jasper.

“Bigger than you could imagine. If you think this is big, the sun up there is even bigger, and it’s not even close to being the biggest of stars.”

“The sun is a star?” Hurst nodded.

The morning turned to a mature day. Fortunately the ground was not wet; if it had been Jasper’s crutch would have sunk into the ground.

Hurst frequently cast glances behind his shoulder. Kidney was a wraith. He strung himself into the earth as if he was a thread of soil. Jasper asked questions. Hurst answered them. Jasper wanted to know mostly about the stars and how big they were. Since he didn’t know any types of measurement this was hardly possible.

“There are things called light years,” said Hurst. “Light travels at an incredibly fast rate. Faster than any mind can fathom. A light year is how far light travels in one year. 365 and ¼ days. That’s incredibly far. Some of those stars are billions of light years away.”

“How do you know so much?” asked Jasper.

“I learned it all in school when I was your age. Incredible I haven’t forgot it all.” Hurst wondered about all the wonders that man had invented in the last half-century.

“Sir,” said Jasper. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. I suppose to see the world.”

“But all those people stuck back there in the lie. They might never see what we see. Shouldn’t we try and save them?” Hurst never wanted to see the walls again. He never wanted to see the ashen faces of the elders or the sad eyes of the occupants. He wanted to see the ocean. He missed Rome and Vienna, Paris and London. He wanted the sky to be the limit. The sky was the limit because it had no limit.

“You don’t want to go back, do you?” he said.

“Of course not. But if those kids are humans they deserve what I have and see. It’s cruel. Don’t you agree?”

Hurst was reluctant. “Yes,” he murmured.

They turned around. It seemed very strange to do such a thing. No one was calling their names. The walls didn’t have magnets. Jasper had tasted freedom. He suddenly wanted everyone else to taste it as well. Jasper’s ankle began to throb. He kept going. Hurst’s mind turned on itself; he felt himself being drawn to the world around them but his heart spurred his legs forward nonetheless. They ate from a peach tree. Jasper didn’t realize that there were more than just apples on earth. He liked peaches even better. “How many fruits are there?” he asked as they munched and juice flowed down their faces.

“Thousands,” said Hurst. “No one knows the exact amount.”

“I want to taste every single one of them.”

Kidney watched intently from a distance. Hurst and Jasper were just coming over a hill. He saw their small figures from behind a tree and frowned to himself. “Where are they going?”

Hatred flared inside his mind. It fumed like smoke. It didn’t matter where their feet were taking them. He wanted to kill them. That’s all his soul desired. Melting back into the thread of soil he used as disguise, he slithered toward them, knife drawn and teeth bared.

“What will you tell the occupants?” asked Jasper. He pulled another peach from his pocket and chewed on it pensively.

“What I want to tell them. That there are stars and streams and that their life has been veiled in a total lie.”

The night fell slowly. After what seemed like years, the two of them lay on a blanket of soft grass and slept. Their muscles were sore, and their stillness inhibited sleep all the more. Hurst was a light sleeper, even when totally exhausted. When it was nearing midnight he sat bolt right up, and saw Kidney crouching some feet away like the angel of death. Hurst realized he was hovering right over Jasper’s body, fingering the knife with his one good hand. Jasper’s chest rose and fell. He was unaware of any type of danger.

Kidney said simply, “You’re a traitor.” Hurst was paralyzed with fear. “You’re helping the traitor, so that makes you one too.”

“You leave him alone.” His voice was noticeably terrified.

“Fear cripples everything,” said Kidney. He pressed the knife against Jasper’s cheek. Jasper jerked awake, gasping. Before he could do anything, Kidney planted his knee on his chest. Jasper gave a croak and tried to wriggle his way from underneath the hold. He couldn’t move. He was utterly powerless.

Hurst did nothing but shake.

“I’ll kill the boy publicly,” said Kidney. “But I’ll kill you when we’re alone. Elder to elder.” Kidney took the knife and slashed a gaping hole in Jasper’s tunic. The square tattoo leaped into view. Kidney tore the sleeve away so Jasper’s arm was white and bare. “CA-15,” he hissed, “you belong to none other but the one true world. The world with four, beautiful white walls. The world that I made.”

“So be it,” breathed Jasper. “Have fun while you can. You didn’t make any of this that I see and know. You don’t know the complexity of a human cell or the wonders of a swordfish. You don’t even know the luminous possibilities of love.” The walls crumbled. Jasper felt them give way in his mind. From within, a powerful explosion rattled his system. An explosion of light and knowledge.

Kidney growled. Producing a strand of coarse rope from his pocket, he tied Jasper’s hands behind him and forced him up. When he tied Hurst’s hands, he whispered, “Should I do it slowly? So you can see the blood yourself? Or do you want to see hell quickly and without hesitation?”

Still Hurst gave no reply. Kidney tightened the last knot and pushed Hurst forward. “We’re a day’s walk from the walls,” he said. “We’ll get there when the morning looks like blood. Appropriate, is it not?”

Jasper was softly weeping. He wouldn’t save any of them. They would all be trapped in the realm of lies. Never seeing, never knowing, and never being happy.

“Let them go,” he whispered. He didn’t face Kidney. “Kill me if you want to, but please let them go. Let them see what I’ve seen.”

“What about me?” said Kidney, with a chuckle that surprised Jasper. “What would they do to me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if you told the truth then they’d accept you.” After a pause Jasper felt his heart swoon. “Maybe they don’t even want to leave. They’re all wrapped up in poison. Anything beyond the walls is evil, you told them. And you’ve told them that the walls are infinite. And you’ve told them there’s a black void beyond it. What do they believe?” Jasper received no answer except a harsh jerk on the rope. Because I wanted to be free. Because he hates the world I get killed.

Hurst walked silently behind them. He was not being led as Jasper was. His obedience was spurred by his fear and Kidney knew this. The night wore heavy like a cloak and seemed to press on Jasper’s shoulders. For some reason there were no moon and stars. Jasper dearly missed them, and with the silence that accompanied their absence he felt coldly alone. Abruptly he missed Jonathon and shuddered at the thought of Kidney killing him. Killing the one who had saved his life. But Jasper was unsure about Hurst. This was a man who had been clutched in Kidney’s hand for fifty years. That was plenty long enough for Hurst to grow in rebellion. And yet he did nothing. Even then he did nothing.

Kidney muttered something under his breath and it shattered the silence like glass falling to the floor. He quickened his pace which forced Jasper to be practically dragged. Presently he walked backwards since his hands were tied behind his back and not in front. From there he saw Hurst’s dim outline. The rustling of grass outweighed Jasper’s voice. “Do something, Thomas. Please do something.” Hurst heard him. Instead of replying, however, he made out like he hadn’t heard, and continued to stare at the ground in dejection. Pain began to race through Jasper’s ankle. “Slow down,” he pleaded.

“You have lost all knowledge on bowing to me,” stated Kidney, and walked all the faster.

A perfect dawn painted her tendrils of white along the earth’s edge. Grey clouds jumped into view. Jasper no longer wondered about the stars. By then his hands were chafed red and leaking blood. Combined with the pain in his ankle it was all he could do to keep from crying out.  The white light of dawn slowly turned into a thin golden, and its warmth whispered to the hills. The clouds dissolved to show a crystal sky tinted with blue. “Don’t you see it?” said Jasper. “It’s so nice. Why do you want them to spend their lives in dirt?”

“Consider me as doing them a favor,” replied Kidney. “There is no freedom here. Sure, some people may have bought it by overcoming others, but they are still shackled to themselves. Freedom is a lie.”

“It’s not true,” whispered Jasper.

“Then what is true, my dear philosopher?” Kidney inquired, turning slightly.

“Hurst told me of the One who’s really in charge. The One who just made the morning and everything we see.” Kidney jerked harshly on the rope and Jasper felt his shoulders crack. Pain seared like a wave; Jasper’s knees swayed. “There it is,” Kidney chuckled.

The walls loomed palely in the distance. Yet there was something strange about them. Kidney stopped and stared. From the middle of the walls came a fuming belt of smoke, blacker than tar and larger than a Parthenon column. Jasper turned, and when he saw it he gave a gasp. Hurst saw it and his heart twisted.

“What is happening?” Kidney breathed. With a jerk of the rope they were hurtling down the hill and toward the walls. Hurst was struggling to keep up, while Jasper was being dragged over the ground on his bottom. Wonderful thoughts raced through his mind, although the pain was almost unbearable. Smoke could mean just one thing: rebellion.

They neared the walls and could hear a mass of voices drift over through the concrete. Enraged, Kidney tore off the piece of wood blocking the hole and stormed into the “real world.” Jasper felt intense heat. Havoc was everywhere. It seemed the occupants had formed two armies: one with the elders, and the other against the elders. The living unit was blazing in flame, and the words “freedom is a lie” were drooling down its side like molasses. Kidney suddenly let go of the rope and made his way through teeming multitudes of occupants, who were all biting, kicking, and punching. Jasper struggled to stand up. Before he could, however, Butterfly arrived and slit the cords with a small knife.

“Where did you get that?” asked Jasper, rubbing his hands and smiling.

“Found it,” she replied.

“What’s going on here?”

“I talked to everyone in the eating hall yesterday. Many of them joined my side in rebellion.” Jasper stood but could not walk.

“You’re hopelessly outnumbered,” he noted. The rebellion consisted of a scant fifty occupants. The other side, however, seethed as if it were a tidal wave and began to crush the rebellion, boot to ant.

“They don’t believe me,” said Butterfly. The fighting was shifting closer to them. “They can’t believe me.” Jasper bit his lip until a bead of blood appeared.

“There’s something else I found,” said Butterfly. Within the folds of her torn dress she excavated a small hammer. Jasper had seen one just like it at Jonathon’s house.

“I stole this,” she admitted, “from the council room at night.” Jasper’s eyes gleamed and he snatched the hammer without hesitation.

“They don’t believe what they can’t see,” he said. “Well all right then. We’ll make them see.” Jasper stood close to the wall. With a deep breath he drew the hammer back, and with all his might, smashed it into the concrete. The wall cracked from top to bottom and shifted. Again he hit the wall. The hammer clanged as it met the stone. Before long there was another gaping hole in the wall and the entire structure was wavering. Jasper struck again and again, arms weakening and brain swelling with blood. One more hit and the wall would fall. Gasping for breath Jasper drew the hammer back, started forward, and dropped it as he felt a blade slip into his side like a phantom. It wasn’t Kidney. It was Hurst.

When Jasper realized this he was too shocked to scream. He fell to his knees quickly and reached for his side, where the knife was embedded nearly two inches into the flesh.
“I’m sorry, Jasper,” said Hurst. He dislodged the knife. “But I don’t want to die.” Butterfly began to scream. The fifty rebels were now either tied up or pinned to the ground. Kidney appeared next to Hurst. Jasper watched him pat his younger brother on the back and whisper, “I’ll let you live.” Hurst gave a shaky smile. Kidney turned to the five hundred and declared, “You see what one person can do, students? You see the misery he’s given you all? The confusion he’s put in your mind?” Nods bobbed throughout the crowd. “And now you see that this world is one of fertility and goodness. A world of perfection, where no lie or pain can reach you.” Jasper softly inched to his feet so he was in a crouching position. The pain throbbed. He didn’t care. “That out there is truly a black void, an infinity of the walls, that we have put just to keep you away from them. To make you appreciate the real world.” Jasper stood. The hammer was in his hand. With a shout he let it crash into the wall one final time. The stone groaned. Kidney spun around just as the wall lurched forward. Cracking and breaking the wall fell into the dust. Jasper watched it land on himself. It landed on Butterfly as well, and it landed on Kidney and Hurst. The morning was over. Daylight was supreme, and in its light the world stood illuminated. Rolling hills, forests and jumping streams, a full blue sky and a swift sun. Maximus, Spone, and Spadius shrieked and leaped into the flames, which still ravaged the living unit. The occupants were alone. Fire crackled behind them. An incredible world stood before them.

::::::::::::::::

Six

The Fair Haven

Jasper stood plainly on a white shoreline. There was no sun. The air seemed to regenerate the light itself. As if it was intentionally colored by a hand. Soft waves lapped on the sand and crept to Jasper’s feet. The water was cool. For some reason, Jasper did not wonder where he was. He could see Butterfly sitting in the sand some yards away, and next to her stood Jonathon with a golden beard and piercing blue eyes.

“Well, hello there Jasper!” cried Jonathon as Jasper trotted up to meet them.

“How are you sir?”

“Fantastic.” After a pause: “I don’t think that’s a term we’ll have to ask anymore.”

“What is this lovely place called?” Jasper’s voice used to crack a lot. Now it was deep and somehow melodious, as if it was a song.

“It’s called Fair Haven,” said Butterfly. Her voice sounded as if it were coated in honey.

“I think,” said Jonathon, beaming in a smile, “that this is the place to meet the King.”

Jasper’s heart leaped. And beyond the distant mountains there came a whisper as loud as a waterfall yet as soft as a child: “There are no walls here, my son. You may run all you wish. Never will you grow weary.”

Jasper’s lungs didn’t grow tired. No thorn pierced his foot. And no wall existed, either in his mind or any other place.

THE END