Etana cradled her chin and gazed into air. “A musical name. The goddess of the dead—because you lost a son to her?”
The sea noises roared and wailed.
Dagny sat straight as she said, “And because every springtime Proserpina comes back to the living world.” rajnaloka was as lovely as its setting. From that mountaintop you looked far across the Ozark range, forest-green below the sun, down into a valley where a river ran quicksilver and up to cumulus argosies scudding before a wind freighted with earthy scents. A mockingbird trilled through quietness, a cardinalflitted like flame. These were old mountains, worn down to gentleness, their limestone white or pale gold wherever it stood bared. The life upon them was ageless.
A small community clustered around the ashram, service establishments and homes. Those buildings were of natural wood, low and rambling under high-pitched roofs, most of them fronted by porches where folk could sit together as twilight deepened. Flowerbeds bordered them with color. They seemed a part of the landscape. The ashram itself rose at the center, its massive edifices surrounding quads where beech or magnolia gave shade; but the material was native stone and the architecture recalled Oxford. A transceiver-winged communications mast soared in harmony with them, the highest of their spires.
Kenmuir and Aleka were still too exhausted to appreciate the scene. Tomorrow, he thought. At the moment he had all he could do, accompanying the mentor who guided them over campus and following what the dark, white-bearded, white-robed little man said.
“No, por favor, don’t apologize. We were informed in advance that you didn’t know exactly when you would arrive—”
by Mary Carfax, which had made the reservation for Aleka Kame and Johan. Kenmuir reminded himself once more that that was his name while he stayed here.
“—and in any event, we have a relaxed attitude toward schedules. There are usually accommodations to spare. Most participation in our programs is remote.”
Most participation in most things was, Kenmuir thought dully. Eidophone, telepresence, multiceiver, vivifer, quivira, how much occasion did they^ leave anybody to go any real distance from home?
“I am not quite sure just what you are seeking,” Sandhu continued.
“Enlightenment,” Aleka answered. “That word has many meanings, and the ways toward any of them are countless.”
“Of course. We are hoping to get a glimmering of it from the cybercosm. For that, we need the kind of equipment you have.” Kenmuir wished he could talk as brightly and readily as she did. Well, she was young, she could bounce back fast from tension and terror.
The mentor came close to frowning. “None but synnoionts can achieve direct communion with the cybercosm.”
“Certainly, senor. Doesn’t everyone know that? But the kind of insight, guidance, the understanding of space-time unity and mind that come from the database and sophotectic teachers—“ Aleka smiled. “Am I sounding awfully pretentious?”
Sandhu smiled back. “Not really. Earnest, naive, perhaps. The explorations and meditations you speak of, they are what most of us here undertake. But they are the work of a lifetime, which is never long enough to complete them. And you say you have but a short while to spend.”
“We hope to try it, senor, and find out whether we’re … worthy. Then maybe later—”
Sandhu nodded. “Your hope is not uncommon. Bueno, I can see you are both weary. Let us get you settled in. Tomorrow we shall give you preliminary instruction and test your skills. This evening, rest.” He gestured about him. “Drink beauty. Drink deep.”
He showed them to dormitory-style quarters. The men’s section was sufficiently full that Kenmuir would share a room—two cots, two desks, two chairs, a cabinet—with a novice from the Brazilian region. At a simple meal in the refectory, Aleka whispered to him that she was alone. This was a piece of luck although, had it not happened, she could have made her arrangements anyway, less conveniently.
Talk at table was amicable, not very consequential, in several languages. Afterward a number of the fifty or sixty visitors and some of the permanent Soul-questers mingled socially or relaxed with sedategames. Kenmuir, who didn’t feel up to it, went outside. Nobody took that amiss; these people were as diverse as their Daos. He stood on a terrace, breathing summer odors. Below him the lights of the village fell away toward darkened woods, above him shone stars and the thin yoimg Moon, around him danced fireflies. At last he sought his bed.