The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

The Village

         

And when he finally turned around to help me off, with a brilliant smile forgiving me all my flaws, I think I looked fairly composed again. I took his hand with a feeling of letting go, and smiled, hoping he didn't see how much all of this was affecting me inside. He began a tour in a very soft-spoken way that I would soon become familiar with. I would learn over time that he never pushed, he never argued and he always shared himself in a degree of self-awareness that showed how truly humble he was.

"This clearing where we're standing is where we meet for dinner and breakfast and share any important news." We walked slowly from the clearing along a well-trod path, towards a large, long structure. "This is the long-house, where we cook and the elderly, infirm and mothers and children eat. Those who wish can also sleep here, though I have to warn you, it's a late night, with tea and music and an early morning, with people making breakfast at the crack of dawn."

"And all the food is prepared communally?" I asked.

"Well, yes, that's the idea, but we're not strict about it. If you find or collect food, you're free to eat it on your own. But I'll get into these particulars later in more detail." He turned, for we had arrived at the long house, which I recognised as a traditional west-coast longhouse that had been shipped to Stanley Park from one of the islands nearby and restored in Vancouver's heyday. Now it was being used for its originally intended purposes.

Blue Jay took off his shoes—some type of leather slipper, and I did likewise and we entered a cacophonous din of children screaming, and people singing while they made I was I presumed to be dinner. I saw huge pots of potatoes boiling on a fire and my mouth watered. Potatoes.

As Blue Jay walked in, I recognised how the people treated him reverentially. He was clearly a leader, or an elder of some sort. Everyone nodded at him who saw him, and likewise, they nodded at me. We toured the longhouse—a kitchen in the centre and rooms for relaxing on both ends, with fire pits. The smoke presumably gather in the low sloped roofs and leaked out of vents at both ends.

"This is a communal space," Blue Jay informed me. "Everyone is free to use this space." We wlked to the other side, which opened onto a garden, and beyond a wall surrounding the garden were vast fields of growing food—from what I saw, cabbage, ___, ___. "These are our farmlands—we cleared the ornamental garden and grass fields to make it."

I nodded. It was very impressive and accounted for all the happy, healthy people who had welcomed us. "And you're sure you're capable of taking on fifty more people? I mean, you'll have enough for everyone?"

Blue Jay chuckled. "Well, in my experience, the more people there are, the easier things are for everyone. When you cook for 300, what does fifty more really mean? It might mean we all get one less potato on our plates this year, but then fifty more hands to help plant more potatoes next year—in the end it all works out."

"You think we'll all be here next year?"

"That's my hope," he responded. Then he turned to look at me, "That is, if you want to stay."

I blushed and turned away, pretending to survey the fields in the distance. "I meant," I corrected, "that you don't anticipate any difficulties with The Family?"

"Well, one never knows, but we have arrived at a truce—they agreed to leave us alone if we leave them alone."

I lowered my voice, remembering his mentioning wanting to talk privately on these matters. "But what about these great plans I've heard about—these 'dream' plans?

He put his finger to his lips and winked.

I frowned, looking around—there was no one near us. We'd moved into the garden.