TEARS OF THE WILLOW

In the shadow of the nearest hills stood the bastion, built of stone and crete, it's weakness showing only where cracks crossed the textured surface. Hard times prevented their repair; only patch and cover, make it pretty until the snow melts. "Nevercare Days" are coming, they would say. That was years ago, and now even the patches have fallen away.

Barton paced the courtyard in slow, hesitant steps as was his habit for many years since the first melting. He was old, older than the ice, older than all the Brothers who had died weighted down by the construct of the Willow. Barton shuffled across his stones of discontent, yearning for the next generation to come. So long he had been waiting, dreaming, refusing to give up and die like the rest. This day felt different. There was a hum to the air. It was more than the change of season. There was something. His failed eyes tried to see beyond the bastion walls.

Down toward the big meadow, the green water tank drainage created a thread of life, a magnet for all living things. Seen from afar, the distant horseriders look askew in the wavering light of their dust cloud. Hoofs pounded on the hardened earth as the group, led by the small, golden-haired girl, swept up the hill with joyful cries. The bastion walls trembled. Dust rose toward the glowing overcast, darkening in the East. The ancient gates, dried wood and brittle leather, opened slowly. The stooped and frail figure of Barton Rarr stood waiting. Time compressed into an eyeblink of his lifetime.

The sanctuary called Brights, the source of the Willow dreams is described by Domonique, the deform adopted by the Brothers. He paused for a moment, then began in full, melodious tones.

"Ancient, sacred land discovered anew by Barton and his followers, came to plant the seed of his blessed dream...constructed well, it lifted the creatures above the pain and gave them hope. The longing transferred to all who dreamed, but as mankind died in ice, and war, and disease, the Willow began to weep out of hopelessness." His voice, full of emotion, rose and fell with the words.

"The wilderness hid the evil children who carried their sex unattended and secret. Mutated genes reshaped, giving the dying race a more lingering death. Hunted and hated, their very existence threatened the purified righteousness of Simulate masters. First driven, then drawn...like moths to a flame...Willow dreams bring the deformed multitudes to Barton's feet.

He continued, "The rotten fruit of the Earth were subjugated into builders and slaves. Bastion walls rose above Deform madness; beastmind blood given freely to save the dream."

The frail body twisted against the straps. "How many times did Barton go awry? As many times as they forgave him. Keep the dream alive! Let the dream grow! Ah...but he counted his transgressions with a marked bead of guilt. The hymnal was sung loudly...daily...to relieve the pain. Its words far, far gone to hell! They refused to say the word, 'Christ', or 'God,' for fear they would begin again the foursquare war of death and destruction. The old ways, remembered by the Willow dreamers and Barton, were not heard, not spoken, not learned by the new Seekers of Truth! The new Brothers blamed their parents for virus death. They were the final generation. Their truth was buried deep under the roots of the Willow. Book upon book, plastic sealed and entombed! Shall I dig them up for you?!" He stopped. The question hanging in the air.

"Please continue, Brother Domonique," Bluesky said.

"A Brother, I am not! I am my brother's guilt...call me Domonique...only Domonique.

"Please, Domonique," Billy said, "can you tell us more?"

"I shall recite for you, the Litany of Tears," he whispered, then once again his voice rang out into the empty room.

"The fruit of the Earth are riddled with chemical poison, fray the edges of your hunger, but do not partake with impunity! Fourteen years was the time it took for all to see that the world was ending as they knew it. Being a natural thing, the Earth took defensive measures against what was killing it...it is the way."

"The fruit of the Earth are gasping for air in the cellars of their hiding places, breathe not unless you wish to scramble your lung's breath into wheezing death. The fruit of the Earth are mighty, and clever, and diabolical...afflicted by a virus death of their own creation...deliberate, biological sabotage of the natural immune systems...mutating faster than the science of medicine could find an ultimate cure. The fruit of the Earth, as natural beings, took defensive measures against what was killing them...it is the way."

"The fruit of the Earth stopped the virus of death with sterilization, hysterectomy, castration, drugs, and surgical procedures. Burned-seed-purified, the fruit of the Earth stamped out the dark and evil act of procreation. The deadly killer, fornication, copulation, masturbation...nevermore! Stop the touching...no more love, no more intimate, evil, death carrying contact between sinners of infected seed...no more children! The fruit of the Earth are barren, infertile, impotent, fruitless! All natural things try to survive...it is the way."

His voice trembled with bitterness and sarcasm, then with almost poetic beauty, he cried out, "Earth...the victim of Man...Man, the victim of himself...all churning in the mud of creation. Then comes a new light...soaring bright and true, blinding the eyes of the hopeless, too young to touch or comfort, only to promise that someday... The fruit of the Earth can be born again!" His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "Have you come to keep the promise? I pray it is so?"

Tears of the Willow creates a world ravaged by disease and caught in the grip of a mini Ice Age. As people began migrating up into Death Valley to find a warmer climate, the Government of North America (GNA) began recruiting an army and building a fence. By the third year, the freeze was permanent in all but the lowest elevations. There were nearly two and a half million people trying to get into Death Valley. The GNA took the strongest and drove the rest back down to the old city of Bakersfield. The line was drawn and the Barrier was built.

Hidden far to the north, under the ice, the HPRC (Human Propagation Research Center) produced the first children from the experimental, genetically engineered Animal Mothers, the Nasuros. The Newborns were to be caught up in the story of Tears of the Willow.