Chapter 3

The Servant

I wake to find myself approaching the tower.

As much as I’m used to finding myself in different locations when I emerge from the dark, it still gives me pause. Before I lost awareness, the top disk hovered on the horizon. Now, I’m almost too close to see it without craning my neck to peer upward between buildings.

The gaps are part of my life, they save me the challenge of navigating my own passage. They’re part of what it means to be a Servant. One moment there will be nothing but soft oblivion, the next I’ll realize I’m performing some new task for my Lord.

I know I should welcome the respites of awareness—I should honor it as the gift it is—but I find myself constantly struggling to remember. To know. Sometimes I manage to remember previous thoughts or actions, friends or places.

Right now?

There’s nothing but a vague sensation that I disobeyed my Lord.

I sigh. Even within the blur of my forgotten past, I fear I’m rather practiced at disappointing him. It feels…familiar. Yet, I don’t know why I’d disobey him, not while soft beats of energy patter down my spine, painting a clear line for my feet to follow. Every step closer soothes a tension I don’t understand. I want to hurry, to find a way to make amends for whatever I did, but I have to maintain the pace of the Servants around me.

The signal pulses again and my thoughts quiet.

That flattened circle with its thin spire calls to me, a white beacon to the energy in my head.

Almost there.

Anticipation hums through me and I finally understand: I have been summoned to my Lord’s side. It’s an honor to be called in person, not to just do his bidding remotely. It feels as if it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him. Since I did… whatever it was I did to get myself sent away. I realize that loss is an ache in my bones, and I promise myself it's almost over.

Those mistakes are in the past.

Today I’ll redeem myself. I’ll serve him directly in the tower grounds and, through him, I will obey the benevolent Mother-Mind. She who tends us all. She will speak to me through him, and her voice will be loud enough to drown out the static in my brain.

I need that voice to guide me.

She frees us from the heavy weight of decisions; shelters us from the burden of remembering. Through her kindness, I’m at liberty to spend my days enjoying simple tasks.

I have to be grateful and stop my rebellious ways.

Memories are glimpses of starlight: easily covered by clouds or rendered invisible by the bright light of my Lord shining upon me. Yet they leave marks as real as the green on my skin. I don’t know what I’ve done to fail him, but I’m certain the memories are to blame. I have to stop trying to remember, and expunge the lingering tightness in my chest.

I miss my Lord too much to risk our bond.

My chest swells with purpose as I reach the Lords’ wall—a massive structure of steel and green that still can’t quite hide the spire atop the disk. Within is a special place, where glowing green climbs the walls and the Lords have their beautiful, curving dwellings.

Soon I’ll reach my Lord and—

A group of Lordlings move into the middle of the path.

They click at us—a demand to halt—and I stop in tandem with the other Servants around me. My lips want to curve into a snarl, which is absolutely not allowed. Still, they are in my way and I’ve been summoned. I don’t care how important they think they are, I have things to do…

And this is definitely why I get in trouble.

I fix my gaze on the back of the Servant before me and hope my face behaves. It’s not remarkable for the Lordlings to shepherd groups of Servants between tasks, or to simply oversee our work. Pointless—what Servant doesn’t perform their tasks? Even worse, sometimes they expand on our orders—in ways I don’t enjoy.

Authoritative clicks sound and my shoulders stiffen.

We’re not allowed to continue into the tower. We have to wait here for some stupid reason until we’re approved. Since when do we need more than the summons in our heads to gain passage?

My Lord is waiting, I want to scream. You can’t stop me.

But they can, of course they can.

Go to center, the middle Lordling clicks, carefully exaggerating each noise as if speaking to slow-minded creatures. Which I guess we are, as the Lordlings are terribly hard to understand when they talk fast. The obvious slowness still feels rude, though. Unnecessary.

They’re not so different from us, after all.

Just like Servants, they can only receive wisdom from the Mother-Mind—not send it, like the Lords. Perhaps that’s why I don’t feel properly deferential to them. Everything, from their helms to their words, are exactly like the Lords. Just smaller, and less impressive.

With frustration bright on my tongue, I follow the other Servants under the thick arch of gleaming white and silver. It seems to pulse in welcome. Normally, I enjoy the sensation—but normally I’m allowed to continue on my way without being stopped by a wall of Lordlings.

Wait, the Lordling on the other side of the arch clicks. Serve.

I manage to not glare at them.

Clustered around the entrance, they’re clicking rapidly amongst themselves, their helms swivelling as if studying every Servant present.

What are they doing? They don’t have the authority to prevent a Servant from reaching her Lord, not when she’s been summoned. Yet that’s exactly what’s happening.

Surely, my Lord will appear and correct this obvious mistake.

I wait, ready to greet my Lord and be ushered away from this nonsense. Except he doesn’t come.

My line is directed to step forward, passing between two Lordlings.

It’s hard not to frown as they make us pause. The pair step toward us, as if afraid we’re going to run. Ridiculous. Servants don’t run. They seem to be waiting for a reaction, then one lifts a hand and its palm glows. My mark pulses in response—not the comforting trickle of energy, merely an echo.

Are they scanning us?

I have memory problems, but I know this isn't normal.

The Lordlings start clicking at each other. Taking advantage of their distraction, I glance at the Servant beside me. I can see her eyes flicking behind a fall of bright hair, as if she’s peering from side-to-side. She’s awake, then. Like me. Does she know what’s going on?

I lightly scuff the heel of my foot against the ground and blink twice. A cautious greeting in our secret language of carefully-timed blinks and slight movements. Hey. You’re Awake, right?

Her chin shifts to the right, then left. A grudging yes.

My brows twitch together. What’s going on?

She looks away instead of replying.

Huh. Awake never shun each other. There are so few of us, with our periods of waking so fleeting, that we always welcome a brief connection. I know the Lordlings are right there and, okay, it’s dangerous to communicate in front of them. But the Lordlings are busy talking to each other and something strange is happening.

Is she mad at me?

Maybe. I am in trouble with my Lord, I could certainly also be in trouble with an Awake.

We’re directed to move forward and I enter the grass-filled courtyard with heavy steps. It looks like I’ll be facing a pile of cleaning leaves instead of the Lord who holds my bond. Sure enough, there’s yet another pair of Lordlings standing before a pile of aloca leaves. They stop the Servants at the front of our row and once again their palms glow. Behind us, there’s a rustling in the ranks. I want to turn around and see what’s causing it, but that’s sure to set off the Lordlings.

Another Lordling hurries along the edge of the courtyard, moving faster than I’ve ever seen. A series of rapid clicks emerges from it—too fast for me to follow—but it’s not speaking to me.

From the corner of my eye, I see the Awake’s shoulders stiffen.

I angle my head to study her.

Her chin is squarely forward, her attention unwavering. Is she afraid of these Lordlings? Is that why she was so reluctant to speak with me? I follow her lead. As a rule we don’t advertise our awareness before any Lords or Lordlings. I know this the way I know how to breathe and walk. Not because I have any reason to fear them but because…

I don’t actually know.

It simply is.

Even if I’m a little afraid of these Lordlings, as I have no idea why they’re acting so strangely.

Something clatters to the ground.

I jump at the unexpected noise, and this time I can’t stop myself from twisting around. A few power canisters roll across the floor—and it looks like a couple Servants break from their lines and disappear behind a stack of crates. I blink, certain I’ve seen it wrong.

A pair of Lordlings rush past me, so quickly my hair rustles in their wake.

My jaw drops.

Servants do not break rank, and Lordlings don’t run.

I should go to the pile of leaves, take up a bundle and select a place to clean. Behave perfectly. Then my Lord will forgive me for whatever I did, he’ll order the Lordlings to let me pass, and I will see him.

But if I do that…

I hesitate. Torn.

The Awake beside me gives a soft cough—a warning. I should heed it, I know that. A good Servant would flow across the turf to the large gray circle stamped in the middle, show deference to the receiver filling the basin, and collect their bundle of aloca. They’d ignore the noises and scrub, trusting in the Lords to keep us all safe in this place.

My arms know what to do—I wouldn’t even need to think about the task in order to carry it out.

I can’t help it—I step out of line.

A Lording is in view, clicking louder than I’ve ever heard. It’s moving fast and…calling for help? My brows pull together as I catch movement ahead of it. Is that Lordling chasing Servants? Who are running?

We don’t run, we walk.

Always.

It’s almost a surprise to find myself walking toward the chaos. Almost. But I know there’s a reason I’m out of favor with my Lord—even if I can’t recall the specifics. And it has to be for things like this, for being unable to turn away from something new and interesting.

A few Servants have joined me, moving across the grass. I’d share a look of confusion with them—if I could turn away.

The Lordling clicks urgently, demanding the wayward Servants stop.

Instead of obeying, they launch themselves into a stand of trees at the edge of the field. The base is lined with bushes and I can’t see their faces. I increase my pace, just a little, desperate to discover if I know them.

Help. The Lordling’s helm swivels in my direction. Apprehend the Wild.

Wild? My insides lurch.

No. That’s impossible, the Lords won’t allow any Wild here. They protect us from the unguided humans that terrorize the hills, eating the flesh of animals and constantly fighting each other over resources. Within their territory we’re safe from such threats. I can’t help apprehend any Wild—I’m trained to scrub things with leaves, not fight feral humans.

I look desperately back the way I’ve home, hoping to find the comforting shape of my Lord.

But he hasn’t appeared to solve this madness.

Another glance confirms that none of the other Servants with me are Awake. I’m not sure why this matters, but it makes me feel even less equipped to deal with a potential Wild.

Go. The exo-armament fitted to the Lordling’s right arm, a miniature version of what the Lords carry, emerges and glows bright. Flush it out.

What? I gape at the Lordling. How?

How am I supposed to

Go! It points urgently at the foliage and gestures for me and two others to approach.

This is a terrible plan.

My gaze latches onto the bushes. They waver and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I might be rebellious and out of favor, but I am only a Servant. I’m not capable of flushing out Wild. But I do as ordered—I approach the bushes. And as I do it, I have to confess a terrible truth: I want to see the Wild.

DJ HolmesApril 13, 2025