A Secondhand Dreaming
Pamela Lamb
Published by Agneau Press at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Pamela Lamb
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter 1
Michael Hunt sprinted up the shallow steps of the city building. It was early afternoon on a late summer day. The sky was covered with thick brown clouds. A cold wind was blowing, skittering litter along the street and rattling the leaves on the palm trees growing in pots by the door. The big glass doors opened at his approach. Inside it was warm and light. A woman sat behind a desk.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt.’
‘Maureen! What are you doing here? You should be at home by now.’
‘I’m waiting for Mr McMillan. He’s still upstairs.’
Michael shook his head. ‘No, don’t wait. Just let me in and then get off home. It’ll be dark soon.’
Maureen leaned forward and pressed a button on the computer keyboard in front of her. The lift door slid open.
In his spacious corner office on the twentieth floor Ian McMillan, his tie off and collar undone, stood by the window feeding the shredder. With his big, jowly face and thick, grey hair he looked like an old bear. Or a wolf. He had been called a wolf often enough in his forty years in business. But he didn’t care what they called him. He was the Australian CEO of PowerCo, the international supplier of nuclear energy, and one of the most powerful men in the country.
Michael came into the room. ‘How much longer are you going to be? I’ve sent Maureen home.’
‘A few things to tidy up first.’
McMillan nodded towards a bottle of whisky uncorked on the table amidst a jumble of papers.
Michael raised an eye-brow.
‘It’s an unusual day,’ growled the old man.
In this room it was hard to believe there was anything unusual about it. The blinds were closed and the lights had come on, against the gloom of the day.
‘What’s the news?’ Michael turned towards a small screen flickering in one corner of the desk.
McMillan handed Michael a glass. ‘Townsville’s gone. Doesn’t give us much time. Are you ready? At home, I mean.’
‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’ Michael reached for the bottle and poured himself a generous slug.
‘Worried?’
‘A bit.’
‘Don’t be. There’s nothing to worry about. Just get yourselves into your prepared room and keep listening to the radio. A couple of days – a week at the most – and everything will be back to normal.’
‘That simple?’
Michael leaned forward and picked up McMillan’s small grey gun lying exposed on the table as the papers fed the shredder. It didn’t surprise him to see it there. He carried one like it in an inside pocket of his jacket and had become used to its warm bulk. These days a gun was something everyone carried, especially those who visited the city where gangs of kids would knife you for the contents of your wallet, or the man you shared the train with day by day would turn out to be an assassin, hired by a rival firm.
McMillan glared at Michael from under bushy eye brows.
‘Listen Michael, this is a nuclear accident, plain and simple. They happen from time to time. As you well know.’
‘It’s hardly an accident, Ian. Simultaneous explosions on four continents? It has to be sabotage at the very least. Or terrorism.’
‘Yes, yes, all right. Sabotage, terrorism, call it what you like. But that’s not what we tell the public. Only good news on their plasma screens. You know that.’
‘I’ve heard there’s a biological agent in the cloud. Not something a prepared room can withstand. A bit of tape round the windows.’
McMillan grunted and reached for his gun. ‘You’ll be all right. You’ve got the cellar, haven’t you?’
McMillan had helped Michael design the wine cellar under his beachfront home at Currimundi on the Sunshine Coast. Double brick walls, absorbent lining, air filters. A separate power generator. It had cost him a small fortune but nothing was too good for his precious wine collection, or so McMillan had told him at the time. And now? Now it was going to save his life.
‘Well, then.’ McMillan bent to stow his gun in the pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. ‘Now finish your drink and let’s be on our way.’
Outside the building they were grabbed by the cold wind that teased their clothes and threatened to knock them off their feet. Above their heads, in the narrow space between the tall buildings, the thick clouds hurried across the sky. Only the sound of the wind broke the silence of the empty city. McMillan hunched his shoulders, sinking his grey head into the collar of his coat.
‘Are you going up to the lake?’
Michael nodded. ‘They’re expecting me.’
‘Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose I could just stay here.’ Michael jerked his head at the brightly lit building behind them. ‘You always said the power would never fail.’
‘Yes, that’s true. The unit in the basement will last a hundred years. But the building isn’t sealed, Michael. You don’t want to be breathing this stuff when it hits.’ McMillan thrust out his hand. ‘Now I must be going. Good bye.’
Michael stood at the top of the steps and watched the old man thrust his way along the empty, wind-swept street until he was out of sight. He wondered if he would ever see him again.
It was eight years since the first nuclear ‘accident’ when a terrorist cell had lobbed a bomb down a reactor chimney and blacked out half of Europe. Michael had made it his business to find out who was behind the attack and he had been monitoring them ever since. They were crazy, of course, like all fanatics. But this … this was utter madness.
Tucking his chin into his jacket Michael hurried down the steps. Behind him, staining the underside of the thick clouds a lurid red, the familiar zigzag logo of PowerCo blinked on and off in the gathering gloom.
It was a winter afternoon, the sun dipping behind the line of hills beyond the lake, the air turning cool, the first star a spark of light in the clear, pale sky. Mig made her way slowly up the beach, swinging an old plastic bucket in one hand. She walked with a dancing, nimble step, hopping from rock to rock and avoiding the small waves that threatened to wet her feet. The bucket in her hand was full but not heavy. She had been out along the beach gathering pumice stone.
When she came to the outcrop of black rock that sheltered the lake from the brutal northerly winds and hid from her sight the small settlement on the lake shore, she paused, searched carefully for a place that would not be damp and sat down. She was waiting for Tez. He had been out hunting all afternoon in the scrubby, marshy country beyond the dunes and would be making his way home along the beach.
Mig dug her bare toes into the cold sand and grabbed handfuls of it from either side to run through her fingers. She unearthed a skull half-buried in the sand, the bone white and porous, and amused herself pouring sand through the eye holes in an attempt to fill them up. After a while she looked up and saw that Tez was on the beach a long way up, walking with his own peculiar shambling gait. He looked as if he wasn’t watching where he was going which, Mig knew, was because he was far away in his thoughts.
When he got closer he stopped walking and Mig saw him screw up his eyes and look around, unable to see her in the darkening shadows of the rocks. She raised her hand and waved and he grinned and waved back, then trudged through the soft sand at the top of the beach and flopped himself down beside her. They sat for a while. Tez needed time to catch his breath. The cold air affected him and he was gasping and wheezing from his walk along the beach. The shadows, now, were long on the sand and it was dark under the trees behind them.
‘Come on, Mig,’ said Tez finally, climbing to his feet and reaching down his hand. ‘The dogs will be out soon.’
Mig allowed Tez to pull her to her feet. She leaned against him then pulled back with a cry of surprise. Tez grinned. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a large fish.
‘Sea eagle dropped it. Good, eh?’
‘It gave me a fright.’ Mig leaned forward and kissed Tez. ‘Your nose is cold.’
‘Let’s go home, then.’
Tez took Mig’s hand and they made their way along the beach past the shallow lake held in place by a high ridge of sand, then climbed the dune to follow a narrow path which lead to the settlement. It was dark here among the stunted, wind-tortured trees and small aromatic bushes. Smoke hung in the air, and the smell of cooking. They quickened their pace, trotting one behind the other towards their supper.
Suddenly Tez stopped short. ‘Shh!’ He held up one hand.
Standing still, heart pounding, Mig could hear it too. From the settlement, a high, shrill screaming. The sound of women’s voices. The screaming cut off and then begun again, higher and more urgent. And then a final shout, a mixture of pain and triumph, which seemed to hang in the evening air.
Mig started forward eagerly. ‘Aen’s baby!’
But Tez held her back. ‘Wait.’
They stood together on the narrow path, close enough to feel each other’s warmth, their ears straining. There was silence. Then the high, keening sound of women mourning shuddered through the air, followed by the hollow stump, stump of footsteps along the path. An old man came into view, walking quickly towards the sea. He was tall and big-boned with a mane of white hair. In one hand he carried a plastic bag containing something heavy and bulky, something which bucked and jumped
Mig grabbed his arm. ‘Grandfather. Don’t!’
But he pushed her aside violently. ‘Get off home. This is not for you,’ and she fell down amongst the little prickly plants by the path which sighed their bruised fragrance into the cold air.
She scrambled to her feet and, hand in hand, she and Tez crept down the path after the old man and peered out to where he strode rapidly across the sand and stood, legs apart, at the very edge of the water where the daylight still lingered, golden from the dying sun. He began swinging the heavy bag sharply around and around his head before, with a last powerful jerk of his arm, he flung it as far as he could into the oily, sullen water.
Mig watched, shaking and weeping, as her grandfather came back up the beach, brushing his hands one against the other as if they had sand on them. She seemed to be alone on the dark path but she was aware of Tez hidden in the dark trees behind her. She stood and waited until her grandfather reached her, panting with exertion, and grasped her not unkindly on the back of her neck. She felt the scratch of his extra finger, the one with the thick, misshapen nail that hung useless from the side of his hand
‘Come on, now, girl,’ he said, quite gently. ‘Let’s get ourselves home.’
The settlement was silent, cocooned in cold air. Mig and her grandfather passed through the narrow gap in the thorn fence with Tez slipping in behind them like a black shadow, and the old man pulled the gate shut and secured it. They went along the narrow passage between the sleeping houses and Mig’s grandfather pulled aside the old woollen blanket that hung in the doorway to allow her to go inside. The sudden draught caused the flames in the oil lamps to jump and flutter, adding twists of black smirch to the blue smoke that hovered under the roof.
At the big central table women were busy laying out an assortment of plates and bowls for the rabbit stew that hissed and bubbled in battered pots clustered over the blazing fire. The women looked up when Mig and her grandfather came in then looked away, reluctant to catch the old man’s eye.
Small children emerged from under the table where they were playing games with smooth pebbles on the rough brick floor. They gathered around Mig, clutching at the bucket in her hand.
‘Mig, Mig, what did you find? Show us, Mig. Go on!’
But Mig’s eyes were smarting with tears. She pushed past the children without speaking and went into the sleeping-house she shared with her grandfather and her brother, Jaf. By habit she touched the familiar zigzag image of Powy-coe painted on the wall at the back of the little shrine by the door. Under his image was the symbol of his power: a shiny white oblong with a switch and three narrow slots that looked to Mig like a strange little face. Protruding from the back of the oblong was a tangle of coloured wires threaded into a piece of grey tubing that went up to the ceiling. Mig knew that these wires, along with wires from the other sleeping places, went all the way up to the top of Powy’s pole and carried the prayers of the people across the dark forest to his dwelling place in the City of Light far to the south.
Her grandfather was there. Head bent, he was rummaging in the old wardrobe that held their clothes. In the cracked patchy mirror on the door Mig saw her own image. Her eyes were red and swollen with tears, her mouth sagging with misery. The old man turned his head then stood up, dominating the small room with his bulk. His pale eyes stared down at her.
‘Well, girl?’
“Was it made so very wrong?’ Mig tried to swallow the hard lump in her throat.
‘Wrong enough,’ the old man growled. Then, more kindly, ‘Come on, child. Aen has accepted it and so must you. She is a good girl and knows her duty. Men think, women breed is Powy’s law, as you well know. When your turn comes you must concentrate on breeding and leave the men to decide what is the right thing for the people of the Lake.’
‘But Grandfather …’
The old man was turning back to the wardrobe again. ‘It’s done, Mig. Forget it now.’
Mig’s tears were flooding her face. ‘It isn’t fair. Why do the babies have to be perfect before you let them live? You have an extra finger. And you have bred me. And Jaf.’
There was silence in the room. Mig felt the old man’s displeasure like a palpable force. Above her head the rising wind rattled the wires on Powy’s pole. Grandfather took a step across the room and grabbed Mig’s thin shoulders. The thick nail on his extra finger sent a small shiver running under her skin.
‘It is not your place to question my judgement, child. Besides, you know about my finger as well as I do. You know that I was born at the end of the Dark when the black winds blew from the north …’
It’s like a story, the way he tells it, thought Mig. It’s like he can’t tell it any other way. She heard the words inside her head.
… and the birds dropped like stones from the sky. Spiders drifted in the air and spun their sticky webs across the doorways. Cockroaches scrambled over sleeping faces. Vermin infested the land, feasting on the bodies of the dead. In those days women’s wombs spewed monsters that died as they took breath and any child that survived was given the chance to live.
‘Now we know it was part of Powy’s punishment to send those children to us.’ Grandfather’s voice changed as the story ended. ‘We know we have to return the children wrongly made that Powy sends to trick us. We know we have to work hard to please him so he will return his gifts to us. Do you want to live like this forever?’
Mig said nothing. She knew no other way to live.
‘I know what it was like before the Dark,’ the old man continued. ‘I remember the stories my parents told me. About the god’s power that travelled in the wires. About the stores full of things for the people to take. About the shiny carts that travelled on the black roads and took the people to the City of Light to worship at Powy’s shrine.’ Grandfather’s nails dug into Mig’s skin. ‘I don’t blame you for being disappointed. We all are. That’s the third child in a row Powy has taken from us. But it’s our only hope. We can’t go on much longer the way we are.’ Abruptly he let go of her and brushed his big hands together. ‘Now come along, child, wipe your tears and go and have your supper before it’s cleared away. The Traveller’s in so we’re eating early tonight.’
The old man’s hand in the small of her back propelled Mig out of the cold sleeping room into the light and warmth of the central area.
‘Are you all right?’ Tez stood in front of her, peering anxiously into her face.
‘I’m fine.’ Mig rubbed her hand over her face, leaving dirty smears.
Tez put his hand on Mig’s arm. He ignored the Old Man’s angry stare.
‘You’re cold. Go and sit by the fire and I’ll bring you something to eat. The Traveller’s in.’
‘I know. Grandfather told me. I’ll be able to trade my pumice stone. I’ve got a whole bucketful this year.’
‘What d’you want to get?’
‘A belt. I need a new belt. I hope I’ve got enough.’
After supper the Traveller came in. He had been locked away with Mig’s grandfather and the other men all the time that Mig and Tez were eating their supper and now he had come out to share the rest of the evening with the people. He was given the talking chair, a fine leather armchair with a high winged back which the Old Man normally reserved for himself. The people settled themselves on the oddments of chairs that stood around the walls in between the doors to the sleeping huts. The children huddled on the floor as close to the fire as they could get. The littlest kids that were allowed to stay up were crowded at the Traveller’s feet, staring at his face. They never saw strangers from one year to the next.
The Traveller was a small, strong man, his skin dark from the sun, his thick black hair streaked with white. His clothes, from the greasy leather cap on his head to his thick woollen trousers, bound to his legs with vine-ropes, were all old and uniformly brown. In his belt he carried a knife unsheathed.
His eyes, Mig thought, were shaped like Powy’s point in her sleeping place: two black slits in his round brown face. Tez’s eyes were similar and she’d often wondered if that was why his sight was so poor. But she knew from experience that the Traveller’s sight was as sharp as it could be.
Mig had eaten well, perhaps too well, on rabbit stew and several of the small, sweet mandarins that were in a basket in the middle of the table. She had this strange feeling - a mixture of rage and misery - which had lodged itself in a hard knot just beneath her ribcage and she had turned to food in an attempt to ease it. It hadn’t worked and now the effects of the acid little oranges in an over-full stomach were added to her misery.
Sitting on the cold brick floor next to Tez, she thought she might give up on the story telling. She could go to bed and put her head under the blankets to hide Aen’s sobs and the sound of the wind prowling beyond the thorn fence.
‘Watch out! Let me through.’
Mig’s brother Jaf stepped through the huddle of children on the floor and squashed himself down on Mig’s other side, close to the fire. He was holding a mandarin. Mig watched him roll it vigorously between his palms, peel it in one piece and throw the peel into the fire. She saw the orange-coloured skin shrivel up in the heat of the flames and smelled its spicy, citrus scent.
‘Want some?’ Jaf was holding the mandarin out to Mig.
Mig shook her head. ‘I’m going to the privy.’ She stood up awkwardly and pushed her way through the mass of bodies on the floor.
‘What’s up with her?’ Jaf indicated Mig with the hand holding the fruit.
‘Nothing,’ said Tez. ‘She’s upset, that’s all. You heard about Aen’s baby?’
Jaf crammed the fruit into his mouth. ‘Another one for the god. He gets more than us, I reckon.’ A chew and a swallow then, ‘I wonder which story the Traveller’s going to tell. I hope it’s one of the Horse tales. They’re the ones I like the best.’
‘Well, I don’t. We must have heard those stories a hundred times before.’
‘I don’t care. They’re still my favourites. I like the one about Caradoc best.’
‘Caradoc One-Leg, half man half horse? Come on, Jaf. He’s just an old man with no legs.’
‘No, he’s not! You’ve heard the stories. His father was a white stallion …’
‘… who mounted his mother during a wild storm. Yeah, I’ve heard the stories. And I don’t believe a word of ‘em.’
‘I’d like to see him, though.’ Jaf’s blue eyes flashed with excitement. ‘The Traveller says he gallops like the wind.’
Tez grinned. ‘Face it, Jaf. You’re just obsessed.’
‘With horses? Yeah, I know I am. At least they’re real, even if I have never seen one for myself. Not like that magic rock of yours. It only exists inside your head.’ Jaf reached out his finger and jabbed Tez painfully on his temple.
Tez turned around and was about to use his body weight to push his friend into the boy sitting on his other side – a big, surly fellow named Robbut who was picking his nose with a single-minded concentration. But he noticed the Traveller was glaring around from under his black brows and made do with a swift, sharp elbow into Jaf’s ribs.
The Traveller leaned forward. ‘This is the story of the serpent god and the magic rock.’
There was a sigh from the children on the floor. They edged closer to the Traveller, smothering his feet with their small, eager bodies. The story was as familiar as breathing in and out to all but the very smallest child who had been sent to bed the year before. And even he had crept to the door of his sleeping place to catch what he could. Tez turned his head and grinned at his friend.
‘This one’s my favourite.’
The Traveller began. ‘Once upon a time the serpent owned all the land from sea to sea …’
‘… from the desert to the ice …’ muttered the people, settling in to the rhythm of the tale.
The Traveller glared around. ‘But people came and took the land and spoiled it and plundered its treasure. They cleared the land for crops and cattle, chopped down the forests and dug up the ground for their own purposes.
The serpent retreated little by little into the desert where there was nothing the people wanted and so he was left alone. He crawled into the hollow hill in the middle of his land and coiled his body around his secret treasure, guarding it against anyone who dared to take it.
Eventually the people came to where the serpent lay and said, “Give us the treasure hidden in your mountain. For it will bring us great power and we need power to live our lives the way we want.”’
The Traveller was in a trance, the words singing out of him, his body rocking to the rhythm of the tale. Around the room the people were swaying, too. Hard to believe they look forward to this all year, the Traveller thought while the words spilled out of his mouth.
‘The serpent god said, “No! This treasure is not for you. You are men and cannot handle the power it contains. I warn you now! Take it from me and your world will be destroyed.” And he roared and shook the mountain. Then, thinking he had frightened the men away for ever, he put his great head down on his shining scales and went to sleep.
But the men came and took the treasure while the serpent slept. They created power with it, enough and more for everyone in the world so that, if you were hot you became cool and, if you were cold you were warmed, and there was never darkness again. And the men laughed and stretched out their arms and said, “See how powerful we are!”’
Tez shifted on the hard floor. The rising wind billowed the old curtains and bed covers that hung on the walls and sent eddies of cold air scurrying along the floor. He looked around for Mig but she was not there. Perhaps she’s gone to bed, he thought, remembering her pale, tear-swollen face. He turned his mind back to the Traveller’s words.
‘Far away in the desert the serpent woke up and found himself lying on the bare floor. All his treasure was gone. He looked up through the top of his ruined mountain and saw the moon glittering in a black sky. When he realised what had happened he let out a mighty roar.
He leapt up into the sky and flew rapidly around the world. He saw his treasure being squandered. He saw where men had been unable to contain its power and the land was poisoned and the people were dying.
In fury and revenge he flew up to the sun, wishing to destroy all the people in the world. He wrapped his huge coils around and around the sun until its light was hidden completely and then, unhinging his mighty jaw, he attempted to swallow it whole. But the sun was too big even for him and it struggled to be free, burning the serpent so badly in the fight that he let go and fell down to earth where he crept away into what was left of his mountain and was never seen again.
And so the sun’s light returned to the earth. But the serpent had achieved more than he knew. So many people had perished in the dark that the only ones left alive were the serpent’s own people who had sheltered in his hollow mountain and who are living still among the red rocks of the desert’s heart.’
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Into the silence came the boom of the surf beyond the dunes. The Traveller looked down at the sea of eyes, all fixed on his face.
‘Not true, of course,’ he said with a smile that twisted his features. ‘But everyone thinks he is the one who holds the truth in his heart. And there are people in this land who think they are the only ones left on the earth. You would think so, too, if I didn’t come every winter and tell you tales.’
The Traveller gazed around at the small band of people huddled in their patchwork shack at the edge of the world. Everything they owned was old and threadbare and falling apart. And, if it were not for the rabbits that had grown fat and lazy on the lush grass and the fish in the lake, they would be flat out finding a feed to put on their borrowed plates.
There was nothing interesting about any of them, he thought. Except the Old Man with the extra finger. And the weird, dark-haired boy with the strange eyes who thought a great deal more than was good for him. I don’t know why I bother coming here year after year, he thought. Gods! I need a drink. He stood up. Yawned elaborately.
‘Well, then. I’m off to bed.’
‘Another story. Another story.’
The children on the floor reached up and grabbed at his legs.
But the Traveller shook them off impatiently.
‘You’ve had your tale. Now get off me and let me go to bed.’
Chapter 2
The Traveller had the wine skin out of his saddlebag and was taking a long pull of honey mead when Tez walked into the room. It was good stuff, precious stuff, expensive stuff. But his need tonight was greater than tomorrow’s profit. Not just to keep out the cold though he could feel the wind poking icy fingers through the flimsy walls. More to ward off the feeling of revulsion that one night among these people always brought and which took two days in the fresh air to dispel. He turned his head to look at the boy, turned away and took another pull of the sweet, potent liquid.
‘Well? What have you got for me?’
The Traveller finished the last of the mead, rattled the leather skin hopefully, then threw it onto the guest bed, the best bed that was his for the night. At least it would be warm and soft, he thought. It was the most comfortable bed along the whole coast, if you didn’t mind the smell of stale piss.
Tez closed the door behind him, then advanced into the room with careful steps. He sat at a table by the wall and laid upon it a handful of knives each with a new bone handle and a sharp, well-oiled blade. In his other hand he was carrying a small tin billy with a broken handle which he placed upon the floor. The Traveller sat down on the soft mattress. He leaned forward and gathered up the knives. He put them into his saddle bag which was propped up against the wall, then he placed two items on the table in front of Tez.
‘Whichever one you want,’ he growled.
A leather belt with a metal buckle, stiff with newness. And a knife sheath made of some soft, pliable leather that Tez had never seen before. Tez reached out his hand and touched the sheath. Picked it up and held it in his hand. He looked up at the Traveller.
‘This is not Horse work.’
The Traveller shook his head.
‘Nah. Not Horse.’
‘Who, then? It’s beautiful leather.’
And, while his fingers caressed the soft leather, Tez’s thought ran around inside his head. This sheath was generous exchange for the work he’d done on the knives. What did the man want?
‘Wild men in the hills supply me with rabbit-skin leather like that sheath. They’re fine craftsmen, if you can get near them without being knifed in the gut.’ The Traveller indicated the sheath with a dirty finger. ‘You should grab it while you can, laddie. You won’t see another one up this way, not for many a year.’
‘No.’ Reluctantly, Tez laid the sheath on the table. ‘I’ll take the belt.’
I can give it to Mig, he thought, in case she doesn’t have enough pumice to get one for herself.
‘Suit yourself.’
The Traveller picked up the sheath and dropped it into his saddle bag. He pulled out a bundle of rusty knives tied together with a twist of grass. He untied the grass and dumped the knives on the table in front of the boy. Then he swung his legs off the floor and lay full length.
‘How would you like to come with me when I leave here tomorrow?’
Tez picked up his billy and put it on the table. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. He unrolled the bundle and laid out his tools, one by one. Then he lifted his head and flicked his hair out of his eyes.
‘Why?’
‘You can be useful to me. I’ve seen the work you do. And there’s getting to be more mending than trading in the world these days.’
‘Yes, but why me? There must be others who can mend stuff as well as I can. Is it because of my father?’
‘No, lad, it’s got nothing to do with your father. Don’t think I owe you a living just because your father was a Traveller. It must be …’ The Traveller was silent for a moment and Tez saw his fingers moving as he made the calculation. ‘… fourteen winters since your father put you under the skirt of that pretty mother of yours and disappeared into the wilderness. I was only a lad myself at the time.’
Tez leaned forward and picked up one of the rusty knives scattered on the table. From among his tools he took an oval stone with a flat surface. He began grinding the blade of the knife against the stone. His dark hair fell forward making a curtain around his face.
‘She’s dead now. My mother. She died last winter.’
‘I know she’s dead. Nothing to stay here for now, is there, laddie?’
Tez looked up from his work. ‘I hate the settlement, true enough. But what about Mig?’
‘What about her? They’ll never let you have her, you know that, don’t you? Look, Tez …’ It was the first time the Traveller had used his name. ‘… if I thought you were like them …’ A jerk of his head in the direction of the door. ‘… I’d leave you where you are and good riddance. But you don’t belong here. You never will. Do you want to hang around and watch your lass given to another man?’
‘No. Of course not.’
Tez lifted up the knife he was working on and ran his thumb along the thin, pale blade.
‘So, then. Why not come with me and see a bit of the world?’
‘I can hardly see beyond the end of my nose.’
‘Experience it, then. It’d be better than staying in this shit hole. Look, laddie, either you come with me in the morning or you can forget about it. I won’t ask again. Now, get out. I want to go to bed.’
Tez walked out of the Traveller’s room, closing the door quietly behind him. The living space was dark and growing cold, lit only by the red embers of the dying fire. A shape detached itself from the shadows beyond the big central table and Tez felt his heart jump in his chest.
It was Jaf. ‘Mig’s not in her bed.’
Tez placed his old billy and the rusty knives carefully on the table and moved over to the fire. He held his hands out to the meagre warmth. ‘She’s probably gone to the privy again. I told you she was upset.’
Jaf shook his head. ‘I don’t think she came back from the privy the first time. And that was a long time ago. First there was the story-telling. Then you went in to see the Traveller. I’ve been waiting for you to come out. Tez, I think she’s gone outside.’
‘Shit.’ Tez’s dark gaze met Jaf’s blue one. Overhead the rattle of rain on the tin roof. ‘She won’t have gone far.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘No, but I know where she might be.’
Jaf reached out his hand and grabbed Tez’s sleeve.
‘Be careful.’
Another gaze between the two.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. Will you watch out for us coming back?’
Jaf bent down and threw a piece of wood on the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.
‘I’m going to make myself a drink. It’s freezing in here.’
Tez let himself out through the gap in the thorn fence that the boys always used when the gate was shut. As he left the shelter of the building, the wind caught him, buffeting his body and throwing spits of ice-cold rain into his face. The sky was full of grey clouds racing to hide the moon.
Tez huddled into his thin jacket and headed inland towards the place where the old black road crossed the lake by a broken bridge. The sandy track led through a jumble of tumbledown houses and emerged on the lake shore. The black water lay before him, kicked into disorder by the strong wind. The broken arch of the bridge reached into the darkness like a gaping jaw.
Quickly Tez crossed the road and entered the thick forest on the other side. He followed a narrow track between the dripping trees and emerged in a small clearing. On the far side of the clearing stood a wooden house which had been taken over by a strangler fig. A seed, lodged in the gutter years before, had grown up towards the light and down, by way of thick buttresses, into the ground below. Caught in the huge tree’s embrace, the house looked like a small creature being devoured by a great, crouching monster.
Tez stood at the forest edge for a long moment, listening to the sounds of the night. Across the clearing the house was dark, shrouded by the misty rain. Tez crossed the clearing and approached the house. He peered in through a broken window.
‘Mig? Mig! Are you in there?’
There was a sudden movement within the house and a sharp intake of breath.
‘It’s all right, Mig. It’s me, Tez. I’m coming in.’
Tez climbed in through the window and crawled up the sloping, slippery floor until he came to one corner where the tree’s roots had thrust their way through the floor boards like giant knees. Mig was crouched on the floor, wrapped in a thin blanket.
Tez pulled her towards him and held her tight. He could feel her shivering. ‘What are you doing here, sweetheart? Out in the dark and the cold?’
Mig turned her dark, tear-swollen eyes towards him. ‘Aen’s baby was still alive when Grandfather threw it into the sea. I saw it kicking.’ She leaned her body against Tez’s warm bulk. He could feel her heart beating through the thin layers of cloth that separated them. ‘Aen is only a couple of years older than me. I remember when we used to play together under the table.’ A shuddering sigh. ‘That could be my baby, Tez. Next time maybe it will be. How can I stand it, if it happens to me?’
Tez put both arms around Mig’s body and held her close. She was shaking with sobs. He felt his own tears wet on his face. ‘Poor girl. Poor Mig. Don’t cry.’ He rocked her like a child. ‘Don’t cry. Come on, wipe your face.’
And gradually the sobs faded until there were just sniffs and a flooded face turned up to his. He leaned down and kissed her gently. ‘Look, I’m going to light a fire, all right? Let’s get you dried out. Then I’ll take you home.’
Tez crouched over the fire place in the middle of the floor. He struck his flint once, twice, three times and a flame blossomed like a small gold star in a pile of dead leaves and bark. He fed the fire carefully with small twigs. After a while the fire gave enough light to reveal the rough shelves that lined the narrow space. The shelves were loaded with old electrical goods: a television with its face to the wall and its innards spilling from the back, DVD players and computer hard drives stacked neatly one on top of another. All had been pilfered carefully for their motherboards and the spider-thin wire, covered with coloured plastic. Tez saw where a possum had run heedlessly along a top shelf, leaving behind a trail of aromatic droppings.
‘How did you know about this place?’ he said to Mig. ‘I’ve never told anyone. Not even Jaf.’
‘I’ve known about it for ages.’ Mig spoke around her chattering teeth. ‘I’ve never been in before. You d … don’t mind, do you?’
Tez shook his head. ‘I’m just glad you’re not outside in the rain. Now come on, Mig, take off your pants and jacket and let’s get them dry. You’ve got something on underneath, haven’t you?’
A giggle. ‘Not much.’
Mig hurried out of her clothes. She took the blanket Tez held out to her, wrapped it around her body and held it close with her hands clutched under her chin. Tez untangled Mig’s wet clothes. He spread them out on the tree roots close to the fire. Then he took her in his arms and held her close.
‘All right, now?’
She smiled up at him. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Mig reached out and wrapped her arm around Tez’s neck. She drew him close. This time the kissing was long and slow. The fire blazed up hungrily making wild shadows on the walls of the room. Tez’s arm was around Mig’s shoulders and she leaned against him, her head flung back. Her blanket had fallen open. Underneath she was wearing a thin tee-shirt and a torn skirt with a faded pattern. Her legs were bare and blotchy with cold. She pulled away and whispered urgently in his ear, ‘Tez, I want us to lie together. They’d accuse us of it anyway if they found us here. So why not do it and make it real?’
‘Not here, sweetheart.’ Tez was breathing quickly. ‘I’ll lie with you, and gladly, when you step through the hearth fire and sit by my side. The way it should be done.’
‘There is a fire.’ Mig gestured towards the small blaze.
‘It’s not a hearth fire, Mig. And we need people around us to watch. And … and a feast afterwards. There’s nobody here. Not even Jaf.’
‘If Jaf was here he’d tell me to go back home and behave myself. Because I’m a girl.’ Mig’s voice came muffled from Tez’s chest.
‘Well, you are a girl, Mig, and he’s right to want to protect you. Girls are precious because of what they can do.’
‘Have babies to give to the god?’ Mig shook her head. ‘I don’t want that to happen to me.’
Tez pushed Mig away and stared down into her eyes. ‘It’s not going to happen to you, Mig, I promise.’
‘What can you do to stop it? Grandfather will go on killing our babies until Powy gives us back the power. You know that.’
‘And do you think Powy is going to give us back the power?’
Mig shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone does. Not really’
‘So, what if someone found the power? And brought it back to the settlement?’
‘You’re talking about the magic rock again, aren’t you? The serpent’s treasure.’
‘Yes, of course I am. Just think about it, Mig. Light and heat in the palm of your hand.’ Tez sat upright and laid his hands in his lap, one cupped inside the other, and stared down at them in the flickering gloom. ‘Think what would happen if I found the magic rock and brought it back to the settlement and laid it at your grandfather’s feet.’
‘He’d probably hate you more than ever.’
‘Yes but it’s what he wants, don’t you see?’ Tez’s dark eyes blazed with excitement. ‘All the machines would come back to life.’ He waved his hands at the shelves behind him. ‘All these things that we don’t know what they are. He wouldn’t have to give the babies back then, would he? Look, Mig, the Traveller wants me to go with him. He asked me tonight.’
‘Why?’
‘It doesn’t matter why. It gives me a chance to go into the City of Light, that’s the important thing. That’s where the magic rock is.’ Tez pushed his dark hair out of his eyes. ‘I’m going to do it, Mig. I’m going to find the rock. Then I’m coming back here. For you’
Mig stared into the fire. ‘You won’t come back at all if you go into that place.’
‘Who says so?’
‘The Traveller, of course. He says you can’t go in there. You’ll die if you do.’
‘Since when did you believe a word he said? Think about it, Mig. If it’s true and he’d been in there, he’d never have come out alive. And, if he hasn’t been in, how does he know?’
But Mig wasn’t listening any more. She’d turned away from the fire and her eyes were staring at the blank square of the window.
Tez gripped her arm. ‘What’s up, Mig?’
‘I thought I heard something.’
Tez leaned forward and flipped the blanket over the fire. The stink of wet wool, then dense blackness in front of their eyes.
Mig grabbed Tez’s hand. ‘Listen, there it is again.’
Nothing. The hush of the rain. The gentle drip, drip of a leak in one corner of the room. The end of some overgrown vine tapping quietly against the wall. Then the rain came down suddenly heavier, drumming steadily on the iron roof above their heads and drowning out the sounds of the night. But not before Tez had heard it too. He put his mouth against Mig’s ear.
‘Get your clothes on. Quick as you can.’
But it was too late.
A splurge of shouting, and yellow light bloomed suddenly in the black square of the window. A smoking torch was thrust through the window. Shadows danced grotesquely on the walls.
‘Come out! Come out, you filthy vermin. And bring my grand-daughter with you.’
Mig’s face was drained of colour. ‘It’s my grandfather.’
Tez stood up and grabbed Mig’s hands. ‘Come on, then. We’d better do as he says.’
They crawled through the broken window and stood side by side on the wet grass, blinded by the flaring torches. Mig clutched her blanket close to her throat and felt the freezing air bite into her bare legs. Around them the men of the settlement stood in a silent circle, their torches spluttering in the cold rain. Mig saw Robbut, grinning stupidly, standing with his father. The Old Man stepped forward and grabbed her arm
‘Go to your brother,’ he growled.
‘Grandfather, no!’
There were two bright flags of colour on Mig’s cheeks.
‘Go.’
Jaf was standing behind his grandfather, his face pinched and white. Mig turned quickly to Tez, then ran across the wet grass. Jaf lifted his arm and laid it across her shoulders. His gaze met Tez’s beseechingly then he shook his head, a tiny movement.
The Old Man thrust his great, grey head close to Tez’s face.
So, that’s the way of it, is it? Your father spoiled the purest girl in the settlement. Now you think you can do the same thing to my grand-daughter. Pah! You’re no better than the rest of your filthy tribe. Next you’ll be off like he was and leave good folk to raise what you’ve left behind.’
‘It isn’t like that.’
‘Oh, so it isn’t like that, eh? Listen to this …’ The old man raised his voice and addressed the circle of silent men. ‘… he’s in a house with my grand-daughter. At night. Half naked. And it isn’t like that.’
Ragged laughter. The circle edged closer.
The Old Man turned back to Tez. ‘This is how we get rid of vermin. We smoke ‘em out.’ Then, with a wide sweep of his arm, ‘Go on, then. Get on with it.’
Torches flaring, the men moved towards the house.
‘No, Grandfather. Please!’ Mig struggled in her brother’s grasp.
One by one the men entered Tez’s house through the empty window. The crash of things breaking. Then the hasty crackle of fire. The men emerged, silhouetted against the yellow blaze. Smoke drifted like a grey ghost against the wet blackness of the night. Then red flames licked out from the window and curled towards the roof. A sudden roar as the fire took hold.
The flames leapt up the trunk of the ancient tree and attacked the heavy, rain-sodden canopy. The men moved back as burning leaves swooped and twisted like bright butterflies. For a short while the house bloomed like an exotic flower. Then the roof collapsed with a crash of twisted metal. Cold rain attacked the flames, reducing the house to a hissing, sodden mess.
The Old Man turned to Tez. ‘I want you off our land by daybreak. Do you understand?’
Tez said nothing.
The Old Man reached out and gripped Tez around his neck with his big, hard hand. He shook him violently, his useless extra finger scratching against the soft skin of Tez’s throat.
‘Do you understand?’
The old man let go abruptly, leaving red weals against Tez’s skin.
Tez gasped for air. ‘Yes.’
‘If I see you anywhere near the settlement again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’ He turned to Mig. ‘You, girl, are coming home with me.’
Tez fell to the ground. Through dazed eyes he watched the Old Man stride over to where Jaf and Mig stood together, grip Mig firmly by the upper arm and march her out of the clearing. The men shambled after him, laughing and talking. Finally, Jaf trailed behind, his head bowed. Just before he left the clearing, he stopped and looked back at his friend slumped on the ground in the pouring rain. A yell from within the forest. Jaf turned and followed the men out of the clearing.
Chapter 3
By dawn the rain had eased to a freezing drizzle. Tez was on the hill behind the settlement, crouched in the shelter of a shred of wall with his arms wrapped around his chest. His face and hands were smeared with mud, the stink of smoke clung to his clothes. His breath whistled in and out of his swollen windpipe. From where he sat he could see where the settlement huddled next to the lake under the weeping clouds. He thought about Aen’s baby gulping sea water instead of its mother’s milk. He thought about Mig crying her heart out, locked in an empty room. I’m glad I’m away from that place, he thought. Now all I’ve got to do is get Mig out.
He turned his head and looked in the other direction where the old town was. He could see where the sea had broken through the dunes and invaded the town, piling up sand to cover the buildings and creating sand bars and small, grass-topped islands in swirls where the tide went in and out. The Traveller’s trail went that way: through the old town and then on into the forest-clad hills beyond. Tez felt a sudden skip of excitement. He sunk his head into the collar of his threadbare coat and settled down to wait.
The rumble of his stomach had turned into a shriek of protest when Tez saw the Traveller trudging up the rough track with his two-headed donkey trailing behind him, looking even more miserable than usual in the steady rain. Tez was used to the donkey’s extra head, hanging half-formed from its shoulder with one sad, blind, blue eye weeping a trail of tears into its rough grey coat. He stood up and waited for the Traveller to climb the last of the slope.
The Traveller greeted Tez with a nod. ‘So, laddie? You’re not looking too good this morning.’
‘You heard what happened?’
‘Aye, I heard. I wasn’t sure if I was going to find you here. You’re lucky the Old Man didn’t kill you.’
‘He very nearly did.’ Tez fingered his bruised throat. ‘And I hadn’t done anything wrong.’
‘Pah!’ Traveller spat into the grass at his feet. ‘That was just an excuse. I knew what was going to happen as soon as that lass of yours started growing tits. Why do you think I asked you to come with me?’
‘To save my life?’
A growl. ‘You’re not much use to me dead.’ The Traveller nodded towards the donkey, standing patiently in the cold drizzle. ‘There’s some bread in the pack. Then let’s be on our way.’ The Traveller’s gaze flicked down to Tez’s bare feet. ‘Don’t you have any shoes?’
Tez shook his head.
‘It’s rough going.’
‘I’ll be all right.’
‘You’d better be. I don’t want you holding me up.’
The two walked down the far side of the hill towards the old town. At the bottom of the hill they found themselves in a canyon of buildings. Some were falling down, blown over by violent storms or torn apart by huge, ancient trees. Some remained intact, the glass in their windows paper-thin at the top, crazed with tiny cracks, and thick and opaque at the bottom. In some parts of the street Tez and the Traveller had to pick their way through stands of palms and banana trees which had ripped up the paving and nudged the buildings until they leaned over. The rain dripped off broken roofs and gurgled in rivulets among the debris.
By afternoon they had climbed the steep hill beyond the buildings and stood looking back at the ruined town half-hidden by tree growth, the sea, sullen under the weeping sky and, beyond, several islands humped against the horizon, yellow sand-slips gleaming through the murk. Of the lake and the settlement there was no sign.
They spent the rest of the day in thick forest following the Traveller’s trail. The remains of ancient houses were everywhere, attacked by voracious growth. Roofs smashed, windows empty sockets, moss a lurid green where the rain dripped.
Towards evening they began to seek shelter. The rain had hampered their progress and the Traveller had given up any idea of reaching his own camp that night. Just before darkness fell they approached a house, the Traveller leading the donkey, Tez behind with his knife bare in his hand and an uncomfortable prickling feeling between his shoulder blades.
The front door was broken on its hinges and they stepped into a dark room to be greeted by a smell both strange and unpleasant. At that second a huge black and white cat leaped at them, snarling and spitting, landed short and dashed between their legs into the night. Left behind, a litter of kittens squirmed and cried in the ruins of an old armchair.
“Cats,” said the Traveller in disgust.
Tez followed the Traveller into a back room and they stood for a while listening to the sounds of the night settling around them.
‘Wait a minute and I’ll make some light.’
The Traveller took a handful of dry tinder from his pocket, laid it on the floor and struck his flint. The tinder flared up, showing a room where torn curtains flapped in and out of a broken window and the furniture had been arranged in a circle around a pile of ash in the middle of the floor.
The Traveller grinned at Tez’s startled look. ‘It’s all right. I’ve been here before.’
The Traveller built up the fire with wood from a pile in the corner. He put a pumpkin in the coals and set a billy of water on the flames.
‘They tell me you’re a hunter,’ he growled.
‘I am.’
‘Tomorrow, then.’
For Tez, hunting had always been for his own pleasure but now it seemed he had sold his hunting skill to the Traveller along with everything else, and he would have to hunt when the other man willed it. He was not pleased with the knowledge.
After they had eaten, the Traveller returned to the things he had been talking about since they left the Lake: the journey south, which interested Tez a great deal, and the Traveller’s long-winded complaints about the lack of trade goods along the way, which did not.
In his saddle bags the Traveller had Tez’s knives, Mig’s pumice, some dried fish and several pineapples which, though heavy to carry, were like gold to the sweet-starved south. There was a time when Tez’s settlement would have traded fish hooks, nails and needles, pots, pans and blankets, all plundered from the stores in the old town, but those days were long gone.
‘Aren’t there any stores along the way?’
‘There are, but I don’t go in ‘em. They’re infested by vermin, those that are left standing. Human vermin I’m talking about. There’s nothing in any of ‘em worth getting killed for.’
The Traveller spat into the fire.
‘What about the City of Light? Is it true about the lights that turn themselves on at night?’
‘Aye, it’s true all right.’
‘Have you ever been in?’
The Traveller shook his head. ‘You don’t want to go in there, laddie. It’s weird, that place. It gives me the creeps.’
Tez could hardly wait.
There was a storm in the night. Blinding flashes of lightening lit up the white mist that shrouded the house. Thunder growled. The cat came back like a piece of darkness come indoors and crouched on her nest of kittens, hair stiff on the back of her neck, and growled in return. The wind whipped cold through the broken window and blew rain onto the faces of Tez and the Traveller rolled in their blankets by the fire.