For immeasurable moments, Ben and Tess could do nothing but stand staring in awe at the other’s unexpected presence, a feeling they always had when they met up randomly, though it was augmented this time by the gravity of their mutual purpose, and the pain both still carried from the last time they were together in the very same clearing.
Gus cleared his throat from his position standing a few paces back from Ben. Martha “shh”ed him. But the silence was already broken, and Tess had already reacted by giving a little yelp and jumping a few feet backwards.
“I... didn’t realize this was a... a... group outing,” she said, so quietly only Ben could really hear it; Gus and Martha had to perform a combination of reading her lips and guessing. She looked very confused and conflicted, two feelings obviously exacerbated by the appearance of two people she’d only ever heard stories about.
“You’re different than we’d imagined,” Martha said. “Prettier,” she clarified, and winced and tried to backpedal. “I mean, we imagined you’d be pretty, we just didn’t think you would be so pretty. Ben always described you as pretty, we just thought—”
“We’ve just never held much stock in his taste,” Gus salvaged. “He once told me he thought a Raven’s croak was ‘pretty’ too, so I kind of imagined you to be the personification of a Raven croaking.” He smiled broadly, and Tess blushed.
Ben hadn’t taken his eyes away from her yet. He was still looking for something in her face. A sign of forgiveness, maybe, or even an assurance of her happiness. Regret for having ever even considered letting him leave without her? He didn’t know what, but he didn’t find any of that. Even though all signs pointed to yes, she was coming, he felt like there was still a chance she would stay behind and force him into life without her.
“You’re about what I imagined,” Tess told Gus.
“That’s because there’s only one word anyone could use to describe us,” Gus said.
“Average,” Martha conceded with a sigh. “If Medias had a brochure, we’d be the poster children for mediocrity within the borders.”
“No, no. Ben didn’t say that,” Tess said, smiling a little. “He... well... you just... make sense.”
Gus looked mockingly startled. “Do mine ears deceive me or did someone just accuse me of the foulest curse of fundamental boringness ever conceived?” he asked, putting his hand dramatically to his chest to check for a heartbeat.
“The fellow dost protest too much, methinks,” Martha retorted. “She said we look like we make sense. No one’s accusing you of accurately playing the part.”
“I meant you... you fit... the descriptions... you’re...” She flushed even further.
“Eventually*** you’ll structure a sentence successfully,” Gus said reassuringly. Martha slapped him on the shoulder. Tess laughed.
“Are you mad at me?” Ben asked, miscalculating the approximate volume of his voice, practically yelling across the pond at her.
Her eyes moved slowly from Gus and Martha to his eyes where they rested and bored into him. Burning pain seared across his face.
He felt his knees hit the ground and his hands fly to cover what he felt had to be deep and oozing cuts across his eyes and cheeks, and he heard Martha gasp, but he didn’t have time to make anything of it before everything went brown and fuzzy and he was curled in a pile on the ground, unable to hear or see anything about what was going on around him.
He felt someone shaking his shoulders, someone with large, rough hands. And he felt a pair of frantic feet prancing anxiously and almost comically around him. But then he felt the cold touch of tiny shaking fingers prying his hands away from his eyes. They held his face, jolting energy through to his brain until he could almost feel words coming through them.
“Ben! Ben! Please tell me you’re alive! Please tell me I didn’t do this to you! I don’t know what happened; I just wanted you to know without me having to say... oh, Ben, come back. Come back! I’m not mad anymore. I’m fine! I want you to come back! I want to leave Medias with you. I need to leave! I need you! Come back!”
Over and over this litany against his growing urge to fade ran silently through his mind several times before he realized that the words were growing louder, clearer, and more obviously audible. Someone was actually saying them, or at least he was actually hearing them. They sounded far away, like someone yelling from across a large clearing, but as he grew more aware of the reality of his surroundings, he deciphered that they had to be coming from Tess, who couldn’t be too far away from him, since it had to be her hands that were holding his face, even though they seemed to be meeting with some resistance from an outside force.
Then all of a sudden, Ben felt the familiar and unwelcome sensation of prickling vines shooting up through his body from the ground, through his back, wrapping painfully around his spine and ribs. As quickly as it had come, though, it was gone, and he was blinded by the sunlight in his eyes and deafened by the instantly loud voices around him. He sputtered as if coming up to breathe.
“Get away from him, witch!” Gus was yelling.
“Ben, are you all right? Please talk to me!” Tess screamed, her voice uncharacteristically taught and shrieking.
“Gus, don’t hurt her,” Martha pleaded, her voice quietest of the three.
When the blurry and highly contrasted shapes came into better focus, he was internally horrified by the scene, even though he was not reacting quickly enough to do anything about it externally.
The hands on his face were indeed Tess’, and the hands on his shoulders were Gus’, and the two people, those four hands, were battling against each other, each trying to take sole possession of Ben as he lay there uselessly on the ground. They were nearly attacking one another to get to him. Martha was dancing ditheringly around behind them, trying half-heartedly to restrain Gus.
Then all at once his strength and presence of mine came back into him, like it was an entity being shot directly at his chest from a cannon at short-range.
“Get off me!” he yelled, sputtering again, taking gasping breaths and shunning all three of them away. He rolled over and pushed himself onto his knees. He could feel the silent presence of them all hovering behind him, but he didn’t acknowledge it as he tried to wrap his mind around the past ten minutes of his life.
“What... just happened?” he asked with his back to them, struggling to keep his breaths even while his heart was still racing.
“Tess tried to kill you,” Gus said coldly.
“Shut up, Gus,” Ben said.
“Me shut up?” Gus said in disbelief. “She’s the one you sent you writhing to the ground in pain and you want me to shut up?”
“She didn’t do it on purpose, Gus,” Martha said.
“She can explain it,” Ben said.
All four of them sat in silence for a minute before Tess began talking. When she did, her voice was timid and quiet again, like usual, but also scared.
“You asked me if I was still mad at you,” she said, “and I wanted to tell you that I was without saying it out loud, so I tried... I tried to... give you a sort of angry look. And, I don’t understand what happened then; my eyes got all hot and stingy, and then you fell down screaming.”
“It was like you shot something at me,” Ben said, remembering the pain as it had whipped across his face. “And then I couldn’t see or hear anything until...” He turned his head around and looked at her, “until you grabbed my face. You started talking to me and I... I could hear you.”
“Was she saying, ‘Get off him Gus, you’re going to hurt him’?” Gus asked angrily. “That’s what she was saying to me. It’s ridiculous.”
“No,” Ben said. “You were telling me to come back.”
The four stood in stillness — no movement, no noise, save for the orange leaves falling from the trees and the occasional croak of a nearby raven. Ben was looking at Tess, who was glancing between him and her shoes. Martha was staring at the back of Gus’ head, who was staring obstinately into the empty space beyond Ben’s left ear.
“Maybe we shouldn't leave,” Martha said. “Not today, anyway.”
“No,” Ben and Tess said together.
“You two can go home,” Ben said to Gus. “I should have told you yesterday what Medias said about not being able to come back. I should have realized you wouldn’t want to—”
“I can’t leave you alone with her,” he jerked his thumb at Tess. “Who knows when she could accidentally blow you up with her mind.”
“I’m sorry, Gus,” Tess said. “I swear; I would never want to hurt Ben like—”
“Well, you already have, and you evidently had no control over it, so someone’s got to keep an eye on you,” Gus said. He turned to look her coldly in the face. “I’m not going to call you sister, let’s just put it that way.”
“Gus, don’t be stupid,” Ben said. “It was just an accident.”
“One that can happen again,” he said. “I’m coming with you.”
Ben looked up at Martha, who gave him the same look she had when she had finished her story about the Monk E Paw. “And you?”
“Of course I’m coming,” she said without hesitation. He couldn’t tell if she actually wanted to, though. Maybe he didn’t understand the real power of the lash, after all.
He stood up and brushed the dead leaves off his back. “Okay. We’re going west,” he said. “We can’t be too far from the edge now.”
“Maybe that’s why all this happened in the first place,” Tess said as they turned and began walking, leaving the catfish pond, the forest, and everything they could remember behind them in the pile of dried leaves dried wood that were the hills of Medias.
___________
***For Jared
P.S. As my life gets gradually more hectic, I do a lot more dirty things to reach my word count. You may notice this eventually.
Showing posts with label Medias. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Medias. Show all posts
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Chapter Fourteen
The sun poured through the thick leaves of the forest of Medias, shining directly overhead. Ben, Gus, and Martha walked abreast along the paths that lead to the outskirts of the forest. With the knowledge Ben now possessed of the forces at work in the ground beneath him, he felt more acutely aware of the magic that tugged at him, urging him to return to the center of the hills. In his awareness, he felt more fiercely called to fight the feeling. He only prayed that Tess shared that feeling and was somewhere nearby in the woods, just waiting to join up with them along an adjacent path.
“I’ve definitely got a better one than that,” Martha was saying to Gus. “I heard this from one of the conference center janitorial staff guys. Evidently, Richard—I’m sure you know him from the pond guild, since his brother is in charge of it—well, evidently, Richard has a friend who says he’s been There and came back with all these amazing and pretty horrific stories. I think his name was Sallus or something.”
“Okay, intro done, I hope and pray?” Gus said mockingly.
“So Sallus was staying with a family that lived a good distance outside of Medias,” Martha said, plowing over Gus’ interjection. “There was a mother a father and two children, Sam and Sarah. Sam was older, and didn’t live at home anymore, but he visited the family often and Sallus got to know him pretty well. He was a construction worker, you know, like the guys who repair houses and things.”
“I don’t ever remember a time when any houses needed repair,” Gus said innocently.
“Oh shut up,” Ben said with a laugh.
“Anyway. One day, the mother’s uncle came to visit. He was a big shot Sir-gent Major in something called an Arm Force or a Terry Mill or something. Anyway, he was a famous guy for some reason and he had traveled all over the world with his Arm.”
“He only had one?”
“No, that was the name of his group, the ‘Arm Force’ and when you’re a leader they give you control over one or more Arms,” Martha struggled to explain. “I don’t really get where they come up with names for things in There, but it is what it is, I guess.”
“Back to the story,” Ben said.
“So the Sir-gent’s name was Morris, and he had picked up this weird talisman in some foreign country, this thing called a Monk E. Paw.”
“Are monks animals There?” Ben asked.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gus said. “How can animals practice religious rites and traditions?”
“I think it’s more that the original monks got their name because they wore fur off an animal named the Monk E,” Martha clarified. “I think I read that in a book somewhere.”
“Why is it called the Monk E, then?” Gus asked. “Are there different kinds of Monk animals? Like Monk A and Monk B and Monk C?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that and get on with the story,” Martha said, shooting him a look that was meant to be something of a spurn on his sudden and uncharacteristic curiosity. “So Sir-gent Major Morris brought Sallus’ foster family the Monk E paw as a gift. He told them that it was given to him by a friend in the Arm Force who had gotten it from a foreign medicine man whose name was Faker. Faker had said that the paw would grant the head of any family three wishes, but Morris suggested that they used them carefully and only one at a time, so that they wouldn’t waste them.
“Richard said then that Sallus and Morris had a private talk in the front garden while the rest of the family was inside discussing what they were going to do with the three wishes the Monk E paw would grant them. Evidently Morris told Sallus that he had actually been bequeathed the talisman in the will of his friend from the Arm Force, and that the will had expressly stated that Morris was supposed to destroy the talisman. Morris said that his friend had used his third wish to take his own life. But Morris explained to Sallus that he didn’t think it was fair that his Arm Force friend should be the last to benefit from such a rare item, and he wrote off the suicide by describing a horrible illness his friend had been suffering from for years, something that would cause Morris himself to wish for death, especially after the first two obviously life-altering wishes had already been granted.”
“Uh, Martha,” Ben said warily, “this story is getting…I don’t know…do we want to hear the end?” They were nearly to the catfish pond my this time, and both the story and the Tess’ unmistakable absence were starting to eat away at Ben’s level of comfort with his situation.
“It’s a good story,” she assured them both, because Gus was looking leery as well. “I mean, it’s different from most Median stories. That’s why I’m telling it: so we can get a better idea of what There is like in comparison to Medias.”
Gus and Ben looked at each other with uncertainty. Martha rolled her eyes and continued. “Anyway, after the meeting with Sallus in the front garden, Sir-gent Major Morris said he had to be going, that he’d just stopped by for a short visit, and that he’d be sure to come again in the coming months, whenever his worldly travels guided him back that way. So Sallus went back inside and sat down with the family, listening to them come to a final decision about how to use their first wish.
“The father, being the head of the family, decided that the best thing to do would be to ask for money to pay off some debts the family had, so that Sarah’s schooling could be paid for more easily when that time came. After some discussion, the other family members agreed and the father said he’d make the with the next morning, giving him time to go over the family books to find out exactly how much money they’d need; they didn’t want to over indulge, but they didn’t want to sell themselves too short, either.
“So the next morning, after Sam had left for his home and Sarah had left for her preparatory school, the mother and the father sat down at the table with Sallus to make the wish. The father held the shriveled little paw in his hands and said, ‘I wish our family came into possession of £359 of extra money that we could use to pay off our debts.’ The three waited for about a half hour without any sign of £359 showing up anywhere. Then the phone rang.”
“The phone?” Gus asked.
“Evidently it’s some wiring device that people There use to contact each other over long distances. It’s too hard to explain, and it doesn’t really matter in this story, except that someone from Sam’s construction company used one to call Sam’s parents and tell them that Sam had died due to someone else’s mishandling of a company machine.”
Gus and Ben’s eyes widened with fear, disgust, and sadness.
“The construction company man asked if Sam’s father could come and identify the body for insurance purposes, since the company was going to have to pay £359 as compensation for the loss of their son.”
“What?” Ben and Gus said together, mouths open and aghast.
“That’s…that’s disgusting,” Ben said.
“Sallus thought so, too,” Martha said, plowing on, though her face was considerably harder than it had been when she started. “He said that when the father came back from the sight, he went up to his study and locked himself in there for three days. The mother was absolutely disconsolate; she was catatonic the whole week, so Sallus and Sarah were left to fend for themselves, and poor Sarah was beside herself with grief and misplaced guilt, thinking that it was her need for school money that had killed her brother.”
“Martha, this is a horrible story,” Gus said. “I don’t care about ‘better understanding the differences between There and Medias; I don’t want to hear the rest of it.”
Martha’s eyes went downcast. “I know,” she said quietly. “I mean, it’s awful. But it’s the kind of things people from There are always worried about—the consequences of their actions and their need to accept things as they are. ‘The natural order of things’ is a concept Sallus mentioned in every story he told.”
“There’s no way Sallus actually went There and came back,” Ben said, more angrily than he had meant to. “I mean,” he said, bringing his tone back up, “Medias told Tess and I yesterday that no one is allowed to return to Medias after going There.”
Now Gus and Martha looked at each other uncertainly. “Why not?” they asked, almost in unison.
“It said there’s a fundamental difference between people from There and Medians, something about ‘outlying emotions.’ I didn’t really understand it, but it said that people born and raised in Medius had better control of themselves than people from There, but that leaving Medias, even for a few days, would break up too much of that control for them to be…” He looked at the fear on Gus and Martha’s faces, and realized too late that he should have told them all of this before.
“Ben?” The soft, nearly whispered word came from a clearing just beyond where the three were standing. Ben heard it and felt his stomach lurch up into his chest before he could clearly articulate why.
“…Tess?” he said, his voice turned quiet by his sudden heedless anxiety. It felt to him as though Gus and Martha had sunk into the earth around them as be began to run, dodging between thinning trees and coming into the light of the catfish pond clearing. There, standing on the other side of the water with traveling clothes he’d never seen before and a knapsack made out of many unmatched napkins and throw-pillow cases stitched together, was Tess.
____________________
P.S. Yeah, the Curse of the Monkey Paw is not my story. Los siento. Originally, it was just a word count thing, but now I'm thinking of leaving it in legit, so I didn't think it made sense to censor it here. But yeah, not my story; fan-fiction-esque disclaimer.
“I’ve definitely got a better one than that,” Martha was saying to Gus. “I heard this from one of the conference center janitorial staff guys. Evidently, Richard—I’m sure you know him from the pond guild, since his brother is in charge of it—well, evidently, Richard has a friend who says he’s been There and came back with all these amazing and pretty horrific stories. I think his name was Sallus or something.”
“Okay, intro done, I hope and pray?” Gus said mockingly.
“So Sallus was staying with a family that lived a good distance outside of Medias,” Martha said, plowing over Gus’ interjection. “There was a mother a father and two children, Sam and Sarah. Sam was older, and didn’t live at home anymore, but he visited the family often and Sallus got to know him pretty well. He was a construction worker, you know, like the guys who repair houses and things.”
“I don’t ever remember a time when any houses needed repair,” Gus said innocently.
“Oh shut up,” Ben said with a laugh.
“Anyway. One day, the mother’s uncle came to visit. He was a big shot Sir-gent Major in something called an Arm Force or a Terry Mill or something. Anyway, he was a famous guy for some reason and he had traveled all over the world with his Arm.”
“He only had one?”
“No, that was the name of his group, the ‘Arm Force’ and when you’re a leader they give you control over one or more Arms,” Martha struggled to explain. “I don’t really get where they come up with names for things in There, but it is what it is, I guess.”
“Back to the story,” Ben said.
“So the Sir-gent’s name was Morris, and he had picked up this weird talisman in some foreign country, this thing called a Monk E. Paw.”
“Are monks animals There?” Ben asked.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gus said. “How can animals practice religious rites and traditions?”
“I think it’s more that the original monks got their name because they wore fur off an animal named the Monk E,” Martha clarified. “I think I read that in a book somewhere.”
“Why is it called the Monk E, then?” Gus asked. “Are there different kinds of Monk animals? Like Monk A and Monk B and Monk C?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that and get on with the story,” Martha said, shooting him a look that was meant to be something of a spurn on his sudden and uncharacteristic curiosity. “So Sir-gent Major Morris brought Sallus’ foster family the Monk E paw as a gift. He told them that it was given to him by a friend in the Arm Force who had gotten it from a foreign medicine man whose name was Faker. Faker had said that the paw would grant the head of any family three wishes, but Morris suggested that they used them carefully and only one at a time, so that they wouldn’t waste them.
“Richard said then that Sallus and Morris had a private talk in the front garden while the rest of the family was inside discussing what they were going to do with the three wishes the Monk E paw would grant them. Evidently Morris told Sallus that he had actually been bequeathed the talisman in the will of his friend from the Arm Force, and that the will had expressly stated that Morris was supposed to destroy the talisman. Morris said that his friend had used his third wish to take his own life. But Morris explained to Sallus that he didn’t think it was fair that his Arm Force friend should be the last to benefit from such a rare item, and he wrote off the suicide by describing a horrible illness his friend had been suffering from for years, something that would cause Morris himself to wish for death, especially after the first two obviously life-altering wishes had already been granted.”
“Uh, Martha,” Ben said warily, “this story is getting…I don’t know…do we want to hear the end?” They were nearly to the catfish pond my this time, and both the story and the Tess’ unmistakable absence were starting to eat away at Ben’s level of comfort with his situation.
“It’s a good story,” she assured them both, because Gus was looking leery as well. “I mean, it’s different from most Median stories. That’s why I’m telling it: so we can get a better idea of what There is like in comparison to Medias.”
Gus and Ben looked at each other with uncertainty. Martha rolled her eyes and continued. “Anyway, after the meeting with Sallus in the front garden, Sir-gent Major Morris said he had to be going, that he’d just stopped by for a short visit, and that he’d be sure to come again in the coming months, whenever his worldly travels guided him back that way. So Sallus went back inside and sat down with the family, listening to them come to a final decision about how to use their first wish.
“The father, being the head of the family, decided that the best thing to do would be to ask for money to pay off some debts the family had, so that Sarah’s schooling could be paid for more easily when that time came. After some discussion, the other family members agreed and the father said he’d make the with the next morning, giving him time to go over the family books to find out exactly how much money they’d need; they didn’t want to over indulge, but they didn’t want to sell themselves too short, either.
“So the next morning, after Sam had left for his home and Sarah had left for her preparatory school, the mother and the father sat down at the table with Sallus to make the wish. The father held the shriveled little paw in his hands and said, ‘I wish our family came into possession of £359 of extra money that we could use to pay off our debts.’ The three waited for about a half hour without any sign of £359 showing up anywhere. Then the phone rang.”
“The phone?” Gus asked.
“Evidently it’s some wiring device that people There use to contact each other over long distances. It’s too hard to explain, and it doesn’t really matter in this story, except that someone from Sam’s construction company used one to call Sam’s parents and tell them that Sam had died due to someone else’s mishandling of a company machine.”
Gus and Ben’s eyes widened with fear, disgust, and sadness.
“The construction company man asked if Sam’s father could come and identify the body for insurance purposes, since the company was going to have to pay £359 as compensation for the loss of their son.”
“What?” Ben and Gus said together, mouths open and aghast.
“That’s…that’s disgusting,” Ben said.
“Sallus thought so, too,” Martha said, plowing on, though her face was considerably harder than it had been when she started. “He said that when the father came back from the sight, he went up to his study and locked himself in there for three days. The mother was absolutely disconsolate; she was catatonic the whole week, so Sallus and Sarah were left to fend for themselves, and poor Sarah was beside herself with grief and misplaced guilt, thinking that it was her need for school money that had killed her brother.”
“Martha, this is a horrible story,” Gus said. “I don’t care about ‘better understanding the differences between There and Medias; I don’t want to hear the rest of it.”
Martha’s eyes went downcast. “I know,” she said quietly. “I mean, it’s awful. But it’s the kind of things people from There are always worried about—the consequences of their actions and their need to accept things as they are. ‘The natural order of things’ is a concept Sallus mentioned in every story he told.”
“There’s no way Sallus actually went There and came back,” Ben said, more angrily than he had meant to. “I mean,” he said, bringing his tone back up, “Medias told Tess and I yesterday that no one is allowed to return to Medias after going There.”
Now Gus and Martha looked at each other uncertainly. “Why not?” they asked, almost in unison.
“It said there’s a fundamental difference between people from There and Medians, something about ‘outlying emotions.’ I didn’t really understand it, but it said that people born and raised in Medius had better control of themselves than people from There, but that leaving Medias, even for a few days, would break up too much of that control for them to be…” He looked at the fear on Gus and Martha’s faces, and realized too late that he should have told them all of this before.
“Ben?” The soft, nearly whispered word came from a clearing just beyond where the three were standing. Ben heard it and felt his stomach lurch up into his chest before he could clearly articulate why.
“…Tess?” he said, his voice turned quiet by his sudden heedless anxiety. It felt to him as though Gus and Martha had sunk into the earth around them as be began to run, dodging between thinning trees and coming into the light of the catfish pond clearing. There, standing on the other side of the water with traveling clothes he’d never seen before and a knapsack made out of many unmatched napkins and throw-pillow cases stitched together, was Tess.
____________________
P.S. Yeah, the Curse of the Monkey Paw is not my story. Los siento. Originally, it was just a word count thing, but now I'm thinking of leaving it in legit, so I didn't think it made sense to censor it here. But yeah, not my story; fan-fiction-esque disclaimer.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Chapter Thirteen
“Rise and shine, you unhygienic delinquent.” Gus leaned over Ben, grinning annoyingly into his bleary eyes. “Please count the number of days since you last bathed and feel my pain as I myself realized it was more than seven.”
Ben moaned and shut his eyes tight against the light coming in from the window. “I realize that a new day comes every twenty-four hours, but do you always have to be so happy about it?” He tried to turn over and put his back to his brother-in-lash, without realizing that Gus was pinning his shoulder to the bed. “Get off me,” he half yelled, half pleaded.
“Whoa there, Johnny Raincloud,” Gus said, smile fading. He straightened up and backed a few feet away from the bed. “What’s got your bonnet in a bundle?”
Ben stared up at the lightening ceiling. “Medias,” he said shortly.
Gus frowned. “The land or the—”
“The mushroom, Gus,” Ben snapped. “It’s a mushroom. Everything in these damnable hills is controlled by that damnable mushroom.” He covered his face with his palms, rubbing the sleep and frustration out of his eyes. “There’s no way to escape any of it.”
Gus was silent. Ben waited behind his hands for a witty comeback or a lazy retort, but he didn’t even hear him shift his weight. After a few quiet moments Ben sat up, swung his feet around to the floor, and stared at them. “Just when I thought things couldn’t go anywhere but up.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Gus asked seriously. It was the first time in Ben’s memory that he had ever said anything totally seriously.
Ben didn’t look at him. “I’m leaving, Gus,” he said. “I know…you don’t know what you’ll do without me and all that, but I have to go. I hope you can understand, maybe someday forgive me even. Or just forget me. That would work too.”
“Okay,” Gus said without hesitation. “Well, do you know where we’re going?”
Ben looked up at him. “What?”
“I mean, none of us has ever been There before; do we know where we’re going or how long it’s going to take to get—”
“What do you mean ‘we,’ Gus? I said I’m going.”
Gus sighed. “Ben. You’re delusional if you think you’re leaving us here. I guess if you want to operate under the illusion that you’re alone, Martha and I can walk a few paces behind you or something, but I really think that’s a little childish, don’t you?”
Ben felt his face heating up. “You want to come with me?”
“You don’t look like you’re in a position where I could convince you to stay, and like you said, I don’t know what I’d do without you, so it seems Martha and I have to go.”
The two boys looked at each other. Even though he was sitting and Gus was standing, looking down on him, it was the first time Ben realized that he was taller than his brother. Perhaps it was because this was the first time Ben had felt as if Gus was treating him as an equal. Gus and Martha were both sixteen, and though they had never treated Ben as inferior, or had lorded over him the fact that they were two years older than him, there had always been an unspoken hierarchy in their home. But here, in this moment where Ben was unwittingly, involuntarily calling the shots, he realized that it had been unspoken because it had been untrue. As much as Ben needed them, they needed him right back.
“So where are we going?” Gus asked after the long silence where Ben had been organizing his emotions. “Do we know a basic compass direction?”
“I don’t care too much at this point. I was thinking…maybe west.” For a split second, he thought he had felt the vines of paralysis creep up his legs and into his throat, but the feeling vanished so quickly he dismissed it.
“West. What’s west?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The sunset?”
“Okay, master navigator,” Gus said, saluting. “So when are we leaving, now that we’ve got our heading?”
Ben slouched. “I…I don’t…I can’t…” He looked up into Gus’ eyes, trying both to hide and divulge the pain he had clung to since his fight with Tess at the catfish pond the night before.
“Hang on,” Gus said, again with his foreign serious tone. “Have you talked to Tess about this yet?”
Ben’s eyes closed and his head bowed. “She…isn’t coming.”
Gus laughed shortly. “Okay. That’s a big load off,” he said jovially. “It would be so awkward with you two and Martha and I, I mean, us being lashed and all and you being…well, whatever you are.”
Sudden anger coursed through Ben. He shot death glares at Gus. “Oh, that’s just fine, make jokes; it’s not like we’re people with feelings or anything, Gus. It’s not like we had a catastrophic argument unlike any other argument we’ve ever had in the…who knows how many years we’ve known each other.” He had stood up and was about to go for Gus’ throat when he saw Gus shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
“Don’t be so thick, adrenaline junkie,” he said, taking a small step back despite his cool façade. “She’ll come.”
Ben cooled down at his tone. “But she—”
“She’ll come.”
“I told her last night—”
“She’ll come.”
“You don’t understand. I’m tearing her in two—”
“Is it just me or is there an echo in here?” Gus asked incredulously. “I’m telling you, Ben, she’s going to come. If you seriously leave she’ll seriously follow you.”
“How do you know that?” Ben asked. They were both standing awkwardly a few feet from each other now, Ben still retaining his fighting stance, and Gus almost falling backwards onto his bed in his attempt to look nonchalant.
“Come with me,” Gus said, turning and walking into the other room. Ben followed him and sat down at the table while Gus rummaged through the sparse cabinets looking for something delicious, or at least edible. “I know that she’ll follow you the same way I can say definitively that Martha will follow me once I tell her I’m going with you.”
“Gus,” Ben said painfully, “Tess and I aren’t lashed. It’s not the same.”
“It is the same,” Gus said. “You and I aren’t lashed, but I immediately said I was going to come with you, didn’t I?”
“You’re my brother,” Ben said. “I mean, you’re practically my brother. What would you do without me?”
“And what would Tess do without you? She’s as much your sister as Martha is, if not more,” Gus said. He had found some apples and begun slicing them thinly. “How many times have you two run into each other without planning it? You’ve told me the stories; I don’t my mediocre education prepared me to count the number of impromptu middle-of-nowhere meetings you’ve had together.”
“But she has a real family too,” Ben insisted. “I doubt they’re going to be as forgiving as you and Martha and allow her to leave by herself, let alone jump on this rapidly growing escape wagon with a bunch of people they’ve never met before.”
“If they’re anything like me, which,” he shined his finger nails on his shoulder, “everyone strives to be, they’ll understand. If Tess has shared half the number of stories about you with them as you have about her with us, they’ll get it.” He put the apple slices on the plate and brought them to the table, sitting down on the bench next to Ben.
“You’re saying, if I had told you back there,” Ben said, gesturing to the bedroom they had just left, “that Tess and her family was leaving and I was going to, you would have let me go?”
Gus bit into an apple, purposefully spraying juice into Ben’s face. “I’m not saying it would have been easy.”
Ben took a slice of apple and bit into it, chewing slowly. If asked last week to predict anything that had happened in the past two days, he certainly wouldn’t have come up with an accurate guess.
“So,” he said after a long pause and about five slices of apple, “do I go and find her and ask her again to come?”
“You could,” Gus said, swallowing his thirteenth apple slice and rolling off the bench onto the floor. “Or you could just leave. If the past ‘who-knows-how-many years’ are any indication,” he said, closing his eyes, “she’ll know you’re going and she’ll find someway to go too.”
Ben moaned and shut his eyes tight against the light coming in from the window. “I realize that a new day comes every twenty-four hours, but do you always have to be so happy about it?” He tried to turn over and put his back to his brother-in-lash, without realizing that Gus was pinning his shoulder to the bed. “Get off me,” he half yelled, half pleaded.
“Whoa there, Johnny Raincloud,” Gus said, smile fading. He straightened up and backed a few feet away from the bed. “What’s got your bonnet in a bundle?”
Ben stared up at the lightening ceiling. “Medias,” he said shortly.
Gus frowned. “The land or the—”
“The mushroom, Gus,” Ben snapped. “It’s a mushroom. Everything in these damnable hills is controlled by that damnable mushroom.” He covered his face with his palms, rubbing the sleep and frustration out of his eyes. “There’s no way to escape any of it.”
Gus was silent. Ben waited behind his hands for a witty comeback or a lazy retort, but he didn’t even hear him shift his weight. After a few quiet moments Ben sat up, swung his feet around to the floor, and stared at them. “Just when I thought things couldn’t go anywhere but up.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Gus asked seriously. It was the first time in Ben’s memory that he had ever said anything totally seriously.
Ben didn’t look at him. “I’m leaving, Gus,” he said. “I know…you don’t know what you’ll do without me and all that, but I have to go. I hope you can understand, maybe someday forgive me even. Or just forget me. That would work too.”
“Okay,” Gus said without hesitation. “Well, do you know where we’re going?”
Ben looked up at him. “What?”
“I mean, none of us has ever been There before; do we know where we’re going or how long it’s going to take to get—”
“What do you mean ‘we,’ Gus? I said I’m going.”
Gus sighed. “Ben. You’re delusional if you think you’re leaving us here. I guess if you want to operate under the illusion that you’re alone, Martha and I can walk a few paces behind you or something, but I really think that’s a little childish, don’t you?”
Ben felt his face heating up. “You want to come with me?”
“You don’t look like you’re in a position where I could convince you to stay, and like you said, I don’t know what I’d do without you, so it seems Martha and I have to go.”
The two boys looked at each other. Even though he was sitting and Gus was standing, looking down on him, it was the first time Ben realized that he was taller than his brother. Perhaps it was because this was the first time Ben had felt as if Gus was treating him as an equal. Gus and Martha were both sixteen, and though they had never treated Ben as inferior, or had lorded over him the fact that they were two years older than him, there had always been an unspoken hierarchy in their home. But here, in this moment where Ben was unwittingly, involuntarily calling the shots, he realized that it had been unspoken because it had been untrue. As much as Ben needed them, they needed him right back.
“So where are we going?” Gus asked after the long silence where Ben had been organizing his emotions. “Do we know a basic compass direction?”
“I don’t care too much at this point. I was thinking…maybe west.” For a split second, he thought he had felt the vines of paralysis creep up his legs and into his throat, but the feeling vanished so quickly he dismissed it.
“West. What’s west?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The sunset?”
“Okay, master navigator,” Gus said, saluting. “So when are we leaving, now that we’ve got our heading?”
Ben slouched. “I…I don’t…I can’t…” He looked up into Gus’ eyes, trying both to hide and divulge the pain he had clung to since his fight with Tess at the catfish pond the night before.
“Hang on,” Gus said, again with his foreign serious tone. “Have you talked to Tess about this yet?”
Ben’s eyes closed and his head bowed. “She…isn’t coming.”
Gus laughed shortly. “Okay. That’s a big load off,” he said jovially. “It would be so awkward with you two and Martha and I, I mean, us being lashed and all and you being…well, whatever you are.”
Sudden anger coursed through Ben. He shot death glares at Gus. “Oh, that’s just fine, make jokes; it’s not like we’re people with feelings or anything, Gus. It’s not like we had a catastrophic argument unlike any other argument we’ve ever had in the…who knows how many years we’ve known each other.” He had stood up and was about to go for Gus’ throat when he saw Gus shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
“Don’t be so thick, adrenaline junkie,” he said, taking a small step back despite his cool façade. “She’ll come.”
Ben cooled down at his tone. “But she—”
“She’ll come.”
“I told her last night—”
“She’ll come.”
“You don’t understand. I’m tearing her in two—”
“Is it just me or is there an echo in here?” Gus asked incredulously. “I’m telling you, Ben, she’s going to come. If you seriously leave she’ll seriously follow you.”
“How do you know that?” Ben asked. They were both standing awkwardly a few feet from each other now, Ben still retaining his fighting stance, and Gus almost falling backwards onto his bed in his attempt to look nonchalant.
“Come with me,” Gus said, turning and walking into the other room. Ben followed him and sat down at the table while Gus rummaged through the sparse cabinets looking for something delicious, or at least edible. “I know that she’ll follow you the same way I can say definitively that Martha will follow me once I tell her I’m going with you.”
“Gus,” Ben said painfully, “Tess and I aren’t lashed. It’s not the same.”
“It is the same,” Gus said. “You and I aren’t lashed, but I immediately said I was going to come with you, didn’t I?”
“You’re my brother,” Ben said. “I mean, you’re practically my brother. What would you do without me?”
“And what would Tess do without you? She’s as much your sister as Martha is, if not more,” Gus said. He had found some apples and begun slicing them thinly. “How many times have you two run into each other without planning it? You’ve told me the stories; I don’t my mediocre education prepared me to count the number of impromptu middle-of-nowhere meetings you’ve had together.”
“But she has a real family too,” Ben insisted. “I doubt they’re going to be as forgiving as you and Martha and allow her to leave by herself, let alone jump on this rapidly growing escape wagon with a bunch of people they’ve never met before.”
“If they’re anything like me, which,” he shined his finger nails on his shoulder, “everyone strives to be, they’ll understand. If Tess has shared half the number of stories about you with them as you have about her with us, they’ll get it.” He put the apple slices on the plate and brought them to the table, sitting down on the bench next to Ben.
“You’re saying, if I had told you back there,” Ben said, gesturing to the bedroom they had just left, “that Tess and her family was leaving and I was going to, you would have let me go?”
Gus bit into an apple, purposefully spraying juice into Ben’s face. “I’m not saying it would have been easy.”
Ben took a slice of apple and bit into it, chewing slowly. If asked last week to predict anything that had happened in the past two days, he certainly wouldn’t have come up with an accurate guess.
“So,” he said after a long pause and about five slices of apple, “do I go and find her and ask her again to come?”
“You could,” Gus said, swallowing his thirteenth apple slice and rolling off the bench onto the floor. “Or you could just leave. If the past ‘who-knows-how-many years’ are any indication,” he said, closing his eyes, “she’ll know you’re going and she’ll find someway to go too.”
Chapter Eleven
“I’m leaving,” Ben whispered in Tess’ ear. He had found her sleeping next to the catfish pond.
She opened her eyes without looking at him. They were bloodshot and puffy. “I knew you would,” she said. “How did I know you would?”
“Tomorrow, probably around noon,” he said. “I figure if Medias isn’t going to try to stop me—”
“No, Ben,” Tess said loudly, angrily. “Answer my question. How did I know you were going to want to leave? How do I always know? I find you when you yourself don’t even know where you’re going, I can tell when you’re lying, or when you’re hiding your emotions.” Tears started reforming at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve known you forever and I know everything about you and I don’t remember meeting you or what life was like without you…”
She continued to talk for a long time, but her eventual sobs began to muddle her words. Ben couldn’t think of anything constructive to do, so he just stood there, watching her. Once she had given herself over to weeping and lay curled up on her side, shaking and moaning incoherently, Ben knelt down and put an arm around her shoulders.
“Tess?” he asked tentatively. “Tess, come back.”
Several minutes passed. Ben sat quietly as Tess’ sobs relented and her shaking subsided. After what could have been a quarter of an hour, she was lying there, breathing in short, deep bursts, but she was in control again.
“You’re leaving.” Her eyes were closed and her face was peaceful.
“I don’t think I belong here anymore,” he said. “Martha told me something…” He trailed off. Tess’ eyes were pressed closed and she was biting her lip. “Wait, don’t get upset. Listen to me.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her eyes looked bluer than he had ever seen them before. The contrast between them and her face and hair was more startling this way.
“I want you to come with me,” he said. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
She blinked and her nose wiggled a little, something Ben recognized as her response to being caught off guard. “You want me to come with?”
“Yeah.” He tried to make his voice light and excited. “Think about all the things we’d see and experiences we’d have, and no one would be able to stop us.”
“I can’t go with you,” Tess said, sounding incredulous. “I can’t leave Medias.”
“What? Why not” Ben asked.
“My family is here—the other girls in the pre-lash house. As much as you mean to me, I don’t know that I can just leave them,” she said. “And what about Gus and Martha? Are you going to tell them before you go, or were you more hoping to leave a note on the table?”
A faint, high-pitched ringing bounced around the inside of Ben’s ears. “You mean…” He was unbelievably crestfallen. “You mean, you’d stay? You wouldn’t come with?”
“How can I?” she asked, her face pleading with him. “You’re tearing me in two! I knew this was going to happen as soon as Medias told you he wasn’t going to lift the denial, or even as soon as I saw that you were denied. I saw that look in your eye, the one you get when you get tired of fighting and realize your other options are limited. You get an idea in your head and you won’t stray from it, no matter what it means to anyone, including you and anyone around you.”
“I have to leave, Tess! There is no other way. What else am I supposed to do now? Sit around, doing nothing, knowing that the creature in charge of this forest is merely forestalling its death, and that it is the reason you and I can never—”
“What is so bad about Medias?” she asked. “What about this place is so abhorrent to you that it gives you no reason to stay?”
He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just begged her with his eyes to understand. Her face, hardened against tears, became grave. She turned slowly and began to walk away.
“Tess…” he said, but he didn’t have anything to follow it.
She stopped, gave a small shudder, and broke into a run, leaving the clearing, heading straight for the heart of Medias.
Ben fell to his knees, torn with indecision. He looked up at the darkening sky overhead, feeling his face get hot and his eyes get wet. He screamed, hoping to burn his throat with the force of it, hoping to give himself physical pain to take away the pain in his mind.
____________
*Author's note: In the Word document where all of the story is originally written, this chapter has a couple thousand words I left out of here. That's because it was while writing this chapter that I realized just how far behind I was on word count and I had Ben and Tess start reciting the script from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. It was epic, but also unimportant to the plot.
Also, for anyone wondering about the conspicuous lack of certain chapters such as seven and four, I will assure you that there's most likely nothing of important information in them and I am simply uncomfortable with sharing them as they are. Thank you for your patience.
She opened her eyes without looking at him. They were bloodshot and puffy. “I knew you would,” she said. “How did I know you would?”
“Tomorrow, probably around noon,” he said. “I figure if Medias isn’t going to try to stop me—”
“No, Ben,” Tess said loudly, angrily. “Answer my question. How did I know you were going to want to leave? How do I always know? I find you when you yourself don’t even know where you’re going, I can tell when you’re lying, or when you’re hiding your emotions.” Tears started reforming at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve known you forever and I know everything about you and I don’t remember meeting you or what life was like without you…”
She continued to talk for a long time, but her eventual sobs began to muddle her words. Ben couldn’t think of anything constructive to do, so he just stood there, watching her. Once she had given herself over to weeping and lay curled up on her side, shaking and moaning incoherently, Ben knelt down and put an arm around her shoulders.
“Tess?” he asked tentatively. “Tess, come back.”
Several minutes passed. Ben sat quietly as Tess’ sobs relented and her shaking subsided. After what could have been a quarter of an hour, she was lying there, breathing in short, deep bursts, but she was in control again.
“You’re leaving.” Her eyes were closed and her face was peaceful.
“I don’t think I belong here anymore,” he said. “Martha told me something…” He trailed off. Tess’ eyes were pressed closed and she was biting her lip. “Wait, don’t get upset. Listen to me.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her eyes looked bluer than he had ever seen them before. The contrast between them and her face and hair was more startling this way.
“I want you to come with me,” he said. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
She blinked and her nose wiggled a little, something Ben recognized as her response to being caught off guard. “You want me to come with?”
“Yeah.” He tried to make his voice light and excited. “Think about all the things we’d see and experiences we’d have, and no one would be able to stop us.”
“I can’t go with you,” Tess said, sounding incredulous. “I can’t leave Medias.”
“What? Why not” Ben asked.
“My family is here—the other girls in the pre-lash house. As much as you mean to me, I don’t know that I can just leave them,” she said. “And what about Gus and Martha? Are you going to tell them before you go, or were you more hoping to leave a note on the table?”
A faint, high-pitched ringing bounced around the inside of Ben’s ears. “You mean…” He was unbelievably crestfallen. “You mean, you’d stay? You wouldn’t come with?”
“How can I?” she asked, her face pleading with him. “You’re tearing me in two! I knew this was going to happen as soon as Medias told you he wasn’t going to lift the denial, or even as soon as I saw that you were denied. I saw that look in your eye, the one you get when you get tired of fighting and realize your other options are limited. You get an idea in your head and you won’t stray from it, no matter what it means to anyone, including you and anyone around you.”
“I have to leave, Tess! There is no other way. What else am I supposed to do now? Sit around, doing nothing, knowing that the creature in charge of this forest is merely forestalling its death, and that it is the reason you and I can never—”
“What is so bad about Medias?” she asked. “What about this place is so abhorrent to you that it gives you no reason to stay?”
He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just begged her with his eyes to understand. Her face, hardened against tears, became grave. She turned slowly and began to walk away.
“Tess…” he said, but he didn’t have anything to follow it.
She stopped, gave a small shudder, and broke into a run, leaving the clearing, heading straight for the heart of Medias.
Ben fell to his knees, torn with indecision. He looked up at the darkening sky overhead, feeling his face get hot and his eyes get wet. He screamed, hoping to burn his throat with the force of it, hoping to give himself physical pain to take away the pain in his mind.
____________
*Author's note: In the Word document where all of the story is originally written, this chapter has a couple thousand words I left out of here. That's because it was while writing this chapter that I realized just how far behind I was on word count and I had Ben and Tess start reciting the script from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. It was epic, but also unimportant to the plot.
Also, for anyone wondering about the conspicuous lack of certain chapters such as seven and four, I will assure you that there's most likely nothing of important information in them and I am simply uncomfortable with sharing them as they are. Thank you for your patience.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Chapter Nine
The sky was still dark as Ben sat on the railing at the corner of the balcony. The raven was perched as close to him as the thickness of the branches would allow, and he was tempted, in the cold cheerlessness of the morning, to reach out and try to pet the creature. He felt close to nature this morning. Later, he would find this strangely fitting.
He sat there for hours and waited for the sun to peak over the canopy. He smelled it before he saw it; first-light always had a slightly biting taste to it, and so many of Ben’s nights had ended early this way, with him watching the morning come, that the experience was like being in the kitchen while the cook prepares a familiar meal.
“Ben?” a groggy, croaking voice came from the doorway behind him.
“Sorry,” he said, turning to look at Martha as she walked out, her arms wrapped tightly and protectively around her. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
She shook her head and yawned. “Gus was snoring; I was bound to wake up eventually.”
Ben smiled and turned back to watch the horizon. “I’m going to see Medias today.”
“I heard,” she said. She came to stand next to him, leaning over the railing. “Geneva works at the employment offices twice a week.”
Ben blinked slowly. “Do you know why?”
She tucked a long, shining black hair behind her ear. “You were labeled ‘denied,’ right?”
“Do you know why?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Ben sighed. The raven croaked loudly, splitting the silence with a pickaxe. “I wish I could remember,” he said. “I feel like I would know if I…could only remember.”
“I...” Martha started, then seemed to swallow the following words.
Ben turned to her. Her eyebrows were knit together in either confusion or pain or a mixture of the two. “What?”
She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. “I…I think I remember something about you,” she said. “Not something that would have anything to do with you being denied. But…I’ve always had this feeling about you, and I think it comes from somewhere, like a memory.”
Ben waited. He watched the conflictions on her face.
“I don’t know, you understand.” She was looking down at her folded hands. “It’s just…a feeling.” She put another stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t say I actually ‘remember’ a time when you weren’t around, when it was just Gus and me, but I feel like that time existed.” She looked up over the yellowing canopy towards the lightening sky. “A time when you weren’t my brother. When I didn’t have a brother.”
Ben still waited. He could see that not only did she have more to say, but he could see that her efforts to remember were hurtful ones.
“I feel like you were in Medias alone before you came to live with Gus and I. I don’t know why you and Gus can’t remember it like I can. I think you looked…younger.” She turned her head slowly and tiredly. “Do I sound crazy, Ben?”
He examined his own expression in his mind. It felt like scared. “I…think…well…don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope you are.”
She laughed. The first yellow beam of sunlight popped over the trees, and both of them knew the conversation needed to turn somewhere else. “Is Tess going with you?” Martha asked?
Ben smiled involuntarily. “What did Geneva tell you?”
“She asked me when you had gotten lashed,” she said, practically grinning.
He sat there for hours and waited for the sun to peak over the canopy. He smelled it before he saw it; first-light always had a slightly biting taste to it, and so many of Ben’s nights had ended early this way, with him watching the morning come, that the experience was like being in the kitchen while the cook prepares a familiar meal.
“Ben?” a groggy, croaking voice came from the doorway behind him.
“Sorry,” he said, turning to look at Martha as she walked out, her arms wrapped tightly and protectively around her. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
She shook her head and yawned. “Gus was snoring; I was bound to wake up eventually.”
Ben smiled and turned back to watch the horizon. “I’m going to see Medias today.”
“I heard,” she said. She came to stand next to him, leaning over the railing. “Geneva works at the employment offices twice a week.”
Ben blinked slowly. “Do you know why?”
She tucked a long, shining black hair behind her ear. “You were labeled ‘denied,’ right?”
“Do you know why?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Ben sighed. The raven croaked loudly, splitting the silence with a pickaxe. “I wish I could remember,” he said. “I feel like I would know if I…could only remember.”
“I...” Martha started, then seemed to swallow the following words.
Ben turned to her. Her eyebrows were knit together in either confusion or pain or a mixture of the two. “What?”
She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. “I…I think I remember something about you,” she said. “Not something that would have anything to do with you being denied. But…I’ve always had this feeling about you, and I think it comes from somewhere, like a memory.”
Ben waited. He watched the conflictions on her face.
“I don’t know, you understand.” She was looking down at her folded hands. “It’s just…a feeling.” She put another stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t say I actually ‘remember’ a time when you weren’t around, when it was just Gus and me, but I feel like that time existed.” She looked up over the yellowing canopy towards the lightening sky. “A time when you weren’t my brother. When I didn’t have a brother.”
Ben still waited. He could see that not only did she have more to say, but he could see that her efforts to remember were hurtful ones.
“I feel like you were in Medias alone before you came to live with Gus and I. I don’t know why you and Gus can’t remember it like I can. I think you looked…younger.” She turned her head slowly and tiredly. “Do I sound crazy, Ben?”
He examined his own expression in his mind. It felt like scared. “I…think…well…don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope you are.”
She laughed. The first yellow beam of sunlight popped over the trees, and both of them knew the conversation needed to turn somewhere else. “Is Tess going with you?” Martha asked?
Ben smiled involuntarily. “What did Geneva tell you?”
“She asked me when you had gotten lashed,” she said, practically grinning.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Chapter Six
“I’m sorry. You’re unqualified.”
The child across the counter from Ben was at least four years younger than him. Not that anyone had any way of proving that, but Ben felt patronized being told “no” and getting a petty slap on the wrist from someone who didn’t look old enough to wash behind his own ears.
“You’ve all been saying that these past few days,” Ben said hotly, “but you’ve been slow in response when I’ve asked what you mean by it. What makes me unqualified? What do I lack that you have besides baby teeth?”
The boy flushed. “Excuse me, but I’m just doing my job,” he said quickly. “There is a stamp on your paperwork.” He took the folder he’d been examining and turned around to face Ben. Opening the cover, he revealed the word “DENIED” scrawled across the top in large black print.
“What does this mean?” Ben asked. “Who wrote this?”
“I don’t know who writes it, but the protocol is, when someone’s file has it, they’re deemed unqualified for work,” the boy said, still pink in the cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m just doing my job.”
Ben went back and sat next to Tess.
“What happened?” she asked. “You look…shocked.”
“You know me,” he said, not turning to look at her. “What have I done with my life that anyone outside of my group of friends would take notice of? I’m the most uninteresting person I know.”
“What happened?” she asked again.
“I’ve been ‘denied,’ I guess,” he said. “I’m evidently unqualified, and I don’t know why.” He shook his head and finally looked at her. “I was so hoping for this chance to do something different and maybe even exciting.”
Tess’ brow furrowed and she tightened her lips. “They won’t let you work?” she asked.
Ben shook his head. “No.” He stood up and turned towards the door.
Tess didn’t follow him. She walked up to the counter where Ben had just been standing. “Excuse me,” she said, and the boy, who, while still probably even two years younger that Tess, cowered a little at her glare. “Excuse me, I’d like to speak with your manager.”
“Er…sure,” the boy said. He walked quickly through a door behind the counter.
Ben came up behind Tess. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve been depressed for the past two weeks and you’re obsessed with getting this job. I’m not going to let you continue to make the rest of us crazy because of that.”
Before Ben could respond, a thickly set older boy came out of the door followed by the now brightly blotchy smaller boy. The older one looked about seventeen, three years older than Ben.
“My name’s Riley. What’s the problem?” the boy asked.
Tess looked even more helpless than usual next to his bulk—Ben thought he heard her neck crack when she looked up at him—and she blinked quickly, then hardened herself.
“My friend here would like an explanation as to why he is classified as ‘denied’ on his paperwork,” she said, her face set.
Riley grabbed the folder out of the younger boy’s limp hand and flipped it open to the first page. He examined it up and down, then began flipping through the following pages. When he got to the end, he nodded knowingly, closed the folder, and looked down at Ben.
“I can’t tell you why you’ve been denied; it doesn’t explain that in here,” he said. “I can direct you to someone who could tell you, that is, only if you really want to know.” He emphasized the “really” with a raise of his eyebrows.
Ben narrowed his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I want to know?”
Riley looked away an answered slowly, “I’m not so sure how much you want to meet this person.”
Suddenly Ben felt a strange tingling sensation beginning in his toes and winding its way up his legs, paralyzing him. He tried to look down to see what was going on, but instead he felt himself saying, “I want to see him, Riley. I really want to know.”
He couldn’t move his head, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tess had noticed the strange tone of his voice. “I want to go, too,” she said.
Riley looked over at her. “I’m sorry. This person only allows one person at a—”
“We’re lashed,” Tess said. “You can’t stop me.”
Ben felt the tingling sensation wind up his back and around his arms, one of which then reached over and took Tess’ hand. She looked back at him and he turned his head to her. He tried to send her a message by moving his eyes, the only things he had under his control, but she just looked confusedly back at him.
Riley took Ben’s file back from the small boy. “It says in here that he is alone. Not lashed.”
“That file must be outdated,” Ben felt himself say. “I can’t remember a time when I was alone.”
Riley looked suspiciously at them both. “If you’re lying, it could cost you.”
Tess stiffened, but said, “We like our chances, then.”
“Okay,” Riley said. “You’re going to see Medias.”
Ben breathed in quickly as he felt the paralysis leave him, and his grip on both Tess’ hand and gravity slackened and he almost fell over.
“Will you set up the appointment?” Tess was asking as Ben came fully back into himself.
“He’ll be expecting you within the week.”
She thanked him, Ben tried to follow suit, and they walked out.
The child across the counter from Ben was at least four years younger than him. Not that anyone had any way of proving that, but Ben felt patronized being told “no” and getting a petty slap on the wrist from someone who didn’t look old enough to wash behind his own ears.
“You’ve all been saying that these past few days,” Ben said hotly, “but you’ve been slow in response when I’ve asked what you mean by it. What makes me unqualified? What do I lack that you have besides baby teeth?”
The boy flushed. “Excuse me, but I’m just doing my job,” he said quickly. “There is a stamp on your paperwork.” He took the folder he’d been examining and turned around to face Ben. Opening the cover, he revealed the word “DENIED” scrawled across the top in large black print.
“What does this mean?” Ben asked. “Who wrote this?”
“I don’t know who writes it, but the protocol is, when someone’s file has it, they’re deemed unqualified for work,” the boy said, still pink in the cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m just doing my job.”
Ben went back and sat next to Tess.
“What happened?” she asked. “You look…shocked.”
“You know me,” he said, not turning to look at her. “What have I done with my life that anyone outside of my group of friends would take notice of? I’m the most uninteresting person I know.”
“What happened?” she asked again.
“I’ve been ‘denied,’ I guess,” he said. “I’m evidently unqualified, and I don’t know why.” He shook his head and finally looked at her. “I was so hoping for this chance to do something different and maybe even exciting.”
Tess’ brow furrowed and she tightened her lips. “They won’t let you work?” she asked.
Ben shook his head. “No.” He stood up and turned towards the door.
Tess didn’t follow him. She walked up to the counter where Ben had just been standing. “Excuse me,” she said, and the boy, who, while still probably even two years younger that Tess, cowered a little at her glare. “Excuse me, I’d like to speak with your manager.”
“Er…sure,” the boy said. He walked quickly through a door behind the counter.
Ben came up behind Tess. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve been depressed for the past two weeks and you’re obsessed with getting this job. I’m not going to let you continue to make the rest of us crazy because of that.”
Before Ben could respond, a thickly set older boy came out of the door followed by the now brightly blotchy smaller boy. The older one looked about seventeen, three years older than Ben.
“My name’s Riley. What’s the problem?” the boy asked.
Tess looked even more helpless than usual next to his bulk—Ben thought he heard her neck crack when she looked up at him—and she blinked quickly, then hardened herself.
“My friend here would like an explanation as to why he is classified as ‘denied’ on his paperwork,” she said, her face set.
Riley grabbed the folder out of the younger boy’s limp hand and flipped it open to the first page. He examined it up and down, then began flipping through the following pages. When he got to the end, he nodded knowingly, closed the folder, and looked down at Ben.
“I can’t tell you why you’ve been denied; it doesn’t explain that in here,” he said. “I can direct you to someone who could tell you, that is, only if you really want to know.” He emphasized the “really” with a raise of his eyebrows.
Ben narrowed his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I want to know?”
Riley looked away an answered slowly, “I’m not so sure how much you want to meet this person.”
Suddenly Ben felt a strange tingling sensation beginning in his toes and winding its way up his legs, paralyzing him. He tried to look down to see what was going on, but instead he felt himself saying, “I want to see him, Riley. I really want to know.”
He couldn’t move his head, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tess had noticed the strange tone of his voice. “I want to go, too,” she said.
Riley looked over at her. “I’m sorry. This person only allows one person at a—”
“We’re lashed,” Tess said. “You can’t stop me.”
Ben felt the tingling sensation wind up his back and around his arms, one of which then reached over and took Tess’ hand. She looked back at him and he turned his head to her. He tried to send her a message by moving his eyes, the only things he had under his control, but she just looked confusedly back at him.
Riley took Ben’s file back from the small boy. “It says in here that he is alone. Not lashed.”
“That file must be outdated,” Ben felt himself say. “I can’t remember a time when I was alone.”
Riley looked suspiciously at them both. “If you’re lying, it could cost you.”
Tess stiffened, but said, “We like our chances, then.”
“Okay,” Riley said. “You’re going to see Medias.”
Ben breathed in quickly as he felt the paralysis leave him, and his grip on both Tess’ hand and gravity slackened and he almost fell over.
“Will you set up the appointment?” Tess was asking as Ben came fully back into himself.
“He’ll be expecting you within the week.”
She thanked him, Ben tried to follow suit, and they walked out.
Chapter Five
“Well,” Tamara began, keeping her voice low and collected, “you remember my sister. She was calm and dutiful; I believe you yourself once went so far as to call her obsequious.”
Yes. I remember your sister. I remember you, as well. For instance, I remember the day you left me and gave your word that you would never come back.
“I’m not coming back,” she protested. “I’m here on behalf of my sister. She’s dead.”
Naturally.
“Naturally?” Tamara asked, still keeping the usual shrillness out of her voice. “There was nothing natural about her death.”
I mean, naturally she has died after trauma like what she has experienced.
Tamara paused, keeping her thoughts off her face. “You knew, then.”
I can feel when one of mine dies. I did some investigation into the circumstances surrounding her. It was a terrible tragedy, but losing life to give life is as strong a fate as dying on the field of battle.
“The life she gave was not worth her sacrifice, and she did not give it willingly,” Tamara said coldly.
Is there something wrong with the child?
“The child sapped her mind until, when he was born, she was little more than a well preserved corpse possessed by a spirit.”
You have harsh feelings against this boy then?
Tamara hesitated. “I am apathetic; I care only about my sister’s final wishes,” she said. “In her last lucid moments, she told me how deeply she hoped for a good home for her son. He is in my care now, but you’ve known me since childhood; I am not a mother.”
It’s too late for that, Tamara. You cannot hide your emotions as well as you think you can; I can feel your hatred for this boy. You don’t mean to bring him here because there is a better home here than with you. You bring him here because you can’t stand to look at him.
“That is not the case,” Tamara said, trying not to take the bait and lose her composure. “Of course you’re too wise for me to fool you into thinking that I want this child as my own. My intentions for coming here are more than what I’ve said. But they do not have to do with any emotions I have in or out of this boy’s favor. I am scared for the safety of people Out There who come into contact with this boy and his obviously formidable powers.”
You think that because your sister died due to complications in childbirth, her son is obviously the culprit? Do you realize how often these things—
“My sister went mad. She did not just die.” Tamara’s voice went flat and she struggled to keep from gritting her teeth.
Silence.
“I am asking for help,” Tamara said. “Before I left, you said I needed to do that more often.”
You’re not asking me to help. You’re asking me to relieve you of a burden.
“He will be safe with you and the rest of the world will be safe without him.”
What is his name?
Tamara blinked. “What?”
What is the boy’s name?
“He—he doesn’t have one. He was just born and his mother is dead.”
What was his father’s name?
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I didn’t know him.”
And you didn’t name the child yourself?
“No. I don’t…I am not….my daughter’s name is Mond because of the moons in her eyes. I don’t name things well.”
You have a daughter?
“I took her in two years ago.”
I thought you said you were not fit to be a mother.
“I’m not. Mond and I are only together temporarily. Until I can find her a better home.”
A pause. If I am to take the boy, I will take the girl as well. As payment.
Tamara’s eyes widened in shock. “Payment? In what way does a child ever count as currency?”
You don’t want the boy. You do want the girl.
“I just told you, I’m finding a different home for Mond.”
I can feel your lies, Tamara. You think the girl is worth something. Either I take both or I take neither. Come back to me once you’ve decided.
Tamara could hear the finality in his words. Even though she didn’t want to end the conversation—it didn’t feel over for her part—she knew there was nothing she could do now. She turned and left the clearing. She had a long, cheerless walk through the once-familiar hills. She had forgotten the rank smell of decay.
Yes. I remember your sister. I remember you, as well. For instance, I remember the day you left me and gave your word that you would never come back.
“I’m not coming back,” she protested. “I’m here on behalf of my sister. She’s dead.”
Naturally.
“Naturally?” Tamara asked, still keeping the usual shrillness out of her voice. “There was nothing natural about her death.”
I mean, naturally she has died after trauma like what she has experienced.
Tamara paused, keeping her thoughts off her face. “You knew, then.”
I can feel when one of mine dies. I did some investigation into the circumstances surrounding her. It was a terrible tragedy, but losing life to give life is as strong a fate as dying on the field of battle.
“The life she gave was not worth her sacrifice, and she did not give it willingly,” Tamara said coldly.
Is there something wrong with the child?
“The child sapped her mind until, when he was born, she was little more than a well preserved corpse possessed by a spirit.”
You have harsh feelings against this boy then?
Tamara hesitated. “I am apathetic; I care only about my sister’s final wishes,” she said. “In her last lucid moments, she told me how deeply she hoped for a good home for her son. He is in my care now, but you’ve known me since childhood; I am not a mother.”
It’s too late for that, Tamara. You cannot hide your emotions as well as you think you can; I can feel your hatred for this boy. You don’t mean to bring him here because there is a better home here than with you. You bring him here because you can’t stand to look at him.
“That is not the case,” Tamara said, trying not to take the bait and lose her composure. “Of course you’re too wise for me to fool you into thinking that I want this child as my own. My intentions for coming here are more than what I’ve said. But they do not have to do with any emotions I have in or out of this boy’s favor. I am scared for the safety of people Out There who come into contact with this boy and his obviously formidable powers.”
You think that because your sister died due to complications in childbirth, her son is obviously the culprit? Do you realize how often these things—
“My sister went mad. She did not just die.” Tamara’s voice went flat and she struggled to keep from gritting her teeth.
Silence.
“I am asking for help,” Tamara said. “Before I left, you said I needed to do that more often.”
You’re not asking me to help. You’re asking me to relieve you of a burden.
“He will be safe with you and the rest of the world will be safe without him.”
What is his name?
Tamara blinked. “What?”
What is the boy’s name?
“He—he doesn’t have one. He was just born and his mother is dead.”
What was his father’s name?
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I didn’t know him.”
And you didn’t name the child yourself?
“No. I don’t…I am not….my daughter’s name is Mond because of the moons in her eyes. I don’t name things well.”
You have a daughter?
“I took her in two years ago.”
I thought you said you were not fit to be a mother.
“I’m not. Mond and I are only together temporarily. Until I can find her a better home.”
A pause. If I am to take the boy, I will take the girl as well. As payment.
Tamara’s eyes widened in shock. “Payment? In what way does a child ever count as currency?”
You don’t want the boy. You do want the girl.
“I just told you, I’m finding a different home for Mond.”
I can feel your lies, Tamara. You think the girl is worth something. Either I take both or I take neither. Come back to me once you’ve decided.
Tamara could hear the finality in his words. Even though she didn’t want to end the conversation—it didn’t feel over for her part—she knew there was nothing she could do now. She turned and left the clearing. She had a long, cheerless walk through the once-familiar hills. She had forgotten the rank smell of decay.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Chapter Three
Dinner with Geneva’s lashlings was worse than what Ben had prepared himself for. The food, though somewhat dry for his taste, wasn’t the worst part of the meal. The worst part of the meal was that he was reminded that, wherever he went, he experienced the same chasm of loneliness that it seemed others had found a way to cross.
Living with Gus and Martha wasn’t always painful—Martha was his sister and Gus had told Ben on several occasions that he felt lashed just as much to Ben as he was to Martha. But going to dinner with lashed couples, watching the way they interacted with each other under the full and safe assumption that the strength of the relationship could not fade no matter the actions of either side…something about that unsettled Ben and always made him feel inadequate.
Living in Medias, he had grown accustomed to not remembering the beginnings of things. The same darkness that clouded his past—When did he first come to live with Martha and Gus or was it they who came to live with him? Why was Tess not his sister when he felt so much closer to her than to Martha? Was he really related to anyone? Who and where are their parents?—clouded everyone around him as well, so he could get no answers from anyone if he ever asked why he didn’t have a lash.
Everyone at the dinner party was lashed, most of them, like Gus and Martha, had been together for years, but the two couples throwing the party hadn’t been lashed for very long. But neither of those time spans meant anything. The lashlings couldn’t remember a time before they were lashed any more than Gus and Martha could. Time was not an object, which was both the answer and the question of why Ben could never be lashed.
After the party, Ben told his family he was going to go catfish fishing on the edge of the hills and wandered his separate way, knowing that he wasn’t fooling either of them. He did walk to the edge of the hills and sit by the catfish pond, but instead of fishing, he lay back and watched the darkening clouds pass overhead, covering and uncovering the stars as they opened bleary eyes to the night.
“Ben?”
He blinked, sighed, smiled. “Yeah.”
“Fancy seeing you here,” Tess said quietly, coming to stand over him and let her curly hair hang around her face and frame her against the sky.
Ben patted the ground next to him, and she took the cue to lie down at his side. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“The loosening,” he said. “You?”
“The same. It got to the point where I couldn’t remember a time where I wasn’t cleaning house, even though I knew there had to have been one.”
“There was one. I remember it,” Ben assured her. “That time when I saw you in the market and you told me that you didn’t have anything to do and that you’d just left the house because you could.”
“Oh right. I remember that. Thanks.” He heard her hair rub against the grass and felt her breath against his ear when she spoke again. “What was wrong with you?”
“Dinner party,” he said. “Couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t eat poorly seasoned food for dinner every night.”
She laughed lightly and turned her face back to the sky. “You’re lying.”
“Yeah.”
“I was in a shop today where some musicians were playing what they called ‘cloud music,’” Tess said.
Ben laughed once loudly. “What did it sound like?”
She pointed to three wisps that caught the gray-blue of twilight. “It’s hard to describe, but it really sounded like them.”
Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want to leave Medias, Tess.”
She let her hand fall into her lap. They sat in silence for a few minutes before she rolled onto her knees and brushed the dead leaves off of her back. Ben closed his eyes and bit his lip as he listened to her walk off.
He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t wish that she wouldn’t have been able to walk away.
Living with Gus and Martha wasn’t always painful—Martha was his sister and Gus had told Ben on several occasions that he felt lashed just as much to Ben as he was to Martha. But going to dinner with lashed couples, watching the way they interacted with each other under the full and safe assumption that the strength of the relationship could not fade no matter the actions of either side…something about that unsettled Ben and always made him feel inadequate.
Living in Medias, he had grown accustomed to not remembering the beginnings of things. The same darkness that clouded his past—When did he first come to live with Martha and Gus or was it they who came to live with him? Why was Tess not his sister when he felt so much closer to her than to Martha? Was he really related to anyone? Who and where are their parents?—clouded everyone around him as well, so he could get no answers from anyone if he ever asked why he didn’t have a lash.
Everyone at the dinner party was lashed, most of them, like Gus and Martha, had been together for years, but the two couples throwing the party hadn’t been lashed for very long. But neither of those time spans meant anything. The lashlings couldn’t remember a time before they were lashed any more than Gus and Martha could. Time was not an object, which was both the answer and the question of why Ben could never be lashed.
After the party, Ben told his family he was going to go catfish fishing on the edge of the hills and wandered his separate way, knowing that he wasn’t fooling either of them. He did walk to the edge of the hills and sit by the catfish pond, but instead of fishing, he lay back and watched the darkening clouds pass overhead, covering and uncovering the stars as they opened bleary eyes to the night.
“Ben?”
He blinked, sighed, smiled. “Yeah.”
“Fancy seeing you here,” Tess said quietly, coming to stand over him and let her curly hair hang around her face and frame her against the sky.
Ben patted the ground next to him, and she took the cue to lie down at his side. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“The loosening,” he said. “You?”
“The same. It got to the point where I couldn’t remember a time where I wasn’t cleaning house, even though I knew there had to have been one.”
“There was one. I remember it,” Ben assured her. “That time when I saw you in the market and you told me that you didn’t have anything to do and that you’d just left the house because you could.”
“Oh right. I remember that. Thanks.” He heard her hair rub against the grass and felt her breath against his ear when she spoke again. “What was wrong with you?”
“Dinner party,” he said. “Couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t eat poorly seasoned food for dinner every night.”
She laughed lightly and turned her face back to the sky. “You’re lying.”
“Yeah.”
“I was in a shop today where some musicians were playing what they called ‘cloud music,’” Tess said.
Ben laughed once loudly. “What did it sound like?”
She pointed to three wisps that caught the gray-blue of twilight. “It’s hard to describe, but it really sounded like them.”
Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want to leave Medias, Tess.”
She let her hand fall into her lap. They sat in silence for a few minutes before she rolled onto her knees and brushed the dead leaves off of her back. Ben closed his eyes and bit his lip as he listened to her walk off.
He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t wish that she wouldn’t have been able to walk away.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Chapter Two
“This…this thing,” Tamara yelled in disgust, pointing to the writhing creature on the bed, “is not, cannot be, and will never become my sister. My sister was a woman of poise and perfection and this thing is three parts animal.”
“I don’t understand,” the doctor called over the screams of the woman on the bed. “The baby is perfectly healthy. He was extremely large for a newborn—”
“She was in intense pain through labor,” the midwife offered.
“She has been degenerating into this mass of worthlessness for the past nine months,” Tamara yelled. “She started out the beaming lady she always was and slowly lost her mind to that vampiric demon-child—”
“You’re not suggesting the fetus did this,” the doctor said sternly.
“I know it did. It took until she had nothing left to give. It sucked her dry until she turned into this half-dead urchin…”
Suddenly the baby screamed. Not the regular cry of a needy child, but a shrill, hawk-like scream. Everyone in the room went silent, even its mother, who rolled to her side, laying her hair in the pool of sweat that had collected on the pillow.
The scream droned on, higher and longer that the baby’s tiny lungs should have been able to support it. The mother joined with a low, guttural moan, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
Tamara, who had been on the verge of angry, hot tears for the past several hours, now let go and wailed, running from the room.
The sterile white hallway outside was short for the number of strides it took Tamara to barrel down it. And then she was out into the brisk dawn, the sun sluggishly pulling itself over the distant hills of Medias. Looking into those hills, Tamara let out a scream of her own: frustrated, pining, and fearful.
The child must die, her first thoughts.
You could never kill a newborn baby, her second thoughts.
My sister will die soon, herself.
That child will be mine to care for.
Mond will be his sister and he will kill her.
He will do to me what he has done to my sister.
Someone has to take this child away from the world, strip him of any power, and keep us all safe.
The hills were scarcely more than knolls, especially from this distance, but Tamara knew the secrets of Medias, and it knew hers, so the size of those hills was something she felt and didn’t see.
She turned around to the midwife lodge and judged how much time she had to herself, then turned back and sprinted towards those hills. Someone had to do something, and it wouldn’t be her. She had done too many things in her lifetime. It was someone else’s turn now. Someone who couldn’t say no.
“I don’t understand,” the doctor called over the screams of the woman on the bed. “The baby is perfectly healthy. He was extremely large for a newborn—”
“She was in intense pain through labor,” the midwife offered.
“She has been degenerating into this mass of worthlessness for the past nine months,” Tamara yelled. “She started out the beaming lady she always was and slowly lost her mind to that vampiric demon-child—”
“You’re not suggesting the fetus did this,” the doctor said sternly.
“I know it did. It took until she had nothing left to give. It sucked her dry until she turned into this half-dead urchin…”
Suddenly the baby screamed. Not the regular cry of a needy child, but a shrill, hawk-like scream. Everyone in the room went silent, even its mother, who rolled to her side, laying her hair in the pool of sweat that had collected on the pillow.
The scream droned on, higher and longer that the baby’s tiny lungs should have been able to support it. The mother joined with a low, guttural moan, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
Tamara, who had been on the verge of angry, hot tears for the past several hours, now let go and wailed, running from the room.
The sterile white hallway outside was short for the number of strides it took Tamara to barrel down it. And then she was out into the brisk dawn, the sun sluggishly pulling itself over the distant hills of Medias. Looking into those hills, Tamara let out a scream of her own: frustrated, pining, and fearful.
The child must die, her first thoughts.
You could never kill a newborn baby, her second thoughts.
My sister will die soon, herself.
That child will be mine to care for.
Mond will be his sister and he will kill her.
He will do to me what he has done to my sister.
Someone has to take this child away from the world, strip him of any power, and keep us all safe.
The hills were scarcely more than knolls, especially from this distance, but Tamara knew the secrets of Medias, and it knew hers, so the size of those hills was something she felt and didn’t see.
She turned around to the midwife lodge and judged how much time she had to herself, then turned back and sprinted towards those hills. Someone had to do something, and it wouldn’t be her. She had done too many things in her lifetime. It was someone else’s turn now. Someone who couldn’t say no.
Chapter One
“I…guess no one’s coming…?” Gus moaned.
“Lying down on the floor…inside the house…with your eyes closed…” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “Yes. You’re an excellent look out. No one could possibly penetrate our fortress of a home.”
“Oh ho, well trained and suitably qualified Sergeant,” Gus said. He laid his arm heavily across his eyes. “I’m sorry to have failed you. In the future, I will more diligently try to follow your example and sit at the table gorging myself on raisins.”
Ben laughed and glanced out the window. “I think we’re safe anyway, despite our best efforts.”
“Well,” Gus said with a flinch, “maybe not so much. Martha may or may not be a bit frustrated with our day filled with games and our conspicuous lack of completed work by the time she gets back.”
Ben popped another raisin in his mouth. “We can take her, I think.”
Tiny streams of sunlight filtered through the trees and into the window. Gus sighed comfortably as he wiggled across the floor towards them.
“Have you seen Tess lately?” he asked.
“Well, yesterday we met for lunch, but only for a few minutes. Her housemates have been rambunctious of late and she’s been spending extra time cleaning up after their…er…shenanigans. Her words, not mine,” he added.
“And before that? How long ago was it before that?”
“That I’d seen Tess? I think it was a couple of days before.” Ben narrowed his eyes and popped another raisin. “Why do you care?”
“I just find you two highly intriguing,” Gus said, rolling onto his side to face Ben. “You know you’ll never be lashed, right? If you’re not lashed yet…”
Ben shook his head. “Just stop there, Gus. Tess and I… That’s not us.”
“Okay.” They looked at each other, Gus probing, Ben defending. “It is too bad, though,” Gus said pointedly after a moment.
Ben didn’t say anything. He just popped another raisin.
As the minutes slipped by, the spots of light on the floor of the cabin slid across Gus’ face, further and further up the wall. After a time, Gus’ breathing became even and loud. Ben still sat at the table, his bowl now empty. He listened for sounds of the troop that was roaming around the woods looking for their hideout, sounds that were unlikely to come.
He stood up and walked to the open door and leaned his elbows on the balcony railing. The air was wet with autumn; Ben watched the goose bumps rise on his arms. A large black raven landed on a branch of a tree near where he stood. She looked at him directly and croaked, in the beautiful and chilling way that ravens have. She probed and he defended. Then she cocked her head, croaked again, and flew off.
The forest around him was alive with movement, which threw him off. Usually the forest looked like the decaying wasteland that it was because few animals could easily find safe homes in the trees and had to live elsewhere. It was their wild activity that gave life to the eternally dying woods, and it was so rarely encountered en masse—usually only one or two birds or squirrels came at a time searching in vain for food.
All the creatures in these hills knew the land’s deep secret, the truth that lay buried and constantly growing under the soil and bark. Most animals that could avoid this landscape did; they gained nothing from it, and it could take so much without their knowledge.
Not so today. Ben watched a group of small birds take flight over the yellowing canopy and fly off towards the western hills, away from the center of the forest.
Ben heard from below him soft footsteps accompanied by the whips and scratches of tiny branches being pushed aside. The air was quiet but thick, and Ben could only guess how far off the person was.
“Gus,” he called softly. “Either our foes have sent a scout and we’ll actually have to participate in this game now, or Martha is back.”
Gus gave a little groan and slowly rolled into a kneeling position. “Can we just pretend that it’s not Martha and fire our ammunition at whoever they are?”
“My guess is that the game ended hours ago.”
“But I would really like to continue postponing whatever it is Martha has for us on her to-do list.”
“So…you think pelting her with pebbles and berries and thwarting her attempts to reenter her own home is going to have a good outcome for you, then?”
Gus blinked. “You’re right.” He stood up and walked over and grabbed the now empty bowl of raisins and brought to the small sink filled with plates and silver from the night before. “I’ll wash these if you’ll change the sheets.”
Ben went to the second room where the three beds were and began stripping off the linen. He had gotten as far as refitting the first two beds when he felt someone begin climbing the ladder to the door. He finished quickly and stuffed the dirty sheets into the closet behind a box of his old clothes. By the time he walked back into the kitchen, Martha was standing in the doorway, kicking dead leaves off of her shoes.
“I assume I would be correct in guessing that you two have done approximately nothing all day?”
Gus and Ben shared a look of innocent confusion. “What makes you think so ill of us, sister?” Ben asked.
“Some boys came into the shop today asking around if anyone knew where your ‘hideout’ was. I guessed, being the sly warriors that you are, you would forgo the rules of engagement just this once and laze about in your house.”
“Surely you can’t be serious!” Gus mock exclaimed.
“It doesn’t matter to me, really. We’re going away for dinner anyway.”
Both Ben and Gus’ brows furrowed. “Where exactly is ‘away’?” Ben asked.
“Geneva, a friend of mine, knows a few sets of lashlings who are looking for people hungry enough to try their new recipes.”
Gus’ eyes brightened, and Ben concealed his anxiety with equal happiness. “No dishes then. Let’s go.”
“Lying down on the floor…inside the house…with your eyes closed…” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “Yes. You’re an excellent look out. No one could possibly penetrate our fortress of a home.”
“Oh ho, well trained and suitably qualified Sergeant,” Gus said. He laid his arm heavily across his eyes. “I’m sorry to have failed you. In the future, I will more diligently try to follow your example and sit at the table gorging myself on raisins.”
Ben laughed and glanced out the window. “I think we’re safe anyway, despite our best efforts.”
“Well,” Gus said with a flinch, “maybe not so much. Martha may or may not be a bit frustrated with our day filled with games and our conspicuous lack of completed work by the time she gets back.”
Ben popped another raisin in his mouth. “We can take her, I think.”
Tiny streams of sunlight filtered through the trees and into the window. Gus sighed comfortably as he wiggled across the floor towards them.
“Have you seen Tess lately?” he asked.
“Well, yesterday we met for lunch, but only for a few minutes. Her housemates have been rambunctious of late and she’s been spending extra time cleaning up after their…er…shenanigans. Her words, not mine,” he added.
“And before that? How long ago was it before that?”
“That I’d seen Tess? I think it was a couple of days before.” Ben narrowed his eyes and popped another raisin. “Why do you care?”
“I just find you two highly intriguing,” Gus said, rolling onto his side to face Ben. “You know you’ll never be lashed, right? If you’re not lashed yet…”
Ben shook his head. “Just stop there, Gus. Tess and I… That’s not us.”
“Okay.” They looked at each other, Gus probing, Ben defending. “It is too bad, though,” Gus said pointedly after a moment.
Ben didn’t say anything. He just popped another raisin.
As the minutes slipped by, the spots of light on the floor of the cabin slid across Gus’ face, further and further up the wall. After a time, Gus’ breathing became even and loud. Ben still sat at the table, his bowl now empty. He listened for sounds of the troop that was roaming around the woods looking for their hideout, sounds that were unlikely to come.
He stood up and walked to the open door and leaned his elbows on the balcony railing. The air was wet with autumn; Ben watched the goose bumps rise on his arms. A large black raven landed on a branch of a tree near where he stood. She looked at him directly and croaked, in the beautiful and chilling way that ravens have. She probed and he defended. Then she cocked her head, croaked again, and flew off.
The forest around him was alive with movement, which threw him off. Usually the forest looked like the decaying wasteland that it was because few animals could easily find safe homes in the trees and had to live elsewhere. It was their wild activity that gave life to the eternally dying woods, and it was so rarely encountered en masse—usually only one or two birds or squirrels came at a time searching in vain for food.
All the creatures in these hills knew the land’s deep secret, the truth that lay buried and constantly growing under the soil and bark. Most animals that could avoid this landscape did; they gained nothing from it, and it could take so much without their knowledge.
Not so today. Ben watched a group of small birds take flight over the yellowing canopy and fly off towards the western hills, away from the center of the forest.
Ben heard from below him soft footsteps accompanied by the whips and scratches of tiny branches being pushed aside. The air was quiet but thick, and Ben could only guess how far off the person was.
“Gus,” he called softly. “Either our foes have sent a scout and we’ll actually have to participate in this game now, or Martha is back.”
Gus gave a little groan and slowly rolled into a kneeling position. “Can we just pretend that it’s not Martha and fire our ammunition at whoever they are?”
“My guess is that the game ended hours ago.”
“But I would really like to continue postponing whatever it is Martha has for us on her to-do list.”
“So…you think pelting her with pebbles and berries and thwarting her attempts to reenter her own home is going to have a good outcome for you, then?”
Gus blinked. “You’re right.” He stood up and walked over and grabbed the now empty bowl of raisins and brought to the small sink filled with plates and silver from the night before. “I’ll wash these if you’ll change the sheets.”
Ben went to the second room where the three beds were and began stripping off the linen. He had gotten as far as refitting the first two beds when he felt someone begin climbing the ladder to the door. He finished quickly and stuffed the dirty sheets into the closet behind a box of his old clothes. By the time he walked back into the kitchen, Martha was standing in the doorway, kicking dead leaves off of her shoes.
“I assume I would be correct in guessing that you two have done approximately nothing all day?”
Gus and Ben shared a look of innocent confusion. “What makes you think so ill of us, sister?” Ben asked.
“Some boys came into the shop today asking around if anyone knew where your ‘hideout’ was. I guessed, being the sly warriors that you are, you would forgo the rules of engagement just this once and laze about in your house.”
“Surely you can’t be serious!” Gus mock exclaimed.
“It doesn’t matter to me, really. We’re going away for dinner anyway.”
Both Ben and Gus’ brows furrowed. “Where exactly is ‘away’?” Ben asked.
“Geneva, a friend of mine, knows a few sets of lashlings who are looking for people hungry enough to try their new recipes.”
Gus’ eyes brightened, and Ben concealed his anxiety with equal happiness. “No dishes then. Let’s go.”
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Preliminaries (Installment Five)
.JPG.jpeg "Does this not remind you of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?")
A mushroom is the fleshy, spore-bearing fruiting body of a fungus, typically produced above ground on soil or on its food source. The standard for the name "mushroom" is the cultivated white button mushroom, Agaricus bisporus, hence the word mushroom is most often applied to those fungi (Basidiomycota, Agaricomycetes) that have a stem (stipe), a cap (pileus), and gills (lamellae, sing. lamella) on the underside of the cap, just as do store-bought white mushrooms.The word "mushroom" can also be used for a wide variety of gilled fungi, with or without stems, and the term is used even more generally, to describe both the fleshy fruiting bodies of some Ascomycota and the woody or leathery fruiting bodies of some Basidiomycota, depending upon the context of the word.
Forms deviating from the standard morphology usually have more specific names, such as "puffball", "stinkhorn", and "morel", and gilled mushrooms themselves are often called "agarics" in reference to their similarity to Agaricus or their placement in the order Agaricales. By extension, the term "mushroom" can also designate the entire fungus when in culture or the thallus (called a mycelium) of species forming the fruiting bodies called mushrooms, or the species itself.
Though mushroom fruiting bodies are short-lived, the underlying mycelium can itself be long-lived and massive. A colony of Armillaria ostoyae in Malheur National Forest in the United States is estimated to be 2,400 years old, possibly older, and spans an estimated 2,200 acres. Most of the fungus is underground and in decaying wood or dying tree roots in the form of white mycelia combined with black shoelace-like rhizomorphs that bridge colonized separated woody substrates.
From Wikipedia’s “Mushrooms”
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People have known about the "honey mushroom" for some time, but were not aware of how large and invasive this species of fungus could be. The fungus was investigated more closely by researchers when they realized that it was responsible for killing large groves of evergreen trees. When foresters cut into an infected tree they would find spreading white filaments, mycelia, which draw water and carbohydrates from the tree to feed the fungus. Researchers collected samples of the fungus from a widespread area and analyzed the DNA. A large sample of the specimens they collected turned out to be from a single organism.
Humongous Fungus
Until August of 2000 it was thought that the largest living organism was a fungus of the same species (Armillaria ostoyae) that covered 1,500 acres (600 hectares) found living in the state of Washington. But then mycology experts surmised that if an Armillaria that large could be found in Washington, then perhaps one just as large could be responsible for the trees dying in the Malheur National Forest in the Blue Mountains of eastern Oregon. Researchers were astonished at the sheer magnitude of the find. This most recent find was estimated to cover over 2,200 acres (890 hectares) and be at least 2,400 years old, possibly older.
To go into the forest where this giant makes its home you would not look at it and see a huge, looming mushroom. Armillaria grows and spreads primarily underground and the sheer bulk of this organism lies in the earth, out of sight. Occasionally, during the fall season, this specimen will send up golden-colored "honey mushrooms" (see photo, above left) that are the visible evidence of its hulking mass beneath. Scientists have not yet begun to attempt to estimate the weight of this specimen of Armillaria.
How is it possible for a single fungus to get so big? Scientists who study this species of funges have postulated that the huge size may be a function of the dry climate in eastern Oregon. Spores have a hard time establishing new organisms, making room for the old-timers to spread. Without competition from other specimens this enormous Armillaria has been able to grow and spread unchecked
How is it possible for a single fungus to get so big? Scientists who study this species of funges have postulated that the huge size may be a function of the dry climate in eastern Oregon. Spores have a hard time establishing new organisms, making room for the old-timers to spread. Without competition from other specimens this enormous Armillaria has been able to grow and spread unchecked
From extremescience.com/biggestlivingthing.htm
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