Sentience, page 19
part #1 of Farm Land Series
It wasn’t going to be easy. I remembered the day Bracken had shown me the lie of the land. To the right side of the river were the hunting grounds of the flesh-eaters, and to the left was the valley of the spiders… an even less tempting prospect. Perhaps I could follow the river, along the banks, using it to hide myself. More than anything I did not want to enter the domain of the spiders. It was going to be dangerous either way, but if I got loose, I thought I could evade the flesh-eaters. Others had done it before.
As I shifted my weight, the chain around my neck pulled at the stake. Almost imperceptibly, I heard the fibres of the wood creak. The stake is as rotten as the rest of this shelter, I thought. Remembering my control over the tree, which admittedly had been partial, I thought I could break the stake and escape.
The shackles around my wrists and ankles would hamper my progress, but it could not be helped. Perhaps, in an emergency, they might be used as weapons. I had seen men wrestling in the village. Iron wrists might be valuable, if I could bear the weight.
When they go to sleep, I thought. I will break free.
But I needed to know where I was going. It was no use blindly running into the woods and hoping for the best. I relaxed my back against the wooden wall of my cage. I tried to Reach.
I was going to find a way home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
To Find a Way Home
My mind relaxed under my soft urging, and although I felt weak, I seemed to have the energy to Reach.
I felt my mind step from my body and gaze down upon myself. I looked awful. Blood was matted in my hair, grazes and black bruises covered my skin, and my clothes were in shreds. Huddled on the dirty mat, I looked down on my own form with pity, then looked to the hovel where the family who held me prisoner lived. Curiosity made me flow to the house, through the rotten door hanging like a drunken man on its hinges, and within.
It was one room, divided into four sections by old boards and ragged cloth. There was one large, central chamber, where a fire burned smoky and weak at one wall, with a pot set on it, boiling water. A small creature, about the size of one of my fingers, silver-grey in colour, with a long, sinuous body and clear antenna, flashed across the floor. The woman jumped after it with a spoon raised to kill, but it streaked under a floorboard and vanished. “Blasted silver-fish,” she muttered, resuming her work at the fire.
Within this room there was a rough table and chairs at which two children sat sharing something. It was not something I had seen before. It opened like a butterfly to reveal thin segments. There was something written on it, like the symbols in the cave, but I didn’t know what it said. Both children were scanning it with their eyes.
The first was the girl I knew as Frances, the second was a boy-child; younger than the girl. His eyes followed her finger as she laced it along a line of printed writing. Slowly, he mouthed words at her urging. There was a thin layer of grease on the page, as there was on the table. Everything within the house was dirty, grey. It was the fire that made it so. Whatever they were burning gave out not clean smoke, like the wood we burnt in the village, but a dark, clinging, cloying fug that filled their lungs and lives with its sooty pall.
The rest of the rooms held beds, much like ours in the village, although these, too, were dirty and ill-kept. I saw a store where scraps of green leaves and old bread stood on a little table. Another dish held a pile of dead insects, the same as I had seen scuttle across the floor. There was little there.
They are dying, I thought. No wonder they wanted to sell me.
Through the door came the father. Although he was tall and well-built, his clothes hung from him. His body was gaunt. He held a package in his hands. “Here!” he said jubilantly as he thrust it at the woman. “Cook us up a feast to celebrate our good fortune.” He laughed.
She held the package tight. “You shouldn’t have spent the last of the money on this, Peter,” she said.
“The deal is as good as made,” he said. “And soon we’ll be better off than we have been in years. Come on, Mary, how often does something like this happen to people like us? We should take good things when they come and be thankful for them. That animal is going to make us all rich!”
“She’s not really an animal,” said a little voice.
The father turned, frowning. “What do you mean, Frances?”
“She can talk,” said the child, staring at her father with entirely innocent eyes. Her brother looked at her, his eyes wide with amazement. “You said animals can’t talk,” Frances went on. “But this one can, so she can’t be an animal, can she?”
“It can’t talk, Frances,” said her mother quickly. “Sometimes they make noises that sound like talking, but they just copy words that come from human mouths. They don’t understand them. It can’t talk.”
“Yes she can,” insisted Frances. “She said has a name, and a husband, like you have Daddy.”
“Frances!” said her father sharply. “It’s naughty to make things up.”
“I’m not making things up,” said the child petulantly. “I talked to her. Her name is Holt and she doesn’t want us to sell her.” Frances frowned. “She said she doesn’t belong to us.”
“Frances,” the father said in a dreadful voice. “I know you wanted to keep this animal as a pet, but we can’t. I understand you have made up this story in order to keep it, but you’re a big girl now and you have to understand we can’t keep it. It’s no use to us, but if we sell it, you and Billy can go to school. You can have a better life and live in the town with your uncle. We can afford to give him money to keep you and to make sure you get jobs when you are gown up. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Frances nodded. “Yes, but…” She trailed off, looking in fear at her father and mother as they glared at her.
“But what?” her father asked.
“But she’s not just a stupid cow,” said Frances, close to tears. “She said she’s a person, like us.”
“That’s enough,” said the father, advancing on his daughter and slapping her hard across the face. “There will be no more of this talk. The animal is ours to sell and you will learn to respect your elders. Go to your room.”
Frances held a hand to her flaming cheek, reddened and bruised where her father had hit her. She looked from her mother to her father. Her eyes filled with tears, and she ran from the main room to one behind a thin curtain and threw herself onto one of the beds, crying.
The mother smiled at the father. “She’ll get over it,” she said. “Children are so impressionable at her age. She won’t remember it in a few weeks’ time.” She lifted the package to her nose and sniffed it hungrily. “I’ll get started on this for dinner,” she said. “Paul should be here by the time it’s cooked.”
I shuddered as I watched her open the package and pull skinned, red flesh from it. Mary started humming a little tune as she cut the meat into sections and dropped it into a pan, sizzling over the fire. As salt and fat started to perfume the air, I flowed from the building, unwilling to stand, even insubstantial as I was, within the stench of death.
I turned towards the river. Its gentle waves lapped over white stones, making a sweet, burbling sound. Even here, amongst such happy coexistence with death, the river seemed pure. Touching its waters with my wraith’s hands, I hoped there were other parts of the world untainted by the stain of evil.
And yet, I pitied them, these people. Here they were, so close to the town, so close to so many people, and no one cared they were starving to death. If this were the village, no one would be left like this, to waste away, without hope, friends or aid. If Bracken was right, and these people had been lied to, so the rich could keep everything for themselves, they deserved my pity. What they did not deserve was my life.
I turned, and like the wind, started to flow upstream, following the winding path of the river. Up, up, up… the forest streamed past me in a blur of lush greens and browns. Trees and plants flew past my eyes. I dodged raindrops, even though they couldn’t touch me. As I climbed higher into the forest, the river became larger, its flow faster, heavier… great drops where the river fell from the edges of the land cascaded below me.
I was far from home.
And then, I saw it. I almost flew straight past, so well concealed was the village inside the forest. But as I flowed through air and space I caught a glimpse of something, glinting in the forest like sunlight. I turned and flew towards it.
And stopped short.
Sitting on a rock, alone, his head in his hands… was Skye.
His blond hair had fallen around his face, his shoulders shook. He was crying. Against his legs stood the shining implement that had brought me to him; the axe he had used to chop down the tree that saved the villagers, and took me away.
I flowed towards him, into his mind. Do not cry, my love, I said. I am here.
He started up in one great leap at the sound of my voice and looked around, eyes darting from side to side, his face wild with amazement.
No, I said, almost chuckling. In here.
“Where are you?” he said aloud, too surprised to Reach.
Far from home, but so glad to see your face, I replied. But do not cry. I am not dead.
Holt, I thought I had lost you. Where are you?
I don’t know, I said. Far away, I think. I was taken captive by flesh-eaters who mean to sell me in the market. I think I can escape, but they have put chains on me, so I will not be able to travel well or easily.
I felt him blanch at the words ‘flesh-eaters’ but he stilled his panic. What can I do to help?
I am downriver, I said. Tonight I will escape and start heading up through the forest towards you. If you head downwards, you can set me free from my chains and then we can move faster together.
Are you sure you can get away?
I am. They have me chained to a stake, which is as rotten as the stench of their town.
I felt him laugh. I’ll come to you.
Follow the river downwards, and I will meet you along the way. If I can, I will Reach to you each night, to guide you to me.
I will find you, he said.
Is everyone else alright?
Yes, he said and smiled. Everyone else is fine, although Leaf hasn’t met my eyes for more than two days since you were washed away.
Has it only been two days? I asked. It feels like a lifetime.
For me too, Holt.
I love you, Skye, I said.
I love you, he said softly. When I thought you were dead…
Hush, love, I said. I am not dead. This is one animal those flesh-eaters will not grease their pots with. Follow the river, listen for me. We will find each other.
Find a weapon, he said. Don’t head into the forest unarmed.
I have to go, I said. If I leave my body for too long, I don’t know what might happen to it. I’ll leave tonight. But take care in the forest. Take no risks.
I promise, he said. And Holt…
I had started to prepare to leave his mind, but I stopped. What is it? I asked.
I want you to become my wife, to be with me for the rest of our lives, bonded together.
If I could have smiled, I would have. I will be your wife, I said.
Everything of myself I give to you.
Find me, I said. I love you.
I released my mind from his and took one last look at his handsome face before reluctantly flowing back into the stream which carried me from the heart of love, to the seat of all darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aid
The flesh-eaters did not notice I had gone anywhere. I doubted they understood Reaching. To them, it must have looked as though I was asleep, lying vacant-eyed in my little cage, shackled and bound.
As my mind stepped back into my body, I heard the jubilant sound of voices shouting welcome to each other. The family from the other hovel were walking towards this one: a man, the one they called Paul; another woman, smaller than Mary, but just as wan and skeletal, and two boys, older than Frances and Billy. They looked at me with interest as they passed. They were all carrying meagre offerings; bread, a small package of flesh, and clay containers, like flasks, which Peter grasped with glee when Paul held them out to him.
They stood on the rickety porch, pouring the drink out. I surmised it was something like lea… there was the same type of stiff smell that pulled the air taut as it made contact with the liquid.
They toasted their cups at me. “To the founder of the feast,” said Peter and laughed, the others following suit. I narrowed my eyes at them. I had no intention of talking to them, all I wanted to do was escape. By the manner in which Peter had shouted and hit his daughter for the mere suggestion that I was capable of rational speech or thought, I knew my words would do no good. They didn’t want to think of me as a person.
I was their way out of this life. My death was their future.
They wandered into the house and for hours there was shouting, talking and the sounds of eating. As the skies grew dark and the noises from within started to become subdued, I concentrated on the stake. I flowed into it in the same way I had with the tree. I could feel where its fibres were weak. It would not take me long to break the stake, but I must wait until the people were in bed. My best chance for escape lay in quietly slipping away, gaining as much ground through the night as I could. With my wrists and ankles bound, it would be hard going, but perhaps I might find a way to free myself once I was loose. I pondered on whether I could do it through Reaching, but I could not seem to push myself inside metal as I had with wood.
“So there are limits,” I said and smiled. I will tell Bracken about this when I return, I thought. I could help with tree-felling now. It might make the building of defences easier, if I could learn to control my power.
Noises from the house lulled. The other group of people stumbled from the door and shouted with good humour to Peter and his family. Doors closed and lights from the town across the water started to dull.
As the blackness of deep night slipped silently over the world, I released my mind into the fibres of the stake and, as softly as I could, started to push them apart.
Then I stopped. A little noise, a soft tinkling, made me sit up, rigid with fear. I jumped back into my head, opened my eyes and saw Frances standing near me.
In her hand were keys.
I knew what they were from my time in the Factory, but I didn’t know what she was up to.
“What are you doing?” I asked, whispering.
Her face was bruised from where her father had struck her, but her eyes were determined. “I’m going to set you free,” she said softly and knelt at my side, pushing her little key into the lock on my ankles.
The key turned slowly. There was a soft clink as iron fell to the floor. We both glanced nervously at the house, but there was not a sound from within.
Her key turned again at my wrists and neck. I took the chains away and sighed gratefully as their weight was removed from my flesh. I rubbed at sores on my arms and legs, and around my neck, caused by the rusty chains. They needed washing. Already, shiny discharge was seeping from them.
I gazed up at the little girl. “Thank you,” I said simply.
“I don’t think you’re an animal,” she said. “And if you’re a person, you shouldn’t be kept like this.”
“They will hit you again.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been hit before,” she said. “Daddy and Mummy get angry, because we’re so poor, because they can’t look after us as they want to.”
“If they want to look after you, they shouldn’t hit you.”
“Sometimes they forget what they’re angry about,” she said sadly. “So they get angry at us.”
“I don’t want you or your brother to get hurt because of me.”
“They won’t hurt Billy,” she said. “I make sure of that. If they look like they’re about to hit him, I shout something bad. Then they come for me, and leave him alone.”
There was an expression on her face that made my heart ache. She looked older, wiser, and more experienced. Her fragile years should not have granted her this knowledge. Frances had grown up before she had been granted a chance to be young.
“You love your brother very much.”
“He’s my friend,” she said. “Like you.”
“Where I come from, friends don’t leave their friends to get hurt.”
“But you must go,” she said, looking panicked. “You said you don’t want to die, and I don’t want you to either.” She frowned. “After you said that about your mother, I didn’t eat my dinner. I kept thinking, it might be… her.”
“There are other things you can eat.”
