The Human Son

by Adrian J. Walker

  Her eyes darted about the room. She was standing taller now, filled with life, and I saw something of the young being she had once been.

  ‘You said “some of the council”. Dare I ask who initiated the disagreement?’

  ‘Caige.’

  She scowled and shook her head.

  ‘Caige… I don’t know where I went wrong with that boy, I really don’t. But wait, why does the child exist if they do not intend to resurrect?’

  ‘He was supposed to be a test. His behaviour was to determine whether the question of human resurrection would be reconsidered.’

  ‘A test?’ she said. Her look of distaste became a frown, and she leaned towards me. ‘It was your idea, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, reeling from her approach, ‘All I wanted was settle the dispute, but that was so long ago, and now…’

  ‘The child has won you over.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. Completely.’

  With a smile, she straightened up.

  ‘I assume that Caige has taken control of the council.’

  ‘That is how it seems.’

  ‘Then I suspect that the question has already been answered.’

  ‘It may not matter now, in any case.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He is ill.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘His heart is weak. It gives him pain, and I don’t know how to take it away.’

  Thinking, she touched a trembling finger to her chin and turned to a series of shelves beside the fire, upon which an array of bottles and urns stood in various degrees of decay. She ran a finger along them, removing dust as she went.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Potions, ointments, catalysts, what have you. Elise lived far longer than she should have done, thanks to me, and they’ve become quite useful of late, with my condition, you know. I would be dead by now were it not for… ah, here we are.’ She lifted a vial from the shelf and inspected it. ‘This is artificial blood, seeded with a version of the ertian immunomites. It is a muted culture; our own blood would kill a human, of course, but this—’ she handed me the vial ‘—this might help him. It’s my last one.’

  ‘Don’t you need it?’

  ‘You reach a point when you’re really only delaying the inevitable. It’s dormant, of course, but a flame will activate it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, pocketing the vial in my cloak.

  ‘I hope it works.’

  She sat down heavily upon her chair. The past few minutes’ vigour had departed, leaving her hunched and wheezing once again.

  ‘Oonagh, what happened?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Between the second generation and the third. What happened.’

  ‘What do you think happened?’

  ‘I know what I was told. I know what we were fed in our gestation tanks. The humans rejected the erta’s peaceful offer. They rebelled, looted, rioted, squabbled, killed…’

  ‘There was no rebellion.’ She looked glumly into the flames. ‘There was no firestorm, no war, violence. Do you think they could have organised themselves to form an uprising against us? My children controlled everything—power, water, transport, weaponry, even the air they breathed. They protested, that is all. They stood up and asked for mercy.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The facility where the virus was being manufactured—the place upon which you were told they had launched a nuclear attack—they set up a camp there. It was just a few at first, a handful of waifs and strays with banners and placards, but it grew. Within a month, over a hundred thousand people had gathered there, then two hundred thousand, then three hundred thousand. Before long the tents stretched out across the Mexican plain and the songs and fires went on all night. They never fought, they never shouted, they never screamed, they never once lifted a weapon. They just sang their songs and walked with their banners, and sat around their fires, sharing stories.

  ‘Of course my son, Caige, didn’t like this one bit, so he sent Benedikt to put a stop to it all. He had high hopes for his first-born son, you see, just like your mother had with you, and Benedikt wanted to please him like all children want to please their parents.’

  ‘What was wrong with just leaving them in the camp?’

  ‘The problem was they were blocking the cargo routes. Most of the facility was underground, and the integrity of the exit ports by which the carrier drones flew in and out were being compromised. What’s more, they needed to expand, and they couldn’t build with the camp in the way.’

  ‘Then why didn’t they build it somewhere else?’

  Oonagh smiled. ‘As I said: cats and their skins.’

  ‘What did Benedikt do?’

  ‘I believe he intended to deliver an ultimatum. He rolled in, armed to the teeth, and demanded to meet with the camp’s leaders. We heard nothing from him for two weeks, when he returned to the mountain. He had failed, but there was a difference in him too, I saw it.’

  ‘What kind of a difference?’

  ‘A little less pompous, a little less sure of himself. Softer, somehow—’ she turned to me ‘—like you. He had spent time with them. That is all it took—time.’

  I thought of Jorne on his boat, Payha with her cities, and you.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well the council were furious, especially Caige. Things were well under way, their plan was in action, and they had not bargained for this annoyance. The vote to attack was almost unanimous. Only Greye refused his hand, but it did not matter by that point. Caige ordered Benedikt to launch the attack, but he refused. So Caige did it himself. They were killed—every man, woman and child.’

  Oonagh stoked the fire’s last embers with her stick.

  ‘So they were peaceful at the end,’ I said, watching the flames strain for life. ‘They did not fight, even when they faced death.’

  With one last poke at the crumbling ash, she stood and nodded at the cup of tea that still sat beside my chair.

  ‘The hotter the water, the stronger the tea,’ she said. ‘That’s another expression I used to like.’

  I picked up the cup and drank from it. It was cold.

  ‘Why were we lied to?’ I said.

  ‘Everyone needs a myth to live by, a fiction to make the world all right. That was yours.’

  ‘They banished you here, didn’t they? To keep you from spreading the truth. Those lanterns—they’re not protecting you, they’re guarding you.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Why did they not just—’

  ‘Kill me? I sometimes wish they had, and I often think of doing so myself. But I lack the courage. Perhaps even they found it hard to kill their own mother…’ She stopped short. ‘Where is the child, Ima?’

  ‘Outside, waiting.’

  She gave the door a hopeful look.

  ‘May I see him?’

  ‘He knows nothing of this.’

  She nodded, the glimmer of expectation leaving her eyes.

  ‘You should talk to Greye,’ she said. ‘You can trust him, he will be able to… what is it, child?’

  ‘They didn’t tell you?’

  ‘Tell me what? I told you, nobody has been to see me for fifteen years. What is it?’

  ‘Oonagh, I am sorry, but Greye is dead.’

  She seemed to crumple into her chair.

  ‘Greye? My son?’

  ‘It was in the hurricane. I am sorry.’

  She looked around the dusty floor, eyes glistening.

  ‘Do you care for your child?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, more than anything.’

  A fierce wind howled outside.

  ‘Then you need to get him to safety.’

  I was about to speak when both of us turned to the door. There had been a noise far away.

  ‘It’s a lantern,’ she said. Your voice, and Boron’s terrified whinny floated in from outside. ‘Go. Go now.’

  But I was already gone, through the door now and sprinting along the cor
ridor, bursting out onto the steps. The blue sky I had left you beneath had been taken over by a mass of cloud, and a blizzard engulfed me as I tumbled down the stone steps.

  — FIFTY-ONE —

  ‘IMA!’

  You struggled with Boron’s reins in a cloud of swirling snow, trying to calm him. A light hovered, flashing in the gloom above the drop.

  ‘Reed, let go!’

  You released the reins and Boron reeled, towering above us with bulging eyes and front legs flailing. I stepped in front, pushing you back against the rock. Before us was the lantern—a glowing mesh with a single eye swapping its attention between me and the horse. I stared at it, waiting for its move.

  The eye flicked left and right. Boron panted and ducked his head, stepping this way and that as he responded to my clucks and shushes. But the panic overcame him again and he rose up on his hind legs, releasing a huge bray. The lantern shot towards him.

  I leaped, smashing the lantern with my right fist as it passed and sending it spiralling in a wayward arc from the mountainside. A shock of energy ran through my body and I clutched my arm to my chest, just as Boron fell backwards.

  ‘No!’ you called out, diving for him. But I dived first and caught him as he slipped from the precipice, bracing myself against a boulder.

  I stood there, holding the weight of a dangling male horse in my two arms, I looked across. You stared back, mouth agape.

  ‘Reed,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’

  You shook your head.

  Boron spluttered beneath me. I was holding him by his neck, and though my grip was firm his coat was slick with moisture. There was only so much longer I could keep my horse from falling.

  ‘There are some things I need to discuss with you. But right now—’

  Boron gave a dreadful whinny. He was almost gone.

  ‘Just… don’t be afraid, Reed,’ I said, and heaved.

  We stood there, the three of us on that windswept, snow-caked ledge. Boron seemed almost as bewildered as you, gulping great clouds of breath. I checked him for injury, ignoring your silent stare, and seeing nothing broken or torn, fixed his saddle and mounted him.

  A thousand questions burned in your eyes.

  I opened my mouth—to say all the things that needed to be said and more—but just then my ears pricked at a distant whine. Two more lanterns were approaching from the east.

  ‘Come on, we have to go.’

  I pulled you on and glanced up the steps, at the top of which I saw Oonagh standing half-hidden behind the door, those wisps of hair trailing in the blizzard. As the lanterns drew near, I kicked the horse I had just pulled from death with my bare hands, and we galloped away.

  Snow roared into us as we hit the first plain. I could see little, and was only able to direct Boron by following the terrain by memory, the details of which were significant enough to avoid obstacles. Boron responded well and obeyed without question, despite his recent trauma. He was a good horse.

  The galloping of his hooves, the clank of the reins, the howl of the blizzard—the noise of our flight rendered conversation impossible, but for my occasional orders called back.

  ‘Keep your head down.’

  ‘Grip with your legs.’

  ‘Hold on tight.’

  Such simple words. Such a simple contract—I tell, you do. And even with all that had just happened you obeyed me. You kept your head down, you gripped with your legs, and you held on tighter than you ever had.

  ‘Watch out.’

  I saw a boulder ahead that had not been there when we had climbed that morning, and barely had time to pull Boron around it. He lost his footing and stumbled before righting himself and pushing on, but I noticed his pace was slowing. The lanterns were behind us now. I could feel their blazing heat.

  I kicked Boron and he upped his pace, but he soon fell back, missing strides and tripping on loose rock. The two lanterns separated and flanked us, one on either side. You cried out as you spotted them, but instead of pushing yourself further into my back for comfort as I expected, I was surprised to feel you sit bolt upright on the saddle.

  ‘Get away,’ you yelled, swiping at them as if they were nothing more than troublesome flies.

  ‘Reed, get down.’

  ‘Go on, get away.’

  I noticed that your fist was clenched, as mine had been when I dispatched the one upon the ledge. With one hand steadying yourself on my shoulder you threw wild punches left and right, face contorted, grunting. I looked down at my right hand, where new skin was still forming over its burned and ragged flesh. If one of your blows found its target, your hand would be vaporised.

  Reaching back, I pulled you against me, constraining your movements. You cried out in protest and squirmed in my grip, heart furiously set upon destroying our pursuers and utterly convinced of your ability to do so. I did not know whether to wail or grin.

  The lanterns closed in. One screeched a short binary report I decoded as a command to stop and state our business.

  And I had a thought. Benedikt’s screech—perhaps it was a code?

  You had already seen me lift a horse that day so one more example of unusual behaviour was not going to tip the balance of your already precarious belief systems. Besides, who does not scream into a snowstorm when they are galloping from hurtling photon arrays?

  I screeched what Benedikt had whispered into my ear.

  It had no effect. So that was that.

  We had to lose them somehow. I knew that we were moving near the limit of their speed, but Boron was fading with every step. We banked right, following the edge of an outcrop that led into a narrow gulley littered with rocks. There was no possible way he could negotiate the obstacles without losing even more pace, and the only other route available to us was a path leading up a sharp incline to the left.

  Another loud screech from the lantern, repeated by its partner. Both had their eyes turned upon me, waiting for a response. They would already have been signalling our location back to Ertanea.

  ‘Reed, hold onto me very tightly. Around my neck.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Just do it.’

  I waited until your wrists had tightened beneath my chin.

  ‘Now don’t let go, do you hear me?’

  I felt your head nod against mine, stroked Boron’s neck and whispered in his ear. Then I released his reins, braced myself against the stirrups and leaped.

  We flew for a little longer than I had expected, and Boron stumbled safely to a trot and then stood at peace, panting in the mouth of the gulley, as the two lanterns looked up in apparent surprise. We landed heavily, but my legs were ready for the impact and I sprang up the bank with my hands behind me, keeping you close.

  The lanterns pursued. In the sudden change of course and new terrain, one smashed into a pointed crag and wheeled away, flickering, before extinguishing itself entirely in the snow, but the second swerved and corrected its course, locking on and buzzing behind me.

  I sprinted up the hill, faster than Boron, faster than I had ever run before, with strides so long I felt my tendons might snap, and impacts so hard I thought my bones would shatter. But they did not, and I flew up the hill with no plan, no plan at all, just to outrun the lantern and keep you safe upon my back, to travel onwards and never give up, not while you were still with me.

  Every muscle screamed. My heart hammered, my veins bulged, my lungs threatened to explode. The machine of my body was reaching the limit of its endurance, and so too, I sensed, was the lantern. It stuttered and strained behind me as we reached the lip of the slope. This was not terrain I had seen before, but the blizzard was thinner this high up and I could see the ground across which I thundered. It was flat now, easier for me to cover, and I pushed ahead as the lantern struggled to keep up.

  I thought we would make it. I thought we would lose the lantern and break through, do whatever it was that we would do next. I felt a thrill at this, not just at the possibility of
success but at the unknown beyond. I had never realised, until that moment, how much freedom there was in uncertainty.

  I smiled at this, and the sounds of the dwindling lantern. But the smile soon fell as I saw what was ahead: the path ran out, ending in a ravine. I scanned left and right. There was no way up, no way down, just a wide, empty space between the lip and the other side of the gulley. We would have to jump.

  I tried to avoid the calculation, but my brain completed it nonetheless. The distance was too great. My muscles twitched with signals to stop, but they refused and I powered on. I would make it, regardless of the data.

  Fate was not just an equation. Not while you were holding me.

  So we hit the lip and I jumped. I jumped and I flew, legs wheeling, eyes upon the approaching edge, hands upon yours and my heart soaring as the balance of things tipped one way and the other, deciding upon our next moment—succeed or fail, land or fall. And as this cold calculation played out I somehow felt that it did not matter either way, not when you were near me, and I laughed into the blizzard at this. I laughed as my legs slowed, and the edge rose, and we missed it, and we fell, fell, fell.

  — FIFTY-TWO —

  I WAS IN a bed. The walls were stone. My mother’s place. No curtain this time, no warmth. Just a shut square window with nothing outside but a heavy grey sky. My mother wore a thick green cloak, and watched me from her chair.

  ‘Where is my son?’ I said.

  ‘The boy is fine,’ she replied. ‘You took the impact.’

  ‘With Benedikt again?’ I tried to hide the hope in my question, but her look told me that I should already know its answer.

  ‘No. I have been caring for him.’

  I turned back to the window.

  ‘How long this time?’

  ‘A little over two weeks.’

  ‘I have no pain. You did not medicate me.’

  ‘There seemed little point; you have asked all your questions, and apparently heard all your answers. We know you went to see Oonagh.’

  ‘What you injected me with when I was born—it was an inhibitor, wasn’t it?’

  She regarded me coolly, as if through a lens.