The Human Son

by Adrian J. Walker

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘I may not want to, but I need to.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, she turned to face me fully.

  ‘He said he wants to explode. He said it feels as if his life should never have happened, and every single memory brings more pain because it contains you or someone else who knew the truth while he didn’t. He said he feels stupid and alone, and that he wants to take all those memories and set fire to them. And yes, Ima, he said that he hates you. I’m sorry, but it is as we said—this time would always come.’

  With that she took her water and left.

  ‘Is it not too late,’ I called, sniffing back tears as I stumbled after her. ‘To do the thing, you know, the thing that might help him, make him happy, give him some relief. You could do that, Payha, take away some of that frustration, perhaps that would be enough to bring him round, calm him down a little, enough for him to speak to me, that’s all I want, Payha, a chance to speak, and maybe, he’s an adult now after all and adults have certain needs that—’

  ‘Ima, stop.’ She spun on her heels with a brutal look. ‘He is not an animal, and neither am I.’

  My lip quivered. Two tears burst from my eyes, unannounced. And more followed in rivers I could not stop, and I burying my face in my hands. Payha embraced me.

  ‘Remember what we talked about on the clifftop?’ she said, ‘His problems can’t be solved by giving him what he wants, but by giving him what he needs.’

  ‘Then what does he need?’

  She released the embrace.

  ‘To understand.’

  ‘I can’t explain if he won’t even look at me.’

  ‘He is coming back tonight. I will try to convince him to talk to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But Ima, please, do no not ask me to have sexual intercourse with your son again.’

  A snort disrupted my sobs.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘If nothing else prohibited it, his hygiene would.’

  YOU CONTINUED TO have your time with Payha, and your silhouettes were visible every night through her window. Occasionally I would pass her in the square and offer a hopeful look, but she would always return with a shake of the head. Your silence persisted like a mountain.

  Then something broke it.

  — FIFTY-FOUR —

  SUMMER CAME EARLY, blazing. The ground baked, the well dried up, and we resorted to collecting our water from a forest spring. The days were parched and windless, the nights long and stifling. Moments of sleep became rare and shallow, like pools of water upon a dry ocean bed.

  Insects infested the village. Flying ants, cockroaches, horseflies, crickets, and garish caterpillars with thick hairs that stung deep in the knuckle. They came in droves. It was as if even they could sense something was amiss, and were now gathering themselves, readying for the shift.

  Spiders too, some as big as your palm that jumped if you happened upon them, crawled into the eaves and hunted after dark. The sleepless nights became filled with the sound of scuttles and snaps. Lives ending. Others being replenished.

  The Room of Things grew ever more foul in the heat. Though you now refrained from shutting the window after I had opened it, the air allowed to enter was barely fresher than what was already inside. The spring flowers had perished in the unexpected heat, and many animals did not withstand the drought; the stench of death drifted up from the wood.

  One afternoon I was hauling yet another cask of water from the spring, but when I reached the square I stopped. Everyone was standing still, facing west, from which there was an eerie silence. The vigil’s chant had ceased.

  I deposited my cask and pushed through the crowd, finding Payha scanning the trees from one of the watchtowers. Her eyes were wide with excitement.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘They’re walking. All of them. From Ertanea to the Drift.’

  I ran up the steps and joined her. Sure enough, the vigil had stopped and the camps were being abandoned. The erta were making their way slowly towards the coast. There was a sluggishness to their movement that I had not noticed before, and I remembered Haralia’s slurred speech and stagger the last time I had talked with her.

  ‘They have drugged them,’ I said. ‘It’s a sedative of some kind. It must be part of the process.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. They used it on me too, if not in such a strong dose.’

  There was a cry from the western watchtower.

  ‘Someone approaches!’ said the sentry, a dark-skinned male with long, roped hair. From below, a small group on horseback were working their way towards us. Payha and I jumped down and ran to the lip of the square, where we waited with the rest. Nobody spoke. The only sound was that of nervous feet shuffling on the stone, and the relentless chirp of crickets.

  Finally the party emerged from the trees. It was led by Caige, who sat proudly upon a shining black stallion with his great shirtless torso glistening, and his belly swinging with the motion of his horse. Upon his belt I spotted a scabbard from which a white handle protruded. The rest was hidden beneath a robe he had wrapped around his waist.

  Behind him were four others. Williome—wilting like a vine and fanning himself in the shade of his canopy—then one of the vigil guards, and behind her on two brown mares sat Lukas and Zadie. Lukas was as tall and broad as any erta now, and Zadie had matured too. Her hair and eyebrows had turned pure white, and her olive skin seemed untroubled by the heat.

  The party stopped, and Jorne approached.

  ‘Council member Caige,’ he said brightly. ‘Welcome to our settlement.’

  Caige regarded Jorne in silence, as if he was speaking in some crude foreign tongue of which he did not approve. He looked out across the crowd and raised a weak smile.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘It has been some months since I have spoken in this way. I assumed that you had returned to the old speech as we have, but I was mistaken. Clearly, our paths have—’ he looked down at Jorne again, with a twitch of his mouth ‘—diverged.’

  Jorne smiled, showing no trace of the nerves I knew were jangling beneath his skin.

  ‘What can we do for you, council member?’

  ‘You know why I am here,’ replied Caige. ‘Transcendence has begun. Our departure is imminent. We must clear all trace of our existence from this planet.’ His eyes flicked to me. ‘All trace.’

  ‘You can’t take him, Caige,’ I said. ‘I won’t let you.’

  ‘I can, and you will.’

  ‘No,’ said Payha, stepping forward. ‘He is under our protection.’

  Caige stared at her for a second, then released a startling hoot of laughter, much like the caw of a crow.

  ‘Protection? From what? Reason? Logic? The council?’

  ‘No, from you,’ I said. ‘You never wanted Reed to succeed. You sabotaged his life before it began.’

  He glowered at me.

  ‘That is a dangerous accusation, Ima.’

  ‘It’s not an accusation, it’s a fact. My son never stood a chance.’

  ‘The only fact is that that your son failed, and you knew from the start what would have to happen if he did. Now hand him to me.’

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ said Jorne. ‘Payha is right, so long as the Sundra are here, Reed is under our protection.’

  ‘If you continue in this vain then you forfeit the right to transcend.’

  ‘The Sundra do not wish to transcend,’ said Payha. ‘We wish to remain. You have always known this.’

  ‘We have, and you have always known that whether you stay or remain is not your choice to make.’

  ‘Then whose choice is it?’

  ‘Nobody’s choice.’ Caige’s voice boomed out over the crowd. ‘It is the choice of reason and logic alone. Our purpose is complete, the planet is saved, and there is no longer any reason to stay here at its mercy. We must move on.’

  ‘Then please, move on,’ said Jorne. �
�We are happy to stay. Besides, council member, you do not seem particularly engaged in this request. Are you quite sure you want us to come?’

  A hush descended. Caige glared down at Jorne, seeming twice his size upon that great fat horse of his.

  ‘You are perceptive, for someone of your position.’ He looked around the square. ‘The way you people live is revolting. All this dirt, the way you let the forest in; it is as if you want to return to it.’

  ‘We never left it,’ said Jorne. ‘And we never will.’

  Caige gritted his teeth.

  ‘If it had been up to me then I would have burned this place to the ground long ago. And all of you with it. But I am afraid it is not. The facts are thus: if you give me the boy and join us then you will become one. If you do not then you will all be rendered into nothing.’

  I took a step forward, joining Jorne and Payha.

  ‘That sounds like a threat, council member,’ I said, pulling back his robe to reveal the length of smooth, curved spruce hidden beneath. ‘Is that why you are carrying a weapon?’

  There were murmurs from the crowd. It was a blunt stick; nothing like the terrible longswords, rapiers and belly-piercing bayonets you had watched in those ancient battles.

  But a weapon nonetheless.

  Caige hurriedly pulled back the robe.

  ‘It pays to protect oneself this deep in the forest,’ he said. His hand shook upon the handle. ‘Especially when one is dealing with unknown quantities.’

  Jorne spoke.

  ‘The erta have never carried weapons before, Caige. Are you sure you want to lead us down that road?’

  ‘I am not leading anyone down any road. I am merely following reason, as should you. Now—’ the renewed sharpness in his voice cut the murmurs short ‘—allow me to repeat: you must relinquish the boy, join the throngs at the Drift and ready yourselves for transcendence. There is no other choice, you either accept it or you do not. You have until sundown to decide.’

  With that he turned his horse and galloped away down the hill with the other four following. I caught Zadie scanning the square hopefully as she left.

  ‘CAIGE WON’T DO anything,’ said Payha.

  We were at the watchtowers, looking down. It was evening now and the light was beginning to fade, but the procession could still be seen, now lit by a thousand torches. The village had spent the afternoon in the square discussing Caige’s ultimatum, and ruminating over what might happen if they did not accept it.

  You had still not surfaced from your room.

  ‘No,’ said Jorne, turning to the crowd behind, ‘he won’t. But I would urge anyone who wants to go, to do so now. Transcend with them, there would be no shame in it.’

  The village looked back at him, unmoving.

  Jorne sighed. ‘Good. Then we stay.’

  ‘And do what?’ I said.

  He shrugged, and hopped down the steps. Payha followed.

  ‘Nothing. When he comes back, we tell him our decision.’

  I frowned, running after them.

  ‘And what if he doesn’t accept it? What if he—’

  Jorne spun around, smiling.

  ‘What, attacks us?’

  ‘You saw him, he has a weapon.’

  ‘A stick,’ said Payha, ‘and he doesn’t have it in him to wield it.’

  ‘He ordered the deaths of hundreds of thousands of humans.’ I had told them of Oonagh’s secrets. ‘What makes you think he’ll treat us any differently?’

  ‘Us?’ said Jorne, smiling. ‘That’s a good word.’

  I folded my arms. ‘This is serious.’

  ‘All right, what do you suggest we do?’

  ‘I don’t know, we should at least prepare for something, or—’

  ‘Fight.’

  I turned and there you were, standing in a clearing the crowd had made for you and looking straight at me. After so long without it, the return of your attention overwhelmed me.

  ‘Reed,’ I said, trembling. ‘Hello.’

  ‘I saw what happened and we should fight them,’ you said. ‘I want to fight.’

  The crowd gave worried mumbles; this was not the boy who had once amused them with his antics around a campfire.

  Jorne stepped forward.

  ‘No, Reed. There will be no fight. And even if there was, you’re only—’

  ‘A human?’ you snapped. ‘Why does that prohibit me?’

  ‘I was going to say: only a boy.’

  ‘I’m almost fifteen,’ you said through gritted teeth. ‘And this is about me. I want to fight.’

  I spoke carefully.

  ‘Jorne is right. Even if there was a confrontation, you would be hurt or killed. I can’t allow it.’

  ‘You can’t stop me. None of you can.’

  Payha glanced at me, then Jorne.

  ‘Oh, Reed,’ she said. ‘You know very well that’s not true.’

  — FIFTY-FIVE —

  PAYHA HURLED YOU, screaming, into the corner of the Room of Things. Before you had a chance to get up, she and Jorne were at the door.

  ‘Keep him in here,’ said Payha to me. ‘We’ll deal with whatever happens outside, you just keep him safe.’

  She pulled the door shut and I locked it, stringing the heavy key around my neck. You got up from where you had landed some distance from the door, and faced me.

  ‘Liar,’ you said.

  ‘Yes, Reed.’

  ‘Liar.’

  You ran at me. Your shoulder hit my hip and I pushed you away.

  ‘Liar.’

  You took another run, head down, hitting me square in the stomach. You bounced off.

  ‘Liar.’

  In your third run you gripped my wrists, scrabbling on the floor with your feet in a vain attempt to push me back.

  ‘Liar, liar, liar!’

  I pushed you away and you staggered back, breathless in the middle of the room. Your recent lack of exercise had made you unfit, and I was overcome by a blend of pity and disdain, the same feeling I had had years ago, watching you blunder about our dwelling as an infant.

  Within this shift of feeling I felt some composure return, and folded my arms.

  ‘Yes, Reed, I am a liar. I have lied to you, we all have, and I am sorry.’

  Your eyes were rage-filled fires, but at least they were looking at me. I went on.

  ‘I am sorry for the way you feel right now, and I am sorry I was not the one to tell you the truth, but I am not sorry for the lie.’

  You frowned, disgusted.

  ‘Why not?’

  I knelt before you.

  ‘Because without the lie, you would never have been born.’

  ‘I wish I never had been born.’

  ‘Those are terrible words for any living thing to say.’

  ‘Why? It’s the truth—my whole life has been a lie.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t—not to me, at least. In fact, you are the only thing in my life that has ever been true. You’re not the only one who has been lied to, Reed.’

  There was the sound of shouts and boots outside.

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ you said. ‘They’re here. Let me go. Let me fight.’

  ‘Why are you so keen to fight them?’

  ‘Because I’m angry.’

  ‘And you think violence will cure you of it? Then go ahead.’ Still on my knees, I shuffled towards you. ‘Hit me.’

  I raised my chin and turned my cheek.

  ‘Go on,’ I said, louder, ‘hit—’

  But you had already swung. Your knuckles struck my cheekbone, grazing the skin and whipping my head to one side; it was a surprisingly strong blow.

  I turned back, neck clicking.

  ‘How do you feel? Better?’

  You stared back in horror—either at what you had just done or the fact that I remained unmoved by it. Finally your face crumpled and you collapsed into miserable sobs in the corner.

  I stood, raising an exploratory hand to my cheek as it healed.

  ‘Th
e erta are stronger than humans. Every punch or rock you threw would glance off like that one, and every one that returned would render you unconscious or worse.’

  Mucus bubbled from your nose. I wanted to wipe it, but buried the urge.

  ‘I hit Lukas once,’ you said. ‘It hurt him, I saw it.’

  ‘Yes, and you should not be proud of that.’ More bubbles inflated and popped from your nostril. ‘Besides, Lukas is far bigger now.’

  ‘I could slow them down.’ Another bubble. ‘What does it matter if I’m hurt anyway?’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake.’

  I yanked a lace-rimmed handkerchief from a table of clocks and went to work on your nose.

  ‘Get off!’ you yelled.

  ‘Of course it matters if you’re hurt.’ With one last polish, I whipped away the handkerchief and stood, arms crossed. ‘Like it or not, Reed, you’re human.’

  ‘I don’t feel human.’ You sat up and pointed at the projector. ‘I’ve seen them on that thing. They were monsters. All those bombs and guns, all those wars.’

  ‘All the fighting, you mean?’ Your eyes found a corner in which to sulk. I walked to the window and pulled the blinds shut. ‘Anyway, that’s not the only thing they did.’

  You shot me a suspicious look as I crossed the room to the projector.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I examined the logs,’ I said, flicking the switch. The contraption whirred into life.

  You sat up, outraged.

  ‘How dare you?’

  ‘Extremely easily,’ I snapped back. ‘You are my son, and I wanted to know what you had been watching.’

  I powered up the tablet and scrolled through the list.

  ‘What are you doing?’ you said, getting to your feet.

  ‘You have your favourites, and I have mine.’ I tapped the panel. ‘Watch.’

  I showed him the woman in the office, the twittering Victorian gentleman, the smiling rice farmer, and finally, the mountaineer.

  ‘Look,’ I said, crouching before the flickering images as you stood in the shadows behind. ‘Look at her face, see? You can see a whole story playing out upon it. She wants to give up. It’s freezing and she’s tired, but a thought keeps coming back to her. Perhaps she does not want to fail, or perhaps she is scared of pain, or dying, or perhaps she knows that if she does die then someone else will suffer too. Perhaps she has a lover. Perhaps a child. She has to finish the task, even though she doesn’t want to. Here comes the moment, watch…’