Damon Ich (The Wheel of Eight Book 2)

by Aaron D. Key

  It was obvious from the way he spoke that it was not just a pastime he was suggesting but a means of living that would content him for years.

  “Does it matter, Damon Ich, if Herron is beautiful?” I asked, and not just to make him think but because I had real doubts.

  “I wouldn’t want to live here if it was not beautiful,” the child considered. “If it wasn’t then I would work to make it so, or if its beauty could be improved then I would work for that also. If it had no beauty at all, it would be bad. I feel that in my heart.”

  “Many people live in ugly places and yet find reasons for joy in their heart.”

  “Many people have died with thankfulness on their lips. It does not make me want to die,” the child answered with some hesitation, as if it were not his place to contradict me or as if he knew that his reasoning was unsound, that he had only spoken that way because it sounded good and he was trying to impress me. I did not know which, but I had learned never to underestimate the child.

  I knew that he would never be a gardener. He was destined for a more arduous, a less obviously rewarding future in which his decisions would alter the fate of many. Still, it would not do any harm to let him play at little at the role. I would find someone to teach him, I thought, surprised at my own consideration.

  * * *

  This was an unusual interlude, I thought when I realised I was still walking. I felt embarrassment blossoming on my face, as if I had been discovered in a socially unacceptable act in a public place, but no one seemed to notice that my mind had wandered and I gradually recovered my composure. This part of the story felt odd, almost as though it had come from a different place than the other fragments. It made me realise how much more of the story there was to be told. I had only made a start, detailing a short period of a lifetime. I supposed that the “I” in this fragment was the woman who had received Damon Ich from Rael and agreed to look after him. I couldn’t remember but I did not think I even knew her name.

  “Maone, pick me up, pick me up.” The sound of Yan’s excited voice brought me completely back to the present.

  “I’ll give you a lift,” I said, and as Yan seemed willing, lifted him up to my shoulders. After persuading him not to pull my hair and kick my ribs to make me go faster, it was not a wholly unpleasant experience.

  After another feast, slightly less excessive than the last, we hung around in the hall, which had the feel of an impressive pub but with no alcohol, at least none that had been offered to me. Some people were dancing and some playing a game like skittles. Peter and Aileen were sat in a corner together like a young courting couple. It looked like whatever their differences had been, they were sorted now. Maone looked at me with a sympathetic look, as if we were the only two strangers in a group of friends, and challenged me to another game of backgammon. The game was not mentally challenging, but it allowed us to look busy and interested instead of lonely and bored. I wondered whether Damon Ich ever had the opportunity to become a gardener, to make Herron beautiful, and I suddenly became certain that he had done, for a while at least: that he had been happy. I finished a move in which I gained safety for three of my counters and relegated one of Maone’s back to the beginning and looked up to see her reaction. She was staring intently at me, as if I were a picture on the wall. When she saw that I had noticed this close examination, she gave me a nervous smile in which I saw the terrified and fragile woman that Peter had prepared me for, but then I looked into her eyes. They were like nothing I had ever seen before. There was no sign of weakness there, only an amber flicker, which was like looking into a star nursery; a feeling of infinite power and unimaginable depth. I felt the skin on my neck crawl as if I had seen a ghost, but in truth I did not know what it was I had seen. Maone lowered her eyes and I began to doubt myself again. What was I imagining?

  Soon after, Peter and Aileen came over and said goodnight. After the game finished I also made my way to my room, which this time was disappointingly empty. The unexpected visitor had been a welcome distraction.

  I was beginning to reconsider my decision to stay, thinking I couldn’t spend the next year playing backgammon every night or I would go mad. I hoped, though, that once I had made my decision to stay, once I knew my way around the place, I would find other occupations and amusements. It was not as though I had spent the last year of my life in a whirlwind of excitement. The pace was what I was used to, and once I had the luxury of being left alone now and again, I would be perfectly happy.

  I slept well and woke early with a feeling of decisiveness. I told Peter that I would like to stay and then began a happy three months or so. Apart from struggling with an understanding of the seasons, it was not so much a job as a pleasant hobby in which everything I needed was provided for me.

  I began to feel I was existing in a dream and only the honest toil kept me rooted to reality. I had begun to explore the land around the estate and was amazed by the extent. I had not yet found another building separate from the main complex, apart from the water mill that provided the estate with electricity. Sometimes Maone joined me in these walks, for most of the time a silent but not unpleasant companion. She also had begun to take an interest in my work on the garden and, laughing, had offered to turn my childlike sketches and ideas into proper drawings. These were much more like my imagination than my doodling could even hint at, as if she saw them through my eyes. The drawings were not needed as much as I thought they would be. Peter was happy to agree to everything I suggested. I had imagined from the way he had spoken originally that he would want to be involved at all the stages, but in fact I rarely saw him except in the evenings.

  Whatever his work was it seemed not to be going well, from the look on his face sometimes as he walked back along the lakeside in the evenings. I had decided to follow my old habits: to use this time to swim and let my thoughts settle into place. He usually returned just as the sun was beginning to set and I was heading back to the shore. I never really understood where it was he was coming back from. I had explored in that direction. There were no roads or even a sign of the vehicle in which we had arrived. Sometimes we walked back together and, although he tried to hide it, I could tell something was troubling him. I was beginning to worry that it might be the finance for this grand scheme that was in doubt, that I would have to stop work and return home. Despite my prompting, he always denied that anything was wrong and managed to look overly cheerful for half an hour or so until he forgot again.

  I usually took this opportunity to mention something I thought might be controversial in the plans, and in his effort to appear cheerful he usually was supportive. Soon the plans were very nearly finished. No dissension, not even enough to make it appear that anyone cared significantly, until I raised the question of the moat.

  I had contemplated this for a while. On one hand it was a huge extravagance and a throw-back to a different time. I knew it was not a modern garden that was required and yet this seemed the very opposite, almost an anachronism. But to me it felt right.

  On three sides the gardens were bounded by a lake, a plateau’s cliff edge, and a river. On the other side there was nothing but an endless valley carrying on nearly all the way to the horizon. To my mind a garden required an end, a boundary. Something to ensure the human heart felt safe and comfortable in it. There were of course many options, but like other gardeners of the past I understood it would have been criminal to build a wall or hedge that would have obscured the view. Although the heart needed to feel safe, the mind needed expansion and the infinity of an uncaring universe to keep it keen. So that left an indefinite and insubstantial boundary like a low wall, path, or small border, which seemed to me insufficient. Also these would not help to keep out any wandering and destructive animals. So I was left with a ha-ha or a moat, and it was to the moat that my heart inclined. Although I imagined a shallow body of water, I hoped that the steep slope towards it and the planting would deter most animals.
<
br />   The idea was met with some surprise and scorn, almost bewilderment that I would consider such an idea. I was confused. To my mind the idea seemed no more outlandish than anything else I had proposed already, and yet somehow it was met with a solid wall of incomprehension. I did not hear the following conversation, but it appeared in my head as if the expressions conveyed it all:

  “Why does he want a moat?” Maone asked. “I don’t understand. There was never a moat.”

  This comment confused me. Was there some plan of the garden as it had been that I was supposed to be following? I didn’t understand how in this case I had managed never to produce any other ideas that could have offended against this plan that I had never been shown or even been made aware of.

  “I think it’s a good idea.”

  This was Aileen.

  “I can’t imagine it will be a significant change that will alter anything of note.”

  This was Peter: a comment that also seemed a bit odd.

  “Unless a child drowns in it,” Aileen said.

  “Perhaps we could request that it is very shallow. I think it is a superficial moat rather than a real defensive structure. We already have three rivers and a lake. I don’t think the risk of drowning is much increased.”

  “I don’t understand where the idea would have come from. His memory must be less accessible than you thought.”

  “It has been greatly distorted by a lifetime of alien experiences. I am hopeful that underneath there is still something there.”

  “Well I hope too, but I am afraid,” said Aileen.

  “But have you noticed that now and again he seems to understand?” Maone said. “I think you need to spend more time with him, Peter.”

  “I know. I thought to begin with that this would be the one good thing about this whole disaster but I am struggling with the situation. It’s only by trying to resolve this mess I feel I can cope, but I’m beginning to understand that it is not possible to resolve and he is so fragile; as if an unkind word would snap him. If you could have seen him when we first met, how happy I was when his face first emerged from neglect and apathy, you would understand how I am dreading the next step.”

  This was but another example of the way in which I was losing it: a completely imagined and incomprehensible conversation arriving in my head. Anyway, I was allowed to proceed with the idea of the moat, although Aileen told me she expected me to teach Yan how to swim. I tried to explain that this wouldn’t help, as the moat would be too shallow for even the smallest child to swim in. I had the image in my head not so much a moat as a moat-shaped pond with gravel and stony, shallow areas for frogs. I could almost hear their croaking as the sun went down. Also my borders would be clear of snails and slugs.

  I wondered how we would arrange for the work to be done. Peter did not seem very keen on the idea of machines being used, although this seemed an ideal task for them. After I explained the design to him, I woke one morning to find about ten feet of the work done, and each morning after that another similar section was completed. In spite of my offers to help, he had insisted on doing this work himself, as if it gave him pleasure to have a part of the garden that was all his own work.

  “I’m worried that by insisting on a moat I have put Peter under extra pressure,” I confided to Aileen one day. It was unusual for us to find the time to talk. I believed that for some reason she generally kept out of my way, but in this case we had found ourselves in a situation where not to talk would have seemed odd.

  “To be honest, I think building the moat is the only thing keeping him sane.” She smiled broadly. “That’s why he’s so determined to do it himself and the old-fashioned way with manual tools and sheer bloody-mindedness. It’s nothing you’ve done that is causing him grief. It’s just that his work is not going very well and he finds it hard to accept defeat.”

  “What does he do?” I asked, confused.

  She sighed, as if trying to figure out how to explain a complicated thing that she had tried to explain many times before with varying degrees of success.

  “He is the head of a trust that endeavours to help people in impossible situations, and it’s hands-on work at all levels. With impossible situations, sometimes there just isn’t a cure or an answer, and that is what he can’t accept. The problem he is working on at the moment is very complicated. Every time he thinks he has found the answer, it gets blocked somehow so he comes home thinking he is powerless and can achieve nothing of worth. Then he gets out and starts building your moat and it is something simple, solid, and beautiful.”

  “Have you grown to love it then?” I said, laughing.

  “I could love anything that keeps my husband sane,” she said.

  “I don’t understand where he’s going when he goes along the river?”

  “He’s got a boat down there and then he drives the rest of the way to the city or airport. It’s about an hour away. Don’t you remember? You came that way yourself.”

  “I think I must have fallen asleep about halfway here. I don’t remember the last bit of the journey at all.”

  “Peter was so lucky to find you, you know. He was expecting to have to spend a substantial amount of time working with someone to get the garden just how he wanted it. Once you’d been here about a week, he knew he could trust you to get on with it and that whatever you decided he would approve. If you had been anyone else, he would have torn himself apart trying to keep one eye on their work and doing his own.”

  This conversation left me feeling a little happier. At least I knew my work was being appreciated and not just ignored. Things were progressing nicely now. I had a good team of people to help out, different areas were beginning to be marked out, and hard landscaping put in place. Trees I had ordered arrived and were beginning to be planted. I knew I would never see them in their full glory but I could imagine. I had lost track of how much time had passed, though I guessed it could be measured in months rather than days.

  Despite the lack of nightlife, commercial activity, and variety of experience, I was enjoying myself. I had now managed to distinguish the various people that lived on the estate and to connect their names and appearance. This had been a slow process due to the nature of my brain being even slower than normal. I put it down to age. Now complete, I felt happier, no longer surrounded by strangers but by people I at least recognised.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Shopping in Scotland

  With much of the outer area starting to near my vision, I had begun to work inside the courtyard. I had always felt this was the most important area, or at least my favourite, so I had restrained myself from jumping at it straight away. I had dreamed of a lion’s head fountain and had ordered one and was waiting for it to be carved.

  One morning, while dressing for the day, I realised with a sigh that all my clothes were starting to look disreputable. I had a sudden yearning to go shopping; to find myself again in a civilised world, drinking coffee and watching the world go by.

  I tried to catch Peter before he left – recently he had taken to getting up earlier and earlier – but I missed him. After a full day’s work I went swimming and sat in the sauna with the door open, watching the sun set behind the hills far in the distance. I watched and listened out for his return. It was late and my eyelids were drooping in the comfortable wind-cooled heat but eventually I heard his deadened and despondent steps going by.

  I emerged quickly and he jumped with an audible intake of breath. I apologised.

  “I wasn’t concentrating, that’s all. I was worlds away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear things aren’t going well with your work,” I said, “though the moat is coming on brilliantly.” I was never that good at small talk.

  “I wanted to ask you whether I could get a lift with you tomorrow. I’m really short of clothes. I need to go shopping.”

  “Do you want to go shopping?
Or do you just want new clothes? We can get you anything you need, unless you actually want to go yourself.”

  “No, I do need to go myself,” I said apologetically.

  “Well, I could drop you off somewhere in Edinburgh tomorrow. I’m getting a lift with someone as Maone is borrowing the boat and car but I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Actually, why don’t you go with Maone? It might be more pleasant for both of you to have company. She was planning a shopping trip herself tomorrow and she’ll know the best places to go. It’s up to you.”

  I was vaguely relieved that the suggestion had not been refused or deflected out of hand and so I gladly accepted his offer.

  The next day we started off early, walking to the river. Maone was livelier than normal, which I assumed was in expectation of an enjoyable day. I could tell that she, like me, was looking forward to escaping from our peaceful paradise – like a pair of children on an unauthorised day off school.

  We came to the place where a small boat was moored and tenderly stepped into its unsafe arms. Maone turned the key looking worried that the roar of the engine would turn into a raging explosion. Instead the gentle purring reassured her, and she smiled nervously at me as she gathered the mooring line.

  “I’m not really a boat person,” she said apologetically.

  “Neither am I,” I admitted and this seemed to give her more confidence, as if she had been worried I was judging everything she did.

  The river began as a gentle and pleasant ribbon with sloping banks of grass and meadow flowers. Gradually the forest began to close in and the water flowed faster as if racing towards a waterfall. We chatted and I could tell that even in the short time I had known her Maone’s mental health had improved dramatically. She now smiled frequently and even, when she thought she was unobserved, seemed peaceful and untroubled.

  “It’s funny,” she suddenly said. “You wanting to go shopping on the day I had planned as my first trip out since Peter brought me to this place. Was it a coincidence or did Peter ask you to come along and keep an eye on me?”