Devastation

by Jane Dougherty

  “Let me try, then,” Carla whispered, unbuttoning his shirt

  “It’s been so long,” he said into Carla’s hair, his tongue finding its way to her ear. “It’s like a lifetime since we were like this together.”

  Carla wrapped her arms round him, holding him even tighter. “It is a lifetime. We left our first life behind. Flay, the mall, the tribes. That wasn’t our life. Let’s start again. Now.”

  Tully found her mouth and kissed her, long and deeply. “Right away, sweetheart. We have a lot of time to make up.”

  Until utter weariness overtook them, they poured into that night, beneath bright new stars, all the longing and the passion that had been beyond their reach in the cruel dying world beyond the wormhole.

  Afterward they’d drifted off, but Tully woke with a jolt, sweating with fear. Carla, lying curled into the curve of his sheltering body, trembled and sobbed in her sleep. He stroked her hair and kissed the back of her neck, knowing they shared the same nightmare—of the ravaged, scarcely human face of the man who had once been Carla’s father, the look of recognition in his eyes, and the silent scream of misery of the condemned man within.

  Chapter Eight

  An Introduction to Horses and Other Forms of Transportation

  “Oh, come on, Kat!” Jeff sounded disgusted. “All right, so you don’t like animals. Just think of it as a bicycle. A warm-blooded bicycle. With hair and legs—”

  “And teeth and hooves. I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work,” Kat said, shaking her head.

  At Yvain’s suggestion, they were spending the day preparing for the journey ahead.

  “To defend a people you must know them,” he’d said, “and, if at all possible, like them. You must get to know the customs of the country if you are to pass for heroes and not blundering idiots.”

  One of the customs was the means of transport. Travelers opened the main highways that anyone could access, once they had been taught the technique. Goods traveled in from the countryside to the markets and workshops. People traveled from outlying villages to the markets, the schools, to shop or to work. Otherwise everyone walked, or if the journey was longer, went on horseback. To Jack’s great joy, there were no cars. In fact the Gauls used no fossil fuel at all.

  “Here, Kat. Just think of all that beautiful compost,” Jack said trying to be encouraging. “Instead of carbon monoxide we’ll be producing buckets and buckets of manure.”

  Kat eyed the horse doubtfully. She was the last one to have tested the novelty of horsepower. The others had all mounted, walked and even trotted under Yvain’s direction. Jack turned out to be a natural, but he’d ridden before when he was a child. The others were won over by the animals’ extreme docility and obvious experience of nervous riders. The horse turned its head and stared back at Kat through long silky lashes. Jeff patted the creature’s neck and the horse nuzzled his hand.

  “See! It’s perfectly tame,” Jack went on. “It isn’t as if we’re asking you to ride an unbroken mustang stallion bareback across Monument Valley, now, is it?”

  “No, I don’t suppose it is,” Kat said icily. “But you are asking me to get up on that animal’s back and wait until it throws me, turns and bites me, or just runs amok until I fall off, aren’t you? Look, I was terrified of the donkeys at the seaside!”

  Tully put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “Just try, Kat, please,” and he whistled a soft tune as he stroked the chestnut’s head. The horse twitched its ears and gazed at Tully with its dark, long-lashed eyes. Its flanks quivered slightly, it gave a gentle whinny and as gracefully as possible, went down on its knees.

  “Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum,” Jack chanted, raising his right hand in a Papal blessing. Jeff, bemused, opened his mouth. “Gibberish,” Jack said with a wry smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Kat approached as if she was being led to the scaffold and, holding Tully’s hand, stepped into the saddle. The horse waited patiently until Kat was settled, then heaved itself upright. Kat almost panicked, but held firm. The horse waited for the signal.

  “Touch her flanks with your heels,” Jack said. “Hold the reins loosely, and don’t pull sharply or you’ll hurt her mouth.” The horse moved into a sedate walk.

  “It’s ‘her’ now, is it?” Kat’s voice was mocking, but her face was radiant.

  “She’s called Zephyr,” Yvain called from his perch on a big black stallion. “She’s as gentle as the west wind.”

  “She’d better be,” Kat muttered, but Jack was delighted to see that her smile belied her words. She spent a happy half hour walking Zephyr around and around the paddock, until Yvain decided it was time to move.

  “Well, now we’ve got the problem of Kat’s phobia out of the way, let’s see how Lutecia works, shall we?”

  Yvain trotted his horse back to the stables and handed him over to the grooms. The others followed more or less confidently and slithered to the ground. Kat even tried a trot and after bouncing about uncomfortably, finally got into the rhythm.

  “Hey,” Jack called in mock irritation, “if you want to train for the Grand National, could it wait for a more suitable moment?”

  A stable girl took Zephyr’s bridle and held her still as Kat slid to the ground, her face aglow. “Right, what’s next? How about a spot of boar hunting?”

  “Later,” Yvain laughed. “Now it’s time to see the town.” He beckoned to Jack. “No more hiding your talents beneath a bushel. It’s time for you to make them work.”

  “I never was good at riddles.” Jack said nervously. “My dad always said the only talent I had was for sniffing out trouble, finding it and falling right into the middle of it. So, what did you have in mind?”

  “One traveler recognizes another. You are a born traveler.”

  “Just because we immigrated to Liverpool when I was a kid?”

  “That’s where it began. Then?”

  Jack’s tongue tied itself in a tight knot. “Well, it’s just family stuff. Private,” he said eventually, turning his head to hide the color he felt rising to his cheeks. “Nobody wants to hear about that.”

  “Go on, Jack,” Kat encouraged him. “It’s interesting.”

  “No, it isn’t, it’s just…private.”

  Kat nudged him, and Jack sighed. “Well, like I said, we emigrated, but my parents never got the old place out of their system, and we were backward and forward every holiday. We used to stay with Grandma Quinn down in Skibb—me and my brother Joe. I loved it—the boat, waking up and peering through the driving rain to see if we’d landed yet.” Jack grinned, getting into his stride. “It was only later I realized how much I missed the countryside—the farm, the dogs and all that. I used to dream about going back one day with Molly and Tully. I mean really dream, at night, like, when I was asleep.” He looked sideways at Yvain, unsure again. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? It wasn’t just dreams then?”

  “As I said, you have always been a traveler, even if you didn’t realize what you were doing.”

  Jack nodded, and let the tension in his face ease away. “I’d just open a door, and I’d be in the hills behind Skibbereen, or traipsing along the beach, getting wet, blown about by the wind. Sometimes in the morning I’d check my shoes to see if there wasn’t sand in them! When Molly died, the dreams stopped. Didn’t have the heart for it anymore, I suppose. Then this mate, a lorry driver, told me about the Community in the countryside near Paris. He’d stopped there once. I can’t remember exactly why. Sounded like a new life for me and the nipper. Moving on, you know? So I packed up and left. It was mad really. Why France? Why not back to Skibb?”

  “It was so Taliesin could meet Carla, of course,” Yvain said.

  Jack looked at his hands, then nodded. “That’s as good a reason as you need, I suppose.” He grinned and nudged Tully in the ribs.

  Yvain handed Jack his staff of silvery ash wood. “You’ll need this.”

  Jack took it as if Yvain was handing him a boa constri
ctor, and he felt a tingling in his fingers.

  “Expecting trouble?” he joked, but gripped it more firmly and seemed to feel the heart of the wood beating.

  “Use the staff to open a tunnel.”

  “Gerrup the yard, Yvain! You’re off your nut! I can’t do that sorta stuff.”

  “Quiet! Clear your mind of your prejudices, and let it find the way.”

  Jack took a deep breath, still feeling slightly silly, and tried to empty his head of all the inconsequential thoughts that generally filled it, and the more pressing worry of whether Kat thought he looked as daft as he felt. He gripped the staff and felt it move in his grasp. He let it describe a broad circle and felt a difference in the density of the air, a lightening of the mass of the earth before him. He pushed with his mind and the particles of air and earth began to spin and form a vortex. Like washing in a front-loader, he thought.

  “Think of the tower,” Yvain whispered, “that we saw from the hill yesterday. The tower of a hundred spires.”

  Jack nodded and concentrated on the memory of the alternative Eiffel Tower structure. “Okay,” he whispered in astonishment. “I’ve got it. Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  Kat watched with interest as Jim reached out a hand and touched the steel and stone reverently. He traced a finger along the line between steel frame and stone facing. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

  “You can feel it, can’t you? Like it’s alive.”

  Jim nodded. “It’s as if I can feel each atom moving.” His voice was dreamy and faraway. “If I wanted, I could change the way they fit together, make different molecules. You know, shape the stone and the steel just by…asking them.”

  “Go on then.” Jack nudged him. “Turn it into the Dog and Gun on Barton Street. That was a lovely pub until they pulled it down to build a car park. Criminal, my dad said—”

  “Dad, don’t be flippant!” Tully snapped.

  Jim just smiled in an absent sort of way. “I’d never change anything as beautiful as this.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear it.” Yvain frowned at Jack. “A modeler creates. He does not destroy the creation of another.”

  “No, of course not,” Jack mumbled in confusion. “I was just having a bit of fun.”

  Kat couldn’t help jumping to his defense. “Course you were. It’s a long time since any of us had a good laugh.” She leaned over and whispered, “Just make sure Yvain’s out of earshot first.”

  Yvain pointed across the wide grassy plain that surrounded the tower, to the riverbank where a broad stone bridge was partially covered in scaffolding.

  “The modelers are restoring Roland’s Bridge. Some of the more delicate sculptures were damaged when a freak spring storm smashed a string of barges into it. It was decided to use the opportunity to change the style completely, rather than reproduce the old sculptures.” Yvain beamed at Jim and pushed him toward the group of workers. “Go on. See what you can do. The modeler in chief will explain the theme they have chosen.”

  Jim raised both hands to his head and ran his fingers through his curly hair in consternation. “But I can’t—”

  “Of course you can,” Yvain cut him short and shooed him on. “Stay as long as you like. A traveler will send you after us later. They will know where to find us.”

  “How?” Jack asked, interested.

  Yvain tapped the side of his rather beaky nose, and his eyes twinkled. “Instinct.”

  “Instinct,” Jack snorted. “Seems a bit hit or miss to me. What if we set off for, say…the big picture gallery inside that pyramid thing? That would be logical since we’re playing tourists, but what if we change our minds at the last minute and decide to go for a pint instead? That last choice might be less logical, though time is getting on, and as my Uncle Dinny used to say, there always has to be a first pint of the day, so—”

  “Dad, will you shut up?” Tully said with obvious annoyance.

  Kat feared that Tully was going to go off on his dad in a major way soon, if Jack didn’t pack it in with the family reminiscences.

  “In a minute. You take the point, don’t you? How will they know where we’ve gone?” Jack kept on.

  Yvain didn’t appear irritated. On the contrary, he seemed even more than usually amused.

  “Travelers have a gift, as you know, for opening up tunnels in time and space. As well as traveling physically, we can also travel mentally. We, you or I, can send a message to one of the travelers in the area of the bridge. It’s just the same as making a physical journey, really.”

  Jack looked thoughtful. “I’d like you to show me that one, if you don’t mind.”

  Yvain inclined his head slightly. “Of course. Perhaps over a pint.”

  “Now you’re talking!”

  They left Jim at the bridge, deep in conversation with the modelers. He didn’t even notice that they’d left. Kat walked along in silence, looking at the sights as they were pointed out, but not really listening. She kept wondering why exactly she was there. The others all seemed so…useful. A tug at her hand dragged her back to the present.

  Jeff.

  She felt her features relax. Jeff was staring at her face, and she realized she must have been frowning deeply. He slipped his hand into hers.

  “What’s up?”

  She gave him a feeble smile and ruffled his hair.

  “Oh, you know how it is when there’s a conversation going on around you and nobody says anything to you?”

  “You feel left out?”

  “Exactly.”

  Jeff sighed. “You’ll find out what your gift is. The occasion just hasn’t arisen. That’s all.”

  “Maybe I just don’t have one.”

  Jeff gave her hand a squeeze. “You must have, or you wouldn’t be here. They dreamed us here because of our gifts, remember? You too.”

  “Maybe.” Kat returned the pressure of Jeff’s small hand. Suddenly, her attention was caught by the sight of Yvain and Jack up in front, disappearing inside a low, open-fronted building. A telltale painted sign was swinging over the door.

  “Oh, no! I don’t believe it!”

  They were exploring the lanes around the museum they couldn’t help but call Beaubourg, despite its framework of huge trees and its vertical gardens. It was a commercial quarter with artisans’ workshops and boutiques, jewelers, potters, leather workers, cobblers and dozens of shops selling bakery goods, cheeses, preserved meats and sausages. People with talents sold their services for a fee. An oak staff over a door indicated a traveler, a bunch of dried herbs a healer, a set of gears or a stone sculpture the specialty of a modeler. The building that Yvain and Jack had entered needed no explanatory sign over the door, just a lifelike painting and its name—The Bunch of Grapes.

  Serving staff brought out trays loaded with steaming platters, glasses, bottles and plates to the tables set up before the wide-open windows. A vine-covered trellis cast a cool shade, and the sound of laughter wafted over with the enticing odors of roast meat and baking. In the cool of the stone-flagged dining room, Yvain had chosen a long table with a view of the garden behind, and he was ordering drinks for all of them. Kat tried to look disapproving.

  “I thought it was the famous Uncle Dinny who could smell a pub at two miles.”

  Jack laughed. “My Uncle Dinny could smell a pub at two miles, tell you what was the last pint drawn and whether there was anyone in the public bar daft enough to stand him a drink. I never claimed to have his talent. Anyway, it was Yvain who suggested it.”

  “I didn’t want to create a diplomatic incident,” Yvain said with a smile, “but this is famous apple country, and this auberge is known far and wide for its cider—not to mention its apple brandy, which I heartily recommend.”

  “Another time maybe,” Kat said, not certain whether Yvain was being serious about drinking strong spirits when they’d barely finished breakfast, “and apple juice for Jeff please, sage or not.” She flopped down on the bench and ran sticky fingers through
her hair that was dark red-gold with damp over her brow. “Phew! I’d forgotten how hot the sun gets in summer. I, for one, could drink a bucket of dirty dishwater, I’m so thirsty, but cider would be nicer. As long as it’s not too strong,” she added, “or you’ll have to carry me home.”

  “Er, Yvain, could you make that one apple juice for Jeff, and one bucket of dirty dishwater please?”

  Kat slapped Jack’s shoulder. “Hey! If anyone around here has a weight problem…” She looked pointedly at Jack’s gut.

  A wiry man wearing a white apron brought them a jug of cider, a loaf of bread and a pale yellow cheese. He gave a slight bow as he placed the tray on the table and wished them a good meal. Yvain filled the glasses and smiled at the volley of compliments on the drink most of them had never tasted before.

  Kat raised her glass and sipped. She was about to join in with a comment about the cider when a movement caught her eye. She kicked Carla under the table.

  “Don’t look now, but there are some weirdos staring at us.”

  She glanced again at the men at the table in the corner, gray-faced men, their mouths twisted with hatred. They got to their feet, pushing their chairs back noisily.

  “Quick,” Kat whispered. “They’re going.”

  Carla turned as if she was trying to attract the attention of one of the waiters. The two men switched their attention to fix her in the same baleful glare, before pushing out of the door to disappear into the leafy shadows of the pergola. Carla swung back round, her eyebrows raised.

  “See?” Kat said. “Wonder what their problem was.”

  Carla shrugged, but Kat wasn’t fooled. She knew Carla’s stomach was churning with fear, just like her own.

  After a pint of cider, Jack was ready to try sending a message to the modelers at the bridge. He astonished them all by getting it right first time.

  “This is a form of communication you ought to explore, Dad,” Tully said, his eyes twinkling. “Rapid, to the point—and silent.”

  “Cheeky young pup,” Jack muttered. But his pride was obvious when in less than five minutes, Jim walked through the door, his face radiant, as if he’d seen a vision. He sat down heavily, his gaze lost in the middle distance, and picked up Jack’s refilled glass. When it was empty he sighed and shook his head as if shaking stars out of his eyes.