Blackthorn

by Terry Tyler

  Stinky Bottom isn't so bad when it rains, because the ditch carries it all downstream into a river about two miles away, but if we get a dry spell in the summer it clogs up. Maybe I'd get drunk all the time if I had to live down here, too. 'Cept I'd learn how to do a better job so I didn't have to, or go off and be a traveller. Some folk don't know how to help themselves.

  Clem's is right in the middle of the Bottom, with little gravelled paths from all directions that lead up to it, I suppose so that people don't fall down drunk in the mud on the way home. We throw open the door and before I see anything I'm hit with the waft of beer and weed, which almost covers up the smell of fifty people who don't wash enough.

  It's a couple of moments before I see him: Ryder, passed out on the bar.

  Clem is behind the bar, drying up with a grimy cloth; next time I drink in here I think I'll bring my own cup. She's a grisly old bag, about forty, I think, but she looks much older 'cause she used to be addicted to Joy and I've heard that when they stopped selling it she used to buy this seriously evil stuff a bit like it from a travelling trader, until he got found out and banned from the city. She's dead skinny and her face is all hollowed out.

  She points at him. "You his friends? Sort him out. He's that one what reckons he's had a vision from God, ain't he? I don't want none of that fucked up shit round here."

  Jay pulls him off the bar; he's not quite unconscious. He's muttering, and drooling down his face.

  I give him a gentle slap on the chops. "Ryder. Hey, Ryder. Wake up. It's Evie. We're going to take you home, right?"

  "Evie," he murmurs. "The hell am I doing?"

  "You're coming home. You can stay at mine and Laurel's."

  "I don't know what to do," he says, and then he pukes up all over the floor.

  Well, Clem's not happy about that. Not happy at all. Jay and I drag him outside, then I go back and help Laurel clean it up with a filthy old mop and some greeny-coloured water that I get from the rain tub out the back. Clem cackles and tells me to throw a jug of shine over it, to get rid of the smell.

  "It's the best bloody disinfectant there is; it'll kill anything, that will."

  Then someone starts kicking up 'cause they've had to pay for the same stuff that I've just poured all over the floor, so Laurel and I nip out sharpish before a fight kicks off.

  Jay's got Ryder leaning up against the wall; as we come out, he lunges forward and grabs Jay's shoulders.

  "Why does he want me? I'm no one, I'm just some guy." Then he slumps, and Jay yells at us to help hold him up.

  "Come on, we've got to get him back to your place. I can't take him to mine―Dad'll nick his boots and his belt, even if I hide his money."

  No way would I let Ryder stay in Jay and Brook's shack, anyway. It's a hovel. Two sad old mattresses with fusty old blankets, two wooden chairs, and an old stove. Jay keeps it as clean as he can, but it's so depressing. There aren't even any windows; there's a hole in the roof, instead, that gets covered up when it rains.

  Getting Ryder home is not the easiest thing I've ever had to do, 'specially not when Joe's going to be knocking us up in about six hours. Jay supports his right side, and Laurel and I take it in turns with the left, the other walking ahead with a lamp I nicked from outside Clem's. We're dragging him; a couple of times he actually snores, and I'm glad that makes Jay laugh because it makes us see the funny side, too.

  At last we get back to the neat pavements of Logside and our little shack which I've never been so pleased to see, and we manhandle him into my bed; I'll have to share with Laurel. I just hope he's not going to puke up on my quilt. Jay says fuck it, he's not walking all the way back to the Bottom, so he gets a coat as a blanket and an old jumper for his head, and I'm asleep almost before my head hits one half of Laurel's pillow.

  It feels like I've only been asleep for five minutes when Joe raps on the door.

  By the time I get back from the latrines, Ryder's awake, and so ashamed of himself that I can't help laughing.

  "Look, you got pissed and acted like a twat―what's the problem?" I say, as I give him some tea. "We've all done it."

  He's sitting up in my bed, head in hands; it's just starting to get light and we've lit candles.

  "I know, but I shouldn't. Not now."

  "What, 'cause of the Light man?" says Laurel.

  "I'm sure he'd understand," says Jay. "Human frailty and all that."

  Jay goes to the library to read proper books, the sort that shackers aren't allowed to take home. Perhaps I ought to do that, then I'd say stuff like 'human frailty', instead of 'acted like a twat'.

  "Why'd it happen?" I ask.

  "I don't know. Yeah, I do. I'm scared I'm not up to the job."

  "What, you mean, like, making everyone in Blackthorn change everything about the way they live so they can all get to the happy place when they die?" says Jay. He takes a sip of his tea, and grins. "Piece of piss."

  At least that makes Ryder smile, but then he goes serious. "You do believe me? You don't think I was making it up, or imagining it?"

  "Nah. If anyone's the right person to guide us, you are."

  "But what if I can't? What if I fail?"

  "Then we'll all go to Despair instead," says Jay, dead cheerfully. "I did think of one thing, though. What about the tree spirits? Does this mean they're not real?"

  "I don't know." Ryder rests his head against the wall, and shuts his eyes. "I don't know much at all, that's the problem. I'm totally out of my depth."

  I tell you what, I'm bloody glad I'm not the Light's chosen one.

  Not much chance of that, though.

  Chapter 9

  Byron Lewis V

  I start my evening shift on Lookout 9, the beginning of a long six hours. At least we get to see some cool sunrises and sunsets, even if we're bored rigid for much of the time; a ruckus down below can be a welcome diversion. Maybe that's why Fay's such a pain in the arse―frustration from all those hours on the quiet north wall, bored witless.

  The lookouts accommodate two, so there is always the entertaining question of who you will be paired with. Tonight, as I approach the steps, I see that I am on watch with Ryder Swift.

  He smiles and says hello, but that's all, so I leave him be. That's a part of guard-knowledge, too; knowing when your partner doesn't feel like talking. You have to understand all this, or you become one of the few that no one wants to be paired or go out on patrol with (like Fay).

  It's not like Ryder to be quiet; he's usually great company, but I've heard all about him staggering into the Beer Hut with a story about a heavenly vision. It's the latest hot gossip. Most seem to believe him, because they all think he's the dog's bollocks. Others are highly sceptical. I'm not that interested, to be honest. I don't get involved with the internal politics and social intrigue of Blackthorn, and I've got stuff of my own to think about.

  I went to see Indra in her new home last night, and found her all kitted out in a new sweater, trousers and good boots. Her hair had been trimmed, and she was wearing a little make-up; I was struck by how pretty she is.

  She looked kind of lost, though. This must all be so strange to her.

  I was warmly welcomed by the other two housemates, Pansy and Lily, for I am a Blackthorn guard, and thus a 'catch', especially as I'm a Lewis. Indra accepted my concern about her well-being, but when I reiterated how sorry I was for her losses, she just shrugged her shoulders.

  "My brother always said that you just have to get on with whatever life throws at you," she said. She bit her lip, hard, and her eyes filled with tears.

  Ten minutes later, Lily's boyfriend turned up. I noticed the way he looked Indra up and down with more than a passing interest, while Lily tried to draw his attention back in her own direction.

  I took my cup through to the tiny kitchen, where Pansy was washing up.

  "How's Indra fitting in?" I asked. "Are you okay with her being here?"

  Pansy sniffed. "We don't get a choice, do we?"

  "But i
s she making an effort to get along? Doing her bit?"

  "She's okay." She gives me a sly look. "Lucky for her that it was you who found her, though, wasn't it? I mean, not a female guard."

  "By which you mean?"

  Another sniff. "I thought outliers were supposed to get sent on their way with a care package. But she's pretty, so she gets a job―and we have to share our bedroom with a stranger."

  I bristled. "I found her hiding in a house with the bodies of her murdered husband and brother. She'd been there for days; she was starving. Everyone else in Mulgrave was gone, killed by gangs from Boltwick, or forced to flee. That's not something you'll ever have to worry about, is it?"

  "Yeah, well, let's hope Lily doesn't end up having to share her boyfriend, too." She stopped what she was doing. "Oh, I'm sorry. I am. I do know what you mean; she's had it rough. But that doesn't mean we have to like her, does it?"

  "You could try."

  I turned on my heel and walked back to the doorway of the lounge, from where I observed. The boyfriend had one eye on Indra all the time. I get it, of course I do. Her looks make her an imagined threat, especially when Pansy and Lily are already pissed off because she's invaded their space. My head was and still is a mass of confusion; I feel protective towards her, but I don't want to feel responsibility for anyone. If I offer my protection she might cling to me or, worse, think such protection means more than it does.

  As I was thinking all this, she looked up at me, and I felt the hope in her eyes. She lowered her eyelids then looked up again, a slight smile playing around her lips.

  I know that look.

  Could be she's already aware of the advantages of marrying a Blackthorn guard; guards can become second lieutenants, and thus get a flat in Falcon House.

  Not this one, though.

  On Lookout 9, Ryder and I gaze out at the silent countryside in silence, each of us locked away in our own thoughts. Darkness falls quickly, after which there is nothing to do except stand there looking at nothing, or hope for some activity around Logside, just for the entertainment. The day has been bright and cloudless, so the night is crisp with chill. We eat snacks I've brought with me, to punctuate the time.

  "Pity we're not nearer South Gate; at least there would be some outliers to argue with," I say, in the end, because he seems on edge, maybe waiting for me to mention the gossip surrounding him.

  "Yeah. That would be good."

  He's shivering.

  "You cold? I don't mind if you want to nip home and get another jumper. Doubt you'll miss much."

  "I'm okay. Sorry―I mean, thanks."

  Even his voice sounds shaky.

  We don't speak for another few minutes, then out it comes.

  "I think I'm going out of my mind."

  Well, that would explain the heavenly visions. But I like Ryder well enough; I don't want to give him the stick I know he's received from others.

  "Hard day, huh? It's alright, I've heard what happened to you."

  That's all I've got, mate, sorry. As far as practical issues go, I'm your man, but I'm not good with emotional problems. Works both ways; I don't expect anyone else to care about my stuff, either.

  He doesn't look at me. "What do you think? About what you've heard?"

  "Oh, I probably got it third or fourth hand."

  "Okay―but when you were told, did you think I was making it up? Or dreaming, or out of it on mushrooms?"

  I'm reminded of something I read in a book when I was a kid. If he's not lying and not insane, the only other option is that he's telling the truth.

  So which is it?

  "It's a bit outside of my comprehension." Yes, I'm hedging. "I'm not really into all that spiritual stuff."

  "Fair enough. But what if you were presented with proof?"

  I smile into the darkness. "Well, then I'd think differently. I like to think I keep an open mind." And I do, so I turn and look at him. "So what do you reckon?"

  "I don't know. It was amazing at the time." He looks down; he's clutching the edge of the wall, and I can see by the light of the lamp that he's clinging on like it's going to save him, so hard that his knuckles have gone white. "But now―it's like I've got this huge responsibility on my shoulders, like I'm being tested―"

  His voice breaks, and he covers his face with his hand. I'm not sure what to say, so I don't say anything. He composes himself after a moment (thank goodness), and just stares out into the night. The silence that falls between us is awkward. In the end I take out my pocket watch; it's after eight o'clock.

  "What time did you come on?"

  "Three."

  "You can get off if you want. Don't worry, Hemsley won't be round; he doesn't do his check till later."

  He's as grateful to be let off as I am to be left alone until Raven gets here to replace him.

  I'm just stepping down from my shift at around eleven―I can see Coral heading this way to take over from me―when I hear shouting from Logside; people are coming out of their shacks. I hold up my lamp, and see Evie, her dad, a few women and the odd fella standing there, hands in pockets. As I hurry towards the commotion I see that it's Star who's doing the shouting, waving her arms at me.

  "Guard!" she shouts. "Hey, guard! Oh, Byron, it's you―please, can you get Doctor Paul? It's Ryder, I don't know what's wrong with him!"

  I follow her into her little living room, along with almost everyone else. There we find Joe bent over Ryder, who is lying flat on his back on his little makeshift bed, his eyes open and glassy as he stares up at the ceiling, shouting, "No! No! Get me out!"

  "I don’t know what to do with him," Joe says, and then Star starts crying frightened tears, and two women behind us join in.

  This could get out of hand, and I'm not built for drama.

  I say, "I don't know if we should wake Doctor Paul. Looks like he's just having a nightmare."

  Joe turns. "Aye, but his eyes are open and he's been like this for ten minutes or so, now―we can't wake him."

  "Get the doctor!" cries one of the women.

  I turn to her. "If Joe can't wake him up, I don't see how a doctor will be able to."

  Ryder screams, an ear-splitting sound that I'm guessing you can hear in Stinky Bottom, and jolts upright.

  "Ryder!" Star leaps over to him. "Ryder, are you okay? Are you awake now?"

  He shakes his head and looks round, in total bewilderment. "What are all these people doing in here?"

  "You were in a trance," Joe says. "Staring up at the ceiling. Shouting stuff."

  Everyone edges forward with their lamps. Ryder looks extremely embarrassed.

  "I had a dream―oh no, I'm sorry, did I wake you all up?"

  "No, that was Star," says Joe, putting his arm around her. "So, you're okay now, are you? Everyone can leave and we can all go back to bed?"

  I sense that all is not so harmonious in this little love nest for three.

  "I'm so sorry for disturbing you all," Ryder says, shifting to sit on the side of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. "It was just a bad dream. Listen, maybe I'd better go back and stay in one of the huts―"

  "I wouldn't hear of it," says Star.

  "I don't think twenty travellers would be keen on you waking them up, neither," says Joe.

  Evie steps forward, crouching down. "What happened, mate? What was the dream about?"

  He looks up at her, all big regretful eyes, and takes her hand. "Oh, honey, you're here too. I'm so sorry―I've disturbed everyone―"

  "That's okay. Just tell us about the dream."

  "It didn't feel like a dream. It felt as real as this, now. I-I was in that place. Despair. He said I had to go there, so I would understand."

  "Understand what?" asks Joe.

  Ryder stares up at him, his face etched with pain. "He said he had to make me understand what can happen to us―I'm not kidding, I've never been so scared in my life." He wipes his eyes, and puts his hand to his chest. "Those poor people; there was no hope for them, but I knew wha
t it felt like to be them, lost in a pit of darkness. Oh, bloody hell."

  Evie says, "Sounds like some heavy shit."

  I want to laugh.

  "You can't imagine. I couldn't have, before―" Ryder clutches Evie's arm. "It-it's coming for us. I don't know if he means after death, or now, or―"

  If he's faking, he's damn good at it.

  We all just stand, not saying a word.

  Then Star's voice rings out in the silence. Shaky, frightened, but clear. "It's happening already, isn't it? The bad crops, the fall of Central, people hungry, with no homes―the bandits―everyone says that the country is becoming a more dangerous place. What if next summer is as bad as the last two? It's happening; the despair―it's coming for us. And it's getting closer every day."

  Even I shiver at that.

  "Fuck," says Evie.

  "This is why Ryder's been sent to us, to stop it," Star continues, "or in a few years it will be like the Territory Wars after the Fall, all over again―the fighting, the destruction, everyone starving, dying. He's our last chance. We have to listen to him."

  No one says a word. They all stare at Star, and then at Ryder.

  It's Evie who turns to me. "I hate to say this, because fuck knows he's one of my least favourite people, but do you think Ryder ought to go and see the governor about all this?"

  They're all looking at me now. All those people, squashed into that little room. Even Ryder. They're looking at me to do what's right, because I'm a guard.

  Trouble is, if I'm honest, the main reason I'm a guard is because it's a good skive. And I don't know what's right, because I am still not convinced by all this.

  "What Evie said, Byron," says Star. "Find Lieutenant Hemsley. You've got to take Ryder to talk to Governor North. You have to."