The Future's Mine

by Leyland, L J

  ‘Then I guess you’re gonna have to change the world and all the humans in it.’

  ‘I guess I will,’ I replied.

  His hooded eyes danced with amusement but also a sort of surprise. ‘Well, good luck with that.’

  I tried to adopt a look of haughtiness but my desire for knowledge overcame my desire to sulk; I turned to face him once more. ‘Why would there still be noises if they finished their melt over thirty years ago? Wouldn’t all the oil and gas be out by now?’

  ‘I guess they are still drilling and excavating … must be difficult to reach …’ He trailed off, looking shifty.

  ‘What? You know something, don’t you?’

  ‘Not really. Just rumours. Rumours that came from your Iris and speculation from the traders.’

  ‘I don’t like guessing games so just tell me what rumours you’ve heard.’

  ‘Ah listen, I don’t rightly know. That Iris … she’s not all there. Half the time no-one can make head nor tail of what she says, plus we’re not on the best of speaking terms with the Eagle Clan … They don’t let us know everything that they’ve learnt. Inter-clan politics.’ He spat out a leaf that had somehow found its way from his pipe to his mouth. ‘Just wait ‘til we get to Ben Hevan and you can ask Iris yourself why she thinks the noises are getting more frequent and louder. Ask her about the earth tremors, too.’

  He turned his back to me and I had to dive to the deck to prevent his antlers from swiping my head off. I took that to mean that I was dismissed.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Ben Hevan’s shadow grasped us whilst we were still about a mile away. Soaring above us, it rose majestically out of the water and dwarfed everything in sight. The air turned cooler as we sailed into its shadow and drizzle fell as soft puffs of sleet. Upon seeing it, I understood why it was the home of the Eagle Clan. The land was so vertical that I doubted that anything other than birds could make its home there. Huge eagles circled the mountain, coasting through the air effortlessly on their enormous wings. Wooden houses clung to the mountainsides like nest boxes designed for birds.

  Noah wrapped a fur coat around me, one kindly donated by Mhareen. The fur was smoky and unbelievably soft. The dusky grey colour reflected the colours in the sky. ‘You don’t suffer from vertigo, do you?’ he asked with a smile.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything as big before,’ I replied.

  Fergus had lent Noah a coat made from the soft ochre skin of stags. It was short-haired, supple, and warm as I stroked it. It reminded me of the way that Wolf’s skin felt after he had lain by the fire all afternoon. A sudden pang of anguish deadened me as I longed for Edie, Aiden, and Wolf. On cold afternoons like this, we would gather by the stove and make tea from the herbs that Edie collected to stem our hunger, hoping the liquid would be a satisfactory replacement for food. It never was.

  When winter came, food became scarcer and we would have to break into our stores of dried and preserved food, prepared during the spring and summer. It was a special day, breaking into the first batch of dried fish or preserved plums. Despite the fact that it signalled the beginning of the lean months, we celebrated it. We celebrated the fact that we had been as clever as to prepare for the cold and misery. We felt proud of our ingenuity and hard work. We would not starve … well, we would not die from hunger, at least. On the first day, we would make garlands from mistletoe and holly to decorate the boat. As a yearly treat, we would exchange some of our dried fish for sheep’s cream at the docks and make a thick, delicious drink of hot cream, spices, and honey. It was our special winter warmer to celebrate our survival for another year. I wondered what Matthias’s grandmother was feeding them and whether they had shown her how to make the drink. What on earth was I doing so far away from them? How could I leave them to fend for themselves whilst I gallivanted off on an adventure?

  I felt an arm around me and turned my head, expecting to see Noah. Instead, Matthias was leaning heavily on my shoulders, using me as a staff to take the weight off his injuries. ‘Do you think it’s snowing in Brigadus?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably. You know how the weather suddenly turns without any warning. Do you … do you think they’re safe?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, stoutly.

  I raised my eyebrow at him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said again, but he gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

  Fergus had also lent him a coat. It was thick and deep; it made him look five-foot wide. Apprehension crept up on me.

  ‘What if the Mayor has realised Noah has disappeared? What if he thinks that I’m with him, after he saw Noah help me escape from the Complex? And, what if they realise you’re gone from the factory and think you’re with us, too? If the Mayor has sent Parrots looking for your grandma and sees Edie and Aiden … Matt, what if they have taken Edie and Aiden?’

  Matthias made shushing noises and squeezed my shoulder until they hurt but he didn’t offer any words of comfort.

  ‘Maida?’ said Noah; his eyes were as calm as a summer lake. ‘You’re being irrational. My parents told the Parrots that I’d contracted marsh fever so they think I’m at home, at death’s door. The Mayor has no idea where you live. No-one knows about the boat so you’re not on any of the Parrot’s records, remember? Essentially, you, Edie, and Aiden don’t exist.’

  ‘And my grandmother has told the factory that I’ve caught a blood infection from an untreated cut and have to stay home for a while,’ added Matthias.

  ‘No-one knows about our plan, honest. They won’t come looking for Edie and Aiden, ‘said Noah.

  Matthias relaxed his grip from my shoulders and said, ‘I think you’re giving the Parrots far too much credit – they’re too dumb to figure out that Noah’s disappearance is linked to us somehow. It’ll be fine. Let’s not worry about it.’

  But his brow still had worry lines etched into it and I knew he was feeling the flicker of fear that I felt. The closer it got to the finale, the more apprehensive I was feeling. Matthias was wrong about the Parrots being dumb. Sure, the minor, low-level ones were morons who even children could outwit (as we had proved since I was twelve). But there were cold-eyed, steel-hearted men who surrounded the Mayor. They were experienced, ruthless, and certainly not dumb. After all, hadn’t they helped to engineer the deception of an entire nation of people? Hadn’t they managed to subdue us with carefully crafted lies about the Flood? Didn’t they maintain control in the most subtle of ways, by removing our hope and killing our spirits, making us utterly dependent on them? No, I for one would not underestimate them. My fear stayed firmly lodged in my chest.

  The Highland rowers began to make their strokes shorter and less frequent, letting the boat coast towards the island. The coloured flags dotted the landscape here too but, more intriguingly, a strange high structure had been built around the entire island. From far away, I had just thought it was a giant cliff but now I could see that it was manmade. It was like a giant fence had been built around the island. Boulders, wood, and sand were piled high, forming a ten-metre barrier, separating the island from the outside world.

  ‘Mhareen, what is that for?’ I asked, pointing towards it.

  ‘We’re not entirely sure, love. They’re an awful secretive lot, the Eagles. Fergus thinks its protection from another Flood, or so he hears from rumours and the like. But maybe it’s just to stop the Metropole from getting landmines close to the shore.’

  ‘Another Flood? What?’

  But Mhareen shushed me. ‘Quiet, lass. Now’s not the time. Talk to Iris and Fergus when we land.’ She straightened her antlers and mussed her hair, presumably to make herself look as big and wild as possible.

  A loan figure waited on a rock platform. He gave a signal to a person hidden from view and a crack opened up in the barriers. An enormous wooden gate creaked open and we sailed through the gap, into a small, calm lagoon between the barriers and the shore. We had made it to Ben Hevan.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Our guide from the Eagle Clan
led us deftly through the trail of deadly flags. The tawny feathers on his headdress danced with his every step. It was beautiful. Shades of brown and gold speckled each feather as though each had been individually painted. It was a feathery halo-crown that shimmered with glowing hues and speckles of gold dust. The guide’s dark cloak of cotton and golden feathers gave him a mystical air. It looked less warm than the furs that the Deer Clan had but I supposed that they preferred to show off their clan’s identity.

  What a majestic animal to represent, I thought as I watched the feathers bounce as he walked. I heard an eagle call from overhead; a cry that sounded anguished yet strong. The guide looked as though he belonged with the eagles, soaring and flying, head held high. I wondered what animal would represent our little clan on this journey. My grey fur coat was soft against my hands. Wolf fur. Yes; a wolf. Independent but loyal; wise but fearsome; dangerous but trustworthy. As Fergus said, you could trust a wolf.

  We walked, mostly in silence, for at least half-an-hour. The landscape didn’t change much. It was rocky and difficult; pointy rocks positioned so as to puncture the leather soles of your boots. Matthias lagged near the back and stumbled quite a bit, still feeling the toll of his injury. Noah and I hung back to fall in line with him. Grimmy worked hard to keep up with Fergus and the other strong men. I doubted that this was to demonstrate to Fergus his bravery, but was more the fact that he wanted to be near the strongest fighter should the Eagles choose to attack. He was such a coward.

  I still hadn’t forgiven him for shooting up the tree during the deer attack and had resolutely ignored his wheedling for me to forgive him. I had tried a new punishment – the silent treatment. Grimmy was just like me; he relished a good scrap with an explosion of anger, followed by a swift apology. To him (and me also) the silent treatment was torture. It was a long, drawn out punishment that was like a constant uncomfortable ache. It was the difference between briefly dunking your hand in boiling water and having to hold your hand in ice water for an hour. Both painful but I knew which one I could endure without going mad. Grimmy was the same. And therefore, I picked the harshest, iciest punishment I could for him.

  ‘You don’t have to be so hard on him,’ said Matthias. ‘It’s wrong to expect a rat to change its behaviour. He was just doing what came naturally to him.’

  ‘You seem to be forgetting the fact that when we return to Brigadus to confront the Mayor, he will be part of our team. A team is only as strong as its weakest link and in our case, our weak link is selfish, thoughtless, and a coward. You think you can rely on him not to spill our secrets to the Mayor if we’re caught? I don’t. He needs to be taught that he can’t run at the first hurdle. He needs to be iced out for a while until he realises that he needs to work with us properly, as a team.’

  ‘Ouch, alright, Ice Queen, remind me never to get on the wrong side of you. Grimmy’ll get frostbite just from looking at you,’ said Matthias.

  ‘You know, I’m not sure reverse psychology will work on a man like Grimmy. I think icing him out will only breed resentment rather make him realise that he needs us and wants to potentially sacrifice his life for us. Look at what losing Regina did to him – made him so bitter and resentful that he wanted to blow up the entire island. He’s only just come round to our thinking and agreed to abandon his own plan and therefore I don’t think we can afford to ice him out just yet. Now flattery … that’s what will work with Grimmy,’ said Noah.

  He had a point but I was far too cross to suck up to Grimmy just yet. ‘Flattery? I prefer flattening. Just run him over – nothing that a bit of violence can’t sort out,’ I grumbled.

  ‘Now, now,’ warned Matthias but I saw a smirk make a brief appearance on his face.

  Our guide gave the signal for us to stop. We were right at the heart of the island; a forested valley carved out eons ago by a long-melted glacier. Rock cliffs surrounded us on all sides, sheltering us from the worst of the wind and snow. It was a clever place to build a settlement. A stream flowed through the centre of the valley and tall fir trees grew on either side. In Brigadus, the trees all grew so tightly packed together that it looked as though they were in a slow motion battle to strangle their neighbours. But here, they grew tall and stately, unimpeded by the machinations of their neighbours. Their branches unfurled to their full, magnificent potential.

  Dappled light was allowed to filter down to the forest floor, making a soft chequerboard pattern on the ground. Wooden roundhouses with matted and mossy thatch roofs dotted the area like a scene from a children’s fairy tale. They were tiny in comparison to the towering trees, like dolls’ houses.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I breathed.

  Noah smiled at me from under a black lock of hair that had fallen onto his face and I pictured us living in one of those roundhouses, growing roses around the front door and letting birds live in the thatch. I shook the image from my head.

  The little houses sat squat against the ground, protected from the elements. Smoke undulated from holes in the roofs, spiralling into the air, only to be obliterated when it met the fierce wind above the tree line.

  ‘Welcome to the Eagle’s Nest,’ said our guide. ‘We will take you to Keir. He is expecting you and your guests. Fergus, Mhareen, you know the drill. All weapons must be left outside the Nest.’

  ‘Aye,’ grumbled Fergus, opening his coat to display an armoury of flint blades and arrowheads.

  Matthias laughed to see such an array of weapons. ‘That’s what I call preparation,’ he whispered to me and dropped his stubby knife into the quickly growing pile of weapons from the Deer Clan.

  ‘If I come out to find anything missing, every man, woman, child, and animal will have their ears blown,’ Fergus said.

  I grasped the cold barrel of the golden gun in my bag. A shiver of dread ran through me as I realised that I really didn’t want to leave it unattended. Was I really getting that attached to it? I quietly slipped it from my bag and tucked it into my shirt pocket. No-one would find it in there, it would be my little secret, hidden close to my heart. The guide approached me and asked, ‘Weapons?’ I showed him my empty bag and flashed him an innocent, winsome smile.

  ‘Nope,’ I said.

  The duplicity came easily to me and I instantly felt slightly ashamed. But not so ashamed that I would turn the gun over. Noah caught my eye and imperceptibly shook his head. I gave him a pleading look and quickly followed the guide.

  He led us towards a long, rectangular building. It resembled a primitive town hall with large wooden doors and elaborately carved eaves. A stone sun dial had been erected outside and there was a small platform from which clan elders could presumably make speeches and pass judgment. A rush of warmth met us as we crossed the door and I gratefully registered that there was a blazing fire in the corner of the room. But the room itself felt shadowy and it took a second for my eyes to adjust.

  The mud walls had been painted as black as coal. Exquisite paintings of golden eagles were the only decoration that interrupted the blackness. The images were stylised so that the eagles were imbued with an almost human quality. Their beautiful golden feathers glowed against the blackness of the walls and appeared to jump off the surface. The eagles were bigger than human-sized and the painted scenes depicted a hunt. Starting from the left-hand corner of the room, the first painting showed an eagle perched on a tree, the next depiction showed an eagle flying majestically, the next spotting its prey, then diving with claws outstretched for the kill, and finally capturing its prey along the right-hand wall. With a flood of dread, I saw that its prey was a man, screaming in terror. The fire light and the shadows made the eagles look as though they were alive, moving with a flurry of feathers and a glare from their beady eyes.

  ‘You like my paintings?’ asked a voice from behind me.

  I jumped, spun around and accidentally jabbed the speaker hard in the ribs with my elbow. Oh God, why did I always have to be so clumsy? ‘Oh no, I’m sorry!’ I blurted out, intending to apologise more profu
sely but quailed under the look the man gave me.

  It wasn’t an especially angry look. But he was the type of man to instil awe and silence in others. I had never seen a man more inherently noble or kingly. He wore a black coat decorated with the biggest golden feathers I had ever seen. His feather crown sat on his head as though it was a natural extension of his hair. His face was middle-aged but his eyes suggested younger. They were playful and amused, confident in his position. He was not the type of insecure leader who would take offence at an inferior knocking into him. I thought of what the Mayor would have done to a Parrot who had accidentally touched him. Confinement or a humiliating slap around the face, no doubt.

  ‘The Metropolites say we are savages, but I bet none of them have seen art as beautiful or skilful as this,’ he said, waving his hand towards the final scene. ‘I’ve heard they don’t do art or music or culture in the Metropole. Breeds too much independence. Is that true?’ he asked me.

  ‘I wouldn’t know, sir, I’ve never been but there’s certainly no time for art or music in Brigadus. We’re all too busy trying to survive.’

  He laughed heartily. ‘Survival in itself is an art form, no?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, it takes a lot of skill,’ I replied.

  Keir turned from me and approached Fergus and Mhareen with hands outstretched, as if to say ‘Welcome, old friends!’ but tension prickled in the air. ‘Fergus, good to see you again. Those antlers get bigger every time I see you. Are you carving them from wood?’

  Fergus rumbled like an oncoming landslide but restrained himself enough to say, ‘Keir, long time no see.’

  ‘Mhareen, lovely to see you. I wish we could be meeting in happier times but I’ve heard from your outrider that you have some people you would like me to meet. These are them? Outsiders? You know that we don’t generally invite outsiders to the island, let alone the Nest, especially in these troubled times.’

  ‘Well, if you actually told us why these times are so troubled, perhaps we wouldn’t have to sail all the way here, tromp through your land and bring outsiders to meet you. If you weren’t so damned secretive …’ said Fergus.