The next few days just blend together in one long string of dusting and polishing. Not a single person talks to Gax and he can’t seem to find anyone to greet with a smile or make a comment to. Before he knows it, it’s Hexaday again and Yulra reminds him that this afternoon is his second lecture at the Town Hall. Gax groans softly. The lecturer is different and so is the lecture. This one is about being a responsible citizen, who lives his life in an ordered and logical way. Often people have a breakdown in communication because they allow their feelings to dictate to them or their emotions take over. Instead of looking at the facts, they react with emotions. Apparently, Gax learns, that is why all other civilizations struggle with so many problems and why people end up hurt. In a way, people aren’t really hurt, it’s just their feelings that get hurt, but as their feelings are in charge, people make a big issue out of their hurt feelings. It’s why Elabi is so strict on people coming in and out, protecting the beautiful city that they have, protecting their way of life. The council is adamant that Elabi will not fail like all other civilizations have done before them.
Gax looks round the room, carefully of course, and notices the faces. Not a single person looks happy, although nobody looks sad either. Faces in Elabi are as bland as he has ever seen. No emotions are shown. They smile when they have to, but it doesn’t seem to touch their eyes, the windows to their souls. The lecture ends with some warnings against people who will try to prey on people’s emotions, communicating in an unseemly way, trying to destroy all that Elabi stands for. “This the council cannot allow. They will do all that is necessary to protect the people of Elabi that want to have the best life one can have, not fulfilling dreams, for that is just wishful thinking that leads to trouble. People that dream of more than they can have, end up miserable and with a criminal mindset. Or they will not accept their given jobs and status. Elabi makes people’s lives fulfilled, in that it is always a good day and we are led by facts, not fancies.”
Gax follows the others out of the lecture room, relieved to have that one ticked off as well. He does some shopping on the way home. The man on the till is clearly a Mansit, again with the yellowed skin. Gax raises his chin at the man with a kind smile. The man raises his chin as well, but doesn’t look at Gax at all. His movements are slow and his hands struggle to hold on to each article as he pulls it past the scanner. Gax licks his lips, then says, “I don’t think I have seen you in the shop before. I hope you had a good day today?” The man looks up then, startled, then narrows his eyes at Gax.
“Every day is a good day,” he says, his voice dull, but there is a tiny angry spark in his eyes. “Every day. We are not led by feelings, merely by facts.” Gax notices that the scanning of articles is going faster too, as if the man is taking his aggression out on them. Gax dips his head, yes, of course, every day is a good day. Should he show some empathy as working in a shop can be tiring, or will the man take that the wrong way as well? When Gax goes to pay, the man leans over a little, adjusting the card reader, and he hisses, “Thinking there is good and very good is a sure way to end up beyond the hills. Being different is not worth it, unless you really want a different life,” and he narrows his eyes again, but the angry spark in his eyes has turned into a roaring fire. Gax dips his head, takes his shopping, raises his chin and walks out. So the man was trying to warn him.
Chapter 25
Gax feels more tired than ever that Enday. There is no lecture this time, and Gax is bored. He glares at his new but useless computer, tidies around the house a little, then decides to go out for a walk. He had wanted to go towards the river last week, but had been too tired. It is hot outside, and soon his long linen trousers cling to his legs, the grass sharp on his bare feet. He wants to walk a bit further today, but Gax misses his walking boots. Maybe he should have risked wearing them today. He flaps his cotton shirt to fan himself, sweat pooling in the crook of his elbows.
The walk improves his mood though and soon Gax finds himself humming well known hymns, making up the words where he has forgotten particular lines. He breathes in the hot air, smelling of summer, grains growing everywhere and aromatic grasses. As he gets nearer the river, the air cools a little, with a hint of a breeze. Gax wipes his forehead, his eyes travelling to the water and bridges made out of a pale stone. Gax notices that there are actually two bridges, looking very similar. He rests for a bit, leaning on the large natural stones, dreamily staring into the river flowing underneath. He has a drink, then continues. He spots the occasional bird flitting around, wondering what it is, missing his grandfather who would have been able to tell him straight away.
The river edge is no longer smooth and grassy, but rocks appear and tiny coves that divert his path away from the water’s edge. As he passes a water sport area the path seems to peter out but Gax is determined to continue his walk. He loves rough paths as it reminds him of walks with friends. So he clambers on, over boulders, underneath huge tree branches, always coming back to the river. Gax feels pleasantly tired by the time he spots the perfect picnic place. It’s a dip in the landscape, a short gully, with a clattering waterfall falling over a cave-like shelter. It’s like sitting behind a waterfall, the water clear as his mother’s windows, the cave cool and deliciously private. Gax is tired of being watched, stared at all the time and here is the space he craves. He can say grace for his lunch out loud, he can sing a hymn without any repercussions. He shuffles as far back as he can, his back leaning against the cold rock and he sighs with relief.
He hums while eating his lunch, simply because he can, then leans his head back against the cave wall, smiling in delight. “The perfect meeting place, Lord,” he says out loud. He can just picture it, the long walk every week, having a time of worship. Mind you, he would have to use different routes every week. He daydreams and dozes, smiling to himself, until he hears voices. The noise grates on his nerves and he is instantly back to reality, back to being watched and controlled.
“It was near here,” a slow nasally voice drones insistently, “it was. I did see him, near here. It must be near here. That’s another one for the next Tubular,” he continues, cackling excitedly. Gax’s heart splatters off like the waterfall in front of him. Are they looking for him?
Another voice sounds, one that makes his shiver. “Fine, I got the message the first seven times. That is not how we expect people to report rule breakers. It’s nothing to do with revenge or anything like that. Somebody reporting things to us like that sounds emotionally involved, see?” Apparently the other one sees alright, for he merely repeats that he wanted to do his duty, as he did see the man near here. Gax slides his empty containers into his Bergen, cringing when one of them gives off a tiny sound. Then he looks around the small hiding place. Well, not really a hiding place. It’s merely the waterfall that covers him, but he’d be spotted in an instant by whoever walks past. He looks around more frantically as he can hear the slapping sounds of sandals coming closer.
There seems to be a ledge of some kind near the top of the hollow, just underneath the roof supporting the waterfall. Clutching his Bergen in one arm to prevent the glass containers from clanging together, he slowly stands up, and clambers onto the ledge. He gives a gasp when he bangs his head, holding his breath when the containers in the bag give off another muffled clink. “Well, if you are certain of what you saw,” the cold voice sounding uncomfortably close, “I will search this area as soon as the other guards arrive. Of course, the council doesn’t hold with time wasters…” His voice dies away and the nasally man gets the hint, his voice marginally less excited as he assures the guard that he is sure of the facts. Gax swallows. Other guards are coming? What should he do? They’re bound to find him, as the hollow is very small.
He moves further onto the ledge at a snail’s pace, worried his sandals might make a scraping sound. He keeps his head well down, wanting to get as far back as possible. Suddenly, the ledge tips, and Gax slides off, calling out in horror at the same time as the ledge slams back in place. He gasps,
instantly regretting it, as his mouth and lungs fill with muddy water. Fortunately for Gax, he has landed in a shallow mud pool, deep enough to stop him from coming to grief. Even his containers survived the sudden fall. Gax tries to sit up, but his head touches the rock above him straight away. All he can hear is his very rapid breathing, sounding more desperate as soon as he hits the rock. Gax shivers with cold and horror, too aware of the mud all over him, making his cotton shirt feel heavy.
There must be light from somewhere, as his eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and he can see the mud glistening all around him. Gax looks round carefully, not wanting to get hurt again. He realises that the light must come from the ledge. He can hear voices too.
“…rice here, fresh rice. Looks like that Mansit was right…wonder…loud bang was.. agreed…too near Downstream landing…” Gax gasps and edges away from the ledge, wanting to put as much distance between his leftover crumbs from lunch, the voice and himself as possible, praying it will take them forever to find out about the ledge. Groping in the dark, straining his eyes, he manages to crawl through the edges of the mud pool, into another passage. It is very narrow, and Gax hates darkness as well as small spaces, but he needs to get away. Downstream? This place is near Downstream? “Whenever I am afraid,” he whispers, his voice shaking as much as his cold hands, “I will not be afraid…” His voice lacks conviction, but simply hearing himself helps. A scraping sound, a shriek… It’s the ledge being tilted, and Gax freezes. He pushes his face down, not daring to breathe, trying to hide his hands, face and feet. “It’s dark,” a growling voice, way too close for comfort. Gax’s ears make whooshing sounds, and a sharp taste rises into his mouth. He will be found and sent beyond the hills, not for his message, but for being accidentally too close to the Downstream landing place. The voice calls out something, the ledge scrapes, then bangs into place.
He stays still. Will they figure out that this is what happened to him? Will they come down and search the passage? Bits of prayer flit through his mind. When the ledge stays in place, Gax decides to crawl on, wanting to get away in case they shine a torch down. The passage seems endless and Gax knows that he will never accept a caving invitation again. It’s a lot worse than he has ever imagined, the slithering along on his stomach, stones digging into him, the constant bashing of his head, but especially what feels like a lack of oxygen. Gax hates every single minute, but there doesn’t seem to be a choice.
A new fear presents itself. What if he suddenly pops up out of the ground, right in front of some of the searching guards? Then this horror will have been for nothing. Gax groans, trying to turn it into a prayer, but he feels too numb, inside and out, to get the words straight. Just when he knows he can’t go on, he sees the light. It’s a horizontal line, like a very thin letterbox. Gax stops, trying to take slower, deeper breaths, his entire body shaking. He wants to be out of this place, but on the other hand, he is relatively safe here. In the end, he decides to crawl a little closer, the light drawing him. The slit grows with each stab and bash. Gax gives off a sob of relief when he sees it’s a way out. He finds a smooth place, staying close to the rock wall, in case somebody peers into the hole. Then he closes his eyes, forcing his breaths to become more even, sighing “Thank you, Lord,” his ears straining to hear voices.
The cave is cold, and Gax shivers in his wet clothes, feeling utterly exhausted. He must have dozed off, for the next time Gax looks at the exit, it’s a lot darker. Quietly he crawls to the hole, glancing out, wondering how to get back. It is very quiet, but Gax inches forward, commando crawl. He feels lost, but doesn’t want to stand up, fearing the guards, not wanting to get closer to the Downstream landing place either. When he reaches a slightly higher part, he looks round, his breath leaving him in a satisfied whoosh when he spots the odd clump of trees. He passed these on his way here, just before he found the waterfall. Gax hesitates, aching all over. Maybe he should simply make a dash for those trees.
The air is quiet and in the end Gax compromises. He will crawl to the trees, then walk from there. Pleased with this decision, he crawls off, his Bergen feeling warm and safe on his back. When he gets near the trees he stops again, in order to listen and look. The slight breeze from the river makes him shudder, the glass containers clinking softly in sympathy. With the breeze comes the faint smell of fish. Gax hesitates. Is it his imagination? Maybe it’s the river smell? Then a soft sound, like somebody carefully clearing their throat. Gax leans his forehead on the cool grass, feeling sick and lightheaded. They have got guards stationed.
Staying in the shadows, Gax goes back the same way he came. He holds his breath every time his sandals make a scratching noise, but no one shouts out. Relieved by the better cover, he crawls to the gully near the waterfall, following it down to the river. The river feels cool and the water heavy. Gax lowers himself carefully, glad to feel the mud leaving him. Being wet is bad enough. Swimming against the tide is hard work, especially as he has to be quiet. He stays as low as possible, spluttering in the crook of his elbow whenever the river water goes down the wrong way.
Once Gax reaches the water sport place, he’s too tired to swim any longer. He crawls onto the short grass, panting, gasping, not bothered about the outcome anymore. After some rest, he feels well enough to sit up and take stock. It’s not totally dark yet and no guard can be seen. Gax hesitates, then, looking at the dark water in front of him he makes up his mind. Resolutely, he gets up and walks off towards the bridges in the distance, trying to stay in the shadows, but making it look natural.
The walk warms him up, dries his clothes and drains the last ounce of energy. Gax struggles to stab the key into the door, his hands shaking, fear knocking on his heart. Once inside, he hesitates. Should he switch the light on and behave as normal as possible? Or sneak in, slip into bed, hoping the watchers can’t see him and haven’t heard him? In the end he does both. He tiptoes into the bathroom, has a hot bath, then walks around, making himself a snack and hums in as innocent a voice he can. Yulra tells him it is 3:35am, and Gax thanks her, fighting to keep the relief out of his voice. He lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling, still shaking as the adrenalin starts to wear off. Will they connect him? Will the watchers report him, linking him with the fugitive? What would the Downstream landing place look like? He shudders, remembering the cold voice of the guard, the fishy smell near the trees and the Mansit’s grovelling voice.
Gax is stiff, sore and shattered when he wakes up the next morning. The mirror doesn’t show any of his bruises, fortunately, but Gax can feel every single spot where a rock has hugged him too closely. He glares at the mirror, knowing it’s going to be a long day. The shop will be in chaos again and he will start dusting shelf after shelf. Grabus will glower at him, Inritia will ignore him, even Caecilia won’t really look at him, for fear of being implicated in whatever caused them to be suspicious of him in the first place.
Chapter 26
Days turn into weeks and soon Gax has seen the start of two moons in Elabi. Nothing has come from his caving adventure, although for several weeks, Gax finds himself waking up in the night, drenched with sweat, struggling to breathe. The heat has grown along with the daylight hours and soon the summer solstice, the longest day, is mentioned. Gax remembers the festival to celebrate the birth of the Messiah, the Christ, but there is no festival here. He avoids thinking of the Christmas preparations his family would be making now; avoids thinking altogether and he finds himself enjoying the days more this way. There is a soothing cadence to the passing of days. You work, you rest, you go to the gymnasium, you sleep and repeat. The weekends are used for cleaning the house, taking a walk in the cool of the evening, watch some telly, nap on the sofa with some music. It is rather mind numbing, but it’s a pleasant numbness. He still tries to smile at people, still reminds himself of his mission every now and then, but well, you can’t force people into conversation, can you? People in Elabi feel established, he thinks, set in a way of living and he can feel the same drowsiness coming over
his soul. It’s quite relaxing to just…live, to let others make the decisions for you, to live your life along clear paths, everything worked out for you. Physical exercise to keep the body going, but resting your mind, not having to deal with life and death issues. No death is ever mentioned in Elabi, it’s like living in a placid bubble.
Christmas passes and Gax feels numb all day. Normally he would be in the Meeting House and the next day he would be with friends and family probably toasting marshmallows on the beach, playing games, chatting. Instead he is dusting shelves, alone. A new year starts, but Gax is by himself, thinking of his family, staring at his ceiling in the dark, hoping that whoever is monitoring his every move can’t see his tears. New Year’s Day, and he is here, in Elabi. People drifting through life, following the rules, doing what they need to do. And he has become one of them.
The weather is still hot but after a few weeks Gax notices that the evenings are a little shorter. Several moons slip by and Gax feels colder and colder inside, missing home more than ever. However, thoughts of home are linked to thoughts about his mission and the reason he is here in Elabi. After a while Gax finds that those thoughts are becoming more and more painful, as the mission seems doomed. He is doing what he can, but what can one person achieve against a city? How did he ever think he could take this city by himself? He can feel his resolve fall down and crumble as some of the leaves around him, their colours vibrant but the leaf itself lifeless, powerless.
Walled City (The Elabi Chronicles Book 1) Page 15
