Arcene: The Island

by Al K. Line

  Hot food, crispy and delicious. A rare treat the entire community looked forward to, salivating as eager hands put the incredible cooked flesh into their mouths after months, sometimes years of raw fish or mouse, maybe slightly warmed by the sun if they fancied the chewy, dried squid. That, and the seaweed. Always the seaweed.

  Talia never even noticed the salt, she knew no different. Neither did anyone else.

  A Special Day

  The number stuck in her head like three pins: 111. She was never big on celebrating the anniversary of her birth, but this felt different. Special. Talia was now officially one hundred and eleven years old.

  She wasn't sure of the time of her birth, but it was this day, so, as far as she was concerned, she was now forty thousand five hundred and fifteen days old, nine hundred and seventy-two thousand three hundred and sixty hours, give or take a little, or one point one one centuries old. She worked it out, spent the last few evenings trying to exercise her brain in-between getting everything organized for her group of Inspectors, a temporary caste that could be shed once you proved yourself.

  There was something about the three single digits, as if it was an omen, a portent of today being a special day, somehow different. Although, truth be told, it was just another day. Another birthday that would go mostly unnoticed by all but a few friends.

  Maybe Cashae and Erato would get her something nice, a piece of wood, a slice of cooked meat, dried and saved for special occasions, but she held out little hope — she was as lax in such regards as her few friends, and they weren't to blame, birthdays just weren't that big a celebration, not when they came around every year.

  The proud digits stuck: 1.1.1.

  The prime number. 1, the age on her first birthday. Times by a hundred and it was her first century on the planet. Now there had been one hundred and eleven of the precious years. The numbers were lined up in her mind like three daggers, each significant but multiplied by the powerful number three. Talia had never been a superstitious child, and certainly wasn't now she was an adult, but these damn numbers, they held significance, she was sure of it.

  This was no normal day, too much had conspired to make it anything but. She wasn't old as such, Awoken didn't live lives like Whole did, with their measly few years, over so soon it hardly seemed worth the bother. No, she had a lengthy future ahead of her, a future that may span millennia — Awoken. As long as she wasn't unlucky enough to succumb to The Lethargy, she would carry right on living and living. Who knew when it would end? Maybe it never would, but Talia was no child any longer.

  The Elders would still see her as a somewhat immature woman, but not a child, and although she felt a little silly for believing the numbers were special in some way, too much had come together on this day for her to ignore the signs.

  Not only was it the first day of the Inspection, although it should be called the Cleaning as far as she was concerned, but it was also a full moon. It would be at its apex this evening. Maybe it was nothing, but it all seemed to hint at some hidden meaning, something significant. An event.

  Talia didn't think herself particularly special, but with her youthful appearance, and the fact she Awoke so early, there was a secret sense of destiny she tried to hide — acting smug and self-important was not the way to get ahead in life — but she didn't see herself as unimportant either.

  She was just herself, Talia. Wise enough to know that everyone believed themselves to be the center of the world, the opposite being the truth in most cases. Of course, she would never utter a word of this in the presence of the Elders, certainly not to Vorce, but as far as she was concerned everyone was just as important as the next person. Even that didn't stop her being awed by the older inhabitants, with their stories of the time before The Lethargy. And Vorce himself, well, she literally shook in his presence, and if she was very truthful then as much as she liked to kid herself everyone was equal when you got down to it, he was far from just another man on The Island.

  "Come on, Talia, stop this nonsense. You have work to do, time to go topside." Talia finished her morning ablutions, stepped out of her cramped bathroom, and returned to the bedroom where she dressed for the day in one of her least prized outfits.

  Clothes were a real luxury. You did what you could with what you inherited, could barter or earn, and she, just like everyone else, wouldn't dream of wearing anything she cared for if she risked ruining it while working.

  In fact, she would have been happy wearing nothing at all, but that was another thing strictly forbidden — flaunting your youth in front of those less fortunate, those that Awoke much later, or the old Whole that clung to life as they withered and wrinkled, was seen as rude. She never saw it that way, but rules were there for a reason, and she would never disobey if it meant others felt inadequate or inferior.

  For the children it was different. They weren't expected to wear clothes, it would be a waste and they would ruin the precious materials, but once puberty began you covered up to some degree — bare arms and legs were fine, anything else was asking for punishment, or a severe reprimand at the very least.

  So Talia dressed reluctantly in a pair of shorts, put her boots on, fastened the two buttons she stitched onto the rather coarse shirt she'd made years ago from a piece of cloth she swapped with Cashae for a whole small fire's worth of kindling, and moved from her bedroom — comprising a bed made of gull feathers sewn tight into seal skin, and a plastic crate where she kept the few precious and private items she liked to look at and touch now and then — and stepped out into her main living space.

  Although it was an honor to have accommodation so deep in The Island, she preferred the open air to being down in the gloom where the floor was bare concrete, always cold and unwelcoming, and her living space was as minimal as her bedroom. But, to be fair, she had been given one of the better main living spaces, which meant she was slowly moving up the complex hierarchy of The Island.

  She had one of the original rooms, just as it was when Vorce and the Elders came to The Island all those years ago. It was complete with a series of metal lockers along one wall, a simple galley kitchen fixed securely to the concrete walls, with a counter top Talia cleaned meticulously each and every day, polishing until it gleamed, the steel shining even in the poor, but nonetheless precious light.

  There were a few cupboards containing little but precious crockery, again a part of the original fittings. As with all other accommodation, such things were to remain when, or if, you moved to better living quarters. There were metal knives and forks, plates and bowls, even three glasses she hated to use as she'd never hear the end of it if she smashed one.

  She had a small table and two chairs, metal, of course, and she even had a seating area, comprised of cushions she had made herself over the years, and a few inherited from her mother after her untimely demise. There was a blanket too, which her mother had made as and when she got scraps of material, all sewn together to make a patchwork blanket that was extremely ugly yet beautiful too — she often sat and hugged it, crying even after all these years without her mother.

  There were no pictures, she had never managed to get one, nothing much in the way of ornamentation apart from a few bits and pieces. None of it held sentimental value, just splashes of color, plastic bottles and three large, shiny and mysterious seeds the fishermen found and she'd bartered for without having to give too much away.

  She liked it like that: simple, quiet. It allowed her to lose herself doing what she loved best in the whole world: reading.

  Talia loved to read more than anything else. She would give the clothes off her back and every possession she owned if it meant more books.

  Ever since a child, she had fallen in love with the written word. Not just the skill of reading, which she grasped easily, but the flow of the letters, the miracle of how they were put together in endless combinations to form new and exciting worlds that captivated her as her imagination soared.

  Talia loved the different fonts, the upper and
lowercase, vowels and consonants and the way you could read a series of words and feel like a different person. It altered your emotions, your very being.

  Reading was different to speaking. There was something magical about seeing words written on paper, and that was without the sheer joy of holding a book in her hands, breathing in that ancient, musty smell, delicately turning a precious page, her heart leaping into her mouth, sweat beading on her brow if she heard that most dreaded of sounds: paper tearing.

  She'd done it as a small girl, torn a page as she clumsily turned it, keen to continue the adventure. She was inconsolable for days, thinking she would be punished terribly for such a crime, until she realized that it wouldn't be the tearing that would get her into trouble, it would be if she got paper wet, ruined it so it couldn't be burned if it was no longer part of a book.

  Yes, books were precious, one of the most precious commodities and the most expensive, but fire was more important.

  So Talia kept her most prized possessions in a cupboard under the counter, safe and secure. She liked nothing better than curling up on the cushions, wrapped in her mother's blanket, ugly as it was, and reading until she fell asleep.

  What she wouldn't give to stay in her room today, just read, let the digits flash in her mind like three candles flickering in the breeze, but she had work to do.

  Speaking of candles... Talia cupped a hand around the fat stick positioned at the intersection between living room and bedroom to maximize light while wasting as little as possible — although she always let it burn through the night as she was still useless with her flint and the horrid, dry seaweed they used for tinder and she always burnt her fingers — and as the room plunged into a darkness so complete she often wondered if this was what it was like at the bottom of the sea, she made her way with confidence to the door leading to the corridor. She'd done it so often, and there was nothing in her way, so she didn't need the light, but she liked it for company and needed it for reading.

  Talia went to work. On her one hundred and eleventh birthday.

  To the Top

  Talia smiled and exchanged brief pleasantries with the few people she passed as she made her way up to the surface. It was funny, but even after so many years she still got a little tingle of excitement in her belly as she made the journey.

  Once, it used to be quick, less than a minute as she lived so near the surface, now it took almost ten, and she kind of missed the old days. Still, the build-up was worth it. She liked the feeling, the excitement of the transition from dark interior to the bright light of day. The open space, the endless sky and infinite sea always made her feel more alive than she thought possible after being below through the night.

  It was as if she forgot what freedom really was. It wasn't until the salt air and the breeze hit her that she truly felt at one with the world and her beautiful home. She was up early so most people were still asleep, shut off in their quarters, huddling together or wrapped in blankets to fight off the cold. It was always chilly, the why was something every child learned at a young age, along with much more about the world they would live and die in, or on.

  The low temperature was because the walls were so thick, immensely solid and strong. The Island was a man-made structure built by people with immense vision and foresight. It was cold because heat couldn't penetrate such thick walls and it had to be that way so it could survive the stormy sea and the harsh winds that scratched and gnawed at the walls that kept them safe. Alive.

  To Talia it felt like she had always known the story of The Island, as if she were born with the information already imprinted on her mind, but that wasn't the case. From before she could understand her mother's words she had told Talia of how they came to be where they were, and slowly the information permeated her senses, repeated over and over again as were so many other aspects of life on The Island. Once schooling started, the history lessons began in earnest.

  They were expected to know the names of the founding Fathers and Mothers, to remember the dates and events that took place so long ago. So much led to them being the lucky ones, those that for the most part avoided The Lethargy, although it was never possible to escape it one hundred percent. Compared to those that lived on the land though — well, they were lucky.

  They were shown the old communications equipment, how you could press buttons and talk to people all over the world via satellites that bounced your voice to anyone with a similar device. The children gathered around long-defunct computers and were told of how the world was: every home connected, endless information available at the virtual click of a button.

  They learned of money, cars, and cities full of people crammed into too small spaces, breathing foul air, polluted by their insistence on never staying in one place. They learned of the scars cut deep into the countryside, trees and animals destroyed or displaced so roads could be carved out, allowing people to travel ever further from their homes.

  On and on the lessons went, reminders of what had gone before, how lucky they were to live away from the mess their ancestors had made.

  Every child knew the history of the old world, understood how diseased it was and why The Lethargy had come. They'd done it all wrong, interfered in the natural order of things, put their mark on the land with ever-increasing brutality until one day Mother Nature had enough and said, "No more!" It wasn't the place of the ancients to dictate how the planet should be, and they failed to control their breeding and their spread to every corner of the globe. Chewing up the finite resources of the earth as they went, putting poisons in the soil, even into the sky itself, clouding the sun with noxious gas and always craving more.

  It had to stop, and it did. The children were taught that the planet was meant to be left to its own devices, for people to live quietly, grateful to be allowed to co-exist, never dominate.

  They learned of The Reckoning, and how things then settled down, yet even now were still not back to anything like normal as so much slowly healed. It was the truth. The children knew they were the lucky ones, blessed to survive and live their lives in a tiny, isolated pocket of humanity where they could no longer do harm. They survived, their numbers grew, and they flourished.

  You only had to look at where they were to know this was what the planet wanted for itself. Why else would the currents stop them leaving? Why would they have turned just as The Lethargy came like a broom sweeping away the unwanted detritus that had piled up and made it all go so terribly wrong? The sea itself wanted them to stay put. It grew stronger and eddied around The Island, cutting off the founding Fathers and Mothers, making them watch from a distance as the world went quiet and communication devices gave back nothing but static.

  On very special days, an Elder would even come to talk to them, although it wasn't until the children were much older that they fully understood that the adult who looked as young as their teachers was in fact born before The Lethargy even had a name and had lived a very different life. Had a job, drove a car, lived in that world of claustrophobic need and want.

  Sometimes Vorce himself came and sat with them and told tales of the life he had once lived, the terrible things he had done when a teenager, the wickedness as he grew older, and the obsession with more and more money, nicer things, bigger cars and more expensive clothes that drove his every waking thought.

  He told of his family and the fact that even after all this time he still missed them, but it was for the best, the sacrifice he paid just as everyone did.

  Vorce explained how everything grew quiet and peaceful again as whole countries went silent. People stopped driving their cars and the air cleared. They stopped sending food and goods from one side of the planet to the other.

  He taught them why such things were done, explained it was so everyone had a job and nobody had time to think about what they really wanted to do with their lives. They never realized that life wasn't about big houses and clothes that cost you a month of your life in a depressing job, but that as The Lethargy turned the world
quiet people finally understood life was for enjoying, for doing something with. A miracle.

  That might be cleaning the damn Island, growing crops, or looking after children. Or it might be learning information and passing it on to others. It wasn't so much about the work you did as the state of mind you were in, the motivation behind your actions.

  Above all, Vorce and the Elders told of the realization they came to as the distant world went silent around them and they found themselves cut off and alone — they realized they were lucky.

  Temptation was gone. They would have to adjust their attitudes, think of survival in a more primitive way. Unencumbered by the trappings of a modern society they had come to rely on more than their own ingenuity and sense of what was right, they finally found the time to sit, be still, and think things through for themselves. They broke with what they had been told was the way to live their lives, and searched for something better.

  Slowly, they changed. Yes, there were deaths — some couldn't cope with the isolation. And, yes, mistakes were made, many of them, but it all fell into place. Knowledge came to them, and they Awoke, and the true beauty and horror of what it was to be a human being in an infinite Universe was revealed.

  The Noise was explored, powers of the mind unraveled in ways humanity had dreamed of but never thought possible, and even that paled into insignificance next to The Void, the place that was no place, the thing that was no thing. The non-matter, the energy that had endless forms and was the basis for everything, where life came from and where it always returned.

  Life was nothing. Life was everything. You were born, you died, and the energy that made up a person would become other things, in other parts of the Universe. On and on it would go. Forever, just as it already had, and people could dance and play, scream and laugh, make love and fight, curse and sing for one reason and one reason only: they were incredibly lucky.