Skyborn

by Sinéad O'Hart

  Crake blinked, a concerned crease appearing in his forehead. “But—”

  “I’ll take care, all right? Don’t worry about me.” Wares sat on her foot and Alice gazed down at him fondly. “Plus, I’m not alone.” As she spoke, from inside the gates, a bark was heard. Then another, louder. Wares sat up, his body tensed, and began to growl. “See? He’s ready for anything.”

  “Stay downwind of that beast inside the gate,” Crake muttered. “A farmyard dog won’t think twice about takin’ lumps out of either of you.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Alice said. “Go and keep the farmer busy as long as you can and I’ll search for Bastjan.” She pointed down the road at a huge, spreading oak tree. “We’ll wait for one another there, beneath that giant. Agreed?”

  “Are you sure?” Crake said.

  “It was my idea, wasn’t it?” Alice gave him a grin. “Trust me.”

  “I do, girleen.” Crake patted her gently on the cheek and straightened himself up. Then he led the horse on, right through the farmyard gate. Alice hid in the hedgerow, peering out as much as she could. Wares was clutched to her chest. The little dog began to whine and she stroked his head.

  “Shh, boy,” Alice whispered, trying not to feel her courage ebbing away with every step Crake took into the unknown. She heard the loud barking of the farmer’s dog. Then a woman emerged from the farmhouse, wiping her hands on a towel. She scolded the dog and sent it slinking into the house while Crake was led somewhere out of view. Alice was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the sound of their voices travelled just enough for her to know when they’d all gone inside.

  “Come on, Wares,” she said, putting the small dog on the ground. He trotted at her heels as Alice crept along, bent almost double. She kept tight to the garden wall, hoping it would offer her some cover, and when she got to the gate she risked a peek at the house. Through a window she could see a red-faced man talking animatedly and she looked away, her gut tightening.

  She dashed past the gate, hoping nobody had spotted her, pressing her back to the garden wall. To her left was an empty laneway leading to a field; facing Alice were the pigsties. She hurried past them, whispering Bastjan’s name as loudly as she dared, but there was no answer. Wares was stopping to sniff or lift his leg against everything he saw and she clicked her fingers at him impatiently. He gave up an investigation of an interesting clump of dandelions and trotted towards her.

  Crouched behind the low wall of the last pigsty, Alice assessed the rest of the farm buildings. Directly across from her was what looked like a milking parlour. From it, she could smell the distinct odour of cows. To her left, facing the house, stood a barn. In its doorway was a broken cart.

  A wandering chicken popped its bobbing head out of the milking parlour, making Alice start. The chicken picked its way across the farmyard, and with one final look left and right, Alice scuttled straight for the door the chicken had come through, holding her breath until she was safely inside.

  She inhaled, relieved, and immediately coughed as the smell settled in the back of her throat. She blinked as her eyes got used to the dim light. The byres were ranged along the right-hand wall, each of them empty but for the tossed-up, dirty straw on the floor. Facing them were some sorry-looking sheep pens, also empty.

  At the back, along the wall, were several small, boxlike enclosures. Each had a whitewashed wall topped with metal bars and heavy wooden doors with an opening, barred and rectangular, set into them at an adult’s head height. Something about them made Alice’s skin creep.

  She hurried towards the back of the huge shed, Wares bounding ahead of her through the straw. “Bastjan!” she whispered. Then, “Bastjan!” she called, flinching at the loudness of her voice. “It’s Alice. Bastjan, are you here?”

  Alice heard a shuffling sound from the last enclosure and saw thin, grubby fingers grasping the bars of the rectangular gap in the door. “Alice?” came a voice, followed by a deep, chest-rattling cough.

  Blinking away tears of relief, Alice ran to the tiny cell. She stretched on tiptoe, trying to see in through the opening. She wasn’t quite tall enough, but she was able to put her hand through the bars. Her fingers met Bastjan’s, who held them as tightly as he could.

  “You’re cold,” she whispered, wiping her cheek with her free hand. “Are you all right?”

  “It stinks ’ere,” came the reply. His breaths sounded thick. “I hate it. I hate the lot of it. Can you get me out?”

  Alice looked at the padlock. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she whispered.

  She released Bastjan’s fingers and looked around, her gaze flicking from object to object. She ran her fingers up a nearby wooden beam, hoping to find a handy nail protruding from it, something she could use to pick the lock, but there was nothing.

  Wares gave a low growl. The tiny dog was tensed, his teeth bared, and Alice dropped silently to the straw-strewn floor.

  The dog trotted to her side just as someone appeared at the open shed door. A girl, younger than her, wearing a patched cardigan and too-big boots, her hair in two untidy plaits. She was chewing on the end of one of them and as Alice watched she pulled it from her mouth to shout.

  “Bil-berry!” the girl called. “Bilberry, where are you? Silly cat!”

  “Martha!” came another voice, this one more distant. “Martha McCloskey! Where are you, girl?”

  “I’m lookin’ for the kitten, Mrs Mythen!” the girl called back, turning to face the house.

  A few breaths later, a woman joined the girl at the open parlour door. Alice stayed frozen to the spot, hoping with all she had that neither of them would look in and notice her.

  “Martha, child, Mr Mythen wants to know if there was anyone else with that man when you met him on the road.”

  Martha paused, chewing thoughtfully on her plait. Finally, she spat it free. “Don’t think so, Mrs M. I din’t see him, ’cos I was underneath the tarp. But I din’t hear anyone else talkin’, just my da and that man.”

  The farmer on the road! Alice held her breath. This little girl must’ve been hidden in his cart. She dug her fingers into the mucky ground, wishing she could melt into it, and tried to listen.

  “It’s just, he’s askin’ for work,” the farmer’s wife continued. “Casual labour, like. But your dad was sure he was from the circus. Mr Mythen’s wonderin’ if he brought anyone else with him.”

  “That’s what my da said, Mrs M,” the girl replied, nodding. “I was to tell Mr Mythen my da said there were circus folk on ’is tail. An’ he promised me posset.” The child looked up at Mrs Mythen hopefully. “Do you have any posset, Mrs M?”

  “Posset?” The woman looked wearily at the child. “No, pet. There’s some bread-and-butter pud in the usual spot in the larder, though. Off you pop.”

  The girl darted off, whooping with joy, and the woman stood forlornly in the door for a moment or two, twisting her apron in her hands. For a second Alice was sure she was going to come walking into the milking parlour.

  But then a man’s voice rang out across the farmyard and the woman took a step back, turning her head towards the house. “Ivor?” she called. The woman vanished from the doorway and, quick as a blink, Alice scrambled up from the ground and threw herself into the shadows beside Bastjan’s cell. Wares followed, snuffling contentedly through the murk.

  “Thank you kindly, sir, for yer time,” said a voice Alice knew well. Crake. Beside her, she heard the scuffle of Bastjan getting to his feet and the groan of effort as he struggled to pull himself up to the window in the door. He coughed wetly.

  “Bastjan!” she whispered. “Don’t say anything!” From the cell, she heard a sniff, like one someone would make if they were crying but didn’t want anyone to know.

  “I can see why ol’ Josiah mistook you fer a circus worker,” the farmer said, chuckling. “Yer a beast of a man, an’ no mistake. But I’m not lookin’ for any help. I’ve just taken on a new young lad, y’see.” He paused and Alice’s jaw clench
ed. “He’s more’n enough for now.”

  “Well, I’m grateful fer the bit of grub, anyway,” Crake said. “I s’pose I’d be pushin’ my luck if I asked for a corner of yer barn to put me head down in tonight?”

  “You would,” the farmer replied, his tone turning stony.

  Crake cleared his throat. “Right. I’ll be off now, so,” he said loudly.

  “See to it,” the farmer replied. “There’s a guard dog on duty, I’ll remind you. An’ thieves aren’t met well around ’ere.”

  Then all Alice could hear was the sound of hooves on the farmyard cobbles, which gradually disappeared. She grabbed Wares around the belly. Footsteps were approaching the milking-parlour door. As quickly as she could, she pulled the dog deeper into the shadows beside Bastjan’s cell and hoped the darkness would hide them.

  “Are you in there, runt?” the farmer said as he stood before Bastjan’s door, a mocking leer in his voice. “Dried out yet, have yer?” Alice cuddled Wares close, hoping the trembling in her body would let him know: don’t make a sound.

  “When am I gettin’ out of ’ere?” Bastjan replied.

  “I think a night in yer wet clothes, without supper, is just what the doctor ordered. Eh?” Bastjan sneezed and the farmer laughed.

  He walked away, jangling keys in his hand as he went, and pulled the milking-parlour door closed behind him. There was the sound of a bar being drawn across the door, locking it shut. In the sudden darkness, Wares began to whine.

  “Hush, boy,” Alice said, blinking in the gloom. “It’s all right.”

  “Alice?” Bastjan whispered.

  “I’m here,” she told him. “Bastjan, is there anything in your cell that’s sharp or made of metal? Like a nail?”

  She heard rustling and muttering, and after a minute, Bastjan spoke again. “Come to the door,” he said.

  Alice did as he asked and this time, when she reached her hand up, she felt something smoother and colder than Bastjan’s fingers being pushed into it. In what light there was, she could see the gleaming shape of a dinner fork. She grinned widely enough to make her cheeks ache.

  “’Ow’s that?” said Bastjan.

  “It’s perfect,” Alice said, and set to work. She put Wares on the floor and stuck the fork beneath her boot, slowly bending one of the tines until it was angled enough for her to slip it into the padlock. Then she forced the tine in and out of the lock, until finally it came undone in her hands.

  As Alice pulled open the door, Bastjan fell into her arms and they shared a tight, quick hug. His clothes were still damp enough to soak into Alice’s and she grimaced at the touch of them. He shivered and Alice could hear a whistle in his breathing.

  “We’ve got to get you warm,” Alice said, relaxing her grip on the boy. “Any idea how to get out of this place?”

  Bastjan coughed. “Can’t try to force the door, as that’d jus’ leave us back in the farmyard,” he said. “But we could go up.” He looked at the ceiling and Alice followed his gaze. The exposed beams seemed perilously high, but she could see they gave access to the tiny windows set into the roof. They were covered in such a thick layer of grime and moss that they barely let in any light. Bastjan met her eye.

  “I don’t think I can do that,” she said, in a quiet voice.

  “Course you can,” Bastjan said, wiping his nose. “I’ll show ya. Gimme a leg-up?”

  Alice cupped her hands. Bastjan stepped into them and she hauled him up with all her strength. “Whoop-ah,” he said, under his breath, as he leaped to the bars at the top of the wall. From there, he jumped easily to the nearest roof beam and in a blink he was astride it. Lightly as a cat, he got to his feet and walked along the beam with his arms held out, balancing on the tips of his toes. Alice watched him, her mouth agape.

  From overhead, there was a cracking noise and the fluttering of a disturbed bird; a clump of moss fell from on high. She turned her head, shielding her eyes from tumbling dust and grit, and when she looked back up, the windowpane nearest Bastjan was creaking as it pivoted on a central hinge. Cautiously, he stuck his head out through it.

  “We can get up on the roof, easy,” Bastjan said, ducking his head back into the milking parlour. “An’ then make it to the road that way.”

  Alice swallowed back her fear as she watched Bastjan prop open the window with an old piece of slate. Through the gap came the faint sound of lowing cattle and when he made his way back to the ground he gave Alice a worried look. “Mythen’s bringin’ the cows in. We got to hurry.”

  She nodded, tucking Wares into the neck of her buttoned-up coat. Bastjan got down on one knee to give her a boost and the next thing she knew, she was clinging for dear life to the bars of Bastjan’s former cell, trying not to squash Wares flat. Bastjan climbed up the wall beside her, finding handholds and footholds in the crumbling whitewash. “Right,” he said. “Ready to jump?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and braced himself against the top of the wall, leaping for the beam with effortless grace. A moment later he was sitting astride it once again, his arm outstretched to Alice and Wares, but Alice was rigid, her grip on the bars white-knuckled. She looked at the distance between the beam and the wall, the drop to the floor if she missed, the climb that lay ahead… Her vision swam and a realization sank inside her like a stone.

  “I … I can’t, Bastjan,” Alice said. She looked down; the straw-covered floor seemed to undulate beneath her.

  “It’s easy as pie, Alice,” Bastjan said. “I’ll catch yer. I promise.”

  Alice freed one hand and pulled Wares gently out of her coat. She gave him a kiss between the ears as Bastjan reached for him. Then, her heart thudding, she tossed him into Bastjan’s waiting hands.

  “Good boy, eh?” Bastjan said, scratching the small dog’s head as he placed him carefully on the beam. He reached back for Alice, but she didn’t come.

  “You need to go,” Alice said. “Go and find Crake, Bastjan! He’ll be waiting beneath the oak tree down the road. Then come back and get me.”

  “What?” Bastjan stared at her. “Alice, I ain’t leavin’ you ’ere! It’s … it’s a pit !”

  Alice’s eyes filled with tears and she angrily rubbed them away. “I can’t make that jump! Every second you wait for me is a second closer to the farmer finding us,” she said. “Please! Just go. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Alice, I—”

  “Bastjan, you need to go. Listen!” The cows’ mooing was close now, and it was even possible to hear the farmer’s voice calling to them as they drew near the shed. “You won’t make it if you wait any longer. Go!”

  Bastjan stared at Alice for a long moment, but he didn’t say anything else. A heartbeat later he and Wares were gone, through the window and away. Alice closed her eyes, hoping Bastjan would make it and wondering how long she’d be waiting for them to come back for her.

  And as the minutes ticked past, she tried to still the tiny voice inside that asked whether they’d come back for her at all.

  “Come on, fella,” Bastjan muttered, propping Wares on one shoulder as he assessed the journey to the top of the roof. The tiles were old and mossy, and several were loose. He turned to look at the wall which ran around the farm; the parlour had been built snugly against it, the apex of its roof almost level with the top of the wall. And beyond that, he knew Crake was waiting. He leaned his forehead against the window frame for a moment, fighting against the closing-over feeling in his chest. Get on with it!

  Bastjan gripped the frame and pulled himself the rest of the way out. Then he reached for his first handhold and began to climb. At first the going was good, but when he put his hand on a tile that moved beneath his weight, only the strong grip of his feet kept him from sliding all the way to the mucky cobbles far below. He felt his heart start to gallop and his breaths grow sticky. “Whoop,” he croaked. “Whoop.” He coughed, trying to clear his lungs, his head beginning to swim.

  Somewhere below him, a dog began to bark – loud and g
ruff, the sound of a larger animal than Wares. The smaller dog was instantly on the alert, growling as he scrambled across Bastjan’s shoulders. He barked in response, his own voice sounding like a yip in comparison to the farmyard dog.

  “Stop, Wares!” Bastjan pleaded, freeing one hand to grab the small dog by the collar. “You’ll ’ave us both off!” The boy tried to look, desperate to know where the farmer’s dog was but he had to close his eyes again and cling to the roof, dizziness threatening to toss him to the ground.

  Wares scampered off Bastjan’s shoulders and scrambled for the top of the roof, his paws clattering over the tiles. Within minutes he was safely perched on the apex, barking furiously at the larger animal below, and Bastjan decided to save his breath for the climb. He hauled himself up the slope and threw one leg over the point of the roof, getting his balance. Far below him he could see the farmer’s dog, in a lather of rage, but there was no sign of Mythen himself – not yet.

  Bastjan got to his feet. The tiles beneath his shoes were curved and slick, but he stood tall, his back straight and his arms out to either side. It’s thicker’n the wire, he told himself. He swallowed hard and began to walk, one foot in front of the other, feeling for balance with his toes before he placed his heel down. His chest felt squeezed, every breath like a pinch in his neck, but he forced himself to keep going.

  With every step, the boundary wall grew closer and closer, until finally he’d reached it. Beyond – or so Bastjan hoped – lay the road and Crake. He placed Wares back on his shoulder and prepared himself for the final climb.

  “You!” came a roar from down below. Bastjan kept one hand on the wall, steadying himself, as he stared down. The farmer stood beneath him, rage twisting his face. Wares scrambled off Bastjan’s shoulder, leaping for the top of the wall, and Bastjan felt his fingers curling into the gaps between the bricks. He tried to force his legs to push him upwards, over and away, but there was no power left in them. All he could hear was Wares, barking just above his head, as his vision blackened at the edges. He closed his eyes, waiting to fall.