The twelve Elders put their heads down and mumbling could be heard by the spectators in the room. Occasionally moments of clarity arrived to those listening from the benches, but largely the discussions amongst the Elders were private. A decision was reached. Klim was sentenced to be exiled for a period of twenty-five years. While in exile, he would help secure and defend his own lands and his training to complete this task would begin immediately. Klim’s hands were manacled together, as were his feet. He began screaming and shaking his chains in protest to his sentence as he was taken roughly from the room.
The next case was called. Cases were called in order of importance rather than order of arrival. One poor man with a dispute over noisy pigs had been waiting three weeks to be heard and quite likely, would never be given a hearing. But it was his right to bring the dispute before the Elders. The next case was to be that of Callen’s arrival in the wastelands. A case deemed of the most importance.
The old man stood and explained that the injured boy had come from inside the city. He then detailed how he’d come to be in their care and what steps they’d taken since. He explained that the boy appeared to be younger than ten years old and that apart from his encounter with the guards in the wastelands, had been unconscious and would remain that way until a decision was made on how to proceed with him. A murmur went up from the moment it was revealed that a free city dweller had entered the Outlocked land. The Twelve Elders fell silent, looking intently from one to another. As if on cue they began to debate the issue. The previous mumblings were a far cry from the discussion that now ensued and every word spoken was clear and easily heard by all those in the room.
“We keep him here. He’s seen too much.”
“He’s seen nothing! And we can’t keep someone’s child.”
“He’s unconscious and he’s been unconscious since he was caught.”
“I agree. We return him to where he was found and let him regain consciousness there.”
“He’ll think only a moment’s passed.”
“His wounds will have miraculously healed and stitched themselves.”
“He’s a boy! His mind will be confused.”
“It’s too big a risk to let him go back, unconscious or not.”
The Chief Elder was the only one not to have spoken. He picked up his gavel and tapped it lightly three times on the table. It was a dignified call for attention that gained an immediate response from everyone in the room.
“A civilisation is judged on its youth. Any man or women of worth in a society is of worth due to their deeds and experiences travelled in their youth. There is no other measure so accurate. To glimpse the future of a people, watch the actions of their young. How we treat our young people is also, therefore, an indicator of how we ourselves will be treated in the future. Treat this boy harshly for something not his fault and he will judge us harshly when it comes his time to judge. Treat him fairly and look forward to our own future as our children take our place.”
There was silence as the Chief Elder finished his short speech, a speech that had taken great effort to deliver because of his advanced age. Heads turned once more, but now the looks being held were contemplative. The audience listening nodded with approval - all except Lien. The other Elders at the table quickly voted to let the boy return home. The decision was handed down. Callen would be taken from where he was, his unconscious state maintained until he arrived at the exact point where he initially lost consciousness. At that time, he would be brought back to consciousness and guided by border patrol to the opening from the city by which he emerged. The case was over. The old man happily rose to carry out the order. A disgruntled Lien followed at his side, powerless to protest.
The two retraced their steps back towards the camp. Lien remained quiet for almost three hours, finally he spoke his mind.
“Letting this boy go is a mistake.”
“As long as he doesn’t wake, there’s no risk.”
“They shouldn’t have allowed it.”
“They have, so it’s not worth discussing.”
“They don’t understand what it’s like to come to this place from the city.”
The old man looked to Lien and shook his head.
“And you don’t understand what it’s like to be born in this land.”
Lien wasn’t nearly satisfied with this exchange. His argument was strong, in his mind he felt he was the only one capable of understanding the situation fully.
The old man had heard enough of Lien’s opinions regarding Callen and he wasn’t impressed. He pulled his horse up, forcing Lien to turn and face him. It was time to reveal a few facts about the Outlocked diplomacy that even Lien didn’t fully appreciate.
“You hold an adult to a place with family. It’s that simple. A person will guard and protect land if they have a family on that land. When you wouldn’t return to the city, we found you a partner. She’d watched you with the rest of us and she volunteered for the assignment. You did the rest by falling in love with her and having a child. At that point, we knew you’d never go back to the city. This time, we’re dealing with a boy; a child who isn’t ready to have a family. You can’t create parents for him, which means, we’d have no hold on him. If he saw that we aren’t the Outlocked he’s been taught we are, and he decided to return to the city, then we’d have a problem. This way, he goes back, having only seen what they all think is out here.” The old man paused for effect.
“And please don’t assume you know everything again.”
With this, the old man dug his heels into his mount and moved away. A stunned Lien managed to follow. He had many things to re-evaluate – but his first priority was an in depth discussion with his wife, the mother of his child.
Back at camp, Callen stirred on his bed. The nurse assigned to him was making herself a tea to help keep her awake and she didn’t notice the head of her patient turn from one side to the other. Callen’s eyes opened. His vision was blurred, but he knew enough about hospitals to know he was in one. The drip into his arm, the bed with the safety bars to its side. Even the nurse in her uniform, now on the far side of the room gave him all the information he needed. Callen was finally able to see clearly and he shifted his body as he found his bearings. His side hurt, as did his arm and he quickly remembered being pursued by the Outlocked. He couldn’t remember anything after that point, but he was relieved that such an ordeal seemed to have ended safely.
“Where am I?” he asked innocently. The nurse jumped and her freshly poured tea spilt to the floor. She turned and stared at Callen, dropping a fully laden spoonful of sugar on the hard manufactured ground.
“You’re not meant to be awake. I must have turned this down too much,” she said as she crossed the room with a degree of panic and reached for the drip by Callen’s bed. She turned a small lever and the drip increased in speed.
“Am I alright?” asked Callen.
The nurse didn’t even look at him as she went about her business, clicking the drip line with a snap of her fingers.
“Are you feeling drowsy?” she asked. Callen was already showing signs of being induced towards sleep.
“No,” he slurred as his eyelids grew heavy and closed.
The nurse brought a hand to her chest and breathed heavy for a few seconds. She double checked the drip and then went back to clean the mess she had made at the far end of the room.
Almost a day passed before a matron entered alongside Lien and the old man.
“How’s our patient?” she asked of the nurse now keeping a watchful eye on their patient.
“Fine,” came the nervous response. “He hasn’t moved.”
Everyone seemed pleased with the news and they began to file out of the room.
“He’s heading out tomorrow, at about noon,” the Matron said to her charge. “He’ll need to be back in the clothes he came in and he’s to be kept sedated. Do you understand?”
The nurse nodded, giving an assurance the boy would not be allowed to wake -
again.
Chapter 5.
Callen was placed on a stretcher to be taken back to where he’d fallen. Apart from the briefest moment he’d been unconscious for almost four days. The leader of the guards gave clear decisive orders. Callen was to be placed as far up the slope as possible. He would then be injected with a drug to bring him out of his unconscious state and hopefully, leave him with the illusion that his loss of consciousness was only fleeting.
He was carefully positioned almost two thirds up the cliff face. The small tunnel where he’d originally emerged could be clearly seen. The drug was injected into his arm and the administering guard quickly scrambled down the steep slope. A trail of dust followed him and he’d barely reached level ground when Callen swivelled his head. His terrified expression quickly returned and a roar went up from the guards dressed in their dishevelled rags. The charade was enough to produce rapid movement from Callen and he began to clamber up the slope as those below did their best to appear as if they were doing the same. Callen was breathing harder as he closed in on the opening. Suddenly he stopped. The small entrance reminded him of the young boy with the knife. Calen was sure he’d be waiting to pick up their struggle where he’d left off. The guards were confused by Callen’s sudden stillness and made a concerted effort to raise their menace. A number of spears were expertly thrown, aimed to miss their target. Callen jumped as they hit nearby. Now the guards made a legitimate effort to climb the face, hoping this added pressure would force Callen to complete his escape back to his own world. The ploy worked and without any further thought for what may be waiting for him Callen frantically raced through the gap in the rocks and crawled along the very narrow passageway until he re-entered the old man’s cave. In his confused mind it was a place he’d left only minutes before.
Callen looked quickly around the room. On the ground the old man lay where he’d fallen. The blood from his belly, now still, its trail dried and rising slightly at the edges from the dusty ground. Silence reigned. The boy with the knife was no-where to be seen. Callen hoped he’d left believing the Outlocked had finished the job he’d started. The assumption was right, but it was the length of time between events that Callen had to thank for his safety. A length of time lost to Callen for the moment and something he would only ever recall in broken pieces.
Callen stayed as silent as he could. He moved away from the light that came from the passageway and moved slowly to hide behind the partition at the centre of the room. He lowered himself down onto the old man’s bed and worked his way under the rags so he blended into the pile of material as if he wasn’t there. He worked hard to control his breathing. Five minutes passed, then ten. His breath had become soft and he relaxed, but his fear was palpable. Unable to help himself, still under the influence of the drugs in his system, he fell asleep.
Callen startled himself awake in the early hours of the morning. The first few seconds after waking were spent sitting bolt upright in the unfamiliar bed and twisting his neck in every direction to try and work out where he was. He called out “Mummy”, before he remembered everything he’d been through. The covers gave away his recent experience. The light from the passageway was gone. It was a black night outside. Callen sat breathing heavily for a moment. He knew where he was now, but there was a thought in his mind, caught somewhere within, that had worried him awake. He dreamt of being in hospital. The image seemed out of place, given all the other recent experiences he had to fill his mind.
There were many mysteries that Callen would have to live with for a long time. Some would become clear to him; others would hang like smoke, almost at his reach until he grabbed at them. On this night the thoughts took little of his time and Callen went back to sleep without dwelling on them any longer.
When he woke in the morning he made himself something to eat from the old man’s supplies. His side was still aching, as was his arm, but both wounds had stopped bleeding. At least that was one problem he no longer needed to worry about. As far as he could tell, his wounds had also begun to heal and he assumed the volume of blood produced had made both wounds appear worse than they actually were. He was becoming more confident about his safety, feeling the boy with the knife would have arrived during the night if he was still nearby. The old man, lying in his final foetal position, clutching at his stomach, lay stiff on the floor. His company didn’t put Callen off eating his food. Callen’s mind was focusing on the whereabouts of his parents. Even with all he’d been through, his plans hadn’t changed and he was determined to retrace his steps to the underground tunnel, walk along the tracks to a station and ride a carriage to his old neighbourhood. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his mother’s face when she answered the door and saw him. It was this thought that kept him going.
Having eaten, he paused above the old man.
“I’m really sorry about what happened,” he said.
From someone else, the words may have sounded pathetic, but from a seven year old boy, who could think of nothing more to say to the man who saved his life on two separate occasions, it seemed fitting. Callen packed his bag and left the room for the long blackened corridor outside. He took with him a candle and a lighter to make sure he’d find the door to the tunnel above.
The walk back to the stairs seemed to take forever. Twice Callen stopped hoping he hadn’t already passed the flight of steps that he was looking for. Finally, in the distance he saw something. His pace quickened and the shady outline of the stairs grew stronger. On reaching them, he began to climb, hoping the time spent in the old man’s care was enough to cause those searching for him to tire of the task. Callen had experienced all the excitement he could handle for one adventure. If the rest of his travels proved boring, he’d be extremely pleased.
Two sets of carriages passed Callen as he retraced his path along the tracks. He tentatively poked his head around the last corner, looking out to the bright lights of the platform. It was crowded with early morning commuters. Callen couldn’t emerge to such a crowd without raising suspicions. He retreated back into the tunnel and waited. With each new carriage, he pressed his face hard into the wall, hoping that his back would blend into the smooth plastic and raise little interest with anyone riding inside. After what seemed like hours the carriages began carrying fewer people. Callen waited for one more to pass. As it came to a halt at the station, he walked behind it and emerged onto the far end of the platform. A number of people were walking with their backs to him as they headed for the station exit. He took a seat and waited for the carriage on the line to his old neighbourhood. Finally he would be one of the crowd, doing nothing unusual. He was a little dirtier than most boys his age travelling alone at this time of the morning, but apart from that, there was nothing that gave him away as anything but ordinary.
A carriage came and Callen boarded. He chose a seat facing a large window and he sat to watch the sights as they whistled past. Station after station rolled by and his thoughts drifted through the last twenty four hours as he remembered them. A nurse got on the carriage and sat a few seats away from him. She had a paper and never once looked at Callen, but he never took his eyes off her. The dream of the hospital came back to him. Again it was in pieces. He remembered a nurse and he was lying, looking at a tube she was fiddling with, a tube that went directly into his arm. The dream was as real as any he’d ever had. Callen’s side began to itch. A deep itch caused by the vibration of the carriage over the tracks, a vibration that was transferred to Callen’s shirt, which in turn was rubbing on his wound. He tentatively touched the area bringing a soft, pleasurable pain that instantly stilled the itching. He gave the wound a light rub. His finger reached a hard, stiff, prickling object imbedded like a splinter. To touch it and wiggle it back and forth didn’t so much hurt as cause a deep uncomfortable ache. He lifted his shirt with a vision to pull out the offending object. What he saw left him with more mysteries than he could ever unravel. It wasn’t a splinter but the protruding end of a piece of stitching, carefully knotted and tie
d off to close his wound. He stared at it for some time. He remembered his arm and quickly pushed his sleeve upwards to reveal the second of his wounds. He found more stitches. Very deft stitches, concealed almost perfectly by his skin. The wound was still flexible enough to be gently prized open to reveal the telltale signs of an experienced medical hand. The nurse sat unaware of the desperation of Callen’s mind for answers. The stitches would be the corner stone of puzzling questions he would spend the rest of his adolescent life trying to solve.
Callen was more reserved when he reached his stop. The discovery of the stitches and the recollection of the very vivid dream he’d had set his mind wandering. When he next took stock of his progress, he was back in the neighbourhood he’d called home for the first Seven years of his life. He knew the area well enough not to have to think of where he was or where he was going. He was going home. Past his preschool with the same old women standing out front with her flashing neon stop sign. Past the plastic buildings that lined the streets and past the shops that once gave Callen a place to spend his pocket money. People were everywhere and no-one took any notice of him as he walked up a street he’d walked a thousand times before. He came to a full stop at the steps to his parent’s apartment building. A feeling of tremendous excitement washed over him as he pressed the buzzer to the apartment he’d only days ago called home. The buzzer crackled to life.
Inner City Page 4
