The members of the Order devoted their lives to keeping us safe from harm and sharing with us the beauty of the River’s love. Good and bad were laid out for us as plainly as day and night. But of everything else we knew nothing. We had been born in to the world ignorant and blind to all the wonders the River offered us and the Order opened our eyes.
My thirst for knowledge was stronger than I could imagine. It consumed me, outstripping all other needs. Questions fell from my lips like rain, tumbling out of me in huge downpours of enquiry. But the answers came slowly, pooling at my feet in a slow drip of understanding. Each piece of knowledge sparked in me more curiosity. I wanted to know everything, but I had no idea how to prioritise my explorations. The truths of the world were laid out for us like paths in a wood; convoluted and crisscrossing and I was at a loss for which way to turn. That was how it felt, like running full pelt down a myriad of trails seeking information. But my actions were chaotic and my footsteps always favoured the less trodden routes. So I would deviate and twist and turn from my course to begin another in the hope that it would yield something bigger and better. I wanted to be the first to unearth each new treasure, because sharing my finds was as rewarding as the discovery.
We took our lessons in blank colourless rooms, with no windows and only a simple stone floor to sit on. There must have been seventy or more of us, crammed in tightly, knees touching as we sat cross-legged in rapture. But there was calmness in those surroundings, a bland comfort in dirt-brown walls and grey flagstone floors. It was a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the outside world I had fleetingly glimpsed. There a blazing orb of yellow had burned so brightly it hurt your eyes. A carpet of green grass was scarred by spewing tears of earthy brown and littered with the fallen; their bodies slashed with vibrant red. There was a safety in blandness and a danger lurking outside in the bright colours of morning.
In the safe haven that the Brothers and Sisters had built for us we learnt many things. Some things came in their proper place and some were thrust upon us unbidden; a cough from a Brother that had to be explained, that urgent confusing need for the bathroom that swept across the room like a plague and the sounds of battle drifting in from the world outside.
I marvelled at how easily some problems could be solved. When hunger first bedded itself in to my stomach I grew fearful of the dull rumbling ache inside of me. But then food followed shortly after and not only did it calm my restlessness but I found I enjoyed it too. Bowlfuls of pillowy white rice were passed round, threaded with succulent green beans and a juicy yellow corn that burst in your mouth. Each bite brought new textures, new tastes and I ate hungrily until a comfortable contentment fell upon me and the bowl was passed on to the next.
But for all the marvellous discoveries of that day it was the singular truth of the River’s generosity that was most clearly bestowed upon us. The River, our god, had given us our life, but more than that we had been gifted life immortal - blissful agelessness free from death.
‘Riverlings,’ Brother Matthew began. ‘Our lives are a unique gift from the River. We are not like the trees, the plants, the birds or animals we have spoken of. You will not age or grow weak with time. You have come to us fully formed, stepping from the glorious River tall and strong limbed and you shall remain like that always.’
I looked around and found he was right. A sea of toned, tall and flawlessly skinned men and women surrounded me. And from the oldest member of the Order to the newborn next to me there was no way of telling that they were separated in age by many revolutions of the sun. Except maybe there was something in the eyes – not a sign of age as such, but the members of the Order seemed to lack the wonder of us newborns. They had a look of experience and of life lived about them that we couldn’t yet echo.
So that was what the Brothers and Sisters shared with us: the gloriousness of our life and the knowledge that we would not age or succumb to death like the other creatures of the earth. We would not line, or wither, or slow in to ancientness. There was no reason we could not live for scores of revolutions of the sun, forever even. Time’s rigours meant nothing to us and the River’s gift came to us without conditions or terms.
Of course we were not indestructible; I knew that, we all did. That was our first lesson, we saw it before we even entered The City; we learnt it on the plains. It seeped in to our consciousness with our first clear breath of air, the knowledge that we could die. Although we didn’t understand what was happening we could see that those of us who fell, whose insides spewed out of them red and angry, didn’t get up again. The same could happen to us, arrows and swords could take from us the gift of life so recently given.
Our lives should have been a charmed existence with no sense of ending, but it was the Rebels that made us vulnerable. They had brought fear and death to our race. Because of them we could be killed, because of them we could die.
Sometimes the path of enquiry was clear, it was wide and well trodden and it was a journey we all needed to make.
Why do they kill us?
A universal look of sadness from the gathered Brothers and Sisters followed. Our suffering pained them - you could see that. It was easy to forget that they had once been Riverlings, that many revolutions of the sun ago they had been the same as us and had sat on the same stone floors asking the same questions.
Why do they kill us?
There was a moment of silence, a visible deference. It was not a question that could be answered by all. Sister Sandrine eventually spoke, serious and stern - a little less warm than her companions.
‘They call themselves the Rebels, the ones you saw on the plains. They are men and women that mean you harm. They do it because they have strayed, they have wandered far from the River’s love and now they have only hate. They kill because they hate The City, they hate us for helping you and they hate you for being born - for accepting the River’s gift of life. They would guard life only for the living, they do not wish to share the earth with newborns.’
It was so difficult that first day, so much was not understood, there were so many new words and changing tones of voice. I think I grasped what was being said, if nothing else that day planted the seed in my mind that I was to live by; the Rebels hate; they kill and hate and that is bad.
The crowd seemed placated, and after all it made sense; the soldiers of The City had led us to safety and the Order of the River had fed us, clothed us, sheltered us and shared with us what they knew of the world. We needed little persuasion that they were good and that those who sought to hurt us were not. The Rebels were the sole obstacle between us and life without end; they had already tried to kill us and would try again.
The air was thick with the weight of lines being drawn and positions taken. My stance was no different to that of my fellow Riverlings; it was clear which side we were on. What troubled me was the River’s part in it all. Was the River really so different? It wasn’t just the Rebels that took their share of Riverling life - people died in birth, I had seen it myself. Riverlings were dashed and broken upon the rocks, or drowned in the very waters that moments before had given them life. But I kept my doubts inside, locked in a dark and ugly chamber at my core. I joined my fellow Riverlings in kneeling, head bowed in supposition and repeated the words of the Brothers and Sisters as they prayed.
O River, god over all. Giver of life and guardian of men. Protector of your people and custodian of the earth. We give thanks for this day and for the gift of eternal life that you have bestowed upon us. We pray you keep us safe - let us walk always in your wake and keep us far from Rebel harm.
I spoke and even as I did I found I didn’t believe, not truly. I could feel it bubbling inside me; a seething mess of ingratitude and faithlessness that I wished would leave me. I didn’t want it and yet I felt it growing, gathering dark ideas to it and sowing in me the seeds of heresy.
The lessons continued, veering haphazardly from one topic to another. The members of the Order tried admirably to guide our chaotic quest for
knowledge but with little success. We didn’t care in what order things were learnt, only that they were.
We accepted their words like truths without challenge. Their teaching became the foundation of our world, the stones upon which all else was laid. When later we made our own experiences they were cast in the image of those beginnings. The light the Brothers and Sisters brought to our understanding was the torch by which all future discoveries were illuminated.
It never occurred to any of us that there might be other truths; that knowledge could control as well as inform. They had the power to make us believe anything they wanted. The River may have given us life but it was the Brothers and Sisters who shaped that life, they gave it direction. They set us on a path we would follow all our lives.
3
At the end of the first day of our lives we were taught about sleep. Three of the Sisters led us to a dark room that they called a dormitory. It was simply decorated with stonewash walls and bare wooden floors. A dusty picture rail skirted all four walls and on each hung an embroidered scene of the River. In one a male Riverling stepped proudly on to the banks, the water behind him conspicuously calm. In another a Sister knelt beside the flow, a warm glow of serenity surrounding her as she bowed her head in joyous worship. A third panel simply read Praise the River, and finally, The River - life giver. It struck me how sanitised the scenes were, stopping short of the full truth. There was no drowning or fear, no Rebels or bloodshed. And there was no recognition that whilst the River gave life, it took it from us just as willingly.
The rest of the room was given over to curious wooden structures that we later discovered were beds. Each dormitory had forty bunks in it. We were given our choice of bed and shown how to wrap the mattress and pillow in sheets. Blankets were then folded in to a kind of envelope, which we would lie in for warmth. I chose a top bunk and once I was comfortable I readied myself to learn what this new experience might be.
The lesson didn’t go well. However much the Sisters tried to explain sleep they failed to make themselves understood. It seemed like we had been given everything in the space of a day; life, speech, taste, food, water and that in sleep all that would be lost. Overwhelmingly the response was one of suspicion and fear. It felt like a sacrifice was being asked of us. A rippling tide of rebellion swept across the room. Whispers of refusal could be heard passing between the Riverlings.
To us that day was everything. It was the sum total of our experience. To the Sisters however it was just another day and we were just another group of newborns; yet more of the endless progeny of the River for whom they were responsible.
Sister Hanne was the first to surrender and murmur exasperatedly that it was always this way. She concluded that we could sleep or not, it was our choice. Her confidence unsettled me.
It was the mechanics of sleep that really worried me. How would it work? How long should I sleep for? What would it feel like? How would I know when to stop? I must have worn these questions like a mask, covering my face in anxiety. Before I could even think how to give voice to them Sister Loro came and sat beside me.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ she smiled kindly. ‘You’ll sleep well enough, the River will see to that. And you’ll wake up tomorrow and wonder what all this fuss was about.’
I could see it in Sister Loro’s eyes; how fiercely she believed, how her faith brought her comfort and certainty. She gave her assurances like gifts - freely and generously. But in my hands they were like blunt tools, I lacked the faith to make them keen. I prayed my faith would come.
Irony was a word we had yet to learn.
-
Sister Kelo spoke the last words of that day, in a gentle soothing voice that seemed to draw sleep to us.
‘Young ones, before you sleep you should understand what it means to dream. A dream is a wondrous thing. In dreams you can have adventures you thought impossible. As you sleep the River will show you far off places and fill your nights with marvel. Dreams are a chance to live without limits; a place where anything is possible and waiting to be experienced.’
‘That sounds exciting. I want to dream.’
‘Well, I’m sure you will, if not tonight then the next. But remember they are not real. When you wake everything will have returned to normal. If you have a bad dream you need only wake and the shadows will disappear. You probably won’t even remember them.’
‘There are bad dreams?’
‘Well yes, sometimes. But you shouldn’t worry about them. There are many, many, more good dreams than bad ones.’
‘But how do we make sure we only get the good ones?’
‘Dreams cannot be controlled or chosen. They come to us, like life flowing from the River – a gift beautiful and pure. We should be grateful for dreams, even the bad ones, for in them we might learn something.’
‘Sister Kelo! You’re scaring them.’ Sister Loro interrupted. ‘Dreams are to be enjoyed! I myself had a quite lovely dream last night – about steaming hot fig pudding and sweet honey sauce, all washed down with cloudy apple juice from the orchard. Now there’s nothing to be worried about there!’
A quiet murmur of agreement rippled across the room that Sister Loro’s dream did indeed sound wonderful.
After a few more questions the Sisters left, extinguishing the lanterns as they went and plunging the room in to darkness. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine the hot fig pudding Sister Loro had described. But I realised I didn’t know what fig tasted like, or even honey – only that it was sweet, and so it didn’t really help at all. Instead I kept seeing Sister Loro’s face – the moment before she told the story – a mixture of concern and frustration directed at Sister Kelo. And as I drifted off to sleep that was the question that kept rattling around in my head – what was it about bad dreams that Sister Loro was so worried about?
4
The world had been remade in swirling waters. There was no city; there were no Sisters, no Brothers, and no soldiers to set us free. There was nothing except darkness and pain. Always the River dragged me down, tumbling and roughhousing. Whenever it felt like I might break free, watery arms pulled me back under. If a bubble of light broke through the murky black it was snatched from my eyes a moment later. Nothing was given freely. Life was not a gift.
Time was different there; moments spanned whole revolutions of an absent sun. It seemed impossible that my breath would last until the next surface breach. It felt as if I was being pushed further under with every movement, even though I fought with all my might to move upwards.
Limbs grabbed at me, mortal arms and legs scrabbled for a constant in the ever-shifting maelstrom. Fingers scratched, legs kicked and fists punched. I found my own body responding in kind, felt the yield of soft flesh and saw grey waters turn pink.
A woman’s face came in to focus. Her long brown hair was tangled and knotted like a net. Her hazel brown eyes were open, darting left and right. Slender fingers reached out to me but I pushed her away, down and down in to the bottomless darkness. She started sinking, the ground opening up beneath her. Gnarled tree roots ripped through the Riverbed and wrapped around her pale skin. Weeds meshed with knotted ribbons of hair and dragged her down further. The River was pulling her in, reclaiming her for some unknown purpose. And I was helping it, pushing and shoving at the woman, ignoring her pleas for help that escaped in desperate bubbles of air rising through the water.
But instead I pushed her further down, kicking against her flailing limbs to drive myself higher and higher. I surged through the water, chasing a cracked shard of light until I broke the black surface. I pulled myself desperately to the bank but it crumbled beneath my touch, the soil breaking in to fingernails and teeth, the tumbling rubble of the dead.
Without a foothold I fell backwards, plummeting back in to the River. I sunk rapidly, spiralling downwards like a stone, chasing after the body of the woman I had cast in to the depths. The world span around me; tumbling and falling. I opened my mouth to scream but there was nothing, just the qu
iet whisper of my frantic last breath as the River rushed in to fill the void.
-
I’m not sure if it was my own screams that woke me, or the cries of others. The dormitory echoed with the broken wails of Riverlings. The Sisters had promised us dreams but only nightmares found us; flashes of terror forged from our memories. And at their core, the darkest heart of those remembered horrors wasn’t the near drowning, or the murder that survival forced us to commit. The terror that gripped me was the fear of losing myself, of returning to those first few moments of life when I had no words, no thoughts and no voice, when I was just a nameless, empty body in the River. My nightmares were a prison of nothingness, an all-consuming darkness from which there was no escape.
###
The River
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The story continues in The River, Book One of the Cities of Life and Death series.
In a ruthless world where even being born comes at a price, Ryan finds sanctuary in The City; a protected haven guarded by soldiers and governed by a religious order devoted to the River. There he joins the army; running the gauntlet of the plains, shepherding scared newborns in to The City and holding off the Rebel attackers. But as the bloodshed continues Ryan starts to question the war. And when long-held beliefs fall as quickly as dying soldiers, Ryan finds he is fighting not just to uncover the truth, but also to save his life.
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