Anarchy

by James Treadwell

  Now Marina was thoroughly uncertain again. “Oh,” she said.

  “I’m afraid we’ve made a bad decision,” Iseult said, quietly. “Still.” She reached out and squeezed Marina’s hand briefly. “No going back now.”

  Marina was more worried about the way the lane curved and dipped and then settled into a steady downward slant. Each time they’d gone over a crest in the road before, they’d been able to see glimpses of the river off to their right, safely distant, but now the lane was pulling them back toward it. The sign had told them which way to go so it wasn’t as if there was any choice, but as the steady descent continued she became more and more anxious, and finally asked Iseult.

  “There’s a longer way around,” the woman said. “I thought about it. But we’re in no shape for a detour. Why are you worried about the river?”

  “I don’t want my mother seeing me,” Marina answered, eyes fixed ahead.

  Iseult didn’t answer for a long while, and when she finally spoke it was in what Marina had come to think of as her other voice, as if she was talking to someone completely different about some entirely unrelated subject.

  “The river barely touches the village down there,” she said. “It’s at the end of a little creek. We can skirt around.”

  “You’ve been there before?”

  “No, but I spent hours looking at the maps. Memorizing them. Hours and hours. They were all I had to look at. I wasn’t as wise as you, it never occurred to me to bring a book.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Fairly sure. Trust me, I don’t want to see your mother again either.”

  Houses began to appear by the road, strange small ones like almost life-sized dollhouses, or like copies of pictures from books and magazines. They had cars in front of them, and weeds in front of the cars. Some had messages painted on the roofs or walls, obviously meant for someone other than her and Iseult. A couple had pictures, birds with their wings spread painted clumsily in black, or they might have been supposed to be dragons. They reminded Marina of the dead crow on the front of the car.

  Iseult noticed her looking at them. “That’s because of the flying thing, I assume,” she said.

  “What’s the flying thing?”

  “You must have heard about that. It’s why so many people came down here at the start of the winter. You know. The big black bird thing. In all the pictures.”

  “Oh,” Marina said. “You mean Corbo.”

  Although the scope of Iseult’s knowledge was amazing, there were surprising gaps in it, like in Horace’s: things she didn’t seem to know anything about at all. She halted in the road and turned to stare at Marina with an expression of naked astonishment. It was in that silence that they both heard, muffled but distinct, the sound of a short burst of laughter farther down the road into the village.

  Iseult reached out and grabbed Marina as if something was about to attack her.

  “What—”

  “Shh!”

  They stood still, listening hard. After a moment there came a muted fragment of conversation, and some scraping, something heavy being dragged along the road. It sounded like two people, a man and a woman.

  “It’s—”

  Iseult put a hand over Marina’s mouth, then a finger over her own lips. She leaned in to Marina’s ear.

  “Whisper,” she whispered, and slowly withdrew her gag.

  “It sounds like them again.”

  Iseult nodded.

  “What should we do?”

  They looked back up the road behind them. It had felt gentle enough coming down. From the bottom, it suddenly appeared steep and painfully long. Marina could almost feel Iseult wilting as she contemplated it.

  “They seemed all right,” she whispered, “didn’t they? They gave us those raisins.”

  Iseult waited a while before turning to her. They heard snatches of chatter again.

  “You’re right,” she said. “But. Look at me.” Marina obeyed. Up close, Iseult looked simultaneously more and less like Gwen. The outlines and proportions of her face and the color of her eyes were almost exactly the same, but a completely different person was looking out of them. “Don’t say anything at all unless you have to. And try not to look at the man. At all. That’s very important. Understand?”

  She nodded, frightened by Iseult’s sudden intensity.

  “It’ll be fine.” The woman gave Marina a quick cold kiss on the cheek, took hold of her around the shoulders again, and they went on down.

  The two people had left their car with its dead crow and its white cross at the side of the road. They were farther down among the houses, which crowded close together now, each staring at its neighbors with the blind eyes of broken windows. They were doing something with the cars in front of the houses, something that involved attaching lengths of dirty orange tubing between a hole in the side of the car and a plastic can in the middle of the road. Marina did her best to look only for moments, peeking out from under her messy fringe. She noticed both of them were wearing clothes like Caleb’s, waxy coats and rubbery boots and big thick gloves like gardening gloves, although whatever they were doing, it clearly wasn’t gardening.

  “Look who’s here,” the man said. Standing out on the road he turned out to be very tall, and younger than she’d guessed when he was mostly hidden behind the filth of the car windows.

  “Made good time,” the woman said. Sweat had made the charcoal rings around her eyes blur and run. “Must have got a burst of energy off them raisins.”

  “They were good,” Iseult said. “Thank you again.” Marina was instinctively slowing down. Her companion pushed discreetly, keeping their slow pace steady.

  “What’re you doing down this way? I hope your friends weren’t supposed to be here. This is a proper ghost town.”

  “Just passing through.”

  “Are you now? Good luck with that. Road must be six feet under.”

  “We’ll find a way around.”

  “Very determined, ain’t you? How’s the small one doing? You all right under there, me love?”

  “Mummy told her not to talk to strangers,” the man said. He sounded amused, or at least so Marina thought; listening to these people she didn’t know was confusing and taxing. What they said kept sounding for a moment or two like the language she recognized, but then the sound would go wrong, or the feeling of the words would escape her, as if she were playing a guessing game rather than actually hearing someone speak.

  “Very wise. And Mummy won’t go telling strangers about what she seen here, will she?”

  “All we want to do is get where we’re going.”

  “Same as us.” The woman guffawed, setting her hands on her hips. She was tiny, barely taller than Marina, but there was a mysterious largeness about her, as if her presence used up some of the surrounding empty space. “We got a bit farther to go, though, so we need to carry more fuel.” She tapped one of the plastic containers attached to the cars with her foot. “You’ll appreciate how that is, I expect.”

  “Of course,” Iseult said, elbow nudging Marina forward. “Good luck to you.”

  “Offer of a ride still stands,” the man said. “Long as you don’t mind waiting while we finish up here. And if you’re heading Truro way.”

  “Or beyond.”

  “Thank you. But no.”

  “Where are you headed, then?”

  Marina felt Iseult hesitate. They’d almost reached where the woman stood. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man watching them very closely.

  “I’d prefer not to say.”

  “If it’s back to Mawnan, don’t bother. Police came in early this week and cleared everyone out of the fields.” The woman stepped back into the road as she spoke, blocking the path without giving any sign that she’d intended to. Iseult stalled, and Marina with her. “Probably they wa
s just waiting till they could get the paddy wagons in. Rounded up half your lot and took them off God knows where. I heard they put up a bit of a fight, though. Some of your folk found their way to Truro. Surprisingly handy around the barricades, weren’t they, Tam?”

  “No one’s left in Mawnan?”

  “None of your people.”

  “We’re not pilgrims.”

  “Oh? Well, forgive the mistake, dearie. You’ve got the look of someone who’s lived in a tent for three months, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Got the sound of them too,” the man called Tam said, strolling into the road as well to double the barrier in front of them—more than double, since the feathers in the woman’s hair barely came as high as his breastbone. “Oh, I know. I found those plasters. Let me hop back up to the car and get you one.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “Won’t take a moment,” he said, and jogged past them. Iseult started to walk again, but the small woman leaned in close to them, lowering her voice.

  “You should join us, dearie. Don’t mind the makeup, we’re harmless really, long as you’re on our side. You and your girl won’t last long just the two of you. If you’ve come from the west you won’t have heard the worst of it. See that haze?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the sky. “That’s Truro burning. Did you hear they took Ruth?”

  “We’ve seen worse.”

  “Have you, though? I doubt it. Worse is just beginning. There’s thousands of us who’ve had enough. We’re on our way to London to get her back, and no one’s stopping us.”

  “Excuse us,” Iseult said, and steered Marina around the woman.

  “That girl don’t look too willing. Is she yours? Hey. Is this your mum?” Iseult hugged her more tightly and kept going. “No use going down there, dearie, creek’s right up over the road. There’s a way round behind the houses. Let me hear the girl speak for herself, now.”

  They stopped. Iseult let go of Marina’s shoulder and turned around.

  “I never said she’s my daughter. I’m taking her where she’ll be safe.”

  “Is that right, dearie?”

  Marina realized they were all waiting for her. She turned too and looked up. The tall man strode back into view. She met his eye, only then remembering that she wasn’t supposed to.

  “We’re going to find Horace,” she said, suddenly nervous. “Or the woman who lives in the same village. This isn’t my mother. I won’t go with my mother. I told her that already. I’d rather go with Iseult.”

  There was an expectant silence, but she didn’t know what else she ought to say. She began to wish they’d gone the long way round.

  Iseult came beside her again and took her hand, still looking at the others.

  “You see,” she said, as if something else had happened that only the three grown-ups had observed.

  “Poor child,” the black-eyed woman said, shaking her head.

  Tam strode forward. “Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s have a look at that scratch at least. Pop that boot off.” He was about to crouch in front of Marina when Iseult stepped between them, again startlingly quickly.

  “I’ll do it,” she said, sharply.

  Tam paused, shrugged, and handed her the bandage. Marina had never used one herself before, but she’d seen Caleb sticking them on often enough. She sat on the road and started pulling off her shoe.

  “Not here,” Iseult whispered, but too late; Marina already had the shoe off by then. As she tipped it up in her hands, a brief red stream dribbled out of it onto the road. Her sock was a dark wet mess.

  “My sainted aunt,” the small woman muttered.

  “Right,” Tam said. “Let’s get this sorted out.” He sat on the road and beckoned. “Here, give us your foot.”

  Iseult dropped to take hold of her so swiftly, Marina thought she’d tripped and fallen. “Don’t touch her,” she spat, and wrapped both arms around Marina’s shoulders, hiding her face.

  Tam held his hands out. “All right, keep your hair on.”

  “What’s wrong?” Marina whispered, as quietly as she could. Iseult didn’t answer.

  “Needs a wash,” the man said. He pulled a clear plastic bottle out of the pocket of his coat. “With clean water. You can use a drop or two of this. What’d you do, step on glass or something?” Marina knew now not to say anything. She could feel the tension in Iseult’s arms.

  “Shall we do the plaster?” she whispered, cautiously.

  Iseult’s grip relaxed. Taking that as encouragement, Marina peeled off her sock. Blood made her fingers sticky. The man held the bottle toward them; after a pause, Iseult took it and poured out a capful, wiping the wound clear with her hands.

  “That’s it?” Tam said. “It’s less than a scratch. Shouldn’t be bleeding like that.”

  Iseult still said nothing. She fumbled the paper off the bandage and patted the skin dry. While she was attaching it, Marina saw the man do a strange thing. He picked her sock up very quickly, put it against his face for a moment, and sniffed. The furtive gesture was so surprising that Marina forgot she wasn’t supposed to look at him. He flashed her a strange look as he hurriedly put the sock back on the road again, wiping his fingers, only a second before Iseult reached around to collect it and wring it out.

  “She can’t wear that,” Tam said.

  “We need to go,” Iseult murmured to her, and stood up.

  “Child needs proper care,” the black-eyed woman said. “We’ve got field hospitals in Truro. Good people there too. We got hold of medical supplies. Come with us that far at least. No one’ll stop you going wherever you want after.”

  “Marina,” Iseult said, “put your shoe back on, please.”

  The woman shrugged. “Have it your way. Come on, Tam, we’re wasting time on these two.”

  “Marina, eh?” the man said. “That’s a pretty name.”

  Iseult looked frail beside him, exhausted and ragged and small, but her voice had a dangerous edge. “If you could show us how to get around the flood,” she said, “we’d be grateful.”

  “Would you. Easy enough.” The woman pointed. “Between those two houses, round the back of that far one, you’ll see a big alder down across the stream below. Looks muddy on the other side but you’ve obviously been through plenty of mud already.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t let the kid go with her,” Tam said. “Someone ought to be looking after her properly.”

  “If you lay a finger on her,” Iseult said, “I’ll scratch out your eyes.”

  “Oh aye?”

  “Try me if you like.”

  Marina became horribly aware of the background sounds, the muted angry rush of the stream behind the houses and the far-off ebbing whicker of a helicopter. The whicker grew rapidly into a heavy throb. All of them except her looked upward.

  “Leave them be,” the small woman said. “We got more important things to be doing. They’re all mad anyway, their lot. Praying for salvation, pssshh. If we want a new world we got to go out and grab it ourselves.”

  Iseult pulled Marina up to her feet. “Come on,” she said, gathering her around the shoulders again. In a whisper she added, “Don’t look back.”

  “Nothing’s going to change if we just hide away.” The woman’s voice rang behind them. It was a strong voice for such a small person. “What are you waiting for, another sign? One wasn’t enough for you? Waiting for someone to come and tell you what’s happening? I’ll tell you what’s happening. The old powers came back for us, now all we got to do is lay hold of ’em.”

  “What does she—” Marina began, in her quietest mumble, but Iseult cut her off.

  “Don’t talk. Don’t look up. Keep going.”

  Only many minutes later, when they were back on the lane again after crawling over a broad trunk and fighting through a pocket of swampy scrub,
would Iseult allow them to stop. She bent, catching her breath. There was a canopy of tall trees overhead and more houses around them, half overgrown with ivy and bramble like dirty miniature versions of Sleeping Beauty’s castle.

  “I don’t think they’re following,” she said.

  Marina assumed it was all right to talk again. “Why were you so angry with them?”

  “Was I? I just wanted to get on.”

  “They gave us food. I bet they’d have let us have some of that water if you’d asked. And the plaster.”

  Iseult looked at her for a moment, then just said: “Let’s go. Look, there’s the road up the valley. Just ahead.”

  “They were helping us.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether they were helping us or not. I should never have let us do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Come this way.”

  “What?” Marina strode faster to keep up. “We have to. You said so yourself.”

  “You can’t be around people, Marina. Didn’t you ever wonder why they kept you out of sight all that time?”

  Marina was shocked by the sudden bitterness in her voice. For a dreadful moment she was reminded of when Gwen had turned, become the opposite of herself, that unspeakable nightmare day. “It’s not my fault! No one ever gave me a chance to try. You wouldn’t even let me say anything.”

  “It’s not what you say. Or do. It’s who you are. I should have known last night. I could feel it. Even in that filthy little shed when we could hardly see.” She glanced at Marina’s stricken expression, and relented. “You’re right,” she said, more gently. “It’s not your fault. You wouldn’t understand. But listen to me. Whether we find your friend or not, whoever we find or don’t find in Mawnan, we need to get you back to your house. Your dog can tear my head off if it wants to, I don’t care. As soon as we can, we’re going there. Tomorrow. We’re not taking any more roads either, we’ll find a way across the river.”

  Marina had been holding her hand. She let go as if Iseult was aflame and stopped dead.

  “No.”

  “I’m afraid so.”