Arcene: The Blue Castle

by Al K. Line

  At the thought of his son he smiled, remembering how he was always so happy and optimistic, full of vitality and life as only the young can be, carefree and unaware of the dangers of the world. The moment he saw the boy he knew his name, that huge grin there even before Beamer opened his eyes for the first time and stared at his father, emotions battling between thankfulness that his son had survived, despair and loneliness grabbing at him as the only woman he'd ever loved died from a complicated birth.

  There were no doctors, no help from anybody — the city was deserted apart from them and a few others that hid in the shadows, never interacting, feral creatures that lived hidden lives far removed from what was once considered normal by the people that built the city and knew it when it was alive, full of noise and commerce.

  Now there was him.

  He leaned on the handle of the spade, as familiar as his own hands. Drem couldn't even be bothered to do the weeding, his mood was too dark, the emptiness too complete.

  How could this have happened? After everything he'd done to keep his boy protected, away from danger, safe and secluded, and now he was gone. All over a stupid argument too. He'd lost his temper, he knew that, and he shouldn't have, but sometimes it was so hard to stay in control, act happy and do the right thing. Now and then life got too intense for Drem and he wanted to scream at the world, ask it why? Why had she died? Why were they left alone? Why couldn't things just be normal?

  But they'd never been normal, not in the ways he'd read about in the endless books still in the library, gathering dust, slowly rotting away. There was nobody but him left to read them, or the occasional traveler he sometimes watched carting away scores of books, reminders of a past when anything was possible and there were people to care.

  He didn't even have Beamer now, the reason he maintained the charade of all being well in the world — it wasn't, and it never had been. He was lost but clinging to life for the sake of his son, now there was nothing.

  What was he going to do? How could he keep going when all he'd lived for had disappeared from his life? It was weeks now, how many he couldn't recall. Days had blurred in a desperate mess of panic, searching, despair then more searching — all to no avail. He'd warned Beamer, told him since infancy of the dangers that lurked, kept him away from it all. Safe. It was all for nothing.

  One silly argument and one childish revolt, the boy obviously going off on his own to assert his right to make his own decisions, and he'd never come back.

  The first day he realized he'd gone he waited nervously for him to return, subdued and apologetic, hungry and scared, and everything would have been okay — he wouldn't even have told him off, not properly. But as the day wore on and there was no sign of him Drem began to worry. What if something had happened? What if he was lost?

  He knew the streets well, Drem had made sure of that. They'd wandered them countless times, each trip sending them further and further afield as less and less of use remained in the homes and places of business that still stood; long abandoned. It was the boy's home and he knew it intimately, so the only explanation was that he'd been taken or he'd left the city and either got lost or had an accident.

  He couldn't find his son. He'd begun his search, getting increasingly frantic, not sleeping yet unable to search for him in the dark either. Which way should he go? Where to look? He didn't know; he continued looking anyway. It had gone on for weeks, until he was too exhausted and too empty inside to keep going. It was futile, he could be anywhere, a nine-year-old boy that didn't have a clue how to survive alone — that was his fault, wasn't it?

  Early on Drem decided to keep the boy closeted from the outside world. He wasn't shackled, but he made sure that Beamer saw only the good in the world as much as he could manage. Looking back on his own childhood, the way they'd all lived, convinced him it was for the best. Why show him the nasty underbelly of life when there was so much good stuff in the world? He'd kept Beamer safe.

  Over the years the population had gone from minimal to almost non-existent. It went quiet, the occasional person he would encounter became a real rarity, as if there wasn't anyone left at all, and he was alone in the world. Then he'd met Beamer's mother, and they'd had a glorious few years, just them, happy like neither had ever been, finally enjoying company and companionship — they'd both been left without parents in their teens, their families succumbing to The Lethargy like so many others.

  Life was great, then she died.

  Then it was just him and Beamer, but that was all right too, more than he could have wished for. He had a chance to bring up his child, look after him, do the right thing, but maybe he'd gone about it all wrong? Should he have exposed him to the world, taught him more about the practicalities? Maybe, maybe not. Beamer was a sensitive child, happy to stay close by his father's side. They were a team, just them.

  Now he was alone.

  "Get it together Drem, you have to go on. Don't give up hope." Drem moved through the vegetable gardens, making himself work, telling himself that even though it had been a long time since his son disappeared there was always hope. Maybe he would find his way home and they would be re-united again. And if, no when, that day came, everything would be as before, their home would be the same, the vegetables would still be growing — they would survive.

  Drem stopped his weeding, stood and arched his back to get the stiffness out, and walked to the edge of his immaculate garden. He stared at row after row of vegetables and fruit trees, small pockets of perfection in an otherwise crumbling city. There were the cabbages, bright green and growing larger by the day. There a patch of red: tomatoes ripening, but many still green and getting fatter. The peppers were doing well this year, as was the lettuce, the zucchini, all of it, the rich manure giving up its goodness so he could survive.

  Turning his back on the abundance of crops, Drem put his feet on the ledge, muddy boots releasing some of the compacted earth. He leaned forward and watched for a few seconds as it fell over the side of the rooftop, peered down as it dropped fifty-five stories to the ground far below.

  Drem raised his head and looked out over the decay of the city, at ancient buildings like splintered teeth in a cavity-filled mouth, jagged remains of once proud structures still dominating the skyline. But the skyscrapers were empty now, tumbling to the ground year after year, blocking the roads, the tarmac overlaid with hardy grasses and plants making a patchwork carpet of the empty streets, creeping at a snail's pace over everything in their path.

  He looked down at the rooftops of row after row of terrace houses, peered into bedrooms where roofs had collapsed centuries ago, now home to pigeons.

  He stared down at the tops of cars, still marveling at how different it must have been when the city was full of vehicles all shiny and belching out fumes, horns honking, the whole place alive with pedestrians and the busy lives led by the hundreds of thousands of people that had called this place home.

  Now it was just him, safe above it all. A man and his garden in the sky.

  Alone.

  Awkward Questions

  "Arcene?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Will you get mad at me?"

  "About what? Dunno, do I?"

  "Oh..."

  "Well, um, okay, I won't get mad."

  "Promise?"

  "Sure, I promise. Unless you try to eat my lunch, then I'll get all 'deathy' and you wouldn't like me when I get into that zone."

  "Er, right, yes. I saw you earlier didn't I? That was scary."

  "I know, I'm sorry, but men like that... Ugh, they want to do nasty things, and I will never, ever let that happen again. Never."

  "Right..."

  "Go on then, what's this all about? You want to ask me something? Tell me something? Hang on, my sock's fallen down. That's better. Do you like the bunnies?"

  "Er, s'pose. Don't think they'd suit me though."

  "No, guess not. They're for girls."

  "Right..."

  "Well?"

  "I lied. I lie
d all right, and I'm sorry and I promise I won't—"

  "Whoa, cool it speedy. Calm down and don't get upset. It's fine... I think. What did you lie about?"

  "I told you I'd eaten boar before, but I haven't. I lied."

  "Hey, hey, what's up with you? That's no big deal. I once told Letje that I had been out having a walk but really I found a secret place with The Room For Big Buttons stenciled on it and oh boy the things that happened after I pressed the buttons that said they weren't supposed to be pressed. I spent weeks trying to cover that one up... Beamer, why are you so upset? It wasn't like it was a big lie."

  "It was, it was. I've never eaten boar and I've never eaten meat. Ever. Father will be really mad, that's why I ran away, because we had such a big argument, and he got so cross."

  "Wait, what? You're saying that you have never eaten any meat until you met me? How come? You need it. It's all I eat, mostly. Back home, at The Commorancy, Letje tries to get me to eat vegetables, and salad. Yuck! I eat a bit, but it's not real food, just there so you get vitamins. That's why I'm so pale according to Letje, I need to eat more carrots."

  "We're the opposite, we just eat vegetables, nothing else. Father says it's wrong to eat other creatures, that it goes against nature, and that's why there's The Lethargy, because people ruined things and were cruel, so we mustn't be cruel, but now I've eaten lots of meat and you kill people and those horrible people in the castle do even worse things, nasty things, and now I'm going to get The Lethargy and die and Father will be really cross with me and—"

  "Gee, calm down, you're like a bloomin'... um, dunno, but you're talking too fast, getting all upset over nothing. So what if you ate meat? It won't give you The Lethargy, that I do know, and it doesn't go against nature. Animals do it; everyone does it. I've never even heard of people not eating meat."

  "Father says it's wrong. That we aren't animals and that we should be kind. Now I'm bad too and I'm going to die."

  "Look, you aren't. The Lethargy was caused by... well, nobody knows that, but it isn't meat, it's more like a natural selection. Only people with big muscles like me survive. See, look at that bicep, impressive huh?"

  "Haha, it's like a little egg."

  "Oi! Cheeky. But look, why did you eat it if you thought it was wrong?"

  "Because I was so very hungry, and I saw it and something inside me was whispering 'Eat it Beamer, you know you want to,' like it would never stop and I had to do it. It was The Lethargy, making me do it so I'd get it too. Now it's too late."

  "Hush, don't be daft. If your body needed it that much then it was the right thing to do. I'll talk to your father when we see him. You'll like that, won't you? Seeing him after all this time? Bet he's really worried about you."

  "But I can't go back, not now. He'll be so upset, more upset than he's ever been. That's what our argument was about. I'm fed up eating vegetables and being kept away from everything, I want to do things and see things, or, I did, now I just want to go home."

  "Please stop crying, it's hard to think with you like that. Here, dry your eyes on this. But don't you dare get it all snotty or you'll have to wash it. Your dad will be fine, he'll be happy to see you and everything will be all right, you'll see."

  "I don't think he will, he can get really cross. Not mean, but... he kind of gives me this look. It's scary."

  "I don't have much experience of that sort of thing. I never knew mine and my mum died when I was young so I guess I'm the opposite of you, but I think all parents are like your dad. They all get cross and they all have that scary look. It's what you do. Oh! Wow, I just realized, I do the same thing too. Oops."

  "What!? You mean you're a mum? You can't be, you're too young. And, er..."

  "And still like a kid, right? Yeah, I know, it's a long story. But I have a seven-year-old boy. He's like you in some ways, although he hasn't run off yet. Nowhere for him to go anyway, and I'd find him easily enough."

  "You're Awoken? I wish I was, I wish Father was too. Maybe things would be different then."

  "Nah, not really. There's just more to worry about, although some things are cool. But anyway, it'll be fine, trust me."

  "Okay Arcene, I trust you. Do you really think it will be okay? That he'll forgive me?"

  "He's your dad isn't he?"

  "Yes, my dad. I wonder what he's doing right now?"

  "We'll find out soon enough won't we? By this afternoon we will be in the city, and you know where you live there? You can find the way?"

  "Sure. Once we get close then I know it well. It's just out here that I get lost."

  "About that... You really need to tell your dad to teach you some basic stuff, you know, just in case..."

  "I'm never going to leave again. It's horrid out here, full of nasty people. Er, apart from you of course, and Leel. I want a dog too."

  "Just be careful. Don't go trying to make friends with the wild ones, they'll eat you."

  Sniff.

  "Oh, c'mon, not again. But yeah, be careful. Now, about this castle..."

  Broken Promises

  "Did you see that?" asked an excited Fionn, as he leaned back in his chair then withdrew without care from the unfortunate sparrow he had forced his sentience into. The bird dropped from the sky, landing with a soft thud the other side of the hill to Arcene, Beamer, and the dead man. "Flynn, Flynn, did you see it?"

  With a sigh Flynn retreated with far more grace from his own sparrow, leaving it to mourn the loss of its partner as it swept down to land on the grass, chattering at the lifeless form, nudging it with a beak before flying away, dazed, confused and alone. "I saw it. She's something else isn't she? Maybe too good just for a normal servant. She could be a guard, something better than a maid at any rate."

  "Yes. How is a girl that good with a sword? Father always said that it was only us men that could learn how to fight."

  "Well, that's just another thing he was wrong about isn't it? Must we go see him? I don't feel like it."

  "No, me either, but we agreed. We said we'd go every month. We promised him, didn't we?"

  "But it's so horrid down there, all depressing and full of spiders."

  They talked more about Arcene as they walked through the upper reaches of the castle, taking endless turns through the maze of rooms that made up their home, their city in miniature. They passed servants as they traveled ever downward, paying them no attention — they knew their place, had their positions, and that was as it should be. The simple creatures, inbred to a dangerous degree, knew nothing different, accepted their life without complaint. There was nothing to compare it to; this was all there was.

  Whip smiled as they passed him on an open walkway connecting the heart of the castle to the low levels and the darker reaches of the crumbling edifice, long overdue for repair. The twins seemed incapable of opening their eyes to the brick and stone that became more unstable with each passing year. Whip himself may as well have been a part of the castle for all the attention he got. He smiled at the feckless halfwits as they turned a corner, unable to keep a slight sneer from his face as he merged with the stone like an ancient statue, just a part of the background noise to the steady monotony of castle life.

  The twins left the bright airy walkways behind, moving into parts of the castle long ago abandoned. With conversation now failing them, they entered the seemingly endless series of rooms once full of provisions and the large array of tools needed to maintain a respectable fortress for the long-deceased earlier owners. Many centuries ago the rooms were full of dried grains, the harvest stored for winter. But the use changed as society modernized, until they became little more than storage space for the vast assortment of antiques collected by the last owner to live in the modern world, overcome by The Lethargy and relinquishing his hold on the ancient building, making way for the twins' father.

  The priceless furniture was broken up for precious firewood long ago, or used to replace pieces as they wore out above the catacombs.

  Now all that remained was dust, s
piders and decay.

  "Ugh, ugh, get it off, get it off!" screamed Fionn in a panic, bending his head toward his brother.

  "Haha, you big baby, it's just a spider." Flynn backed away, the words nothing but bravado, then felt something brush his own just-washed hair, and shouted, "Ugh, now I've got one too. This place is so horrid." The two men, ancient yet little more than underdeveloped children, brushed ineffectively at their own heads, squashed spiders until their locks became tangled with thick cobwebs, and ran back up the stone steps in the gloom, panic giving them speed as if they'd been under attack from ghosts.

  Out in the open air they frowned at the mess the other was in, checked hair for eight-legged beasties, and took deep breaths until their nerves calmed somewhat.

  "Let's skip this month shall we? It doesn't matter anyway. He doesn't know who we are, he doesn't even know who he is."

  Fionn nodded at his brother's wise words. "Agreed. We'll go next month. He's fine down there, just slowly losing himself to The Lethargy. He is taking his time though, I must say. But we'll be given word if his condition changes. Come, let's go check on the girl, and see what the boy gets up to. We could always try to get him back at some point, but for now it's kind of fun just watching."

  "It is. Such fun," agreed Flynn. "Quite fascinating to see how people get on out there. Not us though, we're special. This is our home, and soon it will be hers too, and we shall have new blood for our servants, to stop them all being so backward."

  "And we have something to do. It does get monotonous here at times. I like her."

  "Don't go getting any ideas brother. Don't get too fond or her, she is to be a simple servant after all, just a little better than the others."

  "Oh, I know, just a girl. Nothing to worry about, not for us."

  Below ground, behind a locked door at the far end of a narrow, low-ceilinged corridor, in a small room with a tiny window that poked out of the hill halfway up, was the father of the twins.