Unnaturals

by Merrill, Lynna

  "She is an advertising artist," a voice said behind her. She jumped, dropping the apple she was holding. You brought food to the gods. They were supposed to hear you better if you did.

  The apple rolled before Nicolas' feet, and he picked it up. His eyes were fixed on Meliora, with mixed coldness and wildness. The coldness of the man who so pointedly ignored her every time he saw her, and the sharp, pointed wildness of the boy she'd met so long ago that it seemed a dream.

  "Have you ever, Meliora," he said in a seemingly soft voice, "seen an advertising artist paint the truth?"

  She said nothing. Suddenly she didn't know what to say. That person seemed to affect her like this whenever they exchanged a word. She didn't know what to say—for a moment.

  Then she stepped towards him and met his eyes and held his gaze.

  "They always paint the truth," she said. "Don't you remember, Nicolas? They paint a cherry computer in a person's hand, making the person happy. A new piece of 'the most wonderful chocolate.' Well, doesn't a new computer make people happy!? For naturals—for all of them—it does! And isn't the chocolate the most wonderful? For this week—or for today, for this hour, for the moment you taste it—it is. You won't remember anything but this moment, anyway!"

  "I won't remember anything but the taste of a moment? Is this what you think?"

  At this moment, he'd come so close to her that she felt his breath and caught the scent of soap on his hair. His eyes were still fixed on her, and now they held something more than coldness and wildness. She kept his gaze all the time. She was an unnatural. She could look at people like this—even at one whose eyes were suddenly making her shiver.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist, then he leaned and kissed her.

  She put her arms around him, too. She heard his heartbeat. She heard her own. If that were Lucasta—or Annabella, or any of the others—a medstat would have come rushing to them with shots and pills long ago.

  But no. It wouldn't have. If that were any of the cities, they would either not be doing this, or they would be mates and the medstat would know.

  They weren't mates. You were supposed to be comfortable with a mate, happy. Nicolas didn't even like her, for gods' sake! Even now, he was angry!

  Meliora broke the kiss. She stepped back from him. Yes, he was angry. There was murder in those eyes of his. Murder fit for a hunter.

  "This...this is not to be trifled with, Nicolas," she whispered.

  It was like playing with fire, all this. Both Stella and old Codes had warned her against playing with fire. In the real world, it could swallow houses in a moment, with blinding light and searing heat.

  "Nothing is to be trifled with," he whispered back. "You should not have come here. You and that mother of yours, and your silly artist friend—you're all trifling with too much. It's not on a whim that there's no art and no computers in this gods-damned place. It's not on a whim that candles and jars are harvested like this, and that those who watch the village want..." He shook his head. "Take a piece of advice from me, city girl. Don't ask your questions to the gods aloud. Someone might hear."

  He turned his back to her and walked out.

  She waited until she was sure she wouldn't see him outside before she left. Outside, the night was cold.

  ***

  The next night was one of the few in the year when it was all right to be outside. There was a group prayer in the temple, then everyone gathered around a big bonfire to eat, drink some of the ale they'd made this year, and be merry.

  After everyone ate and Mom's singers sang, people started dancing. Lizzy, scrubbed, with cheeks pinched to be rosy, and in a new pale brown dress, sat by Meliora with eyes darting like those of a Lucastan. She looked at Walter, then at Mel, then at the fire, and again, and again. Her hands played with her buttons so much that she finally tore one.

  "Oh, Lizzy, go ask him to dance finally!" Meliora's own hands weren't too still, though she hadn't torn anything. She hadn't slept well last night.

  "But it's the men who usually ask..."

  "Elizabeth, it's time you took your life into your own hands!"

  Lizzy jumped as if tens of ants had bitten her at once. She took a deep breath, then strode towards Walter. Meliora picked Lizzy's torn button, now sprinkled with dirt, and started playing with it.

  Lizzy and Walter started dancing. Mom and the chief were dancing, too.

  Mel sighed and stood up. She'd better go check on Arisa. The poor girl had to lie down so often now that she couldn't even come to the dance. Old Codes would check on her, of course, but...

  "Uhm...uhm, will you, that is..."

  Mel turned to face Pat, one of the young woodsmen. He stood beside her and was blushing furiously. "Will you...uhm, will you dance with me, Meliora?"

  She was supposed to. You only refused a dance if you disliked the person.

  He took her hand and they walked to the open green space. They swirled together several times, Pat's blush giving way to a smile—and Meliora gave out a sigh of relief.

  It was all right. She didn't get coldness and shivers and fire, and rapid heartbeat like last night with Nicolas. They didn't get activated just by being that close to a young man. She hadn't been entirely certain.

  She danced with Pat, and Zach, and even with Walter, and it was all right.

  It was not all right when she saw Nicolas dance with Belinda.

  Meliora stood up so fast that she spilled her ale into the fire, and stormed out of the stupid gathering. Ronny ran after her, and she spent the night having the child design thoughtmotions for train stations.

  ***

  On the next day, the chief took Mom for a walk outside the village. Old Codes, hearing about this from Meliora, tsk-ed with her tongue and slapped the breakfast eggs in the pan a little harder than necessary.

  "It ain't right," she muttered. "It ain't right to take a woman to the forest like this. He's doing so much for her that people are getting anxious."

  "Why not take her out?" Mel asked, and suddenly Lizzy, cutting onions beside her, hit the table with a small fist.

  "Won't you stop asking questions, Mel!" she shouted. Onion peels scattered all around her. "A woman stays in the village! A woman bears children and raises them! It is the men's job to go to the forests to fell trees and meet wild animals—because men, gods-damn them, are—" She snapped her mouth shut. Her shoulders hunched. Her fists were trembling.

  "It's all right, Lizzy, everything will be all right, you'll see." Belinda left the lentils she was cleaning and patted Lizzy's shoulder.

  "Of course it will be all right!" Lizzy wiped angrily at the tears in her eyes. "I am marrying Pat. I am going to have children with him."

  For a moment there was only silence. Then there were congratulations from every woman but Mel.

  "But you don't want to marry Pat! What happened, did Walter choose someone else? Melanie? Lizzy, you neither have objective data about Pat, like in the cities, nor want him. It makes no sense!"

  "Oh, shut up, Meliora! You and your—your decayed notions!" Lizzy thrust her bowl on the table. The table shook. "If it weren't for you—and your mother—if I had been around Walter instead of painting the temple like a decayed city artist, perhaps, just perhaps... It's all your fault!"

  "How can it be my fault!? Did I ever force you to paint? Did I keep you away from that precious Walter of yours? You wanted to paint, which is why Mom did this for you! She never does anything to people that they don't want! She only makes people make beautiful things and makes them happy—and the stupid people are not even grateful. Instead, they whisper behind her back! It's because she's the chief's wife, they say. Such a bunch of nonsense!"

  "What one wants is not necessarily what one needs! The Book of the Gods says so!"

  "Oh, really? Then it's not a problem that you want Walter but he doesn't want you, is it?"

  Lizzy would have slapped her if Belinda hadn't caught her hands—gently, yet with surprisingly firm strength. "There, Lizzy, calm
down, Lizzy-dear."

  Old Codes meanwhile caught Mel's hands, with no gentleness or endearments.

  "That's why I am marrying Pat!" Lizzy struggled with Belinda in vain. "I'm doing the one non-decayed thing you said—I am taking my life in my own hands! I'll be a proper wife and a real mother, and my children will have a father. Doesn't matter who, you decayed bitch!"

  "Marry a devil, for all I care!" That earned Meliora a slap from old Codes.

  One should not mention devils lightly, lest they hear their name and decide to pay a visit.

  The devils didn't visit. Meliora visited them instead, when twilight fell over the village and the endless work halted for the night. Work, always work, with only old Codes' grumpy silence for company today. Belinda had taken Lizzy away.

  The temple wasn't empty, and the devils weren't alone.

  Nicolas stood there, a dead computer in his hand. His fist was clenched, his eyes were narrowed. He didn't even seem to notice her.

  "Evil, aren't they?" Meliora said. He didn't even turn towards her.

  "Someone has touched them," he said.

  She shrugged. Ronny, or the other children. Not that Nicolas was supposed to know. He wasn't supposed to touch the dead computers, either.

  Mel walked to the devils' side of the temple. It was just a few steps—just a few steps separated the gods from the devils in this place.

  "I once met a man," she said. "I still miss him."

  Nicolas looked at her, narrowed eyes flashing with something she didn't care to define just now, then looked away again.

  "He was the first one to tell me about gods. The first one to tell me that someone must stand above those who would do this to us." She took the other computer in her hand, caressing the cracked screen with her chipped nail. Work did that to nails. There was also dirt under the nail, and dust over the computer's screen. "He was also the first one in my life to hate computers. Yet, he gave me a computer. Someone close to him had left it with him—and even old Nicolas deemed it fit that this computer be passed on to another person. So evil, computers—they make even those who resent them spread their decay. But you surely know this—the decay surely is not inside you. She turned and started walking. "Good night to you, hunter."

  She felt his eyes on her all the way to the door, but she didn't turn back.

  Mounds

  Meliora didn't sleep well that night. She slept so poorly that, on the next day, when her father yet again refused to take her out for a walk, she screamed at him.

  He slapped her. He never had. "You may go only where Mistress Codes tells you to," he told her. "I forbid you to go anywhere else."

  She'd have thrown something at him if Mom hadn't come out of the house just then. Old Codes gripped Mel's elbow and led her away before she could even tell Mom what had happened.

  "You want to go somewhere so much? You think a slap is bad? It can be much worse."

  Meliora shrugged. She was in no mood to argue with old witches. Old Carlos, passing by them at that moment, poked Codes in the ribs. "Told you she's your match!" he cackled.

  Maybe she was, no one else just shrugged when old Codes asked a question. She didn't care. Right now she didn't care about any of them.

  Old Codes looked at her and kept her eyes for a long time. Mel stared back, wishing for ACD pills—for many ACD pills, to give everyone in this gods-forsaken village.

  "Come with me," old Codes finally said. "Come with me, if you so much want to go outside the village."

  Old Codes called Belinda and Mati to finish the cooking she and Mel had started, then wrapped a shawl around herself, took a walking stick and set towards the fields at a steady pace.

  Fields again. Mel had had enough of fields—and weren't they done for this season? The grain was gathered, the new seeds sown, just as it was bid by the Book of those foolish loincloth-wearing gods. New grain would grow from the seeds after the snows.

  "Tell me, Mistress Codes, when did the gods discover writing and books? And why are computers evil but books aren't?"

  "Not books, girl," old Codes grumbled. "The book. The one of the gods. Those made by people, on the other hand..."

  "So only humans ever made computers? The gods never did?"

  "They didn't. For the gods, it was enough to make humans."

  For once, old Codes didn't tell her to not ask questions. Yet, she grew silent, and for some reason Meliora didn't want to disturb her silence. It wasn't old Codes' normal, grumpy, I'll-chide-you-for-something-the-moment-you-say-a-word silence. It was deeper and heavier, and Mel crossed her arms before her chest, wishing she'd brought a shawl herself. It was suddenly cold, though it wasn't yet dark and the wind wasn't yet blowing.

  "Here," old Codes finally said, after they had walked a while.

  They had come to a meadow. Or, it would have been a meadow but for the small, grass-covered mounds.

  Meliora knew a graveyard when she saw it.

  "The place for those who asked too many questions," old Codes said, and her face was drawn and her voice sounded hollow. "As well as the place for those who wouldn't answer any of them. You know of bloodshed, don't you, city girl? It is what comes when questions become too important."

  There was silence again. Old Codes seemed to be watching something in the distance. Meliora stared off into a distant place of her own.

  "My father." old Codes waved at a mound. "Once the chief. And the boy I would have married." Another mound. "They ended up on different sides. My best friend." Another wave. "Caught in the cross-fire. A bullet intended for someone else works just as well on whoever it lands on..." She laughed. It sounded as if she hadn't drunk water for a week. "But you don't even know what a bullet is, do you?"

  "I know what a bullet is." Meliora almost could not recognize her voice. "Wonderful experiences. Feeds. I remember."

  "There are no more bullets. Never again will there be. And those who remember will be few. And that"—another wave—"is my old apprentice. Twenty years gone now. She thought night outside the village was safe. She thought she could go anywhere."

  Old Codes walked to the second mound. She pulled her shawl tight around her. Then she stood there and watched the mound for a long time, but there was nothing to see. Nothing at all. Just grass, and dirt, and flowers, and even a baby tree, its finger-thin trunk shooting up to the sky, barely taller than the grass.

  The way of nature. Nature took over again after humans and gods were done with it. After time had had its say. Even the mounds were almost flattened, unlike the two in the village graveyard that people said were from last year.

  They went back in silence, old Codes huddled under her shawl, her eyes red and dry. Meliora had many questions, but for once she didn't ask them.

  That night she dreamed of the devils in the temple coming alive and stopping the interweb, and of the boat she and Mom had traveled in sinking in the river, and Albert the horse falling with all his knees broken. She dreamed of her father raising a large pistol to shoot Nicolas, and herself running to the chief, screaming. She woke just as the bullets hit her, drenched in sweat.

  When she fell asleep again, Nicolas was kissing her, while Lizzy was shouting beside them that Meliora was decayed, that she should be kissing Pat instead. Then Nicolas and Lizzy and Pat were all gone, and there were only mounds—an endless field of mounds and baby trees growing on them.

  The bed was screeching in the other room. Her parents must be busy. Meliora got up and went out in the dark. She went to the stables, where Albert and Ivy the mare were nodding over their fodder racks. Albert snorted gently when he saw her. His breath was warm, and he smelled of sweat and hay and summer. He had all his knees intact. Mel wrapped her arms around his neck and stayed there for a long, long time.

  ***

  Meliora didn't dream of her mother this night at all. Yet, the next morning it was Erika who didn't get up from her bed. On that same day, an old man died in the village, and on the day after that was buried in the graveyard with the bigger m
ounds, right by the village itself. Women wailed when the old man died, even women who weren't close to him.

  The graveyard, people called this place, but Meliora didn't ask why, when there was also another one. She didn't seek out old Codes to ask all the questions she hadn't asked. She didn't even look at Nicolas when he came to her home to urge the chief to go somewhere because of something Nicolas called urgent—though Nicolas certainly looked at her.

  She stayed by Erika's side all the time. All she did was care for Erika and pray for Erika. Yet, Erika wouldn't get up.

  It was a cold, old Codes said. The night had been colder than the nights before. Cold air must have gotten into the house when the fire was extinguished, and then gotten into her lungs.

  It wasn't the city young-age sickness. It could not be. It must not be! Yet, Erika wasn't getting up.

  The chief came back from his meeting with Nicolas with a deep frown between his eyebrows. It deepened more when he saw his wife. He sat at the edge of the bed across from Meliora. Mel was holding one of Mom's hot hands, the chief took the other one. Mom didn't give a sign that she was aware of either one beside her.

  The chief had been out all night, when Meliora had gone to the stables. The screeching bed had been because of Erika tossing, the sickness having gotten a hold of her already.

  I should have looked before I went out. I should have at least knocked on that door. I should have stirred the embers and added new wood to the fireplace and made sure I closed the door behind me so that no more cold air could get in.

  I shouldn't have gone out.

  I should have stayed with her!

  She stayed with her now. Days and nights, Mel stayed with Mom and fed her with a spoon whenever she could make her stand upright enough to swallow. Days and nights, Mel held Mom's hand and changed her soaked sheets, washing them in a tub into the kitchen. She wouldn't get out for long enough even to wash them in the village's creek.

  Young men of the village brought the water and firewood every day as per the chief's orders—and if some of them thrust the tub to the ground with more force than necessary, making the water splash, Mel paid them no heed. And if some gave her sulky looks from the corners of their eyes, she didn't care about that, either, just like she didn't care that none of them was ever Nicolas. Neither did she care that old Codes urged her to eat and day by day looked at her more worriedly. Neither did she care to sleep much.