by J. M. Wilson
It was crooked, and looked rickety, as it creaked in the breeze, that had just begun to blow.
The roof was a thatch of leaves that had been harvested from the banana trees growing close by.
The place looked much like the others they had passed, like it purely served a purpose.
It had no finery such as curtains at the windows.
It had hard wooden shutters.
There was nothing homely about it.
They surveyed the dwelling for movement.
Was anyone living there, or was it an abandoned home?
They could not tell by the look of it.
They circled around to the back.
There on a rough bench sat a very dirty old man.
“Excuse me sir,” said Silverton. “Do you have some water we could drink?”
The old Manushi man’s head turned to face the three visitors.
He was dreadfully unclean, bedraggled and shabby.
His hair straggled, matted, and filthy, hung lankly down his back.
His face was old and wrinkled.
His skin had the texture of a partially decomposed leaf, brown and cracked.
Out of his chin grew whiskers.
The chin hair was wispy and sparse, kind of grey and yellow in colour.
He spoke with an unusual accent, but in their tongue.
“It’s bin a long time young fella since anyone ’as spoke to me. It’s bin even longa since anyone ’as bin polite.”
He paused, then said, “You don’t belong ’ere?”
His eyes had become small, watery and glassy with age, yet they still held their hazel colour.
He looked at the three of them intensely, not meanly, but with interest.
He did appear to want them to answer his enquiry about whether indeed, they did belong.
“Tek ya selves a drink from the well,” he pointed to where it was, “An then cum ’n’ talk to me. Indulge an ole man.”
Silverton took it upon himself to decide they would talk with him.
After all, so far, he was the only one in this place who had actually appeared to notice their existence.
Perhaps he could tell them how to find FarFrom?
Having briefly explained they were looking for a friend, and that they believed she had come to this place, Silverton then asked, “What is this place?”
“I tell ya what fella,” said the old man “You guys hungry? ’Coz it’s a long story an it’s abou’ suppa time now?”
All together they said, “Yes!”
“Ya got any food then? The man asked.
Disappointedly they all said “No.”
Did this mean they weren’t going to eat?
“Well I’ve got food, an’ I’ll share it wiv ya, but what a ya gonna do for me?”
They all became very suspicious.
“Well, we haven’t got anything to give you, so what do you want?” Silverton asked.
“Da ya know what lad, I know just what I want. I want a bath.”
“Oh no!” Said Berty. “He’s a weirdo!”
Silverton and Dena looked on in agreement.
“I am not a weirdo, young fella. I just can’t get that amount of water outa the well and heated nowa days!”
Well that did sound feasible.
“Right. OK I can do that for you, then.” Silverton offered.
“And I will need ’elp. Ya know? Wiv me back!”
“Weirdo!” Berty said.
“Berty!” Dena hushed her brother, and said to the old man. “You keep your pants on though.”
“Ov course!” He replied.
After supper they all sat with their host, Pickles Mellowmarsh, as he sat in his battered tin bath, full of hot water, and loads of bubbles.
As Dena and Berty scrubbed the old man’s back, the old man talked.
He dunked his head under the water when they’d finished, washing his hair and scrappy beard.
“It’s bin a long time young uns.” He said when he re-emerged.
‘Really!’ Berty thought but didn’t say.
He looked a different colour just from being in the water, and that was before using soap!
He washed as the three of them waited, and when he was done, he just sat there with the water up to his shoulders, as he had shrunk down.
The bubbles had all but disappeared by this time, and so, when a loud noise erupted from the base of the bath, exploding as bubbles on the surface, it was clear for all to see and hear, but thankfully not smell.
“Pardun me.” Pickles Mellowmarsh offered.
Dena, got up and walked to the well, leaving Silverton and Berty to giggle as Pickles winked at them.
“It has to be dun when yor in the bath. It’s the law!” He said as they watched Dena walk away.
Berty thought Dena had her fuming face on.
As they waited for her to come back, Berty surveyed the scene.
Well this was certainly turning out to be another day of firsts, thought Berty.
First time he had walked any sort of distance, and the first time he had sat, in the middle of an opening in a tropical jungle, in ‘Thisland’ Britain, with a pretty scruffy man sitting in a bath, farting.
Though to be fair, he did look a lot cleaner now.
He thought, if he never did either one of these again, he’d be glad!
The air was warm and the light was fading, as they listened to Pickles tell them where they where.
He explained that they had come to a place known as ‘FarFrom’, created by FarFrom, for all of those who had fallen ‘far from’ grace.
He told them that all who live here were the selfish, the spoilt, and the lazy law-breaking members of their society, whom their elders, and Highest Councillors have banished from their communities.
The people who come here range from bad to mad, selfish to the core, wanting only their own way, with not a thought for others.
There are no rules, no customs, and no values, just selfish wants, pursued and satisfied.
The price paid for the life in FarFrom is simple.
All get exactly what they want, and then some.
“There is an old saying”, he said, that he was sure they would have heard,
“Be careful what you wish for!”
“Thir’s no children ’ere. As ya noticed?
Thiz people are too selfish to want kids anyway!
Who’d look after them?
Selfish adults and children. Not a good mix.”
“Children can be bad too.” Said Berty, “Can’t they?”
“They can young fella. But all kids, no matta what thez dun, allz av a chance right up to adulthud, to put it all be’ind um and turn out gud.
Not many ov yur sort turn their back on their kids.”
“Sounds good though,” said Berty “Being able to do whatever you want.
I’d never have to tidy my room…!
Or eat vegetables…!
I could scrub my teeth if I wanted, and not if I wanted….”
Pickles stopped him in mid flow.
“I’s no free ride living ’ere boy!
No-one ’ere will provide you wi’ food ’n’ drink, warmth an’ shelta…!
Protection even..?
No family ’n’ friends here…!
What ya wan’s might conflict wi’ wha’ the next guy wan’s…?
Then…? Well! Then there’s no knowing where conflict ’ere migh’ end…?
Mainly in misery ’ere!”
Stopping for a breath, and a brief moment to think, he went on to say,
“I moved out ov the town a long time ago.
Too old ta fight, and too old ta care!
A juz wan’ a bit ov peace now.”
Berty was puzzled by what Pickles had told him.
It was hard, working out his accent, and his meaning.
“You can’t be all those things you said Mr Mellowmarsh.”
“Call me Pickles.
An’ why can’t a?”
“Because,” he said “You have given us water… And shared your food... and your time with us. That’s not selfish!”
“I wantid a bath!” He paused again.
“Time young fella is a great levella!
It mellows a man… and gives im time to think?
In days past, I migh’ no’ ’av’ noticed ya all.
I’d a bin too busy doing wha’ I wantid!
Today I wantid a bath…!
Ta share a meal, ’n’ a conversation with ya young uns.
A’m still doing exactly as I wan!
Juz that what I wan’ is more in line with wa’ you wan’, that’s why ya see it like that.”
“Can you go back to normal society?” Dena asked.
“Ya can always leave ’ere if you wan’ ta go live by someone else’s rules… Tha’s saying the’ll ’av’ ya back!
Sum realise the erra of their ways ’ere, n wan’ ta go back.. ’n do…!
But it’s a violent place ’ere!
Sum die ’ere before they can ge ’ome…!
Ya see! Ta FarFrom and iz cronies, this is like a big experiment.
Ee studies us, manipulates us, indulges us ’n deprives us.
I’ve been ere many years… am 170… ’n I only go’ ta this age knowing one important thing.”
Pickles talked with the ‘young uns’, as he called them, for a couple of hours.
He had got out of his bath half way through his tales. The water had been getting cold, and he needed to get dressed.
Listening to his stories, the three began to get used to Pickle’s accent.
After a while, they were able to build a picture of the place they where in.
None of them could work out the connection to Ruby though.
From everything Pickles had told them, this was a no-go area for children.
Why then would FarFrom bring Ruby here?
Or did Ruby come here herself, as they had?
If so, why?
It seemed that the more they found out, the more questions they had.
“What about FarFrom ‘the man’, Pickles?
How do we find him...and what should we expect?” Asked Dena.
“A man like ’im don’t get a name like FarFrom fa nothing?
Tha’ man is far from anything ya might expect!
As a banished Higha Councilla ee was bitta with is fellow councillas.
Ee saw them as repressive ’n authoritarian.
Ya look surprised?
Yeh, so tha story goes, at one time ee was bestowed tha’ hona… That curse…? whateva! Ee was very well thort ov once, by yor lot, if I rememba correctly?
Now I don’ know what tha final straw was, for the Highist Council, in FarFroms case?
Must ’av’ been bad though..? ’cause he is a superia mind, one of tha best, so I’s said!
E surrounds himself with his followas. Not as cleva, it ’as to be said.
Howdya find him, ya say?
Folla tha riva! Opposite way ta tha flow, up into tha mountuns.
Tha’s what I know.
He dunt really like visitas.
Tha’s ya conflict!
Ya wan a see im… Ee wont wanna see you..! But there is three of ya!”
They woke the next morning after having slept awhile, out in the open, in Pickles’ clearing.
They assumed they had slept all night, as it was now light.
However, they were now getting the idea, that not everything was as it seemed! Armed with cylinders of water provided by their host, they readied for their quest.
Pickles Mellowmarsh, now much cleaner than when they had first found him, waved off his visitors, calling out to them,
“Rememba young uns, use your heads!”
Their little procession progressed through the settlement again, a place full of the selfishly obsessed, as Pickles had described them.
The three reached the river.
They noticed that the oppressive ‘jungle like’ atmosphere was once again upon them. It’s constricting nature began to seriously hinder their movement.
Although they called it a wood, it was more like a jungle.
Plant growth towered over them.
Small particles of light could be seen by cranking their necks right back and looking high into the tree canopies.
Close by, non-tropical plants, such as brambles and stinging nettles, loomed over them.
The moisture in the air became thick, like fog settling.
Millions of droplets were condensing onto everything, causing the nettles to become heavy and droop under the strain.
At first they appeared to just bob about, tipping off their excess water.
Now it appeared that something more sinister was taking place.
The nettles began bowing and rising, backward and forwards, up and down.
At first they could not help but watch the strange movements of the plants.
There was no wind, but the movements were building momentum.
It took a few seconds to realise what was happening.
They could not believe it.
The plants were preparing to attack them!
The leaves of the nettle were spiky at the edges, a rich lush green, and covered in millions of white hairs, each hair capable of stinging!
Every pointed hair on the spiky shaped leaf was loaded with a painful poison.
The nettles arched back and then lunged forward in attack, aiming their spear-spiked leaves at the soft skin of the young Manushis.
With each strike, the three were stung mercilessly, the formic acid pumping into their soft flesh.
Over and over again they were pummelled, under the relentless assault.
Take aim and strike!
The acid seeped under their skin, making it blister and bleb.
There was no respite to rub their wounds.
They had to keep running, trying to escape the Nettles.
Moving under this bombardment, they jumped and writhed in pain, with each and every stab.
Trying to move an elbow, a knee, or a shoulder, out of the way of the strikes, whilst running, was an unbearable task.
An impossible task.
Quick thinking and fast movements were almost impossible.
This onslaught should have had them slowing down.
However, in spite of the pain and the heat, they began to move faster!
The nettles too picked up momentum, striving to match their speed with determination as they slashed down at them mercilessly.
“Berty come here!” shouted Dena, trying to shield her brother.
Berty moved closer to his sister, but it was no good, Dena could not shield him from the onslaught.
Standing tall, in towering clumps, the nettles lined up like soldiers, each one taking a turn to strike.
Just as they passed one clump, another loomed menacingly above them, lunging, and firing acid strike after acid strike.
Thankfully, the end of the nettle patch brought some respite.
Dena, Berty and Silverton scratched, and rubbed at the painful rash.
The acid stings pooled on their skins, forming into white itchy blebs.
They rubbed large chunks of Dock leaf over their stings and caught their breath as they waited for the healing properties to take effect.
Without warning, a large gnarled old bramble shoot, with fearsome spines, shot out and grabbed Silverton’s leg, curling around his ankle, like long barbed fingers.
It held him tight, cutting into his skin, not allowing him to move.
He stumbled to the ground.
It began to drag him back to the nettle patch.
Immobilised for a second, and not knowing what to do, Silverton instinctively reached out along the dirt floor, searching for something to help him pull himself back.
He found a rock. Grabbing it, he hit the vine violently, crushing part of the shoot that was ensnaring him.
So violent was the blow that Silverton had levied, that sa
p was oozing from the injury, weakening its grip enough for Silverton to make his escape.
“You two! Run!” he yelled at his companions.
“The vines have started now.”
Looking back, Dena and Berty could see the forest floor moving.
Each bramble bush threw out its large barbed shoots. The vines propelled themselves forward, taking the shape of a monstrous, daddy-long-legs, only these ‘monsters’ had masses of spiked, barbed legs, and were attempting to clobber and wound them.
The three fought their heat exhaustion, and ran!
In fast pursuit, the ‘bramble-monsters’ lurched forward pulling at their roots to free themselves from the ground.
The brambles fought the earth for their release.
The sound of snapping and tearing roots cracked in the air.
Brambles were not as effective as the Nettles.
As they moved, they tangled up, and eventually scuppered each other’s ability to break free of the ground, and chase them.
Although the tendrils came dangerously close, with a couple of scary moments, they gained a lead and got away.
The three did not look back.
They ran and ran, definitely like no Manushi had done before.
They stopped when they were fit to drop.
CHAPTER 10
THE CLIFF
‘Courage is doing what you’re afraid to do.
There can be no courage unless you’re scared!’
(Edward Rickenbacker 1890-1973)
Clear of danger, and totally whacked, they fell to the floor.
Lying on their backs with eyes closed, they panted like dogs.
Their painful chests heaved, attempting to suck in as much oxygen as possible. Colours swirled in front of their closed eyelids, and a dizzy, sickly feeling came over them.
Eventually, when they had all caught their breath, and the hammering of their hearts had eased, a sense of calm came over their nettle stung poisoned bodies.
They opened their eyes, and open skies could by seen. They were out of ‘The Wood’.
Eventually they could stand, sufficiently recovered to continue on. Thankfully the river they sought to follow was there, right next to where they had fell.
The river appeared to begin at the base of a cliff-face with a continuous flow of water running down it , like a ‘man-made garden feature’.
The trio focused on a sheer cliff wall looming over them.
As they tried to gauge how high it was, they found their heads going further and further back.
