by J. M. Wilson
Silverton had always looked up to him.
Admired him.
How could he have been so stupid?
“Your Grandpa’s a scientist, Silverton. One of the best! Once I informed him of the nature of Ruby’s existence, the Grandpa in him stood behind the scientist.
She’s a freak of nature!... She shouldn’t be, but she is!
We don’t know what powers she has… Or will develop!
She could be a virus in our camp….
She needs confining, monitoring…
We need to analyse, and collect data on her.
Do you not see?
Are you all stupid?” FarFrom lapsed into his hysterical shouting.
“We have an alien amongst us!!!!”
Watching FarFrom, was like watching fire-crackers explode and jump around the floor.
“I never subscribed to that, FarFrom.” Said Jellyman,
“I just wanted to look at the child… Talk to her.
I wanted to know how different or alike she is to us?
Not kidnap and imprison her!”
FarFrom snapped into another freaky rant.
“What do you do with a beast in your camp?
What do you do?
She could bring disease. She could expose us to her people.
Our science isn’t ready yet to control masses of Humans!” He was shouting.
Spit was flying from his mouth.
His eyes held no-ones gaze.
He looked wild and dangerous.
He had become slightly mad.
“The girl is a child, FarFrom! That’s all she is, a child! An innocent victim of your damn meddling.”
Poynter Proffer tried to be heard, but FarFrom had disappeared into his own sense of reality. There was no talking to him.
FarFrom and Jellyman had the ‘Black Science’ performed on them.
Jellyman was sent home, his conduct reprimanded, but forgiven.
This was an extreme circumstance.
All the actions being taken by the twelve elect, were unprecedented.
They just hoped they were right.
FarFrom was returned to exile.
Dena and Silverton joined the Highest Council as its chosen Clerks.
They were entrusted to keep their memories.
For now, even with all of its accumulated knowledge and life experience, the Highest Council had no idea how a Manushi had become Human, nor how the Human had become Manushi.
Their conclusion on this matter came to a ‘perhaps’.
Perhaps Mother Nature had just balanced things out, as she does?
For now, Ruby lived a happy and safe life with her new family in Myton.
Would Ruby ever find out about herself?
Would there ever be a way back for her?
Again, for now, they just didn’t know!
* * *
Need to know what happens next?
Read on with a complimentary first chapter of the second book.
Enjoy! It’s better than the first book!
THE RUBY RIDD ADVENTURES
Journey to Otherlands
CHAPTER 1
WHEN SECRETS END.
‘Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit!’
(Aristotle 384BC-322BC)
Mr and Mrs Perkin had called the children down to have their breakfast, and as if it had always been, Ruby and Berty tumbled into the kitchen laughing and giggling about something or other. For the four of them, there was nothing strange about this scene. For Mr and Mrs Perkin, Berty and Ruby, life was Mr and Mrs Perkin bringing up Berty their son, Ruby their granddaughter and their sixteen year old daughter, Dena. Of course for Dena, this was all new. In their quest to safeguard the Manushi and Human race, the Highest Council, of which Dena was a Clerk, had turned to the use of ‘Black Science.’ This was the practice that the Highest Council had sought to banish permanently, as an unnatural meddling and delving into things best left alone.
For now, and it had only been a few short weeks since Ruby’s arrival, all seemed to be going well. The dodgy use of the ‘Black Science’ that their race had cultivated, mixed with the unknown and little understood magic of their ancestors, had created an air of normality around the fact that a newcomer, Ruby, the only grandchild of the Perkins, lived as a neighbour and friend as if she always had. They were totally oblivious to the fact that right up until a few weeks earlier, no one in Myton, except for the Highest Council, had known that Mr and Mrs Perkin even had an older daughter, due to an earlier dose of Black Science, again for similar reasons. For eleven, nearly twelve years, that fact had remained a secret, locked within the vaults and minds of the Highest Council. Dena, new to this secret, wondered how many years the existence of Ruby, a child of a Minushi and of a Human, would or could remain a secret for now.
Dena felt uneasy about the choices the Higher Council had made, but she had to concede that with the absence of choices, she didn’t know of any other solution. For now she smiled at the liveliness in her home. She watched her parents fuss over the two children, her brother and her niece, as they prepared them for school and themselves for work.
Everything had been taken care of by the Highest Council. There was a bed and clothes all ready for Ruby in the Perkin home, as if she had always been there. The school had a desk with books, and there was a coat peg for her too. She slipped into Myton life with ease, like a heated knife through butter. There were no questions or queries. It was all freakishly easy, and although most of the Highest Council believed this was down to their excellent planning, Dena wasn’t so sure. An old Myton saying nagged in her head. ‘When things seem too good to be true, they usually are.’
Berty and Ruby darted out of school with all of the other children. They had become very close, almost inseparable. Berty had a real connection with Ruby and experienced a big sense of responsibility towards her. He was only a year older than her, but very protective. His life over the past few weeks had taken on direction and purpose. He no longer fooled around aimlessly as little boys tend to, now he taught and guided Ruby as if her life might depend on it. Dena had watched the townspeople and her brother, compensate and help Ruby, for although she was clever in her mind, her agility was clumsy. Of course Dena knew why she was this way, after all it was only weeks ago that she was a rubber-footed, slow human, but the others didn’t know this. She felt proud that they had taken to helping her. She worried about Berty though. He had changed almost overnight, from a little boy to a young man with responsibilities, responsibilities that no one had imposed upon him. Dena wondered how and why this had happened. She feared that more was afoot, for what she could see to be happening on the surface, could be nothing compared to what she didn’t know and couldn’t see.
Today Berty had planned for Ruby and him to go to the fields after school and help the adults in the gathering of insulation. First they would go into the freshly ploughed field and look for flint stones.
“Hey Badger breath! Can we come?”
Berty turned to see his good friend Katkin Willow, who always said things like that. With her was Sycamore Sid. His real name was actually Sidney Sycamore, but the children had reversed it, as his dad was called Sydney Sycamore too!
They were chasing behind them, attempting to catch up. They stopped.
Berty felt a bit torn. He did like Katkin, she was definitely one of the boys, joked like a boy, played boy’s games and was very good at science, but she did look like a girl pale soft skin, pink cheeks, and sky blue eyes and a face framed with shiny black curls. Recently, he found he liked her more than usual. Uncomfortably, he’d discovered that he thought she was pretty, but that made him feel a bit stupid when he was near her. Whereas once he liked to be with her, and they would play together, now that he liked her a bit more, he didn’t want to play with her, so he avoided her. Although he was great mates with Sycamore Sid too, those two tended to hang around together, it meant he had avoided him lately also, which wa
s a great shame, as Sycamore Sid had just introduced him to his latest project.
Sidney Sycamore and his son ‘Sycamore Sid’ were known for their inventions as well as Mr Sycamore’s business of building. Their family name derived from the business they were in. Mr Sycamore, like his fathers before him, was a collector of Sycamore seeds. These brown seeds grow with their very own wing, much like that of a brown moth. The theory is that the wing is caught on the wind and carried as far away from the tree as possible, giving its passenger, the seed, a chance grow. Every year, Mr Sycamore and son, Sid collected the winged seeds, using them to roof some of Mytons dwellings. This year Sycamore Sid had created his own project and his dad had helped him. Sid was very good at building and inventing things, even though he was young. Berty thought this was because he had worked with his dad most of his life. Whatever the reason for it, Sid had really come up with something this year.
His dad had let him use his largest workshop and wow, had he made use of it!
Far down the slope of the settlement and cut deep into the earth, the Sycamore family had their storage facility and workshops. When Sid had invited Berty over to look, he was quite literally open mouthed in absolute amazement.
Berty lowered his head and brushed away the brackens that overhung the high ceilinged settlement in the earth. It took a little while for his eyes to adjust to the difference in light, and then he focused. Hung from the ceiling was what Berty could only describe as a massive pair of wings, spanning the whole of the underground workshop. Slung underneath it was an unfinished basket.
“Wow!” He said to Sid. “What is it?”
Sid simply said, “It’s a ‘revolution’.”
Whatever Sycamore Sid had meant by that, Berty didn’t know, but he wanted to be there when he got this ‘revolution’ working.
Berty was about to say no to Katkin and Sid. Heck, he may have even furnished them with an excuse, some would call it a lie, when Ruby said,
“Yes, come on! We are going to get some flints.”
Berty could have shoved Ruby there and then. His eyes rolled in his head and under his breath, as he tried to appear OK about it, he muttered,
“Great!”
Really he was chuntering to himself, but Ruby heard him.
Before Katkin and Syc Sid, caught up and could hear, Ruby turned to Berty in astonishment and said.
“What? What’s up with you?”
Looking like there was a lot up with him, but there was no way he would admit it, or even could admit anything, because Katkin herself was approaching, he sulkily said,
“Nothing.”
Ruby didn’t pay Berty sulky face much attention, she was thinking about why people nicknamed Sid, Syc Sid. Berty had said it was the shortening of both of his names, which, had come about due to Sids unique personality?
Although the weather had been freakishly hot for October, the Manushi had set about gathering the materials they needed for the insulation, and the weather-proofing of their homes, for winter. Once the harvest was over, and the pickling and preserving done, this was the next big job for the whole community. The adults would work during the day and the children would often leave school and go straight out into the fields to join them.
The sun shone bright in the crystal blue sky. Large white clouds, greying in their centres stood high, building higher and fatter into something possibly ominous. The wind blew with an icy chill, roaring and whistling as it sped across the land. As if in stiff competition, the sun shone at the same time, bright and blinding as it hung low in the sky and if caught in a sheltered area, it was as warm as summer sun. Every now and again rain fell in quick bursts, heavy icy droplets sending all the workers burying for shelter. Then, when it stopped, they would start again.
Mountainous rolls of ploughed soil stretched out across the acres of fields, mimicking giant Christmas chocolate logs, without the shaking of icing sugar. It was in these freshly harvested fields, that the Humans massive machinery had unearthed the shards of flint stones they needed. Once equipped for the job they’d fly to the open grazing fields, where sheep and more recently Llamas, went about the endless task of eating, or so it seemed to those who watched them long enough.
Berty, Ruby, Katkin and Syc Sid arrived at the sheep-field late in the afternoon. There were still lots of adults cutting and collecting for the winter. The children catapulted themselves at the totally unaware sheep, landing in a soft, pricklyish, greasy, bouncy pile of warmth. The job from here was to burrow into the wool, close to the sheep skin. On its tummy is best. The Manushi then sheared off the wool and stuffed the fleece into an expandable net.
The skill of the job was to go unnoticed or the sheep would shake and scratch, as they tried to rid themselves of the pests that tickled and annoyed them.
This was the best bit for the children!
They turned it into a game, as they gripped hold of the wool, whilst the sheep shook. Some of the children were hurled into the air, picked up on the wind and sent flying off in all directions. Some bumped into each other, giggling with the thrill of being propelled and thrown around. Of course the children were not a major help in the collection process, but this is how they learn to be.
All through the collecting days, adults and children fly across the landscape with netted wool for their homes. This is the least enjoyable bit for the children. It takes some doing, wool tends to be quite heavy in bulk. Often they take a rest on the branches of trees or bushes, watching the autumn winds lift the yellowing leaves from their branches and toss them over the lands. At first it’s the odd few leaves that the trees and bushes discard, but in no time at all it is many. For now, the gathering piles of dried leaves, the crunchy orange, yellows, reds and browns, fall from their summer positions to the ground. On days like today, the leaves charge around in large groups creating a marching rustling racket, on other days, they lie quiet or even sodden in pools of water, until eventually they just disappear.
Back in Myton the older Manushi, who no longer work the fields, awaited their delivery of wool. The elderly are always the first to receive it, seeing as they are always the first to experience the cold. This is an excellent time for the children to mix with the elders of their community, for not only do they help with the deliveries, they also help with the labour intensive process of insulating. Small holes are poked into the soil walls and floors of the settlement homes. After the wool had been cleaned, plugs of wool are pushed into them, creating a cosy warm cocoon. The children like this arrangement, as they get to spend time with their elders, all with tales of life and stories of the olden days. Of course, getting overfed with sweet cakes made from the Mangoldwurzel, was good too!
Having said ‘good bye’ to Katkin and Syc Sid, Berty and Ruby took their stash of wool over to their Grandparents. Bertys, grandparents, Rubys, Great grandparents. Berty called them Gran and Granpop, Ruby called them Big Gran and Big pop. They weren’t terribly old, just too old really to work the collections.
Each year, all of last years wool collections were removed in the spring, as the weather warmed. It was called recycling, the Manushi released the wool outside of Myton into the wind. The mating birds and other wildlife then gathered it up themselves, for nestbuilding. With the wool that had been delivered and cleaned yesterday, Ruby, Berty, Big Pop and Big Gran, hovered around, busily plugging the holes left behind from last years wool swatches. The more they did, the quieter the room became, and instantly cosier. As they worked, the smell of a Mangoldwurzel cake, baking, wafted to their noses, making their mouths drool in anticipation. It was a delicious smell, a promise of what was to come, making the work and time with their grandparents very enjoyable.
The four of them chatted about this and that, school and friends. Grand Pop, a joker by nature, teased Berty about girls, which Berty did not find amusing. The more embarrassed Berty got, the more his Grand Pop laughed, and mischievously continued with the conversation. Ruby and Big Gran sensed that the subject of girls should perhaps be ch
anged, and so Ruby asked,
“Who helped with the wool before Berty and me Big pop?”
“Well that would be Elladore and then Goldenella when she got a bit older.”
Big Pop replied. Seeing Bertys relief that they could now talk about something else, Ruby asked,
“What was my mum like when she was a little girl?”
Big pop was strangely pensive. He thought whilst he looked at Big Gran. They both looked unsure, puzzled even. Berty and Ruby looked at each other. Of course Berty didn’t know, he had not known his eldest sister. They both looked back at their grandparents. Eventually Big pop said,
“Oh, she was a lovely girl, always interested in new things…Liked to get in to your Big grans medicine books and read. You remember Gran?”
Again, Big Gran seemed to take her time recalling the memory.
“Yes, yes I do, I do, yes.”
It was said vacantly, as if she could barely remember, or she was speaking as if she was remembering, like she had forgotten, and something had just jogged her memory. The children thought their grandparents’ struggle to remember seemed unusual.
“Was she very much like Ruby, Gran?” Berty asked
“Well I don’t think she had your golden hair, did she Pop?”
“No No I don’t think she did.”
He answered, but still didn’t answer what Elladore was like.
“You children will have to forgive Gran and me, we are getting old aren’t we Gran?
Can you believe neither of us can remember what our Ellas hair was like?”
They both looked troubled, Grand Pop scratched his head of no hair, as if he was trying, whilst talking, to get the memory of Ella to come into his head. Gran, who was always busying, excused herself, fussing with here ivy leaf apron. She looked upset and went into the kitchen to fetch the cake.
The Mangoldwurzel cake was a fluffy golden sponge that Gran had drizzled in burgundy Slow-berry syrup. She served this up with a dollop of whipped cream, courtesy of the local cows. The children ate heartily and as quiet contentment descended, Berty thought, ‘nobody could bake like his Grandma’.
