Among You Secret Children

by Jeff Kamen

  Thereafter, in building up his confidence through repetition and adjustment, he’d found himself able to go out over the neighbouring woodlands and turn in long lazy spirals, staying airborne for hours at a time.

  Still he climbed, wheezing with effort as the tapering trail led him ever higher. Hours passed like this, trekking in the cold, his feet digging in as he battled sun and wind and silence.

  Finally, on approaching the tallest peak in the area, he turned his mind well away from Cora, focussing himself instead on the huge gusty spaces he’d soon be flying to. He climbed a little more, then he was up in the place he’d targeted, his hair gusting as he measured out the ground that would act as his runway.

  Finding shelter behind a rock wall, he checked through his gear and had a last bite to eat. A last sip of water. A last look out. When he was ready to go, he hitched his bag over his back and buttoned himself up and crawled into the harness. He raised up with the broad dark wings riding stiffly on his back, deltoid and secure. Once he was fully buckled in, he moved out from the rocks with careful childlike steps, keeping his knees slightly bent and angling himself around so that he could run the moment he needed to.

  As soon as he was exposed to the wind, the buzzing started. He could feel the frame shaking, and had to lurch about in order to keep moving, terrified that at any moment he might be swept off balance and blown away backwards over the rocks.

  He kept his focus on the edge he was to run to and continued steadily towards it. Tread after tread. The slope was clear of loose stones, clear of dips and holes. It all looked hopeful. He went on with the wind blowing into him and then he stopped, adjusting his goggles. He shook his arms and stretched them and took a grip on the steering bar. Then he bent forward slightly. And then he ran.

  The ground was hard underfoot and his bootsoles slapped down on it. He ran faster, keeping his arms relaxed and level.

  Within seconds the edge seemed to leap at him. He was running out of ground. Beginning to doubt his calculations.

  Too short, too soon, too near.

  By the time he was thinking of pulling out, it was too late to change his mind. With a hoarse yell he continued sprinting. He kept his head square between his shoulders and thrust with all the power of his thighs and with the lightest of ascents took to the air. Over the edge he went, the wings buzzing once more as he lifted his feet behind him. He yelled defiantly, rising in the updrafts.

  When his feet were in their straps, he used his weight on the bar to steer himself around, feeling the wind gathering under the wings, and as he ascended, he levelled his body and for the first time dared to look down.

  Death was a hard fall of five hundred feet or so but he remained aloft, his heart racing sickeningly as he turned. He was heading back towards a sheer cliff wall. He held steady, leaning, gripping the bar, and let his ascent continue. He cleared the edge by less than ten feet but he hadn’t crashed and there was no need to land on the slopes. Soaring now, he made a complete turn over the peak and then he wheeled round slowly once more. He continued like this until he’d gained sufficient height to risk directing himself to where he wanted to go.

  The next time he turned to the south he maintained his course, panting as he gazed over the massing hills.

  ‘I’m coming, father!’ he cried, and he was on his way.

  Chapter 63 — Farewells

  She was on her way downhill from the stores cave, carrying her trunk in the rain, chalky rivulets streaming underfoot, when a man appeared on the slope. Upon seeing her, he stopped dead. Then he went on again, climbing stiffly, like a man carrying a wound.

  He was thickly wrapped in dark clothes; she didn’t recognise him until he halted before her. Behind the dirty red beard was Staš.

  He’d lost a lot of weight, his cheekbones ridged beneath the unwashed skin. His garments were stained and hung on him like sacking. For a while they remained motionless, neither reacting. Then she said, ‘It’s good to see you.’

  His face was expressionless, although his eyes seemed to hold the memory of unwanted visions. The rims looked mildly infected, the whites veined and raw. ‘You came back,’ he replied. ‘Thought you’d gone for good.’

  ‘No.’

  He blinked the rain from his copper lashes. ‘When did you get here?’

  ‘This morning. Early. Seems a lot’s happened here. A lot’s changed.’

  ‘Changed? You mean the new place. The settlement.’

  ‘Yes. Sounds like good news.’

  ‘It is,’ he said. ‘Ultimately, it is.’

  She couldn’t tell if he meant it or not, but did not wish to ask. ‘Have you been there yourself?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve seen it. You probably know Pétar’s leading things out there.’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘He’d hoped to see you. Before they left.’

  ‘I know, I ... I wish I’d seen him.’

  ‘Are you on your way there yourself, or staying?’

  ‘I’ll be going there.’

  He nodded resignedly. As if the phrase had become commonplace of late. ‘You know, we were worried for you. Being sick like that.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry it was for so long. I found someone to stay with and they helped me.’

  ‘I see. Maybe you just needed to be away, then.’

  ‘Maybe. Yes.’ She wanted to say more but it didn’t feel like the right time. She’d not spoken of the Nassgruben to anyone yet, was not even sure how she’d go about it. ‘Did you check Ansthalt first?’ she said.

  ‘Scouts went out.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s gone.’

  ‘I saw it, too. Only from a distance. I ... wanted to know if there was a chance. Something left for us. But everything I saw was black out there. It was still smoking.’

  ‘Yes, I heard. When they came back we decided to look south for other land. Think we got lucky. Not having to wait too long.’ As he spoke he pulled his sodden clothes about him, fastening a buckle.

  The wet day hung over them blankly, bringing with it the smells of boiled cabbage and burning fat and the cold odour of the lake. A few voices carried from an entrance below. She looked out, taking in the full scope of the arena. The smoky caves piercing the rock on all sides and the overgrown pathways below them ringing the green water. On whose banks in those early days the hunters had crouched like trolls shivering in the roots of the tangled willows, fishing, dragging nets in through the shallows.

  At the lake’s distant neck, on the little bridge, she saw a burdened silhouette returning with a bundle of black twigs. Beyond it the stark valley that bore the stream away. Her thoughts seemed to follow it. ‘Annie would have been furious with me,’ she said. ‘Disappearing like that.’

  The bloodless line of his lips relaxed a little. ‘Possibly. But she’d have understood.’

  ‘I miss her, Staš. I miss her so much.’

  ‘We all do,’ he said. ‘Every day.’

  She looked over his drawn features. Droplets of rain dripped from his face like cold gems sent from the sky to adorn his misery.

  He seemed to notice the trunk. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You found it. We kept it safe for you.’

  ‘Thanks. I thought Radjík might have taken it.’

  ‘No. She just left.’

  ‘... How was she?’

  ‘Okay, I think.’

  ‘She wasn’t too upset?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  She said nothing, just nodded.

  ‘We didn’t speak as such,’ he said. ‘You know that lot, they keep to themselves, don’t they. Anyway, I expect she’s enjoying the space out there. The land. She and her brother’ll do well there, I’m sure.’

  ‘And you? When’s everyone else going?’

  ‘We’re still waiting on that.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I mean we’ll go at the right time. Right now there’s still trade to be done with Háv. And it’s easier here with less numbers. We’re getting by well enough.’

  ‘As
long as you’re okay.’

  ‘I’m okay. Need a hand with it?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Thank you.’

  He seemed to cast about for something to say, then flicked a look at the rain and muttered something about getting inside.

  ‘Listen, Staš, I’m not staying long.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘... Why?’

  ‘Why leave so quick? Has someone said something?’

  ‘No. So far, people have been fine.’

  ‘Okay, well,’ he said, doing little to hide his disappointment. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, then added, ‘let’s meet properly. Soon. Before I go. We can’t talk here.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Let’s do that.’

  He stood aside to let her pass, then turned to watch her descend the trail. When she’d gone from sight he remained there, staring at the teeming ground.

  ~O~

  It took five days to reach the new settlement, trudging beside her mule through the damp ash of a derelict pastureland untenanted and abandoned for close to two millennia.

  She’d had the choice of leaving a day or two later with a small cluster of families and the goods they were due to bring, but on reflection had opted to go alone, testing herself for the trials that lay ahead. Jostling about in the mule’s panniers was her trunk and some food and her rolled-up shelter and bedding.

  They forded burnt ditches where the runoff from the surrounding hills carried in its half-frozen clutches the clags of cindered corpses and vegetation it had discharged bit by bit those muted centuries, and in raw winds they passed the grey and amorphous shapes of ruined towns where the blackened masonry had softened to hillocks stuffed with ash and debris and the stinking dens of vermin and nocturnal predators. She thinking all the while. What to say. How to explain herself. Picturing Radjík’s face twisting in hatred. The girl bristling, wild curses dripping from her lips as she backed away, scorning her apologies, the helpless mumbling words that served only to resurrect the winter’s agony.

  Until at last, rubbing the side of her head, she pulled the mule to a stop and stood with the wind tearing at her clothes, at her black hair wrapped in its cone of cloth. As if to assess her life against the scale of the mountains that enclosed that matted waste. To put into perspective the tiny size of herself.

  And in doing so she saw much of the truth of her situation then, saw into her heart’s deep fire and the weak wants of a wandering mind that could not settle. That did not know what it was well enough to fight or forgive or act, or retreat in surrender. She saw herself as a creature stuck waiting, stuck inbetween.

  She sighed. Standing there tall and fey with the steam rising from her clothes like something close to combustion. Watching the sun flash off those icy halls of rock and all that other sterile terrain anchored deep in shade and iron silence. So easy, she thought, to continue alone to the coast. So easy, and if it all went wrong to continue blindly to the sea’s cold waters and gladly drown. So easy.

  She took out the tin, fingered it. Put it back.

  Then took it out again.

  The pill under her tongue as it melted seemed to soothe the day away.

  A couple of mornings later, cresting a sparsely wooded ridge, she looked down at the smoke rising from the timber framework of a Naagli village. It stood at the shore of a narrow lake extending towards a chain of other lakes that glinted into the distance. A pill later, she felt strong enough to descend the rocky trail, but nevertheless her heart was pounding as she led the mule down towards the habitations.

  Meeting and then talking with those who came to greet her was like a cold plunge into a situation she did not think she could surface from, whatever help she had from the occasional well-wisher and friendly face. She did as she’d done at the caves, giving an account of what had happened whilst holding back the details of a perceived enemy’s cure, and for the moment sparing them the news that she’d be moving on again as soon as she’d gathered herself, and had spoken with those she needed to. Among the first she met with was Pétar, who, delighted at seeing her, showed her around and offered her a place to rest and had food brought to the hut where she was to stay. Shortly afterwards some of the friends she’d been looking for came by, embracing and kissing her and all in a flurry of questions.

  Yet the person she wanted to see most was not present. She was awkward in asking for her and many who answered were awkward in their replies. Some spoke of Radjík having changed. Of a girl who was lost in anger and despair, grieving endlessly for her father as well as the hunters who’d been killed, Gustav most of all. A few admitted that her own absence hadn’t helped, and upon hearing this one more time, she decided she’d had enough. She went looking for her, reaching her through Lajos in the end. He took her to the tent where his sister was currently hiding from the world, and muttering uneasily, his loyalities clearly divided, he called Radjík to the entrance and headed away, leaving Jaala to face her in whatever form or state she might appear.

  ~O~

  Radjík came to the sleeves eventually and opened them. She’d been drinking, Jaala could smell it on her before hearing the dead tone behind the sarcasm, the flippant jibes. Before seeing the coldness in her eyes that warned her away. She’d thought her presence there might alter things, but when she asked if she could come inside, Radjík refused outright, telling her to leave, turn back, return to the caves.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’ll just wait here,’ and it was in seeing the fury this provoked that she understood the depth of the difficulties the others had spoken of. She looked so different to the last time she’d seen her; looked bad. Like a sexless and pallid waif, her eyes darkset like islands of deepest suffering. The burnt-away hair having grown back in blunted stumps. She looked like someone orphaned beyond reprieve or hope, shrouded away from all natural feelings but those which taunted her. Feelings, she feared, which were leading her like some beautiful siren song down the same lonely road her mother had trodden, with all its attendant agonies.

  ‘Get away from me,’ was what she mostly heard the first hour she stood outside. Occasionally, people going by would stop to talk, concerned to see her shivering there, to whom she explained that she was fine, was just waiting for someone.

  Hugging herself warm, she filled her time by watching familiar figures going about their tasks in their new environment. There seemed to be an energy in the camp far more lively and purposeful than that at the caves, and in observing the rate at which the new huts and shacks were taking shape, she thought she saw in the settlers an unspoken desire to return to the existence they’d known in years before. She watched the children as they sat with their slate boards around a fire, taught by others now, and reflected on what it was that was being constructed around them, a generation for whom Ansthalt would become little more than a picturebook goddess clothed in smoke and mottled greenery; a realm of legend, pitched high above their own.

  Radjík’s sneering tone turned to a muttering, then the tent fell quiet. She peered inside to see a thistle-haired form lying slumped among the blankets. She hesitated, then withdrew. After meeting with Lajos again to discuss what might be done for the best, she returned with soup and bread, and was sitting in the tent at a safe distance from Radjík when next she woke.

  ‘I just want to talk,’ she said, meeting the girl’s furious dark eyes. ‘And to say sorry. I need to —’

  ‘Yeah?’ Radjík croaked. ‘You’re sorry, yeah?’

  ‘Yes. I want to explain.’

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘Please, Radjík. Please. Let me stay a while.’

  With a snort the girl rolled over, facing away. ‘Do what you want,’ she said.

  It was a long afternoon, draining to begin with, as she recounted her journey to the northern wastes in the late snows. The mixed dread and desperate hope she’d felt on seeing the sooty plastic sheets of
the dome. The strangeness of it all, unsure of who she was, and the peculiarity of being among people so different to her — people who had no grounds to allow her to remain other than that they had no idea what to do with her.

  Talk of Nina and masks and blood seemed alien to her within those shabby felt walls, and at times she felt she was struggling to convince herself about what had happened as much as Radjík. Then, distracted by other thoughts, journeys ahead, she let slip that she’d helped the Nassgruben to survive outside.

  Immediately Radjík reacted, sitting upright. ‘Don’t get you at all,’ she said disgustedly; something which, Jaala reflected, at least meant she was being listened to.

  She made an attempt to justify what she’d done, then gave up on it, sighing, and instead described her brief stay at the caves and the journey on from there. A strained silence greeted her as she completed her story, and for a while she wished she’d continued south and avoided the valley altogether. Then, on wiping her bowl clean with a finger, Radjík said, ‘Fed up bein here.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ she replied, eyeing the messy clothes, the unplugged flask lying nearby. The unwashed dishes in the corner. ‘Do you live here?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where are all your things?’

  ‘Dunno. Don’t need em.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Radjík looked round the tent a moment, as if to verify the merits of what she’d just said. Then she set the bowl aside. ‘Want to walk, then?’

  ‘Sure. Let’s get out.’

  Radjík nodded, asking her to pass her boots across.