Fierce September

by Fleur Beale

  ‘It’s closer to Auckland than Hokitika is.’ She sighed too, but then she snapped out of it and raised her eyebrows at my reflection. ‘Can this be Juno? You look unusually elegant.’

  I went along with the change of subject. ‘If you could feel my butterflies you’d know it’s me all right.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. Remember – nobody’s waiting to kill you if you get it wrong this time.’

  ‘No, but …’ Nerves drowned out Willem’s request. ‘Do people know Vima asked me to make up a dance? They won’t be expecting the other one?’

  ‘Course they know!’ she scoffed. ‘What with the grandfathers playing strange tunes all over the building.’ She adjusted a hairpin and grinned. ‘I’m looking forward to it. Something different. Go Vima, I say.’

  Strangely enough, that calmed me down.

  I went out to the lounge. Hera was wearing a red dress that sparkled when she moved. She was entranced, turning circles so that she could watch the skirt flare and glitter. ‘Juno! Fergus said have this Hera.’ She spun again. ‘Fergus is my friend.’

  The grandparents came in. ‘My, my,’ said Leebar. ‘We all look uncommonly chic.’

  I looked at Dad, opening my mouth to speak, but he shushed me. ‘After the wedding, Juno. We make no decisions yet.’

  We took the lift down to the big room.

  James was already there. He sat at the front, facing the people, his eyes bright as he scanned us. He grinned when he caught sight of me, and gave me the thumbs up. There was an older man with him, presumably his father, as well as about nine or ten others including a child not much older than Hera.

  The room buzzed with happy murmurings. I zoned it all out, concentrating on the dance, concentrating on keeping Willem and his request out of my head.

  Fragments of sentences slipped into my mind.

  Jov and Vima – they’ll both be in Wellington. They might …

  I wouldn’t want her as a daughter-in-law, she’s …

  He looks happy. Wonder if he knows …

  Hera slid her hand into mine. ‘Mean peoples,’ she whispered.

  ‘Vima will be fine,’ I whispered back. ‘She’s a good person. James is a good person too.’

  Music startled us – Malia, who sat at the piano, crashed out a chord, then began playing a tune of slow dignity. We stood up, turning to watch as Vima, flanked by her parents, walked the length of the room.

  ‘She looks wonderful,’ Mother murmured.

  She wore a strapless long gown of cream that fell in soft folds and she carried a bouquet of creamy roses. She looked regal, queenly. Creen, following her, wore green with tiny roses in her hair.

  The mean voices ceased. The man next to James asked us to be seated. ‘My friends, thank you for helping James and Vima celebrate their wedding. I am Aidan, James’s father, but I’m also a marriage celebrant, so you may rest assured that their marriage will be legal.’

  We smiled, but I noticed Prin and Wellin glance at each other. They were in Vima and Creen’s stratum and had married on Taris. They weren’t legally married by Outside law. Nor were the couples, like my parents, who’d married during the years of our isolation.

  Aidan turned now to James and Vima. It was time to say their vows. They spoke them with steady voices.

  Vima, I promise to be your helpmeet for all the days of our lives. I promise I will nurture you, will strive with you to make our home a place of joy, to make it a safe harbour for you, for Wilfred and for any children to come. I will be your loving and faithful husband.

  He held her hands and I had the impression that those of us witnessing their marriage didn’t matter to him. What was he telling her? That he required her to be faithful to him? That he knew about Jov?

  James, I promise to support you in all your endeavours. I promise to work with all of my being to help make our marriage strong, to create for you, for Wilfred and for our future children a place of nurturing. I promise with all my heart to be your loving and faithful wife.

  I listened and wondered – could a marriage be loving if the partners didn’t love each other? Danyat patted my hand and smiled.

  We stood and sang one of our wedding songs, then two of James’s friends sang an unaccompanied duet. The woman looked like a ballerina, like a person who would know correct technique. Nerves hit me. I hadn’t imagined having to dance in front of Outsiders, in front of people who would judge me.

  My grandfathers began playing the tune they’d composed. It was too late to worry about it. I was dancing for Vima and James … If I could concentrate on that, I just might get through it.

  I stepped out onto the floor, shutting out everyone else in the audience but Vima and James. I danced for them.

  In the end it was easy. The music caught me and carried me, the fairy dress floating and swirling as I wove the steps in the patterns of my own making. Flying must feel like this, free in a way that made my heart sing.

  When all too soon it was over, applause broke out and people stamped their feet. It was sporadic at first, coming from my stratum and family, but soon the noise swelled. My grandfathers took my hands; they bowed and I curtsied.

  Vima came over to us, not bothering to hide the tears. ‘Thank you. That was all I could have dreamed of, and more.’

  James was there at her shoulder. ‘Brilliant, young Juno. A joy to see.’

  It was kind of him to say so. His ballerina friend had worn a quizzical smile all the time she applauded.

  The ceremony was over. The feasting began.

  When we had finished eating, James stood to ask for our attention. ‘It is the tradition of Outside weddings,’ he smiled at such a reference to himself, ‘that we give speeches, so I ask your indulgence.’

  We settled back in our chairs. What would he say, this stranger who was taking one of our own? I hoped he wouldn’t speak of love, because I would not believe him if he did.

  He spoke of Vima, of how fiercely she had worked during the pandemic, of how he started off being angry that he had to work with some dumb Taris chick. He paused, and his glance seemed to take in each one of us. ‘But this Taris chick proved to be smarter than any Outsider. She’s the one whose work stopped the pandemic. Then I met Wilfred. Love at first sight, ladies and gentlemen – he’s got me wrapped round his little finger. I ask you to drink a toast to Vima and Wilfred, my new family.’

  We stood, lifted our glasses and drank the toast. I saw Vima reach over to touch his face when he sat down.

  Then the party began. It was like our Taris wedding celebrations in that we had wine, laughter and dancing, but different too because the Outsiders taught us some of their dances. They were fast and wild, and those who couldn’t keep up stood round the edges, clapping their hands and stomping their feet.

  Then two of James’s friends brought out guitars and sang songs we didn’t know. The smaller children fell asleep, the older people sank into chairs grateful for the respite from dancing.

  Halfway through the evening we farewelled the newlyweds. It was different from our Taris tradition in that there was no procession to the house where they would live. Instead, we crowded into the street to wave and throw greenery as they drove away in the car James had hired.

  I went back inside, but didn’t feel like partying any more. My friend was gone from my life and I might never see her again. Others began leaving too. My stratum farewelled Marba, Pel and Silvern who were to catch the midnight ferry with their families.

  ‘We’ll have a mini-comp meeting Sunday night at nine. Don’t forget!’ Marba called.

  We wouldn’t forget.

  Paz was silent, and he embraced Silvern rather than hugging her the way he did the rest of us girls.

  Then they were gone.

  We helped clean up, then began our own farewells. Nobody would be getting out of bed at four in the morning to say goodbye when we left the Centre to catch the train for Otaki – or would we go on to New Plymouth? Dad had given no hint of what he’d decided.

&n
bsp; All seven of my family returned to our apartment to hear my father’s verdict.

  ‘Well, my son,’ Leebar said at last, ‘what is your decision?’

  I shut my eyes, hoping against hope we wouldn’t be going to New Plymouth. Thomas. A school like Taris. I couldn’t bear even the thought of it.

  Dad said, ‘We’ll go to Otaki.’ But before I could breathe again, he added, ‘I’ve talked to Willem and he agrees. I’ll get things set up again in the gardens there, and then we’ll see.’

  ‘How long?’ I whispered. ‘How long will it take you to get things set up in Otaki?’

  It could be a year, he told us. The pandemic had hit the workers hard and new people needed to be trained.

  A year. I would make sure that I finished school by the end of it.

  ‘But what about Hera?’ Mother asked. She sat in an easy chair with Hera on her lap. ‘How will we keep her safe?’

  Dad rubbed his eyes. ‘We’ll do the best we can. Willem says he’ll talk to her every week. Start her education that way.’

  It was decided. We would catch the train as planned and get off at Otaki instead of travelling on to New Plymouth. The news softened the pain of leaving my friends – though only slightly. Now that departure was so close, I could hardly bear to think about it.

  In the morning to our surprise, Camnoon was waiting in the foyer to farewell us, early though it was. He rested his hand for a moment on each of our heads. ‘Go well, my children.’ To my grandparents he said, ‘Good travelling, old friends. May this journey take you to a place of peace.’

  He sounded as if he didn’t expect to see them again.

  The sky was clear and calm as we walked to the station. Dad carried Hera asleep on his shoulder. We didn’t speak. Mother, Danyat and I walked together, our thoughts on Grif who had made this journey such a short time before.

  At the station we showed our travel passes to the guard. It was Mac. ‘Juno of Taris and family. Complete with travel passes. That would make a change.’

  ‘Nice to see you too, Mac,’ I said.

  He ignored that. ‘Where’s your luggage?’

  ‘This is it,’ Dad said.

  ‘You’re just going for a couple of days, then?’ Mac sounded disapproving.

  ‘No,’ Leebar said. ‘Today we are moving to Otaki with all our worldly goods.’

  He looked startled for a moment, then turned to me again. ‘Three grandparents?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. Three. Not four. Not any more.’

  He frowned, then jerked his head in what we took to be a signal to follow him. He opened the door of the second carriage. ‘In here,’ he said, then he turned to look at us. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. Real sorry.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Danyat said.

  Mac put his hand on my arm. He did the head-jerk at Mother ahead of me. ‘That your mum?’ She okay then?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, she’s well again – but she misses my grandmother.’

  ‘A bad business,’ Mac muttered. ‘I hope things turn out okay for you all. You’ve earned it, not like some I could mention.’

  I looked down at him from the doorway, but he just flapped a hand at me. ‘Bloody bastards that kidnapped Willem. Bloody bastards that let the virus loose. Shoot the lot of them, I say.’

  A change of heart. I smiled at him. But he hadn’t mentioned the bloody bastard who had invented the virus – and that particular bloody bastard was still out there, unknown and lethal.

  The train pulled out of the station. We settled back, content to doze until the sun came up and we could see the countryside as it passed. I caught Mother’s glance at one point, and we smiled at each other briefly. Dad and my grandparents had some notion at least of what we going to; Mother and I had none.

  ‘We will prevail,’ Mother murmured. ‘All will be well.’

  Dad shifted Hera so that he could clasp Mother’s hand. ‘We’ll make a good life. You’ll see.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, choosing not to speak of all the things we lacked to help create a good life. She was brave, my mother.

  Danyat smiled at me. My three grandparents looked calm as they faced the future. If they could be brave, if Mother could be, then so could I. But this time I would have to be brave on my own. My friends, my stratum with whom I’d spent so many years, were faraway. My thoughts turned to Marba. He was a strange one – how could he not feel sad? How could he struggle to understand why we would miss each other? For me, being without them felt like being without a part of myself.

  Mac came through the carriage. ‘Otaki next station. Good luck to you. It’s a good place.’

  The train stopped and we stepped out onto the platform. People were there to welcome us as we walked forward into our new life.

  ‘You are welcome. We’re happy you are to live and work among us.’

  And so I became Juno of Outside – Juno of Aotearoa, a country with secrets just as Taris held its secrets. This time, though, we knew what the secrets were – we just didn’t know the answers.

  www.bobbingontheocean.blogspot.com Bye from BoatBoy

  Enjoyed Fierce September?

  Read how the story began in

  Chapter One, Book One of the trilogy:

  Juno of Taris

  01

  ANOTHER BRIGHT IDEA

  ON TARIS, WE SHAVE OUR heads. No. That’s wrong. On Taris, we have our heads shaved for us.

  It’s to remind us who we are. It’s to keep us all the same. It’s to take away the need to spend time on our appearance, so that we can concentrate on our survival. So they say. But when I ask how growing our hair would endanger our survival, people turn away from me. It’s called withdrawing.

  So here we are, all five hundred of us, our heads shaved bald every week by a gentle old man called Nixie. We wear tunics of unbleached linen and we concentrate on our task of keeping our island home functioning.

  To be fair, we need to work hard at surviving. Taris is the brainchild of a desperate twenty-first century world. Somebody had a bright idea: take an island in the world’s wildest, coldest ocean, sling an artificial dome around it, give it its own balmy climate, plant it with tropical plants, stock its sea with fish, and dump a few fowl, goats and rabbits on it. Add a bunch of carefully chosen people.

  I am one of the descendants of those first carefully chosen people. Well, kind of. But more of that as I tell my story, and the best place to start is a school day when I was eleven years old. I was supposed to be doing maths, but my mind skittered off in another direction – to Outside. Why was I the only one who wanted to know what it was like now? Was it worse or better? I was sure things must have changed one way or the other over two hundred years; but I had learned not to speak of it.

  Justa, our teacher, tapped my computer screen. ‘Concentrate please, Juno.’ She frowned at the pictograph I’d typed without thinking: Outside. ‘It’s a waste of energy thinking about Outside.’

  She spoke gently, but Silvern sniggered and muttered, ‘Jump out the landing dock, why don’t you?’

  Justa touched her shoulder. ‘When you are perfect, Silvern, you may laugh at other’s mistakes, but not until that day.’

  I didn’t bother to send Silvern a look of triumph. I frowned at my computer and tried to attend to its voice yammering in my earphones and demanding answers. I keyed in a few pictographs and hoped Justa would think I was working. But my mind had seized on Silvern’s words – I couldn’t climb the mountain to the landing dock, and there would be nothing to see through the mist when I got there. But she’d planted in my head the idea of escape, of doing something different, of going somewhere I’d never gone before, and that was a nearly impossible thing to do on our small island.

  I could swim out to the walls of our island. The thought of it made me shiver with excitement.

  The recreation hour was the only time I’d be able to do it. If I hurried home from school and didn’t linger over lunch, I would have almost two hours before I had to be back to help with the manual
chores we all did in the afternoons.

  I would take the path that circles the mountain. Leave it at the highest point. Find a way through the rocks and scrubby bushes to the very end of the promontory because that was the closest point of land to the walls of the dome that protected us from the ravages of the outside world.

  It would be a dangerous climb down the cliff but it would be necessary. If I swam from the end of the promontory it would be half as far as if I swam from the beach. Even so, it would be an exhausting swim. But if I was to touch the walls of our world it was the only way I could do it.

  Justa tapped my screen again. ‘You should have finished this by now, Juno.’

  I smiled, apologised and managed to do two calculations while she watched me. I didn’t look at Silvern.

  But I was too excited to concentrate on trig problems – I was going on an adventure. I might pick up some hint of Outside, perhaps I’d be able to feel the huge waves of the Southern Ocean crashing against our walls. Would the walls feel cold – colder than anything I’d ever experienced? I shrugged. I didn’t know – all I knew was that I desperately wanted to find out.

  Justa dismissed us for the day. I shut my computer down and followed the rest of my learning stratum from the room. I thought Justa might try to speak to me. She didn’t, but I felt her eyes on me as I left, dawdling, so that the other thirteen of my classmates were ahead of me.

  Would I feel so hemmed in by my life on Taris if I had a real true friend? Like Silvern and Shallym for instance, ahead of me on the path: heads together, giggling over something I definitely didn’t want to know about. Stupid girls – just because they were nearly two years older than me they thought they were queens of the island.

  I wouldn’t think of them. I needed to work out how I could escape from the eyes of those who loved me.

  If only I could creep out at night when there would be no one around to see me, but not even I was foolhardy enough to attempt something so risky at night. It would have to be the recreation hour.