The Long Lost

by Rebecca Woods

  I held myself up with a stick as usual and tried not to sink into the mud.

  In those voices, across the vast river, lay completeness, love and answers to questions I never dared let myself think on too hard in my waking hours; questions regarding why I was different and saw the world in a way that it was evident other women did not.

  I woke up with a start and realised what was wrong immediately. I couldn’t move. A sound of a chair scraping against a stone floor came from my father’s room next door as he got out of bed and started to get ready for the day noisily.

  The weakness weighed me down like iron; then, almost as suddenly as I had noticed it, it lifted. I felt the blood work its way into each part of my body, bringing with it pins and needles that felt like fire coursing through my veins.

  I got out of bed and shook off the dizzy spell that clouded my vision and threatened to topple me. Gripping the edge of my bedside table, I saw the world come back into focus. A thin slit of light poured in through the shutters and I could feel a slight breeze through them. The soft touch of the air helped revive me.

  An ache on my face reminded me of what had passed between my father and I the night before and I experienced a fresh wave of sadness and despair. My authoritative yet loving father had struck me, not once but numerous times; for the first time in my whole life.

  I dressed quickly and mentally calculated the route I would take to work to avoid the strange man in case he accosted me on the street. Speaking to me in the deserted library was one thing; but I would die if he talked to me in the street and my face (and therefore my gender) was revealed.

  I thought of my mother and immediately pushed the emotions away.

  When leaving, I walked past my father’s door as it opened. He stood there looking like he hadn’t slept. The lines on his face looked like they had been gouged in by fire and his eyes were bloodshot.

  I stopped, not wanting to engage him in argument again, but yearning for him to say…well, anything that might put it right.

  He suddenly stepped forward and held out his arms, I walked into them, hardly daring to hope for reconciliation and felt myself getting emotional once more. I breathed in his familiar smell and felt his fingers stroke my back the way he had done when I had fallen over once as a child and grazed my knee. He gave me one last squeeze and released me.

  He smiled.

  “Be careful today little one”.

  “I promise.”

  We stared at each other across the hallway.

  “I love you father”. I’d never said that before but it swelled inside me. I was still very hurt and angry from the night before but I loved him so much it pushed the negative feelings away.

  “I love you too Auriana”. He’d never said it before either.

  He walked back into his study and closed the door, shoving the heavy wood into place.

  I felt my face throb and walked out of the house.

  Like when I had woken up, I knew something was wrong as soon as I walked out of the door. There was tension and excitement running through the air like fireflies in the night sky and I saw a crowd walking past my house talking in feverish whispers.

  I pulled my hood up and followed them, I didn’t know why I couldn’t just play it safe and walk the opposite direction to the library but I felt a compulsion to see what was happening.

  The crowd walked on for about ten minutes and finally stopped at a marketplace, I covered my face the whole time and prayed no one would notice me. I recognised the marketplace as one I had walked through on one of my nighttime excursions.

  A gallows had been erected and the crowd gathered around it excitedly. A hooded man walked up the steps with a ragged woman whose hands had been chained together. Her blonde hair was dirty and matted and her dirty grey dress was torn. She screamed as someone threw something at her face.

  I turned and walked in the opposite direction to work. I’d seen too many of these. Last year I had seen a woman hanged for adultery. The woman’s husband had stood there on the edge of the crowd stony faced, showing no emotion as his wife was sent to oblivion.

  I picked up the pace, the execution granted me some breathing space as there were not as many potential enemies on the street, but I did not want to be next. Public executions seemed to elicit a strange bloodlust in the spectators, almost as if one execution was insufficient to fulfil their need to see someone die.

  Halfway through the morning I had served three people and read one more page of the old book, but my mind was not on the library. Henry came to speak to me about a Defender that was coming in and I barely heard his utterances about staying out of sight and keeping my head down if I was serving someone when he came in. Henry was shaken up from the events of the morning and evidently did not relish the idea of being the next person executed.

  The slave labour story wouldn’t keep those in power at bay for much longer, one day it would end in me being led away by the Defenders and oblivion but I could not afford to stay home in safety. We needed my wages.

  In the late afternoon as shadows began to lengthen in the autumnal way, I found myself at a loose end once again. I decided to look at the book once more. I didn’t know why I was so drawn to this particular text or why I worked so hard to piece every ancient letter together to read about the end of the Old World.

  I mulled this over as I walked to the shelf. I always drank in the information I gained from the book, even though I was barely able to decipher more than a few lines of the words. Reading was so difficult, but it was something I loved. Maybe if I had been born (I sent a prayer of apology to the sky before allowing myself to think this) in another time, like in the Old World, I would have loved books and owned many, maybe as many as were on the shelf my favourite book was on.

  The Old World and the stories about it had always been a source of consternation between my father and I. When I was younger, I had often heard the church services about God’s chosen few that had survived the cleansing of the world and asked my father about them when we had returned home. This of course was in the years I was allowed to attend church. Only girls up to the age of thirteen were allowed to leave the house to attend church with their fathers and brothers.

  I was mid thought when I was suddenly struck with the same feeling of intense weakness that I had woken up with that morning.

  I crashed to the floor, unable to move as pain ravaged my nerves. I tried to move and found that, like that morning, I was completely unable to move. I felt primal fear move inside me like a snake. I was completely and utterly vulnerable. The Defender was due to arrive any minute and I could not be seen away from my desk. The book was open beside me. I would be caught and executed without a trial.

  A minute passed and I prayed to God that I would regain my movement before I was discovered.

  Another painful two minutes passed; on the third I began to be able to move my fingers, then my arms, then my toes. As I regained the feeling in these parts of my body, the nerves seemed to be filled with fire like they had been this morning. I tried not to cry out in pain as I regained the feeling in my arms, legs and trunk.

  A noise came from the front of the library; it was the sound of the front door being opened slowly, as if the visitor did not want to be heard. The Defender had arrived. I was surely done for.

  Then I heard footsteps, they were slow and cautious at first and then picked up pace as if the owner of the feet had spotted something that unsettled them.

  I struggled to get to a seating position at the very least. The footsteps got louder and I could tell they were coming towards where I lay with my face pressed to the floor painfully.

  I dragged my head up, forced my knees into a crouching position and tried not to scream as I was assaulted by a fresh wave of the fiery pain. The pain worsened as my blood found new avenues of exploration.

  The strange man was walking towards me. I saw that his expression was as impassive as ever but that his large green eyes had emotion in them…I saw fear there.r />
  Next, he was there, crouching down beside me and then standing up and helping me to do so.

  “What happened?” He said.

  I tried to talk but only gasping sounds came out of my parched throat.

  I swallowed and tried again.

  “It came suddenly Sir, begging your pardon. One minute I was…walking…the next I was completely unable to move my limbs, any of them”.

  I tried to stand upright by myself and adopted a stance I hoped conveyed strength.

  “You must go Khalashaya”; it was the first time I used his name and I had no idea why at that moment in time it had seemed like a good idea to use it. It felt strangely right; each syllable ricocheted off my tongue like I’d said the name before. I had clearly taken leave of my senses. I watched his face for any indication that I had angered him and saw only surprise in his eyes.

  I wondered once more who he was and why he had attached himself to me.

  I felt the fear coming back but also knew that if he had been a Defender, he would have had me carted off by now, there had been more than ample opportunity. He was clearly an Invalid, a man who was lacking in the mind.

  This was confirmed even more when he spoke.

  “Auriana, I can feel the danger you are in. You must come with me now”.

  I steadied myself on my feet and felt angry. Who did he think he was playing with me like this? It was clear what happened to women like me who consorted with strange men, I’d seen it that morning in the marketplace. He was not going to be the one who destroyed my life – horrible and dangerous as it was, it was the only life I had.

  “Master, I must request that you leave,” I said, taking care to keep my tone respectful and not looking him in the eye.

  “I cannot be seen talking with you as I’m sure you are aware of Sir”.

  “You called me by my name not two minutes since Auriana” he said. “And I can assure you that the dangers of your world are but drops in the ocean compared to the black maw that opens up around you. Around all of us!”

  His tone changed and became more urgent as he spoke.

  “You must believe me! I cannot begin to imagine how hard it must be to break the traditions of your world and take a leap into the darkness but you must. Auriana you must!”

  I then did another thing I could not explain. I forced myself to break a lifetime of conditioning and looked him properly in the eyes. For one desperate second I thought I could see sincerity whirling around in there along with fear. Then reality gripped me and the restrictions Womankind had been placed under thousands of years before my birth closed in once more, cutting off my freedom and choking my breath.

  “I am sorry that you appear to be afflicted with…a condition that makes you feel you need to rescue me Sir, but I can assure you that the only danger I am in is being seen talking to you”.

  I didn’t mention the fact that he’d said “Your world” a couple of times in the last two minutes and spoke to me as if I was not a woman but equal to him. Even his expressions and body language indicated that he obviously thought of me as on a par with him. This was a strange feeling and I didn’t like it. It felt ominous.

  Strange meant danger and danger meant discovery and public death. I could not bear to bring more shame upon my father. With a flash of spirit I thought again that I didn’t want to die. I was alive, I breathed, I existed (however tenuous my connection to life was) and I wanted to keep it that way.

  Khalashaya turned as if to walk away but spun back around, anger in his eyes. I felt afraid of him again.

  “I am here to help you. I am responsible for your safety”.

  He broke off and composed himself.

  “I am not responsible for what happens to you or your family if you”-

  That chilled me to the bone and I interrupted him, I had to.

  “Are you threatening me?” I forced my gaze up to his eyes again.

  “I am not. The danger you face is not from me”.

  It was, any second now Defenders would be walking through the doors of the ancient Zafiyan library and would catch me.

  I’d heard enough. I turned and walked back to the counter, desperate not to show the after effects of the weakness even though pain gutted me from the inside out.

  “They’re coming”, he shouted to my back. “They’ve almost found you and they won’t have mercy!”

  “They won’t rest until you are gutted like a fish!”

  I turned to face him. Khalashaya had gone.

  I got to the counter and gripped it for support. What in God’s name was I going to do?

  Molecha

  My thoughts were still running amok as I walked home in the dark night. The streets were still busy but clearing as workers packed up their tools and wares and made their way back to their wives and children. They carried lanterns that had flickering candles inside; these stood out like cats eyes in the thick gloom.

  Horses and carts were being led carefully across the market square as I passed through and I saw the usual crowd of Defenders and their civilian cohorts doing their rounds and keeping order.

  Never had I been more aware of my illegal status as I navigated my way through the throng, trying not to breathe in the stench. I considered how I was going to get help with this threatening man. No Defender or Supreme Court was going to listen to my side of the story if he was caught with me or found talking to me in my home.

  It had taken all afternoon for me to stop shaking and for full strength to return to my body. I had been worried about getting home if I was still impaired. I needed my sharp wits about me at all times if I wanted to escape detection on the streets. I had always refused to imagine what being caught would be like but the fear of such a thing happening to me was very present.

  The Defenders had arrived just after Khalashaya had disappeared like a ghost in the night. By then I had been behind the desk with my gaze to the floor. I could feel Henry’s sharp eyes on me as he willed me to behave. Oddly enough, their presence terrified me less as my thoughts were on Khalashaya and his strange utterances. What did he mean by telling me I was in danger? What danger could I be in that he knew about? No one knew who I was on the streets, no one except Henry.

  My head swam as I considered my options. I could tell no one and just hope Khalashaya fixated on a new victim. Maybe once he realised I could not be swayed and wasn’t going to be drawn into his illness and fantasy world he would go away. Quite how he had known about the dream was bizarre but I figured that once upon a time I must have told someone.

  The frightening thing was that I could only ever remember telling my mother about it. My mother that now existed in the form of ashes my father kept in a cupboard in the sitting room, having been denied burial as all females, babies under one year and animals were.

  I approached my home and considered telling my father about Khalashaya. Yes he had been angry with me and had been uncharacteristically violent, but he loved me and would hopefully believe I had taken part in no wrongdoing.

  I felt relief and happiness flood my heart as I played with this idea. Yes, I thought as I walked up to the front door, I would tell my father and he would make everything alright, would even possibly vouch for me if needed.

  I was quite unprepared for the abrupt nature in which my happy feelings faded as I took off my gloves and used my bare hands to open the door of the home I shared with my father.

  I felt danger pour into me; a black, sticky danger that soaked the wood of the door and permeated through the cells of my bare skin, chilling my heart to ice straight away. My breath caught in my throat and my heart beat fast. Something was desperately wrong. It was like the day before but a hundred times as evil.

  I pushed the door, and the speed in which it opened threw me off even more. The door had not been shut properly.

  I pushed it all the way open and made haste to get off the street and inside my home. I was met by a hallway that looked as though it had been ransacked by bandits. An evil, malevolent p
resence or the remains of one that had recently been there hung in the air. I could almost taste it. I had always been able to sense strong emotions and feelings and had always known to hide this from my father.

  Something had happened here that was too horrible to describe. I felt my fear bubble to a crescendo inside me but forced myself to stay calm. I would find my father. He would be able to explain everything. He would make everything right. He had to. He was all I had in the world, my only protection against a world that hated me.

  Some wooden shelves had been cleaved straight in half as if by a blade sharper than anything that had ever been crafted in the New World. Red paint daubed the wall that ran up the stairs.

  No, I thought, feeling a stab of horror. The paint says something. There are letters painted on this wall. Letters I may be able to decipher.

  I had worked hard to remember most of the letters my mother had taught me in the years before she had died and I used this knowledge now.

  I realised that the letters ran all the way up the wall that the stairs were fixed to and tried hard to decipher them:

  The one at the bottom looked like…an A. Yes it was an A.

  No, I thought again; the word, or whatever the letters spelt would start at the beginning. To find out what it said I would have to go up the stairs and possibly into danger. However, if my father were up there then there would be no danger. I told myself this and was not comforted. The sticky horror inside me told me otherwise. I chose to ignore it at that second.

  I listened intently, my superior hearing catching no distant or concealed sounds. I must go up the stairs, I must find my father if he was there.

  I took the first step, the feeling of danger and malevolence intensifying, I then took the second. I took a deep breath and suddenly felt afraid for my father. Whoever had sliced through those thick oak shelves like a knife through hot butter had been strong, strong enough to overpower him if he had been there at the time. I prayed he had not been.

  Please let him have gone to a meeting, or to the market. Please don’t let him have been there. Please let him be safe.