Marquos glowers at Goreth levelly, taking his words in without retort. He looks away to the green glow. The air is growing denser, and with its thicker presence the Meth Field’s shroud brings an acrid smell. Lian’s face twists as he breathes it in.
“Go below. This isn’t good air,” Marquos instructs him. Lian ducks away with more whispers of thanks. Goreth hesitates, watching the pilot. The Kand pats his shoulder and says “I am grateful for what you are doing, Marquos.”
Marquos nods back to him without another word.
16
Dusk settles in as the Hypnagogia drifts silently to the West. The boat pivots in the water, turning away from the towers in the distance towards climbing hills that threaten to turn into mountains. Marquos stands alone at the stern, hand resting on the tiller as he flicks a glum look back to the Meth Fields. The structures are uninviting, a series of pillars disappearing into the green vapour that surrounds the expansive civilisation. It sits in a valley, dipping below the turn into Chapel Way, barely visible through the green. The tallest of the towers cast dark shadows, though, rigid monuments to man that show this is where the hills were interrupted. This is a pit where the quest for fuel altered the landscape’s hue for the surrounding horizon, just as the Mines do. Flames occasionally flare at the tip of the towers. Marquos is reminded of the sounds of the city; the unceasing thunder of passing gas pipes and the sporadic roars of sudden fire bursts. He looks aside, to Chapel Way, and thinks of Red. Her family are down there somewhere. Her home is in the green cloud, with a father who likes glus. Maybe this detour is not so bad for her.
Chapel Way rises quickly, a succession of locks on the way. Its hills are steeper and darker than the ones they have been passing, and as the boat draws away from the Meth Fields the vegetation grows denser. Withered trees pop up by the side of the canal, often intertwined with rocks. As the boat slows towards the first lock, Marquos stares hard at the grass by the wayside and sees the petals of a flower peeking through. He jumps off the boat and quickly ties the moors, then skips back to the flower and squats next to it. He slides a finger under its frail white leaves and stares with wonder, drawn into the mystery that something of nature’s beauty still survives here. He is absorbed by the thought when the door on the boat bursts open and Red leaps out onto the deck. Marquos jumps, startled, as Red bounds to the rear of the boat and looks back down the hill.
“Home, Marqy! Where are we going?” she cries out.
“We can’t go home with Mr Gore on the boat,” he says back to her quietly, standing up straight. “We need to take him home first.”
Red turns on him and looks into his eyes with a doting expression, her large eyes welling and her lip quivering. She replies meekly “But…he can come to my home…”
“He can’t,” Marquos says. He returns to the boat, climbs on next to her and crouches in front of her, “There are people in the city who don’t like Mr Gore. And Mr Kand. They need our help for now. We’ll take them through these hills. That’s all. Then we’ll go straight back home, and you can be with your parents again.”
“We’re so close though, Marqy, couldn’t we just say hello!”
“No,” Marquos says, “They need our help right now. But it’ll be fun. We’ll see how fast we can go through Chapel Way, have you ever done that before?”
Red shakes her head.
“Do you know what Chapel Way is?” he asks with an encouraging smile. Again she shakes her head. He lifts her up onto this shoulders, to give her a better vantage, and points to the hills ahead of them, “This path that cuts through the Peats. If you want to understand Chapel Way you need to understand the Peats. Do you know their story?
“Many people say that it is one of the earliest inhabited regions of Estalia, because the land on top of the hills still stood above the clouds, reaching the sun. The people who moved up here produced a primitive form of energy called peat, which is like a kind of decayed mud that can make heat.” Red stares at him with an intense look of concentration, careful not to ask questions, though he knows she likely does not understand. “They were small tribes, who kept themselves to themselves, and their fuel production was small, until the people of the Meth Fields started to pollute their own lands. People were choking on their own air in the Meth Fields, so they came up to the Peats by the hundreds, looking for an alternative. Peat fuel is inefficient, though, and to make enough of it to supply so many moving people they needed to dig away at all the hills and mountains without restraint. In time, they had used so much peat that the hills no longer stood above the clouds, and the beauty was lost, and it was for so little result, which could have been produced so much easier in the Meth Fields or the Mines. The People of the Flame, those who believe in the punishment of the gods, saw the hills turning into nothing more than an extension of the Meth Fields, and they came along the canal preaching to all who pass through that their sins would be answered. They built a number of churches along the canal, and soon all the outsiders who passed through were taught the wickedness of these people who had abused the Peats.
“Sure enough, after the People of the Flame came, the materials to create peat started to dry up. Not only that, but the ground around them was dying, too. With trade starting to die along with the area, the immigrants couldn’t support themselves anymore. Little by little, the People of the Flame drove the newcomers from the Peats, until the area became completely abandoned. The preachers remained, praying for the recovery of the world, and it is said that in certain areas the fertility is returning to the land. Some believe that the land here is finer than any in Estalia, but the people who came here hurt it beyond repair. But look, you see there,” Marquos points back to the small flower by the boat. Red follows his finger, and as her eyes rest on the plant her jaw drops open with amazement. The pilot tells her, “Now that the people are gone, the land is starting to heal.”
“It’s a flower!” Red cries out with joy.
“And there might be more up there,” Marquos gives her an encouraging look, “So if we keep moving, and help the Kands, maybe we can see some of the beauty of the Peats, too. And of course to do that I’m going to need your help. You remember how we get through the locks?”
“Of course!”
“Do you think you’re up to it?”
“Yes!”
“Good,” Marquos pinches her cheek, smiling, and she shies away. “Because I need you to be quick, and very brave, so we can get the Kands back safely. It’s our mission now. And when the land around us sees that we’re good people passing through, maybe it’ll help it to recover.”
“Okay!” Red jumps to the tiller and puts a hand on it, saluting Marquos with a stiff sense of duty.
They work through Chapel Way in a record time, as a fully functioning team. The Kands stoke the fire, Red helps to steer, Marquos jumps from the boat to wind the locks again and again. There is little time for talking as the waterway rises into the heights of the hills, where the air is fresher and the green of the Meth Fields fades away. The sun sets on their actions, however, and the darkness hides whatever beauty their altitude might allow. In the shadow of darkness, all they see is locks ahead, a small tract of water, occasional tree trunks standing by the way, nothing more. Taking in a lungful of air in these hills, however, is like an injection of purity that cannot be felt below. Kail’s Shroud does not reach this high, and Marquos is happy to keep the boat moving through Chapel Way into the night. They do not stop for hours, not until the locks begin to descend again. Finally, Marquos decides to call it a day and invites the Kands onto the deck at the stern. As the pilot rests against the tiller, Red slumps against him, yawning, hugging herself to his lap.
“Put her to bed and I can keep you company out here,” Goreth says, “We’re close now, aren’t we?”
“We all need a break,” Marquos tells him, taking his small gas lantern and snuffing the light from it. “We’ve started the descent already, but we’re better stopping here. Look.” Marquos points to the sk
y and the two Kands follow his gesture. There are small breaks in the grim grey that covers them, breaks where the blanket darkness is interrupted by the stars. Sparkling lights, hints of skybound gems. When Red tilts her head up, they are all staring through one break in the clouds, a small spot in the sky where stars glitter from unimaginable distances away.
“How high are we?” Goreth asks quietly.
“Plenty high enough,” Marquos says. “The air here is as clear as you will find in the whole of Estalia. You can’t see the stars any better than this. Except maybe in the North.”
“They’re beautiful,” Lian says. “Jewels of the sky.”
There is silence as the group look into the gap, transfixed by the stars. A patch of grey slowly moves across it, and they all tense, craning their heads as though to get closer to the last slip of clarity that the night sky offers. Within seconds, the stars are covered again, and blanket darkness is restored. Marquos breaks the reverent silence.
“When it gets light again, you will see down towards Thesteran. The plains from here to Nexter, stretched out before you. Sweeping green fields, lush sturdy forests, flowing crystal rivers, all snaking around the bustling buildings we have scattered across this land. It would be worth it even without transport, to climb these hills and mountain passes, set up a camp here and wait…wait for the gaps in the darkness just to catch that view. Soak it up for the few hours of the day that it’s available, then sit in the shadows and wait for it to come around again.”
The others look out past the bow of the boat, but there is nothing for them to see. Marquos shuffles and relights his lantern, placing it on top of the tiller to dimly light their small group. Goreth says “It is up to you, if you wish to wait for the light. I’m happy if you can take something extra from this diversion.”
“I would like to see it,” Lian whispers dreamily.
“We’ll get a full night’s rest,” Marquos says, “I think we all need it. I’ll sleep out here, so you have room below.”
“I won’t argue with that,” Goreth replies. “Staying hidden remains a priority, even here. Let’s get some food ready, shall we?”
Red insists that she and Mr Kand should be the ones to make the dinner, as they did the night before, as though it is now their shared duty. Lian is uncertain about the girl’s intentions, but she insists, and it is clear that she wishes to look after him. Whilst it amuses Marquos, it continues to disturb Goreth that his kinsman be so useless. As the pair disappears below to fetch the dinner, the pilot says “Don’t hate him for being different.”
“I would expect you to understand,” Goreth turns on him more firmly. “You accepted your duty when your eyes were opened. His eyes have been open to our plight his whole life, there is no excuse.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Marquos says, the point resting awkward in his mind.
“There’s evidence here on this boat, with the child in your charge and the two of us on our way to freedom. You are a good man.”
“Not exactly. There’s more to it than that. When Tojo disappeared, I knew something terrible had happened, but I didn’t do anything about it. I don’t know how long I would’ve worked those mines, knowing I was a part of something so wrong, if it hadn’t been for the circumstances that drove me out. I don’t regret a moment of my actions since, but I hardly chose this path.”
“No?” Goreth raises a curious eyebrow. “So what happened?”
17
Barker didn’t care who he was speaking to, he could stir a reaction out of anyone, and adverse reactions seemed to be what he lived for. He laughed loudly in the guards’ faces when they pushed and beat him, always encouraging harsher treatment and seeming to enjoy it all the more. He thrived off their anger, as though the only thing keeping him going in this hellish life was that he could make it equally miserable for those around him. He did not need to do much to garner the most unhinged reactions; his words did not need to be personal or even especially offensive, all he needed was his consistent mania that meant no one could relax around him. He talked and talked, his loud voice grating between energetic laughs. The guards loathed him and took every chance they got to knock him down, but it only ever made him worse.
One of the guards, Hawson, was almost as talkative as Barker, speaking whenever he thought someone was listening. He muttered in grumbling tones, rarely actually opening his mouth as he spoke, and had complaints about everything. He despised the Mines, coughing on the air and squirming in the heat. He despised the city, with all its people getting in the way. He despised their food, and their homes, and their clothes. Most of all, though, he despised the children. He took great pleasure in exacting his anguish with regular attacks on the defenceless souls he guarded. The slightest trouble in his presence and he would wildly attack the children. His body shook with a strange excitement whenever he did. Hawson was not a big man, hiding behind his armour and baton, and Marquos grew to hate being around such a miserable bully. It was only for a few hours at a time, though, so he gritted his teeth and bore the company. Between Barker and Hawson, however, it could not last.
Barker took an especial pleasure in riling Hawson. It took little more than Barker’s abrasively enthusiastic greetings to drive Hawson to anger. Marquos dreaded having the pair of them on his boat, for the loud arguments that would ensue. Sometimes the pair would shout back and forth to one another, when Hawson was in a more accommodating mood, but more often the guard would simply give Barker a hiding. Barker never fought back. He did not need to; he knew that his words were enough. Marquos found his own attitude to Barker changed day to day; sometimes he could see why the guards hated the children, faced with such a relentless annoyance, but sometimes it amused him to see how vicious a reaction he could encourage from Hawson, without being at all malicious. When Marquos smiled Barker noticed it and laughed along, all the stronger for it. Hawson chided Marquos after their shifts, telling him not encourage the little bastard. He wondered how long it would be before the guards beat Barker so badly that he would not recover.
On the first day that Red appeared in the same line as Barker, Barker began whooping and shouting about it, asking where she had come from and what she was doing there. Marquos felt his skin crawling at the thought of Barker bullying the little girl he had befriended. Barker did not abuse Red, though, because she delighted in having someone to talk to, now that Tojo was gone. Red replied carefully to his questions, about where she was from and what work she had been doing in the Mines. They were using her as a crawler, typical employment for a smaller child to scramble through narrower passages and scout out possible expansions of tunnels. It was one of the more dangerous jobs in the Mines, and Barker made light of it, saying it was best not to get to know her if her days were numbered. Red suggested that he would like Tojo, too, but she was not sure where he was, which sparked a strange interest from Barker.
In the coming days, Barker and Red became casual friends. Her naturally inquisitive nature and his extreme outgoingness made them kindred spirits; whereas most people reeled from Barker’s conversation, Red enjoyed it and always had kind words to say to him. The guards often left them to chat, as they had with Tojo, happy enough that when Barker was talking to Red he wasn’t talking to them. When Hawson was aboard, though, Barker couldn’t resist pushing him, regardless of Red’s presence, and Hawson kept rising to the bait. Red watched with fear and concern when Barker got attacked, and always had words of complaint for Barker when the guards weren’t listening, asking him not to be so loud so he wouldn’t get hurt. She insisted that she didn’t want him to disappear like Tojo did.
It wasn’t long before Barker brought up the question of what Red had done to be placed in the mines. She innocently replied that she had done nothing wrong, merely been taken from her town, along with Tojo, when they were playing in an abandoned industrial complex. It made Barker hoot with joy that the Mine Guard could be so blatantly corrupt, and it earned him a beating from the guards. It made Marquos conflicted as his
suspicions were confirmed. Then Barker started to ask where Tojo had gone. He pressed and pressed the guards, demanding an answer for Tojo’s absence, but they tried to ignore him.
The inevitable day came when it all came to blows. Marquos had already suffered a few sleepless nights at the thought of Tojo’s disappearance, and seeing Red’s health decline made him even more miserable. The morning that things changed, she was escorted onto the boat chained directly to Barker, Hawson leading the group with only one other guard. Red gave Marquos a little wink as she got on, commenting “The Hippo is my favourite.”
Marquos went to respond, but Hawson cut him off, snarling at the girl for silence. Marquos glared at him, seeing that the guard was already in a foul mood. Most of the children were ushered into the cabin, where they would sit on the floor watched by the second guard, whilst Hawson stayed on the deck with the rest of the children crammed around Marquos. The journeys had to be short, with such an overcrowded boat, but they also had to move slowly. Barker and Red were jammed down by the wall beside Marquos, with Hawson stood over them. Marquos commented, “You having a bad time of it, Hawson?”
“Shut up,” Hawson spat back. “When is there ever a good time of it down here. Fucking filthy kids in their filthy pit running their filthy mouths, and what do I get to go home to but arguments and cold, tasteless food. This place is hell, Marquos. You know it like everyone else.”
“You need to complain to your wife you know, Hawson!” Barker chirped up, “She ought to be doing more to make you happy by night, after all the good work you do during the day!”
“Why you little fucking bastard,” Hawson shifted towards Barker, shoving his way past the other children, and raised his baton. “I ought to shatter your damned teeth.”
Wixon's Day Page 10
