‘My sister.’
He followed my eyes to the devastation below.
‘I am sorry.’
But as he spoke I saw movement, and my heart renewed its pace. Haralia’s leg was curling up, and—look—slowly she got to her knees, coughing saltwater from her lungs. Staggering to where Jakob lay, she hauled him over her shoulder and limped from the circle.
‘She lives,’ said Jorne. ‘Now let us go.’
Another fierce wave was looming out at sea.
‘No, I must go down.’
But before I could, the ground had slipped beneath us and we found ourselves falling with it. The tree, the river, our house—everything began to slide away from the hill.
‘Ima!’ cried Jorne as he accelerated past me. He held you out and I grasped your hand, pulling you safely to me. We were moving, but Jorne was moving faster, tumbling with the tree. I spotted a root and grabbed it to stop our fall. Mud and water streamed around us, threatening to suck us clean from the mountain if I let go.
Jorne cried out in pain. He had become wedged between the tree trunk and a boulder, and his head barely cleared the thundering surface of the rapids. His arms were stuck; he could not move.
‘Reed,’ I said, ‘hold onto this root.’
‘No, Ima, don’t leave me.’
‘Do not let go. Do you hear me? Do not let go.’
‘Ima.’
I placed your arms around the root, tying your cloak in a tight knot around it so that now you were lashed to the ground.
I held your face.
‘I will be back soon.’
With that I left you crying, and surrendered myself to gravity. In seconds I was down at the boulder, against which I slammed my boots to stop. The broken trunk was lodged against Jorne’s chest, but he was not impaled; the splintered base had skewered the bank side, and the other end of the tree was firmly wedged into the rocks beside what was left of our dwelling. Jorne’s eyes were rolling, and the river slithered in dangerous ribbons over his neck and chin. He would soon be beneath it. The tree would have to be moved.
I eased myself down beside him so that my back and hands were against the boulder and my boots were on the tree. As I braced to push, something made me pause, and I looked up at you. You were still safely tied to the root, but watching me with a look of horrified expectation. I should have faced you the other way, I thought. But there was no time to remedy this, for the sliding ground would not wait. So, with our eyes locked, I pushed with all my strength—which is a great deal—and the tree trunk sprang away, crashing harmlessly into the water.
I grabbed Jorne before he went with it, and heaved his barely conscious body up onto the bank as the water continued upon its relentless path.
My eyes were on you as I prepared to leave the water, and your astonished expression at what you had just witnessed.
My mind was on what I would tell you when you asked me to explain.
So I did not see the shadow from the right, and I was too late to stop the stray mound of earth from slamming into me, dragging me down in a spiral of foam and dirt, deeper beneath the water and further away from you, until all was black and gone.
— TWENTY-EIGHT —
CURTAIN.
The word billowed through my mind like the object it named. Curtain. The same shape too. Two thin consonants forming the hem, the rolling ‘r’ its breeze-swollen fabric, and its tail trailing in a lingering ‘n’.
Curtain. Un-curtain. Uncertain. All white. Warm sun. A clear word. An empty word. A first word.
I looked around, eyes wide now after their slow blink into consciousness. I was in a bed. The walls were stone. My mother’s place.
‘Hello, Ima.’
She smiled from her seat beside the bed. She was wearing one of her Spring dresses and her hair was braided. I pulled my hand from where it lay beneath hers.
I remembered the hurricane, the tree, the impact, the submersion.
I sat up.
‘What happened?’
Pain shot through my head. I gripped it in both hands, unable to speak.
My mother gave a frown of concern, shushing me.
‘Calm down, child, you have had an accident.’
‘Where is Reed?’ I managed to say through gritted teeth.
‘He is perfectly intact. Caige’s scouts found him wandering down through the forest towards Fane.’
‘And Haralia?’
My mother smiled with love.
‘She and Jakob also escaped unharmed.’
I thought of Jorne, unconscious on the riverbank.
‘Take me to Reed.’
I tried to leave the bed, but was instantly flattened by another wave of pain.
‘What is this?’
My mother’s face hovered above mine, haloed in sunlight.
‘Please, Ima, you are not well. You have been concussed.’
‘How long have I been unconscious?’
She hesitated. The corners of her mouth flickered.
‘A little over two days.’
I blinked up at her, resisting the urge to jump from the bed though every fibre of my being was telling me to do so.
Two days? This was impossible.
I spoke as slowly and as clearly as I could, though my mind was reeling.
‘Why… how have I been unconscious for two days.’
‘You nearly drowned, Ima, and you took a huge impact. Your head was very badly damaged.’
‘It would have healed. Why did it not heal?’
‘It did, but brain injury takes time.’ She laughed, as breezy as the curtain. ‘It is not just any old muscle you know.’
‘But I am still in pain. Why?’
A look of trouble crossed her face.
‘A side-effect of the medication.’
‘What medication?’
‘We had to sedate you.’
‘When?’
‘A number of times. The last time was two hours ago.’
‘Why?’
‘You were awake and babbling, making no sense, trying to get up when you shouldn’t.’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘That is perfectly understandable. Now be at peace, all is well.’
She stroked my brow, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by a ripple of fatigue. Her touch was full of bliss, like the warm sunlight on my face, the cool soft pillow behind my head, and the slow blink of my eyelids…
No. Something was wrong.
‘Where is he?’ I said, forcing myself to sit up and bite back the ensuing pain. ‘Where is Reed?’
My mother pulled her hand from my brow and closed it slowly into a fist.
‘I told you,’ she replied. ‘Reed is fine.’
‘You have been looking after him?’
‘No. Benedikt has.’
I froze.
‘Why?’
She cocked her head and frowned.
‘Why not?’
‘Take me to him.’
She watched me for a second. Then she stood, flattened her dress, and went to the door. It creaked as she opened it, fresh light flooding in from the hallway outside and throwing her long shadow upon the oak floor.
‘You can come in now. She is awake.’
Two sets of footsteps, one short, one long. You entered the room, followed by Benedikt, dressed in deep red. He laid a hand upon your shoulder.
My heart surged.
‘Hello, Ima,’ you said.
I wanted to spring across the room, knock that hand away and gather you up.
But I calmed myself.
‘Hello, Reed,’ I said, with as untroubled a smile as I could muster. ‘Are you all right?’
You rubbed your left wrist.
‘My arm got bashed, and it was sore, but it’s better now. See?’
You held it out for me to see. I reached out my own.
‘Come here.’
You hesitated, looked up at Benedikt, who nodded. Only then did you cross the room to my bed. My belly trembled
at this, but you embraced me and all was well.
‘Is your head better?’ you said, placing a hand on the area of my skull which I assumed had taken the blow.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Yes, I think so. Reed, do you know what happened to Jorne?’
You shook your head.
‘I don’t remember much until they found me.’
My heart gave a skip of hope. Had you blacked out the incident altogether?
His eyes flashed.
‘But you saved him, Ima. I saw it. Do you remember?’
‘Yes, I remember. Reed, I want to explain.’
‘It’s OK, Ima. I know.’
My blood ran cold.
‘What is it that you know?’
‘I know how you were able to save him. I know how you were strong enough to push that whole tree from the river.’
My heart thumped. ‘Who told you?’
You looked over your shoulder.
‘Benedikt did.’
I glared at Benedikt’s shadowed face, the long nose and hoods under his eyes, skin I would have gladly torn from his skull right there and then.
‘Is that so?’ I said. ‘And what exactly did Benedikt tell you?’
You turned back with an excited look.
‘It’s really interesting. People can do things, amazing things, when they’re in danger. If they need to save somebody, or if something is running after them like a wolf or a bear or something, then they get super strong, stronger than they could ever imagine themselves being. Did you know there was once a woman who lifted a boulder twice her size just to free her daughter?’
I listened to you, watching your eyes dance about as you spoke, and feeling relief flood through me. The lie remained intact.
‘Boulders are much heavier than trees, aren’t they?’ you said. There was an eagerness in your face; you wanted the lie as much as anyone.
‘Yes. Boulders are much heavier than trees. And what else has Benedikt been teaching you?’
‘Oh, lots. About things that happened in the past, like wars and machines and missiles and big buildings falling down.’
‘I see.’ I stroked the hair from your eyes. ‘Perhaps you can tell me about them once I’m out of bed. Would that be OK?’
You nodded.
‘Can I go and play now?’
‘Yes, you can go and play.’
You kissed my forehead and left, glancing at Benedikt, who smiled as you passed. Once the door had closed behind you, I turned to Benedikt.
‘What have you been teaching him?’
‘Nothing you would not teach him yourself, I am sure. History, mostly. Empires, civilisations, that kind of thing. The child deserves to know the truth about his species, wouldn’t you say?’
‘And who can give anyone that?’
There was a silence, during which Benedikt and my mother exchanged a nervous look. I felt suddenly foolish.
‘I should go,’ said Benedikt. ‘Good bye, Ima. Kai.’
He nodded at my mother and left. I looked back at the billowing curtain, trying not to think about Jorne, and all the time feeling my mother’s eyes upon me. Finally I turned.
‘What is it?’
Her legs were crossed, her hands folded neatly upon her knees, the picture of control.
‘If you are finding this too difficult then perhaps you should give up.’
Her words were like frost.
‘What do you mean?’
‘This project. Reed. It is clearly affecting your behaviour. You should not talk to Benedikt like that. Or anyone, in fact.’
‘I was afraid. I thought Reed had found out.’
‘Yes, well, that is part of the problem, is it not? It is not in an erta’s nature to be afraid. You seem… distracted.’
‘It is the hurricane. My head.’ This was a lie. ‘I have not been feeling myself.’ This was not a lie.
‘I had thought that your superior clarity made you the perfect fit for this project. But perhaps I was wrong.’ My mother’s posture softened. ‘There would be no shame in it, Ima. Someone else could raise Reed and you could return to the skies, and your balloon—’
‘No.’ The word leaped from my mouth. ‘No, that will not be necessary.’
She blinked.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. You must allow me to continue.’
‘Must I, indeed?’ she said, with a thin smile.
‘Please.’
I would have snatched that word back if I could, but it snuck in like a stowaway.
‘Very well,’ she said, standing. ‘Then get some rest. There is a meeting in the Halls this evening.’
‘Who will be there?’
‘Everyone. We need to understand how this hurricane was allowed to happen.’
‘Of course.’
She stopped at the door.
‘Oh, and Ima?’
‘Yes?’
‘I am afraid some were not so lucky as Haralia and Jakob. Greye is dead.’
— TWENTY-NINE —
AFTER I HAD dressed, I collected you from Benedikt’s chambers—I did not meet his eye—and took you to the halls. Outside of the walled-in peace of my mother’s dwelling, Ertanea was in disarray. Lines of hunched figures streamed down from the forest, and the square, which had always been such a cool and spacious place, was now hot and claustrophobic, full of clamour. Greye’s body had been laid out in the centre, and there, wailing over it, was my sister.
‘Haralia,’ I called, pushing through the crowd. She pulled back her hood and turned her tear-stained face up to mine.
‘Greye is dead,’ she said, with a ferocious tremble.
‘Are you all right? I saw you at the beach. I ran to you, but…’
Her face contorted as if I had said something out of turn.
‘Greye is dead, Ima. Don’t you understand? Dead.’
‘Yes,’ I said, taking a step back and finding your hand. I felt suddenly hunted. ‘Of course I understand.’
She spoke to the sombre crowd encircling Greye.
‘This is what happens here. This is what awaits us all—death. Death and tears!’
At this, her cheeks streamed with a fresh flood of her own tears. She turned back to me.
‘And where are yours, sister? Don’t you care?’
‘Of course I care. Haralia, please…’ I kept my voice low, for the crowd were watching, but Haralia had no intention of muting her performance.
‘Then show it.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to do.’
‘Show something. Anything.’
I stared back at her, nonplussed. She scowled.
‘You’re like a stone,’ she said, and stormed away.
I am not, I thought, as the crowd dispersed. I felt the warmth of your hand. I am not like a stone.
We followed the bewildered line inside.
I was shaken by my encounter with Haralia, but something else was troubling me, and it grew worse with face I passed. Stunned expressions, caged whispers: How had this happened?
I knew the answer.
A hurricane landing upon our shoreline was improbable, but more so was the fact that we had not expected it. Our weather beacons should have picked up the pressure changes weeks before and alerted the Halls of Necessity, giving us plenty of time to dissuade the storm from gathering further. But they had not, and they were my responsibility. I had not checked them for five years.
So this was my fault.
‘Ima?’
My mother was right: I had been distracted, and now this distraction had led to Greye’s death, and doubtless the deaths of many others.
‘Ima?’
And if this was true, then what else had I allowed to go awry? We had succeeded in balancing the planet, but had I been too quick to abandon my post? Was the rebalance tight enough, or was it merely a precarious patch-up, ready to slip back into kind of chaotic system in which hurricanes spring from nothing?
How much supervision did this infer
nal planet need to restrain itself from oblivion?
‘Ima?’
We were in the halls now. The sudden density of the walls, the tepid, humid air, the hushed, urgent chatter—it all pressed down upon me. I pushed through the crowd, drawing disgruntled looks. They knew, surely they must; I felt the sting of blame whenever I caught an eye. I released your hand.
‘Ima!’
My blood surged as I blundered on, furious. Furious at myself for my idiocy. Furious at the planet for needing such coddling. And now furious for you at requiring the same, and for taking me from my purpose with such treacherous distraction.
‘Ima?’
I spun around.
‘What?’
Voices fell silent. I allowed the full weight of my glare to bear down upon you.
‘Well? What is it?’
‘I… I…’
‘Speak up!’
‘I am sorry, Ima.’
My glare shed a little mass.
‘Why do you say sorry?’
‘It’s my fault. The bad wind. I didn’t tidy my blocks that night.’
My rage fell into shame. I pulled you close.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ I said. ‘This is not the fault of your blocks.’
You looked up.
‘Then whose fault is it?’
I turned to face the council. Caige had stepped forward.
‘It would appear that we have been distracted.’
The room fell silent, and I opened my mouth to confess.
‘Termites…’ he went on.
Closed it again.
‘…have accumulated in large numbers beneath one of the communication towers west of Ertanea. The pressure of the nest created a crack within a wall, which let in water, which compromised a connection with the beacons. That is why we could not see this coming.’
As the room resumed its murmurs, I took a low breath of relief. My beacons were not to blame after all, and the communication towers had never been my responsibility.
‘Our entire coast was ravaged,’ Caige continued. ‘Sixteen settlements at the mercy of the wind, broth lagoons flooded, dwellings swept away in the wind. Lives lost too, 238 in total, including council member Greye. We have become too complacent.’
His eyes roamed the room, landing upon a female near the front—a communications engineer named Ronja with cropped, auburn hair and a prominent nose—to whom he slowly walked. She bowed her head at his approach.
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