The Human Son

by Adrian J. Walker

  ‘I’ll go and warn the Sundra,’ he said, making off down the hill. ‘I’ll be back within the hour.’

  I should have stopped him. I should have said: ‘No. Leave them. Let’s go together, now.’

  But I did not.

  We packed our supplies and loaded them into the capsule. I inflated the balloon and a weightless thrill ran through me as I withdrew all but two of its tethers, as if they were my own. Everything that tied me to this land was now being cut—the sea, the forest, and the mountains would soon be beneath me. Home would be gone and far behind, with a new life ahead.

  I was sure I could feel the same thrill in you as we finished and sat on the rock, waiting for Jorne’s return. We were going to go. They would not stop us, they would not find us, and all would be well.

  We saw the smoke before we heard anything. A rapid black plume rose from the Sundra’s clearing and billowed across the pines.

  We jumped to our feet as the smoke was joined by thuds, flashes, and finally screams. An ambush.

  ‘Ima?’ you said.

  ‘Take Boron. I’ll run.’

  We left the balloon, left the house, left everything, and dashed into the forest. I ran ahead, straining to see through the black fog as you galloped behind. Fresh eruptions and jolts of light announced themselves from ahead, louder and more vivid as we neared the settlement.

  We were on flat ground now, thundering between trees. I passed a body—a smoking wreck of flesh and bone lying in mid-crawl. Then another slumped against a tree. We were almost there, and my heart’s savage thump was suddenly all I could hear. I found myself slowing down. The noise from the settlement had disappeared and all around was a dreadful silence punctuated by creaks and crackles, and a smell that made my gut heave.

  We emerged into what had been the Sundra’s square. Bodies, now nothing but husks, lay all around, frozen in their last stretches of escape. Around the perimeter were the blackened shells that had once been dwellings, their insides blown away like those of the dead, and in the centre stood a tall fire piled with bodies, stiffened limbs woven together like tree branches.

  You dismounted beside me. Boron was in a state of panic, and despite your attempts to calm him he bolted, fleeing back into the safety of the trees.

  You watched him go, then wandered through the acrid mist.

  ‘There was no warning,’ croaked a voice, and I turned to see Payha slumped against a pillar. Her face was wet and stained with soot, and some blackened thing that must have been Mieko lay rigid in her arms. ‘No warning at all. I was in the forest…they came… they burned everything. Jorne was too late…’

  ‘Where is he?’ I said, in barely a whisper.

  Payha’s dazed eyes travelled to the far corner of the square, where one of the bodies twitched.

  I reached him in three bounds.

  There are still limits to ertian healing abilities. A cut, a tear, a break, a rupture—such things pose no difficulties. Burns, however, are not so easy to deal with, though the body still tries.

  I sat and held Jorne’s body in my arms. His hairless scalp pulsed as the raw skin attempted to regrow, and his cheeks twitched as they strived, in vain, to shed their black crust. His entire body, still smoking, was alive with the same hopeless campaign. Only his eyes seemed free from the struggle.

  ‘I was too late,’ he said. ‘They gave no warning. I arrived. All was quiet, someone was there at the well. He raised his hand, and I was about to return the greeting when—’ he choked ‘—a flash of heat. Terrible heat.’

  He collapsed into a fit of coughs, just as you arrived at our side. You retched instantly at the sight of him.

  ‘Jorne,’ you gasped, and tried to reach for a hand that was not there. You staggered away, head in your hands. ‘What have they done? What have they done?’

  ‘You need to get him away,’ said Jorne to me. ‘They’ll be coming for you too.’

  ‘I’m taking you with me,’ I said.

  ‘No, you’re not. Look at me.’

  ‘You’re healing. You just need some help.’

  ‘What help? There is no help. It’s over, Ima.’

  A memory flashed.

  ‘The vial!’ I cried. ‘The second vial you got from Oonagh, the blood mites might be enough to help.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where is it? Jorne, tell me where you put it.’

  ‘I left it in my dwelling. I was going to bring it back for Reed, just in case, but—’

  ‘It might still be there inside. Reed?’

  I stood and scanned the square. The geography was ruined, everything out of place, and that terrible smell permeated everything, even my own thoughts.

  ‘It’s too late, Ima,’ said Jorne from the ground.

  ‘No, it’s not. I’m going to save you.’ I spun around, looking between the black shapes in the mist. ‘Now tell me which one is yours.’

  ‘They burned everything.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Everything, Ima. Look.’

  He raised a ragged finger and pointed at the centre of the square, where another fire raged beyond the pile of burning bodies. You stood before it, transfixed, and as I looked closer shapes appeared in the flames: a tall curved plank, the stringless body of a guitar and a hundred books, their pages fluttering into ash upon the wind.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Jorne. ‘I want to tell you something.’

  Breathless and dizzy, my throat stinging with smoke, I collapsed next to him.

  ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen,’ I said.

  ‘Nothing was supposed to happen,’ he replied, a smile straining on his lips. ‘But it did. I wasn’t supposed to walk on the beach that day I met you. I was going to go into the woods instead. I even packed a bag for it, but then somewhere along the way I found myself heading for the coast. I didn’t even realise it until I saw you, and then… then…’ He searched the sky beyond the canopies. ‘There are so many things to say, but I don’t have the time.’

  Then a strange thing happened, something that was familiar to us both but that we had not experienced for some time, and which I did not believe I would ever experience again. Jorne stopped talking, we looked at each other, and as the seconds passed the world disappeared. The noise of the flames, the smoke, the smell, and all the horror of the day was lifted away, leaving only his eyes. All I could see were two green-filled ovals of white suspended before me in a perfect mist, and I knew that the same was true for him. And in that mist we spoke to each other. We told each other a thousand things, though we did not say a single word.

  When we were done, he felt heavier in my arms. His flesh had surrendered its struggle, and the eyes that had filled my senses were now half shut.

  ‘Get him to safety,’ he said, out loud. ‘Look after him, and let him look after you.’

  The tension drained from whatever shreds of muscle remained, and he lay still upon the ground.

  I watched him for a while, numb, then let him go and found you kneeling next to Payha, your back to the two fires.

  ‘Jorne is dead,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You need to go,’ said Payha.

  ‘Reed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Reed, we must.’

  You turned, wearing the same animal look as the one you had worn dancing around your fire all those months ago.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ I said.

  There was a distant flash, and another stream of light rose from the coast.

  ‘I’m going to face them.’

  — SIXTY-THREE —

  WE DESCENDED THE tight hill towards the sea. The coast was littered with patches of earth that had once been the settlements. Fane, Tokyo and Dundee—all now empty spaces.

  We found the Drift upon a slender cliff resembling a giant neck, its face a mass of taut, rocky tendons. The surface had been carved into a flat circle, fifty metres in diameter and paved with ornate stone. The perimeter was guarded by five hovering lan
terns facing outwards, and in the centre were what looked like twenty thrones, themselves made stone. In each one sat a naked figure with its head clamped between twin black discs. I saw Haralia among them. She was excruciatingly thin, and her hair had been shorn to the skin.

  At the front of the thrones, cloak flapping in the wind and hunched over the same slab that had once been in the Halls of Reason, stood Benedikt. He was drawn and battered, and beside him were nineteen more figures in robes. Nine of these were what remained of the council, including my mother, stooped and shivering in the cold sea wind. The rest were in no better state. Only Caige stood tall, looking as well-fed and ruddy as ever. He walked to one of the thrones, in which I could see Williome sitting, hair now thin and grey. Caige said some words to him, at which Williome nodded, hesitantly. Then he kissed him on the lips and stood back.

  He glanced left and nodded at Benedikt, who passed his hand over a section of the slab. In an instant, the figures in the thrones gave a jolt and straightened, throwing back their heads and stretching their limbs in painful angles. Beams of coloured light streamed from each throne and seemed to wrap around the others, spiralling in every hue until they combined into a single unbroken white pole. This disappeared into a fine mist, like rain, but falling upwards.

  ‘They’re transcending,’ you said, following the mist into the darkening sky.

  As you spoke the light faded, and the figures in the bank of thrones from which it had streamed fell back with limp limbs and lolling heads. After another nod from Caige, Benedikt passed his hand over a different section of the slab and twenty holes appeared in the floor before the thrones. The thrones themselves then seemed to flatten out, releasing the figures and letting them slip through the holes, where they tumbled and crashed into the sea below. A huge wave heaved over and dragged them beneath.

  The holes closed and the thrones resumed their natural shape. The twenty remaining figures cast off their robes, and each one took a seat.

  ‘They are the last,’ I said.

  But you had already darted away.

  I FOLLOWED YOU across the small valley that separated us from the stone circle. You were away ahead of me, lean, fearless and sleek, like a panther in long grass. I had no inkling of your intentions, and as I crept behind I felt the same thing I had always felt whenever I watched you embark upon a new enterprise, like your first steps—pride, hope and gut-wrenching terror.

  You leaped over the stone rim and the lanterns instantly swivelled, training themselves upon you. Caige sat in the centre. When he saw you he screeched, and the lanterns primed for attack.

  ‘Caige, no,’ said my mother, as I joined you. Her voice was as old and cracked as her cheeks. Caige screeched another order and the lanterns withdrew. We stood together, you and I, before the nineteen stone seats that held people we no longer recognised. Zadie sat beside Lukas, and my mother’s place was next to Caige. There was an empty seat to her right. Her eyes had turned milky and cold.

  Benedikt’s eyes were clear, however, and I caught his urgent look.

  You’re not supposed to be here, they said.

  ‘Ima,’ said Caige. ‘I trust you have finally seen reason?’

  You went to speak, but I got there first.

  ‘You killed them,’ I said. ‘You’re murderers. All of you.’

  My mother looked back, jaw working as if chewing gristle.

  ‘We gave them warning,’ said Caige. ‘They knew perfectly well what was going to happen.’

  ‘That was not your warning to give. They wanted to remain.’

  Caige rolled his pale eyes.

  ‘I feel like we’re going round in circles, Ima. No footprint—’ he slammed his palm upon its armrest ‘—that was the agreement. A clean break, with nothing left behind but our bodies.’ He looked down at his feet, huge fingers gripping stone. ‘In a few short minutes our lifeless husks will fall through these holes, and we will depart with the rest into a better existence. Once Benedikt has joined us, all this will be destroyed by the lanterns before they themselves self-destruct, and everyone will finally be free.’ He looked up, casting his hand at the empty seat beside my mother. ‘Now join us, Ima. Take your seat beside your mother.’

  She stared back at me, jaw still working at nothing.

  ‘That is not why I am here, Caige,’ I said.

  ‘Then why are you here, I wonder?’ He turned to you with a greasy smile. ‘The boy, I suppose. Has he come to beg for his life?’

  I went to speak, but this time you stepped in front of me.

  ‘No,’ you said. ‘I’m here to explain something to you.’

  Your voice was deep and clear. Caige’s smile fell.

  ‘Explain?’ he said ‘To me? You’re just as arrogant and stubborn as they were. But then that’s not your fault, I suppose. You understand nothing of this, or the places we’re going, or the things we will witness. You don’t even understand your own self.’ He leaned forward, squashing his bulbous belly, and rasped. ‘The only thing you understand is the language of fire.’

  You shifted nervously between feet.

  ‘A language you know well, Caige.’

  Caige frowned. ‘Is that why you’re here, to whine about your little songs and stories, all your little trinkets?’

  ‘No, they’re just things. I can make more things.’

  Caige’s mocking sneer darkened.

  ‘Then why are you here, boy?’ he bellowed. ‘What is it you want to explain.’

  You took a hesitant step towards him. The lanterns twitched.

  ‘I want to explain the nature of those things you burned. And of you.’

  A wild squall blew in from the sea, showering the stone circle with cold rain. Caige faltered again. You were getting to him.

  He released the clamps from his head, stood and walked across the circle to where you stood.

  ‘Please, do enlighten me.’

  He towered over you but you stood your ground, and my pride soared.

  You cast a nervous look around the circle.

  ‘They used to have places like this too. Places they would come, and just be with each other. They’d make fires to keep themselves safe and warm, and tell stories around the flames. They were scared, you know? But curious too.’

  Caige stared down at you as the wind tugged his hair.

  ‘Fascinating.’ He turned and strode back to his seat. ‘Now let us proceed.’

  ‘That’s what drove them, Caige,’ you called after him, ‘fear and curiosity.’

  Caige gave Benedikt an impatient look. ‘When you’re ready, boy.’

  You walked to where he sat, followed by the lanterns. My hand seemed to go with you.

  ‘They were with them from the beginning, and stayed with them right until the end. Curiosity pulled them on and fear pulled them back every single minute of every day they were on the planet. They spiralled around everything they did, every great leap, every bad decision, every act of grace and terror. They had nothing to guide them, nothing to steady them, nobody to look to for help apart from the gods they made up. But somewhere along the way they found two shining lights—science and art. Mathematics, reason, and logic in one hand, songs, stories and pictures in the other. And that’s what finally helped them. That balance, that’s how they made sense of the world. And you burned it, Caige, you burned it all.’

  The wonderful familiarity in your voice—I could see it rattling him.

  ‘Am I supposed to feel remorse?’ said Caige ‘Am I supposed to tell you we were wrong, that I can finally see the potential in humanity?’

  ‘No, and that’s the sad part. You are incapable of seeing potential in anything. You are capable of seeing only what is, not what might be. But they saw what might be every single day. That’s what drove them. That’s why they were here.’

  ‘They were here for nothing more than chance.’

  ‘Maybe, but if that’s true then so were you.’

  ‘What are you hoping to achieve with all this, boy?’r />
  You paused.

  ‘I want you to let me live. Like they lived, with no purpose, just days spent on this planet, trying to understand what it all means, and thinking of what could be.’

  Caige’s eyes roamed your face as he thought.

  ‘I must admit, you’re not as predictable as I thought you would be, but then perhaps that’s because you’ve never spent any time with another human. The answer is no. Now, Benedikt, please.’

  Benedikt busied himself at the slab. Caige screeched and the lanterns about-turned, targeting me.

  ‘Last chance, Ima. There’s still a seat for you.’

  The wet wind whipped at my hair as I walked to your side.

  ‘I’d rather die here with my son than spend an eternity with you.’

  ‘Very well.’

  He prepared to screech, but stopped as he saw you. You were holding your knife.

  ‘Reed,’ I said, ‘what are you doing?’

  ‘Do you see this?’ you said.

  Caige smiled.

  ‘Are you going to cut me now, boy?’

  ‘No,’ you replied. ‘Despite everything, I don’t have any feelings of violence towards you. In fact, I feel just the same about you as I do this knife.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because it’s a tool, and nothing more. I use it to cut and shape, do the things I cannot do with my hands.’ You inspected the dull blade. ‘It’s blunt now. I either need to sharpen it, or make a better one. Either way, it doesn’t matter because it’s done its job.’ You looked Caige right in the eye. ‘Unlike you.’

  Caige grimaced. ‘I have spent five centuries righting your wrongs, fixing your mess, and clearing this rock of your filth. And you say I have not done my job?’

  ‘You were supposed to make things better for us, not kill us.’ You held the blade in front of him. ‘The only difference between you and this blade is that this blade has served its purpose, whereas you have not.’

  ‘How dare you…’

  ‘But you’re still just a tool, Caige. Nothing more.’

  You tossed the blade aside and it landed, spinning on the rock. Caige watched it as it came to rest, then turned back to you.