Me Ma Supial!

by Ged Maybury

  He strode after her, and with a roar of blind rage he tried to kick her off the edge. His foot connected with her right leg, flinging her to the left.

  She dangled over the edge, unable to move; both hands gripping the wiry ground-cover, her body locked, her breath stopped, her mind blank, as pain flooded from the point of impact. She could glimpse him towering above her; his robe blocking out the sky, his leg pulled back for a second kick, his red face roaring.

  She got ready to die.

  SOMETHING WENT BANG, sparks flew over her, he cried out in terror, and his shadow disappeared. The kick did not arrive as expected. What had happened?

  She lifted her head.

  Pastor Wheeler was spinning on the narrow bridge, staggering backwards, smoke billowing from his robes. He was flapping his arms wildly, screaming in pain. As he came around she saw that his whole body seemed to be on fire. An intense blazing red. She saw his left foot slither down the sloping edge of the bridge, tearing the plants out by their roots, skidding further, further, to the very edge and then beyond.

  She watched as her father – Preacher of the Book of St Curran, Pastor to the Faithful, Illustrious Leader of the First Interstellar Colony of Truth – toppled inexorably off the edge.

  He seemed to fall terribly slowly, taking hours to hit the first rock, then minutes to hit the next, following his Book exactly. And he roared all the way down, even after that first impact.

  He burned all the way too, That hellish red flame smoking like every image of Hell he so loved, while he robes burned and fluttering in the wind.

  Then he landed by the river, bounced, and lay still. Red smoke kept pouring from his body.

  Kynn hung on, panting quick small breaths to minimise her pain, fearing that if she cried she would also fall. Slowly she found the strength to ease upwards, get her legs onto firm ground, inching upwards onto the very centre of the bridge, gasping, shaking, leaking tears into the churned and ripped turf. The flare still burned below her, lighting up the deep shadows in the gorge.

  She closed her eyes to shut it all out.

  MIRACLES

  A VOICE WAS CALLING to her, faint, strained, but loving, “Kynn Wheeler, my beautiful Lovie. Come now, carefully, crawl like a baby to me.”

  She raised her head, sure there were angels around her, for someone was speaking. There was a huge bright sky above her, trees all around, bird-song and parrot calls. But where was that voice? Where were the angels?

  She coughed a few times, clearing a vile taste from her lungs. There was still a trace of smoke in the air. She looked down, knowing exactly where the smoke had come from, knowing exactly what else was down there.

  Quickly she flicked her eyes away, up to the trees again.

  That little voice came again, “Come to me. I still love you.”

  It was Mica’s voice!

  'No. He is dead. Dead!'

  She let her head sink again, unable to think, floating inside her body, very still. Mica? An angel? Anything seemed possible now: even miracles. Slowly she rolled her head, dream-like, and looked along the bridge again. Everything appeared sideways.

  There he was, beckoning to her with a tiny movement of his left hand. He was sitting up, his bloodied chest still the same.

  'So, does this mean I am dead too? GOOD!'

  Calmly, without any pain, without any fear, she stood and walked directly to him, knelt, and touched him. He was warm and solid.

  “Mica?”

  “Ow!” he cried, “Careful, my lovie, I’ve got a broken rib, to be sure.”

  “How?” she whispered, peering at him in shining disbelief, too scared to touch him again, seeing that his right hand was a misshapen lump of clotted blood and fur and limp fingers. “He shot you! I saw you! Your chest!” She could still see the blood in his fur, but no hole. Nothing.

  Mica held up his dangle pouch with his left hand, “See, look. All my mica smashed, but the steel is good. Got a dent you could put your thumb in. You try.”

  She began laughing, whispering “Oh Lord, Oh Lordie!” and crying some more, and laughing next, hugging him so very carefully, wetting his fur with her tears.

  WHEN SHE COULD FINALLY think again, she sat back. There was one thing that still completely confounded her. “But what happened on the bridge? Did you see? He... m-my father, he fell off?”

  Mica grinned and reached into the grass beside him, lifting up the flare gun.

  “I got it to work!”

  Kynn took it, saw that the second charge was gone, imagined Mica, sitting up, his chest a mass of pain, his right hand useless, but still trying, still finding a way, pulling the trigger, the flare rushing at her father... Mica had done it; Mica!

  Or had he? Surely a Greater Will must have steered that flare so precisely?

  As she thought about it her mind went blank, to be replaced by a great and frightening awe. Was any of this right? Was any of it wrong? Was this how the Lord answered one's prayers?

  “Just in time, I was,” added Mica, his voice revealing all the fear he must have felt at that moment, “to be sure. To be sure.”

  She looked at him, bloodied and pale, then her mind snapped back into control. “We must get you to a healer! In fact, I’m calling in the best medical team on the entire planet! ... Above it!”

  She found the skimmer’s remote and triggered it. The little screen lit up, all green lights. That was good. She checked the skimmer’s charge, and then for some reason its position.

  “What?! It’s only four hundred metres away!”

  She checked it again. It was true. Unbelievable! Another miracle!

  Then she realised who must have moved it and felt the fear of him again, briefly, like a fast-passing shadow. 'No, he is gone. HE IS GONE!'

  Breathing shallowly she dabbed rapidly at the remote and lifted it to her lips. “Me Ma Supial,” she whispered. There was no response for several seconds, while her heart fluttered nervously.

  “Me Ma Supial!” she fair shouted, desperately.

  Finally she heard the connection go through ...

  MICA LAY ON THE GRASS, dizzy and breathless. He gazed directly up into the sunset colours, thinking about the Ghost with no fur, thinking about what Kynn Wheeler had said, thinking about everything. He did not know whether to laugh or cry. “Me Ma Supial?” he whispered uncertainly.

  HOPE

  IT WAS HOT, AS ALWAYS. Kynn Wheeler knelt by her mother’s grave, laid the flowers with a quivering hand, and stood again. She tugged at the restrictive collar of her starched blouse as she turned to her human companions, avoiding looking at the substantially bigger memorial they had erected for her father.

  All but Dr Kei Nam were murmuring private prayers, making the gestures, holding their little books. They looked worried, pinched, fatigued, and hot.

  Judkins cleared his throat and began, “Believers, let us offer up our prayers to the Lord.” He lifted his face and his voice to the sky, “Lordie, please guide the spirits of our fallen as they undertake their final journey unto Your Light, and please also guide us, the Living, in these troubled times. Put your Salve upon our Wounds and smooth away the obstacles upon the Path Ahead.

  “May we all work together to rebuild your Ministry here upon This Miraculous Place; and may we understand the Challenge you have put upon our way ...” he glanced towards Kynn, “... and may me learn to recognise the Spirit and the Soul that lives here within your other creations, all of your creations. And ... And may we now have Peace! So Let it Be.”

  “So let it be,” murmured the others.

  Kynn glanced around at them. The last of the newcomers seemed sincere; she could see it in their eyes somehow. But those from the earliest landings still seemed resistant. Well, it was up to Judkins to keep things in order now. And it was he alone who fully understood the answers to the protein problem. They all needed him.

  She looked again at the grave, moved her hands as if to touch the twisted wretch that had once been her loving mother; to hug her; to re
assure her; to thank her. But it was a hopeless gesture.

  Brushed aside her tears she turned away, did not look back.

  Dr K came alongside her, put an arm around her shoulders. Kynn leaned gratefully into the support, finally letting herself cry a few tears.

  (In fact they were tears of happiness.)

  AT THE OPEN GATES THE Supials were waiting. Mica was there, his arm still in a sling and his right hand just a clump of bandage. Despite his pain he was playing some quick busy game with the littlies who were running about in odd little circles as the game required, naked except for their fur, laughing.

  He looked up. “Kynn Wheeler! Yo, yo!”

  She smiled. It had only been two hours since they had last been together.

  She squatted beside him, met the eyes of the children and smiled. “Show me what to do,” she asked of them, “it looks like fun.”

  Dr K squatted too. The children swarmed around her, peering closely. The biggest one, a girl, stroked the woman’s jet-black hair. “Your hair is nice,” she said in faltering English, glancing shyly at her teacher: Mica. He nodded approvingly.

  “Thank you,” replied Kei Nam in faltering Supial, “thank you so much.”

  Did you love Me Ma Supial!? Then you should read Edge Town by Ged Maybury!

  Huddled in a dying town far from the pulse of Galactic civilisation, a sad and surly community of crims, runaways, losers and tough-arse truckies are saved by the 'miracle' of an old piano and a moody geisha, while the same kindly Fates relentlessly flay a young wanker's vainglorious visualisations. Can naive intern Filmore Bagel survive his stint in dour & deadly Edgetown, or will he turn and run like all the others? Is he really a miracle worker? Is this shit-storm really called 'Destiny'? Is he ever going to get laid? And what have the Fates got planned for his final day?

  Read more at Ged Maybury’s site.

  Also by Ged Maybury

  Horse Apples

  Horse Apples

  Crab Apples

  Pig Apples

  Dinosaur Apples

  Stonewind Sky

  Across the Stonewind Sky

  Into the Heart of Varste

  Hoverrim the Hunted

  Into the Lair of Le-Roosh

  Voyage of the Silver Dawn

  Into the Queen's Domain

  Standalone

  Edge Town

  Tears Before Halftime

  The Sizzlewitz List

  Girl Germs

  Me Ma Supial!

  Watch for more at Ged Maybury’s site.

  About the Author

  Ged Maybury is an Australasian author of children's and YA novelist, with 14 books conventionally published (not counting this series) and a lot more in the pipeline.

  Finalist - NZ Children's Book Awards 1994: “The Triggerstone”

  Finalist - NZ Children's Book Awards 2001: “Crab Apples”

  He began 1994 in his favourite genre: Science Fiction, later adding comedy and slice-of-life, and finally returned to his sci-fi roots with Steampunk.

  This series is aimed at young adults and anyone else who likes an engaging adventure, but as far as any full-on “adult” content goes: well that's just not his thing. (Okay – there's a bit of it.)

  He was born in Christchurch, New Zealand, and grew up in Dunedin; dux of his school; blah-blah-blah … Went into architecture, ended up in the performing arts and has been writing plays, poetry and books ever since. He also has earned some notoriety as a Cosplayer and Costumer, Steampunk Sculptor, Performance Poet and Story-teller. Occasionally he writes plays and films. Even more occasionally they get produced.

  WORLD-FIRST: Maybury lays claim to the world's first custom-written theme-song to a book.

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRQ29QkfKNE

  He currently lives in Brisbane, Australia. He has a blog and a Wikipedia entry, and is on Facebook.

  Read more at Ged Maybury’s site.