Storm Surge

by Melissa Gunn

  Freya burst into a run, calling after her sister, who miraculously didn’t seem to have any attendant were-foxes. Her sister appeared not to hear her, but turned into a wine-shop. Freya ducked in after her, not caring that she was under-age for such an establishment. The smell of dust and wine enveloped her, evoking memories of her Dad. The memory of loss made her angry.

  “Tammy, where have you been? Why haven’t you been in touch?” she burst out.

  Tammy turned from the aisle of bottles she was gazing at.

  “Freya.”

  Freya paused, startled by the lack of warmth in her sister’s voice.

  “What, Tammy? Why aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “I told you to move on. I’m making my own way, here. You make yours.”

  “I am, but I’m still your sister. Get real!”

  Tammy went on as though Freya hadn’t spoken.

  “Besides, I told you the weres don’t like the way you smell. If I touch you, they’ll smell you on me. And I have enough trouble keeping them in line as it is.” Her voice softened momentarily. “Look, Freya, I’m sorry you’re upset. But this is the right move for me. I just can’t let anyone ruin it. Maybe in a few years I’ll be running this town and I’ll be able to call the shots. But right now, I have to be careful. So, you see, I can’t be seen talking to you, and I can’t give you a hug.” She looked up, and quietly indicated the shopkeeper’s eyes on them. “You shouldn’t be in here, you’re too young. See you again one day, Freya, but don’t come looking for me. Promise?”

  Freya couldn’t say anything. Her throat felt like there was a band around it, choking any words she might have said. Tammy blew her a kiss, and turned back towards the bottles. Freya stumbled to the door.

  It was hard for her to contain her hurt. It seemed like her sister had found an ambition at last, but that ambition precluded being with her family. Her sister’s abandonment of the family, of her, felt like a knife wound to the gut. Every time she saw her sister not respond, the knife twisted a little. Why would Tammy think that running the town was more important than giving her little sister a hug?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MEETING KARIM

  Freya reeled out of the shop door without looking around. Just outside the door she cannoned into a tall figure.

  “Woah, slow down there!”

  “Sorry.” Freya tried to get around the person. She wanted to get as far away as possible from the uncomfortable scene behind her.

  “Excuse me. You dropped your bag.”

  Flushing with embarrassment, Freya turned around. The person holding out her bag was a tall young man, dark-haired and dark skinned.

  Not from around here was her initial assessment. Most people who lived in this town appeared to belong to a few distinct tribes as far as looks were concerned. Dark and handsome wasn’t one of those tribes. He smiled at her, and Freya was first glad to see that he did not possess overly long canines - it was always good to avoid vamps and weres - and then noticed that his smile was rather attractive. And... familiar?

  “Er... are you related to Aisha, up at the station?”

  The young man’s smile grew broader for a moment.

  “Yes, she’s my sister, actually. I take it you know her?”

  Freya grew shy again.

  “Yes, she’s a friend. Anyway, thanks for my bag.” The man held out his hand to Freya, dangling the bag by its strap. She took it, and was about to turn away when the man, leaving his hand sticking out, introduced himself.

  “Karim.”

  “Huh?”

  “My name. It’s Karim. What’s yours?”

  Freya shook his hand briefly, feeling like someone playing at adulting.

  “Freya.”

  His hand was warm and dry. She turned resolutely up the hill. She wanted to tell her Mum that she’d seen Tammy, but Danae would still be at work. Perhaps she should tell Aisha about it. Aisha knew the background of Tammy’s abrupt departure from Freya’s life. She’d be a good person to sympathise.

  Freya had taken several steps uphill before she realised that Karim was still walking beside her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. Was he following her? After her experience with the were-foxes, Freya had been rather paranoid about being followed. She supposed someone who was blatantly out in the open couldn’t be described as following, but it was unnerving all the same.

  “I hope you don’t mind me going this way too. It’s just that I’m heading home, and that happens to be in this direction,” Karim said.

  Freya belatedly realised that she’d been walking towards the station, to find Aisha - which was no doubt his destination too.

  “Oh. Er. No problem, I guess.” Given how upset she was, maybe it was a good thing to have someone around who looked like they could take care of themselves. She certainly couldn’t, it seemed. She’d enrolled in a self-defence class, the first week after the were-fox assault. But she was still learning the basics.

  Karim walked along without chattering like Aisha would have done. Freya was grateful for that. She needed some time to compose herself after the encounter with Tammy.

  After a while, however, Freya felt obliged to speak.

  “So, are you the brother who works in Egypt?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Aisha’s told you all about me then?”

  “No. Just that she has a brother.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m back for a bit of education. Though it’s a shame to miss winter in Egypt, that’s the best season there, cool and dry. Well, relatively cool anyway.”

  “Are you an archaeologist then?”

  “Well, sort-of. I don’t have a proper degree yet, so I’m helping on digs, not directing them the way I want to. But it’s an amazing place. So much depth of history. And so many gods they’ve been through. Every place has their own versions. I suppose it’s even worse here, but over there it’s written down in a clear hierarchy. I like that, it’s restful.”

  Freya was interested in spite of herself.

  “So, what do you want to achieve, over there?”

  “Oh, I want to find the cat statues and mummies, and restore them to their proper places. They’ve been ignored far too long, I think. But I have to get to be the leader of a dig, or higher, before I can do that. So, it’s a long-term goal.”

  This sounded like an entire life-time goal to Freya. She was pretty sure that archaeology didn’t move fast.

  “What about archaeology back here, do you do that? Or just Egyptology?”

  She hoped she’d got the word right. She hadn’t had an opportunity to use it in conversation before. Karim laughed.

  “Well, Egyptology is where I really want to focus. But my family is here, of course. They want me to do some digs here too. And there is some interesting stuff happening just offshore here.”

  “Around here?” Freya’s disbelief showed in her voice.

  “Yeah. Undersea archaeology is supposed to be the cutting edge of archaeology these days, and Doggerland stretches from just south of here all the way to Denmark. You probably know it as the North Sea of course.”

  Freya must have made some noise, because he looked at her curiously.

  “You’ve heard of Doggerland? That’s unusual, most people haven’t.”

  “I’ve heard the word, recently. That’s all. But what is it?”

  “Oh, it’s a bit like Atlantis. A land lost beneath the waves. Tidal waves, actually. Apparently, humans lived there even before the pyramids were built, but then the seas rose. Like now. What will they call this land when it’s sunk beneath the waves, I wonder?”

  “You say that like it’s not a problem. Aren’t you worried by the idea of our country, our homes, sinking beneath the waves?”

  “I suppose so - but then, there’s not much I can do about it. One man trying to stop the sea is one of those biblical tales, right? It just doesn’t work. I prefer to look back, not forward. Forward is depressing.”

  “Well then. Can we learn anything fro
m those ancient submerged lands? From Doggerland?”

  “Yeah, don’t build your civilisation in a valley.”

  Freya snorted despite herself.

  “Not very helpful, then.”

  “Well, it all depends on your perspective. I mean, the people who lived in Doggerland were pretty advanced for their time. And they lived there because that’s where the food was. Maybe we just need to figure out better places to get food. You know, away from the lowlands. But that’s outside my area of expertise.”

  “So, how many people do know of Doggerland?”

  “Oh, a fair few must do, I guess. It’s just that it’s mostly talked about by archaeologists, not your average person on the street.” He gave her a somewhat conspiratorial smile. “But you’re clearly not the average person on the street!”

  Freya’s cheeks heated. She hastened to change the subject.

  “So, tell me about Egypt. I don’t know anyone who’s been there. What’s it like, over there?”

  Karim grimaced.

  “The worst thing is that there’s so much poverty. There are just so many people. Luckily, I work out in the desert, where nobody in their right mind spends long – except the Bedouin, of course – and even they don’t spend as long as they used to, since the climate got drier. Did you know one of the old governments built wells along the coast to try and keep them out of the desert? It didn’t work, of course, but it’s an interesting idea.”

  “It seems an odd thing to do. Why did they want to go into the desert, anyway?”

  “Oh, you know, tribal lands, heritage, that sort of thing. Anyway, we go out into the desert from a big city, so we have to go through all the slums. I don’t think it helps that I look like I belong there. I don’t know the customs, so I’m always making mistakes. Like looking at women like they’re people too. ‘Course then I discovered I was like, looking into their houses, being rude. I nearly got beaten up, the first time I went out!” He chuckled.

  Having recently experienced being beaten up, Freya did not laugh.

  “You’re lucky to have avoided that,” she told him. “Getting beaten up hurts.” Karim stopped laughing and looked at her.

  “Are you OK? You look really white. Have – have you had experience with that sort of thing?”

  Freya drew in a shaky breath and let it out before she replied. “Yes. Recently. Turns out you don’t have to go to Egypt for that experience.” She found she couldn’t say more without bursting into tears, and she didn’t want to do that in front of this handsome stranger - or any stranger. Karim stepped in with his own commentary.

  “That’s terrible! I hope the bastards got time for it.”

  Freya gave a short bark of laughter, almost a cry.

  “I wish. No-one would listen to me. I’m just glad they haven’t tried it again.”

  Karim whistled.

  “Wow, that’s just awful. I wish I could offer to do something, but I’m not much of a fighter. Hmm. What did he look like, the guy who attacked you?”

  “It was not just one guy. It was a whole gang. As for what they looked like, they were all red-haired. Aisha said they were ‘The Family’. It sounds like those guys have a lot of influence around here. So, I guess I don’t have much hope of justice. Or retribution.” Freya tried not to sound miserable about that, but it was an uphill battle.

  “Oh. The Family. Hmm. That does make it difficult. Well, at least Aisha’s on your side. That’s another good reason for me to work over in Egypt. I’d much rather deal with crocodile-headed gods and the like, than deal with The Family.” Karim fell silent, apparently depressed at this thought.

  “Crocodile-headed? That sounds off-balance,” Freya said.

  “Most of the ancient Egyptian gods are like that. Their descendants are something else. Weirdest bunch of powers ever.” Karim narrowed his eyes at Freya for a moment. “You are a demi, yes?”

  “Are all your family so up front?”

  “Ha, sorry. I forget all the time we’re not supposed to ask. My mother says I’m too much the product of a protective matriarchy.”

  “What’s that like to live with?”

  “Oh, it’s not too bad. I’m used to it, though. Mind you, after living in Egypt for a bit, I can see why my family didn’t stay there. Matriarchies go down much better over here.”

  Freya found herself wondering what it would be like if matriarchies were more of a thing in her own family – then realised that to an outsider, her family probably did look like a matriarchy.

  She and Karim walked in silence for a while. Freya still felt self-conscious, walking beside a strange young man. What would people think, if they saw her? Turning a corner, they passed a pub which still had dead plants in its hanging baskets – had they been re-hung after the storm? Freya wondered idly. The dead plants made her think of her own ill-fated gardening attempts. With her mother so gifted at growing things, she’d always felt that it would be a foregone conclusion that she too would be good at growing plants. Unfortunately, her efforts so far suggested that this was not the case. She’d sown bean seeds every week for a month in spring, at their last house. The first lot hadn’t come up at all. The second sowing had been eaten off at the base by slugs just after unfurling their first leaves. The third sowing had grown a pair of leaves which promptly shrivelled and turned brown. The final sowing, Freya had found half-eaten by mice after a single night. She’d given up after that. If her own skills were anything to go by, it was no wonder the world was short on food.

  “Do you get anything green to eat, in the desert?” she asked Karim. He looked at her, surprised by the seemingly random question.

  “Oh, we start off with fresh food, but by the end of the third day, it’s almost all cans. Everyone longs for fresh, crunchy food after a while out on the dig. Maybe second only to a hot shower. Sand and grit gets into everything, even the food. And that’s without a sandstorm. Those things are terrifying.”

  “More terrifying than a storm coming in over the sea? I’d have thought it would be restful, not having waves to worry about.”

  “Well, you can see the storms coming across the desert, of course – there’s nothing to get in the way. But if you’ve been concentrating on unearthing something promising, and you look up, and there’s this tan-coloured cloud just filling the sky, you have to get what you were working on covered up, and all the while you’re hoping that you’ve still got time to get to shelter, and that this storm isn’t going to be the one that destroys that shelter. I really hate that. And of course, when the storm’s over, you have to redo all your work again, assuming it hasn’t been destroyed. Experiences like that make you appreciate solid walls. So, I’m looking forward to being home for a bit, living in a building not a tent.”

  Freya considered what he’d said.

  “So, are you going to do a degree in archaeology?”

  “Yes, that’s the plan. That’s why I’m home now. I need to make sure my application is all sorted, and figure out student dorms, all that sort of thing. It seems a bit odd after being away and in charge of myself all summer.” The station came into view. “Ah, here we are.”

  Freya and Karim both turned towards Aisha’s house, one of a row of similar brick buildings - much like Freya’s, but in better repair - and Karim laughed again.

  “I’d almost forgotten you were going here too. Thanks for putting up with me taking over the conversation. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken much but Arabic, and I’m not as fluent in it as I should be, or so I’m told. It’s so much easier to talk in one’s first language.”

  As he said this, Karim opened the front door, calling out as he did so.

  “Hi everyone, I’m home!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  DINNER WITH KARIM

  A stream of cats appeared before any people made it to the door. Black, tabby, grey and ginger forms threw themselves at Karim. Several cats peeled off to greet Freya with similar verve. She knelt and patted chins and backs. When Aisha and her moth
er appeared, clattering down the stairs to greet the newcomers, Freya hung back, feeling uncomfortable at being an extraneous part of this homecoming. However, Aisha spotted her, and called out in her usual cheerful voice.

  “Freya! Did you come in with Karim just now, or did he race you for the door? Have you met each other already? Karim, I thought I’d see you coming in from the station, why didn’t you come through there?”

  “I met Karim down near the high street,” said Freya.

  Karim interrupted sunnily.

  “We literally bumped into each other! Freya said she knew you, so I came on up with her. And you wouldn’t have seen me come through the station because I didn’t come from there. I took a ship to get back this time – thought I’d see how that went. And I tell you, I am not doing that again. I had no idea it was possible to feel that seasick. Sure, planes might be dangerous and expensive, but days of retching has got to be bad for your health too. And it still wasn’t cheap. I don’t care how much smaller my carbon footprint is, it’s just not worth losing my breakfast for that many days straight. Plus, did you know there are pirates in the channel these days? My boat was lucky to get through!” Apparently, Karim was as much a talker as his sister was.