by Julian Cheek
Sam slowly, secretively, brought his hands together and, making sure no one was watching, interlocked them again.
Nothing! No bolt of lightning. No death and destruction… Sam. You are a bloody idiot, aren’t you? he cajoled himself, quickly unlocking his fingers and swinging them instead vigorously from side to side to get some feeling back. He was ashamed that he even thought to believe anything could actually have happened. Annoyed, he decided to head to the nearest chippy and grab a burger, chips and large soda, with loads of tommy sauce.
“What now?” he said to himself. Here he was, in a town of “nowheresville”, fed up and bored and wondering what to do with himself. The number 12X bus grumbled softly in front of him, parked by the bus stop, waiting to depart. As if given a sign, Sam decided there and then to jump on board. The bus, he knew, would take him slowly back out of Sandhaven, through the windy lanes snaking between mile after mile of farmland, and back towards Greyshott and home, there, perhaps, to sneak back into bed and face the music he was sure to have to endure in the morning.
Bus journeys often seem to be great opportunities for the mind to meander in and out of consciousness. Sam found himself thinking about his last few days, how his parents would probably flip at his absence, how he had actually enjoyed being by himself for a while. He also flitted between his reality and the dreams he had been experiencing recently. That worried him slightly underneath the surface, but, as is often the case, the natural foil between a dream world and reality was sufficient for him not to allow panic to enter. After all, seeing all those people killed, hearing the stories of Ngaire and Ma-aka, starting to enjoy the company of Babu, of people he had met, Pania, Pit, all flowed through him, some with a smile, others with a shudder. He found himself missing them, which was weird in itself.
The signpost marking Greyshott 3 miles away flicked another switch in his mind and he recalled the link between the dream world and Alice of all people. I mean, Alice! Seriously? he questioned himself, laughing at the unusualness of it all. About as realistic as mum and dad welcoming me with open arms! he concluded.
By the time the bus trundled into Greyshott, darkness already covered the area and, looking at his watch, he saw it was 8:30pm. The town was empty of life other than around The Governor’s Arms, the local pub, which never seemed to close… He got off outside Timber’s, surprised to see the lights still on inside at this hour.
Whether it was random impulse or something else speaking to him, Sam, standing outside looking into the café, suddenly decided to confront Alice about his strange experiences. So he pulled his hoodie tight against his body, rearranged his back pack and slowly pushed open the door.
As Sam was later to rebuke himself, having a plan before an action is normally recommended!
He stood now, inside the threshold of the café knowing it was officially closed and not open for service and therefore, as it was not open, anyone could quite rightly question him about what possible reason he could have had for being there. And, to add insult to injury, he then realised that the reason he appeared to have entered Timber’s was to ask some random woman why she was in his dreams and whether she really was the bravest and fairest of the Anahim, called Aronui?
Brilliant plan, Sam! and he started to turn to head back out onto the street. But it was too late.
“Sam?”
Sam turned back to see Alice standing in the doorway to the kitchen, the light beyond illuminating her head with a halo…
Bloody get a grip! he screamed internally.
“Alice! Um, hi… Are you well?” (Oh, I am so going to die!)
Alice stood silently by the opening, studying him for a moment. The irises of her eyes flashing purple briefly before she blinked and offered him a bar stool to sit on. “Sam, the café is shut, my dear,” she said gently. “Is everything OK?”
Sam moved to the stool as Alice moved behind the counter to click on the coffee machine. Her movements were unhurried, fluid, as if choreographed prior to his entering the café.
Sam, with no idea how he was going to extricate himself from this particular hole he had made for himself, blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “My parents and I have had a bit of a fall out, that’s all.”
Silence…
“So I have come out for a walk to get some fresh air.”
Alice tinkered with the coffee filter.
She said nothing.
“Do you normally get some fresh air by travelling on a bus from the opposite direction, Sam?” she asked.
(How on earth had she seen that?) “Um, I have been out for a while and went to Sandhaven. Just got back!” (There. That was, at least, honest.)
“Would you like a drink?”
“That would be nice, if you are having one.”
“What?…”
“What, what?…”
“What drink would you like?” A faint smile played on her lips for a moment.
“Coffee please. Milk no sugar.”
Sam was fidgeting as if his body was screaming to leg it out of there and never return.
Alice flicked on the television screen, the grainy image slowly gaining focus and the noise level lifting his head to see what was on. Channel 5 news was playing. A weather girl was droning on about a deep weather front coming up from the south, bringing torrential rains and driving winds. A few choice shots of broken trees and posts flapping in the wind were set behind her to add to the effect. Alice turned the sound down and then settled opposite him. He was acutely aware of her eyes studying him and her fingers toying with her neck.
“Were you busy today?” he offered, trying to break the spell she seemed to be putting him in.
Alice ignored him. “Tell me what’s going on, Sam,” she said instead.
As if a tiny crack had formed, insignificant in itself and yet sufficient enough to break a damn wall, Sam found this simple invitation and her honest face hard to resist and he found himself unable to stop the outpouring of his heart to her despite not really knowing her at all.
Slowly at first but with increasing velocity, Sam lost who he was and just emptied himself of all the hurt, frustration and rage of the last few months at her feet. The loss of David, the feeling of rejection and, somehow, of blame, he sensed from his parents. All the pain flowed out and away from him and was held. Held gently by the person who sat opposite him, listening to him, for once.
The coffee cups were left where Alice had placed them. Neither of them touched a drop, too important was this space Sam found himself in. His story ranged far and wide, sometimes making complete sense to him, sometimes sounding, to him, like the ramblings of an utter fool.
The night grew sterner outside as the weather front started to make its presence felt here in the village as the weather girl had predicted. The branches of the nearby tree started to bend and creak, the outer tendrils brushing against the plate glass window of the café, causing Sam to slowly falter and then to stop what he was saying and look up to gauge what affect, if any, his diatribe had had on Alice.
Her eyes were incandescent purple! Flecks of red and violet seemed to move over her eyes like insects chasing each other, and her teeth were gripping her lower lip tightly. But the greatest surprise for Sam was to see this stranger opposite him, tears coursing down her smooth cheeks, unashamedly weeping for him. Alice took a deep breath and then sat up and blinked a few times, looking away as she wiped the tears from her face. When she returned her gaze, the vivid eyes had returned to deep blue, all signs of otherness, a mere memory.
“Well, Sam,” she said eventually after they had both regained some semblance of order, “it would appear that I came just in time after all.”
Sam, who, moments before, had unburdened himself and opened up that chest buried so deep inside him, he felt it would never be opened again, was hit by this random statement from Alice. Is she allowing me to ask that which I am too afraid to utter, even though it is totally preposterous and stupid in the extreme? he thought.
&nbs
p; “Perhaps if I had not opened the café when I did, and instead went elsewhere, you and I would never have met and you would not have been able to unburden yourself so bravely as you have just done. For that, Sam Gilbert, I am incredibly humbled and thankful.”
“I dreamt you were an angel!” he said weakly, not daring to look up.
“Did you indeed?” Alice replied. Her face wrinkled up slightly in curiosity. “Well, we can’t discuss that now,” she continued. “Let me warm the coffee back up and then you need to get yourself back home and be yourself to your parents.”
Alice busied herself quickly, rearranging the glass coffee decanter, and then went off to fetch the milk from the fridge. Sam looked back up at the television. A western was now playing and the sounds of the horses thundering down the wide open prairie, and the warming colours that massaged his eyes, slowly all collided into a warm fuzziness and his head folded slowly forward until it nestled into his arms on the counter top and sleep took him far far away, if only for a while.
As such, as before, he failed to see Alice come out from the larder, see him sleeping on the bar stool and then, softly placing the milk on the work surface, come around the counter and stand behind him. She looked carefully behind her, peering out through the window to see if anyone was around, then, looking back at him, she lifted her hand and, outstretched, she held it hovering over Sam’s head, her eyes closed and her lips moving quickly in silent incantation.
Pania
Sam snapped awake, feeling a fine spray mist his arms, which he had been previously using as a pillow. Without doubt, a raging torrent seemed to be right next to his ears and he opened his eyes to see a large, wet rock before him where before, the smooth, slick surface of the counter should have been. He sat up and gazed with astonishment at the sight in front of him. A raging river flew past his eyes, the waters spraying and cascading with speed a few paces in front of him. He was in a bed of rocks all lining the banks on one side, the water flowing around and over them and spraying up in the process. The noise was deafening.
“Dreaming again, Sam,” he said to himself, once he regained some sense of order. Looking up and around him, he saw that downstream, a short distance away, the river seemed to lunge up into a mighty wall of spray before it disappeared from view, crashing down what was probably a waterfall. Upstream, the river bounced between rocks, broken trees and steep banks on its way to join its brother downstream to leap into the unknown and on past the waterfall.
In front of him, he noticed a number of boulders in amongst the middle of the river. Nets seemed to be stretched between them, all held from disappearing into the maelstrom downstream, by three men, who were staring at him as if he was a demon from the pits of hell!
Sam fixed his eyes on them, shocked at seeing people fishing and, supposedly, in one of the most dangerous places possible. At their feet, an otter and what looked like a snake dived or slithered off the rocks and started to circle the men. A strange looking bird also loosed itself from the area and flapped up into the air, hovering over them in protective fashion. The men, having seen this apparition appear before them as if by magic, cast all experience to the winds and dropped the nets, which, in a few seconds, dislodged themselves and tumbled in a ragged, fish-filled mess off down the river to bubble over the edge of the falls and disappear from view. The men paid no notice that their hard-won catch was now consigned to fate; instead, one of the men drew an evil looking spear from the rocks and crouched down ready to attack if required. The other, after looking at Sam for a few frightened seconds, lifted a horn to his lips and blew a long, loud note.
A deep, powerful noise erupted and Sam was aware enough to realise he had made a call for help from somewhere else. The third man, with bird in tow, had already turned and was now fording his way carefully back across the river to the opposite bank, glancing over his shoulder in terror, fear etched in his face as he fully expected this being, who had appeared magically before them, to grab him and confine him to his worst nightmare.
Sam remained completely still. The look from the one holding the spear made it quite plain that were he to hurl the spear towards Sam, it would not end well for him, and, having already experienced the pain of one shaft, he was not ready to receive yet another and bigger looking one rip through his body.
By now, the third man had reached the shore opposite and had run, screaming, into the tree line beyond, disappearing from view in amongst the branches and the mist, which hung like a wet blanket around them. But not for long, for shortly, a commotion beyond attracted their attention and, like bubbles of molten lava appearing from out of the ooze, a line of men all started to push through the tree line along the length of the river until they stood in a haphazard line from the edge of the waterfall and all along the bank up to the mist bank further upstream, all standing silently, yet with deadly intent, staring at the lone figure who had mysteriously appeared to their friends a few short minutes earlier.
“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Sam, wondering what sort of dream this one was going to turn out to be. It did not appear to be heading in any direction he would care for it to go right now. A mini stand-off had occurred and he was not sure what to do next.
“Saaaaaammmmmm!”
Off on the opposite bank, he was sure he had heard his name called, but that was ridiculous.
“Sam!” Again, his name. He looked along the line of men, wondering where the noise was coming from. His day suddenly improved totally, when, looking at one of the men, he saw the arms waving, and the form jumping to get his attention, of the one person he was genuinely happy to meet in any dream.
“Ma-aka! Ma-aka!” he shouted with joy, for there, was the same person who had spent time opening up to him about their past in the hut of Ngaire, the healer. It was the same. Ma-aka, the leader of the tribe of Watamka. And could it be, he thought, that these are the very rivers where he told me about the loss of his father, Ari?
From the other side, Ma-aka whistled shrilly into the air, and a large bird flew out from the trees and headed straight for Sam. Ma-aka’s Padme, the eagle, flew over Sam, searching around it for any danger and, on satisfying itself, it landed in front of him screeching back to Ma-aka. For a brief second, Sam wanted to reach out and hug it, such was his joy at being rescued, but one blink of the eagle’s black eyes at Sam was enough to warn him that looking was fine, touching was definitely NOT.
Seeing the eagle sitting there, prompted Sam to think of his own Padme. Babu! he remembered with shock. The last time he has seen him was when something had happened to those fishermen and Babu disappeared. He thought he had been killed in whatever had caused the destruction of the men, but… Perhaps!? Sam reached up slowly to touch his neck. The comforting feel of the necklace was like balm to his mind. Reaching down, he found the familiar charm he had used to call Babu, and, in a moment, he had lifted it to his lips, and blew.
For a moment, there was no change around him. Sam peered intently all around him. The eagle, he noticed, had lifted its head and was looking with concentration past Sam and into the forest beyond, its crest feathers lifting in anticipation. Then, the slight, distant sound of branches and undergrowth crashing behind him, growing louder.
Sam turned.
Something was heading towards him with speed. He did not want to hope, but, he sensed his smile forming and his eyes glistening against despair. And then, Babu, sleek, incredibly fast, and very alive, burst out from the forest and skidded to a stop right in front of Sam.
“Babu!” Sam cried. “You are safe.” And without thinking, he bent down and grabbed Babu around the midriff and picked him up to hug him.
For a while, Sam was lost in the furry scales of Babu, sensing the breath within his body. “I thought you had been killed,” Sam eventually said to Babu in his mind.
“Not this time,” came the response. “But perhaps next time we meet an enemy, you should control your hands!” And Babu leant away from Sam and peered eye to eye at him, blinking a familiar welcome and
humour.
Babu untangled himself from Sam and dropped down to the ground, heading towards the eagle. They touched noses and rubbed their faces together in old greeting. Babu then turned and told Sam that they needed to walk upstream where a bridge stood, so they could cross over the mighty river and at long last, meet up with Ma-aka and his people. “I am sure that someone will be very pleased to see you again,” said Babu, mysteriously. The eagle jumped up into the air then and headed upstream. Babu turned also and walked on, looking back to prompt Sam to follow. The men on the opposite shore had already dispersed into the forests. All except one! Ma-aka, a grin wider than his face, was climbing and crawling up the shore line, matching Sam’s party, no doubt making sure his friend was safe and didn’t decide to disappear on them yet again.
After navigating along the river bank, climbing over rocks and broken branches, they spied a rickety wood and rope bridge slung across the raging torrent. It appeared to have been built before civilisation had arrived and Sam was not sure it had any purpose still standing, let alone being capable of carrying anyone. The eagle flew back over the river and finished up floating down to sit on Ma-aka’s shoulder who now stood at the opposite side of the bridge. “Come on over, Sam,” he cried. “It is quite safe.” That didn’t encourage Sam one bit, but, he climbed the last few rocks and boulders until he stood on the beginning of the bridge, his hands clinging tightly to the rope hand holds, wet with ancient spray and water.