Old Green World
Page 4
“What is he saying?” Thomas asked.
“I don’t . . . it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand what he’s saying. He says he’s hungry, and please don’t kill him.”
“All right, that’s fair,” Thomas said, and then to the Baixan, slowly and loudly, in the White Island language, “We are not going to kill you.”
Albert sighed. “Let’s just take him with us to the coast.”
They put the Baixan in front of them, at swordpoint. Albert let Thomas handle the prisoner management. It seemed to give Thomas a sense of pride, and it allowed Albert to talk more with the prisoner.
“Please say more things to me about your past,” Albert said. “I don’t understand the words you are saying. Please say it to me in the most simple way.”
The Baixan sighed, exasperated. “You! White Island! Hurt us! And put us here! And then my friends fly in the sky! And then . . . (crashing noise) . . . Incredible! Why? Why do you do?”
Albert had no idea what to say. “I don’t understand.”
They walked further southeast from town. The landscape changed as they drew toward the coast. They came across a cluster of smoldering houses, with broken-in doors and windows, trampled gardens, and toppled cisterns. The occupants of the houses stood outside, brooding over three dead Baixans.
“They lit the roofs and then broke in and attacked us. My brother has a terrible wound in his stomach, the bastards. But we took care of them. If the idiots had waited an hour, we would have all been in bed. How about you, you bastard?” the homeowner said, pointing to Thomas and Albert’s prisoner. “Let us kill him.”
“He surrendered,” Albert said. He stood as tall as he could in the face of a mob of his elders. “I’m taking him to the Adept.”
“He’ll get White Island justice,” Thomas said. Albert recognized the voice Thomas always took on when talking to townspeople: clear as a bell, emphatic without being overbearing. “That’s how we show them that we are better than they are.” The crowd accepted Thomas’s statement with a clear lack of enthusiasm. Albert and Thomas walked on with their prisoner.
They reached the spot where the Baixans had landed. Albert recognized several militia members. Ten enemy soldiers lay face-first on the shore, their hands bound behind their backs. Samuel Bohm, furniture builder and senior member of the militia, watched over the proceedings, giving a few orders. The whole business seemed to be winding down. The militia were practicing military formality but were visibly excited that they had come out victorious. Albert wasn’t sure whether they should approach Samuel directly, but Thomas clearly had no qualms. He strode up to him, and Albert prodded the prisoner so that they could follow.
“I told you,” Samuel said to Albert.
Albert shrugged. “Yes, sir, you did.”
Samuel gestured to a spot on the shore where the other Baixans were tied, and Albert took the prisoner there. His friend Aengus was watching the prisoners. Aengus had been a few years ahead of Albert in school, but hadn’t challenged Albert all the time like the other older students had. He would sit next to Albert in class sometimes and tell older-boy stories, raucous stories, his arm around Albert’s. Albert had always worried that Aengus would get him in trouble. “Hallo, Aengus, here’s a prisoner.”
“All right, Al? Aye, we can put him here. I have some rope.”
“Can they breathe all right? They’re stuck in the sand.”
“They can turn their heads back and forth. I don’t think we need to coddle them. They did try to invade us, after all.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Albert said. “This one seems pretty confused.”
“Of course he does, he’s a Baixan,” Aengus said. “They don’t have Adepts or towns or civilization or anything. They’re practically animals.” Aengus paused for a second, then said, “No offense intended, Albert.”
“What?” Albert said. “Oh. No offense taken.”
Albert and Thomas took their leave of the militia members. Albert noticed that Thomas bowed to Samuel, as if this were a ceremony.
As they meandered back toward the Castle, Thomas leaned against Albert from time to time. When they got to the square, there was no sign of Sister Alice, nor of the Baixans she had dropped. “What do you think she did with the bodies?” Albert asked.
“I really don’t want to know,” Thomas replied.
“You should go check in on your mother. She’s probably worried.”
Thomas paused for a minute. “Will you come in?”
“My parents will be worried, too. I don’t know if they know about the attack, and I’m out so late.”
“I wanted to stay over with you tonight.”
Albert smiled. “I wanted that, too. Come over tomorrow, and we can spend some time on the farm.”
Thomas went inside, and Albert walked on. The full moon shone on the town now, lighting his path. Albert strolled toward the farm with his dreams as company. After the war, he would be a hero, worthy of living with Thomas. Cynthia would surely understand. They could all live together. Thomas would rule Eden-town, and Albert would keep him safe. Thomas and Cynthia would have children, and he would teach them how to shoot a bow and ride a horse. They’d all sit at the table where he’d had lunch for years, happy and fed and content. Every night, Thomas would come into their room in his nightshirt, climb into their bed, and put out the candle as they held each other. It would be perfect.
The west side of town had some candles and fires lit, some rustling and murmuring. A woman called out for her husband from a window, “You have to eat.”
“I have to finish,” the husband called back from the garden. “I’m late because of the Baixans.”
“We never even saw a Baixan,” she said, backing away from the window.
The darkness grew thicker and cooler as he walked outside the town walls. Two militia members stood at the gate now. Instead of their usual wave, they gave Albert a formal salute.
The little light that remained at the gates disappeared when he was beyond them. The breeze was cool, and he walked briskly to stay warm. He looked into the trees that surrounded him on the path. He thought about going back to get the stag but decided it would take too long. He regretted killing it. It would be a waste.
Ahead of him on the path, about halfway to the farm, he saw a shape just at the edge of the trees. It moved enough that he knew it was alive, but it was calm and still. As he drew closer, he realized it was a lynx. A good-sized lynx: it stood about five feet tall, eight feet long. Albert should have been on his guard, should have drawn his bow, but he didn’t. He just walked toward it, listening to his breath, and to the breath of the lynx.
The lynx stretched as Albert approached, extending its front arms and pulling its haunches back and into the air. It yawned. It still had a full winter coat, gray with black patches at his throat and ears and back, the gray shining in the moonlight. As he drew closer, Albert could see the imperfections in the coat, the scars. The right eye might have been blinded.
Albert reached out to touch the lynx, not knowing why. Naturally, it slashed at Albert’s hand, cutting into it deeply. Albert reared back at the hot stinging.
“I’m not your pet,” the lynx said.
Albert looked down to his hand in the moonlight, expecting the bath of blood that was to come. He didn’t see anything, though. When he gingerly touched the back of his hand, it was whole and dry. The lynx wasn’t there.
He emerged from the woods into the farmland. The Plancks’ farm was still and asleep as he passed it.
As he approached his home, he noticed a lack of firelight from the house. Everything was as dark and quiet as the surrounding night. That was wrong; they wouldn’t have just gone to bed. He started running to the gate at the entrance to the farm.
It sat open, with two bodies at the threshold. They were dead Baixans, each with several arrows in them. Another body lay halfway between them and the house. Albert walked to it, hurried but absent, as if he weren’t directing himself.
Albert couldn’t move. He stood there and stared. Still and the sound of breath, part of him inside said, and another part howled, howled and tore at his head and face from the inside. He was like that for moments, hours, trying to feel his lungs beneath the screaming, to hear his breath, to center on the world around him. He finally realized he had to find Mama Lini and Papa Arto.
Albert walked through the front door, which stood open. There had been a fight just inside the house; the furniture was turned over and thrown. The fire had burned down to just embers. Lini lay beside it, absolutely still. A large pool of blood spread beneath her. Arto lay just beyond. Splayed beside him was a final Baixan, with an arrow in his side.
Albert checked them for breath. Lini had none. Arto breathed, shallowly. His head was wet. Albert made sure that the Baixan was dead. He thought he saw marks around the Baixan’s neck, though it was hard to tell in the dark. “You killed him, didn’t you, Papa?” Albert said to no one. “You tried to keep everyone safe.”
He lit a candle. With the light, he could see blood coming from his father’s ears. He found cloth for bandages, and cleaned and bound the wounds on Arto’s body. He didn’t know what to do about the ears, so he gingerly put some cloth around Arto’s head.
He cradled his father’s head and took him to his room. He dragged the Baixan out of their house, and threw him on top of the other ones. Then he brought Mura in to the house, and put her in her bed, and then took Lini, and put her beside Mura. Then he straightened the furniture.
He went back to his father and sat beside him. He sat there for a long time, staring at the changes the candle made against the wall as it flickered. He didn’t know what to do. He realized at some point that he was just saying, “Papa, wake up, Papa, I can’t hear you any more,” over and over. That prompted him to get up.
He walked to the Plancks’. He saw the faint glow of a fire and smoke from their chimney. No Baixans bothered to attack them, Albert thought. He went to the door and knocked, still disconnected from what he was doing, still alien to everything around him. He knocked gently, knowing he would be waking them up. And then he was telling a sleepy Mal Planck that he needed help and that his mothers were dead.
+ + +
By sunrise, one of the Planck boys had gotten to the Castle and back, bringing along a cart with the Newtons and Sister Alice. They hurried out and found Albert in Arto’s room, holding his hand. “He doesn’t move or make sounds or anything,” Albert said.
Lady Newton took Albert and gently led him from the bedside. “We’re here to help. Sister Alice is going to examine your father. Is it all right if we have a few minutes alone with him?” She handed him off to Thomas, who took him back to the main room. Sister Alice closed the bedroom door behind them.
Thomas took Albert in his arms. “I should have been here.”
“It was all over when I got here. They were lying here, right there.” Albert pointed across the room, and his face contorted with the enormity of it.
They sat on a bench by the fire. Albert buried his head in Thomas’s shoulders. He felt the warmth and darkness there, and he wanted that to be everything. He wanted to escape there and stay there. Thomas kissed the top of his head and murmured, Shh, shh.
They settled like that for a while. Albert started to feel closer to himself again. The ringing and cold started to fade from his nerves. Then Lady Newton and Sister Alice came from his father’s room. Lady Newton said, “What are you boys playing at here?”
Albert sat up and Thomas stood. “I was comforting him, Mother. For mercy’s sake,” he said.
“We’re all here to offer comfort, and we can do it without indignity,” Sister Alice said. “It doesn’t help Albert or anyone else to cow over him like that.”
Sister Alice looked at Lady Newton and said, “Marie,” as if it ended a conversation, and then went back into the room.
Lady Newton took a minute to collect herself. She bit at her stylus absently, then worried it with her hands. Then, she put it on the supper table and turned to Albert again, as if she’d just noticed he was here. “Albert, may I speak alone with you for a moment? Thomas.” She pointed Thomas to the door with her eyes.
Thomas stormed out of the room, and Lady Newton pretended not to notice. “Let’s sit down for a second,” she said. Albert thought to himself, Just tell me, I don’t need to sit down, but in the end he realized he did.
Lady Newton sat more tightly and narrowly than she usually did. “Sister Alice has looked into your father’s mind. His mind is gone, Albert. The best thing we can do is put his body to rest as well. Sister Alice is doing this now.”
“But . . . no, I mean, he’s breathing, we just need to give him a little time.” Albert stood up abruptly and began to walk toward his father’s room. “We just need to give him a little time!”
Lady Newton stood up after him, grabbing his shoulder. “Albert! Stop. I know it’s confusing, but I need you to accept it. The mind makes a life. It would be cruel to let your father die without some kindness and guidance. That’s all Sister Alice is doing.”
Albert stared at her, wanting desperately to be angry, but realized the truth of it. He deflated.
“You have to accept this, Albert.” She looked toward his father’s room. And . . . and you have to be strong about this yourself.” She stopped there: awkward, unfinished thoughts hanging over the room.
Then, Lady Newton put her head in her hands. The movement was typically controlled and elegant, but also unlike anything Albert could imagine. In this position, she exhaled several times. When she brought her face back from her hands, it was sad and gray.
“Thomas was ten years old when he first told me that he loved you. I should have stopped it then. I should have sent you home and asked you not to visit us anymore. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear the thought of the house without you. By then I loved you, too.
“All this has happened to me: my mother, my father, my husband,” she said. She pulled at her fingers, as if she were keeping count. “I wish it weren’t happening to you. You’re going to want to be gone, too, like your parents are now. You’re going to want to walk into the woods so far that you lose yourself, and then just sit and let everything stop. You can’t do that, do you understand? You have to keep going.”
She paused. She glanced at the stylus on the table. “You and Thomas, whatever’s happened already between you has to stop. If Thomas and I were the Plancks, and we lived next door, nothing would make me happier than to have you two together for the rest of your lives.
“But we’re not. Our family is a part of the Administration, and we have a responsibility. We are responsible to the White Island and to the re-creation of human civilization. We have to build. Thomas and Cynthia will unite the north of the White Island by their marriage. This is the next step in the path. It will help all of us live in peace. I am willing to sacrifice so much for that. Do you understand?”
Albert stood and stared down at her, speechless.
Lady Newton met his gaze and spoke. “If you . . . If you need to hate me for this, it’s all right. Do you understand me? It’s all right, if that’s what it takes to keep you going.”
She stood. She reached up and took his face in her hands. “Just don’t stop. I’m begging you. You have to promise.”
He felt very far away: between him and the world were layers and layers of shadow and helplessness. From his faraway place, he could hear himself promising Lady Newton, promising her he would keep going.
Sister Alice came from his father’s room. She gently closed the door behind her. “Marie,” she said in a whisper.
“A moment please, Sister Alice,” Lady Newton said. Even in that moment, Albert could hear her coming back, could hear the unbearable sadness and tumult begin to recover itself in rationality and propriety, could hear her returning the world to its order and i
ts common sense. She stood taller, and put herself back in order with some sort of magic gesture. She put her arm around him in a way that made him think, for the barest of a second, that things were going to be all right.
“You should say good-bye to your father. And to your mothers, too, if you haven’t yet.” She picked up her stylus from the table and placed it in a pocket. “We will all wait outside while you do that. Take as long as you need.”
+ + +
Albert walked outside. The sun felt too bright, and he squinted against it. They were all gathered in a circle: the Newtons, Sister Alice, some friends from the militia. Lady Newton put her hand on his shoulder. She was herself again, kind and orderly. He could see it now: the cordial steel layer between what she felt and what she showed.
“This is a tragedy,” Lady Newton said. “We will miss your family terribly.” Albert stared as everyone bowed their heads. Lady Newton started to hum something. Albert had heard strains of it before: it was one of the old songs of the White Island, from before civilization. Before he could make out the melody, though, he saw Sister Alice raise an eyebrow. Lady Newton abruptly stopped humming.
Everyone came up after that, each offering their own condolences. Thomas hugged him, but stiffly. All of his comrades hugged him warmly and whispered kindnesses in his ear. They really mean it, too, he thought.
Lady Newton started heading back for the cart. She signaled for Thomas to join her.
“I’ll stay for a while and help,” Thomas said. “I’ll walk back later.”
Sister Alice looked at him directly in the eye and said, “You’re going with your mother. Now.”
Thomas silently nodded. He waved to Albert and headed behind his mother.
Sister Alice turned to Albert. “Mila and Will and Aengus will stay with you tonight. They can help you start getting things back in order. You can put your family to rest. We would like to come back soon and pay our respects.”