Sanguine

by Carolyn Denman

  Annie stepped closer to where he was, near enough that their kites risked getting tangled, which took his attention away from the direction of the cave entrance.

  You are curious about what’s in there, she signed.

  When he nodded, her shoulders fell. Flying was almost all he could think about these days, and he was sure she knew more that could help him, but she was obviously reluctant to explain.

  Not that curious, he reassured her. I have already been told of the everlasting flames.

  Her eyes widened.

  The others like you have never liked us to go there.

  Like me?

  The visitors with new languages. Sometimes there are two, usually just one. Often many season-cycles pass with none of you here. ‘You used to call yourselves the Shamar,’ he said aloud.

  ‘Shamar?’

  ‘What word do you use now? For the ones who tend this cave?’

  For quite a few seconds, Annie just stared at him. She had the same surprised expression as when he’d polished up those pretty red gems for her to use as diving weights.

  ‘Sentinels,’ she said eventually. ‘My parents always referred to us as Sentinels.’

  ‘All is well, Sentinel Annie. I have no interest in seeing flames. I can do that when I prepare evening meals. Dinner. Supper. Tea. Tucker.’

  She grinned at his effort to impress her with his English vocabulary. Learning new languages was always fun. Sometimes people came from other places and used different signs and words and he loved to learn them. It was like learning a new dance. People who were different fascinated him. Annie was different, and so was Lainie. They prompted questions he had no answer for. Like, why did Annie sometimes cry when she thought no one was looking? Only children made those crying noises, but they never dripped silvery tears like she did, and their ‘cries’ only lasted until someone gave them extra attention or some Living Fruit to eat, and Annie refused to eat that, which made no sense to him. It must have something to do with where she’d lived before.

  One day just a couple of decades ago, she’d visited the village, and had been crying then too. She’d spent a few months disappearing and reappearing at odd times and now he realised that she must have entered and left the valley through that cave. Perhaps it tunnelled all the way through the cliff. Or perhaps she’d simply stayed in the cave system to have some time alone, the way he sometimes did.

  The last time he’d felt a desire to remain apart had been when he’d had two wants and needed time to think and decide which was stronger. It had been when his love-partner, Jiana, had moved across. He had been happy for her and they’d had a wonderful party when she left but he still missed her so much. They had been together for a very long time. He’d considered moving across too, so he could see her again. At the same time, he didn’t want to. Two wants. Eventually time itself sorted it out, but he thought maybe he could have cried sometimes when he thought about her. She was happy though, so he never felt that way for long. Perhaps Annie had someone she missed? The Fruit wouldn’t be able to help with that.

  A tug brought his attention back from his reflections and he laughed as he realised their kite strings had crossed each other, more than once, so he started to untwist them. Annie just let hers go and sat down. Her face was not right. She was not happy. He dropped the kites and came to sit in front of her.

  ‘Did you have a lover before you came here?’ he asked, watching her reaction.

  Startled, she began to pull away as if she was going to leave. Perhaps he didn’t get the language quite right. Sometimes she said things in a roundabout way and he never understood why. Maybe he should have asked her differently. He gave her hand a light squeeze to let her know he’d like her to stay, watching her to see what she wanted most. If she still chose to leave then that would be fine, but after a moment she relaxed.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, looking down as if she was talking to the grass. ‘His name was Lucas. He moved across.’

  Dallmin was delighted. He knew it must have been something like that. Now perhaps he could help her because he knew what it was like when someone close to you chose to leave. She just had to remember how happy the person was about the crossing.

  ‘Did he enjoy his party?’ he asked, trying to shift the focus of her thoughts. A tiny blue beetle waddled across the grass, so he picked it up and placed it on her fingertip. He knew she loved blue things.

  She took a deep breath, watching the beetle with eyes that were not joyful. ‘He didn’t have a party. He didn’t choose to go.’

  It took a moment for him to check that he’d interpreted her words correctly. He had never heard of such a thing. Why hadn’t someone given him some Fruit? Even if you stopped for a long time, someone could always give you Fruit if you wished it. A person’s body didn’t decay the way animal bodies did when they stopped. No wonder she had two wants. He gathered her into his arms as the beetle flew away and her tears began to flow, not knowing what to say. In order to comfort her, he first needed to comprehend what had happened.

  ‘Why did he not eat the Fruit if he didn’t choose to move across?’

  Her tears glistened in the sunshine. She was so beautiful.

  ‘There is no Fruit where we were. No one there is Living,’ she whispered.

  No Fruit? How was that possible? The Trees always provided Fruit. A different type every month. There was always plenty. In all his years he had never heard of any place where there was no Fruit. It was unthinkable.

  ‘We will take some to them,’ he said, rising to look around for a Tree, but her hand clamped around his.

  ‘No, Dallmin, they are not permitted to eat it.’

  ‘Permitted? I don’t know that word.’

  She made a little grunt, like she had just realised she was losing a game, and it took her a few moments to choose how to explain. ‘The Creator doesn’t want them to eat the Fruit. It will damage the Trees if they do.’

  What was this place she spoke of? How could the Creator not want people to eat the Living Fruit? He made it for people to eat. It made no sense.

  As if her restless fingers needed something to do, she began to untangle the kite strings. ‘The people there are different. They chose to change, a long time ago. Now they are without Life because they became … stained. If they ate the Fruit, it would become tainted too as it tried to heal them. And it wouldn’t work anyway. The Fruit can only help you to forget what it can’t fix. And forgetting is not healing. I get that now.’

  ‘Can’t they change back? Why doesn’t the Creator remove the stain?’

  ‘He does. But it is hard to un-know something once you know it. It’s a bit complicated.’

  It was a lot to think about. They sat silently for a while, watching flocks of long-beaked birds fly overhead. How could people who had worked out how to fly sound so … lost? He felt a strong desire to understand.

  ‘I would like to know more about these people, Annie. Are there things you can tell me that won’t make you … not … happy?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she shrugged. ‘If Nayn is right, then perhaps it will be good for me to remember.’

  They talked long into the night. The more she spoke, the more relaxed Annie became. Dallmin was intrigued by her descriptions of things that people had built. Computers and cars and television and food that came in little boxes and machines that made clothes and cleaned clothes and cleaned dishes. So many new things. What was it about that place that prompted such industrious activity? What did they need all those things for?

  Dallmin asked her about the music there, and the stories. How many stories did Annie know that she had avoided sharing because of her reluctance to speak about her past? How many new games?

  Apparently one of the games she used to play there involved something called shopping. The idea seemed to be based around enhancing her appearance by wearing different garments. T
hat made no sense to him whatsoever. How could a garment, which covered the body, possibly make the body look better? Any clothes Dallmin made were appreciated because they were beautiful in themselves, and always useful. He did sometimes tie pretty rocks and feathers to his clothes and hair so he wouldn’t lose them. Annie explained that some of his ‘jewellery’ would be highly prized in the other place, and he struggled to understand what she meant by that. He would be happy to give away any of the little things he’d accumulated in his travels. That was one of the best parts of travelling, after all. He offered her his deep blue shiny rock that had swallowed the tiny stars—the one he kept on a string around his neck—but she refused to take it, so he tossed it away because he couldn’t be bothered retying the string.

  When Annie described some of the lengths that people went to in order to look good, he was convinced that she was exaggerating. He couldn’t imagine what the point would be. Then he insisted that she help him shave off his beard so he could see what the men there looked like. They used the metal blade he carried for kite-making to shave it off. Fruit juice helped stop the bleeding. When he saw his reflection in a pond he laughed and said that people would mistake him for a child and give him even more affection. She rolled her eyes at him.

  Long after moon-set, when a playful cloud of silver bats flitted back towards the cliff face, she told him that she was too tired to answer any more of his questions. Dallmin pulled her back against his chest, and marvelled at how relaxed she seemed. It felt good to have her so close.

  ‘I think I would like to see for myself, this place you came from,’ he said as he stroked the back of her hand with the tip of a velvety leaf.

  She stiffened. ‘Why? It’s not a happy place. I don’t think you would like it.’

  ‘If you don’t want me to go, just tell me.’

  She closed her eyes, and didn’t reply straight away. ‘I feel no compulsion here,’ she said after a moment. ‘Which is strange because usually, trying to transfer any living matter across the threshold in either direction would have me tied up in knots. I guess it’s not often that anything Living has a desire to leave. You are a person, with your own motivations. There are no rules on this side of the Boundary so you can do as you please. I have not been given the authority to mess with your choices.’

  Dallmin sat up and gripped her hand to pull her up with him, but she pulled away.

  ‘I’m not going,’ she stated.

  The brief excitement he’d had at the thought of travelling there with her dissolved in an instant as his will aligned with hers. If she didn’t want to travel, then he didn’t want her to either. He sat back against the rock again. ‘I understand. You are happier here. You should not come.’

  With a contented smile she leant back into his embrace again, but then craned her neck to look at him. ‘Should?’ she asked.

  ‘Is that not the correct word? I have heard you use that word before.’

  She blinked. ‘Yeah. I suppose I have.’

  In a few minutes, she was asleep, and Dallmin stayed awake to savour the feel of her in his arms, and to think about everything she’d described to him.

  Chapter 8

  Red month rolled into Orange, and the leaves on many of the trees in the Garden were turning a burnished gold colour. For the past few days—or had it been a whole week?—I’d been exploring the other side of the river with Nayn. He’d told me many stories from when he’d lived in Nalong. It had been at least three hundred years ago, as far as I could tell. He had been eating enough of the Living Fruit to stop ageing, so his mind was as bright as a child’s, and yet how could he remember so much of his life in Nalong when I struggled to remember the faces of the people I loved? When I’d asked him about it he said that the Fruit must not have needed to clean out as many of his memories as it did mine.

  I could have spent much longer travelling with him, learning from him, exploring his world, but one day we’d both woken up feeling restless, and headed back to the village by unspoken agreement. A few more days had passed since then, and I still felt too uncomfortable to leave again, and yet too fidgety to stay.

  An especially ripe-looking piece of Fruit dangled before my eyes, making my mouth water and my heart dance. Its skin felt so silky. Orange was supposed to be a restful variety, according to Beltana, good for tired bodies. Perhaps it would help to settle the unease that had been growing in me. If not, then at least it would stop Beltana from constantly asking me why I didn’t try it for myself. Pulling my hand away, I turned instead to pick a giant yellow flower whose fragrance was delightful—like wattle and fairy floss with a hint of cheesecake. I tried to give it to Beltana but she was giggling too hard to even notice.

  What’s so funny? I asked her.

  You called it red month. You have names for each moon-cycle?

  I hadn’t even realised I’d been signing my random thoughts. Well, the Fruit changes colour in time with each turn of the moon, I explained.

  Lots of things change in time with the moon.

  Good point.

  There’s a bee that visits a patch of bell flowers at the same time of afternoon each day, she signed. Do you call that time bee-bell?

  I will now.

  She laughed even harder. Apparently naming the months after the Fruit colours was as ridiculous as naming the minutes of the day. She told me I was obsessed with keeping track of time. To me it felt like the opposite. The passing of time was hazy and I suddenly realised that it had been a while since Dallmin’s last death plunge, so I gave up on Beltana and went to ask my mother about him.

  A while later I found her in the smaller warming shelter, weaving some blue cloth.

  How did the kite flying go? I signed before hugging her. She kissed me on the cheek and then started to pack up the loom.

  Oh! So much fun. We made one that looked just like an eagle, and another like a fish. A flying fish. It made everyone laugh.

  Good. Does that mean he has finally lost interest in the gliders? I don’t think I could stand the sight of one of his crashes again. The people here might think it funny, but I haven’t been here long enough for that.

  She shook her head. No. He still looks to fly. He has gone across the Skin of the World to find out how they build them on the other side.

  It took a couple of seconds for that to sink in.

  ‘What?’ I shrieked, scaring a couple of rainbow skinks away.

  She looked at me sideways, fingering the cloth she had woven. ‘He wanted to go,’ she defended, with a slight waver in her voice.

  No. That couldn’t be right. All that stress whenever anyone came anywhere close to breaching the sanctity of the cave in Nalong and yet here she was, barely flinching at the idea of letting someone through? This couldn’t be good. I had felt no warnings that anyone was even close to the cave, let alone crossed over, but I’d been travelling on the other side of the river, so maybe I’d been too far away for my ‘intruder alert radar’ to work properly. Was Dallmin the reason that Nayn and I had felt so restless? Drawn back to the valley? A bit of a vague instinct to go on.

  Or did it simply mean there was no real threat?

  I rubbed my temples. ‘Come on, Annie. We need to find Nayn.’

  Dragging her behind me, I practically ran to where I’d seen him last. He was lying by the river, watching some fish and scratching Bungee’s ears with his toes at the same time. Both the Sentinel and the dog looked up as we approached.

  This fish is ready to die, he signed. He didn’t look sad at all, just respectful. He reached in and snatched the fish from the water. It only took a minute for it to stop trying to breathe. It had been ready. Animal deaths were not unhappy, yet they were serious, so I didn’t talk until I was sure it was dead.

  Nayn, what happens if people cross from Eden back to Nalong? Humans, I mean, not us.

  He stood up, revealing a chest covered in gra
ss stains. He’d obviously been lying there for quite a while, to be certain of the fish’s intentions.

  There is no right or not-right here. People can do as they wish, he told us. It is not … rotten … to follow the song in that direction.

  My mother looked relieved, and a little bit smug.

  But once people cross over, they learn things that it would be better not to know, he continued. With that comprehension comes a responsibility. If they choose badly, even in their thoughts, then they cannot return.

  Annie’s face paled. But I want him to return. He can’t stay with the dead ones. What if he dies too?

  Honestly, what had she expected? That he would wander around in town like a tourist and then just mosey on back when he got bored? Yes. That was exactly what she’d expected. She believed everything would be fine. Always. In Eden it was, but that sanguine attitude wasn’t going to cut it on the other side of the Boundary.

  How long ago did he leave? I asked her.

  There was no real need to mark time here, so it could be difficult to remember. She bit her lower lip, thinking. The moon was almost full again. It was cold that night and I remembered to give him some clothes. She sounded quite proud of herself.

  She had a point. I’d pretty much forgotten about them too. I looked at Nayn. If we can find Dallmin quickly, will we be able to bring him back?

  Nayn shrugged. It depends on what he experiences. He has no sense of right and dead. That unawareness is what makes the people here alive. As soon as he understands, he will not be able to return, even if he does nothing dead.

  Blinking in confusion, it took me a moment to interpret what he meant. There was no sign for ‘wrong’ or ‘innocent’, so instead he had used ‘dead’ and ‘alive’. And what he was trying to tell me pulled me up short. I had hoped I would only have to keep Dallmin out of trouble, but what Nayn was warning me about was far more profound.

  Annie tugged on my hand. ‘What if he doesn’t choose to come back?’