by Peter Newman
‘She’s awake again, Vesp. Vesp? Vesper!’
‘Wha?’ says a voice thick from sleep.
‘I said, she’s awake again.’
‘Already? She can’t be.’
Squealing escalates to crying and the man’s eyebrows shoot up.
‘She can,’ says Jem, raising his voice in order to be heard. ‘What are we going to do?’
Moving forward, the man knocks on the door and goes in.
Vesper sits in bed, yawning, her face half hidden behind a tangle of hair, while Jem stands alongside, just as ragged. Both regard the man with bloodshot eyes.
Gamma’s sword is propped up in the corner of the room, wings folded tight around an eye, closed, resolutely sleeping. But the man’s attention is only for the baby in Jem’s arms, tiny and wrinkled, wriggling, shrieking.
The man stares, smiling.
‘They said I wasn’t due for another week,’ says Vesper, ‘but someone obviously wasn’t listening.’
‘Here,’ says Jem, handing the baby over to the man and virtually running for the door. ‘You’re a grandfather now.’
The Grandfather blinks in surprise and holds the baby up for a closer inspection.
‘I’ll give you two a chance to get to know each other, and you and Vesper time to catch up.’
‘Can you bring me back a drink?’ asks Vesper.
‘What do you want?’
‘Anything strong,’ she replies and Jem leaves with a laugh.
Up close, the Grandfather can see red lines that swirl on the baby’s skin, across cheeks and down to her neck, chest and arms, from crown to fingertips.
He frowns.
‘It’s the taint,’ says Vesper. ‘Very minor, not even enough to bother the sword. I think the marks are pretty though, in a way.’
She is looking at him, hopeful, and he nods, giving the baby a hug.
The affection does nothing to alleviate the baby’s distress.
‘She’s already got so big. Did I grow this fast? Did I cry like this?’ The Grandfather shakes his head. ‘It must be the taint then.’
The baby wriggles in his arms, her face screwed tight, her voice piercing.
‘Sorry, she cries a lot. Like all the time. I’m glad you’re back actually, I don’t know what I’m doing and we’re all so tired. Uncle Harm’s been brilliant but he keeps saying you’re the expert.’
The Grandfather raises an eyebrow.
‘Please make her better. I can’t stand it when she’s like this which is pretty much whenever she’s awake, which would be fine if she slept more than two hours a day. I can’t even think over the noise. It goes right in. Into my skull.’
There is an examination, carried out against a background of noise, that ends in a sniff and the Grandfather’s nose wrinkling. He lays the baby down on the floor and realizes the small cloth is still in his hand.
Understanding dawns. Perhaps it is just imagination, but the sound of Harm laughing seems just audible beneath the baby’s protests.
He takes off his coat, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work. Soiled clothes are removed, prompting the baby to wiggle arms and legs, like a sprinter, dreaming of the finish.
The baby is cleaned, then cleaned again as it manages to plant a heel in the dirty nappy. After removing it to a safer distance the Grandfather examines the smears on his arms and sets about cleaning himself.
‘She doesn’t eat that much,’ says Vesper. ‘So where does it all come from?’
The Grandfather shrugs and picks up the baby, who, free of discomfort, is calling for attention. A foot is tickled, and the baby’s delight is high pitched, filling the house.
Vesper presses her back against the wall, raising a hand as if it will somehow protect her. ‘Why is she so loud?’
The Grandfather shrugs again, the shrieks pausing as soon as his fingers do.
‘That’s better,’ Vesper murmurs, her eyes already closing.
The baby waves a foot.
The Grandfather looks at the baby.
The baby grumbles, waving her foot again.
The Grandfather’s fingers descend, and laughter returns, twice as loud as before.
Vesper groans but cannot help but smile at the sight. ‘I’m glad you’re home. To be honest, I’ve been a bit overwhelmed. We haven’t even named her yet. I think Jem wanted to name the baby after his mother but hasn’t mentioned it since she was born. Maybe he’s changed his mind!’ Her laugh is slightly hysterical.
Unnoticed by them both in a corner, the sword hums, and the Grandfather rocks the baby, gentle, lulling, a word on his lips, slipping out.
Vesper sits up. ‘What did you say?’
The baby is not lulled. Her legs make little kicking movements, demanding further attention.
Before he can acquiesce, Vesper says, ‘Wait! You said something. It sounded like a name. What was it?’
Amber eyes lift to meet Vesper’s, misty, as the sword hums again. His lips move, shaping a word so soft she has to strain to hear it: ‘Reela.’
It is the name of Vesper’s birth mother, of a ghost, a figure of story and memory.
‘Yes,’ says Vesper. ‘That’s it. We’re going to call her Reela.’
A tear starts to travel down the Grandfather’s face and Vesper wells up, but Reela cares little for the moment. She starts to scream.
No further hints are needed and little feet are tickled, mercilessly, while Vesper picks up a mutigel pillow and buries her head in it.
After a few minutes, the Grandfather limps out of the room, taking Reela with him, leaving Vesper to tumble into sleep.
*
It is dark, the kind that comes with the true depths of night, but he and Harm are awake.
‘Reela’s crying again,’ says Harm.
The Grandfather prods Harm and rolls over.
‘Oh no, it’s not my turn. I’ve had lots of turns while you were away. It’s your turn for the rest of the week.’
When no response comes, Harm draws up his legs and puts his feet against the Grandfather’s back, pushing him slowly out of the bed. ‘Your turn.’
Ejected, the Grandfather pulls some clothing on and stumbles into action.
He finds Reela being walked up and down the landing by Jem, who mumbles things while bouncing her up and down. When the Grandfather arrives, Jem hands the baby over without a word and goes back to bed.
And so it goes, four lives drawn into orbit around one, feeding, changing, entertaining and, for the most part, managing. The lack of sleep and routine do strange things to time, making it go both fast and slow, one day seeming to stretch forever, one week going by in a single blink.
One morning, Harm takes Reela from the Grandfather. ‘My turn. I think Vesper wants to talk to you. She’s out on the hill.’
Taking Harm’s advice, he goes outside, finding Vesper looking out towards the Shining City. She is dressed formally, in white and silver, the sword on her back, and a bag at her side.
He walks over until he is standing with her. From this distance little of the Shining City is visible and yet it is unmistakably there, a presence looming just out of sight.
‘I’m going soon,’ she says. ‘Jem isn’t happy about it. He thinks I’m running away. He says,’ and her throat gets tight, ‘that I can’t handle Reela.
‘That’s true in a way. I can’t. I mean I can but it’s so hard.’ She turns to look at him. ‘You’re always so patient with her. How do you do it? How do you bear the noise?’
He regards her, sad, and spreads his hands.
‘But I’m not going because I don’t like Reela. I’m going because I love her.’ She waves in the direction of the Shining City. ‘Things have to change out there if Reela is going to have a chance at a good life. And the one thing I’ve learned is that making change takes time.
‘And I want to make big changes, not just here but in the south too. Because if I can’t make things better, it’ll be Reela who suffers. So I have to try. You know, it can be a burd
en having the sword and knowing what people really think. Uncle Harm is worried for me. He’s not said anything but he’s convinced I won’t succeed. He gets why I’m doing it though. I need you to get it too. Do you?’
Without hesitation he puts a hand on her shoulder, making the sword stir in it sheath, and nods.
She lets out a big sigh. ‘Good. Maybe between the two of you, you can bring Jem round.’
The Grandfather’s face stays carefully neutral.
‘When I say I’m going, I don’t mean just back to the Shining City. I’ll start there, and then I’ll be going on. We need to start looking outward, reaching out again. We need to remember our duty to the…’ A little colour blooms on her cheeks. ‘Sorry, I nearly started making another speech. The thing is, the world isn’t waiting for me to come back, so I have to get back to it, before things get worse.
‘There’s something else, and I hate saying this, but until the Empire of the Winged Eye has gotten used to the new way of things, and learned to accept that being tainted isn’t the same as being evil, I think it would be best if you kept Reela here where she won’t be seen. Just in case.’
The Grandfather nods.
She takes his hand from her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. ‘When I get back, I’ll make it right. I promise.’
*
Vesper has gone away but life continues.
It is a warm day, the sky thick with clouds hanging in the sky, static, with no breeze to trouble them.
Reela lays on her back in the grasses, clapping to an unheard beat. By unspoken agreement, the goats give her a wide berth. Nearby, three men sit, taking turns to check in on her.
While Jem and Harm talk, the third man looks out towards the Shining City, thoughtful. Every so often he massages the old wound in his leg, and his attention goes briefly to Reela.
Over the day, one of his customary frowns settles in.
In the afternoon, it is still there, returning whenever the Grandfather is not distracted.
It is with him as he goes to sleep, and catches him up not long after waking.
Harm’s attempts to probe his mood are deflected, while Jem keeps out of his way.
The following day, he gets up even earlier than usual and, after checking nobody is outside the house save for the goats, he beings to exercize, a stray stick substituting itself for a sword.
Not long after, he begins to sweat, then breath comes hard and painful. He stops his practice, one hand pressing against his side.
For the rest of the day, his mood is dark, his temper sharp. Harm follows Jem’s lead, and takes Reela with him to the opposite corner of the house.
That night, the Grandfather’s frown lifts, the threat of a storm going with it, his sour expression replaced by one of determination.
*
‘What is this?’ asks Val, as the door to her surgery opens. ‘I wasn’t expecting …’ she trails off as she sees who has come to visit. A man dressed in crisp whites, in the favoured style of the Empire of the Winged Eye. ‘If it wasn’t for the limp and the hair I wouldn’t have recognized you, Champion.’
She watches, critical and detached, as he moves to the centre of the room. ‘Am I given to understand you wish me to help you after all?’
The Grandfather points to his side. She is not surprised it is the one with the faulty lung. He points to his leg, then to several other parts of his body, all marked by scars. Two hands are raised together, index fingers touching. He moves them round and down, tracing the shape of a globe in the air.
‘You want me to do all of it?’
The Grandfather nods.
‘Excellent, I do enjoy a challenge. Step this way,’ says Val, gesturing to a slab as it slides out of the wall. ‘You can leave your clothes on the floor and my assistant will deal with them presently.’ She turns away from him, subvocalizing. ‘There! I’ve cleared my schedule so I can devote myself entirely to you. Well don’t just stand there! Strip off, lie down. By the time you’re comfortable the laser cutter will be warmed up.’
She gives him another appraisal as he pulls off a boot. ‘Moira?’ she says, speaking to an assistant who is not in the room via her chip. ‘We have a new situation. Prep for surgery. Two rounds of invasive, partial organ and muscle reconstruction, and full skin remastering. And I’ll need additional stims.’ She pauses, listening to the response, then laughs. ‘No, not for him, for us. It’s going to be a long few days.’ She turns her attention back to her new patient. ‘We’ll start with the hair I think, and work down from there. By the time I’m done, Champion, you’ll be a new man.’
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