Darkwells

by R. A Humphry

  Peter continued on oblivious. “There’s a man here from England who’ll be watching. He is from a big rugby school, a place called Darkwells. Have you heard of it? No? Well it is huge. They take the game very seriously there. My uncle heard that the headmaster is here looking to hand out scholarships. Do you understand? A scholarship to this place is your ticket into a top university, or even a club. The fees, oh god, they are out of this world. The place is supposed to be like Harrow or Charterhouse or something.

  “Look. The way I see it, it’s you and me and that boy Davis from Kings who have a shot. We might be on to something really special here, but we must look good. We have to win. So, we need a couple of new moves and we only have a few days to get them down. Can you think about what we might try at training this afternoon? I think we need a couple of patterns to be ready to try. I would do it but I’ve got Dr. Okumu and he’s all over me.”

  Manu mumbled something about trying and wandered back to class with a busier mind than ever.

  #

  The words ‘scholarship’, ‘England’ and ‘Darkwells’ dominated his mind for the rest of the day. He was hopeless in class and almost as bad in training after school. He dropped the ball, missed tackles and was so jittery that Peter took him aside and berated him, pointing out how dire the consequences were of any mistakes. The walk from the changing rooms to his dorm had never seemed so long.

  He spent his prep-time staring out of the window lost in thought, the unfinished remnants of an essay strewn across his desk. The sun was setting and he watched a family of warthog trot across the playing fields. A confusing conflict had frozen up his brain. England. Did he really want to leave? Did his parents really want to send him away? Scholarship. The idea called at him. He yearned to distinguish himself. He was always striving to prove that he belonged, that he was a part of his father’s heritage. Now that it came down to it, however… He glanced outside again and thought about everything he loved about his home and his life. Darkwells. What was that place like? What would they think of him there? He was known here. He was a part of Stonehouse. He knew every student, every corridor and windowpane, every tradition and expectation. He was invested in this place, he realised. His house was ahead on points and knew that he was earmarked to lead it one day. He would follow Peter as captain of the under fifteens, then into the first-team. There were trophies here that he could win. Glories he had not tasted. Who knew how far he could get in this place: head boy? Victor Ludorum on the honours board? Valedictorian? He knew he hoped so in the secret places of his heart. But at this Darkwells? Who would he be then?

  He stared out of the window long after the bell went for free-time. He stared un-sleeping at the wooden roof from under his thin blankets. It was a long night and the first time Manu experienced stormy seas in the normally tranquil pool of his mind.

  Chapter Four: Games

  When Manu managed to drift off to sleep, his dreams were dark. A heaviness hung in the air and crowded the sky like an ominous cloud preceding a thunderstorm. He dreamed of his father staggering back to the house with his shirt cut to ribbons, his face dripping with blood and sweat and with an unconscious Robert propped up on his shoulder; the burning wreckage of the crashed plane was spreading fire into the long grass and lighting the valley in hellish hues of red and orange. His father blazed with a golden light.

  He dreamed of his mother walking out to meet the men without a trace of panic or worry on her face, chanting the old words in the mother tongue, her delicate hands upraised. He felt a dark whisper, a muttering murmur on the wind that promised venom and malice in every rustle of the trees, in every sway of the burning grass. The two men staggered over the corpses of birds and past the carcasses of bloated wildebeest and fly-blown cattle.

  They burst into the antechamber and Arap Milgo took hold of Robert, easing him off his father’s shoulders while ululating in a strange language and making intricate signs with his fingers. His parents embraced once inside and his father strode over to the wall where the Arab knife hung. He pulled the knife and ran it across his palm with a muttered word. The blade blazed green and his father turned to his mother. His golden mantle was getting brighter. “They are close. Plant the Godstick. We need only hold out for a couple of hours. Harrington is on his way.”

  “Robert?” His mother asked as she hurried to the locked oak and copper chest that Manu had never seen opened.

  “He should be fine. Just injuries from the crash. Arap Milgo has him.”

  His mother pulled a short, carved, stick from the chest and hurried outside. The stick was shaped and curved in a zigzag pattern with the likeness of a human face on its top, complete with bulging eyes and extended tongue.

  His father called after her as she raced down the steps of the balcony. “Do you see now? Why the boy has to go?”

  His mother nodded then speared the stick into the ground with a cry. There was a pulse of light and Manu woke up with a gasp, his brow covered in sweat. Rain was lashing against the sides of the building and the windows were creaking and knocking as they were buffeted by the wind. In the distance, the clouds grumbled. He pulled the blankets tight and sleep was a long time in returning.

  #

  They came for him at dawn. The Head-boy and the Housemaster knocked on his door as the first fingers of red spread like cracks across the cloud clustered horizon and the dawn chorus shrieked out into the dark of the morning. Manu saw the shadow of their feet under his door before the soft knock and he sat up on the edge of bed, curious and apprehensive.

  He had been awake for a few hours now, his fitful attempts at rest long since abandoned. All the while he had taken to the notion that there was something ever so slightly off with the world. The colours and sounds and even the indescribable feel of his room and the familiar view felt wrong. It was also true of the rustling of the leaves and calling of the birds. It was almost as if he observed everything through a filter or a dirty, smudged lens. He was hearing things, too. It was nothing more than the barest hint of a whisper on the breeze as it stole through the moaning trees, as it sawed his window back and forth in its frame. He knew it was only in his head but, more and more, he became convinced he could feel a malevolent intent in the words that were almost heard, almost understood.

  The knock on the door came as he had been listening to the birds. Did they sound shriller and ill at ease? Even the sun seemed subdued and it felt like it was fighting its way across the hills and through the clouds, stuck on invisible sinking sands in the sky.

  “Wardgrave?” This was Amos, the Head-boy. “Can we come in?”

  “Yes.”

  The shadows opened the door and shuffled in silently, not wanting to wake the others. Amos spoke again. “The Headmaster wants to see you. You are having an interview with this English Headmaster and his Deputy; I am to take you there as soon as you are ready.”

  Manu glanced up at Mr. Williams, who looked old and tired and half asleep, for confirmation. He then got up and dressed himself. Mr. Williams didn’t think he was needed and hobbled back off to bed. As Manu adjusted his tie he asked Amos: “Does anything feel... odd to you?”

  The older boy shrugged. Manu noticed that his uniform was creased and ruffled, which was so unlike Amos. They must have dragged him out of bed even earlier. “It’s no secret they are looking at you and Peter for this match, but why they are talking to you now, I have no idea. They might have waited until after, in case you were crap. They haven’t woken Peter up, which is odd I suppose. Also – this Deputy is only here for a few hours. He isn’t even staying for the game – a game that appears to have been arranged at the last minute, just for him and the Headmaster to watch. That’s odd, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean about the game. I meant... I don’t know. Does the dawn look right to you? Like it always does?”

  “It looks like rain, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No... can you hear that?”

  Amos looked at him with exasperation. “You
should have got some sleep, Manu. We won’t do very well against Greys if you are like this.”

  #

  He had never been inside the Headmaster’s office before. It was where you went if you broke the rules or displeased one of the staff. Manu never did and so had never walked along the bougainvillea lined path of purple and yellow and blue to the second floor room. It had a wide desk and four comfortable looking arm-chairs. The view out of the wide windows was of rolling hills of coffee.

  Waiting for him were two similar looking old men in stuffy suits with watery eyes and a tall man, tall as his father, with sharp features and a deadness, a coldness to his regard that did not speak of friendship.

  Mr. Cooper, the Stonehouse Headmaster, broke off his quiet conversation with his Darkwells counterpart and spoke. “Ah, Manu, thank you for coming so early. I know it’s inconvenient, with your big game later, but our friends from Darkwells were very keen to meet you, especially Mr... I’m sorry; I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Killynghall.”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Killynghall has a pressing engagement and has to leave soon. Come in Manu, sit. Relax. This isn’t an interview. Mr Haig and Mr Killynghall just want to get to know you a little better.”

  Manu sat in one of the armchairs and rested his hands on his knees. There was an awkward silence. The tall one, Killynghall, was watching him. At length he spoke with a voice that was silk and stone, gravel and honey. “We hear that you are quite the rugby prodigy Master Wardgrave. Mr Cooper says you are the golden boy of the school on the pitch, and that he has never seen anyone stronger. Do you have any idea why that might be?”

  Manu struggled to keep the surprise off his face. What a strange question. “I think Mr. Cooper may have been speaking of Peter Andrews, the Captain. He is the golden boy – I am just big for my age.”

  Mr. Cooper laughed. “Oh, he is a modest one. Peter is very good, as I said, but Manu – well, I suppose it must be his Maori roots. He is the first Kiwi we have had at Stonehouse and...”

  “Half,” Killynghall interrupted.

  “Sorry?”

  “He is only half. His father is English, is he not?”

  “Yes, that is right.”

  Killynghall turned to Manu then and bored into him with his unflinching gaze. “What is James up to? Can you feel it? The place reeks of his enemies. They are flooding it with their foulness even now. I can barely stand it. What has Aroha got him into, this time?”

  “I....”

  “Do you use it? When you play? Is that why you are so much better, so much stronger, than the others? Is it a toy for you, something for personal gain? Well, we will see - because you will need it today. Whoever it is that James has stirred up they have cooked up something nasty and it is after you. Without the mantle you won’t stand a chance. I won’t intercede, if Aroha doesn’t see fit to.”

  “Pardon me,” Manu croaked. “I don’t understand.”

  Killynghall was not listening to him, but was shaking his head, locked in an argument with himself. The two old men were frozen still and Manu had the horrible notion that nothing else in the world moved except him and the imposing Deputy Head. “James can’t expect me to come running at the drop of a hat. I won’t take an immature Warden, they won’t allow it. So what is his game? Does he think I’ll get involved? Well he is very much mistaken.”

  “Please Sir, what are you talking about?”

  The Deputy Head’s dark face turned back to him then swept over the frozen room. “Look at this place. This whole school, this whole country – built in grotesque caricature to an unworthy memory. A gaudy ivory tower built in a wasteland. What is it that James thinks is worth saving here? But no, I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you? It seems that you are as innocent as he said.”

  Manu watched as Killynghall drummed his fingers against his knee, trying to come to a decision. Hesitation looked out of place on the sharp, decisive features of his face and Manu sensed deep and violent contests taking place just under the surface.

  Killynghall made up his mind and ran his fingers through his hair. “I am going to ask you a very important question Manu, one which you must answer with care and honesty, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, tell me, do you have any bad boys at this school? Any bullies? Don’t worry, I am not asking you to snitch, but I need to know if you can picture the scene so I can ask you the question.”

  Manu thought about it. He thought about Bruce Greyson, who had been a terror when Manu first arrived. The very sight of him made Manu’s blood boil with rage and anger as he had been powerless to stop the older, bigger, boy tormenting the others, his friends. He knew that Bruce had been so aggressive and disruptive to some of the smarter pupils that he had put them off school and learning forever, despite their good grades and strong work ethic. The waste of it galled Manu. How many doctors and artists and entrepreneurs had Bruce deprived the world of in his small attempts to look big and hard? He was a drinker and a smoker and rumours went around about drugs and other, darker things. Eric had told him that there was a sad story behind all of Bruce’s anger but Manu didn’t care. As far as Manu was concerned each person was the master of their actions. Killynghall was still looking at him and Manu nodded his head. “Bruce.”

  “Good. Alright, so this is the question: Imagine you are out on one of your exotic field trips that your head has so loquaciously been telling us about into a game reserve. This Bruce character is being trouble, as he always is. He is throwing stones at a pride of lions. The teachers tell him to stop it, you tell him to stop it, but he ignores everyone and keeps going. You know how it goes. So the teachers give up and turn away but you see that the lions are now angry and are advancing on Bruce. He doesn’t see them; no-one sees them but you. Then they leap at him. You have a split second to choose. Do you jump in to help him? After all, you are a big brave boy. You might scare them off, give him a chance to run, give the teachers a chance to notice the problem.

  “Or do you keep silent? Will Bruce change if you save him? To act will certainly mean grave danger of being maimed or killed. Do you have the right to inflict such a thing on your parents? On your future wife and kids? Everyone knows you’ll grow up into a fine man one day Manu; Mr. Cooper has spent long hours explaining why. Do you throw all that away for some scum-bag who won’t even thank you for it?”

  The question was hard and Manu sat in thought. After a long moment Manu cleared his throat. “I would try and save him.”

  “Interesting. Why?”

  “Because if I might have saved him and I hadn’t, that would make me less of the man than I could have been. If that was the great test of my life then I would have failed and all that follows will just be an illusion. All happiness and joy would be a lie.”

  Killynghall grunted and he looked up with something approaching warmth. “Spoken like James’ son. That is a good answer. Good luck today, you will need it with what is against you. I still can’t intervene but now I am sorry about it. Aroha will have to counter. I will allow you to remember this talk, Manu, but I’ll remove your curiosity about it. I can’t have you obsessing over these things, especially today. And you won’t talk about me to James.”

  Killynghall snapped his fingers and Mr. Cooper was talking again. “Yes – only Half, quite right, quite right. He is a little sensitive about it, in actual fact. I remember we tried to get him to do a haka during assembly and the poor boy was mortified! I think it’s the only time he hasn’t done everything that has been asked of him.”

  Killynghall leaned back in his chair and acknowledged the point. He lost interest in the stuttering, halting conversation, letting Mr. Haig take the lead with the questions.

  A while later and they let him go. Manu was beyond mystified and more than a little afraid.

  #

  It wasn’t yet time for breakfast and Manu didn’t feel like sitting in his room alone. He wandered around the grounds, trying to decide if he had gone crazy in the few
days since he had got back from home. The wrongness with the world was getting worse. He heard a constant buzzing in his ears now, like a rancour filled argument between crowds. The sound of the crickets, normally soothing in its familiarity, was maddening; it was jittery and discordant and everywhere. There was an oiliness to the visible world and he felt thick and slow and polluted by it.

  Fresh air didn’t help, but it led him to Peter, who was practicing kicks at goal, his bowl of half eaten cereal forgotten in the grass. “Hitting them well today,” Manu offered as Peter slotted another kick through the posts.

  Peter grunted in reply and reached for another ball. “Are you ready?” He placed it on the tee with a craftsman’s care. The Captain’s face was a creased mass of worry and concern, as it always was before a match.

  “I suppose.”

  Peter stopped fidgeting with the tee and looked up. He looked as agitated as Manu felt, as if he were a mountaineer with an overhang between him and the summit. “When you play, Manu, does it ever feel to you like you are in the middle of your life’s purpose?”

  “Sorry?”

  “It does to me. You see, I’m not smart like you. This is my talent.” He waved at the ball on the tee and the distant posts. “This is my glory, right now. What I do when I’m on the field, in these short, glorious few minutes, is the... is the liquid essence of what my life could be. Every kick and tackle and pass they... ripple out... like, oh I don’t know, like waves of life and colour across the long drabness of my life.”

  “Peter?”

  “It sounds melodramatic Manu, I know, but I just feel the truth of it. I will spend most of my life in some office somewhere thinking about these years when I was good at something.”

  “Peter, are you all right?” Manu leaned forward in concern. This was very unlike Peter. He was famous for being as simple minded as he was single minded. Where had this poetic, philosophical streak come from? Who would have ever guessed what he had been thinking to himself as he practiced kick after kick at goal.