Beyond Ever Blue Skies

by Clive S. Johnson

  “You’ll have to come wi’ me,” he directed at them both. “Not for me to decide,” and he waited for them to gather their things together and follow him out of the apartment.

  Hurried down the alley and out into the next avenue, Edsel then led them to another alley that Morgan recognised as not being far from Stephanie’s old school. A few doors down and they came to a bar, “The Pi-Eyed” discretely signed above its entrance. Even before they went in, Morgan was struck by a bitter, herbal smell that seemed to spill out into the alley.

  Inside, it appeared even more unlike the bars Morgan was used to, its white walls largely obscured by shelves littered with knickknacks and bric-a-brac, the blue tiles marred to a dingy brown. The bar along the far wall was also unusual, seeming to be made of a strange dark material, heavily and ornately moulded. Instead of regularly arrayed clean white tables to seat at least six, here small, low, dark round tables were dotted about, a person or two at each.

  The barman looked across, the merest of nods as he carried on cleaning glasses. Down the side of one end of the bar stood a door. As Morgan and Stephanie came up behind him, Edsel was about to knock when the barman told him “Said to go on in when you got here.” The man then turned to pulling drinks.

  The room the door led into was the same width as the barroom but about half its depth, tables and chairs stacked against one end, three large but frosted windows along the length of its furthest wall. A single rectangular table stood before the middle one, four chairs about it, one on the far side facing three in a line on the nearest. On the lone chair sat a silhouetted figure, its back to the window, an aura of curly, shoulder length hair about its head.

  The figure’s hand rose, a finger pointing at the middle chair of the three. “Morgan, I believe you’re called,” came the cracked voice of an old woman, “if you’d sit down.”

  Once seated, and now near enough to pick out her features, Morgan noted lines about the woman’s eyes, pleats in the sallow skin beside her mouth. Those eyes, though, soon kept his gaze, seeming to gather the room’s light, glinting it back at Morgan like shards of glass. The scrape of chair legs told him Stephanie and Edsel were now seated to either side of him.

  “And Steph, isn’t it?” the woman asked, the glint of her eyes darting to the right of Morgan. Stephanie must have nodded, for the woman’s eyes then slid to Morgan’s left. “A lecy, you said?” and again only a nod must have been returned by Edsel.

  She stared hard at Morgan, but through narrowed eyes. “This is highly irregular,” she seemed to say more to herself than those in the room.

  “I reckon, though,” Edsel’s gruff voice cut into the ensuing silence, “that what they’ve got to say might explain a few things.” An admonishing slant came to the eyes she turned him. Edsel quietly cleared his throat but said no more.

  “Hmm,” she finally directed at Morgan. “A lecy, eh? Unfortunate, but, as you say, Edsel, perhaps an unexpected boon.”

  “He’s really a flui,” Stephanie quietly told her, and the woman’s eyebrows lofted.

  “Is he, now? Well, that certainly bodes better,” and she asked him how a flui had managed to get to become a lecy. As he explained, the woman silently drummed her finger on the table top, watching his expression so closely it made Morgan nervous.

  “That explains a lot,” she said when he’d finished, the hint of a smile lifting the ridges of her creased cheeks. “So…it is possible for others to break into the select ranks of the lecys, eh? You must be a rarity, though, a rarity indeed, to go from piping to cables and the rest.” Her face became a mask, her fingers no longer drumming on the table top.

  “Right, young man,” she startled him by saying, and her stare became even more penetrating, “listen up, and listen well.”

  Morgan glanced at Stephanie, her slight nod settling his nerves. When he returned his gaze to the woman, glints no longer lifted her eyes from the shadows of her face. Now they seemed nothing more than bottomless pits.

  “If, flui-cum-lecy Morgan, you speak to anyone other than those in this room now, speak of anything I’m about to tell you, then Edsel, here, will search you out in a trice and kill you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Too shocked even to think, Morgan only gaped at her, his lower lip quivering. Her words seemed to have got no further than crowding at the edge of his consciousness, insistent but firmly repulsed.

  She waited, unmoving, waited until what she’d said finally broke through and he gulped before slowly nodding.

  “Good,” she said, appearing satisfied. “Then first off, I ought to tell you who I am.” She straightened her back and looked down her nose at Morgan. “I am our section’s Colonus: keeper of Ken’s words, preserver of his path, and leader of the Chosen. But then, you’re probably better off just calling me Connie-Jay, like all the other agris do.”

  8 The Promised Land

  Morgan only realised he’d not drawn breath when Stephanie placed her hand reassuringly on his own, there, where it had been painfully gripping his thigh. As he relaxed a little and took a deep breath, a gentle knock came at the door.

  “Come in,” Connie-Jay called, and the barman entered, a tray of drinks in his hand. Glasses of a dark brown, foamy-headed drink were placed before all but Morgan, his own looking as pale as he would have expected and just as lacking of a head. When the barman left, Connie-Jay lifted hers to her lips and slowly sank half its contents, wiping away the foam from her lips with the back of her hand. Morgan sipped suspiciously at his own.

  It didn’t taste right and he wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s the nearest The Pi-Eyed can get to the stuff you’re used to,” Stephanie told him, an encouraging smile falling short of her eyes. “It’s made here, not piped in.”

  He took more of a mouthful but it still tasted sour, reminding him of the smell of burnt cable insulation. Putting the glass down on the table, he pushed it away with his fingertips.

  Connie-Jay, though, had already closed her eyes, leaning back against her chair, a strangely satisfied look on her face, her glass still in her hand.

  Morgan steeled himself. “What was all that about…about being a…a…Colli-what’s-it?”

  One eye opened, its returned glint spearing Morgan. “Col-on-us.”

  “Right. Something about ‘Keeping Ken’s word’, wasn’t it? And who is Ken?”

  Her satisfied look leeched away. She leant forward, almost slamming her glass down on the table, and peered hard into Morgan’s eyes. “‘Keeper of his words’. And it’s ‘was’. Who was Ken.” Her eyes flicked to one side, narrowing further, then they slowly swung back to Morgan. “But not here.”

  Before Morgan could blink, she’d lifted her drink to her lips and downed what was left, slamming the glass once more to the table top, sagging ribbons of golden foam now sliding down the inside of its glass.

  For such an elderly woman, Connie-Jay moved surprisingly quickly: rising from the table and marching to the door, where she stopped and turned to look back.

  “Come on, then; drink up; get a move on,” whereupon she snatched open the door and strode out.

  They caught up with her as she was turning from the far end of the alley and into the avenue that ran beside the park’s long white wall, her tall, lean figure easy to spot amongst the crowds. They each almost had to run to keep up with her long-legged stride, sweeping them on past a number of alleys until she stopped before an innocuous door in a gable wall. Its plate displayed not a number but a single letter: “E”.

  Connie-Jay placed her fingertip at its centre and the door swung inwards as she stepped aside.

  “In you go,” she said, singling out Morgan first, “and be quick about it. Don’t want to draw attention.”

  He stepped forward, towards the dark interior, but then froze, staring at a flight of steeply descending steps. An involuntary yelp escaped his lips.

  “But…but it…it goes down…below the sub-floor!” and he stumbled back against Edsel, feeling nauseous
.

  Connie-Jay let out an exasperated breath and rolled her eyes. “Yes, it does, but not far. Come on, lad, people are starting to stare,” and she grabbed his arm and pushed him inside.

  Morgan stumbled down a few steps but this time froze solid, refusing to take another step as the others crammed in behind him and the door slammed shut. The resulting pitch-blackness helped immensely, removing the evidence of where they were—“Beneath the friggin’ sub-floor!”

  “Language,” Connie-Jay admonished.

  “What?”

  “We can do without the vulgarity, young man.”

  “Oh…er…right.”

  “And remember my warning. On the pain of death, you’ve never to divulge anything of what you’re about to see or hear. Got that?”

  A dull red light slowly seemed to seep from the very walls, revealing Morgan’s fervent nod and Stephanie’s welcome face close to his own. “You’ll be all right, Morgan” she quietly said, although her own uncertainty was all too evident.

  “But how can we be—”

  She kissed him, passionately if somewhat embarrassingly, considering how close the others were. It worked, though, and Morgan felt his panic subside. He could even move his legs once more. They still felt as though they were about to buckle, but they got him to the bottom of the steps, where he stood, facing nothing but a blank wall—a blank wall now well below the “friggin’” sub-floor.

  The others squeezed past and, still in a bit of a daze, he turned to follow, but Stephanie had come to a halt in his way. “I can’t believe it,” she quietly gasped. “I just can’t believe I’m actually here, in Erebus!”

  A long room stretched away before them, the dim red light barely picking out what rested on its solid walls of shelving. At the far end, mounted on and almost filling its wall, hung what looked like a massive screen, a single seat set before it. Connie-Jay and Edsel already stood beside the seat, she beckoning them to join her.

  As they stole further into the eerily silent room, Morgan realised that what the shelves held was not only obscured by the dim light but by a covering of tinted glass. He then realised that the floor wasn’t tiled, that it didn’t have the usual spring to it. When he drew near to Connie-Jay, he couldn’t help but kick his heel against its smooth, unyielding and unmarked surface.

  “Where are we?” he asked, shocked by how loud his voice sounded. “What is this place?”

  “Erebus,” Stephanie again quietly marvelled.

  “Yes, child,” Connie-Jay softly said, “but not quite the Erebus you learnt about in school,” and the folds of the skin about her mouth sagged, the glint vanishing from her eyes.

  “Er, would someone mind saying something I can understand?” Morgan pleaded.

  Stephanie looked to Connie-Jay who only nodded before sitting down in the chair and closing her eyes.

  “We learn about Erebus as kids,” Stephanie told him, “that it’s a place between the world of Rundkern and The Promised Land; that it’s where guidance along the Path to it can be found, and where communion with…with Ken can be—”

  “So you knew, knew all along about KEN! Why didn’t you… And what’s all this about a promised land?”

  “It’s ingrained in us, Morgan: not to speak of it to anyone who’s not an agri.”

  “A solemn vow,” Connie-Jay emphasised, without opening her eyes.

  “A vow?” and Morgan stared at the old woman until she opened an eye to him.

  “A Kenite vow that carries with it a penalty of death to any transgressor,” she told him. “If done without my express permission, of course,” and she cast a reassuring look at Stephanie.

  Morgan realised his mouth now hung open, and somehow his thoughts tumbled out: “If it wasn’t for the fact that KEN’s referred to in the lecy network, I’d think you were all mad. Maybe you are,” and his gaze swung to Stephanie, regret bubbling from within him. “Maybe my lecy KEN and your own Ken are just coincidences. Maybe the problem with the air is something you’ve just made up, made up to…to trap me into doing something I shouldn’t, something in aid of your mad—”

  Stephanie slapped him hard across his face, her own like thunder, eyes ablaze above a tautly drawn mouth. “How dare you,” she fumed. “How dare you think I’d cheapen myself like that. Who do you—”

  “Now, then; now, then,” Connie-Jay boomed at them both, already on her feet, seeming to tower over them. “Let’s get a few things clear, shall we? Firstly: there is a problem with the air, likely a serious one, although no one’s yet sure. I checked with Agri before I met with you. Secondly, we’re none us mad, even the lecys…who’re perhaps just a little under-informed, shall we say.”

  She drew nearer them, Edsel surreptitiously closing in, a wary eye now on Morgan. “You see, I know they’re the same,” she now more softly told him, “yours and our own Ken. I know this because somehow your network’s lecy was what once allowed us communion with him.”

  “‘Once allowed’,” Morgan echoed, rubbing the stinging sensation from his cheek. “What do you mean ‘Once allowed’?”

  Connie-Jay stared up at the large, blank screen and sighed. “I only knew Ken properly for a few years, after taking over from our previous Colonus, what must be…well, nigh on sixty years ago, now.” She blinked a few times whilst staring at a point to one side of the screen. “No, as has long been the case—still nothing,” and her shoulders slumped.

  “What happened to him?” Morgan dared ask.

  “We… We don’t know. I was only twenty-two at the time.” For a moment she clamped her mouth tightly shut. “There was an almighty noise one night, then the floor shook…things falling from shelves and tables, a sharp tangy smell in the air for a while, one that caught in the back of your throat. People came out into the alleys and avenues, staring around as the air moved quickly through Rundkern for a short while. But all looked the same in the starlight. Even in the morning, in the daylight, everything seemed no different.

  “It was only when I came here later in the day that I realised something serious must have happened.” She again stared up at the screen. “Ken was no longer here…and with us so near to having reached The Promised Land.”

  Morgan caught sight of tears before she swiftly brushed them aside.

  “So near,” she almost pined, “yet made so far with the loss of our trusted guide.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head, seeming to diminish in stature before Morgan’s eyes.

  “Not here!” Stephanie faintly marvelled. “Ken’s not here?”

  Morgan stepped towards Connie-Jay, his turn now to narrow his eyes. “You said ‘Allowed our communion’.” When he took another step towards her, Edsel finally came between them.

  “You think I might be able to bring your Ken back, don’t you?” he said over Edsel’s broad shoulder, the man’s hand coming up firmly against Morgan’s chest when he tried to push even nearer.

  She said nothing at first, only peered up at him, sideways. Then she stood and faced him, seemingly grown tall again.

  “Well, you are somewhat unique, as far as I can gather: not a true lecy but with a lecy’s access to their network. And with a natural understanding that’s got you to where no other flui-eng has ever got before.”

  She eased Edsel to one side and drew up close before Morgan, her beery breath filling his nose.

  “No, you’re not like them at all,” she said, somewhat distantly. “You’ve clearly an enquiring mind, the sort that could do so much more, that could maybe learn what we need to know. All we have to do now, though, is convince you we’re really not mad at all. Because, if you could bring back Ken, he’d at last be able to reveal to us the Path to our awaiting Promised Land.”

  9 When One Door Closes…

  “I’m sorry, Steph,” Morgan said, sitting beside her once again on the bench in the park, “but you must have seen how shocked I was…how mad it all seemed. And not only that, but I’d…I’d been threatened with death more than once by then. Your Connie-Jay�
��s a frightening woman.”

  Stephanie only picked at her nails, bent to the task.

  “I still can’t get my head around it.”

  “How’d you think I felt?” she blurted out, but then looked away, across the grass to the periphery path and its knots of running lecys. “Finding out we’d lost Ken years ago…before I’d even been born.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Will you stop saying you’re sorry? It’s really pissing me off. Do you know that?”

  “Sor… Well, I understand how you must be feeling.”

  “Do you? Really?” and she went back to picking at her nails.

  “I suppose it’s been a shock to us both.”

  “Damn right it has,” she mumbled.

  Morgan stared at the grass at his feet for a while, then it struck him: “Why’s your uncle never told you? I mean, he’s clearly known about it for—”

  “Exactly. The bastard. All that time having to put up with his…” She shivered, then stood, wrapping her arms about herself as though cold. When she finally looked down at Morgan, a faint smile seemed to seep up to soften her eyes, a long and quiet breath escaping her nose.

  “I don’t want to lose you, Morgan,” she could hardly be heard to say. “I… I think I love you,” and she looked down at the grass.

  “Lo…” but Morgan could only gape at her, his mind failing to find its feet.

  She turned away, staring again at the running lecys. “Be careful, Morgan. My uncle’s a… Well, a forceful man when left to his own devices. I’d trust Connie-Jay far more than him if I were you. At least she has a greater purpose, but…but all he has is his own…”

  Morgan stood, close behind her. “His own what?”

  She spun round and pulled him close, her face buried in his shoulder. “Find Ken,” he more felt in his chest than heard her say. “Find Connie-Jay’s lost guide, the lost hope all agris still cling to in their ignorance, then…then you’ll be safe; Connie-Jay will make sure of it, I’m sure.”