Light Bearing

by Ben Woollard

  “I’m going after him,” I said. Momma and Grandpa looked at me, eyes flashing wide.

  “Sam,” Momma said, her voice choking. I knew it would break her heart, that she’d have to sit and wait not knowing if either of her sons were living.

  “I have to, Momma. I can’t let those freaks take away my brother. I have to go after him, I have to bring him back.” Tears began to run from her eyes. Grandpa just kept looking into his tea, swirling the lukewarm liquid round and round, his lips pursed. I stood up from the table.

  “I’m coming with you,” Grandpa said.

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous, you can barely walk!” I said, and Momma really started to cry then. She got up to go into the other room.

  “See what you’ve done Grandpa? We can’t all leave Momma here! We both know you’re too old to make it on the road. You have to stay here and watch out for Momma, and her for you.” The determination on his face faded when I said that, and I could see he already knew the truth of what I’d said. I began to gather up everything I could into a small knapsack. I packed as much food as I could carry, a canteen for water, some extra flint we kept for fires.

  “I’ll see you when I get back, Grandpa. In a few days we’ll all sit down and have coffee with Tolka just like always.” He smiled again, but sadly this time, and nodded. I finished packing up the things I needed, making sure to roll up some blankets so I wouldn’t freeze. I considered bringing the small radio but thought better of it. When I was ready to leave, I walked into Momma’s room where she sat, still crying on her bed.

  “Momma, I have to go,” I said. She didn’t look up at me, just stared at the wall with a blank expression. I sat down on the bed and put my arm around her.

  “I’m coming back. I’m coming back and I’ll bring Shiloh back and it’ll all be just how it was,” I said. She hugged me, and I could feel her shaking as she sobbed.

  “You better,” she said to me, “you better come back Sam. Don’t be leaving your old mother here alone.”

  “I will, I promise,” I said. We sat like that for minute, then I said I had to leave and got up. I hugged Grandpa again and stepped out the door. The sun was already beginning to set and the sky was fired crimson turning into azure streams, speckled with the suggestions of the stars about to come on in the heights. I headed out towards the East, bound for the small road that lead to where I hoped I’d find my brother.

  Chapter 6

  I headed out to the edge of Columbia through the outskirts, meandering my way through the fallen and disjointed structures. The road east wound its way up the hills, cutting through the rubble and trash into greener fields. By the time I got to where the city’s edges ended and the trees and grass began the sun was almost fully gone. I had no idea how far ahead of me Shiloh might be, so I walked by moonlight in hopes of catching up.

  I continued on, being careful not to lose the thin dirt road I was following. I’d never been this far outside the city, and my eyes kept darting from the paler hues of the road below me to the darkness of the fields, filled with trees that seemed to grow thicker and closer the longer that I walked. The sounds were new to me, too. We had crickets in Columbia but nothing like what I heard out there. I felt the noise like some great ocean, with tides and currents. The sound encased me, vibrated my body and put me into trance. The stars, too, were like I’d never seen them before, huge clusters of roving mists and clouds of light on a scale unlike anything down here on earth. It had never occurred to me they could get so bright, diluted as they were by the small streetlights that lived on Columbia’s plazas and corners.

  After a while my eyelids grew heavy, and my legs dragged behind me in a scraping gait, casting up rocks and dirt. I walked a little off the road and found a place under some bushes, more or less closed off from sight, safe enough should some danger pass while I slept. I ate a few mouthfuls of bread, and drank water from my canteen before lying my blankets down and curling up for a cold and unpleasant sleep.

  I dreamt I was a tribesman from the times long ago that Grandpa told me about, before even the United States had existed. I was on my own, out in the woods, following a star that glinted high above me, leading me on to where I knew the buffalo, some long dead horse-like beasts, had gone. They’d migrated far away, and the star was leading me to them. I wore light shoes sown from leather on my feet, and wrapped the skin of the buffalo around my chest to keep me warm.

  I woke up to the first sunrays landing on my eyelids. As I was folding up my blankets I heard footsteps and the galloping of hooves. I dropped and stayed as still as I could while turning my head to peer through the bushes where I lay to look out at the road. I saw men on horses, armed with rifles, clubs, batons, and all wearing Gov uniforms. There were probably twenty to thirty of them, a large patrol. So they’re out here looking for those Singulars that got away, I thought. I waited for them to pass, then packed up my supplies and resumed my walk. I hoped they wouldn’t find Shiloh before I did, and worked hard to push the thoughts from my mind.

  I found some blackberries growing next to the road and ate as many as I could, filling up my knapsack with handfuls of the fruit. I realized I didn’t know much about the wild, or about what was good to eat or wasn’t. Grandpa had known a little about that sort of thing, and had shown me what he could, so I wasn’t completely helpless. It occurred to me, though, that if I didn’t find Shiloh, or at least a place where I could buy more supplies, I would be out of food and liable to starve to death out here wandering around the landscape. I needed water, too, but that wasn’t such a problem; there were lots of streams and rivers around and I figured I could just fill up as I needed.

  As I walked I thought about this place called Alexei’s Grove, and wondered how I was gonna find it. All I knew is it was east of Columbia, which wasn’t much to go on. I’d been assuming that Shiloh and the initiates would be taking the road, but the more I thought about it the less likely that seemed to me. In all likelihood they were leading Shiloh through the thick without so much as a trail to keep them on their way.

  I kept walking, the slow transformation of my surroundings keeping me company. I found I enjoyed travelling, the peaceful striding along the path, the road stretched out before and behind me. I understood why Grandpa’d loved it so much, and I thought maybe some longing to be out here again is what had made him want to come with me.

  I drank all my water by the afternoon, and refilled up my canteen in a small creek that trickled a little ways off from the road. I kept walking and before long I found myself in thick woods. The sun shone through the branches and made everything glow with emerald tint reflected off the peeling bark of trees and the browns and greys of rock-strewn soil. Again I heard the sound of horses’ footfall and ducked behind a pile of stones to hide. I stayed hidden as the same patrol that had passed me that morning galloped back the other way. I was relieved to see they didn’t have any prisoners with them, though I thought maybe they weren’t in the habit of taking any and might just as well have found what they were looking for and were now riding back to Columbia successful. I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and kept going with more determination. After a while I came to a place where the road split, and I stood there staring at the fork.

  I stayed there for a long time, hopelessness crawling its way up my back. What could I do? Of course I was bound to come across a fork in the road eventually, but in all honesty it hadn’t even occurred to me. Anxiety took me over slow. I sat down and held my head in my hands, and was just about on the point of panic when I looked up to see a man standing in front of me. I hadn’t heard him approach and jumped up, staring at him with suspicion. He was older, not quite Grandpa’s age but close, and had a scraggled grey beard that hung down past the length of his neck.

  “Greetings, child,” he said in a strange accent. I felt the wind blow around us, sending shivers up and down my limbs. “Something got you down?” he asked.

  “You could say that,” I said, “I don’t know which way to go. I�
��m looking for a place called Alexei’s Grove.”

  “Hmm, Alexei’s Grove, eh?” he said, stroking his beard and again I struggled to place his accent. It seemed like nothing I’d ever heard, not from anyone in Columbia, or even any of the vagrants who wandered their way in through the exchange of visitors the city always had.

  “That’s right, you know the way?” I asked him, veiling discomfort with politeness.

  “That I do,” he said, more muttering it to himself than to me. I thought he had kind of an otherworldly atmosphere to him. Although he wore typical travelers clothes, he had no bags with him that I could see, and nothing to carry water.

  “Uh, would you mind telling me?”

  “Oh, certainly, but might you have some food and drink that I could partake of? It’s been sometime since I’ve had a mortal meal.” I handed the man a large portion of my bread, and when he had eaten it, or rather swallowed it whole, I handed him my water bottle and was dismayed to see him gulp away more than half of what I had.

  “Ahhh,” he sighed as he handed the container back to me, “that has me feeling more myself than I have in quite a while. I thank you, child. Stick to the left trail and you’ll come to a town called Roosh, if you search there they’ll tell you how to find the place you seek.” And with that he sauntered away, a spring in his step unfitting for his age. I thought I’d come across one of the strangest people I was likely to ever meet, and lamented the loss of my water, but figured it was for the best, as I now knew where to go so long as the old man hadn’t lied to me.

  I took the left hand path and before long came out of the woods. I stood on the top of a rise, and could look down at all the land stretched out before me. Out in the distance I saw a rising stream of smoke, coming from what looked like a random collection of leaning huts and half-fallen barns. Many had caved in roots and were sprouting all kinds of seeds. I headed towards the buildings, relieved to see civilization, and looking forward to the possibility that I might be getting close to Alexei’s Grove, and to Shiloh.

  When I got down the hill and into the settlement, if I could call it that, I was surprised to find no one around. I knew there must be people there, there being enough evidence of it everywhere, but everything was quiet. I headed towards what looked to be a community building, based off its size and centrality. The structure was a long hall constructed from logs of trees probably cut from the woods I’d just walked through.

  I opened the door and came into a large room, fire burning in the center in a ground-dug pit, smoke streaming up and out a hole in the roof. The place seemed primitive compared to Columbia. The room held a sparse amount of people sitting at tables, some slouching drunk in the corners against the walls. They stared at me when I entered, and I felt hostility arise from them. Nobody said a word to me, and they all resumed their conversations. I walked up to the spot where the alcohol was being handed out from a round wooden cask and greeted the man who sat there. He didn’t respond at first, and looked at me suspiciously.

  “You’re a traveller?” he asked. I nodded. “Then fuck off.” He looked back towards the room, ignoring me.

  “I just want some information,” I said. “I’m looking for someone, or for a place, rather.”

  “Fuck off!” he yelled at me, and everyone turned to look, their eyes flashing with distrust. “We want nothing to do with you!” I could feel the crowd in the room turn towards me, and I was scared they might jump up and rush me. I went outside and stood in the street outside the hall, dismayed.

  Just then the door behind me opened and a woman, probably about Momma’s age, came out and looked me up and down, arms crossed.

  “Where you from?” she asked.

  “Columbia.”

  “And what do you want here with us?”

  “Nothing,” I said, “just directions. I’m looking for a place called Alexei’s Grove. I’ve heard that’s where my brother is.”

  “Hm, alright,” she said. “I’ll help you, but let’s go somewhere else so the others don’t hear, it would be bad blood if I was seen talking to strangers after everything that’s happened here.” She led me away from the hall, out to a small hut on the edge of the village and held the door open for me. “What’s your name?” she asked, and I told her, asking her the same.

  “Tilda,” she said as we walked into the smoky hut. There was a man sitting in a chair by a small fireplace, he looked about the same age as Tilda, though his hair was grey. He sat as if asleep, but with his eyes open, head drooped down and a stream of drool descending slow from his lips. “That’s my husband, or what’s left of him, at least,” Tilda told me, “his name’s Max, but these days he doesn’t seem to know it.” I asked what had happened to him. “Got knocked in the head a bit too hard by Gov troops few years back, been like that ever since.”

  “Can he move at all?” I asked her, sitting down in the chair she offered me.

  “Oh yeah, sure, he moves. He’ll even get up and walk around, but he’s not the same as he used to be, as you can see. He has next to no idea where he is at any given moment, spends most of his time zoning out like that. He has times where he’ll almost seem himself again, but then whatever part of him remains sinks back into that stupor. Sometimes he gets scared and it takes hours to calm him down.”

  “That’s awful,” I said, “all that just from being hit in the head?”

  “You’d be amazed how fragile a human being can be.”

  “Is that why everyone here’s so mistrustful? Because of the Gov?”

  “Not just the Gov,” Tilda said, eyeing me, “but they’re the brunt of it, always coming by trying to recruit and pull away all our youths to that damn citadel they’re so proud of. Won’t ever accept that some of us prefer to live out here like ‘peasants’, as they call us. The past few years have been much worse, what with those Singulars always coming around and stealing away even more of us with their empty eyes and promises. I expect you’ve noticed the state our little town is in. Before long everyone here will have moved off or died, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “They’ve come out here too, have they?” I said, surprised by her mention of the Singulars. “Have many people from here joined them?”

  “Oh yes,” Tilda said, “when they first arrived we were skeptical about their claims, but saw no harm in letting them stay for a time, we didn’t think that so many would be enticed by their promises, but many were, especially the young. What could we do? Our settlement is too small to defend itself should a group like them decide that we’re their enemies. Now most of the young people have gone to join the Singulars or been recruited into Columbia in hopes of a better life.”

  “Is life out here so difficult that people want to leave?”

  “We’re farmers, we scrape what we can from the land around us. If it weren’t for the tax collections that the Gov imposed on us, life might not be so hard, but as it is, we have to give a large amount of what we produce away to feed the city, and are forced to sell much of the rest in order to get supplies that we can’t make ourselves.”

  “You mean the Gov comes out here and takes the food you grow?” Tilda raised an eyebrow at me.

  “You don’t know about it? Where do you think the food that feeds your city comes from? I hope you’ve noticed there aren’t farms there.”

  “Well yeah,” I said, “but I always assumed the Gov ran their own farms out past the outskirts, or else it was based on trade, not that people were forced to give food away for nothing.”

  “They tell us that our continued protection is payment, but they don’t protect us. They haven’t done a thing to prevent the Singulars from coming here except persecute those who’re discovered in affiliation with them. They’ve pushed many towards wanting to join with the Singulars, not just in hopes of unification, but in order to throw off the UCG.”

  “You make it sound like the Singulars have been coming here for a long time. I thought they were new, I only heard of them in the last year.”

  “Th
ey’re much older than that. They’ve been recruiting from the outer settlements for years, building their strength before sending their people into the central settlements, or at least that’s how I understand it.”

  Tilda’s husband groaned and began to shake his head, muttering something under his breath. “Now, now Max,” she said in a soothing voice, going over to the decrepit man and touching him on the shoulder, “now, now, dear, none of that, none of that,” she whispered over him. The man continued to mutter, the words getting louder, his exasperation growing. He stood up, and Tilda held his arm, imploring him to sit down. Max stared directly at me. He stumbled to where I sat, against Tilda’s protests and attempts to sit him back down, and grabbed my hand. His eyes were filled with tears and he was shaking. His gaze held mine and he spoke in a now audible and creaking voice, tears streaming from his face,

  “Proélefsi,” he said. “Proélefsi.” He continued to say the word, over and over again, becoming more and more concerned as he spoke, as if trying to communicate something to me, something desperate that must be said while he still could.

  “How do you know that word?” I asked him, shocked to hear those foreign syllables spoken again from the mouth of this broken man.