The face of the insane murderer, who had violated the security of his naive world, still haunted him, though the events had become mere facts now without emotional content. The dark, leering mien of the beast, who had come so close to taking him on the street, haunted Jonathon in his dreams. His dark pit-like eyes had threatened to devour him, his physical death would have been a mere sideshow for this beast.
Jonathon knew Flax would have devoured his soul. His sensitive psyche had inadvertently touched Flax's soul and been scorched by it, but he knew much about him now, he knew exactly who he was and what he had done and what he planned to do.
This creature that called itself Silus Flax was the embodiment of evil itself in this city, was its emissary, a man manipulated by an ethereal, but sentient force which was at work here in Dubh. This man was the man who Cornelius called the Shadow Man or the Black Gaffer, this was also the man who had been responsible for the death of Jonathon's parents.
He would lead Jonathon out of this hell as Cornelius had said, fate had now introduced them and their destinies had become entwined. Yes, Flax might lead Jonathon way from this place, but the young Postlethwaite was now convinced that he must also destroy the monster that he knew as Silus Flax, put to an end to his foul ambitions and the existence of the corrupted city of Dubh itself. But as yet, he had no idea of how he would achieve this task.
Jonathon opened his eyes. He was still in the dark, but sensed that the Tallmens’ daylight had returned. He studied his surroundings in the dim light. He was in a small shack, constructed between the two adjacent tiled roofs. The roof of this dwelling was made of rough flat boards placed between them and covered by canvas. The far end of the shelter was closed by heavy dark curtains that were rippled by a breeze which attempted to push them aside. He found himself wrapped up in musty old coats and bolts of cloth and had been placed in a makeshift bed amongst three others. The place smelled dank and dusty, but was warm and reasonably dry.
As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light Jonathon realised that he was not alone. Towards the dwelling entrance, a pile of clothes shifted slightly and two wide round eyes blinked at him. Slowly the pile of clothes and blankets crawled towards him. Eventually he could make out the pale face of a girl of his age, her tired eyes giving the impression that she was about to fall asleep again very soon. She didn't. She spoke to Jonathon in a whisper that she synchronized with the buffeting gusts of the wind that blew around the shelter.
“Oh my master! You does look like your Granddaddy, you really does! " She smiled at Jonathon's surprised expression and continued to give half an explanation of how she knew Cornelius.
“So yes, we knows you's comin' here and where’s and when’s to be findin’ you. Your Granddaddy makes sure we does master." she whispered then smiled again and Jonathon smiled back, infected by the child in her personality.
His Grandfather had instructed him on how to get to the place in Bridge Street and where to wait, but Jonathon hadn't expected to be plucked to safety from the hands of Silus Flax, in the dire circumstances in which he had found himself. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Who....." the connection between his Grandfather and his rescuers intriguing him, but the girl cut him short.
“Shush master Jonathon! " She hissed. " No speak hear like that, less they down below hear us." she moved her fingers from his lips. “Speak like us, whisper when the wind blows."
Jonathon waited for a convenient gust of wind to ask his rapidly multiplying questions.
“Who brought me from the street? Who are you?”
The girl seemed to laugh, although she omitted to make the sounds that would normally accompany her amused facial expressions. She seemed surprised.
“Your Granddaddy no tells you of the Whisperer, that we's the ones to be finding you?”
Jonathon shook his head. He was surprised that Cornelius had not mentioned these people. The girl looked slightly bemused.
“Well there's a funny boy, I mean master. I wonder why he's no telling you, perhaps......" she waited for the wind to rise again.
"Perhaps we not to tell either” she teased
She waited for Jonathon to react. He just sighed, but she noticed his eyes focused intently upon her, and felt his trained mind invading hers. The girl gasped and physically jumped backwards away from Jonathon. He withdrew and smiled apologetically. The girl looked at him open mouthed.
“Wow! You is special like he says you is." she whispered. Jonathon shrugged his shoulders modestly.
“Tell me your name." he asked.
The girl shook her head defiantly, but almost provocatively, a sly grin challenging Jonathon to repeat his mental intrusion. Jonathon cupped his hands together and pushed them towards her, cracking all his finger joints noisily, the distraction giving him the opportunity to slip in and out of her mind without her noticing. She shivered and gave him a disgusted look.
“Horrible master! Why you do that? "
He beckoned her towards her and waited for the wind to rise. “ the wind told me your name.........you're Milly aren't you?" he now teased her.
Milly leapt to her feet and, with a look of horror on her face, bolted from the makeshift shelter. Jonathon followed, moving a little stiffly, his muscles protesting after his confinement. He found himself high above the labyrinth of tenements of the Lower City and alone amid a rambling maze of roof tops and chimneys. From here he had a panoramic view of the city, which sprawled out in all directions in a patchwork of irregular roofs, until it dissolved into the blue-grey clouds of smog that seemed to cling Dubh’s boundaries. The strong gusts of wind, which seemed to flow down to the streets below, surprised him with their chill and strength.
Down in the sheltered streets where the stagnant air gathered, the only air movement felt was during a 'venting', when the Tallmen opened tiny worm holes to different dimensions, hoping that the difference in air pressures would cleanse the atmosphere. Often it did, but the atmospheric violence which often accompanied it had traumatised the population into the act of sprinting in terror for shelter if anything more than a breeze was experienced at street level.
Jonathon breathed deeply, the relatively fresh air up here enriching his blood and finding its way to his cramped muscles. He slowly took in the new view of the sprawling metropolis which stretched out all around him.
From this elevated vantage point on a large block which was raised high above the others, the roof tops fell away from him towards the black river which encircled most of the Upper City. Behind its dividing walls, the dwellings of the Caste of the Skilled, the Meks, rose gently to nestle under the eaves of the huge, sooty domes of the Halls of Machines. Flax was there, thought Jonathon. In those Halls he moved, lived, schemed. He felt him. They would never be apart now they had been so close, now that he had touched that mind, now that he had tottered at the edge of that well of darkness. They had marked one another for all eternity.
Jonathon's mind was now attached to Silus Flax in a way which resembled his attachment to Cornelius's mind used to be. Their destinies had begun to become intertwined. He would always know where Flax was and, if he wished, what he did, but Jonathon would never reach into that poisoned, putrid abyss again unless absolutely necessary, because next time he might not return. Jonathon turned his thoughts away from Flax and returned his attention to the view of Dubh. The Halls of Machines dominated the city. They were immense, crouching like huge volcanic beasts demanding respect from the attentive city. From their summits thick, swirling
blue-grey exhaust gases poured into the atmosphere, darkening the sky, half-obscuring the Towers of the Tallmen beyond the Upper City, in a great stagnant cloud that hung over the Tallmens’ abode.
Turning away from the Halls, Jonathon scrambled to the top of the roof above the Whisperer's home and was staggered at the view which greeted him. The roof dropped straight down into the street below, so far was the drop that he could barely make out the crowds whose voices drifted up to him.
> Gasping and slightly dizzy, Jonathon crept back from the edge of the roof and looked up. Vast expanses of roof tops were visible from here too. Stretching out for miles upon miles the multi-tiered slums and hovels of the Lower City grew upwards, literally a few more feet each day as new living space was needed, towards the glowing Field Wall which was Dubh’s sky.
In some places groups of buildings, like the one upon which he stood, surged upwards like hills above a plain of blackened tile, brick and concrete. A world of metropolitan hills and valleys, buttes and mesas, had evolved out of the undulating mass of brick, tile, concrete and steel.
Jonathon knew that Dubh had many levels beneath the ground, but thought that they stopped at the surface, but it was evident that it did not. It continued upwards, each new level or building precariously perched on the previous one, overhanging the network of gorge- like streets as if they might suddenly plunge down on the milling hordes below; and they often did.
Sitting on the mossy tiles above the Whisperer’s abode, Jonathon felt relaxed and safe. It was so different from life in his Grandfather's subterranean refuge where terror and fear had always surrounded them.
Here it was almost beautiful, enveloped as he was by the calmness of this roof top world way above the masses below and under the soothing openness of the pseudo sky. But Jonathon would not relax; he had learned that lesson with his recent experiences on the street. He closed his eyes and stretched his consciousness out across the roof tops, searching for the minds of those who might do him harm.
He quickly established that the Whisperers were not the only inhabitants of this roof top world, other small groups and individuals lived amongst the mossy tiles and the damp concrete.
Jonathon detected the presence of huddled forms sleeping or idling, waiting for the onset of night when they would descend into the pits of darkness below to seek out a living. They were thieves, pickpockets - scavengers who found refuge on the roofs here from the Tans. Many were as spiritually sick as the mass of the population below, yet many unconsciously had sought a sanctuary from the forces which preyed upon their human kin on the crowded streets of Dubh.They were not suited to the world which ebbed and flowed with corruption and so sought a refuge and found it in the sea of calm which enveloped the highest points of Dubh most of the time.
The rooftops seemed a safer alternative to the street. Even the dark souls his mind had touched here were strangely restrained. For reasons he could not fathom, Dubh's spirit of corruption could not motivate them as it did others below, could not physically reach them here. Or perhaps they were just not worth its effort.
Just as Jonathon was about to return to the shack, he spotted two figures moving rapidly in the distance on a route that would bring them right upon him.
At this distance they were merely dark specks, yet moved at an incredible pace. These individuals did not move around in the tentative manner he had done to reach this vantage point, they ran and bounded across the irregular terrain, steep roofs and street chasms seeming to present no obstacle.
They came closer. With giant inhuman leaps they cleared the ridges of the highest buildings until soon they bore down on him. Now only the wide sheer drop to the street was between them and him. Surely they would stop now, Jonathon thought.
At this closer distance he saw that they looked human despite their superhuman performances. He expected them to stop or at least divert from their suicidal path, but they did not. They charged on regardless, hurling themselves towards the edge of the ravine before leaping high into the air above the street to what seemed an unnaturally obtainable height. Once in the air they stretched out their arms to reveal wing-like membranes tied tautly between wrist and ankle. These 'wings' stalled their natural fall helping them to glide easily across the open space and land before a gaping Jonathon, who gazed in awe, astonished at their feat.
On landing, their heavily gloved hands, complete with talon like hooks, clattered loudly, seeking purchase between the algae and moss covered tiles. The first recovered himself and stood awaiting his companion on the ridge where Jonathon lay.
He was indeed human. His body was bound in a mummified fashion in leather and padded heavily at the knees and elbows to lessen the force of impact. This man's face, except for the eyes, was swathed and hidden in dark cloth. The flying man turned and studied Jonathon with his intense blue eyes before moving to sit beside him.
Removing his heavy cloth headgear he smiled a toothless, but reassuring grin at the startled youth who sat on the roof top beside him. He was breathing heavily and rested for a while, continuing to study Jonathon intently while he recovered. Then he spoke, but he did not whisper with the wind as Milly had done.
“Had a good sleep Jonny-Boy..........you feel better now?" his voice remarkably soft and deep, like velvet Jonathon thought, so much like his Grandfather's voice. Jonathon, still struck dumb by the two men's impressive acrobatic performances, merely nodded in reply. The toothless man nodded back and sucked in air, he stretched out his taloned glove to Jonathon.
“I’m Tefkin, it was me who collected you on Bridge Street..........sorry I was a little late, or perhaps in the nick of time depending on which way you look at it. Still, at least there was something left to collect. Sorry to tear you away from your new friend though." he laughed, his sense of humour confusing Jonathon and forcing him to remember the humourless episode in the hands of the wild woman and then Flax himself.
“Thank you." Jonathon managed in reply. Tefkin shook his head.
“No, thank Dale here, he threw the brick. Good shot eh?" he turned to his companion who sat a few feet away on the ridge of coping stones, staring across the Lower City.
Dale turned and muttered something unintelligible to Tefkin and waved a friendly greeting to Jonathon. “Doesn’t speak a lot, our Dale, but he's a good friend to have around."
Tefkin looked across the roofs he and Dale had just crossed, taking in a few deep breaths to control his breathing, then asked with some enthusiasm.
“Do you wanna eat now our Jonny boy?”
Jonathon suddenly realised how hungry he was, but did not need to answer Tefkin as his stomach chose that moment to answer for him. It groaned pleadingly and both Tefkin and Dale laughed out loud.
A short while later, inside the shack, Jonathon, Tefkin, Dale and Milly sat down to eat the succulent hams that been part of the booty from a roof top foray into the Upper City. Then, after a meal in silence, they sat sipping strong tea brewed by Dale over an open fire in the floor.
Tefkin, minus his flying gear, revealed himself as a wiry and humorous, thirty year old with a weather-beaten face topped by a mat of thin, blonde hair and accompanied by an almost permanent, toothless grin. Dale was a man of a similar age who said little.
He was slightly heavier built than Tefkin, and his long black, but grey streaked hair, having the effect of narrowing his chubby, reddened face and deepening his dark brown eyes. A melancholy man Jonathon thought, a troubled man he felt.
Milly was a pretty, dark haired girl with sad, tired blue eyes to which Jonathon's attention had immediately been drawn to when they had first met had. She continually reprimanded the men for speaking out loud, for failing to comply with the speaking conventions of the Whisperer, but her efforts had little effect.
“Don’t worry little sister, the Tans will never hear us, we're safer her than anywhere else” he laughed. “There’s no way they can fly here like us."
Jonathon found it easy to talk to the roof top trio, although Dale, who never seemed to smile, only contributed in a minimal way to the conversation. His expression was always one of deep sadness which caused uneasiness in Jonathon. Despite his mental powers, Jonathon found the route into Dale's mind blocked. The memory of whatever caused the shadow to be cast onto his spirit was buried deep inside him and had been made inaccessible to someone like Jonathon.
But there was something more to Dale, Jonathon perceived. He was deliberately concealing something, he had the men
tal abilities to do so, someone had trained him and his powers of concealment were good enough to thwart Jonathon's gentle probing.
Dale knew that such an attempt was being made and he knew who was doing it, but, despite an uncomfortable sideways glance at Jonathon, he said nothing.
Tefkin, Milly and Jonathon talked of their lives and past while Dale listened politely, entering the conversation only when spoken to or when there was a memory to be shared. Tefkin informed Jonathon that all three Whisperers, as Milly insisted they were called, had been born and lived most of their lives on the roof tops of the city. Once there had been many more, but one by one they had fallen victim to accident or illness.
Now these three survived by stealing into the dwellings of Tans or Meks, anyone who managed to rise above the desperate, poverty stricken mires in which the majority of the population where submerged. In Dubh wealth and power were shown by the vertical distance an individual lived above the street. There they where vulnerable to the Whisperer's activities, Tefkin had told Jonathon, and there were rich, easy pickings to be had from the highest dwellings.
But perhaps the Whisperers were the richest and most powerful of all the inhabitants of Dubh, Jonathon suggested, that their wealth and powers were to be measured, not in material terms, but by their freedom from the forces which ruled the city and its society, and because of their uncorrupted natures, which brought broad smiles from them from Tefkin and Milly. Dale merely nodded.
The Tans knew of the Flyers, as they called the roof top dwellers, and of the others who sought refuge there beyond the limits of their domain, but could do little about it.
Occasionally concerted efforts were made to bring the roof tops under their jurisdiction, but always ended in death and despair for those not physically or psychologically adapted to the alien environment which was the world of the Whisperer.
The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption Page 4