The Pattern Maker

by Nicholas Lim

  “No.”

  “I am. Don’t wait. Go as fast as you can. I’ll meet you outside the maze.”

  Skyler looked straight into her eyes. As he turned to go she grabbed his hand. “Take care.”

  He reached for her face and held her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’re going to get out of here,” Garrett said.

  Ululating calls echoed off the valley walls. Hunting calls. He kissed her on the forehead.

  Then he turned and ran for their lives.

  Garrett moved along the path, bent low. The valley had become a giant trap. In front of her, above the facing hill, half the sky had lightened to a deep blue. She thought about routes out. Were they right to go for the gun? Without it they were defenceless, even against the dogs. With it, maybe, just maybe, they could survive. Should she have let Skyler go on ahead? She felt the separation like a physical ache. He was so much faster. And he knew the way.

  Ahead, the call note of the dogs rang out, insistent, suddenly excited. Terror clutched at Garrett's heart. A shot rang out, followed by two more. Then silence.

  Jason!

  Garrett raced down the path. She reached the weir and sprinted over the bridge. On the other side, she lost her footing on loose soil, fell and landed on her injured arm. She rolled to her knees and stopped, teeth clenched.

  High on the hillside, just visible in the morning light, grey shapes rose out of the earth, four dogs, followed by a man. They climbed up by the ramp out of the Eye where Skyler should have been waiting! The dogs quartered the ground in circles, noses low. One dog barked and set off down the hill towards the stony ridge between the pools of water.

  Garrett crawled backwards towards the bridge until she felt wooden boards beneath her knees. She rolled, landed in the water with a soft splash up to her waist, and waded over to a wooden pier.

  When the dogs passed overhead she could hear their snuffling.

  “Coming your way. Hold position. She’s got to be heading for the beach.”

  The words ended in a burst of static. Garrett waited thirty heart beats. She couldn’t manage longer. She began running, without looking back. Her feet were quick on the ramp down into the oval courtyard of the Eye. Her heart was full of dread of what she might find.

  The courtyard was empty. Jason?

  She crossed to the maze and stopped at the top of a flight of stone steps. Carved lettering was etched in shadow on a low square post.

  “Called or uncalled, a god will be present.”

  The subtle complexity of the spiral corridors mocked her. She had to get through! Jason was in there. Somewhere. She had to reach him.

  It was possible. He had done it.

  She stood still, a single point of concentration. What had Jason said? The dogs began to call again. She dismissed them from her mind. In the gesture she heard her son's words and the threat of losing that voice was a sharp terror. And every time your attention wanders, escort it back... That is the required discipline.

  It was possible. He had done it. The thought struck her another way: the maze had a solution. And the route had to be one that many could take; it was too much to ask devotees to memorize a long sequence of decisions. There must be a simple rule. What was it Jason had said? Growth.

  The solution when it hit her was suddenly obvious. It was so simple. The first left, then again the first left, then the second left, then third then fifth then eighth, adding together the last two numbers each time, ignoring all other choices: it was Fibonacci, the simplest rule of population growth. And she had the probable entry points already. After two false starts she chose one with a motif of crossed swords, and threaded the maze in one continuous clockwise spiral without reversal. She entered the central circle.

  His body lay face up on the ground. To one side was a hole and a pile of sand.

  Garrett studied the bullet holes in his chest and back. She estimated the internal trajectories from entry and exit puncture points and the implied organ damage. The blood loss was already very heavy.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes, it's me.” With a doctor’s sense, she stopped her exam. She held him to her. “Shh.”

  He laughed, a single sob. “You cracked our maze.”

  “With your help. Shh.”

  “What are you like? Listen–”

  “Shh, you don't need to talk.”

  “I found the gun! Do you see it?”

  “Shh. Shh.”

  Skyler struggled to sit up. A gout of blood spilled out of one corner of his mouth, black in the dawn light. He spat.

  “Don't move,” Garrett said.

  “Can you see it?”

  “Wait. Stay still and I'll look.”

  Garrett looked around the circle then saw the glinting chunk of metal pressed into the sand beside her legs, beneath where Skyler had been lying.

  “Yes. I've got it.”

  Skyler slumped back against her.

  “Good. It cost me enough.”

  He fought with his breath for a while.

  “I hurt.”

  “I know you do.”

  They held each other for some time.

  “So that’s it?” he whispered.

  “Shhh.”

  “Mother? No tourniquet? Bandages? Well – doctor?”

  “Shhh.”

  “Am I going to die?” Skyler lifted his head and looked out over the valley. He coughed. Black spattered Garrett’s chest. “I am going to die aren’t I? Otherwise you would be fixing me or taking me somewhere.” He looked at her, amazed and suddenly desperate. Garrett tried to meet his gaze without fear.

  He closed his eyes and began chanting names. A terrible anger rose up and passed through her without resistance. They had no time for it. She held him to her.

  A fit of coughing stopped his chant. Skyler’s hands gripped her, his eyes clear and shining. “I’m cold. And I’m frightened. I'm frightened.”

  “I know. It's all right. I'm here. Shhh. It's all right. I'm here. Shhh. It's all right. I'm here. Shhh.”

  She rocked him in her arms in the old way, until he sighed. With two fingers, she searched for the pulse in his throat. It was faint, but still regular.

  A long while later she realised she was staring at the top of his head, so close, she could count hairs. He had been born with an amazing amount of hair. She remembered counting hairs, and toes, and fingers. All starting in blood and mess, the most painful and difficult moment of her life. What an extraordinary achievement it was, a grown man.

  His body stiffened in her arms. His eyes opened, but he didn’t see her.

  “A thousand lifetimes. You promised. Do not forsake me, Arshu! I will wait for you!”

  “Shhh. Shhh.”

  She tried to take his pulse again, now at his wrist. She couldn’t find it. She continued rocking.

  What a strong child he was! She held his bloody hand and studied the fingers. Like his father’s, long and searching. She bent her head and noticed droplets of water splashing on his skin, a tiny patter like the blessing of rain, and realised it was falling out of her eyes.

  “You flew my cage.”

  Garrett froze.

  “And you gave my dogs the slip.”

  She turned. Kirtananda stood on the other side of the sandy circle. One hand held a gun; the other tugged at a leather leash.

  “Well, all but Tyson.”

  The redbone raised his nose and opened his black lips. Through the smile his growl was a bass purr.

  “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble you know that? Now get up. I’ve a job for you.”

  Garrett bent her head over Jason’s. She rocked him. Kirtananda fired a shot into the sand.

  “Get up.”

  He fired again. A whistle sounded off stonework, short, high-pitched and descending. Garrett leaned further over her son’s body, her head almost touching the ground beside him.

  “Or do you want me to put more bullets in him?”

  Garrett placed Jason’s head on the g
round. Out of long habit, she put his body in the recovery position then stood up slowly, holding her side as though she had a stitch, a hand inside her shirt just above her belt, where it had become unbuttoned. She turned. Kirtananda’s gun was aimed straight at her. A shovel was balanced over his left shoulder. He threw it at her feet.

  “Pick it up!”

  Garrett’s eyes narrowed on the gun.

  “Move!”

  ***

  Garrett stumbled down the path through pines. She could feel tears, abstract points on the graph of her cheek, noted like data; in her stomach a tearing pain.

  “Faster!”

  Despite the care she took – leant slightly over, still clutching her side, light and quick on her feet around obstructions – her left arm was knocked repeatedly. An earthwork loomed ahead, a mud bank crumbling in places from the weight of water pooled above it. She worked around the base. The ground was soft and cold under her feet. Behind her she could hear the growling of the man’s dog.

  “Now turn around.”

  Garrett buried the shovel upright into the earth, put a hand under her injured arm and turned round. New blood was staining the bandage.

  “Tyson!”

  The dog leapt down from the bank with a snarl, his leash trailing behind him. He raced towards Garrett. Her hand slipped inside her shirt where it was unbuttoned above her belt. As Tyson jumped for her throat she fired. Again and again and again. The dog crashed into her. They fell to the ground together, Garrett still firing.

  She rolled away and came to her knees. The dog whimpered once and was silent. Garrett stood, her head dizzy with fresh pain. The pistol she had used lay half-submerged in a puddle of muddy water ten feet away.

  “You killed my dog.” Kirtananda’s eyes bulged. “You killed my fucking dog.”

  “You killed Jason.”

  “And now I’m gonna kill you.”

  Kirtananda raised his gun. Garrett stared at the pistol on the ground. It was out of reach. She looked up at Kirtananda. The killer smiled over the barrel, his aim the middle of her forehead. He squeezed the trigger.

  Two shots rang out, then the insect whine of a bullet ricocheting off stone. Garrett stared in shock. Somewhere in her mind she registered the fact that she should feel pain. Or nothing. She felt as she had before, detached, a cold grief through all her body. She was still alive.

  Another shot rang out. Kirtananda jerked forward as though punched. When he turned around his face wrinkled with disbelief. The next shot lifted him a little. He looked down at his chest in surprise. His feet scrabbled against slipping earth, a last cry shut off when he hit the ground.

  “Christine!”

  A shout of terrible urgency echoed through the trees. Bryce’s head appeared over the top of the bank. When he saw her his eyes closed; his cheeks puffed out with a sigh of relief. He pushed his glasses up his nose with a finger.

  “Are you okay?”

  Garrett waited for her mind to catch up with what her body had never stopped believing: that she was still alive. She listened to her pulse.

  “Wait there! I’m coming down.”

  Garrett heard stones sliding somewhere and the thud of a landing. Bryce reappeared at the base of the dam beside Kirtananda’s body. Garrett could see Kirtananda’s back, punctured by bullet holes, and his head folded over at an impossible angle, eyes fixed open. Garrett watched Bryce nudge the body with a foot. It rolled, balanced a moment as though still capable of decision, then tipped over a lip of earth face down into a shallow trench half-filled with seeping water. Garrett closed her eyes.

  “Christine.”

  Garrett felt Bryce’s arm around her shoulders. She sensed her body stiffen. His hand touched her hair and held her head against his.

  “My son is dead,” Garrett’s voice was quiet.

  They stood together in silence. Garrett’s body shook occasionally. After a while Bryce spoke in her ear.

  “We must go. Others will be coming.”

  As he guided her away he stopped to pick up the dropped gun. When Garrett looked back she could see water breaking over the edge of the dam where Kirtananda had fallen, filling the trench, the carcass already half-covered.

  ***

  When they reached the edge of the trees Bryce stopped. He held up a warning hand. Garrett started forward.

  “No Christine!” Bryce caught her by the shoulders.

  “I need to find his body!”

  “There are others with guns.” He pulled her back inside the trees.

  Garrett pointed to the head of the valley. “I need to go back.”

  She tried to turn round.

  Bryce held her. He looked into her eyes then nodded. “Okay.”

  He studied the paths criss-crossing the open ground.

  “This way.”

  He chose a footpath that climbed high up the side of the valley. He led her stumbling for some minutes along a sheep-run that followed the contour of a ridge. When he stopped to catch his breath Garrett waited beside him. They stood under a twisted Scots pine, its upper trunk bent nearly horizontal by the coastal wind. Below them, the segmented glass dome of the House of Healing was dimly visible under the lightening sky. Garrett’s body became still, eyes fixed on a point near the summit at the head of the valley. From her high vantage point she could see down onto the tilted face of the hill straight into the central stone circle of the Eye of Faith. It was empty.

  “His body – it’s gone!”

  “Please. Christine, we must get under cover.” Bryce spoke between panted breaths. He looked around then pointed at the dome of the House of Healing below them.

  “Quick. This way!”

  Garrett continued to stare down into the empty centre of the Eye. “I must find where they have taken his body!”

  “Christine!”

  He tugged her by the hand.

  “Christine! Please! We must get out of sight!”

  He pulled her down a steep path stepped with flat stones. Garrett stopped often; when she moved it was with clumsy jerks. They reached the valley floor and crossed to the geodesic dome. They found an entrance and entered what looked like a gigantic greenhouse.

  The air was warm and damp. Soft dawn light filtered in through the domed roof. Paved paths divided ordered beds of plants in stone troughs. In the centre a huge clump of bamboos sprouted up to the glass ceiling.

  Bryce turned to her. “We are safe here.”

  Safe. Garrett swayed on her feet. Bryce reached out and caught her. “It’s okay.”

  A trembling ran through her muscles like the shiver in a horse’s flank. Bryce was solid beside her. She swayed a moment in the angle of his arm.

  “It’s okay now.”

  Garrett turned her head away.

  “Ar gefn ei geffyl gwyn.” The Welsh curse was guttural. Bryce held her shoulders. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  After a while the trembling stopped. Garrett began to speak.

  “I arrived yesterday. Was it yesterday?” She looked up, startled out of her daze. “Cherry – my friend! I came with Cherry. I don’t know if she’s alright!” Garrett raised her hands, agitated. “Jason sent someone for her! He said they would bring her.” She dropped her hands then whispered, “He said… Jason said–”

  Her legs give way. Bryce caught her. He lowered her onto the edge of a nearby stone trough planted with tall grasses.

  She clung to him, unable to speak. Her stomach heaved. It heaved again. She turned and threw up into the plants, a dry repeated retching.

  Panting, she stared down at a tangle of grasses. After some time she became aware of a cloth cleaning her mouth. It was a handkerchief. She took it.

  “Thank you.”

  She cleaned herself up. When she had finished she sat still, staring at nothing. After a while she felt an arm around her shoulders, a chin resting on the top of her head.

  “You saved my life,” she said. She wiped her mouth again. Her cheek rested against his chest.

&n
bsp; “I wouldn’t let you be harmed. I’ve watched over you since we met.” From the tower a bell began to toll the hour. Bryce looked out over her head. His mouth began to shape words silently, an ever-varying series of syllables.

  Garrett wondered what he meant. She was aware of curious sensations – his warm chest against her cheek, her arms holding her stomach, an acid taste in her mouth – it was like watching someone else’s body. She watched herself raise a hand to her forehead and wipe away moisture. She wondered at the sweat.

  “I must tell you something,” she stared at her glistening hand.

  “Tell me everything that happened.” Bryce closed his eyes. He continued to mouth silent syllables, in sequences of nine.

  “I think these people have engineered the malaria strain we saw in the Brighton cases. That man you shot said a plague is running. They may have released it using human carriers,” she shook her head, “Using people like suicide bombers. I think the man I found at the festival, Christmas, was one of them. Garrett clenched her hands. “Someone called Arshu ordered it. They believe he is a God.”

  She stood up. She looked at the surrounding glass walls. “There was a sniper on the cliff. He might have seen us–”

  “Zak’s dead. And now Kirt.” Bryce smiled. Sunlight mirrored his glasses. “I’m so glad you came here.”

  Garrett took a step back. “Kirt?”

  “I have so much to show you.”

  Garrett shuddered.

  “I do. Truly. And to think Zakiya started in this House.” Bryce gave an impatient shake of the head. “I regretted killing him. Not Kirt – he always was a mad dog. But Christine, they’re not what I want to talk to you about.”

  Another spasm rippled from her stomach up and down the length of her body. She stepped back further.

  “Rheinnalt, no–”

  Steam sighed in faint plumes of artificial rain from hidden piping. She looked up at the sky of hexagon panes. She tried to see through the glass panels.

  “I told you, we are safe. Kirt’s dogs are leaderless. And anyway they will not dare come in here, not against me. I am Osei, Head of this House. They are nothing. Foot soldiers.” He flicked his fingers then looked at her with raindrop eyes.