The Sea-wreck Stranger

by Anna Mackenzie

  ‘There’ll be no milk till morning at that rate.’

  Ty’s voice startles me. I straighten and flex my fingers, glancing down. The bucket between my knees is barely a quarter full and Sal is looking mildly over her shoulder at the pair of us.

  ‘I was thinking,’ I say, resuming my milking.

  ‘You should think less,’ Ty announces.

  He probably means it offhand but I’m riled by his tone. ‘Oh, and leave all the thinking to men, is that it?’ I demand. ‘Men like Ton and Colm,’ I add derisively.

  Ty frowns. ‘Ton’s all right,’ he says. I snort in reply. ‘Marn thinks we’d do well to work in more with him.’

  ‘Oh, indeed! The farm would run easier, what with sharing the ploughing and having access to his creek!’

  ‘What would you know of running farms?’

  ‘As much as you! And more, when it comes to Marn’s plans for the future.’ Much as I love my brother, I feel a sudden desire to smack him on his ignorant nose and I close my fingers tight round Sal’s teats to save myself from doing so. I don’t know where these bursts of temper come from, that sweep over me so sudden.

  ‘You’re as grumpy as Tilda these days,’ Ty says.

  I must yank too hard on Sal’s udder in response for she lets out a low complaint and stamps her foot so that I have to clutch at the milk bucket to save it from tipping. ‘It’s just I have less time than you for Jed Barritt,’ I answer stiffly. At lunchtime I’d seen them laughing together over some joke one or the other had told. I grit my teeth at the memory and force my fingers to relax on Sal’s teats, for none of it is her fault.

  ‘The Barritts are our neighbours, Ness,’ Ty says primly. ‘It doesn’t hurt to help them.’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt you,’ I say, but without any sting left in my voice.

  Ty’s face forms into an expression that’s an echo of Marn’s.

  ‘Oh, Ty,’ I cry, ‘don’t become exactly like Marn! Can you not remember Pa, and try to mould yourself a little along his lines too?’

  But Ty doesn’t remember Pa, I know that already, and his answer to my plea is a shrug. It feels as if a distance is growing between us, and I’ve no idea how to close it. The way things stand, with Ty constantly in Jed’s company, I no longer know how far I can trust my brother. There’s little comfort to be had in knowing I was right not to tell him that Dev is still alive.

  As Ty turns his back, tears prickle in my eyes. More than ever I long for someone to confide in. I turn my cheek to Sal’s flank and return to my milking, but for once I can find no comfort in the chore. Even Sal has lost the power to soothe me.

  It feels as if I’m on a cart that’s begun rolling down a slope, gentle at first, then faster and faster till it’s going at such a speed that I couldn’t get off even if I wanted to. Nor do I know whether I want to. How can I? For I don’t know where the cart’s taking me or why, nor whether it’ll crash before it gets there. The only course left me is to cross my fingers and hold on.

  Chapter 19

  The house is dark and silent and I have to force my feet out into the cold. How easy it would be to let myself slide into sleep: I feel as if I haven’t slept properly for weeks. Instead I pull on my clothes and ease open the door. Dev will be starving by now, as well as wondering what’s become of me.

  Marn’s snores follow me as I slip past his and Tilda’s door. The kitchen is warm from the banked down stove. I linger a moment in its heat as I lace my boots then, turning my jacket collar up around my ears, I open the door. The latch falls loud as a shout as I pull it to behind me and I hesitate on the step. No one comes.

  Taking a deep breath I dart across the yard and up the hill beyond, pausing at the woodpile to collect the cache of food I hid earlier. There’s a quarter of moon to light my way and I speed fast as I can towards the sea. With the bay in sight I feel myself relax, but I’ve no time to rejoice at the moon’s reflection, scattered in silver shards across the water. Thin as a shadow I circle the sand, checking behind one last time before I duck around the rocks at the cave mouth.

  Dev is lying on his side at the back of the ledge. He sits up when he sees me, the firelight emphasising the gaunt angles of his face. Guilt stabs me that I’ve left him so long without food, though it’s not been by choice.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you were coming back,’ he says. ‘Has there been trouble?’

  I shake my head. ‘Tilda maybe suspects me of something but there’s nothing new in that. Jed’s more of a problem. He seems always to be watching me.’ I shrug free of the memory of Jed’s narrowed eyes. ‘But I’m here now, and I don’t doubt you’re hungry,’ I say.

  Dev nods. When last I came to the cave he plagued me with questions, so that I sat for nearly an hour explaining the simplest things about how we live. Dev seemed as interested in what we don’t have as what we do, and it was clear from his face that he didn’t agree with the Council’s ban against all the old tecknowledgie. He was shocked when I told him about Cleansing Day and how children hunt for any remnant of teck to throw onto the flames. Tonight he seems to have run out of questions. ‘Stir the fire, and you can have this stew hot,’ I say, as I unpack my gleanings. He doesn’t move. ‘Dev?’ I turn to him. ‘Are you all right?’

  His expression is grave. ‘Ness, I’ve been thinking it over.’

  He holds a spear of driftwood in one hand, and taps it now against his boot. ‘I’ve decided I should talk with this Council of yours.’

  ‘No!’ I cry, grabbing his arm in my anxiety. ‘You can’t! You mustn’t!’

  ‘I have to,’ Dev answers, his face set. I drop my hands.

  ‘Dev, they won’t listen – they’ll not let themselves. You’ll be tried and hanged – or burnt.’ An image of a human figure atop the Cleansing Day fire leaps into my mind and I shudder. In Tarbet they always burn a rough scarecrow on the flames.

  ‘They’ll have to hear what I say first,’ Dev says.

  I shake my head. ‘You don’t know them,’ I say. ‘You don’t know Colm! He’ll not let you speak. He’ll not listen!’ I can hear the hysteria rising in my voice, just as Dev can. He tosses the stick aside and leans forward to grip my shoulder.

  ‘Ness, hush! It’s all right. There’s nothing for you to fear. I’ll not tell them it was you who helped me.’

  Anger stiffens me, that he should think my worries were for myself. Dev feels my reaction and draws back.

  ‘Ness, I can’t stay here forever, don’t you see that?’

  ‘I see that you’ll soon be dead, which is more than you do,’ I answer.

  ‘You’ve told me why the Council believes that anything from the sea is evil,’ Dev says calmly. ‘I understand that, but if I can convince them they’re wrong, everyone on the island will be better off. It would be to the Council’s advantage to hear what I have to say.’

  ‘And you think because of that they will,’ I say scornfully. ‘Dev, you’ll prove yourself the fool. I know Colm Brewster, and it’s not the truth he cares about, nor what’s best for anyone beside himself!’

  Rising abruptly I throw a log on the fire, the sparks that fly up seeming to echo my crackling emotions. I nudge the pot of stew towards the embers – though it’s hardly worth the bother, with Dev so determined to get himself killed.

  ‘Ness,’ Dev begins, but I shake my head at his tone.

  ‘There’s food for two days,’ I say, ‘maybe three. I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can bring more.’ My voice sounds stilted even to my ears.

  ‘I’ve not thought what this has been like for you,’ Dev says at last. ‘I’m sorry for that. Ness, is there something more than you’ve told me?’

  A weight seems to seep through my veins, and I wish, suddenly, that I was safely asleep in my bed with nothing to trouble me save Marn’s snoring and little Sandpiper’s case of sniffles. She’s not quite recovered her strength since the storm. Perhaps that’s true of me as well. I feel as if I’m worn down with the need to be constantly looking over m
y shoulder.

  Dev’s voice is gentle. ‘You mustn’t come here any more, Ness,’ he says. ‘I can look after myself. I don’t want you coming to harm.’

  I shake my head. No matter what I do, I’m like to come to harm.

  Dev shifts his position to ease his leg. I glance down. The wound has begun to crust cleanly but he’s not yet safe from the risk of infection.

  ‘If I can convince the Council to re-establish links with the mainland, then –’

  ‘You still don’t see!’ I interrupt. ‘They don’t want links!

  That’s why they wrote the bans, and why we have Cleansing Day. The bans are to protect us.’

  Dev looks quizzical. ‘From what? It’s not such remnants of the past as you might burn on your fires that do you harm. There’s far more harm in turning your back on everything that people once built and knew.’ He hesitates, his frown deepening. ‘Though maybe your Council knows that. Maybe the fear they generate with their bans is useful for maintaining control.’

  An image of Colm the way I saw him last, at Merryn’s, grows tall in my mind. Who would know what Colm really believes? ‘They’ve always said there’s nothing left beyond Dunnett,’ I say.

  ‘But you know that’s not true,’ Dev argues gently.

  I nod. Dev himself proves it, but the sea-wreck that washes up in Skellap Bay has always made me wonder. I chew on my lip. ‘Tell me about where you’re from,’ I suggest.

  He smiles. ‘My home is called Vidya,’ he says, ‘though it’s had other names. It was an important city once, a trading city with a port and heavy industry.’ I press my lips tight, feeling my ignorance like a stone dropped in water. Dev reaches for the half loaf I brought, reminding me to check the temperature of the stew. It’s warmed through and I pass it to him, wrapping a cloth around the bowl. At first he swallows so fast he chokes a little and I pass him the water bottle, curbing my impatience. With the edge taken off his hunger, he begins to eat more slowly. ‘A lot of what went before has gone,’ he says between mouthfuls, ‘but not all. Some parts of the city have been abandoned, some completely destroyed. There are fewer people now, so it’s enough.’

  He pauses, and I ask a question to hurry him on. ‘Is this city of yours – Vidya – is it like here?’

  ‘No.’ He smiles. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’ I realise then that all Dev knows of Dunnett is the beach and the cave, and the answers I’ve given him.

  I flush. ‘How many people live there?’ I ask.

  ‘Fewer than a thousand. Once it was more than a million.’

  My mouth drops open. ‘What happened to them?’ I breathe.

  He shrugs. ‘It’s difficult to piece it all together. Environmental crises, pandemics, war – it’s not clear which were triggers and which consequences, but they were all part of the problem. Things really began to fall apart after transport and communications broke down – I’d guess that your islands fell out of touch fairly early,’ he adds.

  As the sounds of sea and night take over I begin to think that’s all Dev plans to tell me and, even though I’m struggling to make sense of his words, disappointment pours cool and sobering through my veins. He must feel my restlessness, for he casts me a smile and takes up his thread.

  ‘Vidya was founded by a handful of families about twenty years after the collapse. At first their focus was on survival, but over time they’ve been able to move beyond that. It was my great-great grandmother who insisted on maintaining archives,’ Dev continues. ‘She was in the perfect place – our community was established in the old university.’

  ‘What –’ I start, but Dev anticipates the question.

  ‘It’s a place where people went to learn. My ancestors chose it in the hope that it would remind us of all that was once known, good and bad.’ His mouth twists. ‘They left us the task of regaining the good – which can prove easier said than done,’ he adds. His voice trails away as he stares towards the fire. I wonder what he’s seeing, and how much of it I would understand if I could see it too.

  ‘Why did you come here?’ I ask.

  Dev drags his attention back to me. ‘About twelve years ago people began to notice that fish caught in the northern sea were contaminated. Tests suggested chemical leakage, probably from old storage tanks that had ruptured. A lot of industrial waste – poisonous waste – was dumped in the ocean in the past.’ He sighs. ‘Our monitoring suggests the levels peaked around eight years ago and have been reducing since.’

  I’m lost already in his words. ‘You mean someone put poison in the sea? But why?’

  Dev shrugs. ‘I doubt they meant to cause harm. They might not have known what would happen in the future, or possibly they didn’t care. It’s not my field. My interest is in the problems we’ve been left with.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ I tell him.

  ‘Many things done in the past don’t,’ he says. ‘We still have to deal with them.’

  I frown, but his words have thrown up a question I don’t much like but have to ask. ‘So, it’s true then, that the sea is poisoned? The Council is right?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that. Our results suggest that the contamination – the poisoning – is reducing, but there are fluctuations, and the ecosystem is likely to be permanently altered. That’s what I came to find out,’ he adds. ‘Fish is an important food source on the mainland.’

  Even though each of his answers sets up a dozen new questions, excitement flows wild through my chest. ‘Are you saying that we could start fishing again?’

  ‘It’s possible. It depends on all sorts of factors – the species, where they’re caught, how far they travel, what they eat. You’ve been lucky here,’ Dev continues. ‘On the mainland there are problems with air and water pollution, epidemics, food supplies – some places are worse than others. There are only small pockets of what once existed.’ He shrugs. ‘We’ve re-established communication with a couple of other settlements so we can pool our knowledge. There’s still some structure, mainly local groups. Call it local government, if you like – a bit like your Council.’

  I snort. ‘It doesn’t sound anything like our Council!’

  Dev smiles. ‘Maybe not, but the intention is the same. Everyone has their own idea of how things should be run.’

  As I open my mouth to ask another question a yawn catches me by surprise. Dev’s expression changes to concern. ‘Ness, we can talk about this another time. Right now, you need to get to bed.’

  I nod. I’m fast losing the battle with my eyelids and I’ve the walk home ahead of me yet. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I can,’ I tell him – all the questions he’s set whirling in my head will see to that. ‘Dev, you’ve got to stay out of sight till I can find a safer place for you to go. You should only go out at night, and then no further than the beach. If you’re seen –’ I hesitate. ‘There may be people who’ll listen, but the Council won’t. They’d kill you first.’

  Dev nods gravely. ‘All right, Ness. But you must promise to be careful too.’

  As I bid him farewell and hurry across the beach my mind twists and turns through everything Dev’s told me. The important part – leastways the part I can most easily understand – is that we might be able to start fishing again. As my feet carry me up the track I’m already wondering how I can convince the islanders. In my mind an image of Marn’s stern face appears, then alongside it Ton’s, and Colm Brewster’s. None of them will believe me. As I reach our yard I think of Merryn. She, at least, might listen. Even if she’s angry that I’ve cared for Dev and kept him a secret, she won’t turn me over to the Council. She might even be better able to understand all he has to say.

  As these thoughts fly busily around in my head, a noise at my right alerts me. I start to turn, but too late. Before I can see what waits in the shadows, a hand comes round my face, another grips my arm and I’m pulled backwards and inside the open barn door, a scream stifled in my throat.

  Chapter 20

  Flailing with my free arm
I try to shake my captor loose. His grip is firm. My struggles succeed only in tangling our legs so that we overbalance in a confused welter of limbs and the barn floor, despite its layer of hay, is hard. I lie winded by the fall, and by surprise.

  ‘Well, well. If it isn’t Ness, sneaking about after dark.’

  The voice that curls unwelcome into my ears is Jed’s. My heart is thudding erratically and I curse myself for being so unwary. Jed’s weight is across my chest, his hand over my mouth making it hard to breathe. I try to turn my head away but his grip is tight.

  ‘No noise, Ness. You wouldn’t want to bring everyone running,’ he says.

  That concerns me less than being trapped by Jed but I will myself to relax. Jed feels it and his weight on my torso eases slightly. My mind is racing. How much can he know? Did he follow me or can I spin him a tale – but what? What reason can I give for being out so late?

  Jed’s eyes are like a weasel’s watching its prey, and when his hand lifts slightly from my mouth I have to clench my teeth against the urge to cry out. But Marn, if he came, would have questions of his own, and his might prove harder to answer. I have no choice but to take my chances with Jed.

  ‘Get off me,’ I hiss. ‘You’re heavy.’

  Jed pulls back a little, though his fingers still bite into my arm.

  ‘Looks like I’ve caught our high and mighty Ness red-handed.’ He grins.

  ‘Red-handed at what?’ I demand. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Jed lets out a snort. ‘So it’s normal to be out past midnight?’ he scoffs. ‘I daresay Tilda and Marn might not think so.’

  He means it as a threat, but it’s one that goes both ways. ‘You’re right, Jed,’ I say. ‘They’d assume, if they found us here, that you’re an awful bad influence on me, tempting me out to the barn in the middle of the night.’

  Jed’s eyes narrow but he shifts his weight from my chest, loosing my arm as he sits up. I gather myself together as quick as I can, pushing myself to sitting and shuffling back, even though it takes me further from the door.