by Coral Walker
By
Coral Walker
Copyright © 2016 by Coral Walker
First Edition
www.coralwalker.co.uk
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To Daniel, Maya and Leo
Acknowledgements
This book was conceived in the bustle of a novel writing workshop run by Lynne Barrett-Lee, a marvellous author in her own right. Her affirmation and encouragement fired me then and is still firing me now. I owe her my gratitude, and now with the book completed I look forward to thanking her in person.
This book, in a sense, is Radica and Andy’s book. Their generosity in reading an early version, and their keen interest in the story, filled me with delight and purpose. For that, I thank them.
There was a long journey before I plunged fully into writing. Rena has watched me at every step. It was wonderful to see myself through her eyes and was good to know, if ever I were lost, where to seek a light.
If writing a novel is like climbing a mountain, I chose a treacherous one to scale. I give profound thanks to my husband, David. There isn’t a sentence he hadn’t wrestled with, not just once, but in many versions of the manuscript.
Last, but not least, I give thanks to all who have supported me.
Table of Contents
BOOK TWO
1. Blue Room
2. A New Day
3. Blue Bath
4. Miracle
5. Targar
6. Malalea
7. Fire
8. Dilea
9. Brianna, Brianna
10. Western Wing
11. Dark Room
12. Dome
13. The Lake
14. Fly, Fly
15. Yellow Flower
16. Scan
17. Punch
18. The Soul Eater
19. Yellow Band
20. Charleea Tree
BOOK TWO
1
Blue Room
Jack was floating in the warm spring air. Above him the fluffy white clouds drifted; below him, fields of grass and trees spread out over hills and mountains.
Warm and content, he meandered.
The clouds now swelled up and turned dark. When they started swirling and rolling like billowing smoke, things landed on him, chilling him to the bone. They seemed to be raindrops, cold and wet, soaking him, weighing him down and making him plunge downwards.
It was a helpless fall.
When he stopped falling, he found himself again floating, up by the ceiling in a blue room that was quiet and eerily still.
Down there, in the middle of the room, a blue coffin-shaped lidless container was placed, and in the container a person was laid, pale as a white sheet, too young to be a corpse. Through the layer of fog that wrapped the youth and blurred his features, it was still possible to trace his quiet beauty — the smooth forehead, the straight nose, the dark hair that was always ready to fall on the ears.
The realisation came to him slowly but soon became clear and significant, like a cloud taking on a shape — he knew him. It was unsettling, almost upsetting.
It was HIMSELF!
He gasped at the pair of eyes staring back at him, as wide open as the eyes of a fish, as bland as the grey sky.
What on earth was he doing in that container?
+++
The door creaked open. Two blue-faced women strode in, one tall and slender, the other short and plump.
Weary but still alert, he recognised them — Lady Cici and her maid Dilea.
Cici, the tall one, with a fidgeting in her gait, shuffled to a table in the far corner, while Dilea, the calm and stable one, made several tedious trips trudging out and back to bring in heavy jars of water, full to the brim. One by one, she laid them neatly at the side of the container. In a while, a row of them was lined up. She counted the number of jars with her fingers and lifted one. Stooping over, she tipped the water into the container.
Instantly he heard the sound of water splashing, and to his bewilderment, distinctly felt it on his skin.
He stared at the scene, disquieted at being placed in a coffin-like container, as still as a corpse, in a blue room full of tubes and bottles. But then he let out a dry laugh, as soundless as if he were part of the air.
That was a body, not him!
Coming from the water that was lapping his ears was a voice, soothing and subdued, almost like a lullaby: “Something is happening tonight. TONIGHT, TONIGHT.”
His mind, dull and sedated, drifted like a flock of sheep led by a shepherd to their night-time shelter.
All of a sudden, he saw it, in bold characters against a bleary backdrop, looking dark and ominous.
It said, “It’s TONIGHT! It’s HAPPENING!”
Another jar of water was poured in, and he felt it — the tingle of water lapping against his skin.
Lady Cici had been busying herself with tubes and bottles. At the moment she was holding a tall tube, half filled with thick silvery liquid. She gazed at it for a long while with an intense interest before placing it into a wooden holder.
A thick gold-rimmed book lay on the table, with the opened pages secured by a heavy paperweight, shaped like a beast. She ran her fingers over the opened page before she picked three bottles from a collection stored on a shelf on the wall nearby. The selected bottles were deposited next to the wooden holder with the tube of silver liquid. After that, she took the bottles, one after another, and for each of them, dripped a drop or two of the contents into the tube.
Then she gave the tube a good shake until sparks rose out and the mixture grew turbulent and chaotic. Clouds of colours formed and evolved restlessly. Then it settled, abruptly, into calmness with the colour of the deep ocean.
Obviously this was what she was hoping for, as a smile took shape on her face, softening folds and lines that had been knitted from expectation.
Dilea interrupted her, concerned about the water. “Another jar and he will go under,” she mumbled.
Cici turned and sized the water up with her lustrous eyes. Swiftly, she returned the tube to its holder, took a long open-ended tube from the table and knelt down by the container next to the boy’s head. Answering her lady’s gesture, the maid put down the jar she was holding and knelt down herself on the other side. Sleeves rolled, arms outstretched, she stooped over, held the youth’s jaw with both hands and gave it a gentle tug. She held the mouth open, and with her curiosity kindled, watched her mistress insert the tube into the mouth. But the position of the tube wasn’t quite satisfactory, so she had to try arranging and rearranging the head until an ideal position was found, and the inserted tube was deep, secure and upright.
“More water. All of them,” ordered Cici, standing up. Dilea slowly resumed her mechanical water-tipping, except for a flash of doubt that lingered in her round face but which was soon suppressed and swept away by a good maid’s natural obedience.
Content, Cici strode back to her table, with her gait becoming light and bouncy, almost like a young girl. While the maid was busy, she furtively drew a small packet from a secret pocket in her robe. She laid it on the table and, with painstaking attention, unwrapped its countless layers to disclose a heart-shaped bottle. Her eyes shone brightly as she took it in the safety of her hands, staring at it as if it were a spellbound frog about to turn into a prince.
She kissed it, and in he
r hands, the bottle lit up. It rose from the surface of her palm and started hovering in unreadable patterns as if it had a mind of its own.
All the jars were now empty, and the body was submerged a few inches under the water. Judging from Lady Cici’s expression everything was ready.
She took the tube of liquid that was by now fully stabilised to a deep crystal blue, knelt down and opened the lid.
As her hand tilted, the thick and slimy liquid dripped sluggishly into the water. With each drop, a ripple formed and expanded with increasing speed. Water splattered and vapour gathered at the edge of the ripple, and soon the bath was bubbling in an uproar with a thick fog clinging to its surface.
He felt a sudden sharp sense of drowning, of things invisible hitting and shoving him, pulling and tearing at him. “You are nothing!” they seemed to be shouting, echoing one another, “Go! Hide!”
The fog, covering everything, blocked his view and was suffocating him.
“Go, go! You don’t belong here! You don’t belong to me,” the voice resonated, “Lost! Lost!”
A yellowish thing, wobbling like jelly, rolled from the heart-shaped bottle, squeezed through the opening of the mouth tube, and slid rapidly down. His stomach, anxious with anticipation, twisted and turned like a hungry lion. It roared all of a sudden and contracted sharply.
The shapeless, soulful thing, thrived in its new territory — the domain of a muscular, young and lively body — and sent tingles all over it. The stomach was just the entry point. The brain was the ultimate target, and a splendid one, expanding to the size of the universe or shrinking to a speck of dust of its own will. Everything else, the head, the heart, the limbs, the torso and all the senses and thoughts were no more than enslaved attachments, part of a machine.
“Lost, Lost! This is no longer the place for you!” the voice sang. “Lost, Lost! You are not as big as a fly, no more powerful than dust. There isn’t a place for you here. Go! Go!”
Things continued squashing him, pushing and shoving him. He felt like a deposed king exiled from his kingdom.
“Go! Go! Through that mouth tube. Go! Go!”
It was irresistible. The tube was open and welcoming, shining with golden light from the other end, and ethereal trumpets were joyfully blowing as if to celebrate his life. All the burdens and worries, the fears and desperation, let go of them! Gentle hands were soothing him, carrying him through the long tube towards the other end.
The heart-shaped bottle was waiting there, with the promise of a long restful sleep. All the struggles, the chains and killings. Wasn’t he tired?
“Move up, move up a little bit more!”
A new place was waiting for him, scented with his mother’s fragrance, as warm as home.
“You’re almost there,” the voice was gentle.
Home! Home! How can I go home WITHOUT a body!
Jack screamed, waking up with his head splitting. In despair, he clung to his last trace of consciousness.
Breathe, breathe hard!
There was the throat, with its smooth wall, too smooth to hold on to.
But hold on. Hold on…
2
A New Day
“Ornardo, Ornardo!”
Ornardo smiled. A flower petal slipped into his mouth through his tight lips.
He crushed its silky skin against his tongue, squeezing out its fragrant juice. A trickle of excited saliva filled the cavity of his mouth. His eyes, heavy and detached, fluttered as he tried to open them.
When they did open, he saw Cici’s face smiling at him.
Her hair was tied up formally like a grown woman, and her dress was tight at the chest. She looked different. Was that her mother’s dress? How could she breathe in that?
Yesterday, they had swung on the Charleea tree. Barefoot, hair fluffy like autumn grass, wearing a tunic and leggings, she had swung like a wild bird and laughed like a ringing bell.
It was only yesterday, but how remote it felt, like staring at a distant island in the deep sea. You knew it was there only because you had seen it before.
Or could it be less recent than yesterday?
Her face, carefully prepared, under a thick layer of powder, carried a look that was difficult to interpret. Her gestures and her movements, smooth and graceful as they were, were the result of subtle self-control.
She was no longer a wild fruit growing in the light with each morning dew, but a ripened one bending the branch with its weight.
The tip of her finger was on his lips. He felt the touch, but it seemed strange and aloof as if the lips were not his. Perhaps his rapid awakening from a long sleep had left part of him still slumbering.
I will trap her finger and pretend to bite it ...
But his arm was stiff, remote and almost unreachable. She, seemingly aware of his attempt, winked and manoeuvred the finger that was on his lip into his mouth.
Bite, a light and harmless one. She would giggle and pretend to strike his chest in revenge. But her face flinched and twisted.
She was in pain! Let go of her! Let go of her!
If only he could unclench his teeth.
Dilea rushed in and threw herself on him, hands clinging to his jaw like claws, wrenching and wrestling. The teeth gave way, and so did he. Rolling over, he landed face down on the grass. The grass was soft, with a fresh smell. Their tips poked into his mouth and nostrils like irritating visitors. He tried, but failed, to turn himself over.
Just yesterday, he had run like the wind.
+++
The light was off, the curtains were drawn, and darkness was all around. Cici said that rest was what he needed.
It seemed that darkness was the only medicine. Perhaps she was right: he was ill, and the illness had split his mind from his body. Contemplating in the darkness and reconnecting his mind with his body was the only way.
Cici dropped in at various times. She looked beautiful in the dimness with the pearls glowing around her smooth neck. The middle finger on her right hand was wrapped up.
He blushed as he caught sight of her bandaged finger and blushed even more because he was blushing, which was unnecessary for his skin didn’t glow now as it should. Without any change to his glowing colour, in the darkness Cici wouldn’t even notice.
He should be worried, and not just about his blushing. A Baran’s skin should glow with a faint bluish gleam in the dark, like stars twinkling in the night sky. If he couldn’t glow, what could he be? An alien? An Ertharan, to be precise, whose skin was as dull as blanched hide.
Cici said it was just the illness, a rare one. He had caught it accidentally and fell into an unexpectedly long sleep. As soon as he recovered, the glow was sure to return.
“A blue bath or two should do the trick,” she added.
A blue bath — how clever. He had almost forgotten them.
Since their invention, you could hardly tell a peasant from a duke. Anyone, as long as he was rich enough to afford a blue bath, could make himself glow as much as a lord. It was bizarre to think that he, Ornardo, son of Lord Doluli, one of the richest men in the land, had to resort to such weird tricks to restore the natural colour and glow that had been his from birth.
“Did you swap my body while I was asleep?” he joked.
Her gleaming blue face grew suddenly dark, like a candle flame dimmed by a swirling wind. She said nothing.
In her absence, he pondered, as he thought he should be doing, each part of his body. The toes were the first ones. Think about them and control them. There were dark tunnels, twisted and bent, parts of which were cluttered. But they were connected and would take him where he wanted to go. The paths from mind to body just needed to be trodden to restore the full connection.
He hadn’t the slightest idea how long he had been in the darkness, but when Cici came back later, he could almost wiggle his toes and move his fingers.
After that, his progress became rapid. On Cici’s next visit he touched her face with his hands, tracing the contours with his finge
rs — the ridge of the eyebrow, the curved eyelid, the tall cheeks and the warm lips.
Tears rolled down from under her half-closed eyes.
Why cry? Just yesterday, they had swung on the Charleea tree, singing and laughing.
3
Blue Bath
As soon as the curtain was pulled open, he melted into the first beams of the morning light.
He wobbled, but stood.
Summer, he cheered, filling his chest with the warm, fragrant smell. The garden was awash with light, and all the plants were in their finest green.
But then his heart missed a beat.
It was only yesterday the leaves of the Charleea tree were falling, and the wind was bitter. How long had he slept?
The door opened, in came Cici and her maid, Dilea.
“I’ve got you some clothes, and the blue bath is ready,” Cici said light-heartedly as the maid laid the garments on the bed.
The garments were of the finest material with embroidered cuffs and collar.
“These are not mine.”
There was a stunned look on Cici’s face. “But I don’t have your clothes, not anymore,” she murmured.
Where could they be? He couldn’t possibly be here without his clothes — the blue vest and its matching shirt. Embroidered on the blue vest there was a tree, a few wavy lines suggesting a hilly field and the sky with the sun and moons. Mother had sewn it herself. She said the tree was him, the sky and the field were his father and mother providing the things he needed. A yellow flower by the side of the tree was added later when Lizi, his little sister, started babbling. She had insisted on it.
“A tree needs a companion and a flower is a good one.”
Lizi had always wanted to be a flower.
“Ornardo?” came Cici's voice. “What are you thinking?”
“It’s odd ... I can’t figure out what happened. It seems like something is missing. It was yesterday, wasn’t it? Or could it be the day before?”
“You were ill, Ornardo. It has been a long time.” She smiled faintly. “What do you remember Ornardo?”