by Chris Ord
Gaia continued to play with Aran’s hair, the softness comforted her. Her voice was a whisper, cracked and trembling with emotion.
‘Yann saw beauty in everything. He floated through life. Maybe that was his problem, but at least he was happy.’
Freya opened her eyes.
‘He was one of the good guys, a pure soul but he wasn’t meant to be here.’
Aran sat up and wiped his tears.
‘What do you mean?’
Freya shuffled, and looked away, realising she had said the wrong thing.
‘Sorry, that came out badly. I just meant that some of us are different. We’ve been programmed differently. We’re killers. The world is destroying people like Yann, the ones with the good hearts. It’s natural selection. The good won’t survive.’
Freya’s voice faltered, as Gaia reflected on her words. Freya was right. The three of them could run as far as they wanted, but there was no escaping the truth, no escaping themselves. The young all knew what they were, what the community had made of them. Freedom was the chance to be something different, to become who they chose.
Gaia looked at Freya, tears had filled Freya’s eyes and she was biting her lip. Gaia leant forward, and Aran followed. All three wrapped their arms around one another and hugged. They were long reassuring hugs, that told them everything would be alright. Gaia and the others knew the gravity of the situation and felt the pain of Yann’s loss. If they were to get through this the group could not allow the pain to break them. Freya was right. The young were different, killers, but that made them strong and survivors. Yann had been a gift, showing them all something else. He had reminded all three of their humanity, that there was still beauty and good in the world if you cared to look. Where there was no beauty you could create it. The young lived in a world of fear and brutality, but each could make it better. The new world could begin with them.
All three sat for a while, wallowing in the silence, bathing in its calm. A thought swept through Gaia’s mind. She laughed and spoke.
‘He knew his birds and animals, didn’t he?’
Freya grinned, nodding in agreement.
‘I know. Where’d he pick that up? Were you ever taught anything like that?’
‘Nope. Not that I recall.’
Aran shook his head and chuckled.
‘Do you think they were training him to run a farm?’
They all laughed, filled with warmth and affection. The three sat and exchanged memories of Yann. Tender and touching stories filled with the same spirit and humour as Yann. Despite the brief time together, and difficult circumstances there were fleeting moments of laughter and joy. Aran told of when he first met Yann, how Aran had approached him, how it had become apparent that Yann also wanted to escape. Aran seemed uncomfortable in recalling it, as though the memory was too private and it was not right to share. This was the part of Yann’s backstory that had always puzzled Gaia, but had never thought to ask. Why did Aran pick Yann and why did he want to come? Despite his reticence Aran told them.
‘I don’t know, there was always something different about Yann. I thought it was a rebellious streak, but maybe with hindsight I was wrong. We’d spoken occasionally, and I’d sounded him out a bit. Nothing too obvious, ambiguous stuff. One day he whispered to me, ‘Do you want out?’ That was the start. It was a risk on his part, but I guess I’d given him enough signals. Plus he didn’t seem to care. I arranged to meet him one evening and told him that I had plans and if he wanted in. The look on his face when I told him. I’ll never forget it. He was like a child, could barely contain his excitement. Every time we met you could tell he was itching to go. He wasn't interested in the detail, it was just a case of wanting to go.’
Gaia butted in, there was still one question Aran had not answered and puzzled her.
‘Did he ever say why he wanted to leave the island so much? I thought if anyone could cope with the island it would be Yann. He struck me as the type that would just let it all float by.’
‘I did ask him and it was an odd answer. He said he was bored and wanted some adventure. He said the place drove him nuts.’
They all laughed again, but thought about Yann’s words as they sank in. There was a bit of truth in that for Gaia too, maybe for all of them. There were many reasons Gaia wanted to escape. She had always been convinced it was about finding freedom and her own future. But the escape was showing Gaia that it was about other things too. The journey was about adventure and discovery. All three were young and had their lifetime’s ahead. There was something deep inside Gaia, an urge to fight against being put in a box and made to perform. Gaia did not want to be just a cog in a machine, something engineered by the community to fit its needs. Gaia wanted to see what was left of the world, however messed up it might be. After a long silence Gaia spoke.
‘I think Yann nailed it. That’s why I’m here. Aren’t we all? I want to experience life, live it. I don’t mind if I die taking a few risks. I’d rather die doing something I love, something I chose to do than live a dull life shaped by the community. I want something better. I deserve it. We all do.’
Freya nodded.
‘Yes, that’s it for me, definitely. The hope there’s something better. I don’t know, it’s hard to say exactly but I feel this urge to find some answers. I’m sick of being told who I’m meant to be and what my life is all about. The community say they know what’s best. They talk of the greater good, but it’s always their greater good and their best not mine. I’d like a say. That’s all I want, a say in what I become.’
Gaia smiled. Freya and Gaia both looked at Aran who was quiet, staring into space. Gaia thought he looked lost. He remained silent.
‘How about you Aran? What made you decide to escape?’
Aran continued to look away, the same vacant expression on his face, his mind elsewhere. Gaia thought maybe he had not heard, or was not listening, but he had. Every word had stung him. Aran was thinking of a response, knew what he wanted to say, but could not.
‘I escaped because I had to. I had no choice.’
Aran jumped to his feet, and clasped his hands together. The sudden energy and animation took the others by surprise.
‘Let’s check this place out. We need to know we’ll be safe here, or it’ll all be over before we get to the hills.’
Freya and Gaia got up, and gathered the rucksacks. The chamber was small, almost a landing. It was empty, just a stone floor and two doorways, one leading up to the bell tower, the other down to the main part of the church. Aran led the others down the steep narrow staircase. It was dark. At the base of the staircase was a room, with no light. All three entered, as Freya felt her way around the walls until she reached a door. Freya pressed her ear against it and listened. The other two waited, as Freya reached down and eased the handle. A gap appeared, the door creaked open and light flooded in.
Freya stepped through the door and into the main area of the church, Gaia and Aran followed. The room was large and cold, and coloured light streamed in through the bright stained glass windows. On the right was a large stone basin filled with water. Most of the room was filled with two columns lined with rows of wooden benches. Between was a narrow aisle leading to an open area at the back of the church. The floor was raised and covered in dusty old rugs. There was a platform to one side on which stood a lectern. A long table stood in front of the benches and beyond were more tables littered with an assortment of objects. A large silver cross stood in the centre of the table. The windows at the back of the church were vast, magnificent displays, bursting with a kaleidoscope of rainbow colours woven into a picture of a man on a cross and some people kneeling at his feet. The windows were tall and narrow with a pointed arch at the top. Four stone pillars stretched out to the high wooden ceiling above, and around the higher reaches there were strange stone demons, and a weird menagerie of creatures. The chamber was silent and cavernous. There was a peaceful atmosphere, but there was something not quite right. Gaia had a strang
e feeling.
The three split and explored the room. Though there were no people something told Gaia the room had been lived in. This was not abandoned, life had warmed it. Gaia moved along the aisle, stroking the benches as she passed. In front of each was a square mat or cushion, each scarlet red and embroidered with a black cross. The colours and material were worn and faded. Books were placed on the shelves that backed each bench in front. There was a red book and a green book. Gaia picked up the green one, The Book of Hymns, and opened it. Each page contained a numbered set of words. Gaia wondered what they were, and read the words of one. The hymns had a strange and steady rhythm.
He who would valiant be
He who would valiant be
'gainst all disaster,
let him in constancy
follow the Master.
There's no discouragement
shall make him once relent
his first avowed intent
to be a pilgrim.
Who so beset him round
with dismal stories
do but themselves confound
his strength the more is.
No foes shall stay his might;
though he with giants fight,
he will make good his right
to be a pilgrim.
Since, Lord, thou dost defend
us with thy Spirit,
We know we at the end,
shall life inherit.
Then fancies flee away!
I'll fear not what men say,
I'll labor night and day
to be a pilgrim.
‘To be a pilgrim.’ Gaia reflected on the meaning of the words. They seemed antiquated, an arcane language she had never heard. These were the words of the days before, and of the old ways. Churches were places that housed the old religion, like the ruins of the abbey on the island. They were the buildings where communities gathered to worship a god. He had no name, it was just God. He was the old god, the forbidden god. Gaia read the words again. The rhythm and lyricism fascinated her. They were almost musical, though music was banned now in the community, it had been a part of her early years, the nurturing.
Gaia replaced the book and picked up the red one. The front read - ‘New Revised Standard Version Holy Bible,’ the final two words in large bold golden letters. Gaia opened it, and the pages fell open on a section named ‘Peter.’ By the side of the words were the numbers ‘2:18.’ The paragraph read -
‘Slaves, submit yourselves to your masters with all respect, not only to those who are good and considerate, but also to those who are harsh.’
Gaia opened another page, the passage numbered ’28:53’
‘Then because of the dire straits to which you will be reduced when your enemy besieges you, you will eat you own children, the flesh of your sons and daughters whom the Lord has given you.’
Gaia closed the book. Slaves, masters, eating the flesh of your own children. What was this? Was this what the people of the old ways thought? Gaia moved to the table at the front and examined the large silver cross. It was intricate and ornate, and as with the large window that dominated the room there was a figure of a long-haired bearded man. He was semi-naked, wearing only flowing underwear, his arms stretched out. The man’s hands were nailed to the horizontal beams of the cross, and his head bowed, on it he was wearing what looked like a circular head garment made from twigs. The feet were pressed together and nailed to the vertical beam. The man’s eyes were closed, and above his head was a sign with letters. Gaia gazed at the image, mesmerised by the peace and tranquility of the man. He was hanging from a cross, nailed to the beams and yet there was no pain or anguish on his face. On the contrary, he looked serene, not dead, but resigned to his fate, almost welcoming it.
Gaia heard a noise to her right. There was a door which had opened and a small crack appeared. She could see eyes peering through. They were low down, small, the eyes of a child. The door opened further and there was a little girl with long, messy blonde hair. She was dressed in a rag of a white dress, torn and filthy. The girl clutched a small blanket in her arms, her hand at her face, sucking her thumb. The child was only a few years old, her face filled with a mixture of fear and confusion. Gaia reached out her arm and beckoned the child forward.
‘It’s OK. I won’t hurt you.’
Freya and Aran stopped wandering, and turned to look at the girl, as she inched forward across the carpet, not towards Gaia, but parallel. The child stopped.
‘I’m Gaia. What’s your name?’
There was no response, only bleak, sad eyes peering back at Gaia. The child continued to suck her thumb, clutching the tattered blanket. Gaia could see she was an outsider, and there was something disturbing in the girl’s dark green eyes. They were empty, lifeless, not the playful, joyous eyes of a child.
‘Are you alone?’
Still there was silence. The girl began to sway from side to side, her feet planted on the ground, but swinging her arms. She looked down at her blanket, placing small delicate fingers through the holes of the woolen mesh pattern. Each finger had tiny, grubby nails.
‘Can you tell me your name? I promise we won’t hurt you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘Her name is Ruth.’
Gaia turned with a start. In the doorway stood a man, at least seventy years old. He was short and stout in build, his hair white, combed across, a vain attempt to look smart. The man was unshaven, perhaps a few days of growth, dressed in a black suit and grey pullover. There was a thin, white collar around his neck. A huge gold cross on a chain hung from his neck and rested in the centre of a bulging chest. The suit was covered in stains, the edges of the sleeves threadbare and worn. Gaia looked at the man’s eyes. It was instinctive, the badge, the first sign of who you were, and who you were not. The old man was one of them, an outsider. His eyes were brown, the whites cracked and speckled with a deep bloodshot red.
‘What brings you to my church?’
The man’s voice was deep and menacing with a throaty rattle.
‘Sorry, we mean no harm. We need shelter. We were being attacked by rats. They’re still outside. We lost a friend in the attack. My name is Gaia, and these are my friends Aran and Freya.’
Gaia gestured to the others in turn. Freya was alert, hand by her side over the knife, poised for any sudden movement. Freya stood by the main door to the right, listening for the rats. She could still hear the creatures scratching and shrieking. Aran was in the main aisle, holding one of the red books, looking more relaxed, his face softer and more welcoming. This was an old man and a small, young child. Neither posed a threat to the group, unless there were others. Freya was taking no chances, her instinct to mis-trust and be cautious. Freya did not like him, and there was something troubling about the girl. Gaia addressed the man again.
‘Would it be OK if we stayed here a while, maybe only a few hours, just until we’re sure the rats have gone and it’s safe to move on. We won’t impose on you.’
The man’s look was stern, staring at Gaia, then the others. He was wary, but not afraid. Many people had passed through over the years, some far worse than these young people. The man felt protected, the church was a sanctuary. He looked down at Gaia’s belt and saw the axe and knife. The old man frowned.
‘All are welcome in this house. It is the house of our Lord. You may take sanctuary here. Come let us rest and talk. You must be hungered after your travels. I will prepare us some food.’
Gaia looked at the others and back at the man who gestured to Gaia’s belt.
‘You won’t be needing those. You’ll find no danger here. There are no threats, are there Ruth? We’re a small family, just myself and a few of my children. All of us are God’s children. So come, come, please. Let me introduce you to Ruth’s sisters. I’m Father Ridley by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
The priest stepped forward from the doorway, approaching Gaia with his hand outstretched. Gaia offered hers which the old man gripped and shook.
The grip was strong, almost painful. The priest let go and moved towards Ruth, standing beside her and stroking the child’s hair. Gaia noticed the girl flinch as Ridley touched her. The blank eyes fired with life, with fear. The child stood still beside him, while he played with her tousled locks, grinning. Ridley’s teeth were stained yellow and chipped, a small ball of white spit clung to the corner of his lip.
Gaia was hesitant. The priest was old and gracious, but gave her the creeps. Gaia looked back at Aran who raised his eyebrows and cast a gesture of ‘What do you think?’ Freya was frowning and shaking her head. Gaia could see her caution and reluctance. Gaia spoke.
‘Could I have a moment to speak with my friends, please?’
‘Of course. Take your time. We’ll just be through here. I’ll make us some tea. Come through when you’re ready.’
The priest led Ruth back through the door. Aran and Freya joined Gaia who spoke in a whisper.
‘What do you reckon? We aren’t going anywhere soon, so we’ve not got much choice but to stay.’
Freya looked uneasy, her face cast in stone. Aran spoke.
‘I’m with you Gaia. He’s an old bloke with some kids. What’s he going to do? We stay here a few hours, no longer than we have to. We keep checking on the rats outside, but they’ll get hungry and move on. As soon as we’re sure it’s safe we leave. We needn’t stay here any longer than we have to.’
Freya took out her knife and began to twirl it in her hand. They were fast, sweeping and elaborate movements, tricks she had practiced many times. It was the adept skill of someone who knew her own capability, all programmed. Freya stopped and balanced the knife on the palm of her hand, point facing upwards, then spoke.
‘There’s something not right here. I sense it, but if you feel comfortable, fine. Like you say we get out of here as soon as we can. But this place and that man give me the creeps. I mean what was this place?’