by T. C. Edge
The well has dried out.
We decide to set up camp that night without going any further. The rumour quickly spreads about the dried up well, and the fears of many are realised. Orders are sent around to ration water even more carefully. Those with empty bottles are given only what can be spared. Those who have chosen to be more economical with their own stores are given a pat on the back.
That night, fear permeates the people. I hear the chatter of concerned voices deep in debate. Arguments break out, some constructive and measured, others mindless. The soldiers are sent in to break up fights. A febrile energy begins to swell.
In the relative cool of the night, a small troupe of men who know the country well are sent ahead. Armed with the order of reaching the next well, they set off with only an hour's rest under their belts into the pitch darkness.
Markus, who's led us so well until this point, suddenly seems flushed and concerned. It's been a couple of years, he says, since he covered this particular stretch of earth. If one well has dried, others may have as well.
“It has been known to happen during the hottest years,” he says, worry etched on his forehead.
And if the next isn't functioning, everyone here could die of thirst.
He doesn't mince words, and nor does Drake the following morning. He tells the crowd in no uncertain terms that we are in a fight for our lives here. That we must keep on going in the hope that the next well is in full operation. It is the only thing, he says, for us to believe.
That day, I ponder my vision as we march on. It was murky and unclear, but for the faces of my friends. Could it be that they died of thirst out here? Could it be that their deaths are going to come alongside mine, my father's, and all the thousands at our backs?
No.
No, that makes no sense.
Murky visions, I've come to discover, represent those that are far off; way into the future or far away geographically, and often both. I remember back to the visions I once had of Jackson, lying wounded after being taken from the wall by the rebels. At first, the vision was difficult to decipher. As time went by, however, it grew in clarity.
The same happened with my vision of the army attacking Knight's Wall. And the first visions I ever had before leaving my home of Arbor; of the grand ship that would take me to Eden, of the city itself, towering above the raging waves.
This new vision, I know, will not happen for some time, and it will not happen here. The thought gives me some solace, and I quickly find myself rushing up to the front to speak to my father.
I approach him hastily, breaking a conversation with Markus as well as my own silence for the day. The two men look at me with interest, my sudden energy perhaps unexpected.
“Cyra, what's the matter?” asks Drake.
“We'll be fine,” I say. “We'll find water, I'm sure of it.”
“What makes you say that?” asks Markus, his keen eyes boring into me.
I bite my tongue. I don't know why, but I can't bring myself to describe the vision I had the previous night. It's as if doing so will make it real, give some momentum to the horrific events yet to play out.
So I do the only thing I can think of. I lie.
“It's just a hunch,” I say, backing off. “I, um, just have this feeling.”
“A feeling?” asks Markus, incredulous. “Well, that's all OK then. Fantastic.”
“Markus, come now, don't lash out,” says Drake. “Cyra, have you got any more to tell us?”
He inspects me a little closer, but I merely shake my head.
“Well, I trust your feeling, and I agree. We have to remain confident. Things will be fine, Markus, we have to be sure of that.”
Markus clearly needs a little more convincing. Given that he's the one who knows these lands so well, Drake's words and mine are hardly going to subdue his concerns. He merely grumbles and nods before waiting for me to slink back, before continuing whatever conversation he was having with Drake before my interruption.
I shake my own head as I draw back, feeling a little stupid for charging in with such a banal sentiment as having a 'feeling' that things will 'be OK'. But there was something in my father's eye that said he'd seen through me. A look that suggested he had, perhaps, come to a similar revelation as I had.
By late morning, we're all on the lookout for those sent ahead, searching the horizon for any sight of our scouts' return. The reality, however, is that the next well is likely to be many miles ahead and their return can't be expected for a day or two at least. Still, that doesn't stop the people from hoping; from whispers spreading each time an unusual shape appears in the heat haze hovering over the desert floor, usually owned by a desert creature or an obstinate cactus.
It's the hope that keeps people going, hope and desperation. As we stop that night, I see many parched lips desperately searching the caps of water bottles for any lingering moisture. Some of the more desperate even begin digging around the camp that night, hoping for a spring beneath the surface of the desert.
All they're really doing is expending more energy. It will only make them die quicker.
My confidence remains high, though, and I only wish I could share it among them. I travel between groups of frightened women and children and assure them things will be fine. I smile and walk with confidence and try to set a good example. Many thank me. Many others tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. That I don't know this country, how harsh and unforgiving it can be.
It's strange to think that, however hard life was back in Agricola, this world is so much worse. And yet, still, people have been fighting for freedom for years, building a force capable of making a stand against Eden, against High Chancellor Knight. Believing that they will, one day, return to their loves ones across the regions; overthrow the despotic tyrant who sent them out here in the first place.
It's this power of belief, and hope, that will see these people through. And right now, it's all they've got.
So I fuel it. I help where I can. I forget my own worries and do my part, and soon Ellie and Jackson are doing the same. We walk among the people, three teenagers from the regions, and tell them that, out here, in a country we don't know, everything will be all right.
And when we each retire to our beds that night, I fall asleep thinking that, if only one person believed me, it was time well spent.
6 - Saviours
A rumbling rushes up through my body. The desert floor beneath me shakes. My ears tingle with the sound of chugging and grinding, far off in the distance.
I jump up and find that Ellie has been awoken by the same sensations. We share a quick look and then fly out of the tent and out into the early morning fog. A rare mist hangs over the desert floor, clouding the scene around me. I look right and left and see Jackson, Theo, Drake, Markus, all exploding out of canvas flaps.
Then a voice shouts out at the head of the camp: “engines!”
We rush forward and find several soldiers, still on duty, standing staring out into the expanse beyond. We can only see a dozen or so metres ahead, the entire world blanketed in a thick fog of misty dust and morning dew.
The soldiers seem on edge. They grip their weapons tight against their shoulders, pointing out as the rumble grows louder. It sounds like a convoy is coming, a large number of vehicles grinding their way towards us across the wasteland.
“Soldiers from Eden?” one soldier asks nervously. “Have they found us?”
No one answers. No one knows.
I look to Theo, then to Drake. We're the only ones here who can see into the Void. I shut my eyes and focus, searching for danger, for the sudden threat of an exploding bomb or a whizzing bullet.
I see nothing.
Behind us, the people stir, rising quickly as a fear begins to spread through them. I hear panicked voices of mothers and their children as more soldiers wake and rush up towards the front. No one speaks still as we wait.
I continue to focus, relaxing my body as much as I can. In my mind's eye I see v
ehicles now, rumbling over rocks. Inside, the shadows of men peek out, but the force is small. Too small to be anything other than a scouting party from Eden.
A minute seems to last an hour, time slowing to a crawl. Then, with hardly any warning, the dusty fog swirls ahead and the first car comes bursting out. A desert modified jeep, rusty and rotten, creaking towards us.
“They're from Petram!” shouts Markus. “I'd recognise those cars anywhere.”
More come forward. Several jeeps and a couple of larger transports. They're old school vehicles that run on fuel, not the solar powered ones we see on the mainland. Many look like they're about to fall apart, their final days upon them.
But no one cares what they look like. Everyone cheers, starting with the soldiers at the front and cascading backwards until the entire refugee army begin roaring with joy, even those at the back who can't possibly know what's going on.
A man steps out of the front car, one of the scouts sent out a couple of nights ago. He walks towards Drake with a smile.
“I didn't know if we'd find you in this weather, sir,” he says.
Drake takes his hand warmly and shakes it thoroughly.
“How on earth did you manage to get to Petram and back?” asks Markus. “It's hundreds of miles from here.”
“I didn't, sir,” says the soldier. “I came across these guys when I was searching for the well. They were sent out to find us.”
“And who's leading them?”
“A young lieutenant called Murphy.”
On cue, a youthful man approaches, clean shaven and looking more neat and tidy than the other rebels I've come across.
“Mr Drayton, you probably don't remember me, but we met once many years ago. I was just a boy then.”
“Yes, you look familiar.”
“Yes, sir, it's good to see you again. I've been sent to bring you to Petram as quickly as possible. Eden forces are spreading and we need to get you to safety.”
“But, the people. I cannot leave them behind.”
“I'm afraid we only have space for a limited number. The rest will need to continue their journey on foot. We have supplies of water and food and can take any of the seriously injured in the medical truck.”
“I understand,” says Drake.
“Would you like me to explain the situation,” asks Lieutenant Murphy.
Drake shakes his head.
“No, this is my duty.”
His eyes pass over me briefly as he speaks. My father has another difficult decision to make.
Together, we walk back to the people crowding behind us. They look on expectantly, many with relieved eyes.
“Everyone, listen closely.” His words boom loudly, bringing the throng to attention. “Vehicles from Petram have come to our aid. They have brought supplies of water and food for us.”
Cheers ring out, thousands of voices clattering across the wilderness.
“However,” says Drake, cutting them off with his hands raised, “we will need to continue on foot. The vehicles have no space to take us. I will stay and lead you on.”
Murphy steps forward, resting his hand on Drake's shoulder.
“Sir, we have orders to bring you back,” he whispers. “You are needed. The people will be safe.”
Drake appears to wrestle with the decision for a moment, before whispering sternly.
“I cannot leave them. These are my people. I won't.”
“Sir, war is starting. You're needed urgently. They will be fine without you.”
From the side, Jackson steps forward. His eyes are of steel, his body tall and primed with purpose.
“Sir, I will stay with them. Markus and I will lead them on. Take Cyra, sir, and the others. We will see you in a few weeks.”
I open my mouth to say 'no', but Theo's hand on my arm holds me back. He shakes his head at me, dark eyes speaking to me through his bruised face, and whispers: “don't interfere, Cyra.”
I frown at him, but he merely turns his gaze back to the focal point at the head of the crowd; at my father and Jackson and Murphy in whispering discussion.
I listen in once again, just in time to see my father relent.
“Jackson, you are a fine man and an even finer soldier. Thank you.”
“Don't mention it, sir.”
Markus, off to one side and not contributing, looks less than pleased at the idea of staying behind. Still, he stays quiet, being the only person who knows these lands well enough to lead the people to the mountain city.
With a deep breath in his lungs, Drake turns back to the crowd, who have grown restless and begun murmuring loudly.
“Everyone, please,” calls Drake. “The path ahead is safe. Markus knows the way, and will lead you together with Jackson. I would like to stay with you, but am needed urgently in Petram. I'm sorry.”
A few calls come from the crowd, calling for him to stay. Mostly, however, the people accept that, at this time, he has more pressing matters than walking through the desert day after day.
The forward party disbands. I watch Markus saddle up to Drake and bend his ear, perhaps looking to secure a spot on the convoy to Petram. Drake shakes his head. Markus looks downcast.
It's hard to blame him for that. With nearly three weeks of trekking ahead, most can be forgiven for wanting to cut short such a journey. Yet with women and children in the crowd, little quarter will be given to anyone acting like a coward. Markus clearly realises this and backs off.
I'm next to speak with my father as he heads to his tent. I follow him inside without an invite.
“Dad, I want to stay with Jackson.”
“Cyra, no, you're coming with me.”
“But what if Eden soldiers come. I could give warning, I could help. Dad, I can't go through him dying again.”
He turns and places two heavy hands on my shoulders.
“Honey, you won't. He'll be fine. You'll see him in a few weeks.”
“But...”
“But nothing. If you want a Watcher to stay here, then Theo can stay.”
I shake my head.
“No. You know what he's going through. I didn't tell you this before, but some of the men tried to kill him the other night. They would have if I hadn't been there.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because neither of us wanted to cause a fuss. They haven't touched him since, but if I go, and you go, then who's to know what will happen?”
“I agree. Theo should come too. Now tell me who these men are.” He glares at me with impatient eyes.
I shrug. “Dad, I don't know, that's not important any more. Does Jackson really have to stay?,” I say, changing the subject. “What's he adding? Markus can lead them on his own.”
“No, Jackson has risen quickly here. The people already look up to him. He must stay with Markus.”
I huff loudly, and prepare my next retort, but Drake is quick to cut me off.
“Look, Cyra, I understand you're afraid of someone you care about dying, but that doesn't give you the right to dictate terms. We are at war here. Everyone has lost someone or is afraid of losing someone. Many have seen their entire families wiped out. You must be strong. We each have to do what must be done. And you must come with me.”
I fall silent. I know he's right. He always seems to be right, as he always was back home when he was just my father, and me his daughter. Many things have changed, but that hasn't.
I nod respectfully and depart.
He calls after me.
“Pack your things immediately. We depart for Petram in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes later, the sight of Jackson is fading behind me, his figure being engulfed by the fog. And once more, I have to say goodbye to my best friend, not knowing if I'll ever see him again.
7 - The Mountain Pass
“Doesn't it feel great to be travelling at speed again?”
I turn to Ellie, the wind rushing through her hair as he half hangs out the window. Her face is lit with the faintest smile,
one I haven't seen in some time.
“Yeah, it's kinda exciting I guess. I wonder what Petram is like?”
It's a discussion we've revisited a half dozen times over the past day as we rush through the country. By morning, apparently, we'll have arrived. The thought makes me feel guilty for all those having to walk to catch us up.
“I hope it's big and well fortified,” she says. “You know, so it's harder to reach and attack.”
“Yeah, that's the impression I get. It's a mountain city so it should be.”
Outside, the world has changed over the last few hours. Or at least, that's how it appears to me. After walking for over ten days, at such a gradual pace, any changes to the terrain hardly seemed noticeable. Here, though, the evolution is far more clear.
From the back of the jeep we see small rocky outcrops and much grander formations around us. We see pockets of life, of old cities crumbled to the ground. Some, we're told, still operate, little settlements sprouting from the ashes of once grand metropolises. Most, however, sit deserted now, some only recently; with the renewed fighting, Petram appears to be the city to attract all comers.
It gives us hope that it will offer us some protection.
Gradually, we begin to climb as the day goes by. The terrain grows less harsh, more vibrant and verdant. Life blooms around us; trees, rivers, valleys and plains. I see collections of animals drinking at watering holes, herbivores hunted by predators as they graze. Here, it seems, life isn't so bad. Here, life goes on.
I, perhaps naively, thought that everything on this side of the wall was barren and lifeless, nothing but endless desert. Mostly, that's the case, but there remain some comparatively lush pockets hidden up in the mountains, up where the scorching sun isn't such a tormentor, and where the land continues to sprout vegetation.
The sight of trees has the biggest impact on Ellie. Having grown up in Lignum, the forest region, the smell of wood and the sight of brown bark and green leaves brings a tear to her eyes. She looks over at me with a sweet smile when I rest my hand on her shoulder, before turning back and gazing out of the window.