by Ross Turner
Darkness closed in completely over the next half an hour or so then, and the hustle and bustle in the street outside died down. Vivian clambered up the wooden stairs cutting along the side of her house, leading to the single bedroom and bathroom upstairs, the steps creaking terribly as she climbed.
Her bedroom was simple and plain, just as her room had been in Featherstone Keep, all those years ago. There was a single canvas decorating the one wall opposite her bed, and as Vivian clambered into her groaning, wooden poster bed, she looked over the canvas briefly as she did every night.
It depicted the skyline over a mountain range, streaking sunset rays of orange and yellow and red across the purple and blue and grey faces of the mountains. There were also a few birds pictured crossing the striking lines of colour, soaring high in the skies, though what they were exactly it was difficult to make out.
She didn’t really know why she looked it over each night. Perhaps it was because that simple act reminded her of a life she had long lost.
Sighing deeply, the beautiful, burdened young woman closed her eyes and settled into her cold bed, pondering the issue of what she would do about her problem of deciding on a new House, and not for the first time, she drifted away into a deep, troubled sleep.
3
Vivian sat amongst the trees contentedly, whistling quietly to herself a tune from her childhood that she had at one point long forgotten. Preparing her fire to begin cooking, her stomach rumbled deeply and she placed her hand there gently for a moment to quieten it.
‘Not long now’ she thought silently to herself, for she knew that Red was on his way back with a catch.
“Hungry?” Clover’s powerful, caring voice echoed softly from beside her, the great red mother bear ambling gracefully into view of the clearing within which Vivian sat.
“We’ve been hungrier.” Vivian replied honestly, shrugging her shoulders almost casually. Clover sat down beside her young daughter and smiled whimsically.
“Very true.” She agreed. “We’ve been on tough times…”
Vivian sighed deeply then and pulled her flint out from her pocket. Striking the stone a few times, she soon caught a spark on the kindling she had prepared. A swift breeze whipped through the clearing then and sent her flames roaring to life.
“What happened to us Clover?” She asked her mother then, regret ingrained deeply in her voice. “Things could have been so different. What did I do wrong?”
“It was nothing you did my dear.” Clover assured her comfortingly. “It was simply the way things were meant to be.”
Vivian sighed again.
“Really? If it’s supposed to be this way, then why have I lost everything?”
“You haven’t.” Clover said then in a very matter of fact way. “You still have a very important purpose.”
“It’s not fair.” Vivian concluded rather lamely, knowing even as she uttered the words that fairness didn’t come into this equation. She always considered such things when concerned with her people, or with the Redwoods, but seldom were such generosities reciprocated.
“It very rarely is.” Clover admitted sadly, echoing Vivian’s thoughts almost exactly. “But what else must we do, if not what we’re supposed to?”
“Hmm…” Vivian half agreed, though she was by no means convinced.
“What would you have changed, Vivian?” Her mother bear asked then, cocking her head slightly to one side and raising one eyebrow inquisitively, if a bear is even able to do so.
“We would still be living together, in the Redwoods.” Vivian replied immediately, without even a moment’s hesitation. “I would never have lost you or Red…”
“But what in the world could you have done differently Vivian?” Clover asked her then. “It was all the Greystone’s doing, not yours. You had no choice.”
“I don’t know…” Vivian admitted, dropping her head slightly, knowing deep down of course that Clover was right.
The light padding of careful footsteps drew their attention then and they turned their heads to see Red materialising from between the trees, his thick coat such a perfect match for the colour of the trunks all around that it seemed as though he literally walked through them. He held a deer between his jaws, an adult, but still of course no problem for him to carry alone, for now he was fully grown, well fed, and had no equal that Vivian could imagine.
“Red.” She greeted him automatically, rising to her feet and going straight to him, her muscles acting on their own, completely without thought.
He deposited his prize carefully beside the fire and looked to his Vivian.
“Viv.” He replied affectionately.
She wrapped her arms immediately around his thick neck, running her fingers through his heavy, soft fur, feeling the warmth radiating from him. She closed her eyes and sighed, burying her face too in his welcoming coat. She had missed this feeling, having been denied it for so long.
“You know you really can’t blame yourself for what happened Viv…” He said gently, resting his massive snout lightly on her shoulder as she embraced him. “You’ve got to stop it. You’ll make yourself ill.”
“I know.” She sighed. “You’ve said…”
She stayed there for a moment, unwilling to move, blissfully content. Her arms tightened around Red’s neck and held him ever more firmly, wishing fervently that she could hold him forever.
But, as Clover had so aptly pointed out, it was never meant to be.
Sadly, Vivian had already had that time of her life. As much as she might have adored it, now it was passed, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Suddenly, her arms flailed forward and Vivian’s hands caught each other. She jerked to stop herself from falling and, opening her eyes, Vivian saw that she was left holding nothing. Red had vanished. She looked to her side and behind her, and saw that Clover was gone too.
The fire at her feet snuffed out then, leaving only a thin wisp of smoke and a chilling breeze that formed a great chasm in the pit of Vivian’s stomach.
It was all that she had ever feared.
A sudden break in the clouds above cast a few fleeting rays of moonlight down upon the clearing they had chosen to rest in, illuminating the terrible truth that she had been trying to mask.
Either side of her now, lit up amidst the darkness, were the figures of two bears, both black. Infected by the plague, Red and Clover’s carcasses lay at Vivian’s feet, motionless, lifeless.
She looked upon their corpses for a moment, her breath caught in her throat, unable to move, or even breathe. Vivian’s muscles were frozen in place, all comprehension of anything besides sheer horror and devastation gone.
Then something released inside of her, something vaguely resembling acceptance, and she opened her mouth with a piercing scream, echoing the high-pitched shriek through the trees and out over the entire Redwood Empire endlessly.
Screaming and bolting to sit upright in her bed, Vivian choked and gagged for breath. Sweat poured from her and her sheets were saturated in the stuff. Her mouth was dry and her throat croaked, parched and overused.
Breathing quickly and heavily for a few minutes, desperately trying to catch her breath and come to her senses, Vivian pulled her legs from beneath the covers and swivelled to sit on the side of the bed, resting her feet upon the cold wooden floor.
It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d awoken from a nightmare. In fact, it was a regular occurrence. Nonetheless, it never got any easier, and it always took her some time to regain herself and steady her racing heart.
Making her way to the bathroom on unsteady feet, Vivian navigated her way through the darkness, rubbing her eyes wearily as she did so. Her night terrors left her sleep deprived and drained, and over time this took a heavy toll on her body, leaving her feeling forever exhausted.
But there was nothing she could do about it.
They were simply something she had to live with.
After splashing her face with cold water and steadying
her racing heart, she made her way purposefully back into her bedroom and set about changing her bed sheets in a robotic fashion. That took her all of about two minutes, and then she immediately made for the window.
Looking through the hollow square of dirtied glass briefly before she opened it, she saw that the street below was dark and empty, and far on the horizon the first simmers of dawn were creeping their way over the city, though barely visible still, lighting the blackness all around only ever so slightly.
She clambered out through the window, squeezing carefully through the narrow gap, and grasped the tiles of the edge of her house’s rooftop. Hauling herself up over the ledge, hanging there precariously for a moment before she managed to shift her weight forwards, Vivian shimmied up onto the tiled roof.
From there, once she had surpassed the most dangerous part of her ascent, she climbed to the very top of the slanted surface and turned to sit facing the east. And there she waited, watching as the first rays of that morning’s sunrise snuck over the horizon, bathing the view of Virtus before her in beautiful morning light. Beyond the city the streaks of orange and yellow danced gracefully over the Redwood Forest’s treetops, transforming the sea of trees into a flowing and majestic ocean of colour.
She sat there for about an hour, as she did most mornings, taking in the view wholly and completely, sometimes with tears streaking openly down her face, and pondering everything that the sight brought with it.
Rooftops and chimneys were alighted as if they were aflame, and reflections from a thousand and more glass windows sparkled red and yellow and glorious orange upon Vivian’s unprotected face. It was a sight that always brought her great satisfaction, and equally great sorrow.
Later that day, once the sun had risen fully and was high in the sky, after Vivian had watched the awakening of Virtus and the beginnings of the day’s bustling activity, for the thousandth time, she left the confines of her house and headed out into the city.
The city itself was much changed from when she had first returned here to kill the Greystones. For starters, and most obviously, it was no longer the ruined mess it had been before. Where once rubble had been strewn about from the Greystone’s apparent temper tantrums, roads had been cleared and repaved, houses had been rebuilt and restored, and shops and businesses had sprung up.
Whilst, of course, Vivian had had a hand in the building of many of the first-restored structures, she had certainly not been responsible for them all. She had very quickly realised that, whilst her initial displays of power and kindness were well received, she needed to get the people to work, and allow them to earn their own freedom.
Therefore, the vast majority of the reparations had been completed by the people themselves, making them indeed much more self-sufficient.
“Vivian! Vivian!” A voice sounded then from a little ways down the street, flurrying with alarm.
Of course, being only reasonably self-sufficient meant that whenever a new problem arose, something that the people had not faced before, their first port of call was naturally Vivian.
“Clara!?” Vivian piped, shocked by her old friend’s sudden and fleeting arrival. The pretty young girl of about Vivian’s age, only very slightly older, was red faced and out of breath from running. She spluttered slightly as she approached, trying desperately to get her words out and breathe at the same time.
As you would expect, considering Clara’s panicked state, Vivian feared the worst. Ever since she’d met Clara, all those years ago now when she’d awoken after bawling herself to sleep in Red’s dead fur, she had kept in contact with her quite regularly.
Vivian shuddered at the memory of Red’s death and quickly moved on.
“What’s wrong Clara!? What’s going on!?”
“It’s Milo! The pipes!”
“What?” Vivian questioned, bewildered. “Milo? Pipes?”
“He’s been trying to fit those water pipes again!” Clara attempted to hurriedly explain.
Vivian remembered then the last time she’d seen Clara that her father Milo had been experimenting with pumping water through various pipes into houses. It hadn’t ended particularly well, resulting in him almost flooding their house. And by the sounds of it, his latest endeavour had ended pretty much the same way.
“He managed to fit them, but now they’ve burst! Our house is flooded!”
Vivian released a slow breath, sighing with relief. She had expected much worse news and relaxed inwardly, though she didn’t let this show to Clara, for she could clearly see that her dear friend was devastated.
“How bad is it?” Vivian asked.
“He hasn’t been able to shut the pipes off this time! He can’t get to them behind the walls!” Clara explained quickly, her voice rising several octaves with each fresh breath. “The whole of downstairs is flooded!”
“Oh…” Vivian responded involuntarily. “I see.”
It seemed that actually things were much worse than the last time.
“Show me.” She instructed, and almost without even a nod of comprehension, Clara turned on her heels and took off the way she had come from, with Vivian in immediate pursuit.
They reached Clara’s house in a matter of minutes, for luckily it wasn’t far away. Even at first glance Vivian saw the extent of the damage, and a very bewildered looking Milo stood amidst it all, clothes sodden and clinging to him as he moved.
His head was bald with only a few grey wisps of hair here and there, and his frame was lean, though clearly he had been well built as a younger man, for his body was tough and worn.
“I don’t understand…” He was muttering to himself. “I just don’t…” He cut off, looking up mid-mutterings and spotting his daughter with the fabled Vivian Featherstone. His expression was one of both surprise and shame, having Vivian witness his second and somewhat much more dramatic failure.
“Milo.” She greeted him simply, nodding her head as she approached, Clara in tow now.
“I…I didn’t mean for…” He started, obviously embarrassed.
Of course it was not Vivian’s intention to embarrass the poor soul, for he was an experienced and proud gentleman, and a very good father, but tinkering almost always requires trial and error to perfect. It was just unfortunate that this error had resulted in the flooding of his own home.
“I’m sure you didn’t Milo.” Vivian reassured him with a smile, placing her hand on his shoulder and glancing briefly back over her shoulder to Clara. “But you must take more care. Look how upset your daughter is. You’ve flooded her home, and your own.”
“But it was all working…”
“And I don’t doubt that for a second.” Vivian agreed. “It’s a marvellous idea, it would make things much easier. But perhaps you should trial elsewhere? An empty barn perhaps?” She added, quite firmly, and he quickly nodded in agreement, his eyes flitting to his distraught daughter, her gaze upon their ruined home.
“I’m sorry.” He quickly apologised.
“Very well.” Vivian concluded, much more light heartedly, having solved the issue of practicing reasonably easily. “Now then…”
She then turned her attention to the flooded home of her dear friends, father and daughter. It was built of a mixture of stone and timber, much like many of the houses in the city. This one was on two floors, and water drained here and there and dribbled this way and that between the tiniest cracks and splits in the walls of the ground floor.
It would have been pointless to go inside; Vivian could see much better from out here. She closed her eyes and scanned over the structure of the building with her mind, seeing the whole thing in its entirety, strengths and weaknesses, cracks and leaks, in a matter of seconds.
Milo, it seemed, had fed water pipes through the very walls themselves and beneath the floor, having dug the ground up in long, thin trenches, in order to achieve his goal of giving the house running water.
In fact, Vivian was very impressed, for he had come remarkably close to success. Most of what he’d d
one had actually held firm. She could feel the pressure of the water building and rising and then dropping and falling in different places throughout his system. He was definitely on the right lines, and if he could perfect his method, Vivian knew that the people of Virtus would begin to flurry with new ideas in his wake.
It seemed advancement and revolution was on the horizon: a revolution for which she would not be required.
His only problem, however, was quite simply a weakness in his piping, which had subsequently burst, allowing his system to drain, sadly, directly into their house.
Working quickly, Vivian did not fix the pipe, but instead she drained the water off away from the house, silently ‘encouraging’ it to flood off down the streets and disappear, soaking into the ground, spreading far and wide.
Then, seeing quite clearly the damage the water had left behind, she removed any sign that there had ever been a flood, sealing all of the cracks in the walls that had been widened, and instantly drying perfectly everything that had been stained. This, of course, would have been impossible without her powers, but such was her advantage.
Eventually she relaxed and opened her eyes, turning to Clara and Milo as she did so.
“There.” Was all she said at first, looking to Clara, indicating with that simple comment that she had fixed all that had been wrong.
“Oh thank you Vivian!” Clara exclaimed, throwing her arms around Vivian’s neck and embracing her gratefully.
“Milo.” Vivian uttered then, turning to Clara’s father. He dropped his head and flushed in embarrassment.
“I know…” He began, but Vivian cut him off.
“No, no.” She reassured him. “You misunderstand. You were very close. I’m very impressed actually.” She admitted with a smile. “Keep working on it. I’m looking forward to seeing the result once you’ve worked out all the kinks.”