Major Nye saluted.
“Civil war, old chap. But not as we know it. If you’re lucky you’ll have a chance to write your memoirs.”
IX
“Every little picture has a story of its own,” sang Major Nye. “Every little picture tells a tale.” He added, “Sometimes a good many more than one. Are you feeling all right, old boy? Those fragmentation johnies can… Feeling all right? Are you? Old boy?”
“Never better.” Jerry checked the board of the Bushwhacker main battle tank. “Do you have a separate bass control on this thing?”
“We’re a bit primitive at our end of the world.” Major Nye sipped his canned bitter. He shuddered. “Believe me, old chap, we’re not proud of it. Now then, have you two talked this over? Who’s going to be King and who wants to be Queen?”
In the rear Cathy said sweetly: “We thought we’d take turns.”
Major Nye checked his watches. “We can probably sort all that out once were up and running.”
“Can you smell something?” Shaky Mo poked his head down through the hatch. “Can you smell anything?”
“Not yet,” said the major.
X
The sky was awash with fluttering black flags. At the head of every squadron of Cossack and Uzbek cavalry was a scarlet tank. Hovering over the tanks were PJ40 fully-armed battle drones and in a large Duesenberg staff car sat the King and Queen of London ready to lead their loyal army against the might of the Welsh Pretender.
Shaky Mo, festooned with all the latest materiel, rode up and saluted. His long moustaches moved gently in the wind. He offered them a rather self-important salute. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said. “Sincerely, chief. Chiefs.”
Jerry and Cathy acknowledged his courtesy.
Engines began to rev the length of the ranks. “We’re off,” said Jerry. He checked for radiation. “Let’s get this war on the road.”
It was always a relief to feel that first rush of adrenaline. Life was getting sweet and simple again.
CARMEN TUDOR writes speculative adult and young adult fiction from Melbourne, Australia. Her stories feature in various international anthologies and can be found in Miseria’s Chorale, Cellar Door: Words of Beauty, Tales of Terror, and Spirited: 13 Haunting Tales.
For more about Carmen, please visit her site:
www.carmentudor.net
Sand and Teeth
Carmen Tudor
I dreamt last night that the New City’s walls tumbled down. With the morning sun came no real belief that the dream was just an illusion. The sight and sound stayed with me until I could trace the horrific destruction one stone at a time.
Hauling the urn of water onto my shoulder, I trudged past the younger carriers. They hadn’t yet learned that every return to the reservoir was calculated, timed, and tallied at the end of each quarter. Their weak muscles quivered as they lifted the earthenware urns, and although I had no plans to enlighten them of what their futures held if they didn’t meet their quotas by quarter’s end, I pitied the slack-kneed shuffles of their stilted steps. They would learn soon enough.
The coarse sand burned with the sun’s heat. It was nice at first, early in the morning, but now in the afternoon blaze my cracked heels sank into the sand with each step. I surged forward and ignored the spot on my shoulder where the base of the urn broke my skin. If I didn’t think about it, it was almost the same as if it wasn’t there at all. A cry from behind me stilled my steps. Turning slowly, I took in Rubena, the newest carrier. Her urn lay in the sand before her. Any water it may have been carrying had disappeared and a small, darkened patch of sand was all that remained. She couldn’t have been older than eight or nine—the same age I was when I was brought here. Rubena cried loudly. She watched the other girls walk past her and glanced back past the dam to the catchment. She was asking herself if it would be better to pick the urn up and continue to the reservoir as if nothing had happened. I shook my head at her and turned. I didn’t wait to see if she caught my meaning; I had my own quota to meet.
The New City’s stalagmite spires rose ahead of me. One more mile to go and I could remove the urn from my shoulder. The walk back to the catchment would be the sweetest part of the day.
The loose sands of the outer island abutted the gritty limestone road of the New City. I smiled at the thought that no one would have ever guessed a channel separated these two provinces. My people’s generation—the best, I’d heard—had perfected the art of structural engineering. The ground below my sandal was firm; the limestone pavers were entirely seamless.
The reservoir was now in sight. Approaching the inlet conduit, I nodded to Head Mother. She stilled her scales and appraised me, my muscles, my form, as I lowered the urn. She marked down the weight and sent me on my way. The incredible lightness of the urn brought joy to my heart. My raw shoulder pulsed and although the pain was there, it was enough for me to lift the tunic from the skin and let the air and sun at it.
Once I was back on the island, the sand immediately seeped into my sandals. The familiar heat reminded me of the other girls. Of Rubena. Her lack of skill was obvious. Her pretty features wouldn’t be enough to gain favor with Head Mother if she wasn’t bringing an adequate amount of water into the New City. Other girls trotted past. Some were older, some younger. None of them, I knew, were as fast as I. They ignored me now. They were all thinking it, all appraising me as Head Mother had. Soon I would receive my orders to leave the island and the water-carrier duties for my new life. It thrilled me and terrified me equally.
Eventually I spied Rubena’s slight form. She carried her urn in front of her with her arms wrapped around its curved belly. Her legs bowed outward at the knees and her little feet sank into the sand. She was losing time simply for not following the most basic carrier instructions.
“Stop,” I said.
She halted her steps so suddenly the water in her urn sloshed about and spilled out over the lip. She quickly placed her tiny hand over the opening.
“When you carry it that way the uneven weight of your steps drags you down. Has no one told you this already?”
She nodded.
“Lift the urn.”
Rubena held tighter.
“Lift the urn to your shoulder.” I demonstrated with my own.
She set her own urn between her feet and lifted the sleeve of her tunic to show me her shoulder. It was bruised, but the skin remained intact. The memory of my first weeks came flooding back. No one had told me to quicken my steps—I’d done that of my own accord.
“You must,” I told her. “You must carry it higher or you will never…” What could I tell such a young child? How would I explain her dismissal? I tried again. “When you carry it on your shoulder, place your scarf over the opening. Otherwise the heat of the sun will evaporate the water as you walk.”
She stared back blankly.
“The sun will slowly dry all your water. Take your scarf and cover the opening of the urn.”
The little girl picked up her urn from the sand. She wrapped her arms around it and stumbled forward. I called “stupid girl!” as she walked toward the New City, but I knew she wouldn’t turn or even listen to me again. Her jerky movements and ineffective walk were all she was interested in.
When I got back to the catchment I put my urn aside and drank greedily. The cool water was like balm to my burned and blistered skin and I stayed a while to bathe my wounds.
*~*~*~*
Head Mother collected me in the night. While the other girls slept, I lay awake calculating my quota and if I had succeeded. I had, of course. Not only had I worked hard to boost my strength as a carrier, but I’d also noticed an increase in my rations. An extra scoop of grain or a larger portion of bread had found its way to my bowl nearly every day. That only ever happened to the chosen girls, those destined for the motherhood. It was no surprise when Head Mother reached a hand out to my cheek and woke me with her touch. The other girls slept soundly and it was only for Rubena that I lingered and s
pared a quick glance.
Knowing I wouldn’t need my scarf any longer, I dropped it onto her outstretched arm as I passed. She may not require it now, but there would come a day when she would need it. Not to shield her water from the sun. For that, she had her own. I knew that Rubena would run. Young and impulsive, she would drop her urn and course through the flying sand. Then she could take my scarf and cover her eyes, her mouth. She might even have a chance. I could have reported her. I could have made known my reservations. They would have been documented and she would have been restrained. I thought of all these things as Head Mother led me away. Instead, I curved my fingers tightly around Head Mother’s and let her take me to the New City.
Things were so different after that night. So very different. We walked in silence until the sand met the limestone. Our grainy soles rasped against the paved road with each step forward. Listening to the sound, I sang along by grinding my teeth. That, the rasping of sand and teeth, would make the memory real enough to store away. That was the sound of freedom, I told myself. That was the sound of no more miles to go. Head Mother and the others were kind to me. They fitted me in robes and when I held back the blood-stained tunic, they recognized my shame. I had never known it was possible to share one’s shame, but here in the quarters, the others lifted their robes aside and showed me their scars. Dressing my wounds, they tended to my care and it was Head Mother who sat behind me and combed the knots from my tangled hair.
At dawn I watched in rapture as the sky changed from deep, fearful gray to amber and gold. Rubena and the others would have already been filling their urns and making their journeys to the reservoir. Was it likely, I wondered, if the little girl had ever really seen the sun rise?
“Vaune?” Turning, I found Head Mother waiting for me. She’d spoken my name aloud. Those two, low syllables were foreign-sounding to my ears. “Dragonina says it is time.” Head Mother spoke kindly. Her voice was softer than my own. Practiced. I hoped that in time I too would sound like she did.
“Let us go,” I replied. I held my head high, just the way Head Mother carried hers.
The snake pit cave was a thing often heard of but seldom seen. I knew this well, but it was with childish trepidation that I approached the ceremony. Head Mother’s descent was a thing of celebration and so when I shed a tear, I raised my face to the sun and let it burn away the evidence as it would. The heat was good and real; the heat reminded me of what I had been and what I now was, but it vanished as I entered the darkness. Taking my vow as head mother meant representing the carriers of the New City to Dragonina. If I displeased her, I was letting down my people. I had never let down anyone in my life. Surely I would not start now.
*~*~*~*
Head mother duties suited me well. Presiding over the carriers made me a proud member of the society, and the New City continued to prosper just as Dragonina had envisioned. Vaune, the simple carrier, could not have fully appreciated the aqueduct that fed the New City’s secret gardens and nourished Dragonina’s men. As time passed and I familiarized myself with the intricate network of pipes and tubes of the irrigation system, I grew to love the New City. Every day as I weighed the urns I felt a sense of peace that was only eclipsed by the fear that it wasn’t to remain. The time would come when I too would relinquish my position and celebrate my descent. But surely it was a good thing, a right thing, to remain as head mother? My training of the young carriers had tripled their efficiency and the reservoir’s volume was at half capacity for the first time in our generation. Dragonina had personally told me how pleased she was with my position as head mother. It was the way she had said it, however, that gave me pause for concern. Her eyes had lingered, I’d thought, on my arms—not nearly so sculpted as they had been when Head Mother had appraised my form.
A carrier was before me. The look on her face was neither serene nor in any way as pleasant as a carrier’s demeanor should be. I’d kept her waiting as her glistening arms hugged the urn in front of her. Her dark brows rose with impatience and she wiped her perspiring cheek against the scarf around her neck. How Rubena had been employed all this time without remonstrance or transfer had entered my mind on more than one occasion. Her insolence alone should have seen her dismissed, and as I weighed her urn, her gaze swept over my arms as Dragonina’s had. Did she notice that I was not as I once had been? A spot of pity touched her look, but only momentarily. There was a fire in Rubena’s eyes. She could never take my place as head mother, I thought. Her heels digging into the hot sand would see to that. Evidence, it was, that she had little care for authority or what was right.
“Your shoulder!” I called as she walked away. Her urn swung from one hand, back and forth as a pendulum. Go ahead, I thought, and drop it. Let it fall to the limestone road and shatter to pieces for all I care.
The obstinate girl came every day to weigh her pitiful urn, and every day she’d throw me a look as if to say, Aren’t you getting quite fat? I continued to take down her weights and until Dragonina came to me herself, I thought things would remain the same indefinitely. But it was not to be so. I was weakening. Holding a quota book was not the same as hauling the New City’s water, and wasn’t I getting quite fat? It was time. Dragonina was so very pleased with my service to the New City. The date for my ceremony was set. And I was to select the new head mother.
All the carriers would envy me. They would talk quietly among themselves and speak of my descent. How they would imagine the details and muse over my coming ascent, fathom the privilege. They would be as I had been. And they would hope. Only one would know, as I knew, that she would be plucked from the obscurity of a carrier and given the role of head mother.
The old path of coarse sand still led to the catchment. It had been so long since my soles had felt the grating rasp of sand, and yet not so long as to dim the memory. The gray sky seemed to hang low above my head as I walked through the night. One more mile to go, I told myself.
The carriers slept with the ease only hard workers know. Their muffled breaths filled the small space and as I stepped over limbs and scarves, hair and sandals, I questioned what was the right thing to do. My feet stopped short of trampling an outstretched arm. When my gaze looked to the girl’s face, I was surprised to find a pair of open eyes studying me. Rubena, the stolid girl of disapprobation, the infidel in my midst, lay awake as I myself had.
I nodded to her as I did at the inlet conduit. She smirked and I read something in that look that said, So, your time has come.
“Rise,” I told her. She regarded me curiously and remained still for so long that I thought her obstinacy would at last see her dismissal. But she sat up and rose from the floor. She followed me out to where the now cold sand crept between my toes and she followed where I walked.
“You lie,” Rubena whispered. “You cheat on the numbers.” I said nothing and kept walking until Rubena grabbed my hand. “Why?”
“Silly girl.”
“I? Silly? They will throw you to the snakes, and it is I who am silly?” She laughed and the sound of her voice so reminded me of old Head Mother’s that I grew cold and stepped back. “We could run.”
I always knew she would run. I simply hadn’t anticipated that she would have lasted until motherhood, that time would have ticked on for so long for her.
“We could run,” she repeated. “Dragonina is no longer pleased with you. It is your ceremony because she is no longer pleased.”
“You do not know what you say.” I turned from Rubena and walked in the direction of the New City.
“You are a prisoner just as much as I. Just as much as every other carrier.”
I turned and struck Rubena on the face. She skittered back in the sand and touched her cheek.
“You can control the weights in the number book, but you cannot control the carriers’ thoughts. Nor their talk.”
Rubena’s voice was no longer pleasant. The discord of her words struck my ears harshly.
“Dragonina knows this. She knows that you lie.
She knows that you cheat and keep a rebel in the society.”
“You are not a member of the society,” I replied.
“Not yet. But when the dam bursts, there will be no separation. The island and the city will be as one. There will be no carriers; the girls will enter the New City.”
I struck the girl again. She would be dismissed instantly if word reached Dragonina that the dam’s integrity had been questioned.
“Vaune.” Rubena’s tooth had cut her lip. She wiped the blood from her face with the short sleeve of her tunic. “We could run.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me along with her carrier’s strength. I stumbled forward and preparing to fall into the sand, let the girl carry me away from the New City. My protests and demands went unheeded.
The dam that had protected the catchment for our entire generation had never shown a crack, never chipped a pebble loose. It would remain as long as the New City would. If Rubena thought otherwise, she was mad. As if divining my thoughts, she spoke.
“We know things. A simple explosive is all that is needed. The destruction would be magnificent.”
My tears fell readily. If Dragonina learned of this conversation, I too would be dismissed. I would be released as head mother and sent away from the island. My ceremony would be canceled and there would be no descent. The snake pit was disappearing and as my tears fell I cursed myself for my childish emotions. Letting down the carriers and the people of the New City was infinitely worse. It was unspeakable.
“Run!” Rubena ran faster and dragged me along behind her. Her grasp on my hand never softened. My feet skimmed the surface of the sand. For once my soles felt bare against my sandals. Was this what it was to fly?
Soon we were not alone. Others joined us as we ran. Their feet flew across the sand as ours did. My cries were silenced by the laughter and shouts of the girls. The melee and the din to them was the sound of freedom. Rubena slowed just as I felt I couldn’t run any farther. My lagging steps had slowed us down for the last mile of the run, but seeing her now told me she wasn’t displeased. Her face was radiant with joy.
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