by Linda Talbot
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Zalazin reached the hilltop where the wind whirled the stinging sand. He could scarcely see the settlement below. How could he keep the community together? It had grown and could not be sustained.
The seas had risen, flooding the land. Now Earth was water; the high peaks still perceptible as islands, lying like colourless gems on translucent skin.
The survivors lived in the echoing caves of the new, nameless sea and in the ruins of the twenty second century - as space dwindled, even the highest land had been built on.
On Zalazin's island the people had voted for equality; no leaders, councils or means of old world contention. There was a fresh water stream that sprang from deep within the earth and in spite of the drought, never dried. There were ample food stocks. Strange new fish bred, and their flexible skins were turned, with no treatment, into the identical tunics worn by women and men. There had been sufficient shelter.
But now there were too many people. Crude boats were being built from driftwood and survivors were leaving to seek other islands. But not enough.
The sky darkened; a lowering more intense than usual before one of the pernicious daily storms. Eccentric clouds converged and dispersed, forming the features of an ethereal face.
Zalazin went to the natural ring of rocks on the other side of the island. Here, people came to meditate. Only he had turned the rocks into an oracle.
The years when civilisation had lain like a veneer on primitive instinct, were now a myth. Past luxury and refinement were elevated out of proportion. The poverty in which most had subsisted, was forgotten.
Zalazin had assumed control against the people's wishes. They would have muddled on into civil conflict.
At the oracle he watched the great face; bright clouds uncannily riding through black. Beleagured nature had provided a portent.
He suddenly saw the solution to over population; euthanasia for those over sixty. It was a small price to pay for the good of the community. Survivors could not expect the long lives of their forbears. Sixty now was old age. Mysterious diseases took their toll and the excessive sunlight caused cancers. He left the oracle.
Fearfully, the people gathered on the beach. There was a flash, and an explosion rocked the island, throwing them off their feet. The storm might have been a vessel of accumulated outrage against man's environmental negligence.
No rain fell. There was no more thunder. But the darkness hung like a heavy accusation. The sea barely broke. Some great force might have been waiting for the people's next move.
Zalazin returned; arms raised as a sign of imminent announcement. The people were silent and listened.
He said, "At the oracle I saw the face of wisdom; neither woman nor man, yet it reached from the sea to the sun and I heard its thoughts in my heart. In order to survive we must consider euthanasia for those over sixty, or we shall all die."
The people, struggling to their feet were aghast. Shock swiftly turned to anger. They surged towards Zalazin.
"And what of your mother? She must be nearing eighty!" yelled one man.
Incredibly, Zalazin had overlooked her. He would have to set an example by sacrificing her.
From the back of the crowd, Aniel watched. He was bored. Now in his thirties, a need for substance, even procreation, had replaced fecklessness. He did not share the communal instinct. He lived alone. His parents had died prematurely.
He watched Zalazin's calculated exertion of control and sensed an opportunity to further his own ends.
That night the people streamed to Zalazin's house - the unsightly ruins of a mountain apartment block. The wind howled through the hollow rooms strewn with the rubble of decay.
Zalazin had rigged a billowing screen of water weed across the ground floor which was cleared and studded with exotic shells. They were unprecedented mutants; no two were alike and they appeared on the beach at dawn each day.
Near him sat Maya, his mother, her long grey hair coiled high on her head, her bare breasts draped with shells that washed up with small holes, through which weed was passed and tied.
Her sun-soaked skin was deeply etched, her hazel eyes, a mirror of her strange, long life. And they reflected the image of Zalazin; self centred and a bully, even as a boy. His father had died of disease when he was three. Maya had spoiled Zalazin and now he was an inextricable part of her. He pondered the implications of his decree.
Aniel entered the house as people surged from the sea. Zalazin's sister Yiasa came into the room. She was unsmiling and aloof. Her black hair was strung with shells and others draped her breast above the blue-green tunic. She had Zalazin's dark eyes, swimming with shadows and mistrust. She did not like men.
Aniel confronted Zalazin and said, "You can't impose this death sentence. Your own mother would be the first victim. Compromise. Let the people build boats. Let them go."
"I see no alternative," sighed Zalazin, "But listen to them. They'll have me first."
"Let me speak to them," said Aniel. He walked onto the precarious balcony. "Listen to me!" he announced. Surprised, the people, who had seldom heard Aniel speak, paused before reaching the door.
"Zalazin retracts his idea of euthanasia. He suggests that those who are able, build boats and look for other islands." But the people were still outraged and moved forward. They shouted for Zalazin, seizing their chance to depose and even murder him.
"Stop!" Aniel stood firm, raising his hands. "You will gain nothing by this. Think of your survival. Use your strength for that."
The people calmed and began to mill in disorder. Most were superstitious but few had been fooled by Zalazin's reference to the face in the clouds. Eventually, after gathering in agitated groups, the people began to disperse. Some looked back in hostility, regretting they had not assaulted Zalazin. Others wandered off to seek driftwood for boat building.
Aniel turned and entered the room. Zalazin stood ready to shield his family.
"It's all right, they've gone," said Aniel.
"How can I repay you?" Zalazin asked.
Aniel looked at Yiasa. In spite of her dislike of men, his authority moved her.
"I'll take Yiasa," said Aniel.
Zalazin smiled. "Agreed," he said.
Aniel discovered a woman with quiet depths, who seldom spoke but whose gestures had insight and warmth. They went to Aniel's home; the remaining ground floor of an apartment block, whose cellar backed onto an echoing cave. Aniel had broken through the wall so the dry cave became an eerie extension of the house.
Yiasa was wary. Walking into the chaos of multi-coloured rock, she sensed a primitive presence. Inhuman eyes might be assessing her human frailty. The sea reverberated relentlessly through the cave. Suddenly she knew she was pregnant.
People left the island in unseaworthy boats. Many drowned. But conditions eased on land. Yiasa bore Aniel a son. He named him Zepheris. He was a quiet child and seemed already uncannily self possessed. Yiasa was obsessively attentive. She carried him in a fish skin sling on her back, walking miles along the unsullied beach. She dipped his tiny fingers into the frothing sea and gathered pearl-lined shells to hang around his neck.
Aniel, impatient to oust Zalazin, but finding no valid reason and growing increasingly jealous of Yiasa's doting on Zepheris, vented his frustration at the least provocation. He walked through the echoing cave, needing to manipulate and make an authoritative mark. He had no creative impulse and no ability to exist in the undemanding present.
Yiasa grew increasingly withdrawn and disappeared more often, sometimes not returning until sunset. She ignored Aniel's bad temper. Her eyes looked through and beyond him. Eventually Aniel ceased shouting and finding fault. He too withdrew and was silent.
One night he walked to Zalazin's house, anxious to see whether, without being able to organise the lives of others, he showed a decline.
But Zalazin was lusty, composing music in his head to which he set ambiguous words. Aniel sat beside him and tried to take part. But his mind
was confined and now so inwardly directed, consumed solely by ambition.
Then Loel, Zalazin's younger sister, appeared. She was fair, her eyes not yet able to candidly meet those of a man. She sat by Zalazin and began to sing.
Aniel was speechless. The sound was more melodious than the few birds that still inhabited Earth. He was simultaneously roused and placated.
As the song rose and fell, he neither knew nor cared what it was about. He could not move nor lift his eyes from Loel's face. She had closed her eyes, feeling her way through music and words. When she finished Aniel was still motionless.
Zalazin smiled. Aniel slowly regained reality. "That was beautiful," he said.
Loel blushed and rising, walked lightly from the room.
Returning that night to Yiasa's indifference, he dreamed of Loel; her song running like soft silver through his being.
In the following days he thought of little else. Even his ambition to dominate cooled. Loel's face hung before him and her voice filled his mind.
One night he saw her walking by the stark white rocks above the settlement. Her fish skin tunic glimmered in the moonlight. Her head was thrown back to receive the night wind. Her fair hair flowed.
Cautiously, Aniel approached. She did not hear him and started when he lightly touched her shoulder. As she turned, her hair fell like silk on his hand. For the first time her pale eyes looked directly into his.
"Don't be afraid. I only want to talk," he said. He guided her to a flat-topped rock and commented on the beauty of the moon. He was not sure she heard. She sat rigidly in the gentle wind, not knowing how to respond. Carefully, Aniel slid an arm round her but exerted no pressure.
Loel remained motionless. Aniel continued to talk about the moon, which laid a shimmering path across the sea.
"I would like to take you along that path to paradise," he said, astonished at his words. But, faintly, Loel smiled.