Beyond These Walls (Book 5): After Edin

by Robertson, Michael

  Max’s cheeks glowed as the gruesome hunter led Olga away. No doubt William looked as bad watching Matilda. But what could they do? They were guests here. This was their ritual.

  His body stiff, William danced like he had no control over his limbs.

  The drumbeat then stopped and the community cleared from the dusty rectangle. A chair had been placed in the centre of the pitch.

  “What’s this for?” Samson said.

  The only answer came in the form of his own echo.

  The wind tossed the dust kicked up from the celebrations. It stuck to William’s sweating skin. None of the others accepted the invitation of an empty chair until Matilda stepped forward. But a woman nearby gently grabbed her and shook her head. “Not for you, honey. It’s for the men.”

  When none of the others moved, William sat in the chair.

  A man with a machete approached. He wore a charcoal mask that made the whites of his eyes pop. Slate stood near Matilda.

  “What’s going on?” William said.

  “Chill out, kid. Everything’s under control.” He stepped even closer to Matilda.

  “You want to be a hunter,” the man with the knife said, “you need to look like a hunter.”

  Every one of the hunting party had their hair shaved to the scalp. Maybe they hadn’t committed to joining the community yet, but what harm would it do to have a haircut? God knew he needed it.

  The barber, an older man in his thirties, leaned over William, blocking his escape. He lifted the knife to the side of his head.

  William winced at the first cut, anticipating the burning nick of the blade biting into his flesh. But the experienced hairdresser worked like the wind, removing chunks of his hair with sweeping cuts.

  When the barber stepped away, William rubbed the stubble on his head and stood up to coos and giggles from the crowd. The wind chilled his scalp and his cheeks flushed until he met Matilda’s gaze. She grinned at him. “It looks okay?”

  She nodded.

  The boys went one after the other. When Artan had finished, his lack of hair combined with his gaunt features to make him positively skeletal.

  Samson shook his head. “No way. I’m too old to be a hunter anyway.”

  “All of the men need to do their time outside the walls,” Slate said.

  Although Samson drew a breath to reply, when he looked around, he clearly noticed the focus of the entire community on him. He shook his head and took his seat. For the entire time the barber cut his long curly hair, he glared at Slate.

  The barber stepped away, leaving a bald Samson locked in his own seething fury while the people cleared the large rectangular space. William and his friends were the last to move.

  Slate and four of his hunters moved to one end by the rectangle and stood in front of the three rings. Five other lads from the hunting party moved to the other end.

  Two older women in their forties approached. One with curly blonde hair, and one with straight black hair. They were about the same age and the same height of around five feet and seven inches. But the similarities ended there. The one with black hair had blue eyes, the blonde one’s eyes were brown. Both wore kind maternal smiles, the spreading of their grins twisting through William’s chest. He’d never see his mum again. The blonde one had a fuller face than her friend and spoke first. “You’re about to witness a game of tri-rings. This is Umbriel’s favourite sport.”

  They led William and his friends to the side of the pitch.

  “How many women play this game?” Olga said.

  The black-haired woman laid a gentle hand on Olga’s forearm. “Women don’t play this game, sweetie.”

  “And you don’t want to play?”

  Both women shook their heads.

  “Would they let you if you did?”

  Both women shook their heads again.

  Olga folded her arms across her chest, her scowl deepening. “That sounds like some kind of bullshit to me.”

  William chewed the inside of his mouth and watched his short friend. Everything could turn sour fast, because when Olga smelled bullshit, she wasn’t very good at keeping her mouth shut.

  Chapter 25

  “Look, Olga,” William said as they watched the teams loosen up for the match, “this isn’t the time.”

  “Screw you!”

  “I’m not saying you don’t have a valid point.” Slate’s team consisted of what appeared to be him and the four fittest hunters. “You and Matilda have every right to be pissed. You’re as much warriors as any of us.”

  “I’d say more so.”

  “I know you would, and I love you for that. My point is now’s not the time.”

  “Are you trying to keep this little woman quiet?”

  “Have you met Olga?”

  When Olga frowned, William said, “Trying to keep you quiet is like trying to climb a greasy pole. I’m appealing to your common sense. Now’s not the time for this. I support everything you’re saying—”

  “Just when it suits you.”

  “When it suits all of us. Speaking your mind isn’t always a virtue, you know? Especially when the rest of us might have to pay the price for it.”

  Although Olga drew her breath to reply, Max reached across and placed a hand at the base of her back. Anyone else and she would have swung for them. The tension left her short frame and she melted into his touch, which he quickly withdrew.

  William held Matilda’s hand. “I’m with you on this, I really am. I won’t stay in a place that pushes you and Olga down. I just think we need to pick our battles, and when to fight them.”

  Matilda acknowledged his gesture with an almost imperceptible nod, her dark eyes showing a will as fierce as Olga’s. She’d fight when the time came.

  The two older women wore wry smiles as they watched the debate. The lull in conversation prompted the blonde lady with the curly hair to move through the group and shake their hands one at a time. A warm and soft grip, she nodded at William. “I’m Rita, by the way, and this is Mary.” The woman with the black hair smiled.

  The blonde woman held Olga’s hand for longer than the others. “It’s going to be a pleasure to have you here, honey. You’re exactly what this place needs.”

  Another round of beating drums, a group of four boys and four girls marched onto the tri-rings pitch, all of them hammering in time. The younger spectators on the sidelines danced and threw their hands in the air. A girl of about fourteen approached William and the others. She wore her brown hair in plaits tied around the top of her head like a crown. A wide grin showed off her brilliant white teeth. She shouted over the opening ceremony, the drums inciting the same tongue rolling and stamping William had quickly grown accustomed to with Umbriel. “I’m Dianna. Slate wanted me to come over and explain the game to you. It’s called tri-rings. The rules are quite simple. You have two goals, each with three rings in. There’s a small ball made from rope.” She tossed a ball to William, who caught it.

  “It’s as hard as a rock,” William said, squeezing it in his grip.

  Dianna nodded. “You don’t want to get hit by it. See those lines along the pitch?” A line ran the width of the pitch at each end. They sectioned off the final ten feet or so. “Those areas are for the defenders only. To score, the attackers of the opposing team have to throw the ball through one of the rings without crossing into the defensive areas. The two larger ones lower down”—the two bottom ones were both about two feet in diameter—“are worth one point each. The smaller one at the top”—about one foot in diameter—“is worth two. The winner is the first team to seven. Other than that, there are no rules. Whatever it takes to get the ball in the ring is fair game.”

  While the drummers made their way from the pitch, the teams still limbering up, Max nodded at the group of larger boys. “How often does Slate’s side lose?”

  “They never have. In fact, no one’s even scored against them. They win every game seven nil.”

  The opposition team wore their fear
with their hollow display of bravado. They jumped and leaped, stretched and twisted. The average age of the five boys was at least two years younger than that of Slate’s team. They were children facing men in their prime. By comparison, Slate’s team all stood dead still, staring at their opponents.

  Dianna took the rope ball back from William before jogging onto the pitch and placing it inside a small centre circle drawn on the ground with chalk. She turned to the crowd. “Praise be to Grandfather Jacks and all he provides.”

  The crowd responded in unison, “To Grandfather Jacks!”

  A slow drumroll much like the beat of the executioner in Magma’s fortress. It quickened, the crowd animating with the faster tempo. The drummer sped up into a roll before he finished with three strong beats.

  The ring of the final strike in the air, Slate took off, sprinting at the centre of the pitch, the entire field springing to life. The rest of Slate’s team took up their positions. The younger team mirrored them. Just one boy ran for the ball while the others spread out.

  Although he reached the ball first, Slate charged over the top of it, leading with his right fist. He caught the opposition’s runner on the chin, knocking him onto his back.

  While another one of Slate’s team retrieved the ball, Slate kicked the boy in the head. The boy turned limp. Several teenagers darted onto the pitch and dragged the flaccid kid away by his ankles.

  “What the hell?” Matilda said.

  Dianna had rejoined them after placing the ball. “I told you there’s no holds barred.”

  A drumroll and cheer took William’s attention from the fallen boy. Slate’s team ran back into their half while celebrating their first goal.

  The game ended seven nil. Despite winning as often as he had, Slate still cock-walked around the pitch. Bad losers were hard to tolerate, but bad winners made William’s skin crawl.

  A wide grin on his smug face, Slate snorted a laugh before bowing to the crowd. “And that, ladies and gents, is how you play tri-rings.”

  William shouted, “Looked to me like that was a group of stronger boys beating up a group of weaker boys.”

  “The world’s not as black and white as that, kid.” Slate winked. “Anyway, do you think you might be able to do better?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Want a game later?”

  William waited for one of Cyrus, Max, Artan, or Samson to say no. None of them did. “Sure,” he said.

  “Don’t worry.” Slate winked again, this time at Matilda. “We’ll go easy on them. Dianna, can you show them to our guest hut, please?”

  Dianna nodded. “Sure.”

  The desire to continue the argument kept William rooted to the spot before Olga tutted at him. “And you told me to keep a lid on it. Hypocritical much?”

  After Dianna left them, they all sat down in a circle in the small hut and William said, “So, what do you reckon?”

  “Slate’s a prick,” Max said. He’d sat next to Samson, Olga on the other side of the large and now bald man. Had he done that on purpose so he didn’t have to be close to her?

  William smiled. “But what do you think about staying here?”

  “If they shave my head again,” Samson said, “I will cut a man’s throat.”

  “This whole gender-separation thing is bullshit,” Matilda said. “It’s fine for now, but I’m not sure I can stay in a community like this.”

  “And Slate’s a weapon’s grade prick,” William said. “But you can see how they get away with it.”

  Both Olga and Matilda replied in unison, “You can?!”

  “In Edin, everyone turned eighteen and were then sent outside the walls. I know if I had a kid and it was a girl, I’d be grateful she wouldn’t have to sacrifice herself.”

  “Just her self-worth,” Olga said.

  “At least she’d be alive.”

  Before Olga sniped back, Matilda said, “I get what you’re saying, and maybe if I’d been raised in a society like this, I’d be okay with it. But I haven’t, so while I respect every community’s right to act how they see fit, it’s not all right by me. At all. But maybe we should give it a week or so and see what this place is really like.”

  “I won’t be oppressed,” Olga said.

  “I think that’s patently obvious,” William said. The hard ground had turned his bottom numb, so he pulled himself onto one of the seven beds around the edge of the room. “I stand by you both. Matilda’s right; let’s give it a week. Maybe we need to see what possibility there is for change. It might surprise us.”

  Samson scratched his scalp, his lips tight. The smile synonymous with the man had fallen with his hair. Maybe his wild curls hid it before, but his bald head accentuated the thick bags beneath his eyes. He sighed. “I was the only one out of the one hundred from the arena who survived leaving Edin. I went to relieve myself in the night, and when I came back, I found the diseased in our camp. The door I’d left through remained locked. They’d clearly found another way in.” He clasped his shaking hands in front of himself. His voice cracked. “They took them down in their sleep. I hope most of them didn’t wake up.” Tears glazed his eyes, swelling until they ran down his cheeks. “We had kids with us.”

  William squirmed in the spotlight of Samson’s grief and said, “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Samson, I really am. But I’m not sure I see the connection. What do you want to do?”

  “I want to rest, William. I’m tired.”

  Artan and Max nodded their agreement while Cyrus said, “Anything’s better than Magma’s fortress.”

  They remained in their hut for several hours before Dianna summoned them at Slate’s behest. Olga led them out, and although Max followed her, he halted to let William go first, again putting distance between himself and the girl.

  William’s eyes burned from the change between the gloomy hut and the bright sun. Slate and his tri-rings team had gathered around the pitch’s centre circle. The crowd, as numerous as they had been for the game earlier, were muted with anticipation.

  “Are you staying?” Slate said.

  Olga shrugged. “We’d like to stay here for a week and see if this is the right place for us and we’re the right people for this place.”

  The hairs stood up on the back of William’s neck when the already quiet crowd fell silent. Had anyone else responded to Umbriel’s generosity with such terms?

  Slate nodded. “Ooooo-kay.”

  Several people in the crowd gasped.

  “And you want a game of tri-rings?”

  “Matilda and I do. Our team is me, Matilda, William, Max, and Cyrus. Unless you’re worried about being shown up by women?”

  Silence swept through the place again, some of the retired hunters guffawing and shaking their heads.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Slate said. “We will win, but if you can score at least one point against us, we’ll let women play tri-rings after this game. Deal?” He held his hand out towards Olga.

  If she considered the offer, it didn’t show. Olga clamped hands with Slate, the skin on his hand reddening from how tightly she gripped. “Deal.”

  While nodding, Slate took in his community. “And so it is, a game not only to welcome our new friends for however long they decide to stay, but also to determine whether we let women play tri-rings from this moment on.” He turned back to Olga. “Good luck.”

  Olga shook her head. “We won’t need it.”

  Chapter 26

  Closer to the drums than he’d previously been, William flinched with every beat. They currently stood in their own defence zone at one end of the pitch. About two hundred people around them; most, if not all, of Umbriel’s community watched on. The retired hunters were in their prime spot directly beside the pitch. Hard to discern from their expressions whether they watched on with concern or judgement. Probably best not to know.

  The drumroll reached its crescendo as the people in the community whooped and hollered. They jumped and danced before the final three loud bea
ts. Each one of them sent a kick through William’s heart as he took in their opponents.

  The final beat still ringing in the drum, Slate sprinted towards the knot, Max meeting him in the centre circle. Slate knocked him to the ground. The strong boy with the scars around his neck followed through, picked up the ball, and charged.

  Cyrus dived for the boy and missed, dust kicking up as he landed face down. Before Olga reached the ball carrier, the boy passed it to someone else on his team. Matilda bore down on him, but he offloaded to the person next to him. Slimmer than the others, the boy moved like an eel through water and charged at William.

  A moment of weightlessness from where the hunter hit him at full speed, William landed on his back on the dusty ground and the drumroll celebrated Slate’s team’s first point.

  Back in their defensive area, William snapped his head from side to side to combat the pain in his neck. As the drumroll sounded, he fixed on Slate. The boy smiled and then winked at Matilda.

  The boy with the scars around his neck had thighs as thick as William’s waist. On the final drumbeat, he charged for the ball. Reaching it first, he passed to Slate, who ran straight at Matilda. William and his team had formed a line across the pitch, but William broke it, charging at Slate to protect his love. He dived at the boy, who shimmied and avoided him.

  William’s move had left a huge hole, the boys passing the ball down the line and exploiting it with another goal.

  Matilda’s glare told William everything she wouldn’t say under the watchful eyes of around two hundred spectators. Hold your position! And if he didn’t, he needed to fear her more than the opposition.

  They did better on the next play, William letting Matilda fight her own battles. The hunters had avoided contact with the girls until now, but one of them charged Matilda. She met him with force, slamming into him, the crowd cheering when she knocked him on his arse. But he still offloaded the ball, their passing sending William’s head spinning as he slammed into the fast boy who’d scored against him initially. The fast boy had already passed. The crowd laughed when they scored again.