by Rayner Ye
“Let me try.” Gus leaned over her to repeat the process. Nothing.
“We must get up there.” His mum pointed up.
“The sky structure?” Aedre asked.
She nodded.
“But if we do, and someone questions us, where will we say we’re from?”
“Down here.” She pointed to the jungle through the pyramid’s entrance.
“Not the past?” Aedre asked
“No way.” Gus strained as he lifted her again. “You wouldn’t tell them that, would you, Ma?”
“No. They’d put me in a mental hospital. I’d say I was born in a tribe.”
They carried Aedre into bright sunlight.
“They’d ask how you could speak their language,” Aedre said.
“I’d say my mother taught me,” Gus’s mum said. “Their own language has probably changed. They’d be fascinated in reintroducing an extinct language. We could say we’re descendants of survivors.”
A young man from a group sitting in a circle twisted around. “Many can’t travel on foot. We don’t have roads or wheels, so we’ll set up camp first and make weapons for hunting and defending.”
Some in the circle shuffled around to make space for them, and they lowered Aedre, then propped her against makeshift cushions.
“So,” a fat woman said to her, “you’re the Noctar.”
“I’d prefer not to be called that. It’s hurtful.”
She laughed. “Hurtful? I don’t mean it in a bad way. We have nothing against Noctars.”
“I don’t want to be called it, alright? I have a name, like everyone else. My name’s Aedre.”
The woman looked away and smiled a goofy grin at a few other hags, who made long faces and peered at her.
“As I was saying,” the young man continued. “Once camp is assembled, wounds attended to, mouths fed, and water organised, then groups will search for lifts into the sky.”
“Even if I wasn’t paralysed, I wouldn’t look for a lift,” Aedre said. “That sky structure seems to be pinned to the sky.”
“There might be lifts,” the man said.
“I have a quicker method,” Aedre said, “ff anyone’s prepared to take me to Haunted River when it next rains.” She glanced at her red-gem ring. She could explore that sky city by river and rain travel, and then help these people.
A group climbed onto the clearing with coconuts, bananas, bamboo shoots, and roots.
“Did you find water?” the mouthy fat woman hollered.
The men looked at one another, dread on their expressions. “You won’t believe it when we tell you.” A man from the expedition approached the circle. “Haunted River’s been blocked by Biluglass.”
Aedre went dizzy and took a shaky breath. “How?”
“There’s a tunnel of Biluglass encircling it, all the way down.”
“Even the spring’s impossible to gather water from,” his friend said.
“Who did that?” someone asked.
Gus’s mum pointed up. “The people in the sky.”
Ambush
Rescued from volcanic ash and a tsunami, a thousand people sat around campfires on the pyramid’s plateau. Conversations buzzed around her, but Aedre was more concerned with her discomfort as her upper-body slipped into a scrunched position against a pile of clothes people had thrown together.
Her breathing grew shallow, and tears welled in her eyes. If only someone would prop me up correctly, then leave me alone to cry.
A family approached her campfire, and Wayan’s voice broke through Aedre’s depression. “Aedre! My dear. Aedre!” Wayan ran and knelt beside her, then clutched both her hands. “Look what’s happened to you!” She wiped streaming tears from both their cheeks and whispered, “It’s that selfish man’s fault—Somare. Who could trust a man like that?”
Luckily Somare’s wife, Nahau, and his son, Gus, mingled around another fire.
Komang approached with his three little daughters.
“Where’s your father?” Aedre asked.
“Asleep in our tent.”
“You’re all alive.” Aedre’s mounting depression took the backbench. “Wonderful.”
Wayan pressed a fist to her lips. “How?” She scanned Aedre’s body up and down. “You can’t move?”
Aedre’s lip trembled. “No.”
“Let me help. Komang?” They pulled her up against pillows. Wayan frowned. “You need a strap to stop you slipping or falling.”
“I can try to make something,” Komang said.
“How did you become paralysed?” Wayan asked.
Through tears and sobs, Aedre explained everything she’d done. Many around the fire gathered to listen. They’d all walked through a time portal, so they should believe in river and rain travel too. After she finished her story and answered questions about Bamdar’s slaves and the Mayleedian Interstellar Police, the gathering dispersed, some to visit other campfires, some to return to their tents.
Aedre asked Wayan whether she knew any doctors or nurses. “I need my catheter and stool bag emptied, cleaned and replaced.”
“I can do that for you, Sweetie.” Wayan wiped a curl from Aedre’s face. “I worked in an elderly people’s home when I lived in Markaz—emptied those bags regularly. We’ll go somewhere private. Komang can carry you. You poor girl. You’ve been through too much.”
“After you’ve helped me.” Aedre’s voice broke. “Could you leave me alone for an hour?”
Komang’s deep voice boomed. “It’s too dangerous. We need to stick together.”
Wayan placed a chubby arm around Aedre’s shoulders and drew her in. “I know all the grief you’re suffering.”
“Did you know my mum died four years ago too?”
Wayan offered a deep sigh. Her voice soothed Aedre. “I didn’t know that Sweetie, no.” With her other hand, she stroked Aedre’s forehead. “Listen. I’ll be your mum from now on, okay?”
Aedre sniffed back tears. “Okay.”
“I’ll be your nurse too. But first, we need water. Komang? Before we relocate Aedre, can you find someone who has water?”
“I certainly will.” He gazed at Aedre. “Everyone here should be waiting on you hand and foot. You saved our lives. Somare may be a piece of shit, but he brought you to us.”
Wayan blushed and looked at her feet. “Well said. I won’t speak ill of him again. Did he make it through?”
“No,” Aedre said. “He didn’t.”
After Wayan helped with her catheter, Komang carried Aedre back to the fire. Wayan stood and clapped. “Please, listen, everyone!”
The conversations muted into quiet. “Aedre’s paralysed from her neck down. Help her whenever you can. She saved us from certain death. She did everything possible to get a key to Giok’s pyramid and take us through, even before the volcano erupted. She became paralysed for us.”
Chatter picked up, and wide-eyed gazes examined Aedre. Many ran to spread Komag’s word, and from then on, she didn’t feel isolated again.
***
A few weeks later, a group of seven went on an expedition and discovered an unblocked river two miles away. Finding containers for water was hard, but by applying a bit of ingenuity, they managed. With their community organised, shelters were strengthened and made more weatherproof. People had different jobs, depending on their skills. Some who had never hunted before discovered they were good as it. Even little girls and boys helped to set traps.
Groups of men and women made knives, tools and weapons. Others used materials harvested from the surrounding jungle to throw together a large tent for patients. Many had died and were buried, but luckily, so far, no contagious diseases arose.
One night, when everyone slept, shouting filled the air.
Loud bangs. Screams.
Aedre’s pulse picked up. “Wayan?”
“I’m here. Right next to you. Holding your hand.”
“I’m going out,” Komang said.
“No, don’t. They’ll kill you,”
Wayan said.
“Let’s escape. Carry Aedre into the jungle.”
The children cried.
“Shh,” Komang said.
“Please, Ba. Don’t make us go.”
“No, Sweeties,” Wayan told them. “We’re all staying here together. Everything will be alright.”
After an hour of screaming and shouting, someone separated their tent flaps, and a bright light beamed into Aedre’s eyes.
“We’re going,” a male’s voice said. “Get out. You’re coming with us.”
“Oh, please,” Wayan said. “No, no, no. I have little ones. Leave us here.”
“I’ll take your kids if you don’t follow me.” A man bounded into their living space.
“Okay,” Wayan said. “We’ll come. But my friend here is paralysed. Let my husband carry her?”
“Leave her here.”
“Oh, no—”
The man yanked at Wayan’s children. She and Komang scrambled out to follow. “I’m so sorry, Aedre,” Wayan said. “My children.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Left alone, Aedre wanted to hide or flee, but her body wouldn’t let her. She fell asleep in a fitful slumber as the camp succumbed to silence.
In the morning, a woman’s voice woke her. “Right. Time to come with us. Pete! Mike! We’ve got one here who can’t move. Strange-looking. White skin, would you believe it?”
Aedre opened her eyes to two men and a woman. All Native-Reds, they had shaved heads and wore nothing but animal hides around their waists.
“You come from this time?” Aedre asked.
“She speaks our language,” the woman said.
Aedre struggled to move her head and keep eye contact “Where did you take them?”
“We’ll talk later. Carry her to the wagon.”
The men lumbered Aedre to a pushcart and tied a cloth over her eyes. Then they set off on their journey.
***
A bump jolted Aedre awake. A man with a shaved head and tattoos over his red face took off her blindfold, picked her up, and carried her into the dark. Voices echoed around. They seemed to walk down a tunnel, and her judgement was confirmed when they entered a cave full of oil lamps and a mixture of prehistoric and modern technology. If people from this time wore more than loincloths, she wouldn’t know which Native-Reds had followed her through the time portal.
The man carried her down another tunnel, not speaking the entire time. Finally, he entered a second cave where twenty people lay on woven mattresses. Colourful medical airSpheres haloed five of them. The man lay Aedre on a mattress and left without saying a word. Doctors and nurses, also in loincloths, whispered to one another. Two women approached Aedre. Unlike those with shaven heads, these women had striped hair tied back into ponytails.
“Are you doctors?” Aedre asked.
“No. Are you Aedre?”
“How d’you know my name?”
“Your people haven’t stopped talking about you since they arrived. Was it you who took them through the pyramid?”
“Is there some way you can sit me up before I talk? I’m fed up with being hauled about and haven’t sat up for many hours.”
Between them, the women found enough bolsters and pillows to support her in an upright position. The women nodded, seemingly satisfied. “We have two visitors who’d like to see you. We’ll feed you first.”
These people seemed genuine and kind. “Are my visitors those from my tent?”
“No. Your visitors come from our group.”
“Doctors? Doctors who can make me better again?”
“No. I’m sorry. Two people who claim to know you. Our leaders.”
“Your leaders know me? Are they time travellers?”
“You can find out later.”
“Who are you?” Aedre asked.
“Someone will tell you later.”
Aedre’s mouth went dry, and she swallowed. Whoever wanted to see her must have time travelled too. Her pulse quickened. Hopefully not Bamdar. No, surely not. He’d been sent to a moon prison.
She breathed in a delicious smell and forgot all her worries as her stomach whined. One woman fed her delicious food. The flavours and textures worked wonders on her tongue—white beans, cubed roots, edible leaves and spices. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of smell and taste when she’d become paralysed.
After she’d eaten, the woman took away her spoon and empty bowl. Strange sounds came from the tunnel—clicking, some words, and clapping.
Aedre’s heart thudded in her throat as two short people wearing robes approached her. As they advanced on her, their huge grey heads under their cowls became obvious. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Roobish!” the woman yelled, running towards her and hugging her tightly.
Aedre’s thoughts scattered, too excited to think. She didn’t need to wonder anymore and beamed. An odd language of clicks, words, and taps of her teeth came out of her mouth. “Kala and Kaal! Oh, Kaal, you’re alive.”
The Satsang twins embraced her, and all three cried with happiness. Roobish’s children who Aedre, too, now loved. They weren’t young anymore, though. Wrinkles radiated around their eyes.
“We’ve heard your story retold by many tongues,” Kaal said. “You are a hero.”
The twins pulled away from her and sat cross-legged on either side.
“How is it possible that you’re here?” she asked.
The twins gave each other knowing looks and chuckled.
“Should you tell her, or me?” Kala asked.
“Let’s do it together,” Kaal said. “You start, but don’t shout at me for interrupting, okay?”
“As long as you don’t get mad at me, either.”
“It’s a deal.”
“You’re older now,” Aedre said.
“And you’re young.” Kaal laughed. “Your scar’s so small.”
“That’s because I’m Aedre, not Roobish. Sorry. Roobish died. She gave me her memories on her way to her afterlife. That’s how I remember you. That’s how this strange language is coming out from nowhere.”
“Not from nowhere.” Kala’s eyes twinkled. “From your soul.”
“Roobish’s soul.”
“A soul you share over space and time.” Kaal tilted her head. “But what happened? Why are you paralysed?”
“Can I tell that story another time? I’m dying to know how and when you found a key.”
“Okay,” Kala said in her sweet voice of high-pitched words and clicks. “You know we Satsang have a lifespan of three hundred years?”
“Yes. How old are you?”
“Seventy-seven.”
“We were twenty—based on Nerthling years—when Roobish died in Arthean lowlands,” Kaal said.
Aedre nodded, and Kala gestured for him to continue.
“And twenty-seven when one of Grandmother’s soldiers got hold of a key—”
“Would you believe,” Kala said in a bubbly voice, “the key was embedded in Mount Alimazi’s rock?”
“No!”
“Yep.” She nodded frantically. “With Roobish’s aurashield remote, one of Grandmother’s soldiers found it. It took days of chipping away to get it out.”
“The same soldier volunteered to sacrifice his memory for our species,” Kaal said. “He brought scripts into the past which Grandmother had written to herself.”
Kala shook her head. “More like instructions.”
“Okay, instructions, then.”
Kala nodded. “The soldier reset time and brought Roobish and Kaal back.”
“I don’t think time changed for me, though.”
“No. Only Arthean time.”
“But when I reset time, it included the whole of Plan8.”
“Did it? I thought you’d only reset Kuanja’s time, so Bamdar became young again.”
“No. The clay tribe forgot all the terrors Bamdar had brought them.”
“I guess your time was reset too, then.”
“I guess I wouldn�
�t know otherwise if it had been.”
Kaal and Kala exchanged thoughtful looks. Kala sniffed and smiled. “Roobish lived a full and happy life with Kaal and me. She died down here of old age.”
“That was ages ago,” Kaal said. “Saxs don’t live as long as Satsangs.”
“So, Roobish’s memories I have of hiding in Artheus lowlands never happened?”
“Only in an alternative reality,” Kaal said. “I guess you don’t have Roobish’s memories of travelling here, then?”
“No. Where’s Mahaaraanee? Did she die of old age too?”
Kala’s face dropped, along with her tone. “Grandmother invaded Kuanja fifty years ago. The Chairman of New Bilu and his army of Chloroplasts helped her.”
“Chairman Yacopo?”
“No. One of Yacopo’s many successors, Chairman Yorick.”
Aedre gasped. “Did Chairman Yorick give them their sky structure?”
Kaal and Kala nodded.
“The Satsang live up there with a White-Biluvians military.” Kaal pushed his chin up. “Chairman Yark and his other White Biliuvians live in Artheus.”
“What happened to Chairman Yorick?”
“White-Biluvianss only live for fifty years before execution. He died.”
“Oh, yes. Silly me. But how can other White Biluvians live in Artheus? Isn’t it still a nuclear wasteland?”
Kala half-smiled. “A lot can happen in two hundred years. That’s another story.”
Aedre’s head ached. The crow had been right about the Satsang and the dangers of the keys. What other evils had Mahaaraanee caused? “Are the Native-Reds all down here?”
“Only lucky ones,” Kaal said. “Those who weren’t murdered by Chairman Yorick’s Chloroplasts.”
“Chloroplasts?”
“Didn’t we mention before?”
Aedre shrugged.
“Plant people,” Kaal said. “A White Biluvian-made species of plant and human hybrids. They are the White-Biluvians’ army.”
Aedre’s jaw dropped, and she shook her head. “Do they live up there too?”
“They live down here,” Kaal said. “They’re spies. Green Chloroplasts live on Kuanja, and the black ones—Noirplasts—live on Artheus.”