Chapter 7
Although the kites were fun, they were not quite what Dallmin was after. He and Annie had spent a couple of weeks designing new ones, and, looking up, he decided that they had just about got these ones right. Hers was in the shape of her favourite flower, and his looked like one of the large beasts that spent their time bathing in the lake. Not as pretty as Annie’s, but it flew well. He sent it higher, to bite the clouds.
Joy-giver needs a new game, Annie signed to him, looking impressed. It was a phrase that was used when teaching a new skill to someone. It meant that he had become proficient enough to make someone smile, and so it was time to find something new to learn—a new game to play. She was right. As much as he loved building and flying the kites, he wanted to fly himself. To see what the birds saw. Just like Lainie had. Now that would be a fun game.
Ever since he had watched the strange creature with four legs and two heads glide down from the cliff in lazy circles he had thought about little else. At first he’d assumed it was an unusual type of bird, large enough to fly to the valley from a long way away, then he noticed that it only floated down. It couldn’t get back up again unless the wind lifted it. He understood even more about thermals now. He had been studying the birds and asking Lainie. She didn’t tell him what had happened to the glider she’d used. All he knew was that she and her friends had packed it away and headed toward the base of the cliff, where Annie’s cave was. They had always managed to distract him whenever he’d asked about the cave. He wouldn’t ask if they didn’t want him to, but he was still curious. Was the glider still there? Could he borrow it? Maybe Lainie wouldn’t mind if he looked at it again. What sort of material had they used to make the sail? It was cloth of some sort, he was sure. It had been decorated in bright colours. When he’d noticed it soaring through the sky it had been one of the most beautiful and intriguing things he had ever seen.
Annie stepped closer to where he was, near enough that their kites risked getting tangled, which took his attention away from the direction of the cave entrance.
You are curious about what’s in there, she signed.
When he nodded, her shoulders fell. Flying was almost all he could think about these days, and he was sure she knew more that could help him, but she was obviously reluctant to explain.
Not that curious, he reassured her. I have already been told of the everlasting flames.
The others like you have never liked us to go there.
The visitors with new languages. Sometimes there are two, usually just one. Often many season-cycles pass with none of you here. ‘You used to call yourselves the Shamar,’ he said aloud.
‘What word do you use now? For the ones who tend this cave?’
For quite a few seconds, Annie just stared at him. She had the same surprised expression as when he’d polished up those pretty red gems for her to use as diving weights.
‘Sentinels,’ she said eventually. ‘My parents always referred to us as Sentinels.’
‘All is well, Sentinel Annie. I have no interest in seeing flames. I can do that when I prepare evening meals. Dinner. Supper. Tea. Tucker.’
She grinned at his effort to impress her with his English vocabulary. Learning new languages was always fun. Sometimes people came from other places and used different signs and words and he loved to learn them. It was like learning a new dance. People who were different fascinated him. Annie was different, and so was Lainie. They prompted questions he had no answer for. Like, why did Annie sometimes cry when she thought no one was looking? Only children made those crying noises, but they never dripped silvery tears like she did, and their ‘cries’ only lasted until someone gave them extra attention or some Living Fruit to eat, and Annie refused to eat that, which made no sense to him. It must have something to do with where she’d lived before.
One day just a couple of decades ago, she’d visited the village, and had been crying then too. She’d spent a few months disappearing and reappearing at odd times and now he realised that she must have entered and left the valley through that cave. Perhaps it tunnelled all the way through the cliff. Or perhaps she’d simply stayed in the cave system to have some time alone, the way he sometimes did.
The last time he’d felt a desire to remain apart had been when he’d had two wants and needed time to think and decide which was stronger. It had been when his love-partner, Jiana, had moved across. He had been happy for her and they’d had a wonderful party when she left but he still missed her so much. They had been together for a very long time. He’d considered moving across too, so he could see her again. At the same time, he didn’t want to. Two wants. Eventually time itself sorted it out, but he thought maybe he could have cried sometimes when he thought about her. She was happy though, so he never felt that way for long. Perhaps Annie had someone she missed? The Fruit wouldn’t be able to help with that.
A tug brought his attention back from his reflections and he laughed as he realised their kite strings had crossed each other, more than once, so he started to untwist them. Annie just let hers go and sat down. Her face was not right. She was not happy. He dropped the kites and came to sit in front of her.
‘Did you have a lover before you came here?’ he asked, watching her reaction.
Startled, she began to pull away as if she was going to leave. Perhaps he didn’t get the language quite right. Sometimes she said things in a roundabout way and he never understood why. Maybe he should have asked her differently. He gave her hand a light squeeze to let her know he’d like her to stay, watching her to see what she wanted most. If she still chose to leave then that would be fine, but after a moment she relaxed.
‘Yes,’ she replied, looking down as if she was talking to the grass. ‘His name was Lucas. He moved across.’
Dallmin was delighted. He knew it must have been something like that. Now perhaps he could help her because he knew what it was like when someone close to you chose to leave. She just had to remember how happy the person was about the crossing.
‘Did he enjoy his party?’ he asked, trying to shift the focus of her thoughts. A tiny blue beetle waddled across the grass, so he picked it up and placed it on her fingertip. He knew she loved blue things.
She took a deep breath, watching the beetle with eyes that were not joyful. ‘He didn’t have a party. He didn’t choose to go.’
It took a moment for him to check that he’d interpreted her words correctly. He had never heard of such a thing. Why hadn’t someone given him some Fruit? Even if you stopped for a long time, someone could always give you Fruit if you wished it. A person’s body didn’t decay the way animal bodies did when they stopped. No wonder she had two wants. He gathered her into his arms as the beetle flew away and her tears began to flow, not knowing what to say. In order to comfort her, he first needed to comprehend what had happened.
‘Why did he not eat the Fruit if he didn’t choose to move across?’
Her tears glistened in the sunshine. She was so beautiful.
‘There is no Fruit where we were. No one there is Living,’ she whispered.
No Fruit? How was that possible? The Trees always provided Fruit. A different type every month. There was always plenty. In all his years he had never heard of any place where there was no Fruit. It was unthinkable.
‘We will take some to them,’ he said, rising to look around for a Tree, but her hand clamped around his.
‘No, Dallmin, they are not permitted to eat it.’
‘Permitted? I don’t know that word.’
She made a little grunt, like she had just realised she was losing a game, and it took her a few moments to choose how to explain. ‘The Creator doesn’t want them to eat the Fruit. It will damage the Trees if they do.’
What was this place she spoke of? How could the Creator not want people to eat the Living Fruit? He made it for people to eat. It made no sense.
As if her restless fingers needed something to do, she began to untangle the kite strings. ‘The people there are different. They chose to change, a long time ago. Now they are without Life because they became … stained. If they ate the Fruit, it would become tainted too as it tried to heal them. And it wouldn’t work anyway. The Fruit can only help you to forget what it can’t fix. And forgetting is not healing. I get that now.’
‘Can’t they change back? Why doesn’t the Creator remove the stain?’
‘He does. But it is hard to un-know something once you know it. It’s a bit complicated.’
It was a lot to think about. They sat silently for a while, watching flocks of long-beaked birds fly overhead. How could people who had worked out how to fly sound so … lost? He felt a strong desire to understand.
‘I would like to know more about these people, Annie. Are there things you can tell me that won’t make you … not … happy?’
‘I suppose so,’ she shrugged. ‘If Nayn is right, then perhaps it will be good for me to remember.’
They talked long into the night. The more she spoke, the more relaxed Annie became. Dallmin was intrigued by her descriptions of things that people had built. Computers and cars and television and food that came in little boxes and machines that made clothes and cleaned clothes and cleaned dishes. So many new things. What was it about that place that prompted such industrious activity? What did they need all those things for?
Dallmin asked her about the music there, and the stories. How many stories did Annie know that she had avoided sharing because of her reluctance to speak about her past? How many new games?
Apparently one of the games she used to play there involved something called shopping. The idea seemed to be based around enhancing her appearance by wearing different garments. That made no sense to him whatsoever. How could a garment, which covered the body, possibly make the body look better? Any clothes Dallmin made were appreciated because they were beautiful in themselves, and always useful. He did sometimes tie pretty rocks and feathers to his clothes and hair so he wouldn’t lose them. Annie explained that some of his ‘jewellery’ would be highly prized in the other place, and he struggled to understand what she meant by that. He would be happy to give away any of the little things he’d accumulated in his travels. That was one of the best parts of travelling, after all. He offered her his deep blue shiny rock that had swallowed the tiny stars—the one he kept on a string around his neck—but she refused to take it, so he tossed it away because he couldn’t be bothered retying the string.
When Annie described some of the lengths that people went to in order to look good, he was convinced that she was exaggerating. He couldn’t imagine what the point would be. Then he insisted that she help him shave off his beard so he could see what the men there looked like. They used the metal blade he carried for kite-making to shave it off. Fruit juice helped stop the bleeding. When he saw his reflection in a pond he laughed and said that people would mistake him for a child and give him even more affection. She rolled her eyes at him.
Long after moon-set, when a playful cloud of silver bats flitted back toward the cliff face, she told him that she was too tired to answer any more of his questions. Dallmin pulled her back against his chest, and marvelled at how relaxed she seemed. It felt good to have her so close.
‘I think I would like to see for myself, this place you came from,’ he said as he stroked the back of her hand with the tip of a velvety leaf.
She stiffened. ‘Why? It’s not a happy place. I don’t think you would like it.’
‘If you don’t want me to go, just tell me.’
She closed her eyes, and didn’t reply straight away. ‘I feel no compulsion here,’ she said after a moment. ‘Which is strange because usually, trying to transfer any living matter across the threshold in either direction would have me tied up in knots. I guess it’s not often that anything Living has a desire to leave. You are a person, with your own motivations. There are no rules on this side of the Boundary so you can do as you please. I have not been given the authority to mess with your choices.’
Dallmin sat up and gripped her hand to pull her up with him, but she pulled away.
The brief excitement he’d had at the thought of travelling there with her dissolved in an instant as his will aligned with hers. If she didn’t want to travel, then he didn’t want her to either. He sat back against the rock again. ‘I understand. You are happier here. You should not come.’
With a contented smile she leant back into his embrace again, but then craned her neck to look at him. ‘Should?’ she asked.
‘Is that not the correct word? I have heard you use that word before.’
She blinked. ‘Yeah. I suppose I have.’
In a few minutes, she was asleep, and Dallmin stayed awake to savour the feel of her in his arms, and to think about everything she’d described to him.