Shanakee's Tale Page 4

  Arthur’s mother felt her pulse and her forehead, then nodded.

  “She’s just dehydrated and tired. Give her some hours of sleep.”

  Arthur nodded, not fully convinced, and took her tender form into his arms, carrying her to the back of the hall with a protective feeling foreign to him. He placed her into the soft fur, and stared at her for a moment longer. Her strikingly red hair fell down her shoulders and waist, and her chest slowly rose up and down. The feeling that warmed his gut at her sight scared him. Was he in love? He had been before, but it hadn’t felt anything like it.

  You’re a fool. She is nothing but a stranger, he thought, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from her stunning form. But even while he left, he knew that she would haunt him.

  * * *

  It was dark outside. The three of them—Arthur and his parents—were dining in the candle lit hall. No word was spoken and the atmosphere was loaded with tension. When his father had heard of the stranger, his mood had shifted abruptly. Arthur knew that while he was a likable and warm character around trusted friends, he disapproved of every stranger who entered their village. But he didn’t care. He had done the right thing, and he refused to let his mood be spoiled.

  Finally, Arthur heard the long-desired steps from the private rooms. When she finally descended from the chambers, the girl looked so different and striking that Arthur had to suppress a gasp. She had put on the clothes his mother had laid out for her—a long skirt, warm leather boots garnished with fur and a long dark coat made of wool that would keep her warm in the coming autumn nights. She had washed and her hair was tied into a ponytail, still falling elegantly upon her shoulders. Despite the shock she had experienced only hours ago, she was carrying herself with both confidence and caution, not avoiding the faces that stared at her but rather studying them. Her green eyes stared at Arthur with interest, and it was him who tore his glance away because he could not bear it any longer. He scolded himself for this, and his eyes wandered involuntarily back to her, as if attracted by a magnetizing force.

  Alasdair MacIan’s deep voice broke the silence.

  “Sit down. Eat.” His head hinted towards an empty seat next to Arthur’s mother, and Arthur felt that the invitation was cold and investigative. The girl hesitated only for a second, then the hunger got the better of her. The meat smelled delicious from the fireplace, and she swallowed the bite offered to her without any consideration for manners. Except for her chewing, the room had fallen back to the familiar silence. When she was done, Alasdair poured some ale into her wooden jar, and sipped on his.

  “So. What brings you here?”

  Arthur grew furious. Couldn’t he see how fragile and helpless she was? How scared? His father made it sound as if she involuntarily stumbled here on a pleasant late afternoon walk.

  “My name is Aideen …”

  Aideen. It was the first time he properly heard her voice. What did it remind him of? The song of the most beautiful nightingale. Arthur cringed at this thought. He was going completely nuts, wasn’t he?

  The blood from the back of her hand was gone, but the deep cut was still fresh and the bruised skin red with inflammation.

  Pull yourself together, he scolded himself yet again. And stop staring.

  His father noticed the stare, and gave Arthur a cold look of warning. But Arthur ignored it. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away, even if he wanted to.

  “I’m from Edinburgh,” she added, and fell silent again.

  At look at his father’s expression gave away that he wasn’t buying it.

  “Edinburgh,” he repeated, and paused. “No parents?”

  Arthur instantly saw that those words made her uneasy. But she simply shook her head.

  “None that I know.”

  Arthur’s heart tightened with compassion. How had it felt to grow up without parents, not knowing where one came from? This had become the fate of all the city children who were born and raised in Raising Centres by governmental social workers. To Arthur, who had spent his whole life in Area Three, it seemed unnatural and cruel.

  “How old are you, girl?”

  Arthur instantly knew the purpose of this question. If she had been born before the social reform, she did have parents, parents who must have given her away to a Raising Centre. If she had been born after, she was just a product of science and DNA donation.

  “Eighteen.”

  So born after the reform? She looked a little older. Was Aideen lying in purpose? Arthur dismissed the thought. Her ordeal in the past days must have matured her looks. But he knew that his father was not buying it either. What would he do to her? Drive her out and let her starve? Even he couldn’t be that cruel.

  Alasdair MacIan leaned forward, his eyes studying Aideen.

  “Tell me why you’re here.”

  It sounded like a challenge. Like a threat. Arthur suppressed the urge to interrupt his father and protect Aideen from these outrageous accusations.

  But Aideen did not even flinch. She just let a silent pause settle over them, deciding what to say next.

  “I was abused by one of my overseers.” Those words stung Arthur, and he saw that they hit both his parents with shock, even if they tried not to let it show. It was rumored that abuse and rape was common in this institution, but they have never heard it first-hand.

  “He would find me anywhere, he said.” Aideen continued, ”He would access the data of my chip and thus my whereabouts years after I reached legal age. I had no other choice but to flee and cut this thing out.”

  A strong wave of rage overcame Arthur, and impulse to kill this bastard who had hurt her, to protect her, whatever the cost. He clenched his fists involuntarily.

  “It’s been a week since then. I’ve lived in the Neutral Area. But after five days, my supplies had run out.”

  A cold chill ran down Arthur’s spine. The Neutral Area? Created as a place where both outsiders and city residents could pass legally to cross between cities, it had transformed into a set of ghost towns roamed by psychopaths, drug dealers and criminals. How did she even manage to survive it? The urge to protect her was replaced by another feeling. Admiration.

  Alasdair just nodded. It was a strangely cold nod.

  “I hope you understand the dilemma you put me in.” His voice sounded hollow. Dilemma? Arthur’s rage grew with every word his father spoke. “If you’re telling the truth, I cannot reject you and leave you to the mercy of the gods and nature, let you starve or be killed. But if you’re lying, you could put my whole village in danger, the people I am responsible for. I’ll need time to find out which of those two is the truth. Up until then, you will be our prisoner.”

  Arthur nearly jumped up from the table, hands clenched into fists.

  “A prisoner? But she is …”

  A look from Alasdair made him shut up, a look so intimidating and threatening that Arthur’s voice failed him. But only for a second. When his father turned around, courage found him again, and his words came out so loud that he instantly knew it was a mistake.

  “You can’t do this! After all that had happened to her!”

  Alasdair clenched his strong right hand into a fist, and crashed it against the wooden table with such force everything on it rose up into the air.

  “Have your hormones erased everything I have taught you?” he yelled. His voice echoed between the walls, and Arthur was sure that the whole village had heard it.

  He fell silent, and lowered his head. This strange feeling slowly crept into his heart, this feeling that always rose when his father rebuked him. As if a small, disgusting voice was whispering into his ear: This is who you really are. A disappointment.

  “Aideen. With me.”

  Alasdair’s voice was still commanding and furious, but at least he didn’t drag her by the elbow. He just signaled with his head. Both of them left the hall and walked across the village bathed in darkness. But as Arthur watched them disappear into the night, he saw two familiar faces peaking out thei
r huts to see what all the fuss was about: Sena and John. As Arthur was sure that his father was out of sight, he ran across the muddy paths and signaled them to him.

  “What happened?” Sena whispered as the three of them put their heads together to conspire.

  “We meet here at midnight,” Arthur replied in a hushed tone. “I’ll explain everything.”

  His friends nodded and whispered one after another:

  “One.”

  “Two.”

  “Three.”

  Both Sena and John hurried to leave for their huts, but Arthur followed the footsteps into the direction Aideen had left with a long gaze. He let out a deep breath.

  Damn it. He was in love, wasn’t he?

  SENA

  Sena didn’t need to tiptoe around the house at midnight, compared to—he was pretty sure—what Arthur was doing right now. His mother, Margaret, was wide awake and not particularly interested in her son’s whereabouts. Maybe because she trusted him, a trust that was mutual.

  The fire was still burning in the middle of the hut, keeping them warm throughout the night. Sena stared at the flames, and his gaze shifted to his mother who lay on the bed made out of straw and fur, eyes fixated on the black ceiling. Margaret was plagued by nightmares, so she had nearly given up sleep years ago. Sena pitied her. He was barely able to tell the exact time of day now, as the moon and the stars were hidden by thick clouds. But he figured that it was time to go.

  His woolen socks touched the cold wooden floor. He put on his boots that were already half torn from the years of use, and a coat his mother had made him for this winter. It enveloped him like a warm blanket.

  “Will you be back soon?” Margaret’s voice resounded in the hut. Sena was a little surprised, but he smiled in the half light of the fire, and walked over to kiss her forehead.

  “I will.”

  Margaret nodded.

  “Be careful.” She sounded tired.

  Sena walked out into the cold night, but he only felt the icy wind on his face and around his years thanks to the coat. Luckily, it was not raining. John stood there already, switching from one foot to the other, wearing only a sweater. His grandfather had to be long asleep by now, a sleep nothing could disrupt so easily. They greeted each other with a warm smile and a slight nod, not uttering the evident suspicion that concerned Arthur’s absence. Something had happened this night at their hall. Sena had only heard the cries, and saw the shape of a girl vanishing with the clan leader into the night, and he was dying to know the meaning of those things. He both admired Arthur’s courage and frowned upon his stupidity to steal away the same night. Those were the times he did not envy him for having a father.

  When John finally threatened to freeze and both of them thought of going back home, Arthur came running from the distance, gasping. He carried two blankets and a plate with cold meat.

  There was no need to explain what had caused the delay, and Arthur motioned the boys to follow him into the night.

  “What is the meaning for all of this?” Sena asked impatiently while they were walking.

  “You’re always looking for meaning in everything.” Arthur mocked him with a grin, and Sena rolled his eyes. Then, Arthur told them the story, concluding with: “I figure my father brought her into this abandoned hut at the edge of the village.”

  “What did you think of her?” Sena wondered, and Arthur hesitated, then just shrugged in response. The shrug seemed more like a defense mechanism. Sena tried to study him, to understand what it was that prompted him to look for a stranger in the middle of the night and defy his father to such an extent. Arthur was a rebel, no question of that. But was this move really only an act of rebellion? Sena had never seen Alasdair MacIan as angry as tonight.

  Meanwhile, John had turned pale. Or was it just the moonlight that made him appear that way? John was only that quiet when something bothered him. Suddenly, Sena remembered that night when they had bathed in the lake. The thing that John had told them … A girl. John had dreamed of a girl. A cold chill ran through Sena’s body, and suddenly, the darkness that lay ahead of them seemed menacing.

  The hut stood several feet away from the village. It looked tiny, even compared to the small blackhouse Sena inhabited, and it was neglected and uncared for. There was no fire inside, not even a sign of life. Full steam ahead, Arthur walked towards the wooden door and carefully pushed it open. It creaked, and only now Sena noticed a small light that came through the opening. It came from an oil lamp, and illuminated the empty hut. Empty but for a person sitting in the straw, crouched. As she looked up towards the intruders, the small light of the lamp danced in her deep green eyes. Aideen’s expression was marked by tiredness, but this did not diminish the fascination Sena felt in her presence. Those eyes captivated him.

  “I …,” Arthur suddenly blushed, handing her the blankets and the plate with the meat, “I hope we didn’t wake you.” His tone was so shaky that it made Sena wonder. Aideen smiled, gladly accepting the gift and wrapping her tender form into the blankets.

  “This is very kind.”

  There was something crisp and alluring about her voice. Her left ankle was in a metal chain attached to the floor. Sena didn’t even know that this chain existed, nor the purpose of this hut up until this day. She really was a prisoner. But was this who they had become? A village that imprisoned helpless girls? A sadness rose up in Sena’s heart.

  “You brought a friend?”

  “Yes, this is Sena and this …” Arthur fell silent. “John?”

  It was only when John entered the hut that the atmosphere began to feel heavy. Loaded. Maybe it was only because Sena remembered John’s dream? And because by the way John’s eyes shifted, only slightly, when he glanced upon Aideen, he saw that this was the girl he had dreamed about?

  John incessantly stared at Aideen, not uttering a word. But inside those gray eyes played out a world of emotions—memories, realities, dreams. Even in the shadow of the hut, Sena saw tears rising in John’s eyes. What was it that he saw, that he remembered?

  The heaviness lasted for a fleeting moment, and it was only Sena who had noticed it.

  “We would like to keep you company, if you don’t object.”

  How polite Arthur sounded, as if he was courting her.

  “The longer you stay, the greater the chances your father will discover,” Aideen countered with a wink, and Arthur bit on his lips.

  Sena liked this girl. He liked her a lot.

  “I think we should get going,” he said with a smile. “Not that we don’t enjoy your astute company.”

  Astute? Where did this word come from?

  When Aideen smiled back, Sena felt his lungs tighten.

  “Well, by the looks of it, I have nowhere else to be. Is this how you normally treat guests?”

  “I’m really sorry.” Arthur’s voice sunk. “Sometimes, my father sees ghosts.”

  Aideen shrugged.

  “To be completely blunt, this is the best place I’ve been to in days, not to mention the food. So I’ll be fine.”

  There was this smile again. It enchanted Sena, as did her mood despite her fate and this impossible situation.

  “We will take good care of you,” he said, his eyes lingering on her.

  She nodded, and only slowly, her smile faded again, revealing a hint of bitterness. At least that’s what Sena thought to perceive in the limited light of the oil lamp. In the meantime, John seemed to have lost the ability to speak. And when Sena looked over to Arthur, he realized that he was staring back at him with anger flickering in those eyes.

  “Good night,” Arthur murmured. Even those words were sharp, and could not conceal Arthur’s sudden shift of mood. But why? Arthur nearly tore the boys out of the hut, and further away as they marched back towards the village. Sena knew that Arthur was only holding back for Aideen’s sake. As soon as they’d put a long enough distance between the hut, Arthur would explode. As usual.

  JOHN

  John’s hands
were trembling. He vividly remembered this dream that had caused him to collapse. And here she was, coming to haunt him. When he saw her sitting there, he knew that he had a decision to make. A decision that was granted to him alone—to accept fate and live through everything despite the consequences, or to run. It felt as if two voices were yelling inside of him, and he did not know how make them stop. He was torn.

  Sena and Arthur were involved into some kind of feud, but John barely noticed it. He was preoccupied with those thoughts that threatened to tear him apart.

  “Who do you think you are?” Arthur said, suddenly stopping. John nearly bumped into him.

  His rage was directed at Sena, who eyed him, half amused.

  “What do you mean?”

  Arthur clenched his fists, like he always did to soften the anger inside of him. He was searching for words, but found none.

  “Well … she … I … it was me who …”

  “Are you jealous?” Sena interrupted.

  Arthur’s eyes widened. He was jealous, wasn’t he? But this meant that …

  “I’m not jealous of you,” he replied. It was a lie.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re not a threat.”

  “Well, then you can relax, can’t you?”—a pause, while a cunning smile appeared in Sena’s face—“And watch me while I swoop her right under your nose.”

  This was when Arthur exploded and ran towards Sena, fists ahead. John stood in his way.

  “Hey!” He tried to push Arthur away, who was pressing in with raging eyes. “Stop!”

  When Arthur finally gave in, John pushed him away, eyeing the two of them with reproach.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Both fell silent, and finally Arthur made a deep breath.

  “Alright, I … I suggest, nobody makes a move. For our friendship’s sake.” His posture was still strong and threatening, “Promise.”