Shanakee's Tale Read online

  Sena hesitated. He was fighting with himself.

  “Promise!” Arthur pushed, and Sena nodded.

  “I promise,” it was barely a whisper.

  “Good. I promise to stay away from her as well,” Arthur said, and this promise seemed to have cost him everything.

  Both of them shifted their gaze to John now. He studied their faces, wondering if this was really true. His hands began to tremble again.

  Will you run away, John? Or will you face your trials?

  Those memories, those images played out in his mind’s eye again and again. But when the fear was gone, he realized that this was irreversible. That this was the only way he wanted it.

  He lowered his head.

  “I cannot make such a promise.”

  Both of them stared in disbelief, lost for words.

  “I …” How could he explain this to them? Something not even he quite understood? “… it wouldn’t be fair to make a promise I can’t keep.”

  Arthur’s hands began to shake, and he clenched them into fists again. Was he really that serious about her? It was foolish, he had only met her today, and it wasn’t like she was the only girl around here. But John had known her for years, it felt.

  “I don’t understand …” Sena began. And he couldn’t.

  John wanted to explain it to them, make them understand. It hurt to disappoint them, to lose them. But there were no words he could find. So John remained silent.

  “You think you are so special, don’t you?” Arthur exclaimed, furious, “You have been chosen by the gods, you are better than us, right?”

  Arthur came closer, piercing him with reproach, barely holding back a punch. John endured the stare.

  “She doesn’t belong to you! And you cannot predict the future! You just want to be special because your parents abandoned you.”

  Sena looked back and forth between them.

  “Arthur, stop,” he said, quietly, but Arthur paid no attention.

  “You know what, you’re not special! And you never were … You’ll see, when you realize that she will be mine, not yours.”

  With this, Arthur gave him a nudge. John remained steadfast, eyes not backing away from Arthur’s stare. Sena lowered his head.

  “So here’s the thing.” A strong voice suddenly interrupted, and all of them shrunk back. Alasdair MacIan stood at the edge of the village, eyeing them. His fury from this evening had subsided. “Stay away from her, all of you. This is not a suggestion, it’s a command. If I see any of you near her or near this hut, you will regret it. Bitterly. Understood?”

  Alasdair looked around, waiting for everyone to nod. His tone left no room for disagreement. His eyes remained on Arthur.

  “As always, we’ll discuss your punishment in the morning.”

  With this, he turned around and left.

  Arthur threw one last look to John, miming: She’s mine.

  Sena shook his head in disappointment yet again, and left into the other direction. Only John stood there for another moment, not noticing the cold anymore. His life was suddenly thrown upside down, and although he knew this day was coming, it still ached.

  When he began to walk towards the village with slow steps, something felt wrong. As if a presence had been watching them. Eavesdropping on them. He looked around, but it was impossible to see anything in this darkness. He let out a deep breath, and went inside the hut where his grandfather was snoring louder than usual.

  CONALL

  Conall had passed by Area Three only once, by night, on his way to Skye Island. This was also why he had missed the beauty of this willful place. True, all of the Highlands rang with fascination in their own way, but this place struck Conall with a deep sense of meaning. It was not as grim and solemn as Skye. Majestic was the best way to describe it, he decided. The way those sublime mountains were situated around Glencoe valley, the waterfalls running along the stone, all of it evoked awe in Conall’s chest. Maybe this feeling arose because he had remained in Skye for so long, forgotten how it felt so see more colors and daylight. The village of Area Three lay directly at the feet of the mountains, aside from the main asphalted road that was crumbling. The rare sunlight was reflected by the small lake while the inhabitants of the village were running their daily errands, tilling the fields and preparing for the early morning hunt. Conall watched the village with reverence, allowing himself several deep breaths before descending into the valley. Those people had no idea about the extent of the role they’d have to play in global history. They seemed so unremarkable, so common. But if Conall had learned anything in all those years of studying, it was that things were never what they seemed. And somehow, those mountains seemed to hint at a foreboding of their own, signalizing with their might that this was more than a usual village in a common Outer Area. But what was common about the Outer Areas anyway? Created from the rebellion of the people who fled from those reforms he was party responsible for when the Global Union was created. Most of them had been necessary to prevent the collapse and destruction of our world—the geo-political reform that provided Global Union for political autonomy and got rid of every nationalism, the bio-technological reform to ensure sustainability and abolish poverty and global warming. But it was the social reform that had caused the biggest refugee wave.

  Conall felt a burden, wondering for the thousandth time if he had wronged the world by creating World5, a machine programmed with a scientific algorithm to predict the future with an accuracy that blew every scientist’s mind. Conall cursed Manasseh yet again, cursed his unreasonable and fanatic ideals he was determined to impose on humankind, thinking that he was creating a better world. Conall had no other choice but to plant a virus into World5 back then. He could have impossibly surrendered such power to a madman.

  The people who were still in the village during those early morning hours had noticed his approach from afar. He tried to mask his dismay with a friendly smile, but the conditions of the village instantly got to him. Conall had spent so much time in Skye that he had become blind to the development outside of the island—the poverty, the complete absence of civilization, medical help or even proper hygiene. The houses here were simpler, dirtier, created rather for practical than decorative purposes, with stoned walls and roofs made of turf and straw. The cattle lived wall to wall with the inhabitants, sometimes even without the benefit of a partition. Unlike on Skye, there was no place for science here, nor education, only simple and plain labour to survive the long winters and famines. And the unexpected raids on the whim of the government.

  Conall knocked on the big double door that was supposed to be the entrance to the leader’s hall, and entered hesitantly without waiting for an invitation. The spacious room was decorated with furs of all kinds, several tables and fireplaces and antlers on the walls. It was rather dark despite the early morning light that had trouble entering through the small windows. A huge man with white hair, beard and mustache was strapping a gun over his shoulders. This kind of shotgun that had been long outdated in the cities. He turned around when the heard the unexpected visitor and lifted an eyebrow. The man was approximately Conall’s age, maybe a little younger, but he dominated the room with unmistakable authority. This was how Conall had always pictured a highland chief.

  Conall cleared his throat and introduced himself.

  “Skye Island …” the man repeated in a slow tone. He hesitated only for a second. “Well, it had been a long journey. My hunting party is waiting but let me invite you to a quick sip of ale first.” He leaned the gun against the wall, and walked over to a wooden counter with several jars. “My name is Alasdair MacIan.”

  Even his name suited him like the leather jacket and boots he wore, and the fur that held his neck and torso warm.

  They sat down at a long table opposite each other. Conall was thankful for the ale. In fact, he hadn’t drunk a sip of it for over ten years, so it was hard to suppress the relief he felt when it finally touched his tongue and slowly slid down his throat.


  “So, Conall,” Alasdair began without detours, “Why here, of all places?”

  All those three days it took Conall to walk to Glencoe, the answer to this question was all he had been thinking about. He had played out several scenarios in his mind, the truth even. But the truth would do him no good, he decided.

  “I used to be a scientist and found a home on Skye for several years. But I had a fallout with the leaders there about … a moral concept.” While he talked, Alasdair did not even as much as flinch. He pierced Conall with a persistent and unnerving stare.

  “Anyway …” Conall continued, clearing his throat again. Was he really such a bad liar? He did‘ot even lie, he only left out the truth. And still it made him anxious. He had definitely spent too much time on Skye. “I decided to leave and look for another home, a place to stay, were I can just work, build a life for myself, a simpler life …”

  With every word Conall spoke, he felt the stare of MacIan’s cold eyes on him. A stare that made him shiver.

  “What moral concept?” Alasdair leaned back and watched his opposite from head to toe, not trying to conceal the gesture.

  “About whether one should be able to protect himself and the people he loves by fighting back, or just endure the violence of the government.”

  Bingo. He added the government on purpose, knowing that this was their sore spot. Alasdair’s eyes shone with interest.

  “And which side where you on?”

  “You see, I haven’t always been only a scientist.” This time, Conall leaned it. “I learned how to fight while in college, I know how to shoot, and I would protect what is dear to me at all costs.”

  Alasdair gave no answer. Instead, he left a long silent pause, and just stared at Conall. He was daring him, it seemed. After another slow sip, he said: “So you can shoot?”

  Conall nodded.

  “Maybe you’d like me to join in for the hunt?”

  No answer came. Just another deliberately slow sip.

  “You know that a stranger who can shoot is not necessarily a man I will provide with a gun,” he finally said, and his voice sounded menacing. Alasdair leaned in. “Two strangers in two days. This had never happened before. So lucky for you, our hut with the chain is already occupied.”

  Two strangers? So someone had already come here before him? Someone Manasseh had sent? Whoever it was, he was in chains for now, and it gave Conall a small sense of calm.

  MacIan stood up, took the shotgun, and went for the exit.

  “Join us as soon as my wife has fed you. She’ll be here any minute, I’ll inform her.”

  Conall nodded, admitting to himself that this man intimidated him. Alasdair opened the door, and threw Conall one last stare.

  “Maybe you didn’t lie to me,” he said, “But you didn’t tell me the truth either. A man has his secrets, I know this better than any other. But you are not a free man here until you have proven yourself.”

  With this, he left the hall.

  Conall exhaled, and closed his eyes. Only now did he notice the tension that hung in the air. For all he knew, even Alasdair could be Prometheus. He had the guts, that much was sure. But it wasn’t guts Conall was looking for. It was the ability to manipulate time.

  AIDEEN

  “The Sub?” Aideen heard Sena’s voice somewhere in the backdrop of her own thoughts, “My mother had mentioned it once.”

  The boy sat opposite her, his long legs crossed, the eyes with dark shadows underneath staring at her with interest. Today, it was him who had brought her some food and water. They alternated with the other one who had found her, the rebel with the blonde hair and the firm nose.

  No sign of the third one, and still, it was somehow him who she was thinking about. Those pitch black locks that fell into the expression that stared at her with shock. As if he had expected her here. She shook those thoughts off.

  Three days in chains were three days too many. She needed to win their trust, infiltrate the village to seek the one this whole mission evolved around. Sitting in this cold hut, Aideen grew restless and impatient. Those boys who flirted with her at every opportunity began to unnerve her, and it became harder to put on a beguiling smile. She knew the worth of devoted men, so she forced herself to wear this mask a little longer. It was easier with Arthur, their conversations remained superficial and he was content with listening to the sound of his own voice.

  But not Sena.

  “This name had also been a rumor here for several months now.” He continued, “What do you know about them?”

  Aideen robbed her hands against each other, listening. She was waiting. Waiting for the blow of the hammer to rescue her from this pit.

  “A movement against the Global Union,” she replied, “much more proactive than the Outer Areas, more violent, I guess.”

  “They follow some kind of religion, I heard.”

  Aideen nervously stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth, chewing, anticipating.

  This boy with the dark locks reappeared in the back of her mind. Why did he never return?

  “Aideen?”

  She blinked and forced herself to focus.

  “Ahm … yes?”

  “I was wondering if they follow any religion.”

  “Who?”

  “The Sub, you just told me that you’ve heard of them as well.”

  She shook her head.

  “Yes, right. Well … they do, as far as I know. In fact, the Sub is short for submission, submission to their one and only God. Monotheistic, which is very rare.”

  “Mono ... What?”

  “Monotheistic. Their worldview includes only one God instead of many. And they believe in him without any hint of doubt.”

  Sena paused, suddenly lost in thought himself. They had been talking a lot about religion lately, the old Gaelic beliefs that the village had accepted, and whether it was such a dangerous concept that the government had abolished every religion long before their birth. Sena had a strange interest in those matters, and Aideen played along.

  “What do you think of them?” he asked without looking at her.

  “I’m not sure … They follow a cause beyond themselves. Their devotion and peace of mind is something that makes me wonder.”

  “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

  Sena lifted his eyes, and stared at her. His stare suddenly pierced her, as if there was a slight hint of madness in his eyes. The same madness she sometimes saw in Manasseh’s eyes. But it was quickly gone, and Aideen was not sure anymore if she had only imagined it.

  Then, suddenly, she heard the voices from afar, and closed her eyes in relief. They were coming. Soon, Sena heard it as well, and rose to look out of the window. When he turned, his eyes were wide with shock.

  Don’t forget the mask you’re wearing.

  “What is it?” she said, trying to sound worried.

  “Global Soldiers.”” His voice was merely a whisper.

  JOHN

  John was ploughing the field as the day slowly came to an end, wondering where the hack Sena was.

  “ … the rumor that there will be a feast in the hall soon …” he heard the fragment of the speech the girl next to him was giving, and involuntarily ignored her. Even if it was rude, she did not seemed to mind. She just blabbered on, and John made a deep breath.

  His friends had avoided him for three days now. He minded their ignorance even more than their disdain. The way they pretended not to acknowledge him stung him like a knife. Should he have made another decision back then, should he have promised the inevitable?

  Also, another stranger had arrived at the village yesterday morning, and it caused him even more headache.

  As he lifted his eyes, three blue trucks were driving along the asphalted road. The Global Peace Army. He was unsure why his heart began to slam against his chest like a drum. Was Aideen in danger? He did not know. Those future memories were hard to piece together, they were like a puzzle that showed a distorted image he did not al
ways understand.

  The girl had finally grown quiet. Movement began on the field as they were not the only ones to notice the approaching doom. John threw away his plough when Margaret approached.

  “Where is Sena?”

  Her hands were trembling as she looked around in panic.

  “I think I know,” John murmured, looking at the hut that stood offside the village, “I’ll go and get him, alright?”

  He put a hand on her arm to calm her down.

  “Would you look out for my grandfather?”

  She nodded, whispering:

  “Please, hurry.”

  John began to run while dozens of Global soldiers dismounted the trucks. They looked menacing in their black shells, completely masked in blue helmets and eyewear that functioned like a supercomputer. All of them wore weapons.

  John ran faster. John was ploughing the field as the day slowly came to an end, wondering where the hack Sena was.

  “ … the rumor that there will be a feast in the hall soon …” he heard the fragment of the speech the girl next to him was giving, and involuntarily ignored her. Even if it was rude, she did not seemed to mind. She just blabbered on, and John made a deep breath.

  His friends had avoided him for three days now. He minded their ignorance even more than their disdain. The way they pretended not to acknowledge him stung him like a knife. Should he have made another decision back then, should he have promised the inevitable?

  Also, another stranger had arrived at the village yesterday morning, and it caused him even more headache.

  As he lifted his eyes, three blue trucks were driving along the asphalted road. The Global Peace Army. He was unsure why his heart began to slam against his chest like a drum. Was Aideen in danger? He did not know. Those future memories were hard to piece together, they were like a puzzle that showed a distorted image he did not always understand.