Veracity (16 page)

I glared into the side of Mikkel's face, trying to relay the fact that I'd made the connection, but more than that, trying to convey that I considered everything that he'd done to be incredibly,
incredibly
reckless. But he wasn't looking at me. He was busy watching Peik, stunned, horrified. I saw him mouth a silent curse; a specific one that had been introduced into our vocabulary when one of the Elders dropped a massive log onto his hand, rendering two of his fingers forever useless. It was a curse that seemed to be reserved for the most dismal instances alone, and his lips articulated it perfectly; "Fuck."

I nodded. I couldn't have put it better myself.

Because what were we going to do now? How was this going to end? Once the Elders had the papers, they would know that someone was conspiring, and then search obsessively until they'd found him or her - or them. And that was right:
I
was involved here. The very fact that I hadn't told the Elders about my encounter at the vantage point with Mikkel made me a kind of conspirator. I'd promised not to tell. And helping to hide a conspiracy makes you just as much a part of it. Great.

Yet really, what
could
we do? How could we stop Peik from speaking? He obviously wasn't in a state to listen to reason - no; he was through with listening. And
forcing
him to stop, jumping up onto the log and ushering him off, would only do one of two things: through the eyes of the Elders, it would make the person look like a collaborator, one of the paper cutters trying to protect himself; or through the eyes of the crowd, it might look like part of the wild conspiracy Peik was talking about, an attempt to try and silence him, and maybe even lend some credit to the things he was saying, which, thankfully, were still being seen as madcap ravings. No, there was nothing Mikkel or I could do; though, even if we could, I don't think we would have. Peik was quickly spiralling downwards, and was going to meet with some very serious consequences in the very near future. I couldn't begin to guess what they were going to do with him: maybe imprison him in the shelter and try and talk some sense into him again, or maybe even drop him off on the nearest island to live the rest of his days, alone, and ranting of injustices to the trees. Either way, he wasn't exactly a person you wanted to be siding with, or even getting near. I understand now that humans follow the rules of all group animals, and whether it was conscious or subconscious, we all recognized Peik for exactly what he was: a limping, sickly creature inside the sprawling herd. He was choice prey, the very first one that intense hunting eyes would fall upon. None of us would risk stepping forward to protect him; instead, it seemed natural enough to back away, knowing that his stalking fate was creeping ever closer, and wanting to be at a safe distance when it pounced. (Though, still close enough to witness of course - which was, after all, why I'd gone there in the first place, wasn't it?)

"Soon... soon there will be a voyage," he continued. He was looking through the faces, his head sweeping back and forth, "and that voyage is only meant to make sure..."

And then he stopped - froze actually - suddenly gawping at the trees behind us. We all turned around at the same time, tracing his line of sight; and once we found what he was looking at, I'm sure that every one of us stopped breathing.

It was Chalmon; standing silently on the edge of the clearing, his hands clasped gently behind his back. He didn't look too happy. "Gentlemen!" he bellowed, his voice so loud that a few people took a step back. He brought a fist up to his mouth and cleared his throat before continuing in a softer tone, "I was just told to gather everyone as quickly as I could, but... obviously couldn't find any of you." He was taking the time to eye each one of us individually, as if marking our names onto a slate for later reference. "The reason I was asked to find you was to let you know about an emergency community meeting, which is being held
right now
. It will address some very serious issues that affect the entire island, so, needless to say, your attendance is necessary." He was so livid his voice was shaking. "So then - in light of that - I will give you one minute to be seated inside the Community Hall. Commencing now."

At first, no one moved. We only exchanged a few frantic glances, suspended in the thick air of panic like the dull herd animals we are, waiting for the first twitching signal of flight. Which came. Somebody shifted their weight forward and took a step, and that was enough. All at once, everyone bounced to their toes and began racing to the Community Hall as fast as they could, a stream of bobbing heads and flailing hair breaking through the leaves and thin branches, thumping into the distance.

I wasn't one of them. For some reason - and I don't think I'll ever really understand why - I thought I was different, thought I was an exception to the rules. After all, I knew the truth. In my mind, I was practically an Elder, so why shouldn't I stay behind? But this line of reasoning was, of course, wrong.

I stood alone between Chalmon and Peik, who had remained exactly where they were, their eyes fixed on one another. Peik was shifting his weight from his right leg to his left, the transfer increasing in speed, a kind of desperation building in his gestures, until finally, he stopped, crumpled the pieces of paper into a ball, flung them onto the grass, spat disgustedly in Chalmon's general direction, spun around, and jumped off the tree. He crashed into a bush and, untangling himself in an instant, began racing into the forest in the opposite direction of the Community Hall. I could see his hands flinging into the air to help him leap over logs, his head ducking and swerving through the branches. He looked like he was running for his life.

Chalmon watched Peik until he'd disappeared from view, then turned to face me, his hands still cupped into the small of his back. I'll never forget the sound of his voice when he spoke, the eerie, seething calm of it, "There are only forty-five seconds of that minute remaining, Joshua."

I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would take me, out of the clearing, down the trail, and straight into the Community Hall.

14

What I found when I burst through the door, wasn't an orderly meeting that involved everyone on the island, nor, for that matter, any kind of organization in the least. The only people there were the group from the clearing, scattering throughout the room in chaotic groups, gathering, then quickly dispersing again, looking around for an Elder to obey (as if this might help to lessen the disobedience we'd just demonstrated). There were whispers and rumours passing through the crowd, people theorizing what was going to happen. We all understood that a stern punishment would be dealt out, but couldn't guess if it would all fall on Peik, or if everyone would have to share it. At one point, we could hear a horn of some kind being blown in the distance, but no one was brave enough to step outside to see where it was coming from or what it meant. No, we were too busy inside, having suddenly become the epitome of compliance, the very embodiment of devoted respect for rules.

After quite some time, Dana came into the room and commanded us to sit down. He told us that we would have to wait a while, and that he could only hope, in light of our complete disregard of policy, that we had the self-possession to remain absolutely silent while we waited. He asked if we could be trusted with that one small responsibility. We nodded. But just in case, Thalia was asked to stay in the hall to make sure.

Time crept by. We watched the door for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for it to open. Then waited more. And as we passed the hours in that horrible, clothes-rustling silence, I had a clear view of the table Mikkel was sitting at, and we'd exchanged a few mutually understanding looks. He knew that he'd placed both Peik and I in an awkward predicament, and I knew that he didn't feel great about it. He hadn't meant for things to turn out this way; and he certainly hadn't meant for Peik to become so unstable that he would recklessly bring the whole thing out into the open. Yet that's exactly what happened. And now someone was going to be in serious trouble because of it. (I have to admit that there was also a juvenile part of me that wanted to wag a finger in a classic I-told-you-so taunt. This was the very reason I was so afraid of - even
entertaining -
dangerous ideas: it's because they have the tendency to take on a life of their own. And I just hoped that, finally, Mikkel was beginning to understand that.)

Eventually, we heard the trampling of footsteps approaching the other side of the door, and everyone in the room perked up. It was Harek that opened it. He walked to front of the hall and stood there, waiting patiently while every last one of the remaining people on the island streamed in behind him. They found themselves a seat, legs stepping over benches mechanically, their expressions dazed, vacant. Once everyone had settled into place, and the quiet had spread throughout the room, we all faced the front of the hall, waiting for Harek to speak. But he didn't, even though he had our full and undivided attention. He waited a while, swallowing hard, thinking harder, and by the time he actually began, every neck in the community was stretched high, craning around the head in front of them to see better.

His words were slow, plaintive, "For those of you who have not yet Come of Age, I want to tell you that it is an incredibly difficult and taxing philosophical process. As you have no doubt guessed, there are serious issues that are dealt with during that time, issues that every one of us will have to bear at some point, which concern our very world, both here, and beyond the island. So I think we can all appreciate that people might feel an immense amount of mental, and even social pressure to comprehend things that are - well - extremely difficult to comprehend, to be honest. And... I imagine that it was for that reason, and through no fault of his own, that Peik reacted in the way that he did. Regrettably, it seems he simply could not cope with the mental burden that was handed over to him. Peik - as some of you had the misfortune of witnessing today - somehow... spiralled into a state of insanity and delusion, which we were not aware of this morning when we congratulated him on his completion of Coming of Age, and welcomed him back into the community."

People looked at one another, some with expressions of concern, others with sympathy. Some of the women Elders had stepped closer to one another and were touching each other's backs or arms, their thumbs like soothing pendulums, stroking from side to side. "And... I regret very, very much to say that..." Harek's voice had become higher for a moment, and he swallowed hard to keep it from breaking again, "...that our tragic news does not stop there.

"We... gathered to search for Peik, and finally found him in the very last place we thought to look: the north shore." There were a few gasps throughout the room, a few looks of sombre comprehension. The north shore was the most hazardous place on the island, with a battered and steep shoreline and every kind of dangerous current that was known: undertows, riptides, and rotating flows that whirled around the many hidden shoals and coral channels. "I... simply cannot imagine what his state of mind was, the desperation that he must have felt, or the purpose he thought it would serve, when he set off swimming from there, away from the island, and into the open ocean."

There was a breathless silence. No one moved, not even to bring a hand up to their face or shake their heads. Nothing. This news didn't seem to be real to any of us; it was as if Harek were talking about another person, someone we hadn't just seen and listened to, somebody we didn't even know. Yes, that was it - he must mean someone else, he must be implying
something
else. Surely Peik, with his olive skin and boyish eyes, wasn't suddenly dead. He couldn't be; we refused the idea of it, regardless of how obvious it was.

"Sadly..." Harek continued, his voice having become hesitant, as if he were afraid of breaking the stunned spell we were all under, "sadly, our beloved Peik is gone." Everyone started shifting in their seats, shuffling their feet beneath the benches, a few people bowing their heads. "We spotted his body being swept out to sea. It was... badly battered." There were a few defeated sighs, some whimpering sounds beginning to spread. "We watched him sink - powerless to do anything about it," Harek finished, suddenly pressing a hand over both of his eyes, his chin trembling.

Finally, people began to cry. Thalia leaned forward into her hands and started weeping uncontrollably, while others let fat tears stream down their faces. However, some people, like myself, were only dumbstruck, and didn't seem to do anything at all, except look around at the walls, at the ceiling, at the floor, at everyone else who was busy grieving. And there are times that I wonder if there were others in that group of 'unaffected people' who felt a tinge of guilt for their response to the news. I know I did.

Almost everything in the way that I reacted to Peik's death was surprising to me, because - to be completely honest with myself - I really
didn't
feel much. Not that day, or even afterwards. And I've wondered if this was because Peik and I never really had a 'connection', because we were never bound by some shared awareness or common interest of any kind. If it had been Dana, or Mikkel, or Kara, I like to think that I would have reacted differently, that I would have been one of the people sobbing into their hands, instead of one of the people
wishing
they were sobbing and staring at the walls instead. That day, to try and explain my cold response to his death, I theorized that some
other
day it was all going to suddenly hit me, that I would unexpectedly be crippled with an intense remorse; that ultimately, the true and inconsolable feelings that I was repressing inside of myself would surface. But they never did.

The sounds of the entire community grieving continued for quite some time, until Chalmon walked to the front of the hall and stood before Harek, who was leaning against the back wall with an empty stare. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple rising and falling, before he addressed us, "I am so sorry for us all.