Ravens Gathering (39 page)

A faint drumming beat its way into his dreams.  He
didn’t know how long it lasted.  That is the way of sleep and
dreams.  Not long, he guessed as he woke.  The shift from sleep to
wakefulness was swift.  That hadn’t changed.

It wasn’t drumming.  Just a rhythmic tapping
sound.  He pushed the duvet aside and got up, crossing to the
window.  The moon was out, and there was no cloud cover at the moment to
dim the light.  In the distance, he could see trees swaying gently in the
breeze.  The raised land around them shielded the farmyard from most of
the effects of the wind.  Even so, he could see a loose end on a sheet of
tarpaulin was flapping.  It was covering a tractor they’d had to move out
of its normal shelter in a barn.  A series of metal rings were embedded in
the edges of the tarpaulin.  He guessed one of them was repeatedly
connecting with the tractor’s body as it lifted and fell.

Now he knew what it was, he realised it was only barely
audible.  Most people who were awake wouldn’t have noticed it. 
Anyone else would have slept through it.  He looked back at the bed for
confirmation.

In the half light, he could only make out the outline of her
body.  It was unfair, because even that wasn’t truly clear, not with the
bedclothes draped over her.  But he could still see the gentle rise and
fall of her chest.  She was asleep, undisturbed by the tarpaulin or him
getting out of bed.  He guessed she must be used to it by now.

He couldn’t see her properly in this light, but he could see
her in his mind.  As attractive now as she’d been when he first met
her.  Which was more than could be said for him.  He wasn’t in bad
nick for his age, he supposed.  But the blond hair was almost gone,
replaced with grey.  At least he hadn’t started losing it yet.  And
his skin wasn’t as smooth as it used to be.  Working the land had taken
its toll on his face and hands.  But she still loved him.

That had been his greatest fear.  She would grow tired
of seeing his old face when hers remained youthful.  Now he knew her love
could see beyond that, and his fears were different.  He was fifty-nine
now.  Still young by modern standards.  But he was more than half way
through his life.  Way more.  Yet she was barely a third of the way
through hers.  By the time he died, she still wouldn’t have reached the
halfway point.  He hoped she wouldn’t waste the rest of her life mourning
him.  She would smile at him when he broached the subject, tell him to
focus on their time together.  And he did, most of the time.  But he
wanted her to be happy, and he couldn’t bear to think of her otherwise.

The children would help, of course.  They were still
teenagers, but – ironically perhaps, given their likely longevity – they had
matured well.  There was none of the selfishness he saw when he went out
into the rest of the world.  Though that may have been down to their
limited exposure to what was laughingly considered to be society.  They
still had no TV or computer.  Their time was spent together as a
family.  They worked the farm, they laughed and played and learnt the
lessons they needed to learn.

Occasionally, they would travel to the Refuge.  Adam
and Jennifer had returned there when it became apparent that Martin and Claire
would settle down together.  The farm didn’t warrant two families, and
they were ready to start their own as well.  Patrick and Anne spent time
with their cousins and other members of the Order, and benefitted from the
wisdom and guidance the Elders had to offer.

So Martin had no concern that they would abandon their
mother in the pursuit of personal happiness.  They knew they could find
that by just being who they were and caring for others around them.

In the middle of the night, alone with his thoughts, he
allowed himself to feel melancholy as he watched the outline of his sleeping
wife.

 Outside, he heard a rustling sound.  Pushing the
curtain back again, he looked out.  Clouds had rolled over, so the yard
was darker than it had been a few moments ago.  On the roof of the stable
block, he could make out silhouettes of birds.  They hadn’t been there a
few moments ago.  The roof itself was higher at the back, angling down as
it ran to a point overhanging the doors.  There were three birds there,
perched on the highest point.  As he watched them, he felt a chill go
through him as another one landed alongside.  Then another, and another.

Twenty-five years, Adam had told him.  That had been
twenty six years ago.  He glanced over at Claire, still asleep, still
oblivious.  Then he thought of the children.  What if the Raven was
able to call on them as part of the Gates family line?  It wasn’t a
thought he considered often.  But it was there, at the back of his mind.

He noticed the light through the curtains brighten, and look
outside again.

They were pigeons.  He had to suppress the
laughter.  The relief felt ready to burst out of him.

His family was safe.  In his heart, he knew they were
out of the danger zone when 2014 had passed into 2015.  But you never stop
worrying about your family.

The End