Stone Seeds (20 page)

“Understood. But there are other ways in which a map may be useful to the resistance.” Jengi smiles. And then looking up at Zorry wryly. She bows slightly.

Zettie, sensing something, examines her sister briefly. Just a glance and then gets back to her work. Zettie is making something from the contents of her apron pocket. She's perked up since she ate the soup and her work absorbs her.

Mamma Ezray had done so much food experimenting whilst pregnant that before her little sister Zettie was born, Zorry was a little worried that the new baby, when she came, would have the texture of a boiled frog, or loosely veined floppy ears like the pizen leaves which her mother munched as her belly rose. Don't talk rubbish, child. Mamma Ezray used to say, but with a nervous edge in her voice until baby Zettie came out looking exactly the way that Zorry had looked as a baby, which is to say, shiny and round, with strong little legs that curled toward her chest, trying to take the shape in which she'd been squashed into Mamma Ezray's womb. She had Zorry's huge amazed eyes, tinged with green in the first days, and then changing as the seasons shifted. Zettie now has Zorry's eyes, gold flecked irises. And like all Sinta, Zettie's eyes shift in colour with her mood, the light, and depending on what she has eaten. Also the shifts in the weather. Mamma Ezray says that this is muddle-headed talk. Eyes don't change.

Mamma Ezray gets up now, to fetch Jengi black coffee and a twist of cactus chipotle. She comes back in from the kitchen. Hands the last piece of oat bread to Zettie, who chews the end of it thoughtfully. And then trying to soften it in her tin cup of
rainwater.

“You still teaching her about the edible plants and the pizens too?” Jengi raises his head, looks at Zettie. “That's a useful thing to larn the child at a time like this, Mamma Ezray. We have to pass on everything we know, that's a lesson we can all learn from the loss of Mamma Zeina. She took much of her knowing with her.”

“Zettie don't listen to me overmuch,” Mamma Ezray replies, “you caint tell what goes in. What doesn't. Childur go their own way. No way to know for sure what Zettie is learning, if she's learning anything. She don't communicate much. But the child's best quality is that she appears to grow up on thin air. Don'tcha, Child?” Mamma Ezray says, gently leaning down. Patting Zettie's small knees. “Don't know … What Zettie will learn to rearrange for her own self, one day. And seeing it all differently in the entire, I shouldn't be in the least bit surprised.” Mamma Ezray is squinting into the low light at the window. She thinks she sees something moving behind the Egg Man's farmhouse.

“Did you see that van?”

“No.”

“I heard screaming. I thought … I heard something next door.”

“You look worried Mamma Ezray.”

“Aye. Something's wrong.” She says. “I can feel it.”

“Wrong more'n usual?”

“Yes.” She says. “Wrong more'n usual.”

Jengi gets up and strides toward the back door. But something causes him to stop. Eye the latch. He turns back toward the room. He's still looking down at the floor.

Zettie gets up from drawing her lizard, pads over toward him. “Jengi.” She turns toward her drawing, points.

“Ah, Zettie,” he says. “I haven't time for playing lizards today.”

Zettie's lizards are now in the space left by every broken floor-tile, of which there are three.

Jengi's warm smile in the gap between the door and the hinge. Click. Zorry turns back to the room. Small shock. Her mother is standing right behind her. Arms crossed across her chest.

“Zorry, your work is done. This is too dangerous now.”

“Yes, Mamma.”

Zorry feels her mother's scrutiny all the way to the front door.

“Where are you going now, Child?”

“Mamma … I'm not a child.”

THE SCHOOL ROOF

THE LIGHT IS FALLING gently, outside. Mottled pattern of leaves on the classroom floor and, in a bit, the edges of the pattern seem to move and change. The OneFolk childur look up to see Zettie's face upside down at the topside rim of the window. The teacher is writing at the board, has her back to the class.

Zettie's grin is warm and slow, turning her head slowly, and her friends, stuck inside, feel strangely honoured by it. Zettie vanishes. The OneFolk childur hear a clatter of bare feet on the classroom roof, and the tumbling gravel as Zettie skids, slips down and bangs herself on something, saves herself at the last minute. Soft, concealed laughter from the OneFolk childur.

And now the OneFolk childur hear the small thuds of feet overhead, the soft thunk and patter. Zettie is pretty much the leader of the Sinta children, the ones still too young to work by a year or two. And this is a testament to Zettie because Sinta childur are not easily led as a point of pride.

The large school pond is, of course, a natural attraction, to all manner of life forms, including children. Zettie and her small friends now come in small scouting troops toward the schoolyard most days, and the storms permitting. Mostly they come in the damp, baking aftermath of the storms just to see what's risen in the school pond just beyond the Furdy. Dead things mostly. And if it's worth trying to eat or not depends not so much on what it is, Zettie reckons, but on how hungry we are.

The Sinta children are always barefoot, although Zettie once had a left shoe, three sizes too big and with the sole coming clean away from the body of the shoe, so that her foot flapped like a tongue in the gap. She'd dragged that shoe along to slow herself down for three days until she'd swapped it for an old neck tie that was plucked out of the rubble of a bombed out house. Now Zettie wears that instead. No shirt, just the tie. Red silk, from the old times. The defiant gesture of the tie, and in a banned colour, seems to define Zettie's leadership. Although her followers are half-starved, mostly exhausted children, with the exception of the children of the Mother cupboards. They are a little better fed, on account of their mothers' gardening.

It's a daily struggle for food on the Sinta farms since Mamma Zeina's death. Gaddys hopes that by shrinking the rations she'll persuade somebody to come forward, name the mother cupboards. No-one has, perhaps thanks to the mother cupboards being a more reliable source of food than Gaddys herself is, perhaps due to Jengi and his back door groceries.

The Sinta childur are mostly attracted to the school roof these days by the smell of cooking food, in the school kitchens. Hanging like bats (the effect of the new Sinta uniforms, with their winged arms and pointed hoods) over the lightning box around the playground. Their newly buzz-cut hair revealing small forlorn-looking skulls atop boney necks, lower still there are protruding rib cages, strong, skinny limbs. If the crop doesn't come on time there will be swollen bellies on the Sinta Farms by the end of this month, well … “We are not there yet.” Mamma Ezray would say if you asked her. She's working
day and night now on her plant experiments. And sometimes puffing herself up, just a little. Rising. “We may be hungry but we ain't starved. Least not yet.”

All the Sinta childur physically struggle against the constraints of their ‘uniform'. Unlike the OneFolks' childur, the Sinta know what it is to long for comfortable fabrics, t-shirts, shorts and flowered patterns, stripes and shirts and dresses printed with the silhouettes of baobab trees at sunset. Clothes patched up from the old days until they're mostly, it seems, made of patches. The government uniform is sticky and hot, restricts limbs. Worse, it's overly tight at the collar and seams, leaves the children's skin raw and complaining. Welts at the arms and wrists for their mothers to bathe after curfew, which is the only time that the uniforms are allowed to come off.

The tie around Zettie's neck is strictly speaking against regulations. She's also keeping her hair, at least for a little while longer. Worst of all, she has an officer's button, found by Jengi out beyond the baobab trees and sewn, by him, into the seam of her uniform.

Zettie has learned to twist the officer's button when she's anxious. Jengi told her it was a secret but, not understanding children, didn't realise that you can't burden a child with secrets. Of course Zettie has told all her friends.

One of Zettie's tiny followers told the school teacher about Zettie's officer button in exchange for a sandwich three days ago. And then dropping the sandwich, as if the child's own hands protested at their owner's betrayal, and the sausage and lettuce, the contents of the sandwich all over the floor and the table.

TRAINING DAY

“SO WHAT'RE WE DOING here, Jengi?”

“Hushhhh. I'm training you.” Grins.

“You're training me for the killing forest?” Zorry sighs ironically. “And here I thought you liked me, Jengi.”

He turns and eyes her. “I do. I do like you. But you is a mother cupboard now, Zorry. Better I teach you how not to get killed in here, since it's kindly ‘bout to become a home from home, so to speak. Now. Hurry up with that fence.”

Zorry gently strokes the suture in the fence, and then unpicks it. “You first,” she says. Jengi rolls his eyes.

“It's dark,” Zorry says to his back. And then, “I don't reckon to go right into the mouth of the forest.”

“Zorry.” He turns. Steels himself. “That's where Mamma Zeina got all her best plants.”

Zorry doesn't answer.

“Okay. So it's slightly different every time,” he explains.

“It doesn't seem so bad.” Zorry lies. Things seem to move in the darkness around her.

“Don't get overconfident,” he snaps. Zorry notices Jengi's teeth and eyes glitter, he's striped with moonlight. She takes a step backward from him. She can't quite say why.

“At first the forest will just try to learn you, Zorry.” He says, a little softer this time. “It ain't a regular sort of jungle, Sinta. The killing forest is a single mind, with many parts to it. It will
pull you in slow and then swallow you up fast. You have to learn its ways quickly. No room for mistakes. The forest can be … Unforgiving.”

Dark shapes of tree limbs and curling ferns are outlined against the moonrise. There is something sliding in the ground underneath her feet. “So …” Jengi says, looking at her critically. “Just stay awake, okay Zorry?”

Jengi can't tell what the Sinta is thinking just now.

“As far as I can make out …” Jengi looks around him. “Only the creatures at the edge of the killing forest, those in the low brush, are willing to come out of the killing forest. Through the fence iffen you let them, or leave a gap when you suture it. There are other things that …” She looks where he looks. “Back there. The dark centre of the forest.” He says. “Them things won't come out for love nor money, they'd rather pull you on in. They have ways. We haven't figured it all yet.”

Zorry shudders.

“We'll stay on the edge of the killing forest tonight. Most mother cupboards don't never go in further than this point, not even your own Mamma Ezray. At least not since her childur were born. Mamma Zeina was … She is a loss. We won't see her like again any time soon.”

Zorry understands this to be a challenge. Steels herself. Pushes on through the leaves, just a little ahead.

“Scurvet.” Zorry points to the tracks.

“Good.” He says. Turning. “But which kind, Zorry? It's important to know.” Zorry isn't sure.

She feels Jengi's eyes on her once more. “Stop staring,” she instructs him, angered now. Blinks and scowls. Jengi, leaning forward, plucks an insect off her face. Pins it between
his thumb and forefinger, turns it upside down to show Zorry its underside.

“A fast moving spider with jewelled back,” he explains. “Enters your ears, nose or mouth.” He points to the sharp little pincers, squeezes them expertly, and a little yellow liquid oozes. “That's the pizen.”

“Oh.” She says. And in a bit, “Thank you.”

“What's that sound?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“But Jengi.” Holds his arm back. “I am worried about it. Tell me what it is. If you know.”

“A creature you can hear but not see,” Jengi explains. “Sounds as big as six bears but, as you've noticed, it's a strangely human groaning. Spooks you, don't it? Well don't let it, Zorry. The forest is just trying to raise your adrenaline levels. It's a kind of stress test.” Looks around him. “Remember it's learning you, Zorry. Every step. Who you are. So …”

“What do I do?” Zorry freezes again.

“So … Let it know you, Zorry.” He grins. “Push on forward like a mother cupboard. Like Zeina did. You ain't never been a coward, so far as I can make out.”

He plunges on through the thicket toward the trees, by the path Mamma Zeina made with her feet over her years of trekking here. Zorry pauses briefly. Looks up. Moon through the tree bowers, creaking sounds overhead. Entwined fingers of twigs silhouetted against the old moon's singular light. No sign of the general's second moon yet, the search beam. She follows Jengi in, until she's enveloped by the dark.

Now there is only the sound of Jengi's breath, getting farther away. His feet in the bracken and the soft plant rot
of the forest floor, crunch and squelch. Slow, regular steps, getting fainter.

The forest is still. Something makes her stand here, just a moment longer. Smell of waxen leaves and dark moss, something else. She can't say what it is.

Zorry catches up. “So that creature? The sound? Will it come after us?”

“I don't know. It never has so far, that's all I can say for sure. But it has established a … pattern of behaviour, let's say. It doesn't get farther or nearer, just seems to want to stay close.”

“Great. So it's stalking us.”

“I don't … I don't know.”

She feels the creature beside her, sound of low, deep breaths. Not coming any closer or getting father away. Zorry feels angry suddenly. Unreasonably angry about the gaps in Jengi's understanding, why'd he bring me here? If he doesn't know his own self what it all is?

“So, I'm behind. I'm watching your back, Jengi. Who's watching mine?”

He sighs. “You're never going to trust me are you?”

She eyes him. “I don't remember you asking me to. Should I?”

“No. Absolutely not.” He says sincerely. Slow smile.

“Alright then.”

“So what was I saying … We figure it's mostly been designed for general killing forest ambience.” He says lightly.

“What? Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Jengi turns back in time to catch Zorry's scowl.

“I mean to say that it doesn't do much. At least not yet,
Zorry. Scares the holy baobab out of folks, that's about it. Far as I can make out.” The heavy animal sounds stop, as if the creature were listening.

They go on trekking forwards, Zorry knowing to avoid the nipping saplings and leeches, learning from Mamma Zeina's downfall not to ignore the deadly small things, or to let the nips cluster on her. From time to time she picks a leach off the back of Jengi's neck, and he turns to her gratefully.

“The one eyed desert hyaena has apparently been modified again.” He says. “Come on, climb.”

“Where is it?” Zorry says, unalarmed, taking her cue from Jengi. And then she sees it.

“What the …?”

It waits by the roots of the tree. Curiously human expression, gazing upward. Zorry feels a scream coming up from the base of her stomach. Now her fingers freeze and her grip on the tree becomes slippy. Now she grapples and fights to hold on to her branch. When she's found a secure hold, breathes out. Looks down, a little calmer.

The beast eyes her shrewdly. Gives a low, throaty, almost conversational snarl. There's an up-lilt at the end of its bark, like it's asking a question.

Jengi seems to Zorry to be unnaturally calm. Calmer than she's ever seen him. She sees it for the first time then, “You live for this. Don't you, Jengi? Danger, I mean.”

Jengi shrugs. “I'm a Digger.” He says. As if that were any kind of answer. And then, “Reminds me of Gaddys, that one,” he says. Throwing sticks down at the creature. The creature tries to catch the sticks in its mouth, one hits its ear, hard, and its snarling grows louder.

“Holy baobab, Jengi. What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax. They're all noise.”

The creature's pupils have narrowed into cat-like slits. A little drizzle is running down the black gums spilling out from its clumsily made jaw.

“Jengi.” Zorry says sharply. “I think it understands you. Jengi, stop.”

But Jengi shrugs again, doesn't seem to notice or care. Breaking off branches and throwing them down. Once again the creature dips and swerves and snaps at the air around it, several sharp branches and twigs manage to hit the sides of its head. It does not leave, but goes on dodging and whimpering, and then, when the branches stop flying, seems to take a long shrewd look at Zorry. Turning in a loop, slopes away.

“Guess it wanted to get a good look at the newest mother cupboard.”

Zorry shivers.

“Anyway. It's had enough for now,” Jengi says, sounding more serious suddenly. “But you showed it some fear, that's of interest to it. It'll double back with its friends. Now that will be something to worry about.” Jengi slides expertly down the side of the tree. “We need to get back now.” He says. A little more urgently than she's heard him speak since they arrived in the killing forest. She's noticed something else.

“What's wrong with it?” Zorry watches as the creature's vulpine nose reappears between the curling ferns to her right. Teeth and gums protrude from the hyaena's mouth, it has an immensely heavy lower jaw, and a top jaw which ends in a long, hooked, blackened tooth. Now Zorry listens to the sound of its lolloping footfall, moving away to the left. “What was
wrong with it?” She asks the question again, unable to frame exactly what she's intuited. “Is it … Fearful? A fearful creature?”

“What?” Jengi shrugs. “That's a Sinta question that I ain't equipped for.” He laughs. “It's mostly just blind, Sinta. Seeing is not necessary when its sense of smell is so good. That creature sensed us long before we even got here, Zorry. It smelled our intention to come.”

Zorry shivers.

“You cold?”

“No. Let's get out of here.”

“The killing forest is evolving all the time Zorry. Or mutating at least.”

The creature circles back in silence, puts its head back through the ferns, sniffs the air. Watches their blurred shapes moving away. And now tilting its over-large head, as though it understands their conversation. Curiously intelligent eyes.

“Why didn't it call for the others?”

“I don't know.”

The creature seems to take a careful note of Zorry's outline, smaller than the first one, it thinks. But not by much. Not as strong, but more skilful at moving quietly through the forest than him, the creature notes. A thing like the girl could creep up on the nest. She's more dangerous than him. And then
Predator
. It says. Deciding. Soft, whooping, conversational-sounding calls to its mate. Danger. It says. And then Danger,
danger
.

There are several answers. Low, rasping, nuanced barks. And that soft up-lilt at the end again. Like a question.

“What does that barking mean?”

Jengi glances behind him. “We should get back. I'm …
a little out of my depth.” Jengi says, manoeuvring himself around a rotting tree stump. Zorry looks up again, listens. Seems to tune into the barks and low rasps, which are coming from several different angles now, meaning that the two of them are almost surrounded already. “This way.” Zorry grabs his arm and then “Run!!”

Zorry's vision blurs slightly, launching them both, heads first, through the bracken. Zorry is faster on her feet than Jengi, she quickly lets go of his arm, gets ahead. Reaching the suture in the fence before Jengi, tearing it apart with her hands.

“You first.”

Shoves Jengi through, Zorry climbs out after.

The creatures make no attempt to come through the hole in the fence and Zorry stitches the sides of the tear together slowly, carefully. Trembling tight hand. Muttering soft apologies to the fence as she goes. There is the sound of barking, snuffling as she stitches and pours the healing pizen. The fence re-grows until the stitched seam in it is hidden.

Jengi turns to Zorry, “How did you know what to do? Which way to run?”

“I don't … I just knew.”

Jengi eyes her curiously. He leans against the rain barrel by the fence, he's panting hard.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Starting to see why Zeina picked you.”

Zorry notices a small gap in her suture. She finishes suturing up the fence all the way to the edges, the fence quivering under her hands and she strokes it again. Soft, soothing words. She's getting fairly expert at doing this already. The fence seems to trust her, Jengi notes. Seems to
remember. It relaxes its fibres, making the stitching easier for them both.

“Good work. Now be quick,” he says. “Egg Men will be here in …” Jengi looks down. “In about six and a half minutes.” Jengi is telling the time by the shadow, spreading out underneath the street lamp.

The post-curfew street lamps are timed and their light goes out in increments. This makes it possible to tell the time by them if you happen to have an observant nature. Jengi mutters a soft count-down under his breath.

“Time.” Zorry thinks, watching him. “We have to keep time on our side, just like everything else.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just one of Mamma Zeina's sayings.” And then, “What was that rattling underneath us?”

“Rattling?”

“When we walked by the fence just now. Hissing sounds too. Seemed to come up from under our feet.”

Jengi looks down, notices Zorry's bare feet, as though for the first time.

“Prod holes or vents under the leaves.” He sniffs. “It was your own Mamma Ezray who figured that for us, Zorry.”

Zorry looks surprised by this information.

“Small forest things fall into the vents, can't get out again. It explains the strange noises underfoot in the playground underneath the Furdy.”

“You think the trapped creatures are burrowing under the village?”

“Yes, Zorry. I know they are. The forest is spreading out roots and critters in all directions. You can't keep a living thing
pinned. Only the fence knows how far it goes.”