Whisper Gatherers (3 page)

“If they let me join.”

“How can they not? You’ve been training since a tot. Don’t concern yourself about their decision. Now, both of you to bed. Sleep without upset.”

We rose and bid each other goodnight, then went to our individual layingdown place. My room was a tad bigger than my bro’s, with a window that opened. A prize for showing my deftness at staying clear of said portal when ajar. He, when tested, as are we all when we reach the height of danger, raced straight to it. Santy had to grab his shirt and yank him back to safety before he jumped through. My beddie place was brighter too. He preferred low-lit accommodation without decoration. I had laser etchings of extinct animals. Kittles and dowgie pics filled the wall above where my beddie stood.

With a touch of my fingers, the images changed. Instead of a kittle-cat playing with a length of fibre, my peepholes were gratified with more once-lived creatures that I am told roamed this sadly land of ours. Horsies, deeries, hephalumps and the like, all gone now taken by the long ago plague. I pressed my palm against the image of a pink piggle. It transformed into my favourite long-dead beast, a squiggle. I stroked its tufty ears, its bushyly tail and wished such creatures still abided in this barren place.

My musings ended with a yawn. I turned and opened the door opposite that led into the steamshower. I slap-shoed in, undressed, threw my soiled garments through the flap of the washhole next to the poop bowl, and stepped into the glass-encased cubical. I pressed the eye level button on the wall. The hot vapour rid me of all the dirt I had attracted from my escapade. Despite the soothing nature of the cleansing, and Santy’s encouraging words, I could not forget about the birdyplop and felt a pull inside my throat.

With a belly cough, to rid myself of the longing to call to them, I pressed the button to cease the hotly water then stepped out of the shower. After drying myself, I put on a lightweight all-in-one jammie suit I took from the metal talldrawer. It was my favourite bedware. The colour of a winter’s sky with spots of white dappled all over it. It reminded me of a snowshower and the fun Deogol and I had playing splatball when we were small. I yawned, went back into the sleep part of the room, clapped my hands and the lights dimmed. I stretched, yawned again before flopping onto the soft cosiness of the bed. I wriggled under the sheets, lay my head on the supersoft allergysafe pillow and let my lids drop over my weary eyes.

The image of great flocks of birdybirds filled my head. In my make believe musings these birdles landed and pecked on the ground. A thing they have not done since the famine made folk consume everything that still lived. I blinked and rubbed my eyes to dispel the entrancing pic, but when I closed them again, the birdies came back. I tried to think of other things, but nothing could rid me of the flapping creatures.

I rolled onto my belly and pressed my forehead deep into the pillow. After a few secs of shallow breathing, I made up my mind. Although Santy forbade me to sing, my body and brain told me otherwise. I felt a stirring of vocal muscles in my throat. Gagging, I tried to hack out the yearning with chesty hem-hems, but the throbbing ache continued.

Spinning onto my back, I clutched at my neck, sucked in my lips to try not to let out my voice. But I could not. I threw back the coverlings and got out of bed. Walking slowly as if I were a night-walker. I went to the window and opened it. A cool breeze swept across my face. I smelled a faint scent of something sweet and cloying. My nose twitched and my windpipe covering trembled as I sucked in air. I leant out, widened my gob, then let my voice ring out.

Chapter Three
 

The Haunting Of Cityplace

The sound that came from my mouth was strange. I’d never heard myself sing in such a fashion, and did not know where the long, high notes came from. All I knew was that it felt good and right to be calling to the birdybirds. Although the only ones that would be around at moontime, were owlets. My heart thumped at the thought that I may get the chance to actually see one.

Oh, I’d earholed a hooting and a screeching more than once, but could not put a name to the brittle song. When I called to Santy Breanna to witness the noise, she said it was that of a blarnyowl. Then she showed me pics of them on my slab. Their round, flat white faces and big black eyes gave me the heebies. I thought they looked like ghosties. Santy said that some folk believed said Tytonidae were the voices of the dead trying to deliver messages to those that remained. On hearing their jarring peeps, I could not say for sure that she was wrong.

I ached to hear them, so cried out again and closed my eyes. In the blackness behind my lowered lids, flashes of light danced and fell in intricate patterns, until I could almost see a parade of silhouetted creatures. They were nothing like the real beasts they’d shown us from the bygone days in yesteryear class. I found it sadder than sad when watching the vids, that all but the flying animals on the land were extinct. Except for Wolfies. The snarling, hideous beasties that some say roam the Wilderness. I shuddered, glad that I lived in such a secure setting.

Yet, part of me wished to go forth into that savage land and experience its fearsomeness first hand. Since that was not going to happen any time soon, I concentrated my wistfulness on bringing forth a hoolet or two, and sang once more. All remained quiet despite my earnest calling. So I tried again, waited for a response, when none came, I ceased my futile singsong.

I should have gone to beddybyes, but there was something brewing on the wind that whooshed past my face. Troubled, I lifted my head to the sky in search of stars, but there was too much light from the other buildings and the many infoboards that faced each living quarter, for the flickering orbs to be visible. I wished it could be really dark here so that I could see them.

Once, Santy had taken Deogol and me to the edge of Cityplace, right on the border to the Wilderness where the Woodsfolk dwell. She said something secret to the guard and he let us step a few bits into the tree-dense area. We stopped just in sight of the bordercheckpoint. Raising our heads, we stared at the black heavens.

Dots of twinkling light sparkled before our eyes. I was overcome with wonderment at what I gazed upon. On tiptoe, hands outstretched as if to touch them, I stretched my bod upwards. Santy laughed and told me they were too far away. I tried to say I wasn’t actually attempting to place my mitt upon a thing beyond our planet, but she had done listening. Scolded me again for being daft. I sulked all the way back home.

Then I heard them.

The shrieking shrill hoots of owlets. The sound drifted past my window, but I saw no birdle. I shuddered as the squeals became louder then faded away.

There was a tip-tapping on my door and I quickly pulled in my head.

“Addy? Are you asleep?”

Closing the window without making a sound, I slipped back between the sheets.

“Addy?”

“Yeah, what?” I said, in as sleepy a manner as I could.

Santy Breanna entered. I made a fake yawn to fool her into thinking that I had been in slumberland. “Did that weird noise not awaken you?”

“Erm, what weird noise?”

“The one that sounded like owlets.”

“Owlets? No, can’t say that I did. Must have been asleep.”

“Really? It was more than quite loud. I would have said if I didn’t know any better, that the thing was perched upon your windowsill.”

“Shame I missed it then.”

“Shame indeed.” She walked over and sat on the edge of my bed. “I will ask you once and once only. I hope the answer you give will be honest true. If not, I will be deeply offended. Do you glean my meaning?” I nodded. “Did you let loose your voice for one and all to hear?”

I paused before responding. Hoping that the gap between speaking and thinking of what to say would prove fruitful. I came up with nowt but, “I couldn’t help myself. What with finding the birdypoop, thrilling at the thought of becoming a S.A.N.T. I felt impelled to let rip before I choked with yearn.”

Santy closed her eyes for a sec then took my hands in hers. She turned them over so that my palms faced the ceiling and counted all of my six fingers. “You have enough strange about you to cause folk to gawk without attracting more attention. I understand more than you realise. I know just how strong an urge it is to fulfil your namegift. But Addy, in your case it would be dangerous in the extreme. I will say again, you must not use your voice, ever.”

My nostrils flared for a sec, then I squeezed her hand most fondly. She gave another huge sigh, let go my massive mitts and said, “This I will tell you. Things are becoming out of sorts. A storm most metaphorical approaches. We must prepare to get severely wet.”

“Metaphorically?”

“Yep.”

“So, not Carnies and their fright-show?”

“No.”

“Oh. I glean your meaning Santy, I think, and will behave.” She smiled and stood to leave, I halted her progress by saying, “Santy?”

“What?”

“If the call for me to sing is great again, what should I do?”

“Tell me. I will help you resist the urge.”

“Ta Santy.” She attempted a smile, but could not and left all sad-eyed from my room.

I leant back and tried to clear my noggin of thoughts, which was the only thing I excelled at during lessontime. I was glad indeed those days were over. I relished the prospect of attending S.A.N.T. camp for real. Drowsy, I let my lids drop and waited for the numbness of sleep to transport me to another place. Muffled song filtered through my senseless state. I imagined it to be within my skull, so half opened my eyes, expecting the sound to cease. It did not. Fully conscious, I got out of bed and went to the window. I thought myself asleep again and dreaming, for in the distance towards the perimeter fences, I saw lights where no lights should be.

“You see them too?”

Turning, I saw Deogol. He clutched his slabcomp to his chest. With one hand, he pointed at the glass. “They’re here. Ghosties heard your song and now they’ve come to take it back.”

“What are you blabbering about?”

He opened up his comp and showed me the screen. Images of white-faced corpses swam around all sorts of textchat. “See? Folk heard a strange noise. I did too. Now all are feared that the dead have risen.”

I snatched his slab from him. “Why would they rise?”

“Something bad is going to happen.”

“Were you sneaky-peaking just then when I was chatting with Santy?”

“No, I swear.”

“On Ma and Da’s resting place?”

“Yep. I heard, Adara, I heard. I still hear.”

“Hard not to since it is gaining in shrill,” I said, took his hand and marched to Santy’s room. She was in the hallway and stopped our progress with a furrowed brow.

“See what your yearnings have led to Adara?”

“Wha?”

“Praisebees.”

“Nah.”

“Yes. I heard it too and turned on the visionbox. They are at the fence chanting about the ‘Nextgreatsaviour’. Apparently this being has come to save them from starvation by bringing down the birdies.”

“How the huff do they know about that?”

“It’s common knowledge that there is a Bringer here. All they had to do was ask a guard if there was an Adara in Cityplace, to confirm their expectations. It does not matter that I have done all I can to promote the falsie that you were named wrong and do not have the skill. Folk within this place believe you are just a girly with too many digits, but outside, your potential is believed.”

“Nad and then some.”

“I’ve contacted the mayor. Your identity will be kept secret from tomorrow’s lettingloose ceremony. In case some zealot or troublemaker hears it and starts a rumpus. So far as I can tell, you have not been connected to the strange bird-like noise that all folk heard. I gave the mayor a suitable alibi that puts you in the clear.”

“But, it wasn’t me. I did not…”

“Do not. Do not prolong your lie now that it is out.”

I hung my head. Deogol giggled. “Adara, Adara, Adara.”

“Not funny,” I said and swiped him around the noggin.

“The Praisebees are not a threat, just yet, but if the Agros get wind, then I fear for your safety, I do. Do not look so forlorn. My words are meant to inform not scare. Let us not presume what has not occurred. Go back to bed, pull down the winter blinds, that should block out their ravings. Then go to sleep.”

“I’ll not be able to, I think.”

“Quell your mind jumblings by choosing what you will wear at the ceremony. Now, you, my little Earwig, switch off your comp and get some shut eye.” She ruffled Deogol’s hair and pushed him towards his restingplace. He sag-shouldered it all the way to his room and slammed the door shut behind him. I shrugged then went to mine.

“Let no one know you sang.”

“Not likely Santy.” Her warning rattled around my nonce as I headed to my bedchamber.

Once inside I did what she advised and rolled down the heavy-duty wooden slats to muffle the Praisebee chants. It worked a treat and I diverted my gloomy musings by searching my clothesspace for stuff to wear at the ceremony. I fumbled around the rows of pantaloons, skirts, tunics, and all-in-ones.

I didn’t have any inner girly sense of what looked appealing when put on, so took out a blue top and black pants. Knowing that the colours would at least not clash with my light blonde hair, and the redder than red face I would assume when all and sundry focused on my bod at the highly visible event.

Putting on said garments, I took a look at my form in the mirror opposite my bed. I was indeed a chunky sight. No manner of tailored or clever material cutting could hide my stocky build. I pulled the belt on my troos and to my surprise found that I needed to yank it tighter to prevent said garment from slipping to the floor. More than one missed meal was taking its toll. Although I flopped my shoulders and let my neck relax with vexation at my unattractive reflection, part of me was glad to be so robust. I stood straight and stared at my image. I was the right proportion for the future I planned.

I was no girlygig for sure. I was a S.A.N.T in the making.