Arcene: The Island (18 page)

Soon they were deep into the garden, hidden by dense foliage climbing up metal trellis — small outdoor rooms for privacy. This was a communal space, as it appeared most of the landscape was. They arrived at a lovely seating area with a simple table and chairs. Talia put the food down, complete with metal jug and a stack of matching cups, and unloaded the platter.

"Thank you, Talia. Now, Arcene, please help yourself."

"Thanks. I can't tell you how hungry I am. Leel too?"

"Give her what you want."

Arcene gave a large dried squid to Leel, who swallowed it whole and stared with pleading eyes at Arcene. "Let me have some too. Greedy dog."

"Talia, I think we will need more food. If you would be so kind?"

"Of course, of course." Talia stood and rushed off.

Vorce studied Arcene in silence for a while as she ate. Time felt disjointed, the quiet different to how it was on the sea. This was nice, nothing to be afraid of.

"Now, how did you happen to come to The Island?" Vorce leaned forward, elbows resting casually on the table.

"Well, we got in a boat, and were actually going somewhere else, just a few minutes away from land, and, well, the stupid currents wouldn't let us, and it brought us here."

"Ah, yes, it brings us lots of things, but not people very often. In fact..." Vorce turned. "Oh, hello, Talia. Thank you."

"My pleasure." Talia put the huge pile of food onto the table and sat.

"As I was saying," continued Vorce, "the current brings lots of things, but seldom people. Where are you from? And I see you are Awoken?"

"And I see you are too. Both of you." Arcene tried not to be rude and speak with her mouth full, so decided to just take small bites while they talked. She got the feeling that if she rushed it would go badly anyway — her stomach wasn't used to being without food.

"Haha, yes, I am. I am the founder of The Island. We have been here since the beginning, since The Lethargy. Before. But you have no knowledge of that time. You are a child, a mere babe in arms."

Is he insulting me? I think he is.

"Sorry, I didn't intend to be rude, just stating the facts. You are young."

"I may be young, but I am no child. Just because you are old doesn't make you wise. Sometimes the wisest of all are those that see the world with uncorrupted eyes. Being a child is no bad thing." Arcene pictured her son, innocent and always full of wonder at the most mundane of objects. That was the essence of being: to marvel at everything, delight in the breeze as it caressed your cheek on a summer's day.

"You are right, and we value children here above all else. I apologize, I am jaded after living so long."

"No problem, and thank you for letting us in. Um, it's on, I suppose. Some people aren't as friendly."

The conversation continued, Arcene happy to recount her recent adventures. They seemed like nice people, and there was no weirdness beyond the strange markings on their faces and the strong accents that made it hard to understand every word.

Vorce was old. He talked of the time long ago, told her a story of how he came to construct The Island. Talia listened politely, but it was obvious it was a tale she, and probably everyone else, knew as a part of their history from an early age.

Vorce told of The Island and its long history, of its traditions, and allowed Talia to talk of herself a little, although she seemed a little too in awe of Vorce for Arcene's taste and was more interested in hearing of Arcene's adventures and life. It was to be expected. She had never known anyone that wasn't from her home, so stories of blue castles and what had happened there were of great interest.

Both listened, rapt, as Arcene told of her home, The Commorancy. A fabled place to Talia, although Vorce knew more about it than he let on, Arcene was sure of that.

Food kept arriving and Arcene and Leel slowly got into their stride, never tiring of eating. Arcene talked and talked, happy to have a proper conversation with people that had no ulterior motive beyond wanting information about a world they had never seen. When Arcene broached the subject of why they lived on The Island, and why they never left, Vorce became strangely silent.

Talia told of the currents, and the impossibility of living anywhere else; Vorce seemed to merely observe and take mental notes. There was something not right, but there were no threats. These were not bad or stupid people, just a little different. Nothing unusual about that at all.

Conversation continued. Food remained on the table, everyone full, including Leel, who had fallen asleep with her head on Arcene's boot. Arcene felt her own eyelids grow heavy, the food sending her into a stupor, the pleasure of sitting in a chair on solid ground allowing her to relax. There was nothing to fear here. This was a nice place. All she would have to do was find a way to get home.

She wasn't worried. There was always a way, there had to be. She didn't fancy spending eternity in the middle of the sea.

Arcene nodded off.

The Backup Plan

Vorce was no fool. Once The Island was constructed, his plan for the future set firmly in place, he knew it would be hard to adjust to such a different way of life. But the years went by quickly as there was so much to do, so much to organize, so many plans to be made.

There were endless discussions with the others, who they named Elders. Although talks had already gone on for months between them all on the mainland, certain things cropped up and they did their very best to get everything as perfect as possible.

This was no random act done on a whim, this was to be their future and it was imperative they were all well-suited to both the life they envisioned, and to each other. It wouldn't do to have arguments, or disagree about the fundamentals of such an alien existence.

Even so, there were many things to finalize, and not only did the Elders have to adjust to their new roles, and act accordingly, but the people that were to make up the bulk of the Island's occupants needed a lot of attention and careful steering in the right direction to adjust to their new lives too. It took generations, and even the occasional "accident," before things truly settled into a happy equilibrium where everyone knew their place and society became content with how things functioned.

This was no democracy. Vorce had final say on all matters. Nobody ever questioned him — they did so at their peril, for he was powerful enough to cut off even Awoken with a thought. The population flourished as the children were born. Whole children, and most Awoke.

The Lethargy was almost a thing of the past, although it could never quite be eliminated. But there was food, if a little on the boring side after over a century, and the cattle and other animals Vorce had thought to breed to feed the people lived only a few generations before becoming unviable. Fish, wild birds, and the lucky inclusion of mice that were now specially bred to be fat and tender became the staple. That and the ever-present seaweed, of course.

He was happy, almost content with how his plan had come to fruition. An isolated society that flourished and became something different to how things were in the past: fulfilled, content, in agreement, with no uprisings or bitterness. Everyone had a varied life, progressing in importance as they aged, and switching jobs at set intervals so there were always new challenges and something to keep you interested.

None of that meant Vorce wasn't pleased he had his backup in place, and at year 111 P.L, as they dated their calendar, starting again Post Lethargy, Vorce stood next to a door in a private room in his quarters. This was the reason he'd set up the rather bizarre, upside down hierarchy of position where you got to live deeper in The Island the more important you were. He held his breath as he counted down the minutes to year 111.

There had to be a way out. Vorce knew this from the beginning. What if he hated it, really couldn't stand it for however long he would live in his Awoken state? He was no fool, so went to great lengths to ensure that one hundred and eleven years after they arrived there would be a way off the Island if the need arose. And the need did arise.

Vorce was bored out of his mind and couldn't wait for the door to open. He wished he hadn't been so damn cocky and set it up so it was impossible to open for so long, but at the time he'd believed he would fail to make a go of it if there was an escape route whenever he felt like it.

He'd done well, everything ran smoothly, and he loved his home, yet he longed for some of the old ways. The rolling hills, knowing he was on truly solid ground. He also missed hunting. The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush, the freedom and exhilaration.

The richer he got, the more Vorce had become interested in the wilder side of life. His obsession with sea forts had led him to all corners of the globe, and the forces of nature seemed to drive him ever onward to more extremes of adventure. Meeting remote, or downright bizarre people, hidden away in some of the forts, living their own isolated and strange lives away from society before it had even collapsed.

He loved it all. Vorce loved the people for their ideals and struggle to be free from "normal" society, and he loved the battle with nature as he clung desperately to crumbling buildings on tiny islands battered by the wind and the sea. He loved the hunt. Finding new places, new people. Such a challenge and a personal thrill, it had made him feel alive, overflowing with vitality and unstoppable as everyone else went the opposite way.

After one hundred and eleven years he moaned with pleasure as the foot thick steel door slid back with a
snick
and stale air greeted him, revealing the elevator that would descended the hollow, concrete pillar — just another strut when seen from outside. But this one was different, this one led down. Underground.

Vorce had stepped in eagerly. When he pressed the button, and the door closed and the elevator descended, he felt his entire body tingle with excitement, something that had been lacking for a long time.

Vorce had used the door once a year ever since that first time. The Island could cope without external help, but Vorce found that bringing a few items back every year allowed things to run a little more smoothly.

Whether it was an unexpected "discovery" of a stash of forgotten clothes he planted somewhere to be found, a miraculous new seed that would cope better with the harsh conditions, a thing as simple as replacing broken crockery, knives, sharpening tools, garden implements, building tools, ropes and cotton and needles and a never ending list of items he took for granted and never even considered, it meant that everything functioned a little better because of his yearly exodus.

After he returned with piles of welcome goodies, he introduced them carefully over the course of the year with no one becoming suspicious.

It was a lifeline, and it saved The Island from becoming just too damn miserable to cope with. He loved it, and cherished the people, the alternate and safe world he and the other Elders had worked so hard to build and maintain, but it got boring as hell and entirely too claustrophobic for those that remembered a world that was different. A world where you could walk for a year and never see the same thing twice. Where you could marvel at the crumbling structures created when he was a man approaching fifty and turned his back on it all.

And then he returned one day to find everything had gone haywire. Elders clamored for his attention. Where had he been? Why couldn't they find him? Did he know what was going on up above? Started by the children, now involving the adults — Awoken and Whole alike?

No, he had been busy. Private things, secret things, none of their business. Couldn't they cope with whatever was happening? Were they not there to keep control and ensure everything went smoothly? Yes, they had answered, but this was different.

Turns out, the inhabitants of The Island had invented a new game in his absence: The Hunt.

He thought of the history of The Hunt as he sat watching the sleeping girl and her, he had to admit, rather intimidating dog. He smiled. The drugs would wear off in a few hours, but there was no doubt in his mind that The Hunt would be resumed, although, as was the rule, it would be the person that found their visitor who decided her fate. In this case, Talia.

This was no mere coincidence though. 111. Talia was right, it held significance, and he hated that it did. Superstition was bad, it led to excuses. Vorce knew that allowing such things into the human psyche led to endless problems. Let something become too meaningful and it led to superstitions. To cults, splits and factions within once tight and happy communities. But this was no mere coincidence. Talia's birthday, the time since the last Hunt, the fact Arcene would, hopefully, be the hundred and eleventh star of the show, it was enough to make you believe there truly were other forces at work. Not to mention what the number meant to him personally, that it was when he first left The Island. How very odd.

Damn, was he getting superstitious himself in his old age? This was exactly why he never let such things take hold. It could make you believe your life wasn't your own to control, that there were excuses for your actions. There weren't. You did what you did and you dealt with it.

"Talia, what do you think of our guest?"

Talia's lip curled up revealing perfect incisors. Her raised welts shone hard and dark in the dappled light. "I think she's a warrior, and she isn't very polite."

"Well, it is for you to decide. We shall do as is right when we have a guest, but it has been so long. She shall be Judged, and your Verdict shall be accepted."

"I've already made my mind up. How greedy, how rude. She has a sword! What kind of respectable woman goes around carrying a sword. And look at her. Look at those socks!"

"Now, now, no need to criticize. Come, let us prepare, there is much to do before The Verdict is passed."

Arcene dreamed of giant insects in the sea, her belly domed and tight against her vest. Leel snored at her feet.