Arcene: The Island (7 page)

Most concerning of all was that Picus' life, his happy life, became well and truly disrupted.

For months, maybe even a year before anyone had realized what was happening to humanity, he'd noticed a decrease in visitor numbers to the island. It was always an easy life outside of the main summer season, and he welcomed the respite. He lived permanently on the island, the caretaker and general manager of the whole enterprise, but there were always people. You could never wander the vast, steeply terraced gardens and parks without bumping into somebody from the mainland no matter the season, time of day, or the weather.

But it waned, and the first summer The Lethargy was mentioned he'd already grown concerned. Visitors were half what they should have been, even before people panicked and stayed indoors, thinking it might offer some protection from the disease — nobody knew if it was airborne, in the food or water, or passed by human contact.

There were no more planes in the sky — who would risk flying when the pilot could zone out at any moment? Borders were closed — the passengers could be contaminated and worsen the growing crisis in the country they would arrive at.

No, before any of that the visitors lessened, and Picus had panicked about the security of his job of the last twenty years. At thirty he had the coveted position of overseeing the running of the most popular tourist attraction on the west coast of England, guardian to a monument built seven hundred years previously. The island was half a mile on its shorter side facing the mainland, almost a mile on its longest. Barren, rocky, with cliffs extending high out of the water as if it had broken off from the coast and sailed away for safety. There were no beaches, no pleasant strolls along its perimeter, it was all sharp rock and crevices, craggy peaks and inhospitable before it had been tamed by man.

A large home had been built at the summit, parts carved from the rock. Not a castle as such, more a collection of rooms built into the existing, jagged structure of the island, connected by walkways, odd turrets seemingly built on a whim, mismatched windows and doors of all sizes. It was eccentric, much of it impossible to understand in terms of function, but over the following centuries, as occupancy changed, it had been tamed, terraces large and small hacked out of the rock, hardy plants grown in sheltered pockets. The patches of soil that existed were improved with seaweed and animals were brought to the island to roam the steppes, their dung fertilizing the ground, and as more centuries passed it turned into a paradise of plants that would grow hardly anywhere else in the UK.

Beautiful, and dangerous at the same time.

It had been a private retreat for its entire history, first by single, monomaniacal men, then the perfect fortified keep for various landlords and wealthy individuals, a monastery, and for a brief spell in the early twentieth century a tourist attraction before it fell into decline and was then slowly restored once it passed into the hands of a trust.

Picus had been there right at the beginning, overseeing work that would take decades to complete, but he thought himself the luckiest man on earth to live and work in what felt like paradise, far away from the problems on the mainland. An escape, if he was honest about it, somewhere he could immerse himself in work and forget about his life up to that point.

Now it had been over three hundred years and the work still wasn't finished. He doubted it ever would be as there was always more to do, and that was exactly how he liked it.

A man who didn't work was no man in his eyes, and the island was his life's work. Forgotten by the few people that managed to survive centuries of The Lethargy and the chaos that followed right after, the island was an ancient relic of the past that had returned to life, been beaten back down and risen again under his care, and it had been worth it.

The birds sang, the plants shone in the clear, clean light, the storm of the day before forgotten, although there was a lot of tidying up to be done. He walked along one of the upper terraces, passing from gravel path to carved steps, and meandered around jagged outcroppings where tiny alpines, carefully placed and cared for lovingly, gave splashes of beauty against the obsidian rock that would cut you like a knife.

Picus breathed deep, took in the scent of flowers and salt. He spread his arms wide, facing the emptiness of the sea, and smiled.

It was going to be a good day.

I am a Mole

Arcene clawed at the walls as she was dragged deep into the bowels of the earth, but the compacted soil of the tunnel walls meant she got little purchase. When she did, and her descent slowed, the insistent tugging became rough, yanking her free, fingernails full of dirt, her sword scraping the sides as her knees scuffed against the dirt and her hair became tangled around her throat as if her body had revolted and wanted out.

"Lemme go, lemme go. You'll be sorry... I'm not happy about this at all."

The only reply was a strange mewing noise from beneath her, presumably her attacker that for whatever reason was rather insistent on dragging her further into the sweet-smelling soil far beneath the fire she presumed was still raging above. At least she wasn't burnt to a crisp, but whoever heard of being snatched like this? It was like she was starring in one of those stupid zombie movies she'd binged on for a while until she gave up and moved on to things where she could at least suspend her disbelief.

"Stupid zombies. How could they move without their nerves firing and their hearts beating?" Arcene realized it was a strange time for such conjecture, but it had always bugged her and now was probably the most apt for such reflections. It couldn't be, could it? There couldn't be zombies buried in the ground, just waiting to snatch an unsuspecting passerby and, what, suck her brains out through her nose? Munch away on her ankle, or reach into her belly and pull out her intestines like sausages?

Haha, there's no such thing as zombies.

Truth be told, Arcene had seen no end of strange things, lived in a place about as bizarre as a home could be: The Commorancy, a fantastical environment that held wonder after wonder, where people could spend hundreds of years in rooms, learn how to Awaken and leave with powers and understanding of the very fabric of reality that made a mockery of everything they had once believed. So, well, anything was possible. But zombies?

"Huh?" Arcene realized the pressure on her legs was gone. She was still, and while she'd been pondering the existence of the walking dead she'd been dragged into what felt like a rather airy cavern where she was now sat on her sore bottom, a funny wet feeling at her ear.

Huh, huh, huh. Slurp.

"Leel, stop licking my ear, you daft dog." Arcene reached out in the gloom and patted the head of Leel, her head bent down low so she could reach Arcene.

Woof!

The sound was sucked up by the earthen walls as if echoes didn't exist so far underground, like noise wasn't welcome and silence prevailed.

"Um, hello?" Arcene shifted in the cavern but nobody answered. She heard scuffling across the divide and to their left, but for some reason Leel wasn't growling or attacking. "What is it, girl? Are you afraid?" Leel carried on licking. "Stupid dog, they could be zombies."

Leel panted heavily, the run from the fire making her breathing wheezy, or was that her own breathing? Arcene realized she sounded like a zombie herself, throat raw and rattling like she had gravel in her mouth. Her lungs burned, but as she focused the feeling lessened as the cilia in her lungs worked overtime to expel the tiny particles causing damage.

More noise, this time closer, as if someone, or something, was shifting nearer, shuffling along the floor toward her — to feast on brains?

For the second time in a day Arcene forced her pupils to expand and let in what little light there was. "Ugh, what the... Hello?" Less than a foot away, a strange creature stared at her with eyes so pink and tiny they were almost lost in the fleshy face, features nondescript and smooth with bloat. The skin was as brown as a walnut, hair was little more than stubble, the rest of the body clothed in some kind of waxy material as dark as the face.

The person, if it could be called that, smiled, or at least did an approximation of the expression of welcome, revealing surprisingly white, and very sharp looking teeth, the two upper incisors long and extending beneath the lower lip even with its mouth open.

"I. Am. A. Mole. Andiliveina... Hole," came the meaty sound of a voice, words slow then garbled, like speech wasn't big on the agenda around these parts.

"Um, sorry, what? You're a mole and, er, I missed the rest."

"I live in... A hole." The face poked forward, now so close their noses almost touched. The little pink eyes looked sore, raw around the lids and weepy as the creature peered at Arcene, clearly almost blind in the darkness and not used to needing much in the way of vision.

"Oh, right. Um, how do you do?" Arcene lifted a hand to shake, but was left hanging. The creature squinted at her, then at her hand. Arcene wiggled her fingers and thrust her hand out further.

The thing that had dragged her under nodded almost imperceptibly then extended its own hand. The skin was black, the fingers short and stubby, well muscled and criss-crossed with veins. What appeared to be long claws took the place of fingernails but as Arcene peered at them, squinting in a facsimile of her strange savior, she realized they were actually fingernails, of a sort. They were as long as her own fingers, but creamy, thick like Leel's claws and even deadlier, judging by the finely honed points.

"Um, maybe best not to." Arcene moved her hand away hurriedly before she got a finger or two sliced clean off, not to mention the infection that would result from a cut from such dirty claws. "You really are a mole, aren't you?"

The mole man, or mole woman, boy or girl, it was impossible to tell, rocked back on its haunches, eyes closed, probably to rest from the strain. "I... Am... A... Mole. And. I—"

"Yeah, you said." Arcene waved away the words that were clearly a real effort for the mole creature, and leaned back, suddenly aware how tired she was, but with a start she turned to her right — there was a strange sound, someone else was here. No, it was just Leel. Was she asleep? She was! Asleep after being captured by a mole thing and escaping fire and falling from a hot air balloon. She was asleep! Well, maybe it couldn't be helped, it had been a busy time of it, and no doubt.

What now? What do I do now?

"Um, thanks for saving us from the fire, that was very kind of you. How did you know?"

"I. Am—"

"Not big on conversation then? That's okay, silence is nice."

Leel continued to snore; Arcene stared at her host, the mole man/woman. It rocked gently then sprang up, darted over to the wall, plucked something pink and slimy from the earth and slurped it down greedily.

Ugh, it eats worms. It's fat from eating worms and who knows what else?

The creature returned on all fours, wide body wobbling beneath the waxy clothes, and resumed its position in front of Arcene, eyes open again and staring at her, as if waiting for something. Arcene had no idea what to do, and that was not normal — she always knew her next move so felt very uncomfortable with her indecision. The thing seemed harmless enough though, if a little odd even by her standards.

"I. Am. A. Mole. And. I. Live. In. A. Hole."

It went on like that for hours.

Lovely Light

"Ugh, eh? Wassat?" Arcene thrashed about wildly, an arm smacking into something soft and wet.

Yowl.

"Oops, sorry, Leel, must have nodded off." Arcene sat up and rubbed at her eyes, caking them in dirt and grit so they streamed, making her almost as blind as the mole person. No, it wasn't just that, she had fallen asleep without allowing her pupils to reset properly so now they were sore as hell and she was lucky she hadn't damaged them permanently.

Panic set in. What if she had? What if she would forever be as blind as a creature that lived in the dark, unable to see her son, look at pretty flowers and marvel at the world?

She wiped at her eyes more carefully, dislodged the dirt and slowly they cleared — she was fine, she could see what was appropriate for someone in a deep hole, which was next to nothing at all, the only light coming from looking at reality via The Noise, where little creatures shone green and only her and Leel were anything of substance.

"Come on, Leel, it's time to get out of here."

Woof woof.

Leel shifted her position, head resting on Arcene's legs, the weight unnoticed until she felt light as a feather without the bony head of her friend. Leel stood and stretched, back arching and head craning forward and up as if searching for the light, or food.

Food. Gosh, how hungry am I? What time is it?
Judging by the hunger pangs that stabbed at her belly, it was now morning. How had she slept so long under such circumstances? Because there was no sense of danger, that was why. The mole person had saved them, had given them its home and done what it could to make them comfortable.

Such creatures were not common, but three hundred years of a society so disparate and scared meant that many people had changed beyond all recognition over such a time. For Arcene it was normal, but she knew enough stories of how life used to be to know those people would think the world now impossibly strange.

Some worshiped strange gods, others took themselves away from the world entirely, and others followed different paths, ones that led them back to basics, to animalism or forced regressions until they knew little of the world they lived in and had no concept of the technological age they had missed by a few centuries. The mole person was clearly one of those people, if it could still be called a person.

There was probably a whole group of them, following their own path through life, becoming something unique, far away from what humanity now was, maybe lost in caves hundreds of years ago, somehow surviving and taking on all manner of strange behaviors as time passed and new generations were born in the dark.