Fierce September (5 page)

We were going to die. She must have seen us falling into the turbulent water, seen us being sucked down and down and never coming up. I felt too sick to care.

The next time Fergus came around, he had better news for us.

‘Vima has given birth to a son. The news is good, they are both well.’

It was indeed good news – as long as we managed to survive long enough to see Vima and her son with our own eyes. Hera was growing more and more distressed, and I feared we would founder at any second.

Hera released one of her hands so that she could pat my face. ‘Juju
good
,’ she said. ‘The peoples is
mean
.’

That caught my attention. ‘The Outside people, Hera? Are they mean?’

‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘Taris people. They shouting
Bad
Juno
.’

It was the first time she’d said my name properly. My mind stuck on that – easier than trying to work out what she meant. I certainly couldn’t hear anyone shouting.

‘Hush, little one. It’s all right. Go to sleep.’

She yawned, and after a few more hiccupping cries fell asleep. I wanted to do the same but feared I’d be awake all night, rocking and swinging with the pitching of the ship. I fell into a half sleep and that’s when I heard it – the meanness Hera had wept over. Just fragments of sentences, or words.

A pity Fisa died instead of Juno …

We should have stayed on Taris. Juno had better watch her
step from now on.

Juno’s fault. We’re going to die. She shouldn’t have …

Bloody Juno …

I wish Irian had done what Majool ordered …

My arms tightened around Hera. Majool and Irian were both dead, but people hadn’t forgotten that Majool had ordered Irian to kill me. It was warm in the big room, but I shivered and felt a sickness other than that caused by the motion of the sea. How was it possible to feel so alone in the midst of five hundred people? Then I thought of my stratum, of how the boys had come to help, how the girls had forced the ship to wait for us. Were they now wishing we’d stayed on Taris too? Did they see me as the troublemaker?

I tried to shut my mind to the words coming at me. Was this what Hera had picked up? We weren’t going to die after all?

Gradually, the words faded as people fell asleep, and I must have nodded off too, because when Kalta let out a yell sometime in the early morning I woke with a start.

‘Look! Look at Taris!’

It took a moment to focus my eyes and sit Hera up so that she could see as well. Others were quicker – I heard cries and gasps all around me. Then I saw what was happening. The crack in the dome had split open.

‘You can see the mountain,’ somebody shouted.

We saw the peak, with the wind whipping the mist in great swirls before carrying it up and away. We watched, all ills forgotten, as the wind peeled back layer on layer of the dome that had sheltered us. In seconds it was no longer a dome but some fierce kind of bird with huge, flailing wings. Piece by piece, sections broke away to fly out over the ocean or to slam down into the exposed heart of our island.

My father, who had been in charge of the gardens and orchards, cried out, ‘It’s gone. All gone. In seconds.’

We stared at the flattened mango orchard, the vegetable gardens, the sheds where we kept our tools.

In another few minutes there was nothing left of the dome. It had disappeared as if it had never existed.

I heard Silvern’s mother cry out, then mine. The wind was howling down the slope, smashing at the houses. First our roof spiralled up, then Silvern’s family lost theirs. The screen was full of images of flying objects – roofs, clothing, furniture, dead animals, seating from the arena, computers. The violent gusts smashed into the school, then the Governance Offices, the techno centre and the hospital. Once a hole had been punched in the fabric of each building it succumbed quickly to the power of the wind. The last buildings left whole and standing were Grif and Danyat’s house, and the house Vima’s family had lived in. Those two held out perhaps five minutes longer than any of the others.

We kept our eyes on the screen, straining to see when the clouds thickened, watching as everything we had known was stripped away, then carried off by the hurricane. Waves seethed into the Bay of Clowns where we used to swim in calm, clear water. They crashed down onto the beach and hurtled up the slope to snatch away chunks of the pathway above.

All around the room, people wept as the winds smashed our home, tossing the pieces of it into the wild air. I couldn’t weep, could scarcely breathe. It was gone – just like that, in seconds. An image of our bodies twisting through the air flashed through my mind and I looked around to find my family, to reassure myself that no matter what happened now we were safer at this moment then we’d have been if we’d stayed. Tears streaked down Mother’s face as she watched. Dad reached out to clasp her hand. My grandparents looked as though it took all their strength to absorb what was happening. Suddenly I sensed that they thought of their murdered children whose ashes they had scattered on the mountain. Oran, daughter of Grif and Danyat. Elin, son of Leebar and Bazin. Both murdered at Majool’s orders.

I had no idea how much time passed before Oban got out of his hammock to stand, clutching a stanchion, to address us. ‘My people, our home has gone and there is no turning back.’ He paused and glanced around at our distressed faces. ‘No matter what happens now, I think you’ll agree we owe a huge debt to Vima for sending the message to our rescuers, even though it nearly cost her her life.’

Nobody spoke but I felt an easing in the atmosphere. I only hoped no one would mention my name, or remind people that Vima couldn’t have sent the message if Hera and I hadn’t found the path that led to the secret communication centre.

We weren’t out of danger yet, judging by the way the ship was still suffering under the onslaught of the storm. But Hera leaned against me, relaxed. ‘Taris broken,’ she murmured. ‘Peoples not mean now.’

I wriggled back down into the hammock. So she’d picked up the same thoughts I had. Great. I didn’t want to be able to hear people’s thoughts, I had enough trouble with their spoken words. For a moment I considered tuning in again, just to see. Then I shivered. I didn’t want to practise thought transference. If I couldn’t avoid it, then so be it, but I wasn’t going to go prying into private thoughts. 

W
E CONTINUED TO ENDURE THE tempest, but Hera no longer wept and loud thoughts no longer battered my mind. Fergus walked among us, cheerful and calm. ‘No,’ he would say, ‘we’re not out of danger yet. But we’re still afloat and that’s good.’

Shallym brought water for my family and said to me, ‘How does he do that? Tell us we still might die but leave us feeling we won’t?’

I pressed the button to adjust my hammock so that I was more sitting than lying. ‘I think he’s a pixie.’

She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t look like one.’ We’d seen movies in which pixies, fairies and goblins created magic and wonder. ‘But I think he might be a bit magic all the same.’

I whispered, ‘You could marry him – had you thought of that?’ Where had that thought come from? I blamed the seasickness.

Shallym laughed. ‘Grab the first Outside man I see? But what if there are a million hunks out there?’

I gaped at her. ‘You don’t want to marry one of our stratum?’ I’d thought she and Yin would marry, for sure.

She lifted her arms in a stretch ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ She leaned towards me. ‘But don’t you feel it, Juno? The excitement? Everything’s going to be different. We’re going to have more of everything to choose from.’

I lowered my hammock again and clutched my gut. ‘All I feel is sick. Tell this rotten ship to stay still, why can’t you?’

She laughed at me. ‘Still, like on the bottom of the ocean, for example?’

I managed a smile. I must have been feeling slightly better – I was no longer hoping we would sink and drown.

For three days the storm battered us, but at last I woke up in the early morning darkness to find we weren’t wallowing with the same intensity. I lay still for a moment, simply enjoying the fact my hammock was no longer swinging wildly and the sickness had gone. I sat up and my stomach didn’t protest, so I swung my feet over the edge and eased myself upright. My legs wobbled but it was bliss to feel well again. The trips to the bathroom over the past few days were not memories to treasure.

I was hungry. Where had Shallym put the snacks? I was sure she’d left a small bag somewhere. Not on the floor because nothing would stay put that wasn’t anchored. Then where? Ah! That’s right – she’d tied it to the hammock. Seconds later I had what felt like a hard, square biscuit in my hand. It was sweet and crunchy with nuts. I ate it slowly, my mind on what Shallym had said about things being different, about us having more choices Outside. It would be better for Vima – of that I was sure. She might find another man to love – a man she could marry. Or she might see Oban differently when she could compare him with Outside men. She might see that he was a man worthy of her love.

Dreams and wishes. Vima wouldn’t ever love Oban, not the way he wanted her to. In my heart I knew that. I wondered if he knew it too.

I climbed back in my hammock to wait for daylight. What of me? What would I do Outside? Who would I marry? A thought hit me – would I have to marry at all? Now that was an interesting notion to consider. Would the people of Taris still watch each stratum as we grew older, and would they still expect us to marry one of our own soon after we turned eighteen? Outside, in Aotearoa, would we live as we had done on Taris, as one community working together for the good of all? If we didn’t, then our lives would be very different. Which one did I want – difference or familiarity?

Both. I wanted both.

I heard Mother stirring. She sat up, pushing her hair back from her face. In the gloom, she smiled at me. ‘So, my daughter, we survive.’ She looked up at the image of Taris stripped of all trace of our lives there. ‘We can’t ever go back.’

‘We will make another home,’ Dad said, reaching out to touch her hand.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And I am thankful we’ve survived to be able to do so.’

Fergus came in, and his good spirits were obvious. ‘Good news, everyone, we’re out of danger. Anyone fancy a shower?’ He laughed as we yelled, ‘Yes!’

‘You’ll find clean clothes in the bathrooms. Not the last word in high fashion, I’m afraid.’

‘Can I have a dress?’ called out five-year-old Beta.

‘We didn’t bring dresses, honey. But you can be more colourful than you are now.’ She clapped her hands and he smiled at her. ‘There’ll be a hot meal in the dining room in an hour,’ he said. ‘You’re probably about ready for a decent feed.’

It seemed we all felt well again, and cheerful, although every so often someone would glance at poor battered Taris and grow sombre for a moment.

I took Hera and scurried off to the showers. The towels were so soft I wanted to drape mine around me and wear it as a tunic, but the clothes that had been provided for us were soft too. Hera giggled as I threaded her legs into the trousers and her arms into the sleeves. ‘Pretty,’ she said, tugging out the top to admire the row of ducklings stitched on it.

I chose my set of clothes from the shelf marked with my height, sorting through the piles and rejecting geometric patterns, cartoon characters and stripes. Ah! I pulled out a pale blue set decorated with verses of poetry written in a whole spectrum of colour. The undergarments were flimsy compared with the linen shorts we were accustomed to. I pulled on a pair and wondered what to call them – not trousers, there must be a proper name. We’d had bras on Taris, but they too were fashioned from linen and nothing like the stretchy, shaped garment I pulled over my head now.

I grinned at Hera. ‘What do you think?’

She turned up her nose. ‘Ducks.’ She patted her tummy. ‘Ducks pretty.’

I slipped the top on. It was odd having clothing that fitted close to my body. I tucked it in and knotted the tie on the trousers. ‘Come on, Hera, let’s show Mother and Dad how gorgeous we look.’

She took my hand and we navigated the big room back to our parents. They hadn’t showered yet and they stared at us in astonishment as we approached. ‘My goodness,’ Mother said at last. She shook her head. ‘All this is going to take some getting used to. You look so different.’

‘I pretty,’ Hera said, patting her ducks.

Mother swooped her up in a hug. ‘You’re beautiful, darling.’

Hera nodded. ‘You soon be pretty too.’

‘I’m going to see Vima,’ I told Mother. ‘I’ll see you at breakfast.’

‘Me too!’ Hera shouted.

I squatted down beside her. ‘No, Hera. Not this time. Not yet.’ I waited, wondering how she would react to a spot of discipline as prescribed by Willem.

She eyed me, took a breath and wailed. ‘Want to go too! Want to see Vima.’

I stood up. ‘No. You can’t. Not yet. It’s no good shouting, Hera. I’m not taking you.’

Her wails followed me as I walked off, as did the questions in my parents’ eyes. I knew they wouldn’t be reassured to hear that Willem had said she had a special sort of mind.

My plan was to find Inva and ask him to take me to visit Vima. It was slow going, walking the length of the big room, for I kept stopping to chat and to admire the outfits others had chosen.

I was talking to Silvern when Marba bounced over. ‘What do you think?’ He threw out his chest to display the image of Einstein on his top.

I grinned. ‘Very fetching. Very you.’

Silvern shot me a look. ‘Yeah, but what does the writing say?’

I managed to keep my face straight. ‘Einstein I am not.’ Then we both howled with laughter.