Chapter 13: Chronicles 1 - Part 1
Ruth sat and drank a cup of tea in her favourite corner of
the conservatory. Broken down and smelling of rot it was a lovely spot in the
summer, but drafty in the winter. She warmed her hands on her cup and breathed
in the aroma of the tea, made with one of her dwindling stock of Earl Grey kept
dry in the pantry. Her breath forming clouds among the plant pots and cuttings,
fogging up the glass and forming water droplets on the frames.
She looked down at the mud on her wellies, and then over to
a stack of horse blankets in the corner by the door. On top of these were some
old dog towels, still retaining the hairs from a pet long since dead.
It was an hour before lunch, there was no reason not to be
working today, but so far, she had not gone over to bother the slaves. Naomi had
not made her presence known today either and Ruth was enjoying the muted
silence the deep snow was causing. It was windless and still, a good morning to
get out in, but also for staying indoors and enjoying the weak sun through the
glass. After lunch then, she would go over and divide up the jobs, there were
always things needing doing on a farm. Ruth admitted to herself that she found
Helen annoying, one of those opinionated city girls, bound up in her own
problems, completely unequipped for life on a remote farm. She complained about
anything and everything all day long. She treated Ruth as if it where her fault
that Helen was a farm slave. Sometimes Ruth reflected that she was even worse
than some of the walkers they had had when they had been running the
guesthouse. Melissa had a dangerous look about her. She looked strong and
defiant, and from what she had overheard from the slave talk she was quite
capable of killing someone if she had to. She seemed to enjoy the farm work
though, it was easy compared to where she had come from, and for now she seemed
content enough. Ruth liked Tina the most, she seemed a nice country girl, as
innocent and lost as a newborn lamb. She always did as she was told, was eager
to please and had lost almost all her initial fear of her new environment.
Her cup was empty, and she had sat a while longer in
reflection when she heard a vehicle coming down the drive toward the farm. She
recognised the noise of her brother’s quadbike, roaring over the snow choked
lane and down into the courtyard.
By the time she got to the door he was there, unwrapping his
scarf and taking off his goggles.
‘Brendan,’ she said in greeting.
Brendan was her eldest brother. He was tall, and ice formed
on the edges of his grey beard that the scarf had not protected.
‘Making my rounds,’ he gestured at a big pack on the back of
his bike. ‘Got some supplies I’m trying to get rid of.’
She motioned him inside to the kitchen and started to
prepare lunch. Brendan was a Unity Man, and getting out to the remote farms
during the winter was part of his job. She fed him potato soup, with home made
bread and butter, then brewed a pot of tea. She noted that he still wore his
old, ripped Barbour jacket. Apparently, his wife Enid had stopped trying to
patch it. They didn’t speak much as he ate. He had to soak the bread in the
soup and chew it slowly as he only had his front teeth. After the meal he stretched
long legs towards the stove and wiggled his toes. He accepted one of his
sister’s biscuits and sipped at his tea.
‘Any bother from the slaves?’ he asked finally, remembering
the trouble the last batch had caused her.
‘No, no,’ admitted Ruth. ‘But then I don’t ask much of
them.’
‘Oh aye?’ mused Brendan. ‘And that Daniel?’
‘Well, you know what he’s like. All those stories they tell
about him in the Glenmaisey. He had a girl in Prospect that well…’
‘I know the stories. And I believe them.’
‘Och well, if he tries any of that carry on, she’ll knock
his block off!’
‘And well deserved,’ said Brendan sternly as he reached for
another biscuit.
‘Those Mitchells were never made to work a farm. You cannae
just keep selling off your beasts like that. And Sandra tells me they are
planning to sell some of the land next.’
‘Shame. To break up Victor’s farm like that,’ agreed her
brother. ‘Daniel borrowed a horse box from me. They must be selling the horses
next.’
Perhaps, Ruth thought. Or perhaps Daniel has other plans for
at least one of his horses. For a while they didn’t speak until finally Brendan
asked, ‘and how is Naomi?’
Ruth could not prevent herself from wincing. ‘Oh, she’s ok.
She just sits in her cottage drinking and sulking. She has Charlie bring her up
newspapers and magazines when the road is clear. That just about keeps her
going.’
‘If you ever want rid of her, there is an empty cottage in Glenmaisey.’
‘Och, she’d never go,’ replied Ruth. ‘She’d never want to
leave the farm, not until Owen gets back.’
Brendan nodded at that, the with a groan, leaned over and
retrieved his wellies. ‘Well, I guess I’d better get going.’
‘Where are ye off to next?’ Ruth enquired.
‘Oh, the Mains, then Deyrick. Then home.’
After Brendan left, she looked through what he had brought
her and then went to tell the slaves they could have tinned peaches for
pudding. She didn’t bother telling Naomi.
A couple of days later Ruth found that her suspicions were
correct. Daniel had borrowed the horsebox from her brother in order to transport
one of his father’s horses. When the roads were clear enough, he wasted no time
in hitching up the box to his Land Rover and coming up to the Sheilings. The
first Ruth knew about it was when he drew up into the courtyard, spraying up
icy mud.
Ruth was the first outside, in her overcoat and wellies.
Niaomi was next, still in her nightie and dressing gown Ruth noted, even though
it was past noon. Helen and Tina were next, coming from the byre as Daniel
walked around the back of the trailer and opened back door.
‘What’s all this, Daniel?’ asked Ruth from the doorway.
‘Just a wee present for Melissa, auntie,’ he replied.
Daniel let the ramp down from the horse box and then went
inside and began the process of getting the horse out.
‘She doesn’t know how to look after a horse,’ Ruth said, who
was now stood at the bottom of the ramp with her arms crossed.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll show her what to do. Look, it’s Taffy!’
Daniel led out a greyish-white gelding, an animal with a friendly
reputation who stood about sixteen hands tall. Ruth was familiar with Taffy, a
horse that Victor had bought for his daughter at least eight years ago.
Melissa arrived last, and Daniel called her over. While he
introduced her to his sister’s horse Ruth walked back to the house where Helen
joined her.
‘You are going to allow this?’ asked Helen.
Ruth did not like the tone of Helen’s voice and replied,
‘It’s just foolishness.’
‘It’s dangerous is what it is,’ hissed Helen. ‘He’s trying
to butter her up.’
‘Och, it’s harmless. Their young.’
‘Not that young! I don’t know how old your nephew is, but
Melissa is older than she looks. And she has… well, she knows how to look after
herself. Back at our last farm she was a terror.’
Ruth sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll let them have their fun, then send
word for Victor to come and take it back.’
Even as they talked, Ruth could see Helen softening. She
loved all of animal kind and she was visibly enjoying watching Melissa meet her
very first horse. Daniel held Taffy’s halter as was passing on his limited
knowledge enthusiastically. The big woman put out her hand and patted the horse’s
nose. It shook its head and snorted. Startled, Melissa stepped back, which made
the onlookers laugh. Daniel then led the horse into the byre, supposedly so he
could give Taffy a brush down, but more likely so that he could get Melissa
alone. Naomi tutted and went back inside. Helen glanced at Ruth then went back
to the outhouse.
With the roads clear, Ruth could get down to the village
again. In the shop and the post office all the talk was about the army. The
army, it seemed, had now left completely, gone south to Evermarch having dumped
all the uneconomic slaves it had collected in the northern lands in camps all
down the valley. Not so different to the church then, thought Ruth to herself.
Once her shopping was done, she was in no rush to go home,
so went to Larry’s door on the off chance that he was in. He was another Unity
Man, so he was often out and about, but today he was indoors, sat toasting his
stocking feet at a roaring fire.
As they sat drinking tea and eating homemade biscuits, he
relayed the local gossip to his elder sister.
‘Aye, we’ve been supplying some of the remote bothies. Not
just for the village, but for everyone that lives on the main road. Everyone
remembers what it was like when the raiders came, so they are not taking any
chances this time. Auld Thomas has already gone up, with a trailer full of
food, a shotgun and three hundred cartridges. Says he’ll be back down in the
summer.’
‘Are you planning to go up, yourself?’ Ruth asked.
‘Preparing, aye, preparing. Me and the dugs.’
Larry was a widower and had moved into the village when he
had become too old to work his farm by himself. His two sheep dogs he kept with
him as pets.
‘You should to, Ruthie. Get a wee hidey hold set up at the
Shielings. I’ll lend you one of my guns.’
‘Och it won’t come to that will it? Nobody knows where we
are.’
Larry knew as well as Ruth how remote and secluded her farm
was and how far away from anything like a decent road it was. The Sheilings was
at the end of a valley, a valley no one had no reason to be in unless they were
visiting the farm. Ruth’s only concern was its proximity to the Sahara Zone
Line.
‘You can’t be too careful these days,’ advised her brother
as he wiggled his toes by the fire. ‘Who knows what will come down from the
desert. You’ve got two bothies up there that I can think of. What condition are
they in?’
Ruth pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘If you need any of Morag’s things, just take them.’
‘I could never do that!’ said Ruth, appalled.
Larry smiled and shrugged. He seemed almost happy with the
prospect of hiding out in the hills again, just him and his dogs.
Ruth filled up her Renault with rapeseed diesel and brough some fresh bread and eggs at the shop and went back up to the farm. In the back of her car, she also had one of her brother’s shotguns and a box of cartridges. Better safe than sorry.
With Ruth away from the farm and
Naomi locked up in her cottage, the slaves were left to their own devices. They
had initially hung out together in the outbuilding kitchen. Tina had fallen
asleep on a tatty old chair by the fire, and after lunch even Melissa had dozed
off at the table. The snow had mostly gone, but there was sleet blowing around
outside and none of them had any desire to go out. Helen had cleaned the
bathroom, moped the floors and emptied all the bins. She then started
vacuuming, which made Tina roll over on the sofa and drove Melissa into her
room. When Helen was winding the cable back up onto the upright hoover, she
could hear the big woman snoring from the other side of her door. Helen tidied
up the cleaning cupboard then went through to the main room where she lifted
Tina’s feet and sat down on the sofa. She sighed and idly tweaked at the other
woman’s toes through her thick socks.
Tina looked up from her cushion.
‘Is it nighttime already?’
‘It’s just gloomy outside,’
replied Helen.
Tina flopped her head back down
and pulled her feet away from Helen’s nipping fingers.
An hour later though, the rain had
stopped and there was a small patch of blue sky appearing above the hills.
Helen looked out the window, up through the valley and thought she caught sight
of something large and black blowing about on the other side of the woods.
She woke up Tina saying, ‘I think
one of the silage tarps has got loose. Want to go a walk?’
In long overcoats and wellies,
they went together up the path to the Water of Maisey. It was little more than
a stream this far up, but it was the same river that flowed through Glenmaisey
fifteen miles to the south. Helen would have preferred to have explored some of
the northern ridges, mostly for her own enjoyment, but also to further improve
her knowledge of the local area. The nearest occupied house was ten miles away
to the south, but there were abandoned farms closer than that, and up in the
hills and hidden valleys there were ruins, summer shelters and bothies. There
were dozens of places within a day’s walking distance of the farm where someone
could hide out if they were so inclined. The only issue would be food. Water
wouldn’t be a problem, thought Helen wryly as the rain started again and they
pulled up their hoods. Tina didn’t complain or ask to go back, she just
continued doggedly behind Helen, along the gravel road that followed the stream
through the trees.
No sign of the tarp, but they kept
walking and after they’d gone no more than a mile the rain grew stronger, and
they took shelter in a dilapidated shed that had been built beside some sheep
pens. They sat on an upturned feed trough, listening to the sound of the rain
on the tin roof. Helen rolled a cigarette. Once it was lit, she blew the smoke
out of the crooked doorway. Tina hugged her coat to herself and looked down at
her feet.
Helen, warm in her winter clothes,
watched the sleet blow sideways across the doorway. The tobacco in her
cigarette was fresh, from a batch that had come up from Evermarch, imported
from Strake on the train apparently, or so the shopkeeper in Glenmaisey had
told Ruth. Helen leaned back and blew out smoke. She briefly closed her eyes.
When she opened them, she realised she had been feeling something. A sensation
so forgotten that at first, she could not identify it. What had it been? It
couldn’t have been happiness, could it? If not that then at least a moment of
contentment perhaps? Out for a walk on a brisk day, no pressing concerns, and a
pouch of fresh tobacco. For a few seconds there she had forgotten all her
worries. She though back over the last few days, examining recent events for
signs of a similar sensation. Yesterday morning when the dogs had all been
pleased to see her. Last Sunday when there was no work to do, and they had all
sat around in their pyjama’s reading books and magazines. Helen realised there
had been moments in the last month or so when her feelings of despair had
lifted. The hatred of her enslavement, her annoyance at her husband and
ex-husband, her fear of what the future held had been momentarily forgotten.
Helen tutted, threw down her cigarette butt and ground it out in the mud with
the toe of her boot. She couldn’t afford to be content; she told herself.
Content with being a slave? It was the first step to weakness, to accepting
things the way they were. Hatred and spite were what drove her, she had
reconciled herself to that. She saw happiness as a kind of illness, there was
to be no more of that sort of thing. Resolving to remember to always be pissed
off and miserable, she stood up and looked out of the doorway. Tina looked up.
‘Let’s go on,’ said Helen and
pulled up her hood. There was a light mist forming as the rain eased off. Tina
skipped to catch up with her. Helen almost wished that Tina would complain
about being out in such foul weather, just so she could have someone to be
annoyed with, but Tina, as usual, kept her complaints to herself. This in
itself Helen found irritating. That girl never complained about anything, she
just accepted whatever happened. One of life’s perpetual victims. Helen was
about to pick a fight with her about her subservience when she realised there
was a stone or something in one of her boots, so she took out her irritation on
that instead.
She sat down on a rock and with a
minor struggle took of her right boot. Tina, her hood down low over her head
kept walking, clomping along slowly like a cow being led to pasture. Helen,
with her foot held above the mud tipped out the boot and took some satisfaction
from seeing a pea-sized pebble drop out. When the boot was back on, she stood
up and saw that Tina had drawn ahead by nearly a hundred yards and was crossing
the low stone bridge that went over the stream. Helen put her hands on her
hips. Was that stupid girl just going to wander into the hills indefinitely? At
what point would she turn around? Helen watched as Tina rounded a corner and
disappeared, hidden by the mist and rain.
‘Oh, come on,’ growled Helen and
started up the track. She’d barely walked five steps when she heard Tina come
running back towards her. Tina stumbled, fell and rolled, coming right back up
onto her feet, then ran as fast as she could to where Helen stood in amazement.
‘I seen a giant!’ panted Tina. ‘As
big as a tree.’
‘A Nephilim?’ asked Helen,
stepping forward to peer through the mist. Tina hid behind her, gripping
Helen’s right arm in both her hands.
Around the bend in the track, a
dark shape loomed slowly out of the mist. To Helen’s eyes it looked just as she
had taken it for from the kitchen window - a big bit of tarpaulin that had got
loose and was being blown down the valley, but as the shape became more
defined, she saw a woman with long tangled hair, dressed in a ragged robe
walking cautiously down the road. Helen’s eyes couldn’t cope with what they
were seeing. In the distance, through the rain and the mist, she looked like a
normal sized woman, but as she crossed the bridge, when compared to its side
walls, which were barely waste height to Helen, she must have been thirty feet
tall. She didn’t even step on the bridge but just glided from one bank to the
other on her long bare legs.
In stature she was slender, her
black hair flowing behind her like a sail. She was barefoot, and avoided the
gravel road, walking on the verge, leaving holes in the peaty ground wherever
she trod. She was looking down, watching where she put her feet, but then
stopped and looked up. Seeing the shelter and the women outside it, she raised
a hand that must have been about four feet long in greeting.
Helen raised her hand in return.
The giantess smiled weakly and resumed her slow sweeping progress towards them.
When she was close enough, she stopped and said something in a language that
Helen guessed might be Hebrew.
Helen looked over the Nephilim.
She looked undernourished, and naked under her robe. If she had come down from
the desert she was going to freeze to death in these hills, giant or not. ‘Come
down to the farm,’ she said eventually and motioned for her to follow.
The Nephilim was too big to enter
the farm or the outbuilding, so they put her in the byre with the dogs.
‘What do you tink she eat?’ asked
Tina as they raided the larder.
‘Same as us,’ replied Helen,
although she had no idea. She made a stack of cheese sandwiches and sweet tea
in the kitchen’s largest saucepan. The Nephilim ate all the sandwiches and
drank the tea straight from the pan. Melissa had come to see what was going on,
‘We go plenty of salted pork. Maybe she eat a pig leg?’
While that was arranged Helen
pointed at her chest, ‘Helen’.
The giantess, in turn pointed at
her chest and said, ‘Ashara’.
When the pork leg arrived, Ashara took
it her massive hand and delicately bit into it. They watched in amazement. ‘She
eat it like a chicken drumstick!’ Melissa laughed. This was what she had wanted
to see.
Helen suspected they had wanted
Ashara wolf down the leg in a single mouthful, but in fact she took small,
careful bites, using her front teeth to strip the meat from the bone. Helen
found that the giantess seemed to act in a surprisingly feminine way, sitting
with her legs crossed on top of a pile of a hay bales, her robe pulled around
her in as modest a position as she could manage.
‘Look how she does!’ declared
Melissa gleefully as Ashara sucked the last of the flesh from the bone.
Helen wanted to communicate with
Ashara further, but the others were far too excited, bring the giantess treats
and implements to see if she would use them. A broom head to brush her hair
with, a big rug for a blanket, a clothesline for a belt, anything then could
think of no matter how absurd.
As all this nonsense played out, the
dogs came out of their hiding places and went over to sniff at this huge, but
seemingly gently new person. Ashara petted them with her index finger and
dropped the ham bones down for them.
‘Guys!’ exclaimed Helen in
frustration, ‘let the poor woman get her breath back at least!’
Ashara, having finished her meal,
leaned down and started rubbing life back into her bare feet.
‘I’ll get some sleeping bags for
socks!’ declared Tina and shot off.
‘Tina, stop at once!’ shouted
Helen. ‘Stop and think. We want to keep her, right? So don’t ruin all of Ruth’s
stuff before she gets back!’
Helen turned and stood up on a
bale to look down the road. ‘I can already see her car. Just put everything
back now and let me do the talking when she gets here.’
As the other’s did as they were told, Helen started down the lane to meet Ruth as her red Clio made its way up the valley.
