Oculum Page 12

  And I stop.

  Around the corner of the house stands a beast on four legs. It’s much taller than I am, with a powerful back and chest, a fine head with a long fall of hair.

  A man sits at the feet of this creature.

  I know he is a man; Mother has taught me that William1 and all the other boys of Oculum will grow into men, but I had no idea what that meant until now. I’ve never seen a man before. The man has hair on his face like William1’s, although much filled out. He is bigger across the shoulders than my friend, as well, and taller.

  The man holds a stick in his mouth. He breathes into it … and this is what makes the sound, this stick and his breath! It is sweet and lovely, astonishing. I crouch and listen. The sound tugs at me, makes me want to move my arms, my feet, my hips, but I don’t know how to approach, or if I would be safe.

  I’m afraid.

  The sound stops. The man puts the sound-maker stick into a pouch at his side, and I see letters on the pouch: J. Briar. A name?

  J. Briar stands, brushes off his legs, and climbs onto the back of the beast, who is willing. The creature moves carefully through the rubble with heavy feet, and I watch as the man and beast disappear.

  I have seen my first person in the world Outside.

  He moves through the fallen houses and streets, and I follow, but the legs of his beast are much longer than mine, and soon he is gone.

  I walk on and on over rubble and more broken houses. It’s hot, difficult walking, and despite the cloth shoes my feet suffer, then start to bleed. I have no idea where to go to find William, but I decide that if I see anyone else, I will speak to them. Except for J. Briar, however, I see no one.

  Then, in the wreckage of this world, a word peeks from the wall of a standing house: MANN. It’s charcoaled on a wall, and there’s a pointing arrow beneath. There’s another “Mann” written again on a wall nearby, and another arrow. Someone has written this, left this word and this arrow, and I consider: should I trust it? But I have no other guide, no other sign of life, and so I see that I must. I stumble along, catching glimpses of Mann and the arrows, as I follow the path on my bleeding feet.

  Then, in late afternoon, I come across my second person in this world.

  I watch for a moment, leaning on my staff, astonished.

  This person stands over many small children who are laid out on the ground. The children are ill, I can see that immediately. They cough or stare and lie still. The person moves between them, muttering. Then she looks up at me, and I gasp.

  A woman. I know the word but again, I’ve never seen one. Other than J. Briar a few hours ago, I’ve never seen anyone older than me. I did not truly understand it.

  As soon as she sees me, the woman runs toward me. Her hair is gray and flies all over her face. She’s missing a tooth at the front of her mouth, and her face is not smooth like mine. She dashes to me and clutches me with a surprisingly strong hand. I draw back in fear.

  “Girl! What do you want here? Who are you?” She’s ferocious, shouting in my face, but I push her away.

  “Please, I’m Miranda1. I’ve followed a trail to this place. I’ve followed Mann.” At the last word, the woman raises her eyebrows and looks me up and down.

  “You can’t stay here, Miranda1. You must go.” She sees my bleeding feet, though, and clucks. I immediately think of Mother with a rush of sadness.

  “I’m looking for my friend. Can you help me?” I ask, and I must be pitiful, for the woman bows her head and turns to a cart with two beasts attached to it. I understand now: these are beasts of burden, horses. J. Briar had one. I’ve seen the words in the WillBook, just never in life.

  She rummages for a moment then returns to me with a pair of boots and a piece of food. She shoves both at me.

  “Boots and bread, best I can do for you, girl. Now go! And if you find Mann, you tell him that Grannie says there’s still fever among the Littluns and to stay away.” Then the woman turns from me and dismisses me as thoroughly as if I was never there. A child whimpers in its fever, and she bends to soothe it. Another calls her name, and she soothes that one too, and wipes a brow, offers a sip of water, touches a hot forehead as she creeps among the sick.

  I lean on my staff and watch and cannot stop it. A tear drops. And another.

  Grannie, she called herself. And she reminds me in every possible way of my own dear Mother, gone forever.

  Soon, though, I turn away, since she has told me to go. I strap on the boots, which fit well, then put the food to my lips. She called it bread. I’ve never had anything like this. It’s chewy and hard but softens in my mouth.

  I walk away from Grannie and her sick Littluns, as she called them.

  I head into the coming darkness, alone, but in my mind I see Grannie bending over her sick children, and I can think of only one thing. It comes to me again and again: Grannie loves them.

  Mannfred

  It’s hot, even after the sun set. Me and Cranker been cursing and sweating for hours, and we drank all the water ages ago.

  We carry William1 in his cape between us, and it’s slow work. It was his idea, but it’s heavy lifting for me and Cranker. He’s not fit to walk, and his foot is huge, but we think it’s not broke, just strained. We’re almost back to Grannie’s courtyard, and we got this boy with us. This amazing boy. I cannot wait to see Grannie’s face when we come home and show her what we found. This miraculous boy and his even bigger miracle of a fuzzy, round, honey-from-the-sky peach.

  Because I know now that peaches are real.

  After William1 showed us his peach last night, we had no choice. Crazy or not, he held it out to us, and we had to do something, so Cranker took it with a look at me, and smelled it. I did the same. Then he licked it, then we each took a tiny piece between our teeth, and I almost cried. I never seen Cranker look so astonished, and we ate that peach with William1 in that porch, and we woke to some kind of new life. A life of Olden Begones with miracles like peaches.

  We all felt like kings. Cranker, he swore each time he took his turn with a tiny bite. But it was swearing that seemed almost loving, making that peach a blessed thing. We took an hour to eat it between us, and to lick the pit, and then our fingers.

  Not one of us stopped smiling all night.

  William1 was feeling fitter then, and he told us the most amazing story about his life inside that dome. I still can’t imagine it’s true. If we hadn’t seen his door, his footprints, I think we would have a harder time believing him. But it must be true, and it sounds a lot like the story Jonatan Briar told us, too, about the babies waking up and the machines inside the Oculum City Dome. So here’s the strange boy.

  And more magical, here’s the peach.

  We carry William1 between us, over the piles of rubble and past the busted up houses, and we listen to his story and we tell him ours, about Black Rain (which he knows about) and the Olden Begones (which he doesn’t). And about the now, and our place, and how there are no fruit or bees in this land, which makes him sad. He has questions, more than we can answer. He’s a smart fellow, like no one I ever met. Except maybe Jonatan Briar.

  Then I tell William1 about Jonatan Briar, about his books and his library folks, and about his story of Oculum City Dome. William1 says he remembers most of what he read in his ruined book and could write it all down again for Jonatan Briar, if he ever got the chance. This seems to cheer him some.

  So now we’re almost back to Grannie, but tired out and sore. Hungry, too. The one-eyed dog and the gray monster been shadowing us, ahead and behind, just wispy ideas of dogs, all day. But then the one-eyed dog runs past with something in his mouth. He drops it, makes sure I see it, and runs off. I know the dog well enough by now to see that I should pick it up. We lay William1 down on some flat road, and I walk over and see it’s a paper.

  It’s a drawing, like nothing I ever seen, but I can read the
heading: Map of Oculum. It’s got houses and names like “Medicus Hall” and “Oculum Senate” on it. And lots of little houses with colors, letters, and numbers on them, like William1’s armband says “W1” and the like. Plus there’s a close-up drawing of a huge machine, like a corkscrew, reaching to the sky. I take it over to William1.

  “What is it?” he asks, reaching.

  “I don’t know, but it looks like something from your place,” I say, handing it over. He looks shocked when he sees it. He starts to gasp and splutter. Finally he says, “I cannot imagine how this got here. It’s mine, from my house. It’s my map. I’ve been working on it for years. It’s like a bird dropped it from the sky.”

  Cranker and me don’t know what to make of it, none of us do, so William1 just tucks the map into a smart pocket he got in his cloak and says no more about it. Although he does seem worried about how that one-eyed dog found it. I’m beginning to think there’s something weird about that dog.

  We walk on for hours, long past dark, then past dinner, following our charcoal marks on the walls and porches until finally we get to the courtyard and stagger in proud with our fine surprise in a cloak … and it’s the saddest thing.

  Grannie falls upon us. She’s blubbering and clutch-ing us like I never seen. Cranker and me set William1 down and try to calm her. A few of our Littluns come over and touch us, all afraid.

  Then Grannie blubbers more, and we get the idea: most of our Littluns are dead and buried! Most of them are gone of the fever. The other family lost all of theirs, though, and they’re gone away. The courtyard is empty except for Grannie and the last of our Littluns.

  I sit and hold my head in my hands, and Cranker puts his hand on Grannie’s head, and the three Littluns that are left to us come and sit beside me and lean against me. William1 limps over to us, and he can see how sad we are. He takes the three Littluns aside with a gentle smile and shows them a magic trick. He takes a pebble, hides it in his hand, waves his other hand over it, and when he opens his hand again, the pebble is gone. The Littluns take to him and watch, struck dumb. They don’t even know this boy, and they already like him. One day, when I’m not so miserable, I hope he’ll teach me the magic of the pebble trick.

  Grannie never been like this before, crying and weeping and carrying on. Cranker and me take her and help her lay down in the cart, and she’s all heart-broke and sobbing. She hands me Lisle, who smiles when she sees me, and I can’t help but smile back. I’m so glad that Lisle is not took, too.

  “The fever took them! My boys, my sweet little boys!” Grannie grabs at Cranker, and he sits beside her and talks to her and calms her, and he stays ’til she sleeps.

  “You keep the baby. She’s yours now, Mann. I don’t want her,” she says as she falls asleep.

  “No, Grannie,” I say. “Lisle needs you.”

  Grannie shakes her head. “No, she don’t. I kill Littluns. I let them all die,” she says, then starts on a new sobbing. I want to point out that it was fever, not her, and there’s three of them still, not to mention Lisle is fine, and me and Cranker, too. But Cranker waves me off, and I know he’ll take care of Grannie. So I give Lisle a sip of water and some mushy cooked grains I find, and she just burbles at me and grins and smiles and tugs at my shirt. I can smell I got to change a nappy, too, which I do. I did it before enough before we left.

  I’m awful sad that we lost all those Littluns. They deserved to live. But I got a smiling baby girl in my arms. Sorry as I am, I’m glad to be looking down at that face.

  The last three Littluns are struck by William1, who tells them a story, then another and another. He says they’re from something called the WillBook, the seed of all thought in his world. Then William1 holds out something the Littluns never seen, or imagined could ever be, that catches the firelight and makes them all stare with the magic of it. The scent of William1’s last peach drifts through the air to me, and it’s so beautiful, I could almost cry. Then, with a sudden longing for something lost, something I never felt before, I do.

  It’s a long night, and after Grannie falls asleep with the Littluns, me and Cranker and William1 sit around the fire. We talk for hours, me holding Lisle in the blue sling, who sleeps like a dove under my arm, and we ask William1 questions, and he answers, then he asks us, and we answer. He’s determined to get back to the dome and to his friend Miranda1, ’course he can’t for a long while with his foot as it is. There’s too much to discuss, so we go slow, a lifetime to talk about between the three of us, and we got to start at the beginning.

  When Grannie wakes in the morning, she’s fit again. We start to pack up camp, we got two days more of travel ahead of us, and while Cranker and me pack, she tends to William1. She has him sit up in the cart and wraps his ankle in special strips of cloth she cut for him. She also dug an old crutch out of the back of the cart, which is strange since I never seen such a thing before, but Grannie is full of surprises.

  “You’re a fine Medicus. I want to take you with me when I go,” William1 says to Grannie, and she spies him. I’m not sure what Grannie makes of William1, the boy from inside Oculum City Dome. She seems a little wary of him and not over interested in his stories. She did sigh when he held out his last peach to her after she wrapped his foot, though, and smelled it, then looked away, like she didn’t trust it. Maybe when she gets to know William1, she’ll allow herself a taste. He put it back in his bag for her, for later, he says.

  “You can’t walk far, boy. Hobbling’s all you can do for now. Where would you go?” Grannie says.

  “I intend to walk back to Oculum — to the Oculum City Dome, as you call it — and find Miranda1 as soon as I am able.” Grannie snaps up her head and stares at him.

  “Who?” She gets close and peers into his face. William1 is seated in the cart, and I lift a Littlun in, listening. We’re almost ready to go.

  “M-Miranda1,” he says, a little scared, since Grannie seems so fierce. “My friend.”

  “What she look like?” Grannie demands, and Cranker and me both stop what we’re doing to watch. Something’s up. William1 describes his friend, and Grannie’s eyes get wide.

  “She was here! That girl, that Miranda1, she was here, just hours before you came!”

  “She was here?” William1 looks frantic. I lay a hand on him to keep him from jumping out of the cart. He seems already to have forgot about his foot. “What did she say? What was she doing here? HOW was she here? You must tell me everything!”

  Grannie can see William1 is too worked up, so she sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder.

  “She’s healthy. Her feet was bloodied, walking on shreds of cloth, so I gave her boots. And bread. Then I sent her off, because of the fever.”

  William1 stares at her.

  “Then she might not be far off,” I say. “If she was here not too long before us.”

  “We could find her, maybe,” Cranker offers.

  William1 jumps up, then winces and sits down. He nods. “Yes, yes, you must find her! Then bring her to me!” He’s frantic, so Grannie looks at us with a tilt of her head, thinking. The three Littluns are tucked up in blankets in the cart with our one hen and all our worldly goods.

  “Cranker, Mann, you willing to find this girl?” Grannie asks. We both nod.

  Grannie decides. “You can go, and find us again on the main road in a few days. But we got something to do first.” She calls to Nellie and Nancy, and the horses start a slow plod, out of the courtyard and back onto the main road. People are about already, and Cranker and me walk beside the cart. I got Lisle in the sling under my arm, and she’s cooing and giggling at me all the way. I have to be careful and watch the road, not the baby. It’s a good thing when she falls asleep.

  Soon, Grannie stops the cart and climbs down with a bundle. “Mann,” she calls, handing the bundle to me, and I follow her. We walk down a short lane through two busted houses and into a yard. Another
Grannie, about the same age as mine, comes out of the house. She wipes her hand on her apron and comes across to us. I realize this is the Grannie who gave us the two goatskins of water when our Littluns were sick. Grannie takes the bundle from me and hands it to the woman.

  “For you, sister. All washed and mended. I lost Littluns to fever this week. May their boots and jackets serve yours through the years.”

  The two Grannies hug, and the other one says, “Go with strength, sister,” and my Grannie says the same back. First time I ever seen Grannie so gentle with a stranger. We walk away, and that Grannie stands and waves. Quite a few Littluns clutch her skirt and watch us with big eyes as we leave them behind.

  We take the cart a little farther along the road, and then Grannie stops and takes us to a heap of stones under a tree. There is no bare earth here, but it’s a cemetery right enough. There are sticks with bright flags on them, all over this space, and under each small heap of rocks is a Littlun, ours and plenty of others, buried for all time. We bow our heads and Grannie says, “Goodbye, my boys. I woulda loved you ’til you was grown, and then some.” Cranker says he’s sorry for bullying them so often, and all I can say is goodbye. I’m too choked to say more.

  William1 watches, sad. Grannie kneels beside each grave for a while, and we wait. A breeze blows the bare branches of the only tree in the place.

  “I’ve never seen death,” William1 says.

  “You ain’t?” Cranker asks. “That’s a surprise. It’s about all we got sometimes.”

  William1 shakes his head. “No, no one has ever died in Oculum.” This is just more strangeness of his, as far as we can tell. How can you be from somewhere and never seen death?

  “Well, you never seen death, and we never seen a peach before, so now we’re even,” I say.

  Grannie joins us. Her tears are dry, she looks like Grannie again. She reaches into the cart and hands me and Cranker two sacks, again with supplies, bread, water.

  “Go, find Miranda1, bring her back,” Grannie says. “Find us on the road, we’ll go slow,” she says, and William1 gives me and Cranker a handshake each.