Crossing

Here is the second story that I mentioned in the introduction to Memory Stick. The time is still a millennia or so hence and involves the same lead character.

I awoke to the same appalling sameness of my life. My youngest was stealing food, dried meat, from a basket I kept near my bed. I was hungry, my head hurt and the mouth ulcer still refused to clear. “Get the hell out you little bastard”. It hurt when I yelled but it was the only way to get him to pay attention.

I rose kicking my foot on some unseen obstacle. This dark space beneath the earth, built a thousand years ago, was secure, concealed and warm but a pain to live in. Once more I cursed. The little one was now whimpering in some unseen corner. “Come here darling” I tried to find the little brat concealed by the darkness of my home. I do love him but I just don’t need the extra stress in my life. Eventually he came to me and we felt our way to the curving ramp that lead to the surface. The entrance was nicely hidden and afforded a sizable area to work in out of the sun. It overlooked a broad valley in the foot hills of a towering mountain range.

It was mid morning and, thankfully, it had rained during the night. We busied ourselves collecting the various vessels that we had set the night before to collect condensation. At least the rain was a change. The boy ran of to find fuel for a fire while I set to work grinding some seed into a paste. I reflected on this task that had been done for millennia; with only a short break hundreds and hundreds of years ago, imagine living in the golden times.

As I worked a lone man on the other side of the valley caught my attention. A moving black spot some distance away. Apart from the boy he was the first I had seen in two long years. How could he have survived the plane beyond? That crossing had cost my partner and my darling daughter two winters before. And we were well equipped. This man was on foot, he did not even posses a cart. Was he from east of the mountains? No, that was imposable!

My husband had insisted on this foolish exodus. He believed the old men who said the world was repairing. He believed the traveller who came to our village; his claims that fertile land was to be had to the east. He believed that it was time; that we should found a new village. To start civilisations promise. I should have protested more, refused to go. Yes, the land is fertile, but, one lone woman and her child do not make a new civilisation. The others who promised to follow never came.

These were my thoughts as I watched the lone figure in concealed fascination. My boy, now beside me, pointed at the lone figure. “Be still”. I didn’t think we had been seen. “Quickly, fetch the glass”. He returned with my scope; it had been made by my partners father, a leaving gift. I spied the figure as he trod his way across the grass filled valley. He was in good shape. Clean, upright and strong but was not dressed in the way of my clan’s folk. Clearly he was making toward the southern end of our valley where some low trees grew. We had not been seen; I felt relief.