Into the Outside: A POST APOCALYPTIC NOVEL Page 20

  * * *

  For four days, Luke read everything that the soldier girl brought him, he did sit ups and pushups, he ate meals at the little table in his room and was even escorted down the hall to a shower once. But he was utterly bored. He knew that Colonel Ericson was going to send out troops to find Isabella, he even knew that the Colonel was pretty sure he knew exactly where Izz was, yet he had heard nothing about his sister. Time was wearing on his soul and he was going stir crazy just waiting.

  He asked the soldier girl every time she came to his room – or his cell as he increasingly thought of it – if he could talk to the Colonel and she insisted she was passing his messages along, but still he had heard nothing.

  In three days, his quarantine would be over and they would take him home. Of that he was sure.

  But why it was taking so long to find Isabella when they said they knew exactly where she was, of that he was NOT sure.

  * * *

  July had wound down into August with scorching heat and humidity, but only Isabella seemed bothered by it. She had heard that tonight there would be a Wiccan festival and everyone was invited. Up until now, she hadn’t been interested in any of the religions practiced by the people Outside, but this one sounded interesting, so she convinced Malcolm and most of the Calloway tribe to attend the festival. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  Malcolm said, “I heard the witch priestess conducts the rites in the nude.”

  “It’s called ‘sky clad’ and everyone who attends goes naked.”

  Malcolm raised one eyebrow and asked, “Are you?”

  Isabella had cut her jeans down to shorts but was still sweating in the heat. She had poured two glasses of water and handed one to Malcolm, then took a long swallow from her own before answering. “Don’t be ridiculous! Of course not. We’re going to spectate, not participate. I’m sure they don’t expect guests to show up naked! It’s not like we’re joining their religion or anything; we’re just going to watch.”

  “For someone who doesn’t aim to join, you sure know a lot about these people. They’re witches, for God’s sake!” Malcolm’s voice got more agitated with every sentence. He firmly believed in his own God.

  “No, they aren’t. Not like fairytale witches anyway. I spoke with Araddea yesterday and she explained a few things. They believe in the Triple Goddess: the Crone, the Mother and the Maiden – not unlike the three aspects of your Christian God – and her consort, the Horned God of the Forest. Wiccans are led by the priestess and celebrate eight festivals a year, the sabbats – the equinoxes and solstices, plus four ‘cross-quarter’ days in the middle of each season. That’s what tonight is: Lammas, the Feast of Bread. It marks the beginning of the harvest season. And their creed is, ‘If it hurts no one, do what you will.’ Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Maybe. Okay, let’s go watch. But I’m not going naked,” said Malcolm. His bright white teeth gleamed in contrast to his deep, ebony skin when he smiled. Isabella loved his smile. It was the first thing she had been attracted to when he wandered into her life and it still made her melt when she saw it.

  By the time the Calloway’s arrived at the lakefront that evening, the ceremony had already begun. Drawn in the sand was a nine-foot circle around which sat the coven of twelve. They were naked as newborn babes.

  “Quit staring!” Isabella scolded her husband in a hushed tone.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. Snickers came from the tribe members behind them and Kaedo outright laughed at Malcolm.

  “Let’s sit over there.” Malcolm pointed to a clearing on the beach just to their left. “We’ll be able to see better.”

  The priestess, while sky clad, wore sparkling blue, gold and black jewelry around her neck, wrists, waist and dangling from her ears and forehead. She carried a small ceramic bowl of water from the lake and entered the circle. Araddea looked beautiful with the sun going down behind her golden hair as she intoned the words to begin the ceremony.

  “Blessed be! The circle is cast and the sacrosanct space will be purified with the aid of the Mighty Ones.” Her hands held the bowl of water and when she turned to face the small lake, Isabella could see that her taupe-colored skin had age spots like her grandmother’s. Though only twenty-one years old, Araddea was one of the oldest people in the community.

  “Oh creatures of earth, oh denizens of water, come together and cleanse this earth that this space may be made sacred for your rites.” Araddea drew a pentagram in the air with her right forefinger.

  “To the west, I invoke the Lords of water and sunset.” Araddea scooped water from the bowl and tossed it into the sky.

  “To the south, I invoke the Lords of fire.” She grasped a burning twig from the campfire and held it to the sky for a span of three breaths before throwing it back into the fire.

  The air was filled with electricity and Isabella’s skin tingled. She felt as if the energy in the atmosphere were being conducted through her spinal cord, vibrating through her entire body. She held her breath in expectation as the priestess’ words further electrified her thoughts and emotions.

  Araddea faced the spectators on the beach. The bells dangling from ribbons at her waist tinkled melodiously as she moved. “To the east, I invoke the Lords of earth.” This time she scooped a handful of sand and tossed it into the flames. They glowed vivid blue for a moment before burning yellow gold again.

  “And to the north, I invoke the Lords of air.” She lifted her arms theatrically. Isabella expected lightning to flash from the clear dusk sky, but nothing happened. She was disappointed. The festival was so dramatic that she really thought there would be magic. Suddenly a flock of evening birds took off from the treetops and flew over them silently. Isabella was impressed. Whether by accident or intent, the unexpected appearance of the birds was enchanting.

  “The sacred space is now pure. Blessed be!” Araddea announced. Her voice was as melodious as the tinkling bells.

  “Blessed be,” echoed the circle of people. Her coven. Nothing like the witches of Salem she had studied in her grandmother’s classroom with her three sibs, these real witches practiced white magic – the good kind. Isabella didn’t believe in magic, but the ceremony was so engrossing she could almost believe in anything tonight.

  The priestess then invoked powers to guard the circle and aid the rites. When she finished, the sky clad coven circled the fire three times following Araddea while chanting unintelligible mantras in an otherworldly state. Finished with their circuit, they sat back in their original spots and Araddea took center stage again. From a wicker basket near the fire, she removed small crescent moon-shaped cakes and a bottle of wine and passed them to the eleven Wiccans around the circle.

  As the wine bottle made its way back to Araddea, she dribbled the last few drops onto the crackling fire, this time sending vivid red flames into the evening sky. “Blessed be.”

  The coven responded in kind, shouting the salutation.

  Araddea addressed the crowd. “On this August eve, I welcome our guests to Lammas, the Wiccan Feast of Bread. Please enjoy the food and drink prepared by our coven from the first fruits of the harvest. The food is laid out on tables in the longhouse. Join us for music, dancing and storytelling at full dark. Thank you for coming. Blessed be.”

  The crowd returned her greeting and Isabella – and surprisingly, most of the Calloway tribe as well – replied, “Blessed be.”

  “So, what did you think?” Isabella asked their group as they lined up for food in the old beach clubhouse, now the longhouse.

  “Nothing magical about it, but fun. I liked their outfits,” said Malcolm, seizing an empty plate from the stack on the table.

  Isabella stomped on his foot.

  “Ouch.” More snickers from their group.

  The table was filled with assorted salad greens, breads, game meats, roasted chickens, pork in sweet sauce, aromatic stews and an assortment of vegetables. Isabella could smell the cherry pies on the dessert table on the other side of the room, where Oberon�
��s wife, Violet, stood slicing them. Short, but with an authoritative demeanor, Violet had a warm smile that made Isabella feel welcome in their community. Violet’s two boys played nearby.

  Taking her plate of food out to the beach and reclaiming her earlier spot in the sand, she asked, “What about the birds?”

  “Coincidence,” replied Malcolm, breaking off a piece of fresh baked rye bread and stuffing it into his mouth.

  “And the colored flames?” she asked, taking a daintier bite of a honey-sweetened loaf.

  “Chemical reaction, not magic,” said Malcolm, his mouth stuffed with food.

  “Oh?”

  Kaedo and his son Maxi arrived with food and sat down next to them and Kaedo added his opinions to the conversion. “Sure. Many of the chemicals left over from the Terror Wars are in the soil, sand and even the water. You know that. Bet you didn’t know that some of them burn in exotic colors. Whatever toxin is in this beach sand burns blue. And the soil the wine grapes were grown-up in probably has something in it that flames blood red. It’s all chemistry, not witchcraft.”

  “But it’s cool, isn’t it?” said Maxi with a smirk that would have made the Cheshire Cat envious. Sometimes he acted like the ten-year-old he was, even if his body was almost mature.

  “Very cool,” agreed Isabella.

  By the time they went back inside the longhouse for dessert, the music and dancing had already begun on the beach. The Wiccan dances were free flowing, exotic and sensual at times. Nothing at all like the square dances and waltzes her grandparents had taught them.

  When the girls got sleepy, Isabella and Malcolm took them home and put them to bed. One of the “almost-adults” from the older girl’s community house agreed to stay to babysit. Isabella and Malcolm returned to the light of the campfire to listen to Araddea as she regaled the community with yet another tale.

  Though it was hot, even after sundown, Isabella was enjoying this evening’s ritual. It reminded her of her family’s get-togethers in the great room of their shelter, although those had been much smaller and the food wasn’t as delicious.

  Araddea’s tone was mystical and dreamy when she spoke, as if she were in a trance. Did the stories really burst into her mind as it soared like she said – or did she just have a brilliant imagination? Isabella didn’t know what to make of it, but it was engaging at the very least. And right now, she was thankful for any distraction from her sadness of Davin’s death.

  Isabella dug her bare feet into the coarse beach sand, making little holes for each foot and then poured sand on them, absentmindedly burying them as Araddea began her tale.

  The priestess swayed as she entered the trance state and her eyes rolled back into her head, only the whites remaining. Her voice was hushed and the crowd quieted to hear her better. “There is a man, an ancient man, older than I’ve ever seen. He has a stooped back and is frail and bony. He wears a tattered white cloak – or maybe it’s a coat – I can’t be sure. But all day long, he toils with liquids, pouring them in and out of long, transparent tubes. Perhaps he is a mystic. I feel his emotions and he is very agitated right now. Something has gone wrong. He is clearly a bit mad, maybe even crazy. I can’t read his thoughts, but I can see they are random, scattered… haphazard.” She shook herself out of the trance.

  “Where is this man, Araddea?” asked Malcolm, repositioning himself on the sand to sit up straighter. His green eyes flashed in the fire light.

  Araddea’s eyes became unfocused as she slipped back into a daze, casting wide her mental net once again. “My mind sails over the weed-covered roads of old. I am flying east on the wings of an eagle. I can see tall buildings just over the horizon, across a great river. But now I stop. I see a group of buildings surrounded by a wire fence. There is a blue sign atop the tallest building. I deem it’s a factory. The sign is broken, falling apart. He is in the roach factory.” Araddea shuddered and shook herself from the spell once again. Her shoulders slumped as she relaxed.

  “Roach factory?” asked Isabella. “A factory that manufactures BUGS? I don’t understand.”

  “I can read a few letters and that’s what I saw on the sign. r o c h. I can’t see all the letters,” replied Araddea.

  Isabella nodded. “Sounds like ‘roach’ all right.”

  “Araddea, do you know what the man was mixing in the tubes?” asked Oberon, patiently. His voice implied that he had heard this story before.

  She shook her head. “I can’t be sure, but from his thoughts, confused as they are, I got the feeling it’s something that should be helpful, perhaps even very important, to all people. Even mutants. Do you want me to try to see again?”

  “That’s all right. I know it’s tiring for you,” replied Oberon with a resigned sigh. If he had heard the story before, he had obviously never reached the conclusion.

  After everyone left the beach and only the priestess storyteller and Oberon remained with them, Malcolm paced around the dying fire. “Araddea, that was remarkable! I don’t know what to make of your story. I’ve only met one other person before with the sight. Long ago, when I was as young as Shia, we had a seer in Ewr. Like you, her spirit soared from the city and came back with strange tales. But I never knew if they were true visions or just fiction meant to amuse children. Are your stories true? Did you really see the old man you told us about? Is the sight for real?”

  “Oh yes, Malcolm, it’s true. He’s out there. And he’s doing something important, but I can’t be certain what. I’ve had this vision before. Sometimes at night, just before I drift off to sleep, I’ve seen this broken old man. He’s always mixing potions, always muttering,” said Araddea with a look of consternation.

  “What’s he muttering?” asked Isabella.

  “Cure…and jeans, mostly.”

  “Cure for what?” asked Malcolm.

  “Has he ripped his jeans?” asked Isabella, confused. What did the two half-spoken words have to do with each other?

  “I’m not sure. But he deems his potions can cure something. But whether it’s a disease he’s trying to treat, or even if it’s for humans, I’m unsure. Maybe he’s searching for a cure for cats.”

  “Cats! Why would you say that?” asked Isabella, thinking it odd that she would mention that particular animal after she said the factory had roaches. Didn’t cats eat bugs and rodents and odd things? She just didn’t know enough about cats, but the sick girl in the woods, Chloe, had dozens of them wandering around and none of them looked sick.

  “I used to see cats in my visions, alongside the old man, but not lately. His cats have disappeared. Perhaps he had some sick cats and he was trying to cure them, but he didn’t succeed,” answered Araddea.

  Twenty-Two

  Four days had gone by now and there was no sign that the Picatinny troops had located Isabella. Luke wrote his letter to her and signed it. Nurse Lady had agreed to deliver it to Isabella once she was brought in.

  Nurse Lady had also promised not to open the letter. For some reason Luke felt he could trust her. The old nurse was gruff and glum, but she did seem to genuinely care about her patients. And since there was no sign that Luke had contracted TB, they were letting him ship out tomorrow. The trip back to his shelter by transport would only take a few hours. He would be glad to get back to his family, yet felt sad that he hadn’t gotten a chance to explore Picatinny properly. Perhaps he would return, next year, like the Colonel had offered. He could work here, even if he didn’t want to join the army. Menial labor tending the dome-covered grounds wasn’t much different than the hydroponics gardening he had gotten used to. It could turn out to be fun.

  And he would get to meet a lot of people. Maybe even a nice girl or three.

  Luke grinned happily and lay back on the pillow on his cot, enjoying the adventure novel he had been loaned. Soon enough, he would be home tending Brussels sprouts again. Might as well enjoy the mini-vacation while he could.

  He sealed the envelope and laid it on the bed next to him.

  * * *r />
  A tense silence had fallen on Isabella and Malcolm whenever they had been alone together since Davin’s death. Isabella had not been able to get over the boy’s death as easily as Malcolm had and she felt he was being cold and callous about it. She seemed to be able to put the little boy out of her thoughts when something captivated her interest like the Wiccan ceremony. But when they were alone, she dwelled on her anger, not only at Davin’s death, but at Malcolm’s attitude.

  Just because he had lost two of his own children at birth didn’t mean he shouldn’t care about Davin’s death. She knew he cared, he just couldn’t show it. They hadn’t spoken much lately, both engrossed in their new routines: Isabella teaching and Malcolm finding his place in the new community, now that his tribe had disbanded into distinct families and no longer looked to him as leader.

  But tonight the dam broke and they poured their thoughts into words, staying up most of the night discussing Araddea’s tale. Isabella couldn’t recall the last time she had talked for hours at a time like this or had such a unique evening. It was like when she and Abigail were little and they chatted late into the night until their grandmother or one of their mothers had come in and made them go to sleep.

  “What do you think he’s working on?” she asked Malcolm, pulling the thin sheet back and climbing into bed.

  “Araddea says it’s a cure. But I don’t deem it’s for cats. Why would anyone waste time on that?” Malcolm wondered.

  “True. Cats seem plentiful enough Outside,” replied Isabella. “The old man could just go out and find more cats. No, you’re right – it must be for humans. And a cure for humans could only mean a way of dealing with the poisonous world. Perhaps some kind of vaccine.”

  “If he’s as old as Araddea sees him, he would have been a young man when the wars came,” said Malcolm. “Do you accept as true he’s been working on this… whatever it is… since then?”

  “Fifty years? That would drive anyone loony!” said Isabella with a nervous laugh. “If he really is crazy, that is.”