Desert of Zin

A day late but if you don’t tell, I won’t.  And part three will be on time.  Honest.

- Alistair

With the ringing of the dawn bell came the waking of the village of Pascoe Glyn.  The east-facing dorm rooms allowed the growing light to cast over the bodies of those who were still gently waking.  There was an Eleventh today, the first for months and the first of a few expected over the next week.  Even with the Railman’s non-appearance over the years those villagers with longer memories were still on edge.

Ryan had managed to dodge the formality of breakfast opting instead to sneak into the kitchen and steal some toast.  Gordon the cook tended to rule over his small domain with a ruthless certainty but recognising Ryan and knowing the day’s significance won Ryan some leniency.  The boy nodded his thanks and slipped out.

He passed through the warren of the under levels with the dorms, storerooms and workshops laid out in no discernible pattern, rooms being raised when and wherever the need was greatest.  The irregular wooden planks, treated over countless years to increase their strength, left little privacy for the inhabitants.  He nodded a morning greeting to anyone who looked up but kept conversation to a stifled ‘hello’.

At the nearest pipe, a vertical tube with many lengths of knotted rope suspended and kept from swaying by the weights at their end, Ryan looked down for other upwards travellers but, beyond another level, saw only the cables and the thick white clouds far below.  He reached out, swung on to a nearby rope with practised ease and worked his way a few levels up to the docks.  He leapt on to the ledge and took a moment to take it all in.

The high dome of the docks was breathtaking, especially for the younger villagers who very rarely were allowed to set foot there, and especially when contrasted to the tight confines of below decks.  The dome was massive, about 80ft. to Ryan’s young untrained eye, and it was large enough to hold a number of passenger platforms and conical hoppers and a crane, the cab set high into the side of the dome offering a full view of the docks below.  Only once had be been allowed in the cab and he remembered being awed by the sight.

And entering and leaving at various heights in the dome steel I-beams, the rails that held the village and others like it aloft, were suspended in the air waiting for the carriers and hoppers, the trams and trolleys to arrive.  The village was linked in to the underside of the four rails that crossed at this junction, a small hub in the overall network.

Ryan looked over at the dockers who had donned their gauntlets and stood by their office with the stevedore, Braddock, waiting for the first cargo of the day to come.  He regarded Ryan and nodded.  It was rare to get any kind of acknowledgement from the man but it was yet another allowance for the day.  Either Ryan would be taken from everything he knew or remain for the duty of the village, both events marking him as an adult.  That was worth a nod at least.

He walked on from the edge of the pipe keeping a wary eye out.  It wouldn’t do to have an accident today of all days.  The chapel was before him, a squat structure made from both wood and stone, the only structure like it in the village.  Ryan never knew why it was favoured with stone, a rare material, especially as it was barely used.  He stepped over the threshold and through the ornate sanctuary and into the spartan hall, lines of wooden benches leading to the low altar at the front.

Reverend Heterozygous was sitting on the floor with his back to the altar, his head tilted, eyes to the chapel’s open roof.  Ryan walked down the aisle, his soft footsteps on the wooden floor too quiet to alert the minister.  He was halfway into the room before Heterozygous turned his head to regard the boy.

‘Morning, Ryan,’ said Heterozygous quietly.  ‘I’m glad you could join me.’  He looked him up and down before returning his gaze upwards.  ‘Finally,’ he added.

‘Reverend?’ he said, leaving the question hanging.

‘They all come,’ said Reverend Heterozygous in the same soft tone as before.  ‘They all come here.  And most don’t even know why.’

‘Arisia told me she came to see you on her Eleventh.  Anton too.’

‘At least you’re honest.’  Heterozygous drew himself to his feet and stretched.  He was not dressed in his robes of office but in shirt and shorts with images Ryan couldn’t recognise.  Heterozygous looked down at the images that were causing Ryan confusion.  ‘Ah right, beach wear, I forgot.  I try not to wear it around the place,’ he said, smiling mischievously, ‘but it’s rare anyone comes here.  Especially at this time of the morning.’

‘Those images,’ Ryan began but Heterozygous cut him off.

‘Are not your concern.’  His face darkened for a moment but it passed just as quickly.  ‘It serves to remind me how long I’ve been here.  Have a seat, I’ll nick off and get something more formal.’  The Reverend gestured to the bench beside Ryan and he left by a door at the back of the chapel.  For minutes Ryan sat in the relative peace.  Despite the open roof, open to the sounds of the docks beyond, Ryan was able to relax enough in the close environment.

He had questions, all the pre-Elevens did, but he didn’t want to share them with the Reverend.  He just wanted to go through the motions today.  He was uncomfortable with the fuss and the ceremony, and with the rumours of what happened if you were chosen to leave the village but he wanted to get it far from his mind.  Ryan lay along the bench, soaking in the sounds beyond the chapel walls, and finding in its bare seclusion a sense of peace.

By the time Reverend Heterozygous returned with his traditional white robes, Ryan was fast asleep.

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