Rhia's view along the path opened out again as she rounded the outcrop and some 200 metres ahead, there they were, to either side of the path, under clumps of young birch and thorn, not making any attempt at concealment. At least that suggested it wasn't an ambush. She slowed her pace to a slow walk, deepening her breathing and keeping her mind still.
She was now some 6 or 7 kilometres from the Stay On Course cantref, passing through an area showing signs of early transition. There were as yet few trees, the hillside appearing naked in comparison to the previous forest, sheet erosion having stripped much of the soil to expose rocky scarps and jumbled boulder scree. The air was hotter, drier, dustier; deprived of the moisture of the forest cover it had a dead quality to it.
She slowed her pace at a hundred metres as the figures stepped out onto the path. There were three men and one woman in an assortment of khaki clothing, one with a lightly armoured waistcoat, another a stab vests, carrying packs, webbing, ammunition belts. They made no attempt to hide a variety of weapons including rifle, shotgun, at least one semi automatic and an anachronistic wooden club that seemed to have been fashioned from a twisted tree root, a great bulb on the end, spiked with nails.
Although they did not aim their guns at her, she read the nervousness and tension in their stiffened postures and awkward movements. Above were the two who had been following her. They'd rounded the outcrop and moved down through the sparse scrub, taking up positions in boulders giving good cover and a clear line of sight of the path. She could feel their attention as a slight pressure on the left side of her body.
Little bubbles of thought broke the surface of her consciousness, mostly concerning being a woman alone, in a strange landscape with strangers closing in on her, men with guns, violence, rape. She felt each thought and then let them go, each in turn, giving them no weight whatsoever. When she was ready she took the initiative, calling out to them loudly and using standard English.
"Well met!" she called, nearing them, "I am Rhia, First Of Many cantref, of the Old Country. I have been working with the Stay On Course cantref and now I'm off home. Who are you and what are you up to?"
The group relaxed slightly, shoulders lowering, though not by much. Two of the men spoke quietly to each other. One, a field dressing bandaged to the side of his head, took a step towards her, holding a lowered machine pistol in his right hand, the knuckles white.
"Are you armed?" he called, ignoring her questions.
"No," Rhia slid her left foot forward a half pace, turned her right outward 45 degrees and lowered her centre. "But I am defended."
The group began to move slowly forwards, not taking their gaze from Rhia, who simply smiled. As they came within a half dozen paces the women spoke in a low voice.
"She's the mediator."
"I am. And you are transitional." Rhia did not make this a question.
"We are," said the man with the bandage, after the slightest pause. "Mostly."
He sported two days growth of stubble and camouflage face paint that had merged with mud and grime.
"I'm fuckin' not."
This low growl came from the one carrying the club. His jacket was frayed at the cuffs and collar, emblazoned with crude, hand drawn letters, Earth's Fist and Justice. The bandaged one turned to give him a glance and though Rhia could not see his face she read the anger it displayed from the tightening of his neck and shoulder muscles.
An undecided group, then, Rhia thought, a mix of transitional and uncommitted, including at least one reactionary; a confusing and potentially lethal combination of perspectives. Play it gentle.
"You look like you've had a tough time."
Rhia had directed her attention to the woman who had first recognised her role. She did indeed look like she had had a tough time. Her face, which could have displayed a quiet beauty was instead pinched with lines of concern and fear, her mouth stretched to a tight, narrow line. This began to soften under Rhia's warm gaze but the bandaged man did not give her time to respond.
"We're not doing so bad," he said, defensively.
Rhia offered him a contradiction, "I'm sure you're doing really well. How can I help?"
Rhia let her heart fill with compassion as she spoke, looking directly into his grey eyes, eyes that trembled as her words sank in. He took a slow, deep breath and sighed, the machine pistol lowering further to point directly at the ground. Rhia could see he was about to say something but the process was interrupted as the one with the club, unable to control his distress, spoke first.
"We're hunting a mad, fucking, murdering, cunt. And when we catch him we're gonna fucking kill him. Fucking slowly."
He hefted the spiked club in broad hands, clenched so tightly that the bruises on his knuckles paled to white. Behind the words Rhia could glimpse the deep, ancient pain that drove his behaviour. Ah, there was work to be done here, much work, she acknowledged to herself; far too much for her at this present moment. She let that go, returning her attention to the man with the bandage and asked him where they were from. Again, the slightest pause before he replied.
"Hammerton. Over the mountain."
He indicated up the hillside with a jerk of his chin. The sudden movement caused him to wince and he raised his free hand to the bandage, touching it lightly. The woman moved up beside him and placed a hand on his arm. That's good, Rhia thought, at least one of them is still capable of empathy.
"There was some trouble, two nights ago, in the next valley, at Wrexley. Four dead. They thought it was an indie gang by the amount of pointless carnage. Whoever it was, they came over the hill to Hammerton last night and hit a few of the outlying farms then blew up the bio-diesel plant. Caused chaos, covered the escape."
So that was probably the origin of the earthy tremor the night before that had woken her from the dream of her grandpa.
"Fucking bastard! Gonna die fucking slowly."
"So not a gang, then? Just one?"
The bandaged man nodded to her, carefully.
"Knew exactly what he was doing. Took what he needed and kept moving. But..made a real mess. A real mess."
"Fucking cunt!"
Rhia could feel the rage building in the man with the club. He would discharge it soon. Without adequate support it would be as violent and as destructive as the actions of the one he hunted.
She felt the rise of the desire to help, acknowledged it and let it go. There was neither the opportunity for her here, nor the time; this required far more experience than her young self had acquired, as well as more support. She imagined her grandmother, her adopted grandmother and the image of those laughing, loving eyes settled her. No, at this moment she could not help these people; she needed to move on, get back to the old country. Something about this story was unsettling her.
"Did he cut them, first?"
The bandaged man did not need to reply, his expression answered her. That explained something of club-man's immediate anger.
"And he's not tagged."
"How the fuck do you know this?" The man with the club said, taking a step towards her.
Rhia shrugged, raised her hand to the straps of her bag to settle it into the hollow between neck and shoulder, offering them a subtle indication that she was preparing to leave while also revealing the embroidered design on her tunic above her right breast, three overlapping circles. The woman's eyes narrowed as she leaned forward to peer. What she recognised made her step back and point.
"She's an ESPer, a Gardener!"
The man with the club started noticeably and immediately dropped his gaze. The rigid clench of his grip upon his wooden club almost sprang open and became more of a fumbling, fidgeting distraction. He moved backwards, away form Rhia, not looking at her, a faint flush of red appearing in his cheeks.
In contrast, the bandaged man seemed to lean closer. Rhia felt an eager hope glimmer in his grey eyes.
"Will you help us?"
The grey eyes seemed to transmit a desperate longing. The others became frozen, waiting on her words. The one with the club continued to hang his head as though he had been judged and was now ashamed. Rhia let the emotion rise in her and let it go. A tragedy was being enacted here and she saw a clear correspondence between these damaged people and the equally eroded and scarred landscape.
"I'm truly sorry but I can't. I have other things I have to attend to. But don't worry, you won't have any more trouble from him. He's finished here."
She did not know why she said that, only that it felt correct. The person that these frightened people hunted was on a mission and this was just the start, a distraction. And possibly a message. Suddenly she knew where the intruder was going.
"I've got to go, now. You should all go home."
She stepped forward and, taking the woman's hand, placed it once more on the bandaged man's arm.
"Help each other."
They moved aside to let her pass, club man avoiding her gaze.
"Go home," she repeated.
That was where she had to go. She began to run, fast.
Thanks for reading. All the images are mine, taken locally. I expect to find more and more examples of landslip, erosion and firesites as we move forward in time. Rainfall here in July was twice my ten year average for that month, at just over 300mm, though not the wettest July I’ve ever recorded which was 362mm in 2020. Steep hilllsides without adequate ground cover will simply not cope with this in the future.
You are warmly invited to leave comments, suggestions, critiques, whatever! Tahnk you.
Hwyl pawb! Chris.
I've just read it all from the beginning and I'm really enjoying it.
I'm really enjoying these, looking forward to the next one!