Konsk: The Great Takeover of the Place

52. Learner.

The rain continued for another thirty six hours, sometimes hinting it was about to stop before increasing to yet another sustained crescendo. While Rhia fretted at the delay, Trueman was indulged by the two youngsters.

Intrigued by the implant in his jaw they fished about in their bits bag and came up with a more or less matching receiver-transmitter. A quick bodge of the transceiver to a thin, flexible pipe and then a peaked cap, plus a wireless link to a touch sensitive screen with an installation of the code book they'd recommended and he was off.

Sitting in a corner, once more fixated upon a visual display unit, tongue doing an internal dance, Trueman was as happy as he'd ever been at his old workstation, once the pride and joy of the Little Big Farm, now in this future world revealed to be a kludgy dinosaur. It was with some regret that at Rhia's insistence he finally put the screen in a pocket, and they became travellers again.

Outside, the high plateau nestling between hills and crags had become an inland sea, the wetlands, ponds and rivulets combining to create a single expanse of water, punctuated by partially submerged trees and bushes. The deer, cattle and other beasts had retreated bedraggled to the higher ground and now stood steaming as the sun rose all golden and lovely in the misty east.

It was only as they began to descend the high pass that the damage wrought by the torrential rainfall became more apparent. They soon found that the steepening path they followed had been carved into a deep gulley, the freshly exposed earth revealing a full profile from dark top soil down through deep orange subsoil, a grey clay marl and finally bedrock, like a wound cut deep into the skin of the earth. They had to retrace their steps and choose another route

Trueman was reminded of his disastrous attempts to establish a productive vegetable garden at the Little Big Farm, on a steep slope prone to receive floodwater from the hills above. Rhia nodded when he rather sheepishly mentioned it; the drastic erosion that had followed the flood had left something like a scar on his own conscience, as well as in the landscape.

"Grandma told us all about it," she said, "It was a good lesson to learn early."

Trueman hadn't thought of it like that.

"So perhaps, after all, my mistake had some value," he replied, slowly, "Some use in the end."

"Mistakes are good," Rhia responded gaily, "As long as we can turn them into lessons, so we don't have to keep repeating them, over and over."

"And best to get them done with sooner, rather than later?"

"Bang on, Grandpa!" Rhia laughed and then continued more thoughtfully, "The challenge is that the rainfall just keeps on getting heavier and more sudden. Even the best laid plans can come apart when things get extreme, like here." She gestured to the new gouges on the hillside below, surface vegetation torn away, the soil laid bare.

"So what can you do?"

"Try again!" His granddaughter actually laughed. "And fail again," she went on, "But fail better!"

Already cantrefi folk were moving about on the landscape, gathering in groups to examine where the sudden rise in water had overflowed ponds, swales and watering ditches, relentlessly worn away banks and dam walls before plunging down to the next linear barrier, ripping deep furrows, gulleys and ravines on its destructive way, sometimes carrying fences and shrubs with it. Larger trees below were piled high where debris had caught, masses of branches, rocks and earth, packed so tightly that the folk who tugged tentatively at the mess could scarcely stir it let alone extract a useful board or stake.

Rhia led on to a track that descended more gradually across the face of the hillside. Here he saw that the careful drainage on the upslope side of their path had managed better with the deluge, spilling the excess into hanging bogs. Occasionally there were signs that water had flowed across the track, taking some of the surface material and starting rivulets across the fields on the lower side, though the damage here was much reduced.

It was as they descended to the more populous areas that the destruction became still more obvious, not least because of the number of people standing together in small groups, many crying. For here the run-off had proved too much for even their carefully designed and constructed systems. Whole gardens had simply disappeared, worn down to rock, exposing the simple foundations of buildings that now sagged towards the new ravines. Trees teetered on the brink, long roots exposed and trailing uselessly in empty space. There was a pervasive smell of mud.

Though Rhia stopped at times and spoke with people, she did not delay their journey overmuch. Trueman was lost for words, having no idea how to comfort or console weeping people.

"Shouldn't we do something to help?" He asked.

"What would we do?" Rhia countered, "Probably just get in the way. Nearly everyone here will have had training in support work. After all, the cantrefi have been designed and the inhabitants prepared for disaster recovery. Its not like this sort of thing is unexpected and while it may look pretty heavy and deep, the loss of life is low- we knew it was coming; we know what to do to be safe till its over and we know how to put it right after, how to put it right better."

"More ready for next time..." Trueman seemed to finish her sentence.

She said nothing. They went on in silence for most of the morning, gradually leaving the immediate signs of the deluge behind them.

They stopped to eat and swap batteries at a small wayside building with tables outside under an awning. Then, after another few hours of steady pedalling following a winding river valley, the track narrowed, leading down towards a high bridge, the old metal railings to either side bent, some missing, twisted by debris brought down in floods.

Next, an old plantation of Douglas fir, some laid flat by storms, the shallow spread of their upturned roots lifting a thin, broad pan of soil and rock, the circle of grass about the thick trunks become vertical. The few remaining standing were giants, towering above a rising canopy of Beech, growing strongly below.

The lane steepened and eventually, batteries failing on their bikes and both fair weary themselves, they walked, pushing their transport. It was cool under the branches arching overhead and the smell of damp humus, occasional trills of birdsong and the gentle babble of the river below them filled Trueman with a sense of peace after turmoil and destruction.

Towards the summit, the track died out in tangles of bramble and there was a rough, wooden gateway leading into a great variety of vegetation. They entered and hadn't gone far before shouts and screams rose out of the bushes ahead. Rhia crouched low like a bear and growled fiercely. The answering calls were filled with laughter and in an instant half a dozen youngsters leapt shrieking from the green. Rhia disappeared beneath their squirming bodies. Roaring, she rose from the melee, tumbling them about her.

"Go tell the old clown, we're coming!" she yelled at last to divert the welcoming

frenzy.

"He knows," the tallest replied but they went anyway.

Coming out by the bank of the stream, moving through a jungle of plants that Rhia said was a food forest, almost every plant being edible, they found what Trueman thought at first was a chicken coop, a single old hen, like a moth-eaten feather-duster scratching in the leaves.

On nearing he decided the coop was in fact a very small house, a little hut of sawn boards lapped horizontally, the roof of cedar shingles, curled a bit in the heat. On the south side was a door, a window and a wide deck under a veranda. Sitting there, in a rocking chair, by a low table, was an old man, his face a mass of wrinkles, bright, blue eyes eyes half closed but twinkling.

Rhia went to him and kissed his cheek. He grinned appreciatively. She took a folding wooden chair from by the door and opened it for Trueman. The old man pulled a ring from his finger, held it to his left eye and winked at Trueman, through the golden band.

“What's up, lad,” he said, mimicking Spicer's dialect perfectly, “Lost tha' bloody gob?”

Then he burst out laughing at Trueman's shocked expression.

“Learner,” Trueman managed at last, shaking his head and collapsing into the folding chair. "Learner!"

After a time, the children reappeared, the eldest boy carrying with concentrated care a tray with a pottery jug and a pair of similar mugs which he placed on the low table, observed closely by the others. There was a noticeable easing of tension when the action was accomplished successfully and an audible sigh of satisfaction from one of them when two drinks were poured without spilling a drop.

Then several of them took Rhia's hands and led her away, the others trailing about her like a small flock.

"Food will be ready soon," the young lad called back from under an apple tree.

"Alright, alright," Learner said, wafting his hand. "Alright."

Trueman took a deep breath and surveyed the scene. In the misty distance, framed by the sides of the little valley as they drew together was the cone-like shape of a single mountain. Nearer, the fruit trees gave way to a dense tangle of plants and shrubs, bright flowers of many colours; probably all edible, he thought, like Dawn's maze garden, only bigger, better, more refined.

Then he looked at the ancient man rocking gently beside him and amidst the lines and wrinkles of his face, the many creases and folds, made out the features of the inarticulate madman, way back at the Little Big Farm, speaking in a pigeon language, a word salad that only little Catti had been able to follow. The madman who had not been mad after all, Trueman thought bitterly, staring into the other's bright eyes, as if looking back in time.

“Yes,” said Leaner, “It is indeed still me. And how goes your most remarkable adventures, in time and space. And the other place?”

Trueman mouth fell open. Learner discerned the reason.

“You shouldn't be surprised, old friend,” he said, “That I have mastered your word system of thinking and speaking, at last. I've had plenty of time for that! Though in many ways it is such an awkward, cumbersome way of communicating, so prone to error and misunderstanding, would you not agree?”

He laughed heartily and wiped a single tear from his eye.

“Plenty of time to learn, waiting for you to appear. And now, after several false alarms, here you are. Here you are, at last! The waiting is ended!”

“So you knew I was coming?” Trueman was baffled. “How on earth could you know that I would appear, in a body not my own, a body like this?”

“Why, Spicer told me, of course!” Learner was enjoying himself.

Trueman was baffled again, even more so. He raised his arms in a helpless gesture and looked up into the sky, as though the cloud above might part and a clear answer be spelled out for him.

“Well, how did he know?”

“I told him,” said Learner and howled with glee as Trueman lowered his head into his hands.

“Alright old matey," Learner reached over and patted Trueman's well muscled, INCO shoulder. " Rather, I will tell him, now that I know, when I meet him again. Ten thousand years ago,” as if explaining to a child. “In the time and land of the Fair Family. When I go back. After this body dies.”

Trueman looked up at him again, an inkling of an understanding.

“I thought you were mad," he said slowly, "Deluded, believing yourself to be a visitor here, from the stone age, only temporarily possessed of this body.” He slowed; it was not easy for him.

“And now, after all that's happened,” he continued, “I have to admit that I was wrong. I was so wrong. You were not mad, you were indeed who you said you were all along, a traveller in time from an ancient past, tasked with bringing me a vital, important message, about the great peril that my own time faced. And I failed to heed your message, utterly and completely. And now, its too late, far too late.”

He felt suddenly, thoroughly miserable.

“No, matey!” Learner, by contrast, was decidedly chipper. “I was wrong! I was tasked to give the strong message to the intelligent one and I thought that was you! Ho, what an idiot I was! It wasn't until after you'd left that I realised, the intelligent one wasn't you, it was Catti, your daughter! Not you at all but Catti, the real genius!” He peeled off into laughter, as if this was the greatest joke in the world.

“Catti?” Trueman repeated slowly as pieces fell into place. “Catti, as in Catherine Oldman. The woman who took down the Alt-Tech Centre and that Manson character.”

It sounded so obvious now. He slapped the side of his head.

“Duh!” was Learner's comment. “Yes, your daughter, the really intelligent one, young Catti of the fluttering eyelashes. Which reminds me, you need to tell me your password to the ARPANET main-frame computer.”

“What? Why on earth..” Trueman was reeling now. “Oh for goodness...”

“Catti needs it, so she can hack the system.”

“Why can't I tell her?”

“Because, my friend,” Learner said patiently, “She needs the password back in the nineteen eighties and the only way to get it to her then, is for you to tell me now, so I can tell Spicer...”

“Ten thousand years ago,” Trueman broke in, exasperated as he began to get it, “In the land and time of the Fair family, so Spicer can tell Catti when he gets back to the nineteen eighties.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Fine, I think I get it. And what does it matter, really...”

He leaned over towards Learner, automatically lowering his voice to a pointless whisper and gave him the password.

Learner laughed. “Who would have thought!”

"Its wasn't ten thousand years ago, really," he went on, "More like five thousand, the late Mesolithic in Europe. Not a bad time, to be honest, certainly better weather and the seafood was excellent."

He started to laugh and Trueman was puzzled.

"Ten thousand years has a nicer ring to it, though, like the Ten Thousand things we accumulated once when we settled down to that farming lark," He began to laugh, long and loud.

"Funny how things build up though, without you really noticing. I remember sitting on a beach on the western seaboard, facing the ocean and the setting sun, eating shellfish," he sighed appreciatively. "As the family, we'd just chucked the shells over our shoulders for, oh, maybe a thousand years or so, without really thinking about it. When I got up to go and do something else, it was like I suddenly noticed, for the first time, this huge mound of shells, all along the coast, as far as I could see! The difference then, of course, was that everything we chucked away or messed about with was organic, or mineral, nothing like plastic."

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks. Trueman noticed that someone, he presumed it was Learner, had placed various found objects, rocks and pieces of wood against the front of the hut; there was the root of an oak, flattened and twisted where it had grown down between stones, a lump of quartz, white and rose with a glitter of fools gold. He reached down and picked up a flint, the heart, dark and mottled green, the edge precisely chipped to produce a fine cutting edge.

“You haven't lost the knack, then,” Trueman said, hefting the hand axe. “When will you be going back?”

Learner just shrugged. “No hurry.”

“And what about me?” Trueman asked. “When will I be going back?”

Learner was quiet for a moment, his piercing eyes on Trueman's.

“You, my old friend,” he said, “Have a different course and it will not be easy for you.”

“I'm getting used to that.” Trueman sighed.

Learner reached into a pocket and produced a rusty key on a loop of string.

“This,” he said, holding it up, “Will get you back into the wilderness. You've been given special permission to enter the First Reserve, very unusual in itself, by the cantrefi First Of Many and Last Resort. You need to get back to the farm. There's something there that you need to see. And some people to meet.”

Later, Rhia and the children brought them food and they all shared a meal together. Afterwards, they talked long into the evening, of both the past and the distant past.

Their talk of him having left the farm nagged at him. Had he then never returned?

A warm welcome to new subscribers. Remember, reading my work is not compulsory! If you are not interested in the fiction, just delete it. If you are, many thanks for reading and please feel free to make comments and suggestions. Konsk is an ongoing meta-pata-fiction and this draft is still far from finalised so you have the opportunity to input your own ideas of what a low impact future might look like. Take care all. Till next time. Hwyl! Chris.