Emerald City part one.
“FOREST
solar powered matter transformer
anti-entropic energy accumulator
biological computer
massively complex interactive network
university (teacher)
library (multiple stored recordings)
lake or water store
soil builder
oxygen generator
livestock reserve
food and textile production factory
atmospheric purifier
home
garden
ultimately inexpressible
presently unknown”
Konsk: 10,000 Definitions Of True Forest
“In order to create a genuinely rich, regenerative future, it is first necessary to imagine it”.
Konsk: sayings of the Fair Family.
There was travelling, across the planetary surface, through forest. Here is what was happening; a stocky, black pony, Toby, was the leading of this journey. A river wound on his strange-side, narrowing with the gentle climb, shouted louder, leaping from boulders. Then the caravan with Rhia and Trueman in the INCO body, sitting at the front board or walking at the side. The light, dappled by the arching branches and leaves, played upon the already mottled greens of the canvas awning.
Wherever Trueman looked there were trees, so much so that distant views were rare. He caught only occasional glimpses of the valley and climbing hills, the crowns of trees pressing into one another, still showing the many, varied hues of the late spring, stretching out their limbs above the way, often forming a green tunnel, within which they moved towards a point ahead where the sides of the track drew together.
The road, or track, Trueman corrected, for the ragged grass grown surface was far too untidy to be dignified by the label road, had just two wheel tracks breaking through the green. The verges were unkempt, closing in and he wondered what would happen if they met another cart, for he doubted there was room for two to pass.
At least it was level, or near enough so, clinging close to a contour in sinuous bends that curved around the wooded shoulders of the hillside, a fortuitous happen-stance, he thought, or possibly an old trackway that had become more useful after the obvious downturn in technology. And it was smooth, he admitted, the surface apparently of rammed stone or something similar where he could see it through the grass and moss.
The level way, easy for the horse or pony (he wasn't sure of the distinction) meant that he and Rhia often sat side by side at the front of the caravan, shaded by the awning. Trueman’s head was filled with questions yet as they journeyed thus together, Toby's steady plod, Rhia's eyes creased a little into the relaxed-observant face, the queries tended to dissolve into the green of the forest. He had to make a continuous, conscious effort not to just relax and nod off.
He kept reminding himself of his lack of data. He felt that his current situation was not unlike a quest, to boldly seek answers to the challenge of interpreting this new era, solutions as to his whereabouts, or when-abouts and even a route back home to the Little Big Farm, if one existed.
He couldn’t remember if he’d reset the weather station monitors and the others would surely forget about the data loggers, even though he had regularly impressed upon them the importance of consistent and continuous data collection. The eyes of the biker, Spicer, had just glazed over as he lapsed into his usual reefer stupor.
With all his doubts and concerns about the Little Big Farm project and his current, somewhat dubious predicament so close to the surface of his consciousness, he found the sedate progress only compounded his frustrations. He would be just as quick walking, a fact easily proven when they occasionally got down from the cart to lessen the load. Or, considering the powerhouse of a body he now occupied, running; he felt sure it could keep up an easy, loping pace for hours on end and bring him all the quicker to some sort of civilisation. Yet each new bend brought fresh sights that served to distract him, pulling his attention outwards.
Here, for example, was what appeared to be a cave opening, framed by a profusion of clambering plants that he assumed to be ivy before noticing the clusters of flowers. It opened at the end of a narrow path, disappearing into the hillside, emitting a thin coil of very pale smoke. A brushwood broom was propped on its handle against the side of the dark entrance and various objects were strewn about the patch of open ground in front, including a number of books, a large black boot and other things that Trueman could not identify at this distance. Pastel coloured washing was strung between trees, a variety of garments from long cloak-like items in a dull purple through to rather elaborate looking underclothes. There was no one in sight but a rather battered looking cockerel with broken tail feathers strutted back and forth.
“Presumably the witch’s hovel,” Trueman snorted at the primitive appearance, gesturing towards the broom.
“Yes,” Rhia replied. “But she’s out, obviously.”
The reference was lost on Trueman though he was rigidly determined not to show it1.
[footnote. It was said that witches announced that they were in or out depending upon which way up the broom by their door was placed.]
Then came a small cottage, as though grown out of the hillside, the solid walls rising from the ground, gracefully greened and softened with climbing plants. The roof appeared to be alive with a profusion of grasses and flowers. On the chimney a small receiver of some sort had been attached. An old man in his shirt sleeves sat on a bench and sipped at a drink; his skin was brown like his tea. Beside him, in the faded grass, a woven basket was heaped with the red of early currants.
He raised an arm and Rhia exchanged the greeting without stopping.
"Can you tell Aeron I want my scythe back, please!" The old man called. “And be careful with your goods.” He nodded towards Trueman with a darkening look.
“As always!” Rhia responded.
She turned to Trueman and winked. Once again, rather than reveal his ignorance, he swallowed it.
Further on was an offshoot to their track, bordered with small timber chalets, gaily painted, rivalling the display of flowers in the lush gardens that surrounded their doors. Here, a woman played on a small harp, the vibration of the plucked strings hanging in the air. Older folk sat in the sunlight on a wooden bench made from a slab of elm burr, the grain turning and twisting. Children were dancing and a mother and child wove their voices together, the clear notes resounding through the little clearing.
Very pretty, he thought, not unlike a postcard in its rural simplicity. He sighed in disappointment, thinking it doubtful that he would find answers to his questions in this naïve backwater. He began to wonder if indeed he had gone backwards in time after all.
On hearing the clop of Toby’s feet and seeing the vehicle emerge from the tree lined track, some of the children began to trot towards them, laughing delightedly but various parents or guardians immediately intervened. There was a general stiffening of postures among the seated residents and a number hurriedly rose, taking the young ones by their hands or calling them back. At least one made a sort of sign with their hand, holding some of the fingers bent, others raised. Rampant superstition! Trueman snorted in derision.
Rhia chose not to stop, only waving her own hand to them with some precise gesture.
“Tho,” he pronounced awkwardly and went on with some satisfaction, “You are not welcome everywhere.”
“Depends on my cargo,“ she said after the briefest pause.
Trueman turned away from the scene and sought to ignore it, preferring to outline in his mind a set of criteria which he might employ to value the technological progress of a civilisation. Something was seriously wrong here, he was telling himself. On the one hand it seemed clear that he was not in the deep past, unless it was so distant that no traces had remained to his own day. Yet the fact that at least some of the natives spoke English made that unlikely. Probably the future then.
However, the tranquillity of the journey ever sought to seep into him and submerge his internal monologue. The light, green with the leaves of trees, slowed his thoughts, as though he were underwater. Despite his better efforts, his limbs lightened and a feeling of comfort pervaded the new body. Within, he struggled to maintain his thinking. More to the point, some form of serious regression had taken place, that threatened even his lucid rationalism. He resorted to thinking out loud in an attempt to focus his attention.
"I prethume,” he said carefully, still struggling to precisely control the wayward tongue, “that was an isolated settlement…"
He had intended to continue the speculation, building a viable hypothesis to explain the evident poverty but the pierce of her laughter stopped him.
The turn had at last opened up a view of the farther valley side, curving away and paling into the distance. It was all trees, of many different varieties, some in brief rows, others apparently haphazard, a rich, cellular mosaic of hue and tone. From here and there came glitters of light, as though reflected from glass or polished metal.
"Easy to forget several thousands of people live along this valley," she said in a neutral voice.
Was she waiting for a reaction? He resisted a twitch of surprise.
"Ith it all like this?" he asked, attempting to force the tension from his voice.
"Of course not," she chuckled, "but there is still room for everyone. This is the Have I Got news For You cantref, then comes Somewhere Over The Rainbow and last in this bio-region is Well Beyond The Last Trump- I‘m translating, or course. Didn’t you see the signs?”
"It all looks a bit primitive to me," Trueman said dismissively and sniffed as he turned his head away.
It was obvious these people were living in some cultural backwater, probably entirely dependant on a more technologically advanced society somewhere more central. He felt hopelessly out of place here and yearned for a rational mind to question. But for now he would have to accept his intellectual isolation, something that was not new to him after all. He sniffed.
Where the track crossed the narrowing river over a hump of bridge, a water meadow rolled aside the trees; a soft surface of gently waving grasses and flower heads. Above the trees, a windmill was visible, faintly whirring on its thin stalk. Below, a teepee, the entrance flaps drawn back. A woman sat cross-legged here under a green parasol, almost entirely naked, sun-stained. Trueman attempted to observe her from the corner of his eyes but his gaze was drawn from her breasts to a small pad that she cradled and tapped at with rapid fingers.
Trueman's side long stare of the voyeur was transformed into open lust for this apparent sign of technology that extended a magnetic attraction upon him. Yet as he prepared an introductory greeting, the seated woman, noticing his attention, laid the pad aside, leapt to her feet and began a madcap, high stepping dance, interspaced with thin shrieks. She stopped suddenly, turned towards them and bowed low.
“All hail!” She called, “Rhia the ESPer and the INCO!”
Rhia burst out laughing and waved but Trueman only shuddered in embarrassment and hurriedly turned away.
“What did she call you?” He queried, “An esper?”
“E.S.P. Its an acronym-”
Rhia was going to say more but Trueman's snort stopped her.
Pseudoscience, he thought, I might have known.
He was distracted by the sounds of distant shouts and screams, echoing down the valley towards them. Trueman tensed his body for flight and kept a careful eye on his companion for any clues, without letting her notice of course.
Then children could be seen, bringing goats on long tethers, back from the bramble patches. Trueman relaxed somewhat but hoped they would not have to make contact; children and animals, especially goats, always unsettled him.
He wondered momentarily what his daughter might be doing, then repressed the thought. His attention was required here and now with the unparalleled opportunities for scientific understanding that these new experiences would surely reveal. If he ever returned to his own time he could ask after her. But for now, he would strive to maintain that finely honed, detached observation.
Without warning Rhia gave a mighty yell that made him jump and clutch at his chest as though to still the sudden flood of adrenaline.
"Aeron! Ray wants his scythe back!”
This Aeron looked up, startled, then came trotting towards the van. When he saw Trueman he altered his course, drawing up to Rhia's side of the vehicle.
"Hey, Rhia." he said, "Could you do me a big favour and drop these off at Far Beyond the Last trump, please. There for their plant research centre." He was holding out two small pod-like objects.
Trueman’s attention leaped at the mention of the word Centre. The new body produced a corresponding convulsion that he failed to stifle completely. Both Rhia and Aeron turned to look at him.
“I,” he stammered, pointing at the objects, “I wondered what thothe were.”
Although for now wishing to conceal his interest in the Centre, he never liked to admit ignorance.
“Seed of the virus bearing rhododendron strain we’ve found,” Aeron said, "It might be possible to use it to control the spread.”
Trueman thought he sounded pleased, as if this was important. Rhia tucked the pods into her a bag at her feet. She leaned down towards Aeron and they kissed lightly then smiling, waved and separated. Trueman thought the young man stared at him too much.
As the caravan moved on the river thinned to a beck and the gentle, easy gradient steepened a little. They got down from their perch, Rhia went to the pony's head, lightly touched his collar and they began to trot together at the incline.
Trueman followed behind, embarrassed at his awkwardness with the new body. Although it was so obviously strong and fit he seemed unable to operate it correctly. His conscious attempts at control resulted in a staggering gait that caused pain in the abdominal muscles. He had not been aware of this problem before, explaining previous stumbles by a general unfamiliarity with the new body compounded by tension arising from the possibility of recapture.
Now, in this more relaxed setting, it became obvious that he could not really make it move properly. The head seemed to be always toppling forward and the tight muscles around the abdomen interfered with his breathing, causing him to gasp, as though the lower lungs were completely cut off. He found himself pushing down an anger at the new body and an irrational desire for his previous one.
He was brought up short by the beat of a distant motor. It came faintly across the hillside, hardly discernible above the rattle of the van and the thud of hooves. He could not adequately asses its direction yet it made him smile with something akin to yearning. As he listened more carefully, straining to hear, he realised that only the rhythm was familiar, the sound itself seemed odd and somehow non-explosive. It was shelved as a future question while he hurried on after the receding caravan.
He caught up with them and for a moment thought that the motor he had heard was approaching but his hopes were dashed as they rounded a bend to see a wooden, waterwheel turning in a leat, slapping at the channelled water and chuffing repetitively, like a little steam engine.
Rhia called a name and a woman came out of the mill with a broad smile which slipped when she noticed Trueman. Her face was browned with the sun and lightly scarred. She offered them apple juice from a large earthenware jug which they both drank gratefully.
"Tell Tony his flour will be ready in two days, OK?" She called as they went on and Rhia nodded, raising her arm in farewell.
Rhia leaned back in the van, rolling to Toby's lolling step. She was grinning widely. Trueman kept trying to still the career of his thoughts.
"Tho, so," Trueman said at last, struggling to pronounce the words. "Thome people at least like travellers. I can remember when travelling had a bad reputation.”
She agreed. "I’ve heard of that. Comes out of fear. There used to be loads of travellers long ago, preachers, pot-menders, horse breeders, poets, singers, craftspeople, labourers. Now there are again. It was only during the in-between time that there was any real problem. The elders will tell you the stories.”
"So now you fulfil these functions?”
"I fill a part time niche," she said, laughing. “As do we all. Not my main work but me and Toby like to take time off to offer a small objects, no hurry delivery service, one-offs mainly and personal messages too. Means we meet a lot of people, call in at lots of cantrefi and individual niches. Why, at any one time we’ve got about three or four hundred different objects and messages to deliver.”
She sounded proud and looked him in the eye. Did she want his approval?
“How do you remember them all?” Trueman asked gruffly; her open stare had produced an uncomfortable thickening in his throat.
Rhia looked away, shyly, yet still proud.
“I make rhymes,” she said and then once more set off at a trot, Toby following.
Trueman shook his head, baffled. It all seemed so confusing. If this was the future, what on earth had happened to satellite telephones?
Ahead, the track climbed more steeply between hills that drew closer and closer together. The forest rising to either side here was younger and wilder, birch with willow in the wetter areas, growing amid the dark humps of sedges. At the peaks, rock was visible, blackly jointed with shadow, surrounded by bracken and gorse, in turn pierced by Rowan.
Trueman became aware that they approached the watershed, that a new vista would be revealed to him. Alighting from the vehicle, he hurried on with a growing sense of anticipation. Surely here the future of the world would be made plain in proud towers and gleaming buildings, perhaps even a space port. He trembled with excitement; he had always wanted to visit the stars. Then he grew annoyed at his childish enthusiasm and adopted a stiffer, more uncomfortable posture as though to maintain detachment.
They tackled the last of the climb at a walk and at the crest they paused. From the high vantage of the pass, the sun lowering at their backs, they looked out over a vast, green bowl that fell away before them, traversed by a wide, snaking river. The sprawl of the forest extending to a distant horizon where yet more hills arose in a faint blue haze. There was not a single visible building in all that panoramic vista.
Trueman could not stop the sigh of disappointment that escaped his lips. Rhia mistook its meaning.
"It's a boggling sight," she agreed, "Especially considering what was done to it before."
She led Toby and the van just beyond the summit of the pass where an offshoot to the main track opened into a small, green hollow, surrounded by sheltering trees.
“We’ll stop here for the night, at the travel-lodge,” she said and winked at him, beginning to strip Toby of his harness.
As the sun sank from view, Trueman looked about him in the gathering gloom, once more feeling miserable and out of place.
Thanks for reading. Apologies for the slow appearance of this latest episode- the coming of the winter here, wet and cold weather, has required some attention at home. Please feel free to comment, make suggestions, offer advice, whatever. In imagining possible futures, the more creative heads the better. What would you like to see?
It is said that witches announce their presence or absence from their homes by which way up they place their brooms, which are left by their doors.
I enjoyed that, it's all very real even if I still don't have the full picture, yet