The Great Takeover of the Place

21 The Thirty Hen Niche

Emerald City part three.

After only a few minutes more, Rhia moved off the main road (not that Trueman would have deigned to refer to it as such) with Toby following at her side. They drew up in another small clearing, greeted by the sound of running water. While Rhia removed Toby’s harness, Saxon disappeared into the shadow and returned almost immediately with dry firewood. Within only a few moments he had kindled a small fire in a circle of stone and assembled the tripod. Toby browsed contentedly at the periphery of the clearing, producing loud raspings which might have been satisfied blowings through his wide nostrils or equally contented farts; Trueman was unable to decide which.

He sat on one of the logs which were arranged around the fire pit and stared blankly into the flames. He would have drifted off had not Rhia thrust a wooden bowl and spoon into his hands. It was filled with some sort of stew, the smell of which caused his salivary glands to instantly fill his mouth in hungry anticipation. If nothing else, they certainly knew how to eat in this locality, thought Trueman as he devoured the food, accepting seconds and then thirds before finally refusing more.

He was roused somewhat by the food and paid more attention to his companions as the dance of fire played with their faces, the warm reds and stark shadows turning them into demons and deities by turn. Not that he took any of that seriously. Rather he considered the fact that the light emitted from the burning wood was in fact sunlight, trapped in the biomass through the action of photosynthesis; the fire merely released the stored energy as heat and some light, or sunlight, in an ongoing chain-reaction as the carbon in the wood oxidised. He said as much and they nodded in agreement. He was a little disappointed that they had not just been boggled. Seems they knew some science at least then.

There came some long silences interrupted by brief flurries of conversation from the other two which Trueman struggled to follow.

“Have you designs for the INCO?” Saxon asked.

“None to speak of to you,” Rhia replied briefly. “And that’s for sure.”

“Then will you choose a den or the van?”

“Goats hold no interest for me,” this was said dismissively.

Saxon chuckled while Trueman tried to decide whether he felt uncomfortable. Rhia retrieved the spare quilt from the van and draped it about his shoulders then walked from the fire, fading into the blackness. Trueman continued to study the flames. The ever changing complex shapes of the glowing embers were quite fascinating really. He became absorbed.

Images from the Little Big Farm arose. Learner, wild eyed and so obviously damaged, well, catatonic to begin with, in that wheelbarrow. Trueman had to smile. Yes, it could all look very bizarre, particularly now, from this distant vantage, where it was obvious that Learner had not been as mad as Trueman had thought. Unless Trueman had just been contaminated in some way and was simply colluding in a consensual delusion. Unlikely really.

And Dawn, he sighed. Now had there been some sort of opportunity there, that he had missed in his ignorance? Ignorance? What was he thinking! He stirred. And Catti, his errant daughter, the tiny mite, or sprite. Bedevilled pixie, more like; he smiled. He wondered vaguely what Spicer was up to and whether he had remembered to check the long range forecast. That hole in the barn roof still needed attention and the predictions had suggested snow, lots of it. Spicer, with that bright red helmet. He could see it clearly, there, in the fire, the helmeted head, burning. It turned towards him, swivelled its baleful yet empty stare. His heart began to pound. The head spoke unto him.

“Give me back my body.” it commanded.

Trueman attempted to shake himself, appalled by the mythological intensity of the burning head but he could not speak nor move a single muscle!

“Give me back my body!” thus spoke the head again, the voice an awful, low grating, as though arising from an abyss.

Still he could not move. The new body had ceased to respond to his urgent demands. The burning head began to grow, to come nearer, quicker and quicker, suddenly rushing at him in a great swirl of sparks and letting out a deep roar of rage!

Trueman jerked instantly and painfully awake as a log turned in the embers, casting a shower of sparks upward into the starlit sky. The new heart hammered so loud he could hear it and the HUD was alive with red warning lights. He was filled with tremendous relief that it had been but a dream and forced his breathing to slow. He shook himself, almost laughed; that a nonsensical phantasm could so affright a scientist! It was amazing really.

Looking sheepishly around he was glad to find himself alone and that no one had witnessed this upsurge of irrationality. From somewhere beyond the firelight there came some animal noises. A course grunt. More pigs? The horse? Then a groan. He shook his head and, trusting that he was safe, curled himself up in the quilt beside the fire and soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When he awoke, somewhat stiff but at least feeling refreshed, a risen but still invisible sun had lit the sky a faint, clear blue. The fire had been kindled and what looked like porridge once more simmered in Rhia’s cast iron saucepan. Looking about his gaze fell upon Saxon and Rhia, the two sitting on logs close by, their heads bowed towards each other, as though whispering. Saxon’s arm seemed to be involved in some disappearing act until Trueman realised that it passed under and into Rhia’s smock. When Rhia saw Trueman awake she hurriedly pulled free of Saxon’s grasp.

“We could do some work on that,” Saxon said. He seemed to be making an offer.

“I know,” she said, almost sharply, “but this is not the time nor place.”

“Nor the company?” Saxon offered pleasantly.

Rhia abruptly rose and scooping up Toby’s freshly oiled harness, left the clearing, presumably in search of him. Saxon doled out a bowl full of porridge and proffered it to Trueman.

“Is she all-right?” Trueman asked, for some reason feeling almost paternal.

“Of course!” Saxon laughed. “It is you, I am afraid to say. Your use of consciousness is most powerfully askance to current practise. Prolonged exposure to it produces perturbations in those about you. Particularly those who seek to help you.”

“I don’t understand,” Trueman stammered; it was a hard admission for him to make.

“That is entirely inevitable, unfortunately,” replied Saxon, his worn and browned features creasing into lines which might have been concern or laughter. “Though you will, at some point,” he continued. “That too is inevitable also, when the time is right. Yet it will not be easy, for you are indeed possessed by a powerful hippo.”

At that he got up, leaving Trueman open mouthed; gob smacked, as Spicer would have said.

“Put some porridge in it,” Rhia said brightly, returning with Toby.

Trueman did so.

Prior to leaving, Trueman attempted to wander off nonchalantly to the edge of the clearing, having held his bladder to the point of bursting. Saxon, appeared; he had apparently been cutting logs with a bow saw and carried an armful. He pointed out a simple latrine for Trueman next to a turf roofed structure which contained dry firewood. Saxon added his to the neat stack within.

“Does this belong to you, then?” Trueman asked; Saxon laughed.

“These dens belong to all of us,” he said, “especially travellers.”

He pointed out the wooden shelves with various jars and containers of glass and pottery and described the provisions they contained for those who arrived in need. He hung a small bunch of fresh cut herbs in the roof where others already dangled. There was also what looked like a blank picture, hanging from the wall. The surface like glass. Trueman felt it with his finger.

“Do you wish to make a call?” Saxon asked.

First Trueman looked baffled, then Saxon did.

“Its a 'face,” he went on by way of explanation, as if he was stating the obvious. Then he frowned and drew back several paces. His dark eyes suddenly flickered about, as though he had just realised something, thought Trueman, or remembered something. He might have been checking for an escape route.

At that point Rhia called from the caravan. Saxon moved aside, his body posture suggesting Trueman pass him. He doesn't want me to walk behind him, the scientist thought, as though he is frightened of what I might do. A confused Trueman led the way.

Back at the caravan they found Toby standing between the shafts, Rhia leaning against his broad neck, stroking under his chin. Without a word they went, leaving the little clearing largely unchanged; a bit more ash, a bit less porridge and so on.

They travelled on for most of the morning. As the sun rose higher in the sky, so too increased the heat and Trueman was glad of the shaded road. At one point a sudden squall drove up and struck them with a hard rain, Toby flinching from the blast. It seemed to have come from nowhere and left as rapidly but the rain itself had been warm. Trueman was led to reflect on these sudden vacillations in the weather, surely an indication of a destabilising climate.

He was brought out of his inner thoughts by Rhia. She called Toby to a halt, unhitched him from the van and stripped off his harness. Leaving him in a small paddock by the roadside and the van parked up next to a thick hedge of damson, she let Saxon lead the way along a small path that branched to the north, up into wooded hillside.

This path struck off steeply, climbing in a series of sharp turns between the pale trunks of ash and a carpet of wild garlic, already flowered and now setting seed, the strong scent arising to surround them from the brushed leaves of their passage. Following behind Rhia, Trueman was impressed by the easy grace with which she tackled the steep climb. Her head was up, turning to take in the precise qualities of this section of woodland. The muscles of her thighs and calves bunched beneath the fabric of her leggings, with each high step.

Then he was embarrassed by his own gaze. Neither the time nor the place, he thought sternly. He went on more carefully, attempting to observe the flora or looking over Rhia’s shoulder to where Saxon led the way.

After a few minutes the steep path met yet another contour track. Both the others were breathing a little harder, though by no means out of breath. Trueman was pleasantly surprised to find that his new body had not reacted at all to the climb, the breathing unchanged, the pulse, according to the HUD, a strong beat at 62 per minute. Impressive, he thought.

Saxon led them next along a contour track for a few hundred metres before stopping and gesturing upward again. They stood below the small arch of a vine. Beyond was a little clearing. They went through and halted again on the edge of the open space. As Trueman looked about at thick grasses and the tangle of vegetation bordering the clearing, Rhia and Saxon fell into a discussion.

“Good nutrient cycling,” remarked Rhia.

“Aye,” said Saxon. “Plenty of the winged messengers.” Indeed, the volume of air in the clearing was laced with the darting flight of birds, calling in many voices.

“They’ve got the nest sites,” she said, indicating an edge of the clearing where insects swarmed lazily over the brilliant yellow flowers of gorse; a sweet, honey smell wafted down towards them. “And seed,” she continued, nodding toward each in turn, “Rowan, damson, white thorn, pea tree, wild crab and pear. Dead wood,” indicating old stumps and rotting butts where woodlice busied themselves. “Dense cover. May have to watch out for pole cat.”

Saxon nodded.

“Not too steep either,” he said.

“Just about right for a gravity feed-lot. Water available above?”

“Yes,” Saxon confirmed. “A top watering ditch but it might need going over.”

“Not difficult. Nice view. Maybe pollard some of the closer ash.”

He nodded.

“That’ll give you some materials for pens, or are you going to use an open system?”

“Not sure yet,” Saxon admitted.

“Look at the dwelling?”

“Might as well.”

They walked through the clearing and found a small, turf roofed roundhouse, partly sunk into the hillside. The frontage was mainly glass with a veranda and rough sawn board floor.

Trueman became impatient of being left out, turning to the midday sun.

“It has a good, southern aspect,” he commented.

Rhia and Saxon exchanged glances.

“Of course,” Saxon stated. “We only build on south or south west facing slopes.”

Trueman nodded, abashed. “Makes sense,” he muttered.

Saxon appeared to come to some decision. The three began to make their way back down to the lower road. They passed a bearded man carrying a sack with two young children in tow. The man smiled and greeted them but gave Trueman a wide berth, drawing the youngsters with him.

“You moving into the empty niche, then?” he asked Saxon.

“Reckon I am,” Saxon replied.

The stranger grinned.

“Welcome,” he said and he and Saxon embraced for a moment. “I’m Trebor, this is Kirsty and Frodo.”

Rhia, Saxon and the children exchanged greetings while Trueman hung back.

“If you need anything,” Trebor concluded, “we’re the next place along. See you later.”

At the caravan, while Rhia prepared Toby for the off, Saxon carefully unloaded his crate, placed it on the floor and opened the lid. A soft blue light illuminated the interior revealing rows of eggs gently cradled. Trueman could see a mechanism to rotate them, a spray nozzle that delivered a burst of fine mist even as he watched. There was a small flat panel that displayed temperature.

Satisfied, Saxon closed and shouldered the crate, turning to Rhia, smiling.

“I’ll be off,” he said. “Call in on your way back, if you want.”

“I will,” she said and stepped forward to kiss him.

Saxon clasped her gently with his free arm, the hand dropping to lightly hold her right buttock. Trueman looked away in sudden embarrassment. When he turned back, Saxon was watching him.

“You have a harder course before you,” he stated. “I hope we meet again.”

He backed slowly away, keeping his eyes fixed on Trueman. Rhia put Toby to the shafts and coupled the traces and back strap, checked everything once more and then stepped out. The pony and Trueman followed.

“You should join the Intervention!” Saxon called from behind. “You could help.”

As they walked on, Trueman looked quizzically to Rhia. She bit her lip before speaking.

“There's a major challenge shaping up on the Sub-Con-Peninsula. The cantrefi intend to intervene.”

She looked sharply at Trueman and impulsively placed her hand upon his forearm.

“It will be very dangerous,” she said and he could see tears start in the inner corners of her eyes.

Thanks for reading and welcome to new subscribers! Many thanks for comments and likes. The long nights and lack of sun here mean our batteries get low, bit like us. But Hirnos Y Gaeaf, the Winter Solstice is just up ahead and soon we’ll be on our way back towards the summer. Which reminds me, I have a piece coming up on the changing nature of wildfire in the changing climate….Till next time, stay warm. Hwyl.