Novel Nights In: ‘Ellen’s Tale’ (part 1) by sci-fi writer Alberta Ross

Welcome to the newest slot on my blog, the Saturday and Sunday evening feature Novel Nights In where I bring you guests’ novels in their entirety over a maximum of ten weeks. Tonight’s is the fourth book in this series and tonight features part one of a 100,900-word novel by Alberta Ross.

NB. This novel does contain some strong language.

Ellen’s Tale: the first of The Sefuty Chronicles series – Synopsis

2060: The catastrophic results of climate change lead to mass migrations, whole nations fleeing rising seas and desertification. The world at war: land, water and survival the prize. The survivors split, most scrambling to the purpose-built cities the others fortifying their settlements behind the false security of rings of land mines.

Genetic manipulations lead to populations in the cities being freed from greed and violence but this has resulted in the destruction of the drive which made the human race so successful.

Imprisoned behind the mines, deprived of resources, the settlements battle famine, natural disasters and despair. Populations everywhere continue to tumble.

2162: Young researcher Maia Linne contacts archivist Ris Menai for assistance with a study of Ellen Wellfit, a young girl who had lived and loved 50 years previously. Through incomplete correspondence we follow their increasing interest and eventual love for each other.

2111: Ellen Wellfit, innocent and naïve. Bix Sefune, dangerously charming. They meet when she seeks his help to fulfil the dying request of an old lady. Terrified of life outside the city walls Ellen, is forced to cling to Bix and he, responding, finds his interest in her growing.

They both dare to think of a future together. It is Ellen who seeks to find a way to achieve their dreams. The results of her actions hold out hope for them and also for the dwindling survivors of mankind.

An historical romance in the future, with three time periods and two love stories set against a background of climate change, child soldiers, land mines, genetic engineering and eugenics.

Ellen’s Tale (part 1)

This material follows some of the events between the years 2111-2112 involving Ellen Welfitt and Bix Sefune taken from transcripts of recordings, letters and diaries.

ELLEN WELFITT

His face was as scarred and battered as any Feral cat; from where to be sure some of his genetic makeup had come. I looked on his lean dark countenance and my whole life changed right there in Deliveries. He rode the Sefuty Line so you know him and his kind. Deviants that you admire but only as an abstraction. He appeared grim of face, dark of head and with eyes so green you could be tempted to stare. He was short and lean and, as he stalked through the loading bays, the dust from Outside flew from him. He wore a scowl comfortably but, I know now, it was his defence against the whispers and covert glances. They were dangerous, the Riders, we all know that. We had all been warned. They were not as others, not quite human.

He was someone special, he had to be. I heard the whispers, I heard the name. Bix. Of course I had heard of him, everyone in our part of the City had. A legend. I thought of Gran. I forgot my training and looked full at Bix and a half-formed idiocy saturated my brain cells. Without allowing logic to clear my mind I took courage in both pockets and ran in front of him before he could leave. I only reached his shoulder and had to tilt my head to confront him. Bold, too bold for manners. Our gazes met and there was a charge. Anger from him, fear from me or just a recognition? I started talking; sure I only had moments to hold him to my words. His raised hand paused when I mentioned Gran, of the Respected Elderly. Regarding me, he listened.

This was so important to me, to Gran, and with an effort I kept my eyes on his and asked for his help. There was a pause as he stared down at me. I felt the embarrassment, felt the colour rising in my face, but I overrode the reflexes and kept his gaze; small gold flecks nestled in the green of his eyes.

His hand held me under my elbow; his touch was firm and allowed no escape, I had no such desire. He led me to the drinks room, sitting me down and demanding explanation. I wasn’t coherent, as I tried to explain what Gran wanted. Told him the RE Guardians’ hands were knotted, they could do nothing; told him I was all the family Gran had.

He knew it was my task. Listening quietly to what I was saying he waited for my trailing silence then said, ‘You know that’s almost impossible, don’t you?’

He had said, ‘Almost’. I clung to that, a talisman, though I agreed despondently.

‘Can I meet with your Gran?’ he asked. His voice was deep and like gravel; I found it soft and pleasant to my ear. Those green eyes were kind and seemed to smile at me. I told him I would try. I kept my voice calm. I had already been more rude than I would have thought possible; it would not do to show any of the turmoil within me.

I asked the First Ordering Guardian, she was my favourite, all my life she had cared for Gran. Explaining the request she agreed: Bix was well known. I guess he would have to be. She agreed that if anyone could help it would be someone such as Bix.

So I took him to the Hallowed Halls and if he felt as alien as he looked he gave no sign. His easy loping step seemed so out of place here where steps were uncertain and slow. Outside air seemed to waft from him and, as he passed, nodding heads raised and dimmed eyes peered after in more curious interest than many had shown for decades. I introduced him in the proper manner to Gran. I’m good at the Protocol stuff. I keep it like a coloured sequence in my head, some very complicated Higher Protocol moves. There’s a certain feel in the movements which gives pleasure. Gran laughed up at me as she always did when I performed a Protocol. They are just such a dysfunctional misalignment sometimes these REs, but I loved her so much I forgave her everything. It was so nice to see her laugh, just lately it had seemed like . . . well.

Anyway, Bix had no manners at all; he bent right over her and kissed the back of her hand. Well I question you, what about permission, germ checks and DNA samples? Did he care? No he just went ahead and kissed her hand. I flinched, I could not help myself, but Gran just chuckled and put her hand up to his cheek. I looked around wildly for a Guardian, was no one else getting those gross vibes from all that unauthorised skin touching? Bix pulled a stool up and sat right next to her, knee to knee. His dust-stained trousers right there mixing with Gran’s crumpled skirt. Immediately they were talking away as if they were friends from way back when.

The Guardian smiled at me, silently telling me to leave them to do

things their way. Was that tolerance of Deviant Behaviour part of their

Alteration? I supposed it must be, to deal with the more difficult Respected Elderly.

Bix was now telling Gran that what she wanted was nigh on impossible. Well! Gran had told him, I never thought she would do that. I don’t know why, thinking about it, when did Gran ever abide by taboo rules? She chuckled at his remark and then started singing. Singing! Gran never did fail to amaze me, and then Mabel sitting next to her joined in and the next thing there’s a whole room full of them singing. Something about an ant and some plant, I don’t know. I expected some Medication Squaddy to rush in but, no, they were allowed to sing. Bix was laughing as he bent over and kissed Gran on the cheek, telling her to keep the hopes high, apple pie in the sky, or some such nonsense. I kissed Gran quickly and ran after him.

He guided me to an empty bench. We were still within the Halls so it was padded and soft. I often sat on those for the sheer pleasure of the softness; I’m sure the Guardians knew so I never lingered in case of reprimand.

‘What’s your name?’ His voice held, above its notes, the traces of the past laughter. He smiled straight at me and I felt something dissolve within me, confusing and strange.

‘Ellen is what Gran calls me,’ I answered with, I hoped, nothing betraying my thoughts. Please let me not disgrace myself, my only thought. As a mountain spring, I thought, let me keep my spring.

‘Ellen,’ he smiled again. ‘As I said before it’s not an easy task. One thing is certain: your Gran can’t go Outside, she’s too frail.’ I must have betrayed myself because he added, ‘You know it really, don’t lie to yourself. Her time is numbered in days, possibly weeks but no more.’

With a brimful of eye water I nodded. I had to brush it away; it would not go on its own. How embarrassing, just like a child. I knew Gran would have to Die someday. Die. She taught me to say that word. Obviously I don’t say it in company but Gran always wanted me to call ‘a spade a spade’, whatever that was.

He didn’t seem to be embarrassed or offended so I gathered Control again. ‘That’s why I have to do something. I’m all she has left now; I want her to be happy when she … she Leaves us.’

With an air of amused curiosity he asked, ‘How much would you do for her?’

‘Anything.’ And then more cautiously, as I didn’t wish to lie to him ‘I think,’ I responded.

‘Kiss me, and then I’ll be gone.’

I stared at him in consternation as I repeated his words.

‘I’m going away to put my life on the line for you,’ he reasoned. ‘Surely you can manage to put your reputation on the line and kiss me. And’ now his eyes were twinkling like the stars I saw once from a high walkway. Kiss him. Something within me leapt to respond and before I knew I had raised my lips to his and then a light gentle touch as his lips met mine. Nothing terrible happened, no shouts or public humiliation. It was nice actually.

He left then with a laugh and a floating sentence from over his shoulder. ‘Give me a couple of days, little Ellen, I’ll see what I can do,’ and he was gone. It seemed after he left that the City had grown smaller.

He was back in three days and five hours, I did not count the minutes. Why would I? I was still in Deliveries and heard the bustle before ever I saw him. He signed off, said something to his riding partner and then, looking over, saw me and smiled. Mountain springs. Everyone noticed; tried not to be seen looking at me. He jerked his head toward the door and, as I was about to argue my responsibilities, the Supervisor came over, took my clipboard and suggested it was time for a refreshment break. Bix had friends in high places; the Supervisor had never even looked at me before.

Bix sat me down and a worker brought us hot liquids without us even having to queue or, it seemed, any credits being needed. I was in exalted circles with Bix. He drank thirstily before he said a word.

‘Okay, how brave is my little Ellen?’ he grinned.

I had had three days and five hours to practise my mountain spring so managed a smooth ‘Another kiss?’ I shrugged, ‘Why not?’

He lent across as if he would kiss me there and then and all my pretended casualness left me abruptly. I reared back in panic. ‘Not here. Are you mad?’

‘Of course, that’s part of our Alteration. How else would they have Riders for the Line?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll save that one for later. No, it was something else. I might be able to help you, but,’ he paused, ‘you’ll have to come Outside with me.’

Speech fled. Did I open my mouth? He didn’t say anything while I wrestled with terror and confusions. ‘Outside?’ I whispered, hoping I had heard wrong.

There was sympathy in his expression as he nodded, waited.

‘Is there no other …,’ my voice trailed away as he shook his head. He leaned forward and with lowered voice explained. ‘I’ve managed to get in touch with a Village Outside, Blaisemill, who might be willing to help, but they say they need to talk to you. They can supply the goods, the expertise,

only if you come.’ He waited but I had no words. I was suffocating with fear. ‘I’ll be with you, Ellen, and I’m the best; you know that. But I can’t honestly tell you nothing will happen, no one can ever say that. Even if all is well with Security, we’ll need to be out there for at least six days, maybe eight. My riding partner is willing to let us off the Train and pick us up again but his route is weekly.’

I was dying. Every word he uttered, the hard hands of fear tightened around my lungs. No breath. No life. Oh, Gran, not that, I couldn’t do that; anything but that. Silence seemed to envelop us, but I know there was noise all around as people rushed, chattering, clattering. I felt sick and a tremor started in my toes and grimly crept over my body. I must not let anyone see my emotion. Control. Control was all. Think of others always. Do not distress them. Do not embarrass the others. Control. I repeated the Mantra of my youth. The tremor subsided, grumbling. I looked up at Bix and his sympathetic eyes watched anxiously. I swallowed hard and, with what I thought was iron springiness, but which he laughingly assured me later was none at all, I said, ‘I have no Alteration for Outside.’

‘You don’t need any. All you need is courage.’

It was fine for him to say these things, he with Feral and Mad Alterations, he was bred in courage. I, what had I? They had Altered his perception too, I thought, as he read my thoughts and leaned across the table, whispering softly, ‘Love. Ellen, you have love for Gran to give you courage.’

He was right, of course; the only purpose for any of this was to let Gran Leave with love. The fear did not go. ‘Would we be able to get permission?’

‘Getting that is your job, Ellen. You must take someone with you and I’m willing. Permission for two.’

I nodded as I pushed my chair back. ‘Will you be here?’

He smiled up at me as I rose to shaky feet. ‘I’m not due out for twenty four hours. I can change my rota anytime before then.’

I left him then before my mountain spring left me.

I got the permits needed to go Outside. I got a session with the Psychiatrist to check my Emotional Soundness. I got an interview with the Administrator to speed me on my way.

I met Bix early the next morning before the day shift came on. He silently helped me into the protective covering of the Riders. He tightened my bootlaces for me as I stood, childlike limp. He introduced me to his riding partner, Jack. He input my details on the exit board. He held my hand firmly as he led me through the doors and lifted me gently up the steps, high up above the ground into the cab of the Train. Oh, Gran!

I did not care that he might be shocked or embarrassed; I could not, just could not, face the Outside without courage from him. I sat close, taboo or not. He did not seem to mind, he lifted his arm so that I could nestle closer, like Gran used to do when I was small, before I had Control. He put his arm around my shoulders like she had and held me tight to him. It felt good. I heard Jack ask if I was alright and Bix replying, ‘She’s okay; bravest in the four Cities.’ I could hear a smile in his voice but he was not laughing at me, I could tell that.

‘I am not brave.’ Muffled in his jacket but still he heard. ‘I am just plain terrified,’ I admitted. I was not ready to lie to him.

‘I know. But that’s what courage is Ellen. Doing what you are terrified of.’

I opened my eyes a little and felt my heart palpitate as I saw the day-breaking endless expanse of grey nothingness. ‘Where is everything?’ I gasped, clutching at his arm in fresh fear.

‘Just there, where you’re looking. Watch, the colours will come soon. It’s very beautiful as day lights it up.’

It was, in a curious way; the colours were soft-edged and I saw there was life out in the expanse. Birds and animals that I did not recognise; flying and scuttling. ‘No people though?’ I asked.

‘Not so near the Line,’ Bix told me. ‘It’s too dangerous. Those fields are not safe to walk over. Leftover mines, fresh mines, bombs. The people of the Outside stay well away.’

I thought about this as I watched the world pass at a dizzying speed. I knew of course, who did not, of the Wars and the destructions but had thought it was in the past. Oh, I knew the Sefuty Line was still prone to attack but I had not realised mines and bombs were left over.

‘How will we get to the people then?’ I tried not to let my voice lose Control; I do not know how well I succeeded.

‘Don’t worry, there are a few places we’ve cleared and I’ll go first. All you must do is follow.’

I looked up at him, amazed to find him smiling. Jack too. Did they find everything amusing or was it just me they found funny? We travelled many hours and then the colours were harsher, clear-edged; still the Line ran straight and no people to see. It wasn’t so scary now, although I could not think very hard about the emptiness without a feeling of nausea creeping in.

It flooded in when, later, we stood alongside the Line; when all that emptiness wrapped itself around, suffocating me, pulling me down in a dizzy

spiral of sickness and despair. Without Bix’s arm around me, his chest against my face, I would have gone insane I am sure. I could hear his heart beating as I stood there. It was so measured and calm. His breathing was even and sure. There was no fear in him, no fear at all. I looked up and tried a smile. It seemed to work and he grinned back.

‘You’re the most amazing girl, my love,’ he said and I accepted the praise with pride. I could make amends if I ever got back, I would attend some sessions in Humility and lessons on my place in the Greater Good of Society. It was only much later, and far too late, that I pondered his possession words.

I followed exactly where he told me. I would have followed him into the pits of radioactive waste if he had said. I still would.

We were out there for seven days and ten hours.

He held me clamped to his side as we seemed to walk through space. I kept my eyes shut for so long and would have fallen but for his strength. He stopped to persuade me to open them, but it seemed the sky would crush me. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

‘Ellen. Just look at something small and close to you, never move your eyes from that object and you will find the space is tiny. Try. Please.’ The last was said from behind a smile, I could hear it. I tried one eye and found I was looking down at my foot. Two eyes gave me very little extra to see. He was right: the space had suddenly collapsed in on itself. Alright?’ He did not take his arm away and, knowing that, I felt confident and whispered that maybe I was. It was easier now as I could avoid the tussocks that tripped. Bix talked quietly as we walked, telling me what little he knew of the Village we were going to. What he thought the different sounds we could hear were. About how brave he thought I was. I liked it when he said that, although we both knew he was not telling truth.

After many miles, when my legs ached from the unevenness of the ground, we met them. They weren’t so different. Less streamlined, no obvious Social Place difference and nothing they wore seemed to fit. Material flapped around bodies in slip-slap manner. Colours were subdued and there seemed to be many layers all fastened in different ways and places. Hair seemed to follow the clothes; there were no obvious symbols of hierarchy. Their talk at first seemed strange but I followed every word.

I was so tired I disgraced myself again and fell asleep when we arrived at the Village, my head in Bix’s lap. The depths I am sinking to, Gran, I thought as I tipped into fitful rest. The buzz of voices around me seemed like a child’s lullaby, one in which Bix’s voice was the melody.

Later, when I was conscious again, a Committee of them questioned me. About Gran mostly, but also me and Bix. I thought they would want to know about the City but, apart from how Gran was living, they ignored it. I thought at the time that maybe they didn’t know about the City, I know better now. I kept my expression as neutral as I could considering the distractions of the Village life around us. I described the Hallowed Halls and how well the Respected Elders were cared for. I explained the duty we have toward them at the end to give them what they most desire before they die. I explained what Gran desired. I told them I loved my Gran more than anything and wanted so much to do this for her, and I told them that, even now, it might be too late as she was within the last few days of life. Then I waited. They debated for so long. Once they asked why I had waited until the last moment to do this thing and I explained about Bix, how I would not have been able to go Outside without his help.

They went away and talked some more and I daydreamt of Gran, of when we had been younger. Of her singing silly songs that made me giggle, of how she used to hold me up to the windows on the Archway viewing stations and point out the different parts of the City by the coloured lights. Of the stories she told me about her youth, oh so many years before. And I dreamt of the strangeness of her life, of how I had always thought of her as so brave when she explained the Chaos of back then. Not just the Wars and destruction but all the everyday things they had to deal with, make judgments upon, decisions. The events, thoughts and actions they juggled continually through each waking day. How did they keep their minds together? How did their minds never split?

And then.

Then I thought of how she may be dying right at that moment and Leaving me, maybe already had. The sadness fell like a weighted cloth over me and my head bowed under its pressure. Please let her be there when I return, my mind whispered. I needed to say goodbye to her. An arm seemed to drift lightly around me and I leaned into Bix gratefully. He said nothing, which was good. I closed my eyes and inhaled the odour of him. Bix.

I cannot recall in detail that first evening. So much noise and turmoil. Agitation inundated every part of me. People moving everywhere, talking, shouting, interrupting, laughing. Children shrieking and running and where was the Order? Why this Chaos? I huddled, miserable, next to Bix who seemed not to notice any confusion. They offered food and drink; I burrowed my head in Bix’s shoulder shaking my head. It was wrong. I knew

as I did it how unpardonably rude I was being, but that day I could no longer Control. I wanted to be back in the peace of the City so much. Only Gran kept me there. And Bix.

That first night we were shown a room for our sleeping but Bix said he would sleep out under the stars. I had heard the Feral would not allow for comfortable sleep within walls. I went with him. How would I sleep without his safety? He made our two bags into one and grinned in the gloom as I snuggled next to him. I pushed my head into his shoulder to hide the dangerous dark that pressed me to the ground. The bags were warm and against belief I slept, close to Bix. Never since I was weaned had I slept so; body to body. I slept instantly, my brain so tired and jumbled it crashed to the safety of night oblivion. When I woke I wondered how the Directors would react when they knew. It was a thought instantly lost as Bix’s breath stirred my cheek

‘Just in time, my love. Up, up and watch the sunrise. It’s fantastic. Come.’ He pulled me to my feet and spun me round to watch the horizon. His hands held either side of my face, forced my gaze only forward and shielded me from the space. My hands went up to hold his there and then I ventured to open my fast-closed eyes. Never have I seen such a sight. The terror of the expanse was held at bay by his hands. I know now that many people have sung to the glory that I looked on for the first time that day. Poets and artists, musicians and philosophers, all have had their say. For me it was the first time, and it was the magic which helped shape my actions from then. I sighed when day finally presented, felt a sadness that this display was over. I understood that tomorrow’s display would not be the same.

That morning I tried to eat my first ‘real food’. I looked at the plate set down before me, saw nameless heaps of texture and colour, saw and felt heat rising and then smelt the whole and felt my gorge rise. From under my lowered lids I looked around at the rest of the company, they were eating with healthy enjoyment. There was talk and laughter; people’s arms and hands crossing and stretching across the table, offering, taking. The Chaos and intrusion of all the activity caused my tensions to rise again. Control. I must Control. This was how they behaved; I must not dishonour them, they who had allowed me into their home. I looked up quickly at Bix who smiled encouragingly back.

‘It’s very good,’ he said and I thought that maybe it might be Bix’s first food as well. ‘Try it,’ he urged.

I tried. I choked and spluttered. I disgraced myself. The temperature

was too high, the texture was so strange and the taste was indescribably horrible. Hands began to bang my back. I wanted to twist away but I coughed too much and had to bear their touch. I tried to find Bix’s hand, found it. Laughing, Bix put my world to rights and panic backed away. My throat felt sore and rough, my eyes filled with water and I hung my head to hide the flush of shame. I apologised with the highest form of Protocol I could manage. The formality and order of the word sequence calmed my racing pulse and my heartbeat slowed. I ventured a look around and saw with pleasure the expressionless faces around the table. I had redeemed myself. Control. I looked at Bix. His face was as quiet as I think it was possible for someone who laughed so much.

I tried the food a second time. A small mouthful as Bix advised. Held it in my mouth. It filled my mouth and not only stayed but seemed to expand. It intruded into the whole cavity. I was aware of roughness and grease. It stayed, nothing seemed to happen. Bix leant down and whispered, ‘It doesn’t dissolve; you must chew it and swallow.’

Startled, I ventured another glance at the others. Their mouths and jaws were moving vigorously, their throats moved, I looked up at Bix who nodded and smiled. I tried. Oh, Gran, you never warned me. It was horrid. It was disgusting. It was impossible. I filled my mind with my childhood mantra of Control. I willed my mouth to move the food around, made my tongue join in. When was it ready to swallow? I chewed until the lumps were all the same smooth texture, aware that some had hidden between my teeth. I tried to swallow and … oh, how do they do it so easily? The food mass was many sizes too large for my throat, too late I realised it was hurtling toward my lungs. It seemed my throat knew what to do. Crashing, as if a heavy lump of metal, the whole proceeded to fight within me. However, this time I managed, just, to maintain the dignity of the City. Oh, I longed for a wake-up cube to dissolve and rid me of this aftertaste that lingered for so long. How to dig out the tiny but intrusive pieces within my teeth? I was at a loss. I realised with dismay that food such as this would be served up every day. Oh, Gran!

They announced they would help, Said they would show me how to do it all. So I learnt, it was hard. They took me out to what they called fields and I wanted to fall upon the ground, to wrap my arms around my head. ‘Too much space,’ my brain screamed to me. Bix held me fast against his side and always his voice was murmuring explanations and encouragements. Then I felt so ill, the smell of the animals was rank and strong and they seemed always to be bleating or lowing as we moved among them

I had to watch where I placed my feet; the fields were filled with the animals’ waste. ‘Why was it not kept clear?’ I sounded inside my mind. Flies buzzed and hummed from the piles to our skin, our clothes. I kept my teeth closed tight and tried not to show my disgust. The animals seemed to be in a permanent state of panic or puzzlement. They ran from us and then toward us in a bewildering rush of bodies. Some, braver than their kind, butted and nibbled at my legs, my hands, no matter how I tried to keep myself from them. Bix just laughed and jumped us sideways, this way and that, and once he swept me up in his arms and over the heads of a group of curious lambs. What would the Directors say? I heard children laughing and shouting in a field next to us. ‘Chasing the birds,’ I was told. ‘Why?’ I thought.

The man taking us through the field, John was his name, kept talking, talking. I tried to listen to understand what he said. I stopped walking the better to do so. I shut my eyes quickly; I had forgotten and looked up. The fields spun for that instant and I felt Bix’s arm tighten. John was explaining something about respect for the animals. Of kindly slaughter. I could not help my words and I blame my disordered senses for the disrespect I showed to him.

‘Where is the respect,’ I asked, ‘in being kind and then killing them?’ John joined in with Bix’s laughter. The animals did, I suppose, look happy enough, if not being miserable was being happy.

Then, for Gran’s request, they chose a sheep and took it, roughly it seemed to me, to a small hut in the Village, where John picked up what looked like a pair of scissors but they were strange, larger and thicker than any I had seen. He dragged the protesting sheep between his knees and, bending over, proceeded to take off the woolly coat. I stared, I could not help myself; to my shame I could not help myself. What was he doing? In what seemed no time at all the sheep was half its size and so smooth, clean and white. Why, it was beautiful in its way. Someone bundled the fleece, as they called it, away from John.

They killed the sheep.

Before I knew what was intended they killed it. Right there. I was nearly sick then from the stench of the blood that poured from its neck. I managed to Control. I would not humiliate my hosts in such a way but never have I had my manners tested so severely. I stared at the heap of death, speechless, as it sprawled at my feet. My heart was hammering within my chest and I could feel the blood rushing fast, too fast, around the blood vessels of my brain. Gran, did you know your request involved killing this animal? Did you always eat dead animals? I had never before had to consider that aspect of Gran’s lifestyle, before the City.

Was I responsible for this animal’s death or was Gran? Had the Authorities realised what my task had involved? If they had, why had they not warned me, did they fear I would not honour Gran’s request if I had known? Maybe they had not known, then was I at fault for not stopping the act? But I had not known what they were going to do. How could I have imagined they would kill it?

My head was pounding now and my thoughts swirled in a turbulence of disorder that threatened to split it. I was losing my ability to think, to reason. I felt my breath beginning to fail me and the animal at my feet grew hazy. My legs began to shake. I needed to leave but how could I, what excuse did I have to rush away? These people were helping me, helping Gran. They had killed one of their animals for us, strangers to them. How could I disgrace them, myself, Gran or even the City?

I was so lost. Then Bix was there leading me away, an easy comment tossed over his shoulder to the people. I heard dimly a pleasant rejoinder as my legs collapsed beneath me. Bix was holding me up and led me to a small room next door with a strangely warm smell. He lowered me gently to a soft cushion and sat beside me holding me and telling me to, ‘Breathe slowly, my love; be calm, be calm.’ His voice was even and gentle, instructing me ‘Slow. Calm. Breathe.’

It was not my Mantra but it started to work. My muscles un-knotted slowly, my stomach felt some ease, gradually my mind slowed its chaotic galloping and I could see my way to Control. It did not come at once but it would come if I remained at peace within Bix’s encircling arm. He was my sanity.

His voice sank to a comforting nonsense, his words meant nothing, the kind of words that maybe Gran had used when I was young, the kind of words that eased hurts and fears just by the rhythm in them, by the sound of them. I slid my hand into his, feeling his warmth, his security. I bowed my head against his chest and used his heartbeat to slow mine down, to match his beat. Then I was calm, had Order and Control. The dead animal was filed for future thought and logic. I could face the Village again. I looked up and tried a smile for Bix.

‘Good girl,’ he smiled back. ‘Ready for the rest?’

I hoped I was.

‘Will you wait here for a few minutes? I’ll check there are no more surprises like that.’ The instant panic I felt subsided and, looking around at the smallness of the space, I felt safe enough to consent realising, as he left, that Bix must have been uneasy within walls so close together.

I looked around and pressed my fingers into the softness beneath me and realised I was sitting on many fleeces of sheep. Bundles of the fleece surrounded me. That warm and comforting smell belonged to them. I examined with sight and touch. Feeling the greasy softness, seeing flecks of plant life and dirt tangled in the hairy texture. What, I wondered, would happen to these? How could I find out? I caught my thoughts then, why would I want to know?

This was new. I had never wondered the how of anything that I didn’t need to know. Sometimes with Gran, when I was very young, I had asked questions that the Supervisors had labelled curiosity and led them to Rehab me. My memory of that is faint and vaguely unsettling. I hardly ever think about it. Gran had warned me not to ask questions, that she would tell me things unasked. Had the Rehabilitation not worked, that I now found myself curious about these fleeces? I must try harder. I did not mention my new problem to Bix when he returned; I would find a quiet time and work out these Aberrations.

Bix took me to the house we had eaten within that morning. There was a female waiting; I thought she was about my age. She smiled at me and asked me to sit at the table. Bix was leaving, I watched him go with a sense of loss. Then I turned back to the woman keeping my eyes low as courtesy demanded. I could hear Bix outside the window talking to what sounded like a group of men.

‘My name is Susanna.’ I felt such a sense of relief. Not once had anyone offered their name since we had arrived, a fact that preyed on my anxieties. Had I and was I still offending them in some way? Elated at this proof I had not, I bowed my head and offered my name back.

‘Bix has been explaining some things to us,’ she said. ‘You see, here in the Village it’s the visitor who has to offer a name first. We had thought you didn’t wish to do this, now we know that you were waiting for your hosts to be first. It is a misunderstanding.’

I stared across at her, astonishment and guilt equally mixed. I had offended but how could anyone guess at such a strange convention? She continued, ‘Bix has explained about your customs and how outward emotion is considered embarrassing to others. We’d thought that you found us all of no account as you seemed uninterested in us. Now we know you have been as considerate as any could wish.’

I grew flushed and anxiety rose within me. I had been so rude, but how could I know? They did not tell me in the City.

‘We had known you would find being Outside strange but we hadn’t considered how terrible. We hadn’t known how you would feel about touching, noise and bustle. Most of all we hadn’t realised you had never known about meat and how it’s produced. I’m asked to apologise on all our behalfs.’ She hesitated and then, ‘Please, can we start again?’

I wanted to run and hide like a chastised child. How could I have behaved so badly? I turned my head so the eye water would not be visible. I who had full marks always in Politeness sessions. I who could recite every Protocol our level was allowed to know. Then, in the silence that stretched until it seemed to breaking, a new and novel thought crept into my conscious, one that would never have been allowed in Sessions. I realised that there were two sides. They had been trying to be good hosts and I a good guest. Separated by the Sefuty Line for fifty years we no longer used the same forms of behaviour.

I smiled shyly back at her and then, with a swallow and an effort I hoped was not visible, I held out my hand as I had seen them do and allowed Susanna to take it and give it a little shake. Strange. It wasn’t so bad. Gran, Gran, what you were doing to me?

‘Please, if I have offended in any way will you be kind and forgive the transgression?’ I asked. ‘Be assured I will do Rehab for any fault,’ I added as reassurance.

Susanna looked startled and asked what Rehab was. A little nonplussed I told her. She said nothing, for which I was pleased. What an extraordinary question. I could see the gulf between us was larger than I knew. There was a silence and I thought maybe their way was to take turns to ask questions and wondered what I could ask that would not be a personal impertinence. Suddenly, without any detailed thought, I asked her what would happen to the fleeces in the small house. Aghast at my forwardness it was with relief I saw her smile and she leapt to her feet, twirling her skirt around.

‘See, my skirt is made from them, and my jumper, and,’ here she went over to a bed in the corner, ‘our coverings too.’

I understood nothing. These things looked nothing like the fleece. She offered her hand and then let it drop to her side with a flush of embarrassment. ‘Come, I’ll show you.’

I thought at first she would take me Outside and I began to fear again and looked around as if I could hide or find Bix hidden nearby.

‘No, not out there. It’s alright honestly, it’s alright,’ Susanna’s voice cut across my thoughts. ‘It’s in the next room.’

I had not realised there were more rooms and was interested as we walked through the doorway to find another similar in size but very cluttered with many tables and strange machines. I recognised a fleece and there were spools of what she called yarn and various wooden artefacts. During the next half an hour she showed me a truly amazing sequence of events which transformed the fleece. Of course, she did not actually make a skirt or a rug there in that half hour but I did understand how she could.

Spun or woven, sewn or felted, my mind struggled to encompass so much from one fleece. Still a doubt remained. Did all this justify the deaths? This thought was about to join the other thoughts that needed time to sort when she said, ‘The beauty of it is that we don’t have to kill the sheep for the fleece. We can take the fleece again and again. It grows back each year.’

Did she know what I had been thinking? I must watch my face.

The second day in the Village Susanna took me in charge and led me around. Bix was with me when we were Outside but he joined the men when Susanna took me indoors. Inside was still unpleasant but did not frighten. They did try not to invade my shadow; I, on my part, tried not to show my head pain when their chatter seemed to spin illogically out of control. It was helped by the fascination I found I had for all aspects of their life. I had not realised I had this appalling curiosity. I did not think of the Rehabilitation Sessions I would have to attend on my return.

I watched the women preparing the meals and every meal seemed to take such a long time. There were trips to small houses near by to collect what they called ‘vegetables in store’. They also went out to very small fields, behind the houses, that they called ‘gardens’ where they would pick some leaves from one plant or dig up a root from another and bring them all back to the room they called a kitchen. I remembered many of these words from Gran’s talk of her childhood. They talked incessantly as they washed and chopped and poured strange smelling liquids and pastes on the food. Did they never stop talking? I watched them cooking. It seemed that they cooked and ate two main meals communally each day and I watched these preparations. I saw that some meals were ground up into small pieces. ‘For the young children and the older members,’ Susanna explained, and one was made completely liquid for Elsie who was not well at the moment. Then a moment of dazzling clarity lit up the shadows of ignorance in my mind. I cried out then in pleasure startling even myself.

‘This is what I do,’ I told them, ‘in the City. This is my job.’ I was so excited at this connection I slipped over words in my haste to show them. ‘I am in Dispatch and Delivery. I take in and check the food deliveries, make sure they are adequate for our needs, and make out the orders for the next month’s supplies. I then ensure that the right meals reach the correct departments. There are meals for the sick, elderly, children, manual workers and so forth. They have different chemical compositions to ensure the correct nutritional needs are met. This is what you are all doing.’ I smiled at them as I finished an account they understood little of and Susanna

smiled back. ‘The same,’ she agreed with satisfaction.

When we sat to the meal it still wanted to choke me and complain within but now I contemplated the mess in front of me in a more kindly light. And I listened to the conversation around me with more intelligence. I listened to the men describing some wood chopping and could make the connection between what they had done and what we had done in the kitchen. I asked Bix if he would take me to see the wood workings and the preserving rooms. With a surprised grin he, of course, agreed.

Susanna showed me some more of the fleeces as she realised I was most interested in these processes. She boiled some leaves and then immersed some white fleece in the dirty looking liquid left behind and continued the cooking gently. She left it then and showed me other things. When we went back a while later the white fleece had changed its colour. I suspected a trick. I suspected that they were laughing at me. I felt my heart beginning to race again. It was not possible that green leaves and white fleece could change to yellow fleece. Were they lying? Susanna’s face seemed clear, she was laughing at my confusion to be sure but not, I felt, unkindly. I know now, from the Library, that many different dye colours could be extracted from various plants but then … well, then I smiled small and expressed polite surprise. I would think about it later.

Susanna showed me many different coloured fleeces and matched them against garments and coverings. All from plants. I kept moving back to touch the coverings to feel them between my fingers. Some were so soft, softer even than the fleeces, lacy with patterns created by mixing solid yarn and holes of various sizes. Others were thick and solid and when I examined them closely I found there were no holes at all. These cloths felt very warm and I thought were used as covers for the beds, until I saw hanging on a hook, behind a door, a hooded cloak made of the same textured cloth.

Did I draw back to these processes because I wanted to know the sheep had not been wasted? I do not know. Susanna showed me how to use the various machines and maybe if I had stayed there longer I would have made a cloak. I did produce a length of cloth and a small ball of yarn while I was there. I thought maybe Gran would like to see them. Susanna said she would know and appreciate the skill I had gathered to myself. Bix smiled, as I knew he would, when he found me struggling with the loom but his smile was broader when he felt the fabric two days later. I know he was impressed. I was impressed.

Many things that I saw while I was Outside I did not fully understand at the time, but the images could be stored in my memory to re-examine later when I was back in the City, helped to understanding in the Libraries. They seemed to be so inventive these Outsiders.

Lying quietly in Bix’s arms at night re-examining the past two days I found the whole rhythm of their life fitted my mind with satisfaction. What had seemed at first to be a jangle of non-related Chaos was a smooth integrated whole. I could see in my mind how everyone had something they were good at and they would be in charge of that, the others helping as they could. Everyone, I saw now, worked together. Even the children had small tasks relating to their age and skills. I saw, too, how the children learnt by being around the adults. Instead of them being in the way, as I had first thought they must be, they were being trained for the future, as we were in our sessions in the City. Ours was certainly the quieter way but I found I could tolerate the noise a little better now I had found the reason and the logic for it. The claustrophobic closeness of the large, to my eyes, groups of people working, eating and playing together I realised was their security. It was how they kept the expanse of Outside at bay. In the same way I clung to Bix to hide.

I could manage the communal meals better. I learnt how much to put in my mouth and how long to chew; the taste and texture were distressing still and I needed all my concentration to manage but I found the food began to relax within me. I found I ventured one or two remarks without prompting and no one seemed to mind.

It was announced that, for us, they were going to have a dance. I turned to Bix, questioning, but he shook his head and smiled. Susanna said I would like it. Should I lie and agree or confess I wasn’t sure? I did neither. Because of their habit of sweeping on in mid-conversation to completely different topics I had no need.

Susanna came and, taking my hand, led me to another room, a sleeping area it seemed. I looked back over my shoulder for a last comforting glimpse of Bix. He smiled encouragingly at me and I allowed the little bubble of contentment to consume me. Susanna was talking so fast I could make little of what she said for a while. Oh, if only they could moderate the speed and content a little, I thought in despair. I got the sense of it eventually. Extraordinarily she wanted me to take all my garments off and wear a skirt and blouse she held up in front of me. I stared, all thought of manners fled at this request. These people were apparently beyond the realms of simple basic manners. I found I had moved back away from her.

‘I know, I know, it’s not quite the thing but truly you will enjoy the dancing more in a skirt. We’re pretty much the same size and this colour will suit you so well.’ She was urging me and laughing a little at the same time. I think she was laughing from nervousness, at her forward behaviour. Maybe. I hesitated, stopping rude words of rejection. I felt the cloth between my fingers and watched her from beneath lowered lids. She mixed friendliness with anxiety.

‘Why?’ It was all I could think to say. To my ears it seemed inadequate but I was truly at a loss. I did not want to offend her. I liked her. But this request, why? I sat on a chair and averted my eyes as she took off her trousers and heavy sweater. I could not watch. Had she no feel for the rightness of things? I heard materials rustling and practised some Mantras I had just recently learnt. They helped to soothe my agitation.

‘Look,’ Susanna’s voice interrupted me, ‘it’s alright, I’m dressed again.’ I ventured a look and was surprised to find her transformed. She was beautiful. She wore a garment such as she had offered me. It draped softly from her waist flowing out in movement below her knees. It nipped her waist to smooth slenderness and where the thick sweater had been she wore what looked like a short shirt but of such a sheen, my fingers itched to touch. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she stood smiling. Then.. . then she turned quickly in a circle and the skirt flew, it flew like wings; it was wonderful. I exclaimed aloud, I could not stop it. Her hair flowed around her smiles and then she moved from side to side and the skirt showed its life as it joined her in movement.

‘Oh,’ I exclaimed again. ‘It’s wonderful!’

She had to help me. I had no idea how difficult such a simple garment could prove to be in the wearing and the shirt had buttons. Why? They are so hard to manipulate. I stood still as Susanna tugged and touched me, it was hard to stand still while she did so but I felt excitement rising. The feel of the material against my body was very pleasurable. She stood back and with a sweep of her hand urged me to move. I was nervous at first and just swayed. Oh, but it was better, so much better, than it looked. I swayed, I turned, I watched over my shoulder as the material followed me and I smiled. Gran, did you ever wear these garments? Did you ever sway like this?

Susanna told me the dance was in the Communal Building, and I suddenly heard the silence, we were alone. Where was Bix? How to reach the dance?

‘Ellen, hold my hand. We can run across. I’ll hold you safe.’ She took my hand but I resisted, drawing back, looking wildly around and then staring at the door. ‘I’ll hold you safe. I promise.’ she urged. ‘Try. We can run all the way. It’s only a hop and a skip.’

She opened the door and I could see the building. It did not seem so far. I let her move us forward to the entrance then panic overtook me. ‘I do not think I can …’ I could only whisper.

‘If we run we’ll be there in a second,’ she reassured me. ‘Keep your eyes on the ground so you don’t trip and I’ll keep an eye on the door’ she urged. Then added ‘Think how proud Bix will be.’

I heard her words: eyes on the ground. I could hear Bix telling me to keep my eyes on the small to block out the large. If I kept my eyes on my feet they would be small. I swallowed. Did I dare without Bix? He would smile at me and call me his brave Mouse or courageous love. I swallowed hard. I took deep breaths. I tightened my grip on Susanna’s hand.

‘Can you do it, Ellen?’ she asked. I nodded. ‘After three then.’

We ran. I had never run on ground before. Oh, I have run in the Gymnasium, of course, and I have achieved the necessary goals for perfect harmony of body and mind. My Over Life-time contribution to the power grid of the City is excellent. I do not slack in my Health Studies. I run with the Monitors and Supervision but this, this was different; this was a wild unrestrained burst of speed. My feet flashed beneath me, I could barely see them. I heard Susanna laughing beside me and I found the laugh so infectious I realised that my voice had joined hers. We could not stop our forward rush in time and so we crashed through the door, startling those within.

I straightened and prepared a Protocol to ease my rudeness but everyone was chattering and then Bix was there laughing at me, admiring me, praising me. Oh, how far from ideal had I fallen and how much further that evening. I held Bix’s hand tightly as the flow of noise advanced and receded all around us. I could feel a tension in the air.

And then, oh, and then.

Music! They played music! I know now that they played fiddles, flutes, guitars and drums; then I knew not what instruments they were. I only know that my soul leapt at the first sounds of real music. Susanna stood up and sang; I do not know if she would be considered good, to my ears it was beauty itself. I moved forward to stand in front of the group, I was smiling I know. I could not help myself. I felt my whole body moving; again, I seemed to have no Control. Every fibre of my body demanded the movement.

Someone took my hand and whirled me around. I saw all the others were forming into groups, in lines facing each other. I barely knew who placed me within one of these lines. I looked around for Bix and found he was further down on the opposite side and I realised we were separated, men from the women facing each other. The moves were complex yet simple at the same time. It took just a few of the complete sequences before

it was up there in my mind with all the Protocols. My mind absorbed the moves as a sponge and so it was with every new dance they presented us with. Then I just relaxed and enjoyed it all. I enjoyed it all. The most marvellous feeling swept me up and tossed me without thought into dance.

Bix could not match me in the ease of learning. He seemed always to be in the wrong place or in the wrong motion but he smiled and laughed and apologised and all the company loved him. How wonderful to fit so well within strangers. The women smiled at him and the men clapped him on his shoulders. He could always have a partner but he wanted me. So many times when the formation should have left him separated from me by many at the end of the dance I would find him just a hand away ready to sweep me away in his arms. Now, looking back, I am considering he knew the dance moves more thoroughly than we imagined that night.

There were many forms of this entertainment. During one pause Susanna told me some names: country and jive were two I remember, something called ballroom; I don’t think I’m wrong, I think it was called ballroom. I would not allow that I was tired. I would not stop, could not stop. The whole evening was a hectic furious-paced disintegration of the remaining fears and taboos. I held hands with any and all across those dancing spaces. I allowed strangers to hold me, to smile directly into my face as I did in return.

At one stage Bix and I tried a dance they called polka or something similar. I knew how to manage it and Bix did not. We tangled somewhere in the middle and I laughed at him and, with a shout of delight, he laughed also and lifted me high, high in the air and spun us both around. I did not even feel shame at such a breach of Control. No one minded, they all laughed with us and clapped and buzzed with comments. Oh, Bix.

He told me, that night as I curled in his arms, ‘Tonight, my love, was the first time I’ve seen you laugh, when you burst through the door, and then out there dancing that ridiculous polka. More often little Mouse, more often. It makes your face even more beautiful than usual.’

I should have hushed him but I confess I loved to hear him say outrageous things, like I was beautiful.

It took me a long time to accept going to rest that night; I wouldn’t leave the dancing until we were the last people there. Then Bix took me firmly by my hand and led me out. ‘Time to sleep little one,’ he told me as he held open the bag for me to crawl into.

‘Was that not the most wonderful time?’ I asked, excitement still bubbling within me. ‘Was that not the best ever?’

Bix smiled down at me ‘You enjoyed it then I take it?’ He settled me within his curves. ‘You are going to be in Rehabilitation for the rest of your

life, my love.’ He was chuckling gently as he said it, his hand pulling gently at my hair. I pushed my head into his hand and snuggled closer to his warmth and safety. I agreed softly and his hand stopped. ‘You mean you are going to tell them?’ He had not expected this I could hear and I twisted around to see his expression more clearly. ‘Yes, of course. They will want to know at my debriefing.’

He shook his head in mock sorrow. ‘Too good, my love. What happened to the option of not telling all?’

‘But why would I not?’ I was puzzled. Ah, I knew he was joking with me but the underlying question was there. He did not understand why I would tell.

Thank you, Alberta. Alberta’s novel continues next week but if you don’t want to wait, you can purchase it from…

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/29886 (Smashwords for multiple formats)
http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/albertaross (Lulu for print copies)
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Alberta%20Ross (Amazon)

Alberta Ross is the author of the Sefuty Chronicles – a dystopian tale taking place in 2100s after extreme climate change has changed everything, except human nature. Alberta spent the first part of her adult life travelling the world, the middle years studying and now has settled down to write. From the first part she has endless photographs, memories and friends. From the second she has a BSc Hons, an MA and friends. Now in this part everything comes together.

Over the years her interests have expanded, as has her book and music collection. A short list would include reading (almost anything) science, opera, folk, gardening, philosophy, crazy patchwork, freeform crochet, ethics, social history, cooking (and eating of course) gardening, anthropology, climate change and sustainability.

Alberta says ‘My parents gave me, apart from a love of reading and music, an interest and curiosity in everything which, in itself, has become a total inability to be bored and for this I am always grateful.’

You can find out more about Alberta and her writing from:

http://albertaross.co.uk (website)
http://sefutychronicles-albertaross.blogspot.com for background to the writing of Alberta’s publications
http://www.facebook.com/author.alberta.ross
http://twitter.com/albertaross
http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/alberta-ross.html
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4506833.Alberta_Ross
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjICmyVADfM&feature=relmfu (Trailer link to Ellen’s Tale)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBBz9GwkNFE&feature=relmfu (Trailer link to Sefuty Chronicles, which gives a background to the series)

If you’d like your novel to be considered for this blog, please see https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/novel-nights-in.

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