I. Vagrancy
I didn’t belong here, in the Peaceful Valley, where the Honest Folk dwelt, and made their living off the earth and sky. It was no secret that I was born to none of them, they of the sandy rough hair and bright eyes. I of the dark and olive features never had a name. They just called me Quintas, as in the fifth known of my kind.
But they kept me; their code forbade my disposal. They put me to work early in the morning and late at night, and I went to school with their young ones in the day. It was life, but I wasn’t sure that I was living.
“Vagrancy. Also called an accidental, or individual migration. When a species ventures far from its usual range, by will or by happenstance. Results vary from quick death to rapid reproduction and plague by overpopulation, as in the occurrence of the Oceanic Toad Saga….”
I think the reason they taught these things is because there was only so much left in writing, and they felt obligated to teach it and re-teach it, instead of coming up with something new. Because I couldn’t escape their valley and their limited ways, I felt obligated to learn.
I learned fragments of history. I could only imagine what things lay between the pieces. I learned of war and famine. Of victory and defeat. The great mass exoduses of civilizations whole. The demolishment and settlement of broken lands. Things like were written in the Good Book, magnified and broken and spread out over a few hundred years and lost again. What things were once wrought from Above were then done by the hands of man until there was no more.
History itself was a shambles, a strewn bag of parts to a device with no design. But the Peaceful Valley was protected from all that. They took care of their own. The rest could flourish or suffer, as they pleased.
It was the noontime recess in the schoolyard, behind the humble wooden schoolhouse. I kept to myself as always. Most in the Valley knew each other quite well, but I had no allies. Therefore, however I conducted myself, trouble found me. Today it came in the shape of a boy (I did not know his name and do not care to know). He shoved me. I shoved him back. I was tall for my age, and he never expected the strength of my force. He never scared me. We came to blows, but I never backed down. I gave him a bloody lip. I had him on the ground, standing over him, a circle of children now standing around us. The little crowd parted silently. And when Teacher stepped near, a hundred fingers were raised, silently, in my direction.
Teacher saw me in the schoolhouse later that day. She was composed and intense at all times; when she spoke a word, she could make it snap worse than any rod. The rod was what I expected, for the accusation of thrashing one of the Valley’s young. But she just stood there for a time, arms folded. The minutes dragged and felt like hours. Suddenly Teacher said, “Go home.” She was facing away, and without question or even the slightest sound, I left.
I didn’t go home. I went to the ruins. “Home” was a place where my guardians, Mr. and Mrs. Shreider, made sure I did not misbehave. Where I volunteered myself to work just to have something to do. I was already in trouble today anyway. Doubtless word had spread far and wide. I didn’t really care to face their further condemnation.
The ruins used to be something great and important, but they never taught us what. Tall structures in a far corner of the valley, away from fertile land. Some were made of stone and glass, and housed long corridors and many rooms, or wide spaces filled with ancient and unknown machines. Others were spires of metallic pipes, or great spheres on stilts. Some of the pieces of the buildings had been taken down and harvested for parts: Farming equipment, walkways, support beams for barns. But the ruins were forbidden to all but the Valley Deacons. Only they had license to approach the grounds and take what they needed.
Otherwise, it was forbidden. It was the most dangerous place in the valley. It was the only place I felt safe. My sanctuary.
I climbed to the roof of the highest building in all the valley, seven stories tall. It was very still here, and the air was thick with insects. Here on the rooftop, I kept my tin box. Here I kept my heart and mind. The oddities that may have been the only clue to my former self. When I feel troubled, I look back upon them and wonder.
I had scarcely opened the box when I heard a scratching sound. I looked down and saw what looked like a tiny soldier’s helmet moving itself along the ground. It had four legs, and a narrow pointed head. I had never seen a thing like it before.
I looked up when I heard a voice. “You didn’t go home,” said Teacher. She seemed more relaxed now, wearing a simple summer’s dress and comfortable shoes. She seemed younger than normal, when she wasn’t busy reigning in children and giving lessons.
I said nothing.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” she said. “The Shreiders would not take kindly to your reported misbehavior.” She paused. “Reported. I know the truth. Don’t you think I have eyes?”
I nodded. “What is this thing?” I asked, pointing to the animated helmet.
“Yours if you want him,” said Teacher. “He was found in the river. No one knew what to do with him. He’s the only one of his kind ever seen in the Valley. So rare for something new to come downstream.”
The armored creature was still dragging along toward some unknown goal. Striving very hard to get someplace he might never reach.
“He’s a vagrant. I thought you might appreciate him. You may never see another of his kind again. We don’t get too many outsiders. Can I suggest a name?”
I wanted to say yes, and thank her, and ask her why she was doing this, and why things were the way they were, and if she knew anything. I wanted to ask her a hundred things at once. I want to cry and also laugh. I said nothing.
“Hectus. That would be a good name. The sixth.”
I took him back to the Shreiders place, and left him in an empty box in one of the stables. He couldn’t stay with me in my room, but he could have a place here until I knew what else to do with him. I left him with water and greens to eat.
I wasn’t one of a kind anymore. I was happy, and couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever felt that way.
That fact alone gave me the courage to confront the Shreiders that night. Their manner was distant enough as it was. I expected such a furious reprimand, but they sat there at the dinner table, and said only, “It was to be expected. An outsider. Violence and absenteeism. We never had high hopes for you. If it happens again, expect punishment from the Council.”
I knew then that my time here was not long. I was getting older, growing up. I needed answers, and an escape.
II. Predators
I had asked Mrs. Shreider a long time ago where I came from, and who my parents were. I only asked once. “We do not speak of the Unkind Folk.” That was the name for anyone who wasn’t born in the Valley.
“That any should wander from the outers, let him be not without refuge. That any should test and come forth clean, let him be not without hope. But with testing comes great trial. And failure with great consequence.” – The Book of Founders, Chapter XVII
In the old times, Unkindness ravaged the land. So said the stories. It was a disease of the mind and soul, and men and women ran rampant in the streets, sin and chaos reigning. The Peaceful Valley was so far from all that, a haven for the good. A new Law was written, and the old histories wiped away.
None of which would help me find answers. I thought back to the contents of my box.
1 bottle- sweet smelling liquid.
1 firestarting device.
1 small child’s plaything made of metal, with four wheels and a cabin seating two.
1 embossed metallic nameplate, which read:
MR VICKS
XXX-XX-6574
COLLECTION LICENSE ZERO
15 pages of various unsorted documents.
I fell asleep that night not caring if there was a tomorrow.
The next day, I began my normal pre-dawn routine. Feed the animals. Prepare for the schoolday. And then I saw the smoke.
The house was on fire. Someone heard about what I did yesterday and decided I needed to be ousted from the Valley once and for all.
I saw black plumes rise at first, and then the kitchen burst into flames, shattering windows. I panicked. I had to act. I turned around quickly, seeking to run and find help, buckets of water, anything. I turned, and ran straight into Mr. Shreider.
I fell back and looked straight up at him. He was so towering from this height. And in his hand... Hectus. Hectus looked so much smaller in Mr. Shreider’s hands.
“So this is what illness befalls us for housing you. Burden enough that you’re here. And now you curse us with another.”
With that he dropped Hectus. And without any change in expression, he dropped one great foot on the leathery, hard-shelled creature, crushing him.
The sound of the crunch was sickening. I felt something inside me twist and lurch. But I didn’t scream. My breaths grew deep, and my pulse quickened. My hands needed someplace to go so they found a nearby stone. Smooth but heavy, it made good throwing.
The stone hit Mr. Shreider on the side of the head. He stumbled a bit, blood streaming from an open gash above his right eye. “You miserable…”
I ran ten feet and picked up the big rusty pitchfork lying in the grass. I decided to finish the job. I ran Mr. Shreider straight through. He didn’t make a sound, save for the one his body made when it hit the ground.
I stood over the dead bodies of Mr. Shreider and my only friend, the outsider Hectus. I watched the house continue to burn. They had treated me like a monster, and now I was one.
Let any one of them try to stand in my way now.
(Act III Pending)
