“Loma!” cried a man’s voice. It was Saburo’s. He ran into the station. He saw Alana and was overjoyed, but this was dashed by the look on her face.
“Where are the others?” he said.
“They’re gone,” she said. “They’re in the tunnels.”
Saburo looked around fretfully. “I can’t follow them, I’d have to leave the bike. We have to go. It’s getting dark.” He paused. “We can’t stay here.” He offered her a hand. She grasped it.
They drove through the streets of Lundun, sweeping in and out of ancient traffic. Lights in the old skyscrapers flittered into existence. Bonfires on the sky gardens lit up. All the city was alive with fleeting and scattered life. Alana rested her head on Saburo’s back.
29
Loma’s condition was not improving. She would get dizzy spells, and her vision would blur, and this combined with the poor lighting caused her to stumble regularly. She was in constant pain. She could not turn her head easily, any attempts to do so suddenly resulted in withering pain and dry heaving.
A third of the way through their journey, Loma found that she could not walk unaided. So Kirwyn propped her up, under her armpit. They walked in this fashion for another hour before she had to stop for a rest. They had no water. The only food was Kirwyn’s red sugar cubes which Loma now found unpalatable. She could not sleep on the floor, a makeshift pillow was fashioned from Kirwyn’s jacket and trousers.
When she awoke she found she did not have the strength to walk, even with support. Kirwyn carried her like a baby. He could not carry her on his back account of his injuries. She was surprisingly light, even in her armour. They walked in silence, Loma holding the holodisk like an otter clutching a clam. Her head pounded, her neck needled her and her mouth was sticky and hot. She needed water, soon.
Kirwyn’s shoulder was on fire. He knew he could not carry her much further. He could feel sinews ripping one by one. His wounds were not healing well. Soon he would need to leave her and find water and medicine, then come back to her. But that was easier said than done. He had no knowledge of this part of the island, whether it was even inhabited. He cursed Alana for having left them; she would have known what to do. Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut and followed her instead?
Kirwyn stopped. He could hear something in front of him, very distant. Like screeching.
“Do you hear it too?” he asked. But Loma had fallen unconscious. He shifted her weight in his arms. He walked forward. Over time it became unmistakable. It was the fucking violin music.
“Loma,” he hissed. “What do we do?” Loma shifted sleepily and mumbled something about Vivaldi. Kirwyn sighed in frustration and looked around him. They could not go back. They would have to go forward. Every step he took, the music got louder. So used to silence was he, that the sound of the violin became almost deafening.
They came to a station. Kirwyn decided to get off at it. He would rather face radiation and tribesmen than this unknown thing. He hauled Loma up to the platform and looked to his left. There was a faint red light. And the silhouette of a figure walking towards him. The music was an orchestra by his eardrum. He lifted himself up on the platform, tearing his shoulder muscles apart. He cried out in agony. He considered leaving Loma for a few seconds, but picked her up, breathing through clenched teeth. They ascended the stairs jerkily, Loma dropped the light. He walked forward through pitch blackness and kicked a turnstile. He walked through it, then rounded a corner and saw sunlight for the first time in over a day. It stung his pupils but he ran to it. The music was a distant echo.
When his eyes adjusted to the light, he wasn’t sure if he was still in Lundun anymore. There were buildings, but they were overgrown with vines and lichen. Everything was lush and green. The concrete roads bloomed with flowers. The music had faded away. He stumbled along these roads, passing green wrecks of houses, till he came to a river with a big concrete bridge over it. He ran to it. Placed Loma down on grass and leapt down to the riverbank. The water was rather silty, but to his dehydrated tongue it was the sweetest, coolest, most delicious beverage he had ever the pleasure of guzzling. Once he had had his fill, he collected some in cupped hands and clambered over to Alana, spilling most of it. He poured the rest onto her mouth and chin. She swallowed some of it, mumbling. He looked around, hopelessly. He took off his jacket and emptied the tin of red cubes, he leapt down into the riverbank and scooped up water. He poured into her mouth gently. She coughed a little, then licked her cracked lips. He repeated the process several times until she closed her mouth, turned away. He sat down, exhausted, miserable.
“Hullo Kirwyn,” said Fiddler.
Kirwyn spun around and saw Fiddler standing severely, his hands behind his back, like a Napoleonic general.
“Who are you?” asked Kirwyn hoarsely.
“Don’t remember me?” said Fiddler in a hurt voice.
Kirwyn’s eyes darted to the left. “No?”
“Well. I remember you. I don’t forget my brothers.”
“I don’t—” Kirwyn trailed off. “Take off the mask.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to be bossing anyone around, Kirwyn.”
“Who are you? Have you been following us?”
“I saw your little friend. The Ranger. She led me straight to you.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. She’ll live. I didn’t even have to torture her.”
Kirwyn’s face scrunched up with confusion and outrage. “Who the hell are you?” he stammered, brandishing the sword of Barabbas with his one good arm.
Fiddler sighed. He took his hands from behind his back, revealing his violin and bow. “I thought you might be able to figure it out. Still as stupid as ever, Kirwyn.”
He started to play a low, sad song.
“Get the hell away from me,” said Kirwyn.
“It wasn’t long after you abandoned us,” said Fiddler. “That the retaliation, inevitably came. They didn’t take kindly to losing four men to a bunch of munks. I think it embarrassed them. They needed to save face. So they tracked us down—”
“No,” said Kirwyn, crushed.
Fiddler nodded “They tracked us down. And they lined us up… And they mutilated us.”
Kirwyn dropped to his knees.
“And they killed us. Only – Only I – awoke in a pile of corpses. My face and neck torn to shreds. God kept me alive Kirwyn, it was a miracle. Do you know why He kept me alive?”
“Frederick,” said Kirwyn, eyes overflowing with tears.
“Yes,” said Fiddler, dropping the violin and bow to the ground. “Now you remember me. Do you know why God kept me alive?”
“No,” said Kirwyn, sobbing.
“To kill you. The one who betrayed us all. And blasphemed. And abandoned us in our hour of need.”
“I was banished,” said Kirwyn, choking back tears.
“Not like you to follow the rules. You were angry, you were proud. You didn’t want to stay.”
“No!” said Kirwyn, pleadingly.
“And your anger and your pride destroyed us. You and me – we’re all that’s left.”
“Frederick—”
Fiddler unsheathed his sword and advanced. “Do you have any last words?”
“I’m sorry,” said Kirwyn, bursting into tears.