Author: Jason Davies-Redgrave

Meredith is a happy child and today is her birthday. She has been given a wonderful gift; a song called “For Hope.’ She is seven and this is not just any song. Mama has impressed upon Meredith the importance of this song above all others. There will come a time, when Meredith is much older, when she will need to sing this song, to offer it up to the world with all of her heart. As happy as she is to receive this gift and keep it safe, Meredith cannot help but be worried by the look on Mama’s face: behind the smiles and the laughter, Meredith sees a sadness in her Mama, like an ice chip sitting in her heart. It’s like Mama knows something bad is going to happen but she won’t tell Meredith, like the time just before Papa walked away from them for good. Meredith takes hold of Mama’s hand desperate to make her happy again.

In the soothing coolness of the pre-dawn night the chapel stood on the outskirts of the abandoned town. A simple building, square and squat with a rusted crucifix jutting up from the roof directly in line with the single, wooden door. The once white adobe walls were pock marked and pitted, scoured by the relentless winds that whipped off the barren sands. The only source of illumination came from the scattering of cold stars. Silence hung about the old building like forgotten cobwebs.

            Emyr walked across the carpark toward the school gates. It was quieter now that the last of the students had left. A lone bird called out and Emyr shivered as if hit by a memory. A cool breeze worried around the tarmac, drifting between the parked cars and the dark green shrubbery. It pushed at the sweet wrappers and rattled the half empty drinks cans. It teased the fallen leaves, tempting them into a lazy dance. Circles of late autumn flashed against the wet tarmac, in a delicate chorus line. The bird called out again and Emyr stopped walking. It felt as if he were being pulled into a dream, like this was the beginning of some old song, a childhood ditty his mother used to hum. The breeze strengthened and the line of leaves danced across the carpark towards Emyr’s feet.

The Sirens go to Church Door Cove Sequence. PART 1

***

“They broke the rules of the Hunt!” Jynn’s voice rang out from the centre of the Circle. “They violated the sacred oath. The oath we all took in the name of the Mothers, to do no harm to a member of another Family. When I made my mark on the human and claimed him as my prize that should have been the end of it. Yet in that moment The Many did not stop. They were moving to attack us.

Were Peck’s actions reckless? Undoubtedly.

Did she brake that oath? Yes.

No-one, least of all my apprentice, would deny that.  But she acted instinctively and only to protect her fellows. Only to ensure the sanctity of the Hunt and only after The Many refused to yield!

Her actions need to be judged, and by the Mothers The Collectoris will judge them, but she acted with an honour and a courage that seems to be sorely lacking in the Circle at this moment.”

Jynn, stood proudly at the crystalline centre of the Circle and placed her hand on Peck’s shoulder. She looked at her apprentice, the youngster’s face coloured by doubt and uncertainty. You are a foolish girl. But you see this universe in a way that I don’t, in a way I cannot even pretend to understand, Jynn smiled at Peck.  I may be older and wiser but I have to admit that I am set in my ways. I see something bright and terrifying in you, Peck, something I think we will all need in the future. Peck tried to smile back at Jynn. 

“She will be judged here, in The Circle. I will not have squirreled away to your school. Her crimes must be answered,” S’Uba’s voice filled the chamber like a thunder cloud.

“What of the crimes committed by The Many?” The Herald stepped forward. “Will you judge them too? Or is that for another day?”

Jynn looked up at The Herald. His edges pulsed with a delicate silvery lace, a strange mix of deference and defiance. Be careful Herald, Jynn thought as she turned to look at S’Uba. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you are right about all this then she is a coiled viper, and she is sitting at the top of a pretty big nest!

 Alaw burped, They’ve changed brands again, she thought. Cheapskates, how hard is it to stick to the good barbeque sauce? Not like they don’t make enough bloody profit here; this place is always full. There’re enough sad sacks in this town to keep this dump going till the judgement day. She was happy enough though, nestled in her favourite spot next to the gurgling, dust covered radiator. Sat on a comfy but worn blue and yellow striped chair, under a couple of faded music hall posters. She shuffled around in the pockets of her patched and oversized greatcoat and pulled out a very old handkerchief.

This pub also afforded her a certain level of anonymity, amongst the waifs and strays Alaw blended in here despite her singular appearance, which had proved very useful in her line of work. She blew her nose loudly, and flashed a saccharine smile at the, not hiding her disgust at all while trying to enjoy a large glass of cheap white and having a loud but painfully private conversation on speaker phone, young woman sat just across from Alaw.

Here are three short scenes I wrote between Christmas and New Year – they might be part of the Circle of Fifths story, they might not…

One: A Conversation

“Of course, you know everything fails, eventually. In time this Circle will fail. Like all the others. It must. It will.”

“They will try though, won’t they?”

“Oh yes, yes, they will try! They will expend a great deal of energy but they will falter.

“What happens then?”

“They can embrace the other or they can fall into darkness.”

“They still get to choose?”

“Yes, my child! Everything in the universe gets to choose, even to the very last. There is always a choice. The universe is filled with choices. What most beings don’t understand is that the universe is also filled with consequences. Point and counterpoint. The five are fallible and ultimately, they will be unable to sustain the universal orchestras. The music will cease and this will all fall back into nothing.

Then, for a perfect moment, before it all begins anew, we will have beautiful, uninterrupted silence.”

The turkeys had all died.

I mean all of them, across the entire world, they ALL died. Taken by a particularly virulent variant of bird flu, which also took chaffinches and parakeets and a host of other species with it¹. This was made sadder and even more depressing by the fact that the very last turkey in the world, Sven, died on Christmas Eve that year. A fact that devastated much of western culture and dominated the Christmas news feeds, but failed to really register in other parts of the world, especially during the brutal monsoon season of that year which had barrelled in after the worst droughts in living memory.

            Vegans didn’t really give a fuck.

With a sigh, Julie put down her shopping bags. In all her years she couldn’t remember seeing weather like it. An old newspaper streaked past and whacked into the side of a rubbish bin, pinned against the dirty metal for a moment before being pulled down the street. Julie turned to the elderly woman stood next to her. With a nod to the wildness on the street she said, “Have you ever seen the like?”

Emyr is a boy alone, cast adrift, a lone figure facing…

Energies rotate and build, turning and folding around themselves, a twist of melody here a spiral of incandescence there. The Harmonicus Universalis moves in stately time crystal sphere pushing itself over crystal sphere, sparks rain down from the heavens. Galaxies parade and dance, planets spin into eternity, the pulsars and quasars and magnetars burst with penetrating radiation, pushing life into the void like a virus. 

*Scene: The Youngling joining with the Artefact*

The sun’s light was pale and thin, it flattened the cityscape, smudging any hint of definition in to bland greyness. From their vantage point above the scant, bitter clouds The Brother and The Sister rode the icy winds. They both welcomed the peace that the strong, clean currents brought, and a sweet calm took refuge in their hearts. To be any closer to the ground would have meant exposure to the fetid air, the dirt and the noise. They would have been drenched in the overlapping, syncopated beats of the myriad people and their squawking, filling The Fang with taught, prickly anxiety. From this vantage point they could survey the whole city with peaceful and a watchful eye.

A flock of gulls wheeled and circled below the Sister, rising up from one of the back alleys where the birds had screeched and argued with each other over discarded scraps. The Sister watched her brother drinking in the clean air, for the first time since this hunt had begun, he looked at ease; more like his old self, from the time before hope had turned sour. She recalled their earlier days surfing the massive, curling gravity swells, surrounded by their kin. Feeling the adagio of the cosmic rhythms unfurl around them like a series of great waves breaking over them, one after another. She smiled and rolled over in the cleansing winds.