The Levitating Village
Chapter Nine - The Achluonauts
The east side of the Village was covered in heavy foliage. The route that had taken me there led around the outer edge of the Country Club’s Golf Course. The area was neglected and nature had been allowed to take her property back. The grass was high, the nettles bent over in silent prayer, the bushes mingling with the odd tree to cover the earth with dark and plantless dry dusty soil. Some of the leaves were sticky from sap, but I pushed through them nonetheless. There was a big patch of dried out leaves which partially hid a desire line. On instinct, which had kept me safe and alive up until now, I followed the path to its conclusion. Three metal spikes had been haphazardly rammed deep into the soft malleable soil. Attached to those were strands of a well weathered rope. I crept along using the rope as a guide, until I saw a crescent gap in the foliage. It was daylight. Moving closer toward it, I suddenly saw the scrolling sight of the world beyond the Village. I could see a giant area of the ground some hundred feet or more below me covered in shadow. The place looked grey, like light couldn’t have touched it for years. Even the buildings died a little from lack of sunlight.
The rope was tacked to the side of the levitating Village with the same metal spikes as above, stretching down as far as I could see. I have to admit I didn’t lean out that far. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind I had to swing myself over and climb down this rope ladder, but the more sensible part of me kept telling me to keep away from the certain death of doing something stupid like, I don’t know, climbing down an unproven rope ladder to a place somewhere down there that could contain goodness knows what. I told that part of my mind to shut up and try to be helpful for once. I tugged at the rope several times to test its strength, then I lay flat on my belly, holding the rope as tight as I could, while I felt with my feet for a rung. I began to descend.
#
The Lower Village was dark, like the dusk kind of dark - not so dark as you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, but dark enough to create patches of blackness here and there. I had been going for about five minutes, taking as much care as I could. Tree roots had found their way round the Village problem, allowing extra grip if needed. I passed several worm families and the odd nesting bird who found a home in natural crevices. Occasionally a piece of the earth wall would come away in my hand that caused me to hug the soil desperately. The further I climbed down, the softer the soil became. But I was bent on my course now. All or nothing.
After a further ten minutes or so, the Village ended. There was nothing but the rope and the ground now. It was probably another twenty feet, but with perspective it seemed much further. The ladder turned into knotted rope. I hugged the rope and slid down to each knot, moving over it and sliding down to the next, until my feet felt terra firma. I still wasn’t sure, so I prodded around with one foot to make sure the ground was as solid as I had remembered. I stepped down, taking in my environment. There were no street lamps. There was no artificial light at all. I wandered around the small area of the Lower Village for at least half an hour. I saw what I took to be people popping out from deep shadows, only to see me and disappear again. It was like this place had reverted to the Dark Ages. About to give up and decide what to do next, I heard a crunch behind me. Then a growl.
“Who are you?” a voice asked. First I thought it was a magical dog who had learned the gift of speech, then my senses returned, “Why did you come here?”
“I was looking for Joe Butler.” I said, still not turning round.
The voice continued, “And why would you want him? Are you the law?”
“No. But I’m wanted by them.” I countered, “I was set up, and I believe so was he. He may have some invaluable information to help several innocent people from not going down for someone else’s desires.”
“That’s me.” the voice said, “I’m Joe Butler.”
“Ah. And I’m Doug Layton.” I said, turning around to face Joe.
“The so called murderer?” he said, “Okay, now I know. Follow.”
Joe looked his age. Which was unfortunate. He carried the loose fitting uniform of the teenager as only a boy of his waif-like build could suggest. But there was something missing about him. It was the air of undeniable arrogance of one in his peer group. I had met far too many of his like, on my grey and depressing journeys into work. I have to admit it took me a little by surprise. Then I remembered Irvine and the intimation of what this boy meant. A scandal. Not that it was wrong. No, not at all. Just it was evident. Surely his wife knew?
We passed a number of people on our trek, who clung to the pitch fires in the rusty oil barrels. We came to a stop outside a semi-detached property, grey and formless in the dusky light. The door was missing, and a pitch fire was lit just in the entrance. Joe walked in and led the dog to a room off the main reception area. There he let go of the lead, allowing the dog to run round the room a little before it came to a rest and curled up on the floor after several false attempts, as was a dog’s want. Joe led me into another room. There was a fireplace in the middle of the floor, neatly surrounded by large rocks. A painfully thin and emaciated woman sat in her night attire in a dusty and patchworked armchair in front of the fire, staring absently into the flames. Joe gestured for me to take a seat at a similarly patched up three seater settee. I did so, while Joe disappeared into what I presumed was the kitchen, as I heard the clinks of mugs being collected together.
“We have no electricity here. It’s like a land that people forgot. No one cares we’re here.” said Joe.
“Surely you can leave?” I said, “Move away?”
“With what, exactly? We have nothing. Property prices here are through the floor. Know what I mean?”
“Of course, I’m sorry for my stupidity. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s alright. It’s not all bad. There are a few helpful people from nearby towns and Villages who drop in with food, clothes and blankets whenever they can. It's what’s stopped us turning to savagery.”
“And you go up to the Village sometimes?” I asked.
“Yep. For supplies sometimes. Other times to try and find out the truth up there. I don’t know if you know, but I saw what happened. I saw them take those people to the Restaurant, wine and dine them. They never came out alive. I do what I can, but no one would believe me anyway.”
“That’s why I came down here, to talk to you, to find out what you found out.”
Joe shrugged, “I don’t know how much help I can be. Mom, this is Doug. Doug, this is my Mom.”
“Hello, Mrs Butler. How are things?” I said.
“As well as could be expected. I see you know my son?” said a seated Jean Butler.
Jean looked youthful, showing in the genes she passed onto her son. But dark bags under her almost dull blue eyes showed a tiredness not solved by sleep. The words were clear and bright, but the strain of creating them showed in her thin frame and almost gaunt face. She showed signs of recent illness, though this could just be a symptom of her life in the dark village; a physical representation of the general mood of the people down here.
“By reputation mostly.” I conceded.
“You’re not the law, are you?” asked Jean, “He’s done nothing wrong, I tell you.”
“I know, Mrs Butler.” I said calmly and with a smile, “I know. And no, I’m not the law. I’m in a similar dilemma as your son. I thought he could provide me with some information about the comings and goings of the Village up there.”
“He’s a good boy.” she said, “He just gets into trouble sometimes.”
“He strikes me as an amiable lad.” I agreed.
“He could have been anything, before we were struck with the curse.” Jean continued, “Since then, we have become lost.”
“I’m working on changing that, Mrs Butler.” I said.
“Please, call me Jean.”
“Okay. Thank you Jean. I came to the Village up there with innocent intentions. Things happened and I was implicated in something I had no idea about. I was set up. And by the cruel William Marshall.”
“It’s not just him.” she said, “It’s all of them. I was a cleaner in that Country Club. I saw what that man was capable of. But it never became so cruel as when the Village blocked our light. They all changed then, like a Village of the damned. People I once talked to blanked me. I often think that I am better off down here than I ever was up there. That place is cursed. It was a plague town in the Middle Ages, you know. I’m not superstitious, but I think that place is cursed. Cursed from the day it became a plague town. Cursed since the ground took exception to it and thrust it into the air.”
Joe returned, “Time’s pressing on, Doug. What was it you wanted me for?”
“Any information you have, any evidence you’ve collected on your jaunts.” I said, turning my attention to him, “Anything really. I just want the truth. It's what we all need; you, your lovely Mother, me, Lana, her Grandfather. There are too many innocent people tied up in this mess.”
Joe thought for a few seconds, “The best thing I can do is show you. That’s the best truth I have.”
Joe collected his dog again from its respite in the other room and took me outside. Down the road a little was a gap between two houses. He pointed there. I followed his gestured hand to the base of the levitating Village. Underneath the Village, attached to it somehow, like the skeleton in metal and concrete of the very structure of the Village itself. The thing stretched down like a finger searching for the earth below. And a light. The thing had a light. There was a structure built into the Village.
“Wow.” I had a sense of occasion, obviously.
“I’ve tried to find a way into it,” said Joe, “But it’s too dangerous trying to get down there. I would imagine anything you needed to know would most likely be in there. That’s your truth, Doug.”
“Wow.” I had a wide vocabulary today.
“Just try and find out my truth too, if you can manage it. If not for me, for my Mom. She deserves better than this.”
#
The ascent back up to the Village was a little easier, buoyed by the inner strength I made for myself, for those poor wretches in the Lower Village. My wounded side barely hurt. That may be because of the Ecstasy I think Joe dropped in the tea thinking it was sugar. Oh well.
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