ah heer Ergates screamin 'Bascuuule…!' meewhile am shoutin & Mr Zoliparias shoutin 2 but thi big bird lifts away & disapeers up ovir thi edje ov thi roof & Ergates is gon & am bereft.
TWO
1
'Face.'
She stared at her reflection in the pool, then drank some more, then waited for the water to settle and looked at her face, then drank some more.
'No more thirst. Stand up. Look around. Blue. White. Green. More green. Red white yellow blue brown pink. Sky clouds trees grass flowers bark. The sky is blue. The water is not colour, is clear. Water shows thing on other side. Of angle. This is. Reflect. Shone. Reflection. Redflection. Blueflection. Hmm. No.
'Time to walk again.'
She followed the path along the floor of the little valley, the sound of the water in the stream never far away.
'Fly-thing! Oh. Pretty. Is called bird. Birds.'
She walked through a small copse of trees. A warm wind rustled the leaves over her head. She stopped to look at a flower on a bush by the stream bank. 'More prettiness.' She put her hand over the flower, then bowed her head, sucking in its scent. 'Smell of sweet.'
She smiled, then gripped the flower at the top of the stem and appeared to be about to tear it from its stem. Then she frowned, hesitated, looked around and finally let her hands fall back to her sides. She patted the blossom gently before resuming her walk. 'Bye-bye.'
The stream disappeared into a hole in the side of a grassy slope; steps carried the path winding upwards. She looked into the darkness of the tunnel. 'Black. Smell of… damp.' Then she took the steps to the top of the slope and found a broader path leading between tall bushes and small trees.
'Crunch crunch. Ow. Gravel. Feet. Ow ow ow. Walk on green. Walk on grass. Not pain… Better.'
In the distance, beyond a tall hedge, there was a tower.
'Building.' Then she came to something that made her stop and stare for some time; a huge square hedge in the shape of a castle, with four square towers, crenellations cut into its parapets, a raised drawbridge of exposed, intertwined tree-trunks and a moat of sunken, silver-leaved plants.
She stood at the side of the pretend moat, looking down at the ruffled silver surface, then up at the castle walls, rustling quietly in the breeze. She shook her head. 'Not water. Building? Not building.'
She shrugged, turned on her heel and walked on, still shaking her head. Another minute along the grassy margin of the long avenue took her to where a series of huge heads faced each other across the gravel.
Each head was two or three times her own height and made up of several different bushes and other types of plants, producing dark or light complexions, smooth or lined skin and varying hair colours. The lips were formed by leaves of a dusty-pink colour, the whites of the eyes by a plant similar to those impersonating the waters of the moat surrounding the castle-topiary further down the avenue, while the irises took their colour from clusters of tiny flowers of the appropriate shade.
She stood and looked at the first face for some time, and eventually smiled. She walked on in the direction of the distant tower, and only stopped again when one of the heads started to talk.
'… says there is no need to worry, and I think he is right. We are not primitives, after all. I mean, in the end it's just dust. Just a big dust cloud. And another ice age is not the end of the world. We shall have power. There are already whole cities underground, each full of light and heat, and more are being built all the time. They have parks, lakes, architecture of merit, and no shortage of facilities. The world might be different for the duration of the Encroachment, and doubtless altered considerably after it has passed, as it surely will; many species and artifacts will have to be artificially preserved, and the glaciers will affect the planet's geography, but we will survive. Why, if the worst came to the worst, we might enter suspended animation and wake to a newly scrubbed-clean planet and a bright fresh spring! Would that be so terrible?'
She stood, only half-understanding the words. Her mouth hung open. She had been sure the heads were not real. They were pretend, like the hedge-castle. But this one had a voice; a voice deeper than hers. She wondered if she ought to say something in return. Somehow she did not think it had actually been talking to her. Then the head used another voice, more like her own:
'If it is as you say, then no. But I've heard it may be much worse than that; people have talked of the world freezing, of every ocean becoming solid, of the sunlight reduced to the strength of moonlight, of this lasting for a thousand years, while others have said the sun will dim and then brighten; the dust will cause it to explode and all life on Earth will end.'
'You see,' said the first, deeper voice. 'Some say we shall freeze, while others maintain that we shall roast. As ever, the truth will lie between the extremes and so the result must be that nothing much will change and things will remain largely as they are, which is exactly what tends to happen most of the time anyway. I rest my case.'
She thought she ought to say something. 'I rest my case too,' she told the head.
'What?'
'Who — ?'
'Crisis! There's somebody —'
There were some noises from within the head, then a face appeared within the hedge-face, sticking out from the middle of one cheek. The face looked altogether heavier and thicker than her own; thin hair covered its top lip.
'Man,' she said to herself. 'Hello.'
'Grief,' the man said, his eyes wide. He looked her up and down. She looked down at her feet, frowning.
'Who is it?' said the other voice from within the head.
'A girl,' the man said, speaking over his shoulder. He grinned and looked her up and down again. 'A girl with no clothes on.' He laughed, looking back again. 'Bit like you.' There was a slap and he said, 'Ow!', then he disappeared.
She leant forward, wondering if she ought to look inside the head, while whispers and rustles came from within.
'Who
'No idea.'
The man and woman came out of the head. They wore clothes. The man held a light brown jacket.
'Trousers,' she said, pointing at the woman's brightly coloured pantaloons as she tucked her blouse in.
'Don't gape, Gil,' the woman told the man, who was standing smiling at her. 'Give her your jacket.'
'My pleasure,' the man said, and handed her the jacket. He brushed some leaves off his shirt and out of his hair.
She looked at his shirt, then put the jacket on, awkwardly but correctly. She stood there, her hands covered by the cuffs of the light jacket, which smelled musky.
'Hello,' she said again.
'Hello yourself,' the woman said. Her skin was pale and her hair was gold-coloured. The man was tall. He bowed, still grinning.
'My name is Gil,' he said. 'Gil Velteseri.' He indicated the woman. 'This is Lucia Chimbers.'
She nodded and smiled at the woman, who smiled back briefly.
'What is my name?' she asked the man.
'Ah… I beg your pardon?'
