Read Online This River Awakens by Steven Erikson - Free Book Online
Authors: Steven Erikson
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out of Lynk, to make Roland study me carefully, as if he saw something he hadn’t seen before. It had been enough to make all three of them run hard across the highway.
We walked down the short driveway leading into the parking lot. My thoughts had moved on, flipping through scenes in my mind. The Boorman kid, his mother screaming and running up the highway to where he lay in the muddy ditch. The stopped cars, the flashing lights on the police cars and the ambulance’s wild wail. I ran it all through my mind, then checked myself for whatever feeling came from it.
When the screaming goes away, that’s when it gets bad. That’s the way it seemed, anyhow. Because the quiet kind of sadness doesn’t go away – it stayed with every new scene I conjured up: the family at home, the little boy’s room, his empty bed.
Next year I’ll become a Patrol.
We approached the school’s glass front doors, the four of us looming large in the reflective, smoky panes.
Lynk gave Roland a light push, then said to me with a grin, ‘The girls usually hang out back.’
‘What do they do?’ Even as I asked I remembered: They smoke cigarettes.
But Lynk laughed. ‘What the fuck do you think, Owen? They sit in a circle and show off their tits.’
With a smile, Roland said, ‘Problem is, only Jennifer’s got any.’
‘Only one in Grade Six,’ Lynk said, nodding.
The area around the school was paved. Hopscotch lines stood out in bright yellow contrast on the dark asphalt. Back of the school the pavement gave way to gravel, where there were monkey-bars and concrete tubes big enough to walk through. Beyond them rose a wire fence, and beyond that ran railway tracks on a raised bank.
We came to the school’s back wall – high, windowless and made of dark brown brick. Two recessed metal doors without handles marked the only variation down its length. Just past the new construction, the high wall ended abruptly at the juncture with the old school, with its own low span of pitted, crumbling limestone. The fence was closest here, only ten feet away as it followed a drainage ditch from the railway tracks back to the highway. On the other side of the ditch ran a narrow dirt road that turned before reaching the tracks and encircled a massive, blockish building made of Tyndal stone. It was at least four storeys tall and looked abandoned.
Lynk looked around, then leaned his back against the old school’s wall. ‘No one’s here,’ he said.
Carl bent and picked up a stone, which he threw over the fence.
I pointed. ‘What’s that old building there?’
‘Candle factory,’ Roland answered. ‘All closed up now.’
‘Looks old.’
Roland nodded and said, ‘My dad says it was built in 1900. There wasn’t even a school here back then, and the highway was just a gravel road.’
Lynk joined Carl in throwing stones. He flung one hard at the building, but it fell short.
Roland’s eyes remained on the factory. ‘Making candles used to be big business, I guess.’
‘Ever been inside it?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘It’s all boarded up.’
‘There’s piles of candles out back,’ Lynk said. ‘Little brown ones. Thick.’
Roland said, ‘We got a whole box of them in the barn.’
I turned back and looked at the school. In a few months I’d be inside it. New teachers, faces I wouldn’t recognise. I’d get into fights. I always did. If I won them, things would be okay. If I didn’t …
‘What’s the matter with you?’
I glanced over at Lynk’s question. He stood with a large stone in his hand, chest thrust out, feet planted wide. Our eyes met. ‘Nothing,’ I answered, forcing myself to relax.
‘Yeah,’ Lynk drawled. ‘Fuckin’ right, Owen.’
Something was happening. I wasn’t sure what. Roland and Carl were both watching. I hesitated, then sauntered up to the limestone wall. I unzipped my fly and moments later was peeing against the wall.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Lynk demanded.
I looked
We walked down the short driveway leading into the parking lot. My thoughts had moved on, flipping through scenes in my mind. The Boorman kid, his mother screaming and running up the highway to where he lay in the muddy ditch. The stopped cars, the flashing lights on the police cars and the ambulance’s wild wail. I ran it all through my mind, then checked myself for whatever feeling came from it.
When the screaming goes away, that’s when it gets bad. That’s the way it seemed, anyhow. Because the quiet kind of sadness doesn’t go away – it stayed with every new scene I conjured up: the family at home, the little boy’s room, his empty bed.
Next year I’ll become a Patrol.
We approached the school’s glass front doors, the four of us looming large in the reflective, smoky panes.
Lynk gave Roland a light push, then said to me with a grin, ‘The girls usually hang out back.’
‘What do they do?’ Even as I asked I remembered: They smoke cigarettes.
But Lynk laughed. ‘What the fuck do you think, Owen? They sit in a circle and show off their tits.’
With a smile, Roland said, ‘Problem is, only Jennifer’s got any.’
‘Only one in Grade Six,’ Lynk said, nodding.
The area around the school was paved. Hopscotch lines stood out in bright yellow contrast on the dark asphalt. Back of the school the pavement gave way to gravel, where there were monkey-bars and concrete tubes big enough to walk through. Beyond them rose a wire fence, and beyond that ran railway tracks on a raised bank.
We came to the school’s back wall – high, windowless and made of dark brown brick. Two recessed metal doors without handles marked the only variation down its length. Just past the new construction, the high wall ended abruptly at the juncture with the old school, with its own low span of pitted, crumbling limestone. The fence was closest here, only ten feet away as it followed a drainage ditch from the railway tracks back to the highway. On the other side of the ditch ran a narrow dirt road that turned before reaching the tracks and encircled a massive, blockish building made of Tyndal stone. It was at least four storeys tall and looked abandoned.
Lynk looked around, then leaned his back against the old school’s wall. ‘No one’s here,’ he said.
Carl bent and picked up a stone, which he threw over the fence.
I pointed. ‘What’s that old building there?’
‘Candle factory,’ Roland answered. ‘All closed up now.’
‘Looks old.’
Roland nodded and said, ‘My dad says it was built in 1900. There wasn’t even a school here back then, and the highway was just a gravel road.’
Lynk joined Carl in throwing stones. He flung one hard at the building, but it fell short.
Roland’s eyes remained on the factory. ‘Making candles used to be big business, I guess.’
‘Ever been inside it?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘It’s all boarded up.’
‘There’s piles of candles out back,’ Lynk said. ‘Little brown ones. Thick.’
Roland said, ‘We got a whole box of them in the barn.’
I turned back and looked at the school. In a few months I’d be inside it. New teachers, faces I wouldn’t recognise. I’d get into fights. I always did. If I won them, things would be okay. If I didn’t …
‘What’s the matter with you?’
I glanced over at Lynk’s question. He stood with a large stone in his hand, chest thrust out, feet planted wide. Our eyes met. ‘Nothing,’ I answered, forcing myself to relax.
‘Yeah,’ Lynk drawled. ‘Fuckin’ right, Owen.’
Something was happening. I wasn’t sure what. Roland and Carl were both watching. I hesitated, then sauntered up to the limestone wall. I unzipped my fly and moments later was peeing against the wall.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Lynk demanded.
I looked
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