me, and laid it flat against my own chest. “Lena,” I added. Repeating my name again for good measure.
Then I slowly, so very slowly, shuffled forward, reaching out my hand to the closest child. He had dark hair, not wispy in the slightest, but his upper lip was split, leaving his mouth constantly open. It looked painful, but he didn’t show it, if it was. He watched, fascinated, as my hand came closer. Not moving. Barely breathing.
And then my fingers reached his chest.
His clothes were rough, hard where they should have been soft. Stiff with dirt and a life lived underground and inside a broken city. I could feel his ribs through thin skin. His eyes met mine, big pools of dark brown liquid. This precious little child didn’t move a muscle. He let me touch him, almost as though in awe.
I raised my eyebrows in question, but when he didn’t say a word, I pulled my hand back. Watching as his body followed before he could stop it. I touched Trent again. Faster this time. Desperate to have that contact with the child again.
“Trent,” I said. Then tapped my chest. “Lena,” I added, returning my hand, forcing myself to slow down, back to the child’s chest.
I tapped it twice, leaning down, meeting his eyes, brows arched in question.
“You?” I whispered.
He whispered something back. It could have been a mimic of what I’d just said. ‘You’ but different, encumbered by his damaged upper lip. I wondered if he could talk at all. Then wondered if I’d chosen the wrong child to try to reach.
But this one had called to me. So small. So filthy. So… fragile. So broken needlessly.
“You?” I said again, slightly louder, more probing.
“Nirbhay,” he blurted, and then a torrent of words followed. The name was one I recognised. D’awan. But the words that flowed afterwards were foreign.
Part Anglisc. Part D’maru. And part something else altogether.
“What’s he saying?” Cardinal Beck asked.
“Shhh,” I snapped, leaning closer, trying to decipher the child’s stumbling words.
The other children moved toward him, as if to protect. The Cardinals all tensed.
And then Calvin said, “Uripean. There are hints of Teiamanisch in amongst the Anglisc and D’maru. Their language has evolved to include all three.”
“A pidgin Anglisc,” Alan added.
“Yes,” Calvin agreed. “I am attempting to extrapolate the parameters and will have a translation formula prepared in a few minutes.”
I smiled at the child, as his friends started jabbering away in the same multi-language as he had been. Nodding my head and encouraging them, as if I understood. And then I felt the child’s hand slip into mine softly.
His fingers were calloused. A hard nodule protruded from three of his knuckles. But a more promising sensation there had never been. There was hope here. There was a chance that we could achieve what we’d failed with their older counterparts. Children are such forgiving creatures. So open to change and progress, where their elders are stuck fast in their upbringing.
I held my breath as Calvin worked silently in the background, promise an emotion I gladly received.
And then my Shiloh announced, “I have it. Translating now.”
It took a second for Calvin to isolate my child’s voice from the rest, but I knew it was his translation that I eventually heard.
Because as he tugged on my hand evermore urgently, his young voice becoming desperate, Calvin said in our ears, “They are coming. They are coming. They are coming.”
Nine
And The Plan?
Trent
A moment’s panic set in. Not our usual SOP. But Calvin’s words in our ears had done a number. It didn’t help that the kid holding Lena’s hand was getting quite agitated. Tugging her towards the deeper, darker shadows of the tunnel. Urging her on in that strange language they all used and were frantically muttering.
None of them raised their voices, and that was perhaps what set my body in motion. Had they screamed, I would have forced
Then I slowly, so very slowly, shuffled forward, reaching out my hand to the closest child. He had dark hair, not wispy in the slightest, but his upper lip was split, leaving his mouth constantly open. It looked painful, but he didn’t show it, if it was. He watched, fascinated, as my hand came closer. Not moving. Barely breathing.
And then my fingers reached his chest.
His clothes were rough, hard where they should have been soft. Stiff with dirt and a life lived underground and inside a broken city. I could feel his ribs through thin skin. His eyes met mine, big pools of dark brown liquid. This precious little child didn’t move a muscle. He let me touch him, almost as though in awe.
I raised my eyebrows in question, but when he didn’t say a word, I pulled my hand back. Watching as his body followed before he could stop it. I touched Trent again. Faster this time. Desperate to have that contact with the child again.
“Trent,” I said. Then tapped my chest. “Lena,” I added, returning my hand, forcing myself to slow down, back to the child’s chest.
I tapped it twice, leaning down, meeting his eyes, brows arched in question.
“You?” I whispered.
He whispered something back. It could have been a mimic of what I’d just said. ‘You’ but different, encumbered by his damaged upper lip. I wondered if he could talk at all. Then wondered if I’d chosen the wrong child to try to reach.
But this one had called to me. So small. So filthy. So… fragile. So broken needlessly.
“You?” I said again, slightly louder, more probing.
“Nirbhay,” he blurted, and then a torrent of words followed. The name was one I recognised. D’awan. But the words that flowed afterwards were foreign.
Part Anglisc. Part D’maru. And part something else altogether.
“What’s he saying?” Cardinal Beck asked.
“Shhh,” I snapped, leaning closer, trying to decipher the child’s stumbling words.
The other children moved toward him, as if to protect. The Cardinals all tensed.
And then Calvin said, “Uripean. There are hints of Teiamanisch in amongst the Anglisc and D’maru. Their language has evolved to include all three.”
“A pidgin Anglisc,” Alan added.
“Yes,” Calvin agreed. “I am attempting to extrapolate the parameters and will have a translation formula prepared in a few minutes.”
I smiled at the child, as his friends started jabbering away in the same multi-language as he had been. Nodding my head and encouraging them, as if I understood. And then I felt the child’s hand slip into mine softly.
His fingers were calloused. A hard nodule protruded from three of his knuckles. But a more promising sensation there had never been. There was hope here. There was a chance that we could achieve what we’d failed with their older counterparts. Children are such forgiving creatures. So open to change and progress, where their elders are stuck fast in their upbringing.
I held my breath as Calvin worked silently in the background, promise an emotion I gladly received.
And then my Shiloh announced, “I have it. Translating now.”
It took a second for Calvin to isolate my child’s voice from the rest, but I knew it was his translation that I eventually heard.
Because as he tugged on my hand evermore urgently, his young voice becoming desperate, Calvin said in our ears, “They are coming. They are coming. They are coming.”
Nine
And The Plan?
Trent
A moment’s panic set in. Not our usual SOP. But Calvin’s words in our ears had done a number. It didn’t help that the kid holding Lena’s hand was getting quite agitated. Tugging her towards the deeper, darker shadows of the tunnel. Urging her on in that strange language they all used and were frantically muttering.
None of them raised their voices, and that was perhaps what set my body in motion. Had they screamed, I would have forced
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