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Lion Hudson - Chris Aslan

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108 pages

English

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'Imaginative, authentic, and evocative.'- Gerard Kelly, authorThere is a dark presence in Phin's life. His step-father is a drunk and his malevolence poisons their home.One evening the violence gets out of control and as Phin's mother drags his broken body away, she can only think of one place to take him: to the local healer. But this healer deals in more than medicinal remedies and at her insistence he calls on the spirits to ensure Phin is never harmed again.However, his words are more than a call, they are invitation - one that the spirits welcome as a legion descend and take root within Phin. Phin awakens to discover he is no longer in control of his mind or his body, and something is certainly inhabiting his soul. He possesses super-human strength and immediately takes revenge on his step-father. This would have sated Phin, but the spirits have other ideas - they drive him into the wilderness and all who go to him quickly rue the day.As he terrorises the village, soldiers come to remove him - but how do you restrain a man who can break the strongest of manacles. And is there any hope for one who has been overcome by darkness?

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	Lion Hudson
Date de parution	17 novembre 2017
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781782642565
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0450€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

P REVIOUS B OOKS BY A UTHOR
Alabaster (Lion Fiction)
A Carpet Ride to Khiva (Icon Books)
Chris Aslan has spent many years living in Central Asia. Chris wrote a part memoir part travelogue, called A Carpet Ride to Khiva: Seven years on the Silk Road , about life in Uzbekistan and is currently lecturing on textiles, tour-guiding around Central Asia and studying in Oxford for Anglican ordination. Chris s website is www.chrisaslan.info.

Text copyright 2017 Chris Aslan
This edition copyright 2017 Lion Hudson
The right of Chris Aslan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Lion Fiction
an imprint of
Lion Hudson Ltd
Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Road
Oxford OX2 8DR, England
www.lionhudson.com/fiction
ISBN 978 1 78264 255 8
e-ISBN 978 1 78264 256 5
First edition 2017
Cover illustration: Sarah J. Coleman
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
To Tim Campion-Smith and George Watkinson.
Thanks for everything you ve taught me about running the race.
Contents
BEFORE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
AFTER
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Acknowledgments
BEFORE
Chapter One
L ight pools in the east behind the silhouetted hills and a breeze comes off the Great Lake rustling the leaves of the vine and pomegranate tree down in your courtyard. You sleep. It s peaceful. But a storm is coming and you don t realize. We know, because we can rise up on thermals and sense changes in the air that you have no idea about. There are lots of things that we know that you don t. Even if you were awake, you wouldn t realize that we re watching you right now. We ve passed through the inner room where your mother sleeps, her head covered with a headscarf in the hope it will protect her from evil spirits. What makes her think a headscarf would impede us? We ve slipped through walls and passed through the ceiling and now we hover over the flat roof of the house where you and your brother Timaeus are sleeping. Your situation might not be great, but we still watch you with envy. You have something we desperately want: a home.
You wake unbidden and silently shake Timaeus, who takes a little longer to rouse and dress himself. While he pulls on his tunic, you pile up the sleeping mats and bedding.
Come on, you whisper, climbing onto the low wall that surrounds the roof. You crane your neck towards the water. The boats are starting to return.
You both run down the stone steps to the courtyard, each grabbing a flat basket and long cloth strip. Slipping into your sandals, you head downwards through the narrow cobbled streets towards the lake path.
I ll race you, you say to Timaeus, adding, Here, give me your basket. Even though you both know who will win, it doesn t stop Timaeus from grinning, dropping his basket and bolting away. He runs down the stone steps flanked by boulders, scrub and the occasional stunted olive tree. Then, when the path flattens at the base of the hill, he sprints. Clouds of dust puff up wherever his feet land. He lets the long strip of cloth stream behind him like a banner and you do the same, still clutching the baskets in your other hand as you feel the power in your body and gradually narrow the distance between you and him. It s a joyful scene and it bores us. We follow you anyway, skimming lazily overhead because we too have come for the fish.
We swoop down to the nearing boat, and we feed on the panic and the pain emanating from the piles of fish gasping in the air. It s not much of a meal but it will have to do. One of us dips beneath the waves and sees several large bream lurking under the inviting shadow of the hull. For sport, we give one of the struggling sardines the strength to flip itself overboard. It swims frantically downwards and doesn t even notice the mouth of the bigger fish until it is too late. Snuffed-out hope has always tasted good, even if it s just a fish. But really, we re hungry for more.
As the boat nears the shore, Rufus at the prow gives the call. The men have already removed their tunics and now they tug off their waist cloths before jumping naked overboard, hauling the boat through the waves. You and Timaeus leave bundles of clothing pooled beside your sandals as you run to join them, splashing through the waves. You re taller and move to the stern, putting your shoulder to it. You re determined to play your part, knowing you ve just had a good night s sleep while the fishermen are exhausted and chilled to the bone. You catch a glimpse inside the boat where bream and redbellies still flop amid the nets. It s not these larger fish that interest you, but the glistening, seething mass of sardines beneath them. It s been a particularly good catch and you grin as you push the stern hard. You feel sand grinding beneath its keel and grunt with the others as you push the boat forward until it is beached.
Looks like you ll be making two trips, maybe three, says Rufus, the head fisherman, with a tired smile, cricking his neck and rubbing a knotted muscle in his shoulders.
You grin again and then remember not to invite bad luck. You ve had better catches, you say loudly to the winds in a way he won t find offensive, because he knows you re just wanting to protect yourself from the Evil Eye. The fishermen put their tunics back on and start disentangling the nets, laying them out to dry. Later, Rufus will store them away in a large wooden hut used by all the boats and the only building on the bay. Other boys will come for the bigger fish, but for now you and Timaeus are able to scoop up handfuls of sardines unhindered, depositing them into the centre of each flat basket until the silver mounds threaten to cascade over the sides. You replace your waist cloths - it wouldn t do to walk back to the village naked - but you leave your tunics behind, not wanting them to smell any stronger of fish than they already do.
Phin, can you help me? says Timaeus, and kneels before you as you wind the strip of cloth around the crown of his head and balance the basket on top of it. He wrinkles his nose. The smell is overpowering. You return to the village slowly, keeping your backs and necks straight, trying to ignore the fishy water seeping through the basket weave and turban as it dribbles down your wiry back.
If you were aware of us, you d probably be wondering why we ve taken such interest in you. After all, you seem content - almost happy - at least today. But, like we said, we know things that you don t. Some of us have flown higher and we ve seen something you don t know about, and we re not just referring to the coming storm. There s a different kind of storm approaching you. It makes your momentary happiness bearable because, like the bream lurking in the shadows waiting for that sardine, we know that a feast is coming our way. You see, we ve seen who s making his way back to the village.
There s still at least four more baskets -worth down there, says Timaeus, depositing his load onto a worn cloth that your mother has laid out in the courtyard underneath the vine. His hair is wet and smells of fish. He grabs a ladle from the water jar and gulps its contents down. The sun has crested the hills and already the day is warm.
Have some dates, both of you, says your mother. We ll eat properly once we ve finished salting the fish. Here. Your mother hands you a pouch of coins. Tell Rufus I ve made offerings to the goddess for his catch, and don t buy from anyone else. Oh, and ask him for a basket of redbellies. Look at the sun. Today is a good day for drying them.
She s wrong, of course.
You pass most of the fishermen as you head back down to the lake and they nod to you wearily, ready to sleep. There are other youths with baskets of bream and redbellies on their heads. You notice that Timaeus is tired.
Let s have a quick break, you say, once you re down at the bay again. Then adding, so he won t think you re doing this for him, I want to see if I can get that cat to come out.
You wander over to an area of thick undergrowth with a couple of sardines in hand, calling gently. There s no sign of her, so you lay the sardines down and back away. A few moments later the skinny feral cat appears, glances at you warily, and then bolts down the sardines, barely chewing. Her belly is swollen with a litter she ll bear soon. You d love to take one of her kittens and look after it, but your mother would never allow cats in the courtyard - not with the bad luck they might bring - and anyway, he would torment it. He d probably kill it just to spite you.
Come on, Phin, Timaeus calls, and you collect another full basket. Despite the weight and the smell, you re grateful for your flat basket, as it shades you from the glare of the sun.
By the time you ve returned for the third time, both of you are wet with sweat and fish water. Rufus nods his head towards the lake. Go on, get yourselves cleaned up. I ll pile the last baskets for you.
Neither of you needs a second invitation and you plunge into the water, splashing each other, tugging off your waist cloths and using them to rub the smell of fish from your bodies as best you can. You emerge dripping but revived, your tight curly hair hanging with the weight of water in it.
Come here, Phineas, Rufus beckons, as you wring out your waist cloth and tie it back on. You can tell from his tone that he has something he wants to say, and