Wasteland

Chapter One

Frey-

Legend tells it that on the day the world ended, we rose from the ashes once more; Humanity and all its glory. With the world on the brink of a nuclear war, the Ancients dug down deep and sealed off any means of entering the dying land beyond, until a day where it would be safe to step foot outside once more. And to ensure it, they created the Door. A gateway between the Overworld, and what we now call the Hole.

 "And only when the time is right, shall the door be opened" my mother had whispered, her face illuminated in the soft candle light. Such a friendly, caring face.

 "When will we know the time is right?" I whispered, a mere child. My mother had smiled;

 "He will knock four times."  To emphasise, she wrapped her knuckles on the hard clay beside my head to the beat of four. I matched her smile and repeated the same rhythm.

 "Exactly right!" Her smile was heart-warming, softening and safe. Nothing could ever go wrong with her around. I could feel her hand grab mine as she blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.

 I woke to a loud clattering, dreams gone and broken. The room I was thrust into was the same as what I had imagined seconds before, the same soft glow of a flame upon solid clay walls. The only thing missing was my mother... The groans of other girls reached my ears as the clattering continued. Time for work. I sighed and sat up, shrugging the tough woven fabric off my body that were my sheets. Massaging my stiff neck, I hobbled off the solid cotton and tweed monstrosity that welcomed me every night over to the pile of slightly moist towels. Clearly Annabelle had forgotten to heat them again. That's what happens when you get old, I thought to myself. Fifty-seven, jeez she was getting ancient! I didn't blame her, but I heard murmuring complaints spreading around the room. Others were not as kind as me, and were already frustrated. I kept my head down as I passed the grouchy women, many of whom were a good twenty years my elder. They had always looked down on me. All except mum. Towel draped over my shoulder, I shuffled across the gritty, undusted clay floor and headed out of the room through the single roughly carved entrance that stood at the far side of the room. The walls were lined with beds reserved for the elderly so that they could make an early escape. I passed through the archway into a long twisted corridor, teeming with about twelve girls. As a unit, we snaked our way down the path which measured about ten metres and took a left. I could feel my tunic becoming slightly sodden as water from the towel seeped into it. I ignored it; by the time I was done, it would be dry anyhow. I spread my hand out to the wall and took in the smooth feel of clay. It was cool to the touch and the depths to which it protruded varied. This was one of the first rooms built, I remembered. Third? Maybe fourth? I wasn't sure of the exact order. Still, the Ancients weren't ones to be reckoned with. They were our saviors after all. The wall in which my hand was tracing tapered off and became more grand. We had entered the Main Chamber. The roof towered around seven metres above us with lanterns inset evenly around the diameter. The Main Chamber vaguely resembled a circle, and renovation attempts a few years ago resulted in the deaths of two young men. Needless to say, as soon as the concave dome was stable, work ceased and the circle was never to be completed. We passed the classroom which I hated so, and I caught a glimpse of the rotting wooden benches, chipped stone desks and dim lanterns which cast an ominous glow across the room. I averted my gaze and concentrated on the herd of sleepily frustrated people around me. It was then I began to hear the rush of the water I knew so well, and as we rounded the final corner, I looked into the depths of the baths. Needless to say, they weren't actually baths, but more of a cross between a shower and a bath, only bigger. Steam rose from the pools of water, heated by the ground below which trickled along at a pace steady enough to be enjoyable. From overhead, lukewarm water drizzled through small holes in the clay and rained down on the surface below, sending ripples spreading over the pool. The lighting was dimmer in this room, and when a boy in my class had asked why a few years back, we were told a long lecture about structural stability and how the ancients had planned everything right from the start. We were frazzled by that lecture and proceeded to never ask questions again. With drips and dribbles filling our ears, we all entered, filing in one by one. The cavern spanned around ten metres by almost fourteen, I had estimated. In spite of calculations, I dropped my towel and pulled my tunic up over my head tugged off my loose cloth pants before stepping into the water. It was warm to touch, commanding every pore in my body to open and sent a bolt surging up my spine. The water was refreshing and revitalizing, and after what seemed like forever (but in reality must have been only ten minutes) it was time to climb out. Seizing my towel, I dried my shoulder length hair with a quick swish before mopping up stray beads of water from my skin, but only succeeding in spreading air cooled water over my body. Shivering, I dropped it back in place. I redressed and stepped outside, allowing everyone else some privacy. The Main Chamber had always fascinated me as the way such a structure could stand without collapsing was mind blowing. I took in the details that were carved up high on the walls. Names, dates, initials with hearts: that sort of thing. The middle of the room was raised slightly higher than the rest of the floor, and on a carved wooden pedestal sat a book; The Tome. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and rumour even had it that it was written by the head Ancient himself – Jeremiah the Great. My mind was snapped out of its haze as a girl with grubby brunette hair that was tied in a bun with a platted stand of twine barged past me, almost knocking me down to my knees.

 "Watch it, special girl!" She growled at me, with hatred in her eyes so pure it could harden clay at a glance. I steadied myself, towel clutched in my skinny arms and I looked up at her. She was middle aged and wore a steady scowl like it was the latest fashion. Rain was her name. Brown eyes were almost black as the burrowed into me, and I felt like I should cower and hide. But like the stubborn girl I am, I stood fast and held her gaze. Clearly she could see my fear? I would never find out, because at that moment a gruff voice broke the silence,

 "What's going on here?" It spoke from behind me like my guardian angel perched on my shoulder. Dad. I turned and faced him. A greying beard greeted me in an all too familiar way, with those harrowing blue eyes and wrinkles that tallied every year he had lived. I was saved. I was ready to tell him of Rain's push, and her hollow threat, but a glance back at her face told me everything. She was scared of him. My whole body wished I could get her in every ounce of trouble possible, but my mind said no. Reluctantly, I looked down and said,

 "Just a mistake, don't worry." I regretted that statement, but what had been done was done. A firm grip locked onto my shoulder and the aged man crouched to look into my eyes. 

 "You can tell me, I am your father" he said, more forcefully this time. He was pressuring me, and I could tell. After a heart stopping pause, I shook my head.

 "It was nothing. I bumped into her, my mistake" The lie came easily. Too easily. His hand squeezed my shoulder tightly, but only for a second, and then it was gone. Without another word, he turned away from me and with dust and dirt clinging for dear life onto his back, he walked away. My father's name is Arthus, and he is one of the consuls of the Elders, a group of six men and women who believe they are related to one of the eight Ancients. The swagger in his step said it all. We were related to Jeremiah the Great, the one who made everything possible; the first of the eight. Years ago, when the consuls were first instated, it had been decided that the blood relative of Jeremiah the Great was to be the leader, the one who made the calls and the one who took the blame. My father did the first two poorly, and the last was ignored entirely.

 I looked back at where Rain stood, expecting a look of relief, or maybe even gratitude, but no prevail. Instead, she spat at the ground before my feet, turned on her heels, and sauntered away.

 There is no winning with some people, I thought. My father was despised by almost all residents of the Hole, and that only led to the dislike of me too. I was tainted; unwanted. With head down, I followed the crowd once again. Forming a single-file line, we each deposited our sodden towels on a pile that formed between the male and female living quarters before entering the dining hall. The entrance to the hall was large, maybe three metres in length and four metres high. As large as it was, it still paled in comparison to what stood opposing it. On the opposite end of the Main Chamber stood the Door, a vast dull metal object that took up the entire wall which constantly watched over us. Every move we made was watched. Everything we said was watched. We were watched. Or that is how it felt. The history of the Door is shrouded in mystery, but the Tome spoke of how it took all eight of the Ancients to create it, to save us from what lay beyond. The story of it opening was what was told at night to all of the younger kids. It was known by all. It was also the last story my mother ever told me.

 Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.