My Mother Divinity [Unedited]

Chapter Four

In the next village, there are sheep on the streets with their throats slit.

"To ward off evil spirits," Amon explains, but then he mutters under his breath something about making excuses. I think people will do whatever they're told to do out of fear - sacrifices must be made, he's eager to remind me. I've volunteered to take the backpack so Brodie has his legs swung around his uncle's shoulders. The dead animals don't phase him.

"They heard about us," the kid announces matter-of-factly. So the villagers think we're ghosts now?

"I'm popping into a bookshop." Amon looks doubtful as he crouches down to let Brodie off of his shoulders. There's nobody around as it's getting late. The plan is to dip out of civilisation and back towards the sand dunes on the path we've taken so we can set up a camp. There's enough drinking water for the three of us and bathing can be done in the sea, though not an ideal solution.

He looks doubtful because he doesn't want to leave me alone again. What does he worry I'll do, take off into the sea with his nephew? I have a big enough target on my back already and the survival instincts are rich enough to understand we're better off as a team. "We'll stay here," I promise.

"Sit here; don't look suspicious. Keep yourself covered." He orders me around to a nearby bench and I drop the backpack beside me. He reaches into one of the side pockets for his wallet. My hat flattens down the wispy hairs dancing on my forehead.

Brodie trails his hand along the arm of the bench. There's a red streak on his thumb. "Don't touch the blood," Amon grumbles, "you know why that's never a good idea."

"Bad omen," Brodie recalls. I would be convinced this was all superstitious satire if I hadn't had dogs chasing me into a river less than twenty-four hours ago.

Amon leaves for the bookshop. The village is eerie, no sound except for the lapping of waves on a fairly-distant shore. Gentle wind on the birch trees.

"Want to know a secret?" Brodie asks politely. I'm not sure if I do but I have to do my best to entertain him so I nod. "The Gods say everything is going to be okay."

I don't know how to respond to that so I change the subject and ask: "How old are you, Brodie?"

"I'm seven." He looks young for his age but I suppose it's no bad thing, holding onto mindless youth for as long as you can in such circumstances. He peers at me curiously and I'm once again hyper-aware of my scars. "How old are you?"

It's a good question. Mid twenties at least. I can't help but give him a fond smile. "Older."

"Do you miss your family?"

The smile disappears. I haven't thought much about the subject of family. What good is it to dwell on people that, as far as I'm concerned, I have never met? Who knows if there's anyone out there at all who's related to me? It would be a comforting but useless thought. "No," I say, "not as long as I'm with you and Amon."

"I miss my family," he sighs, "the ones who are gone."

"Your mum?"

He pauses for such a brief moment that I don't notice it. "Yeah, my mum."

"Brodie, where are we?" I gesture to the cobbled streets and the endless night sky full of stars that are more of a creepy overhanging rather than a comfort. "In the world, I mean? Do you know the name of the country?"

"They used to call it Scotland but there aren't really any countries anymore." The answer doesn't surprise me. I knew something was familiar about the way we rolled our Rs and missed our Ts. Our dialects are slightly unmatched but I won't look into it. "When I was little we used to move house a lot but there were lots of hills and trees everywhere we went. It was nice."