My Mother Divinity [Unedited]

Chapter Seven

The line for what is now called the modern-day 'ticket office' looks insufferably long. I stare at the shoes on my feet which are already wearing thin from the trekking we've done thus far; Amon's are infinitely worse and Brodie is squirming like either his leg muscles are seizing up from being overworked or he just needs the toilet. I tug on the sleeve of Amon's coat.

"He needs the toilet," I mumble. I try to keep my voice low so we don't draw attention to ourselves. We've kept our voices mostly to ourselves so far and have yet to have the big conversation-slash-argument about what our next steps will be.

"Take him somewhere, then," Amon allows, "but hurry back. I need to step out to... you know." Of course, his regular mutilation schedule. I'm surprised he doesn't offer to go with Brodie now but I suppose I shouldn't be left totally unsupervised in an overwhelmingly public space. I don't want any eyes on me in particular.

"You want to step out, get some water too?" I suggest to Brodie who's been politely tuning out so far. He nods shyly and I guide him to the end of the street, far from prying eyes and ears and into the shadows the brick cottages cast.

Brodie squeezes into someone's garden to pee and I know I should probably discourage such behaviour but I understand his need for privacy so I simply stand back and watch on. I didn't cut my hair short enough; it waves and flaps around my neck, both tickling and irritating the scarred skin there despite my abundance of clothing. I'll have to do something about it later.

"Almost done?" I reach around for - I don't know what, because the book, my only possession, has been temporarily placed into Amon's care. I meant to take one of the water bottles with me and grumble a curse to myself. It's too easy to be distracted when you're stressed.

"Yep." Brodie reveals himself, looking much more at ease. "I'm hungry."

"Maybe if you ask nicely, Uncle Amon can buy you some meat from the butcher's." A worryingly malnourished and still growing boy needs all the protein and nutrients he can get and I can only hope with all the sacrificing that seems to go on around these areas, the availability of good mutton or venison and such will have increased. But I know that Amon doesn't have all the money in the world, as George and Lenny seemed to fear.

"You should eat too," Brodie points out. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to coo over his concern.

"Don't worry about me." But he unknowingly makes a valid point. How will I pay for, frankly, anything when I set off on my journey, if I'm alone? Will I really be allowed to leave by myself or will they insist on following me despite the risk of bumping into the assassins? Will I be dragged kicking and screaming onto the ship for Orkney? From the corner of my eye, I see the line moving forwards at a snail's pace, like an unfortunately slow, ticking clock.

A clock. How I miss those things, as trivial as it sounds. We have to measure the days by sunrise and sunset, measure the nights by how far the moon leaps into the sky and where the stars align themselves. I picture people in their houses, clawing marks onto their walls with chalk to count the days, like they're stuck in prison awaiting the day they're set free. I'd love a watch right about now.

"My favourites are the meat pies that sometimes our old baker used to make," Brodie tells me excitedly, "do you think they'll have them here?"

"I don't see why not." It doesn't seem to be an impossible feat. I take his hand and we carry ourselves back to the line, my eyes fixated on the ground almost in shame. I've learned quickly to feel embarrassed of myself.

"Here," Amon says and hands me one of the bottles. I take it for Brodie who starts chugging it and dribbling it down his shirt a bit. We didn't even get the chance to bathe or change our clothes this morning and I want desperately just to run my fingers through his hair in attempts to brush it. There's a comb somewhere in Amon's backpack too, probably beside the knives and the toiletries we've yet to utilise.