New Keepers

By Jayne Bauling

Jabz, from the poor margins of post-apocalypse city Gauzi, takes a motley crew of citizens from the city's privileged Sprawll on a journey of exploration - to the Wildlands. Motivated by strange visions and messages he has received, Jabz and his crew must reach the mountain of his vision, where it will be revealed which one of the group will be the leader of the Wilders who will start a rebellion against the controlling City Minders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tafelberg
• Release date: Nov 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9780624082033

Jayne Bauling

Whilst Jayne was born in England she grew up in South Africa. After many years in Johannesburg and 17 women's fiction novels published in the UK, a move to White River, Mbombela in Mpumalanga, coincided with an exploration of new writing directions - youth fiction, short stories and poetry. Her YA novel E Eights won the 2009 Macmillan Writer's Prize for Africa, Stepping Solo was awarded the 2011 Maskew Miller Longman literature award for novels in English, and Dreaming of Light won the 2012 Gold Sanlam Prize for Youth Literature. Her youth short story Dineo 658 MP won the 2009 MML silver medal, while This Ubuntu Thing was shortlisted for the inaugural Golden Baobab award. In 2011 she also won the inaugural African Writing flash fiction prize for Settling. Flight was shortlisted for the 2012 Commonwealth Short Story Prize. Another youth novel Our Side of the Wall was shortlisted for the Sanlam Prize. Her adult short stories have appeared in The Bed Book of Short Stories (Modjaji Books), The Edge of Things (Dye Hard Press), African Pens 2011 (a collection judged by J M Coetzee and published by Jacana), the e-anthology Behind the Shadows, and (the stories An Inappropriate Woman and Witch and Bitch)in the People Opposing Women Abuse Breaking the Silence annual anthologies (Jacana). Rage and Misfortune, her retelling of the OT Samson story was published online by Ludic Press. Poetry: Symbiosis won SAFM's Express Yourself prize, Fist was placed 3rd in the 2008 POWA Women's Writing Project and published in Murmurs of the Girl in Me, while Unschooled was published in POWA's 2010 anthology Stories of the Othere(ed) Woman and The Ladies Take Tea in POWA's 2012 anthology Sisterhood. More poetry in ouroboros review, Markings, poetandgeek, Ons Klyntji, Litnet and the Lowvelder.

Book preview

1

I hate the Sprawll’s perpetual half-light. The whole place is just a series of linked malls. Even the residential areas are entirely sheltered from the sky.

This has to be the place. Birdie Blue. I look at the glowing blue sign. There are some young people hanging around outside, like they can’t make up their minds to go in.

When I focus properly, I get a shock. They are all bleeding from small wounds. There are scratches, grazes, splits, punctures, gashes and more on their faces, hands and arms. Every one of them carries an injury somewhere. The blood is bright and fresh. The sight brings a rush of saliva to my mouth, a moment of nausea.

I fight it off, trying to understand what keeps them bleeding. I’m imagining some disease, a condition of the blood, or simply flesh that won’t heal. Maybe the Sprawll’s lack of proper light has weakened their skin.

Then I see one boy whose grazed forearm is scabbing over. I only notice him because he is noticing the same thing. At once he starts picking at the fresh scabs. I can see they’re still soft. Another boy and a younger girl come over to help him. All three pick and scratch at the scabs.

The bleeding is deliberate.

Gross.

My stalker has decided to show herself. I was aware of her following me even before I left the Margins.

What do you want? I can feel myself scowling at her. Why have you followed me?

Why shouldn’t I?

That’s the way she is, this dirty girl, always looking for a fight. I can’t remember her name, but I know her from the Margins. Sometimes she tags along with me and my crew, or begs something off us, smoke mostly.

Think you’ll find something to steal here? I mock, because we’ve caught her taking our stuff more than once. The Minders are a lot more watchful in here than they bother to be in the Margins.

I’m not stupid, Jabz.

I can tell it’s her first time in the Sprawll. It’s the way she’s staring all around, at the fake cobbles, the way the Birdie Blue sign floats in the air over the bleeding kids in their bright, tight clothes.

Then why are you here?

None of your business.

I look at her. She appears so fierce with that pointed face, but she’s too small to take seriously.

I lift my shoulders, let them fall. Whatever has brought her after me, I know I’m not the attraction. How can I be? We may both be from the Margins, but I’m a Stain. I don’t get girls. Not unStained ones anyway, and the Stained ones have issues. Like I do, I guess.

My Stain is how I told him he would recognise me, one of the people I’m here to meet. My clients.

At first, when I started advertising the expedition on the texter, sending my message out to random numbers, I got a whole lot of rude answers and jokes, most likely from people using the Controlled Communications Centres they have here in the Sprawll. We all know nothing is secret in those places, although no one seemed to guess I was sending my question from the Margins. Maybe the Sprawll has softened their brains, because who else would be offering to take people out to the Wildlands for an adventure? The jokes were mostly about what drugs I was using, or suggesting it was time I went in for Repairs. We don’t go in for Repairs in the Margins.

I guess my message did seem crazy.

Young and looking for adventure? Join me on an expedition into the Wildlands.

I suppose if I hadn’t seen and heard what I did in the smoke, I wouldn’t have taken any notice of the stories about rich, young Sprawllers so bored they’re looking for the excitement of a trip outside. I think we might get more than excitement, but it seems like a way of getting myself some company while I go looking for the mountain. A few people to help in a fight or to offer up as a sacrifice if I have to. I’d rather have someone from the Margins, but none of my crew are interested. The tokens I’m charging aren’t so important, but I’m going to let my clients think that’s why I’m doing this.

The mountain – or maybe it’s more of a rocky hill, because it doesn’t look that big – I have to go out to find it. I mean, no mountains here, right? Not even small ones. The Sprawll and Margins were levelled; hills, ridges and old mine dumps all flattened. I don’t know how long ago it happened, just that it was before we’d learned to fear water and love the heights that kept it from us.

I remember how fast my heart was beating when I got my first serious response from someone called Silver. Next I heard from this Lizwi person who sounds really bossy, something about her brother who really wants to do the expedition and how she has to accompany him because there is something wrong with him, only I couldn’t properly understand what.

So here I am, come to fetch them out of the Sprawll. My first clients, and they don’t need to know they’ll probably be my last. I don’t know what will happen when I find the mountain. Lizwi chose our meeting place, because she says her brother is only comfortable in Feathers venues. Even though I’ve been into the Sprawll before, I still don’t get this business of Feathers and the other groups they have in here.

Fine with me, I confirmed.

How will we know you? Silver texted back when I let him know.

I hesitated. Then I typed, I’m a Stain.

Nothing came back immediately. I couldn’t pull breath into my lungs properly because I was in a panic that I’d lost a client.

Eventually – Oh yes, I’ve just noticed the Margins map co-ordinates. I should have realised anyway. Tomorrow, you say. What time?

I’ve never been so relieved. I was also envious. My cheap, illicit Margins texter may have sent out my co-ordinates, but it hadn’t picked up his. Lizwi didn’t ask how she’d know me when I confirmed with her. She comes across like she thinks she knows everything.

So here I am in the south-west part of the Sprawll, and the bleeding kids have noticed me and are staring, pretty much the way the dirty girl and I have been staring at them. I’m the darkest person I know, but even my deep brown skin can’t hide the Stain.

What are you looking at, you sick pricks? the dirty girl spits at them.

If you want to get back to the Margins, you won’t do that, I tell her.

I’m not scared of them. Her pupils are tiny in the centres of her bright hazel eyes. Soft Sprawllers.

Fine, go pick a fight with them if you want, I say. None of my business. I didn’t invite you along.

Where are you going? she demands when I move towards the Birdie Blue entrance.

I have to meet someone.

Who?

In a way, I’m relieved she’s following me. I suppose it’s just that we’re both from the Margins that I feel – I don’t know – like I’m responsible for her.

People.

Birdie Blue is a blue food joint. Blue has always been the most popular, but last time I was in the Sprawll I noticed that the alternatives were into pink.

It’s still early evening so there is hardly anyone inside, just an older couple in the bar area, and three kids drinking blue fizz at a table. Silver, Lizwi and the brother, I guess.

What am I doing? What if all this is pointless?

I mean, I burn these leaves, inhale the smoke and see these things that come to me with sounds, words and parts of words … and the humming sound that always freaks me out. I don’t know why it all seems so important. My real sleeping dreams are bigger and better, especially the sexy ones, and I have also had some serious nightmares, but I can forget both kinds easily as soon as I leave my bed.

The things in my seeing smoke are different. They feel urgent.

Hey! Here!

It’s one of the kids at the table, a slight boy with a small Skins patch grafted into the skin of his left forearm. It’s smooth, short fur, a gleaming silvery-white colour. Skins – another of the Sprawll’s crazy groups, if I’ve understood it right. This place confuses me.

He’s standing up and looking at my forehead, at my Stain. Then his greeny-grey eyes slide away. I go towards them, with the dirty girl still following. He’s younger than me, I see, but the other boy is even younger. The girl is the oldest, probably my age, and she makes me uneasy. She’s a big girl, nearly as black as me, and her face is open and friendly, but her clothes scream Minder-class. She and the younger boy both have feathers sprouting from their wrists. I’ve seen it before in the Sprawll; I’ve heard it’s a simple surgical procedure.

The younger boy is making this continuous noise, a wordless wailing.

The older one’s light eyes find me again, find the dirty girl, skip away.

Our guide from the Margins? he says, sounding distracted.

Yes, I say as I reach the table. Silver? And Lizwi?

I look from him to the girl. The other boy has started rocking backwards and forwards.

Right, the older boy says. We’ve just been introducing ourselves.

I suppose his patch is where his name comes from, so it’s probably a name he chose for himself, not the one his parents gave him. His own hair is dark blond, probably the same colour as the dirty Margins girl’s would be without its coating of dust and grease.

Jabz. I pull out the fourth blue chair. I should have asked when we were setting this up. Do you have your own texters, or were you texting from a CCC?

I used my father’s private one, Lizwi says.

Oh. Right. Minder-class privileges, I say and she gives me a filthy look.

Silver pulls a black-and-silver oblong out of his pants pocket, and I’m surprised because it looks nothing like any texter I’ve seen.

Where did you get that?

I made it from pieces I found in the Repair Centre. There’s all this old stuff in the Occupational Therapy section. Really old, going back to the Contagion, or maybe even the Drowning … the Salting, you know?

No way? I’ve heard people had their own super-smart texters and stuff until quite far into the Prosperity, like even in my lifetime. My childhood, anyway – I stop, realising what he’s said. You were in for Repairs?

In and out all my life. He jerks his head at the other boy. Lizwi says it’s the same story with him.

Great, so they’re not just flawed, like I’ve heard plenty Sprawllers are; I will be going into the Wildlands with two people in regular need of Repairs, and this girl who probably comes with her own set of problems. A lot of use they’re going to be in a fight, or even if we have to run away (which will likely turn out to be our safer option, if the stories I’ve heard are true).

Doesn’t look as if the Repairs worked on him, I say, to show them I’m not intimidated speaking to Sprawllers so they needn’t expect any polite niceness from me; I’ll be the guide and escort they’ve hired me to be, but that’s it.

Haven’t you heard of autism? Lizwi demands.

I thought autistic kids got Parked, I say.

Well, Meyi didn’t. She moves her chair closer to Meyi’s. Listen, I don’t want to be doing this, but Meyi … he’s obsessed with going out into the Wildlands. It’s like there’s something important there.

Adventure, Silver says. And freedom.

That’s what he thinks, because that’s the idea I’ve sold him. Spoilt Sprawller. They’re stupid not to be more suspicious of someone from the Margins.

So you go along with whatever your brother wants? I say to Lizwi, and I know I sound aggressive; it’s her Minder-class accent that’s getting to me.

What is all this? the dirty girl cuts in; she’s been standing behind me, listening.

One fat mistake, maybe, I suggest, because now I’ve met my clients, the thought of days or weeks in their company is making me regret I didn’t just push off on my own.

No, it’s not! Silver is emphatic. How can it be? Getting out of here and discovering what’s out there? And maybe Meyi is right and there really is something important waiting. It could be that his autism is a gift, letting him know things the rest of us don’t. I mean, before you got here Lizwi was telling me he says there’s a special way we have to go. A direction.

I look at his eager face, and move round to sit on the chair I’ve pulled out.

Crazy talk, I say, but supposing he’s right, it would be no stranger than my smoke visions, because I think I also know the direction we have to go.

The dirty girl hooks a chair from the next table and shoves it between mine and Silver’s. She slithers round to sit, and her ass is so bony I think it must jar, the way she thumps down.

Who’s she? Silver asks me.

Just someone who followed me in from the Margins, I say.

You can ask me. The girl is aggressive and I can see Silver’s gaze flicker away from her face. What’s the matter, Sprawll boy? Scared of me?

Sprawll? He frowns.

They call it Joto, I tell the girl.

Silver’s smile is as flickering as his weird eyes. I don’t know if I trust him.

Gauzi. Only Prayers still call it Joto. I think it’s had masses of names since the Contagion.

I’ve seen Prayers, I say. I suppose those kids bleeding outside are another of your sects or cults or whatever you call them? What’s all that about? These groups you have here?

We’ve always had them. Sometimes I think it’s just a fashion thing, but maybe it’s like a way of belonging to something, being part of a community. Because you can’t really say Gauzi is a community. Those kids outside are Bleeders. Probably too chicken to come in. Birdie Blue is a Feathers hang-out. Obviously.

Meyi loves his feathers – don’t you, Meyi? Lizwi is like a mother talking to a toddler. Come Meyi, drink up for your Sesi.

But what’s with the bleeding? I ask Silver.

Something stupid. He has turned vague. Like this dead hero they’re honouring. The Bloodster or something. From the last uprising. That famous couple? He was their sort of sidekick, I think. I was still little. I don’t really remember.

I do, I say. A bit.

Me too. It’s Lizwi.

They say he was put down, or maybe just Rinsed, Silver says. The Bloodster, I mean. Don’t know about the other two?

Ricochet Thelezi and Leoli Leopara. It’s like a light has come on behind Lizwi’s dark face. Remember how Ricochet was too cool to go Feathers or Skins or anything? Leoli was Skins. Her graft was cultivated from cells from the last ever natural-born leopard. And there was that adorable baby, conceived out there in the Wildlands –

And where are they now? I break into the soppy stuff. How stupid were they? Announcing their big homecoming rally, promising the people this awesome message they’d brought back … Always going for the big display.

It never happened. The light has left Lizwi’s face.

Are you surprised? I throw it at her like stones. Maybe they were even put down.

The Minders –

Are benevolent, we all know, I jeer. So maybe they were just Parked or Rinsed. Whatever, they disappeared, cute little offspring included.

But I’m sore saying these things. I seem to see and hear through the years, clearly remembering watching them on the free channel. Ricochet and Leoli. Their faces sharp and fiery with anger and belief, their voices ringing, promising the people. I was too young to understand what they claimed to be bringing,