Threads and weave; the pathway to maps on pages.
“But Ty, we don’t look like fishermen. They’re all grown-ups like Uncle Drewe,” Gen said, absently rummaging through the discarded pile of cloth while keeping his eye on the entrance of the alley. Tymas, on the other hand, was entirely engrossed and fully committed to finding at least a decent square of the triple-threaded fabric.
“It’s all about the patch, Gen. If we have it, we’ll be allowed to leave.”
Tymas was usually the one with the grandiose ideas. This time was no different. Gen had cautiously followed, ambivalent about its feasibility. He was also afraid of being caught by patrolling elders for their scavenging. Children had no business traipsing unsupervised at the textile market.
“Found it!” Tymas voice punctured the tension in Gen’s thoughts.
Gen hurried over and joined Tymas where he was crouched on the ground. As quick as it was sudden, the fear of being discovered was shaken off like dust from their sandals and Gen found himself tempted by the notion that this could actually work.
There in Tymas’ hands was a small shred of the prized fabric, its edges raw and untidily sawed. Black, gold, and mauve - an unlikely combination of some of the rarest threads. Gen reached out and touched the piece of cloth. One of the threads at the fringe came loose.
“Be careful!” Tymas yelled in panic, shoving Gen’s hand away, “We don’t have much to work with!”
Tymas gingerly stood up, clasping the failing fabric tightly between his palms. Gen too stood up and grabbed the two baskets of produce. With that, the boys made their way home, racing against time and falling threads.
They sped past the row of village women crushing sky pearls, making dye, and dying fabric.
In Derri, blue fabric had a somewhat luxurious reputation and didn’t come at a small price. Parents would usually give the best to their children, having their own tunics patched with leftover blue fabric from making their children’s clothes.
“My palms are sweaty, the threads won’t hold!” Tymas cried, watching regrettably as he lost another mauve thread. Gen hurried to keep up with him, struggling with the two heavy baskets.
They did draw some attention from perplexed village folk, who stared long after they were gone, expecting an adult to be in pursuit.
As for how they managed to convince their parents to let them gallivant around the marketplace unsupervised in the first place, the story is this: Tymas’ Ma had come down with a cold and he had offered to collect the groceries on her behalf. She had been too sick to consider what that meant and groggily assented to the idea. As for Gen, he had simply told Ma he was going along with Tymas to the marketplace and she (fortunately) assumed it would have to be with Tymas’ Ma, Chief Wyer forbid otherwise. Gen seized the opportunity and took off, knowing it was only a matter of time before she walked next door to find Tymas’ Ma sick in bed.
When they were nearing the end of the main street, Gen tripped over the sole of his right sandal that had come away. He fell and landed on all fours in a cloud of disturbed dust with an emphatic yell. The two baskets flew out of his hands, scattering their contents all over the market floor.
Tymas stopped in his tracks and looked back just as Gen got up and dusted down his skinned knees. He looked terribly torn, glancing down at where his hands held the precious ticket to freedom then at his Ma’s groceries strewn all over the ground.
After moments of painful contemplation, he tucked the piece of fabric into the belt around his waist, wincing as a few more threads fell to the ground, then hurried to help Gen pick up the items.
Then they ran for home, each carrying one basket.
When they got to Tymas’ house, the boys quietly set the baskets down outside the door. Then, making hand gestures that only they could understand, they parted ways, with Tymas climbing up to the roof and Gen returning home.
Gen went for Ma’s sewing basket tucked at the corner of the yard. He spent some time picking through the miscellaneous selection until he found a needle that was slightly less bent and some leftover threads of decent length.
As he spun round all ready to head back to Tymas’ place, he froze at the sight of his Ma. Instinctively, he hid his hands behind his back.
“How was the trip to the market?” she asked casually. It didn’t seem as though she’d found out about Tymas’ Ma, yet.
Gen kept his lips pursed and simply nodded. He wasn’t one to outrightly spin a lie - lying made him uncomfortable, and truth be told, he wasn’t very good at it either.
“I gotta go, Ma, Ty’s waiting for me,” he said, then leaned towards the gate, making an obvious show of being on his way.
Ma eyed him suspiciously, but let him go eventually.
When Gen joined Tymas on the rooftop, the young lad was crouched over a tunic, deep in thought.
“Do you think this will work?” Tymas asked aloud, easily sensing Gen’s arrival. He had placed whatever was left of the square of fabric on the right shoulder of the tunic.
Gen answered by opening his palm, producing the needle and thread.
They got to work, together, with Gen holding the fabric in place and Tymas doing the sewing.
“Ty, what if our Ma and Pa find out about today?” Gen asked, breaking the silence and sweat work.
“Well, too late, we’ve already-ow!” Tymas flinched, pulling his hand back from where he got stabbed by the needle and shaking off the pain.
“What if they ground us?” Gen continued, feeling his arms getting tired from holding the fabric.
“We’ll just keep this a secret. Then we can make our move after we’re ungrounded,” Tymas replied matter-of-factly, concentrating hard on the last few stitches. “Done!” he said, holding up the new and improved tunic.
Then he set it aside, headed towards the heap of leaves and canvas, and pulled out the ancient text from underneath.
The boys sat down and got comfy. Opening the tome and flipping through the pages to where they left off previously, Gen and Tymas began studying the text with interest.
“It looks like there’s another village near the Golden Hills…K-E-L-V…K-elv,” Gen pointed out, directing their attention to the faded sketch of towering structures at the bottom of the page. When we say that the boys studied the text, we meant mainly the pictures. Most words were beyond them - the handwritten letters of time ago did little to help with comprehension - except for place names recorded in bold that they could at least attempt to pronounce.
“I want to go there when we get our chance to leave. It seems close by, look.” Tymas said, measuring the distance on the hand-drawn map with his fingers, “It’s like a walk to the marketplace.”
“Do you think the kids in Kelv think about the outside like us too?” Gen wondered out loud. Before Tymas could chime in with a comment, they heard the door from downstairs creak open.
Peeking cautiously over the edge of the roof, the boys watched Tymas’ Ma emerge from the house, walking at a pace slowed by fever. When she saw the two baskets full of (dusty) groceries beside the door, she paused, looking confused. Then, as if there was little else that could be said or done, she picked up the baskets and carried them into the house.
Just as Gen and Tymas were returning to their perusal of the Chronicles, a little voice yelled for Gen from below.
It was Leia. She had been sent to call her brother home for dinner.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yup, and then we’ll talk about when we can roll out the plan.”
A little after dinner, there was a knock on their front door. Ma went to answer it and Gen followed.
The door opened to a threatening presence…at least to Gen it was. As for Ma, it seemed a veil of reverence had fallen over her.
It was Chief Wyer. Under the light of dusk, the high and pointed ridges of his aged face looked especially menacing.
Ma greeted him in her politest voice. He acknowledged with equal politeness before his gaze fell upon Gen. There was nothing cordial in the dark olive of his eyes.
Gen grew uncomfortable under his stern eye but hid behind Ma instead of running away, holding his resolve to remain present to hear what it was all about.
“There has been talk,” Chief Wyer began, acutely aware that a child was in earshot, “that some rules have been broken.” He spoke, as if drawing out suspense, emphasising each weighty word.
Ma gasped and her frame fell, sinking in worry.
“Now, there’s no need to be alarmed. I’m just here to do a routine check, to see if there are any violations to the creed. May I?”
As if it were preposterous to do or say otherwise, Ma acquiesced, stepping aside so the Chief could enter their home. Gen moved reluctantly. He didn’t like the idea of the Chief intruding, even if strictly for official and methodical purposes.
“Adults only, please,” he said while strolling in. Ma ushered Gen aside against his complaints.
“Why can’t I know, Ma? Why do I have to stay away? Why must he search our house?” He insisted. Perhaps Tymas’ temerity had rubbed off on him.
Ma, trapped between her propriety with the Chief in house and her rightfully exercised authority, called for her husband to intervene, “Gyon! Please, look after Gen for a while.”
Pa pulled him aside, against his struggle and complaints. Out of the house they went, and Pa sat him down on one of the logs.
Pa wasn’t nearly as subservient as Ma was to the Chief and elders. He preferred to keep that respectful distance with the village authorities, hoping an adequate conformity would foreclose the need for any interference. But here was an instance of authority muscling in. A rare case, he hoped.
“Pa, why can’t I know what’s going on? Why do I have to stay away? Why must we let Chief Whiner search our house?” Gen continued his protest.
Ignoring the nickname Gen had called the Chief, Pa crouched down in front of him and took hold of his shoulders.
“Gen, sometimes we just have to follow the instructions set by others that are good for us.”
“But how do we know it’s good?”
“You’re too young now to understand, and it’s probably for the best, but when you grow up you will,” Pa said.
Gen frowned. He didn’t like this explanation one bit because all he could make from Pa’s words was that the explanation lay somewhere in the future and there was essentially none at present.
“You know, when I was younger, I was like you too,” Pa added, sensing Gen’s discontent, taking a seat on the log next to him, “I had many questions, and I didn’t quite like how the adults kept ‘secrets’ from us kids.”
“What did you do?”
“I learnt to trust them, and I stopped questioning. Made life easier.”
“...But did it make life better?” Gen asked.
The door swung open and Chief Wyer walked out with Ma close behind. Pa took it as a cue and stood up.
“Nothing bad has ever happened, ey?” Pa tousled his hair and walked over to where Ma was to see the Chief out.
“Apologies for the inconvenience. But I’m sure you of all people understand the implications of such news and the necessary actions that have to be taken,” Chief Wyer said, sealing the night’s encounter with his words. Ma and Pa bowed their heads in acknowledgement.
“And then he said ‘you of all people’ should understand.”
“What does that mean?” Tymas frowned.
“I don’t know, and I don’t think my Ma and Pa will tell me anything.”
“I know what that means,” a third voice piped up from behind them. Gen and Tymas turned around and found Leia standing there.
“You do?” Tymas asked, wide-eyed. She nodded.
“Leia! You were there when Chief Whiner searched our house?” Gen grabbed her shoulders, feeling hopeful.
She nodded again.
“He said if Ma and Pa are keeping the test, the story will repeat.”
“What??”