The Hieros Gamos of Sam and An Smith

by Josephine Saxton

Genres: Science Fiction; Alien Contact; Time Travel

Synopsis

During the day a blazing and merciless sun beat down on "the boy" and at night a friendless and cold darkness enveloped him. It was a bleak and lonely countryside over which he had been wandering for ten years. A rare tree, bird or wild animal was the only life he encountered during his desolate trek through his young years of roaming. Infrequently, he was fortunate enough to find shelter and food in the shops of deserted villages; otherwise he foraged what he could from the nearly barren land. Contact with other humans was his innermost and greatest fear. But the day came when his curiosity overcame his sensibilities of self-preservation and he was drawn to the sound of a great wailing not far from a place where he had come to rest. Form that moment on his whole existence took on a radical change. His wanderings became a kaleidoscope of adventures, emotions, and responsibilities - never static, forever mobile, and potentially dangerous. There were moments when it would have been easier to turn his back, return to old ways, but somehow he knew this was an impossibility. He accepted his new fate, but still feared the greatest of all commitments until it was too late for him. This fantasy adventure will not fail to excite and stir in every reader memories and emotions of seemingly forgotten times and moments.

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 139

Sample

The boy was walking slowly, for there was no hurry, he was not going anywhere; the clay over which he walked was sticky and impeded him, it gathered in sucking gouts on the soles of his bare feet, and he thought that perhaps it was time to be looking for some new shoes, although with the summer coming, perhaps it was not too urgent. He knew the summer was coming, for the days were warmer, and there had been a lot of rain, and this day in particular was very warm, the air was still, and everything was very pleasant. This morning he had seen a bird, and it had been singing, and the sound had excited him until he had tears running down his face, and he had been very happy. It was a long time since he had heard anything at all, except the sounds that he himself made. The bird had seemed to stir something in him, and he had enjoyed the experience, although he had felt it to be dangerous. It was foolish to set up longings for sounds, and other beings. They were not often to be obtained, so one must not become attached to the idea of them; it was the only way. The boy had learned that years ago; it was a conclusion that perhaps he had been taught or that he had come to himself. It was for this reason that if he ever saw another human being, and sometimes he did, he would avoid contact, and he knew that this was right, for in this way, trouble was avoided. No person he had ever met had approached him, either; everyone felt the same. But it was not often that he saw anyone. Last summer he had seen an old man standing on top of a hill looking upwards at the sky, but before that, he could not remember when—there had been a girl who had waved her arm and shouted once, but he had run away, for the girls were more to be avoided, he could feel it, and seemed to remember being told it, long ago, as a very serious and definite thing.

He had been walking slowly uphill all morning with the sun on his back, feeling with pleasure the warmth through his shirt, which was a new one, a very smart pin-striped Clydella with a button-down collar, and with it he wore a tie made from a strip of brown leather which he fondled from time to time because it felt nice in his hands. He had liked the ties immensely when he had seen them; there had been several to choose from, and this one had looked especially well with the shirt, which was a pale fawn and green, light and soft. He wore a pair of trousers which belled out at the ankles slightly, made from white vinyl, but these he did not care for so much, they were not as useful as the last he had had, for they fastened at the side, and did not suit his bodily functions. The last trousers had been very good because they had fastened up the front with a zip. The material, however, was good; it could be washed in any running water, and did not soak through, cold and uncomfortable. The boy liked to have his clothes clean, he did not care for his own smell, and loathed marks of dirt on himself. Today he hoped to find a stream where he could wash his hair; it felt rather greasy and lank, and in his pocket he had a bottle of shampoo that smelt of almonds. He brushed the offensive hair away from his shoulders, lifting up a strand to look at it, admiring the colour, fair and golden when clean, and the curl in it which sprang back off an extended finger.

“I think my body needs food,” he said suddenly, feeling that his inside hollow was very empty. Perhaps there would be a fish in the stream, if he found a stream. Or perhaps he would find something else to eat, although now he was out of town, there was not so much ready-made food, not so many houses and shops. Fruit perhaps; that would be nice.

He felt he would like to rest, and turned round to face downhill, and sat down on a stone that had a bit of grass growing around it. Everything was wonderful, the world stretched in front of him for miles; square upon stone-edged square of earth, many colours, brown, red, grey, black, white, yellow. There were two trees, far away, close together, and these he gazed on for a while, interested because they moved slightly in the gentle but definite wind. And a silver-gold stream. If he continued upwards for a while, he would come to the stream where it wound out of the back of this incline. It would be sometime after the zenith, which would be just right; by that time his appetite would make him more careful in his fishing.

The ground was more stony the higher he got, for the clay was washed off the top of the hill. The boy scraped his feet and wiped them on the grass round the rock where he sat, grimacing with disgust, but at the same time finding the soft clay curiously pleasant between his fingers. It was yellow clay, and he absorbed the feeling of the colour, looking and looking, until all the world was yellow, and when his feet were reasonably clean, he stood up, and perceived that the world was many colours. He turned and began to walk again, slowly, more slowly, for there was no hurry, and sitting down had made him tired. It was odd that whenever one rested, one became more tired and it was more effort for a while, when one started to walk again.

Among the rocks the boy noticed bits of rubbish; a polythene bag, a tin can, little bits of paper that had once wrapped sweets, a pair of shoes with narrow heels, in black-and-white leather. He did not pick up any of these things, they repelled him, but they were interesting. The tin cans were not all rusty; this meant that someone had been there recently, and the boy hoped that that person was not now near the stream over the hill. It would be unpleasant to have to retrace his steps, and he wanted very much to wash his hair today; the shining sun would soon make it dry, and he would be able to lift it up across his eyes and see the yellow light. Days like this, near a stream, were ideal for washing hair, and for catching fish, if there were any fish. Maybe a trout or a salmon, high up, in a pool. He took from his pocket a packet of paper tissues, and blew his nose, throwing the dirty pale-blue paper on the ground, and it stirred in a slight breeze but did not blow away; he left it behind.

Then he stood rigid with attention, for he could hear a sound, thin and far away. This sound was entirely new to him, he had never heard anything like it before, and it frightened him considerably. It was an animal noise, that he was sure, and it made him very wary indeed. A wild cat or dog could be formidable if one had no food to offer. He felt a prickle of sweat forming on his back, and he took a breath to steady his listening. He lifted his hair away from his ears, became calm, and listened.

The sound was like two animals fighting and he hoped that a larger animal was killing a small animal, so he would be safe. But both parts of the sound were extremely distressed. There was one louder and stronger than the other, a bellowing and sobbing, and the sound of the hopelessness in it moved him to pity. He began to wonder if it could be a man over the hill, who had hurt himself. If that was the case then he must go away directly, there was no hope of having the stream to himself if a man was already there, not walking.

He listened carefully, and could certainly hear two sounds. One was high and thin, not unlike the other sound, but not so distressing to hear. He stood, uncertain what to do, and as he considered whether or not to wait a little while or to go back down the hill, the more distressed of the cries became fainter, and changed, until he could hear a continuous moan, softer and softer, and then it faded away altogether. The other sound continued.

He began to walk upwards again, and in a few minutes he had reached level ground, and bent down cautiously to look around him. He could see no one and nothing, except the stream about a quarter of a mile away, glinting in and out of the rocks. The landscape was similar to that on the other side of the hill, except perhaps it was a little steeper, and there were more rocks. The sound of the animal was coming from some distance away from the stream, and he thought that perhaps he would be able to reach the water without danger and wash his hair and look for fish without being disturbed. He made his way across the ground towards the water, fingering the bottle of pink shampoo in his pocket, looking forward to the smell of it, and the lather rising in his fingers as he rubbed.

He reached the bank, and was pleased to see a clean stream with a stony and sandy bottom. Streams with mud floors were not very good for washing hair; the mud rose, and rinsing properly was impossible. He knelt down at the edge of the water, and began to undo the knot in his tie. The sound of the animal continued. He stood up again, and it was in the back of his mind that it might be a rabbit although he knew this was a remote possibility, as he had only had one rabbit in his whole life. Perhaps this rabbit was caught somehow, and was crying out. If that was so, then he would be able to kill it with a rock, and make a fire and roast it. That would be a great delight, and he was going to investigate the noise, but he must be cautious.

He moved towards the sound, bent down, all his senses alert. He felt chill with apprehension as he advanced, for he felt that there were no animals or men that sounded quite like that. It was behind a pile of rocks, and he scrambled up, hesitating slightly at the top, knowing that with one movement he could now look over the top and see what was making the sound. He listened to himself, to hear what he told himself to do. Everything said, “Retreat now.” He could feel all his instincts straining to make him turn and run, but his curiosity also was working, and he knew that it was going to win over the instincts. It was a dangerous situation to be in. He lifted his head and shoulders over the edge of the rock to look downwards, and was paralysed with horror at what he saw.

Everything in the hollow was red and white. A figure without clothing lay spread-eagled against the sandy slope below the rocks, its face directly beneath his own, looking at him with wide open upside-down eyes, its mouth open also, and he could see the teeth and tongue. He saw the body of the figure all white, and was horrified to see that the body was female, with huge round breasts, with purple veins he could see, and the breasts had large brown nipples, with little black hairs. The belly of the woman was a soft mound of wrinkled skin, with a fan of black hair, all wet with red blood, and her legs lay wide, striped red, and between them lay a tiny baby, wet and streaked with blood and shining moisture, a silver cord of great elegance stretching from the centre of its belly, right into the woman, up into the black hair and blood, and the baby cried and cried, its arms stretching out and in, clutching air, and its legs convulsing.. . .