The Stray Read online

  Contents

  The Stray

  Copyright

  Map

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  The Memory Trader Series

  About Angeline Trevena

  The Stray

  A Memory Trader Novella

  Angeline Trevena

  Bogus Caller Press

  Copyright © 2019 Angeline Trevena

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise, without express written consent of the publisher or author.

  Cover art by Oliviaprodesign

  Published by Bogus Caller Press

  www.boguscallerpress.co.uk

  Publisher's note:

  The Stray is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are the product of the author's imagination, used in fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, places, locales, events, etc. are purely coincidental.

  1

  KIOTO

  If I sneezed, they’d find me. It was dusty in the space below the communal hall. And dark. And I could hear something else moving under here. Something small. I resisted the instinct to look; telling myself that it was better not to know.

  The boys told us that it was just a game. The adults said the same; harmless. But we didn’t find it fun. We were terrified every time.

  We’d played tag back home in Okaporo, and when you were caught, you were touched on the arm, or the shoulder, and then left to catch others. In Kagosaka, there were different rules. We were teenagers now, and the game was rougher. When we were caught, the boys held us down and beat us. Often with sticks. And the boys were big, and strong. And they didn’t stop until they saw blood. Once, they had broken a girl’s arm. And still, the adults said it was just a game. Just boys being boys.

  “Kioto.” The whisper was barely audible; more like someone simply breathing my name, but I winced at the sound of the scrabbling. Loose stones ground against one another, like fingers on a drum skin.

  I raised my finger to my lips.

  Nahaya shook her head. “They’re all down on the slopes. They caught Mori.”

  “Again? She’s barely recovered from the last time.”

  I twisted around, and sat up, my head bowed against the bottom of the hall above me.

  Nahaya chewed on her bottom lip. “I hate this,” she whispered.

  “I know. We’re treated like dogs.” I reached out, taking hold of her hand.

  “Narata would never have wanted this for us. She was our brood mother, she was meant to protect us.”

  “How can she protect us from a massacre? She was killed too. Everyone was.” I stared at the stones in front of me. “No one could have protected our colony. They were meant to protect us here, but—” I broke off, not trusting myself to keep my anger contained.

  “Why do they hate us?” Nahaya asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think it’s safe yet? Is the game over now that they’ve caught Mori?”

  I shrugged. “It depends on whether they’ve satisfied their blood lust. They’re the dogs, not us.”

  “More like wolves.”

  We sat in silence for a while; a lonely, melancholy silence. They said that misery loved company, but I felt nothing more than isolation in mine.

  “I’m hungry,” Nahaya whispered.

  “Don’t think about it.”

  “Why is it that, by trying not to think about something, you actually think about it more.”

  I nudged her with my shoulder. “Thanks, now I’m hungry too.”

  We grinned at one another stupidly.

  “Do you think we could sneak up there?” Nahaya pointed to the hall above us.

  It served as the centre of the colony; a communal eating and recreation hall. Everyone cooked together, ate together, cleaned together, and relaxed together. It was supposed to stand as a symbol of community and equality. At least, it had in Okaporo. Here, it acted as a daily reminder that we were seen as outsiders. That we were unwelcome.

  “Maybe. If they’re all down on the slopes.” We looked at one another for a moment, weighing the risk against the reward. I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Crawling to the edge of our sanctuary, we peered into the cool sunshine beyond. Laying down, I slipped my head through the gap, turning it one way, and then the other. The colony was quiet and still.

  “Come on,” I whispered, pushing my shoulders into the open. I looked about again, and hauled my legs out.

  Nahaya grabbed hold of my offered hand, and I pulled her towards me, staying alert for the slightest movement around us.

  “Keep low,” I said, moving quickly along the side of the hall. My eyes flicked back and forth, and, although I couldn’t see anyone, I still felt like we were being watched. It always felt like we were being watched.

  I pulled open the door to the hall, and we tumbled inside, giggling.

  Some of the younger Kagosaka children were having a lesson with their rooks. They looked up as we came in, shushing us with a sharp glare.

  A few other adults were sitting together, playing cards and chatting. They looked over at us, giving us no more than a fleeting glance. As if we were a pair of leaves that had blown in on a breeze.

  With our heads bowed, we wandered over to the serving counter. The lunch buffet had been cleared away, but there was always something available; fruit, or bread, or biscuits. I reached towards the basket of bread, but a hand blocked mine.

  “Lunch is over, girls.”

  “We just wanted a snack,” I said. “Please?”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to starve to death in the next couple of hours. Let’s leave the food for those who need it.” The woman nodded towards the children and their rooks. “Like the ones who are actually working hard, rather than slacking off.”

  I bit back a sarcastic retort.

  Nahaya touched her fingers to my wrist. “Come on,” she whispered.

  I looked over at the children in their lesson. I ached to be learning again; to be bettering my skills before they stagnated. Or worse, degraded.

  “Where are our rooks?” I asked. “I mean, the Okaporo rooks. Where’s Miya? She should be teaching us.”

  “I think they all work over at the farm. They don’t have time for teaching anymore.”

  I nodded. “They’re being kept busy. I wonder… I wonder if they’d teach us in the evenings. If we ask them.”

  Nahaya shrugged. “I don’t know. They come home exhausted every night.”

  “But, there’s no harm in asking, right?”

  “I guess.” Nahaya glanced over her shoulder as we reached the door. “As long as that lot never find out. Who knows what they’d do to us all if they discovered we were having secret lessons. Especially if we’re learning in the Okaporo tradition.”

  “They’re denying us our education. I don’t have any interest in learning the Kagosaka way. And they, apparently, have no interest in teaching it to me. We’re only asking for what is rightfully ours. I don’t care if they do find out.”

  “You say that now. But it’s easy to be brave when you’re not actually facing a punishment.”

  The door closed behind us, and we descended the few steps to the ground.

  As we rounded the corner of the building, Nahaya stopped, grabb
ing hold of my arm. “Run,” she whispered, pushing me away from her.

  Ahead, the boys grinned at us. “The game’s not over yet,” one of them said.

  2

  KIOTO

  Nahaya pushed me forward. “You do it,” she hissed. “It was your idea.”

  The farm workers were lounging in two distinct corners of the communal hall. In one corner, the Kagosaka colony workers were loud and energetic. Shouting, jumping around, pulling pranks on each other.

  In the other corner, the Okaporo workers were subdued. Some of them had dropped their heads to the table, cradled in their folded arms. They nursed calloused hands, stiff necks and shoulders, aching feet.

  Miya was sitting amongst them, staring at her food as if she couldn’t remember what to do with it.

  I glanced over my shoulder, looking back at the gathering of expectant faces. This was too important to us. I couldn’t wimp out now.

  Stiffening, I marched across the hall, sitting myself next to Miya.

  She looked at me with tired eyes, blinking several times before speaking.

  “Kioto. What can I do for you?”

  “How are you, Miya?” I asked.

  “Exhausted.”

  I glanced towards the noise at the other side of the room. “It doesn’t seem to affect them so much.”

  Miya curled her lip. “Yes. Well.”

  “They’re not teaching us, either?”

  Miya’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Now and again we get a lesson, if we bother the rooks enough, but even then it’s over quickly, and it’s not done properly. They just don’t care.”

  Miya shook her head. “I’m really sorry, Kioto. We were told that you would join the Kagosaka children for lessons. That we weren’t needed as rooks. I’m sorry.”

  I glanced over at my friends. They were all leant forward, like they might be able to catch a snippet of conversation from across the noisy hall.

  “We were wondering… erm…” I looked at my hands in my lap. “We were wondering if you might be able to teach us again.”

  “I can ask, but, honestly, Kioto, I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

  “I mean, without asking permission.”

  “We work all day. On the farm.” She turned her hands over; her palms red and raw.

  “Perhaps you could teach us in the evenings. After work.”

  Miya looked around. The other Okaporo rooks were listening in, their eyes flicking back and forth between us.

  “We can’t let their education be abandoned,” someone whispered. “If they aren’t trained as memory traders, then Okaporo dies completely. There’s no legacy at all. We can’t let that happen.”

  Miya nodded thoughtfully. “How about if we take one evening each? The rest of us can work harder on the farm the next day, to make up for whoever spent the evening teaching.” She looked over at the other Okaporo girls. “They deserve so much better than what Kagosaka is giving them. We can teach them the Okaporo tradition. Keep our home alive in them.”

  “So, you’ll do it?” I asked hopefully.

  Miya nodded quickly. “But it has to be completely secret. No one must know.” She gripped the edge of the table. “Make sure everyone understands that. How important it is.”

  I leant in closer. “What would they do to us? If they found out?”

  Miya patted my hand, her skin like wood. “I wouldn’t even want to imagine.”

  It felt like forever since we had last sat in a class together. Since we had last repeated the words of the Dedication.

  We each laid out our sacred items. Our bowls, our heather, rabbits pelts, and pebbles.

  I lifted my dry, brittle sprig of heather to my lips. It needed refreshing, but I refused to trade my Okaporo heather for a fresh sprig from Kagosaka. I didn’t want this place to be any part of my Dedication. I brought the pebble to my nose, deeply inhaling the salty scent of it.

  In the mountains of Kagosaka, it was possible to catch the smell the ocean. If the wind was blowing in the right direction, and if you stood in the right place, eyes closed, nose lifted. No doubt, my memory filled in most of the smell, but it didn’t matter.

  We chanted the words together; the survivors of Okaporo. Silently thanking the High for sparing us in between the traditional words. But there was bitterness there too; bitterness that so many of our people had died. Our friends, our family. My parents. My sister.

  I reached out, touching the rim of my small bowl. “My life was given by you, and will be offered up to you again. I will treasure your gift and use it in a way that glorifies your names.”

  I moved my hands to the spike of heather. “My roots were chosen by you, and your wisdom has set me on the correct path. I faithfully walk that path for you, and do so in your names.”

  I smoothed the fur of the rabbit pelt. “My family was given by you, and will be offered up to you again. They are my strength, my home, and my responsibility. I will love them in a way that honours your names.”

  I touched the pebble, tears running down my face. “You gave me free will, you gave me choices, and I will seek to mould my life with grace and truth. I will be influenced only by these things, and influence others by them. I choose to respect your teachings and follow your ways. For all of this I give thanks and ask for your blessing. Please stand with me as I perform this rite. Let my hands be your hands, my breath, your breath, and my heart, a vessel for your presence. In your names, I ask this.”

  I looked up at Miya, sitting cross-legged before us. She cradled her pebble against her face, wetting it with her tears.

  “Perhaps,” she said, “that’s enough for today. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

  I looked at Nahaya next to me. She smiled weakly, her eyes red. “Will we ever become memory traders?”

  I gave her the best smile I could manage. “What else would we do?”

  3

  KIOTO

  We felt empowered by our secret. Bonded by it. We passed covert smiles around the group like hard boiled sweets.

  And no one knew. No one even noticed.

  They treated us in two ways; they either tormented us, or they ignored us. Neither of those allowed for any kind of curiosity or interest in us or what we were doing. The lessons continued each evening, and the rest of the colony saw nothing. Because they chose not to.

  During the day, we had taken to following our rooks to the farm. We watched them work, helping with small tasks; weeding, carrying, tying back plants, and feeding the animals. And, as we worked alongside them, they taught us more. Told us stories of our Okaporo ancestors, of the High, of our own families.

  Sitting on the fence, I looked out across the fields. The ground was shallow on the rock of the mountains, and much of the land was steeply sloped. There were few root vegetables grown here; they were mostly grown at a smaller farm in the valley.

  “They’re still watching us,” Nahaya said, leaning on the top rail next to me. She threw a look over her shoulder.

  “They think we’re out here hiding from them,” I said. “Cowering around the adults for protection.”

  Nahaya shrugged, following my gaze across the farm. “I like it out here,” she said. “I don’t know why, but it feels more like home.”

  “That’s because this is ours. Well, as much as anything here ever can be. Everyone on this part of the farm is from Okaporo.”

  She hummed thoughtfully.

  “I couldn’t care less about the boys anymore,” I said. “It’s like what we’re doing has taken the fear away. Like they’re no longer scary.”

  “I know what you mean. Still, we can’t stay out at the farm forever.”

  I sighed. “I guess so.”

  “It’s my sixteenth birthday next month, If anyone here bothers to remember that. But, soon enough, they’ll be looking to pair me off with someone.”

  I looked down at her. “What are you going to do?”

  “What can I do? It’ll probably be one of them.” She cocked he
r head towards the line of boys.

  I touched her hand. “Maybe we should leave before it happens.”

  “Leave? And go where?”

  I jumped down from my perch, grabbing hold of her hands excitedly. “Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Nahaya, there’s an entire world out there just waiting for us.”

  Nahaya looked around her. “We can’t just leave the colony.”

  “Why not?”

  “Our roots.” She answered as if I’d asked the most ridiculous of questions. As if the answer was so obvious, that it shouldn’t need to be given. “Kioto, a memory trader’s roots are everything. Without them, we have nothing to hold on to. Nothing steady under our feet. Nowhere to come home to. We have no protection, no sanctuary. No identity.”

  “Do you really want this place to be your identity?”

  “What other identity can I have?”

  I let go of her, and her arms fell heavily back to her sides.

  “You can have any identity you want,” I said. “I will never be Kioto of Kagosaka.”

  “Then… who are you? You aren’t Kioto of Okaporo. That place no longer exists. That person no longer exists. No matter how much you might wish for it.”

  I tossed my head, turning my face towards the clear breeze. “Then I will simply be Kioto. Kioto of nowhere.”

  “A wanderer?”

  I could hear the contempt in her voice. Memory traders already lived at the bottom of Lobaya’s society, thought of, and treated like scum. But they also had a social ranking all of their own. A trader who had been abandoned by their colony was considered little more than vermin. But a trader who chose a life without roots, without a colony; they were the fleas on that rat. Or the flies on the rat’s shit.

  “Not a wanderer,” I replied. “Just free.”

  “Free from what?”

  “All of this.”

  Nahaya looked at me, her face creased with confusion and disbelief.

  “But, Kioto, to leave the colony…” She shook her head. “Nothing is worse than that.”

  I looked up at the small gathering of boys. In their boredom, they had created some kind of game. They held a chicken by its feet, upside-down, poking and hitting it with sticks. It seemed to have no purpose beyond satisfying their constant need to inflict pain and fear, to exercise power over another being.