Entering the Weave
Symbols

Crouching on his haunches, with his spear resting onhis knees the old bushman did not see the three gaunt hyenas padding aroundhim, or the shimmering haze that marked the joining of the land and sky. He didnot hear the wind rustling the long grass or the distant cries of the bustardsflying overhead. He did not see or hear these things because his body was asempty of life as a corpse.

The Masai called it Ukomo Mlango, the Death Sense, andit was a magic of the deepest kind that only he, of all his ancient people,could perform. Although his body was now rigid and uninhabited, his mind hadranged from the heights of the Muhale Mountains through the Ngorongoro craterand up to Mount Kilimanjaro. He had flown high as an eagle and raced across thewide plains as an impala, and now his spirit was floating along with the wind,resting inside the candle-flicker mind of a butterfly.

He usually enjoyed Travelling with insects becausetheir minds were uncluttered and simple; there was usually enough room to relaxand watch the world fluttering or buzzing by. Today, however, there wassomething subtly different about the Weave of the world and he was troubled.

He picked out a twinkling thought strand and stirredit around, trying to distil the impurity from the thought. Symbols bloomed overthe disturbance, which he scrutinised, just as a scientist would peer over anexperiment. He ignored the crude glaze of industrial pollution and found,within an emotion that no human language can define, the infection.

It was barely the seed of an idea, as fleeting as thehalf remembered face in a passing crowd, but the old bushman knew thatultimately it would blossom into an unnatural delirium. He performed thisworking again and again, and his hope that somehow he had made a mistakedwindled to nothing.

Grimly he pushed into the centre of the swirlinggalaxy of thoughts and felt himself taking the form of the butterfly. There wasa moment of tumbling confusion before he felt the air rushing over his delicatewings. He fluttered down to the river and followed its long, winding courseback to where the hyenas were guarding his body.

The butterfly flew on to the old bushman’s nose andhis eyes flickered open. He drew a deep ragged breath which startled the hyenasand they scampered away. Then, after looking back over their shoulders at theman struggling to his feet, they melted into the grass.

Amongst the shouting chaos on the top deck of theschool bus Joshua Bennett sat hunched over his precious notebook. He wasdrawing an intricate pattern on the cover which mirrored the beads of rainchasing each other down the window beside him. When he was satisfied with hisdoodle he flicked through the book, found the first blank page and began to write.

Over the past few years he had developed a code. Tobegin with it had been for secrecy, to stop his sister from making fun of hispoems and stories, but these days he found it often allowed him to describethings that words couldn’t quite express. Even now, as he jotted down themundane events of a typical Wednesday at school, his invented language conveyedfar more than the mere facts.

For instance, he didn’t need to draw any extra symbolsto express how he felt about doing so well in the school cross-countrycompetition because every nuance of his satisfied pleasure was implied exactlyby the ones he had used to describe the race itself. Every other event from theday was tinged with this effortless depth of meaning and the final line wasalmost alive with delight as he noted that he had not seen Christopher Crumball day.

The bus swung around a corner and he flinched as thethin branches of a tree rattled and scraped against his window. He pulledhimself to his feet, swung his bag over one shoulder and bumped his way downthe stairs.

The driver jerked the bus to a stop and Josh splashedout into the rain. Now that he was walking his legs felt stiff from thecross-country and a sudden gust of wind blew his hood down. Rain immediatelysoaked his hair and face so there was no point in pulling it back up, but hesmiled to himself, despite all his damp aches, as he thought of the steamingmug of tea he would make for himself when he got home.

A sudden ache of guilt caught at his cheeriness. Ayear ago he had never smiled while walking from the bus stop to his house.Every journey had been so dreadful that Josh had often found himself hardlyable to breathe until he got home and established that his mum had survivedanother day. He knew his dad would have contacted him at school if the cancerhad stolen its final prize, but that had never lessened the sickeninganticipation that had grown with every step as he got closer to home.

When she finally did pass away, his dad had met him atthe gate and Josh had known instantly what had happened. He’d dropped hisschool bag and staggered along the final few yards of the pavement. His dad hadwrapped his arms around him and clenched him to his chest, jerking slightlyevery time he sobbed.

“She wouldn’t have wanted us to be unhappy.” His dad’svoice had been thick with grief, but the words had comforted Josh because hehad known they were true.

Now, as he walked home in the rain, these memoriesextinguished the last of his good mood and he mumbled his dad’s words over andover again, chanting them in a futile attempt to shake off his sudden gloom.

He didn’t notice the three dark shadows creeping upbehind him until his hood was wrenched violently backwards, making him fallonto the wet pavement. His coat slipped up over his head and he ended up on theground with his shirt soaked through and clinging to his skin.

“Gotcha,” said the voice that Josh feared and loathedmore than any other in the world. “Are you getting wet?” The voice was quitesoft and nasal, but the body it emerged from was an enormous, hulking thingthat loomed over Josh.

“Yeah… Are you getting wet, eh?” Someone, either LeeManners or Carl Black, chuckled nastily. Josh tightened his grip on his bag,desperately hoping that Crumb wouldn’t replace his notebook.

Josh remained silent and eyed his coat. He wondered ifhe could grab it and run away before the swaggering bully realised, but it waspointless because one of the lurking shapes behind him would catch him and thenthings would just get even worse.

As if reading Josh’s mind, Crumb took a step back andstarted to rifle through the pockets of the coat.

“Give it back!” Josh’s outburst was involuntary andwithout thinking he struggled to stand up. Someone was too quick and he wasroughly thrown to the ground again. Crumb didn’t even seem to have noticed.

“What do we have here? A phone?”

“Don’t!” Josh’s eyes were blurry with the rain ortears.

“Don’t what? I’ll just borrow this if you don’t mind.”Crumb threw Josh’s coat back at him and walked away engrossed in his spoils.Lee and Carl laughed viciously and followed.

The warm, dull aches from the cross country now feltlike shivering coldness and his Adam’s apple stung where the zip of his coathad cut into his skin. He stood up wearily and shook the water off his bag. Hetried to unzip his coat to put it back on, but his fingers were too cold anddidn’t seem to work properly. So he pulled it over his head and wriggled intoit like a jumper. It was wetter than he was and he shuddered as water dribbleddown his back.

“Josh? Josh! Are you all right? You look awful.”

Katrina Sandler appeared around the corner. Her heavygothic makeup was meant to make her look tough and unapproachable, but Josh sawbeneath the mask and found a friend.

“Oh, Kat. Hello. I…” Even though he felt so rotten, hecould feel his face redden with embarrassment. Although they had grown uptogether, he had started to feel peculiarly tongue-tied whenever he saw her.

“What happened?”

“Crumb.”

Kat shook her head sympathetically. “Someone’s got toteach him a lesson. Come on, let’s get out of this rain.”

Some of Josh’s good feeling returned as Kat linked herarm with his and they walked in companionable silence. The familiar peachyscent of Kat’s perfume made him feel even better, and the hopeless anger andshame began to loosen their grip on his stomach.

Kat smiled at him when they arrived at the driveway toher house.

“Well, I’ll see you later. Don’t let that fat jerkbother you.”

“No. I won’t. I’ll be okay.”

“Do you want to come in for a cup of something? You’llbe able to warm up and get dry. There’s no one in yet at your house, is there?”

“Er…”

“Ha. I’m not asking you for a date!”

Josh flushed from his scalp to his toes. He thought hecould feel his embarrassed heat making his damp clothes steam. “No, I’d bettergo. I’ve got to feed the cat.”

Kat raised a pencilled eyebrow and smiled.

“Okay then… See you later, Josh. Take care.”

“Yeah. And you.”

Josh stood in the rain and watched as Kat went inside.

Josh’s house was a huge, sprawling building called‘The Rectory’. He thought it was a great house to live in because it had narrowpassageways and tiny box rooms where he could hide for long afternoons with abook. He loved the solitude that allowed him to really lose himself in a story,either woven from a novel or his own imagination. His favourite room, ofcourse, contained only an enormous wardrobe.

The house had a large garden that was sunny and greenin the summer and dark and mysterious in the winter. Josh loved it both ways,but sometimes in the winter it could be rather forbidding. Tonight, in thegloaming, the garden had taken on its most fearsome aspect.

Josh hurried up the path and was just turning to goaround the side of the house when he heard something behind him. A privet hedgehad been allowed to grow high and rampant along the side of the garden path,and there was a definite rustling within it that made Josh quicken his step.

There was nothing frightening there, he told himself.It was just a bird or a squirrel. Or, an unbidden and unshakeable thoughtsuggested, perhaps it was something shaggy and ravenous that preferred to livein the shadows.

The hedge grew very close to the house at the side,and it had turned the approach to the backdoor into a dark tunnel. Josh pausedfor a second at the entrance and peered back into the hedge.

Something moved.

He needed no more prompting. He ran to the door andfumbled with his key, forcing it into the lock and twisting his cold, wetfingers around it.

The rustling was closer.

The key turned.

He fell into the house, slammed the door shut, shotthe bottom bolt of the door and collapsed.

Josh lay still, straining to hear anything above hislaboured breathing and it suddenly occurred to him that it was probablyChristopher Crumb tormenting him again. While he had been outside he hadimagined nothing less than a glisten-eyed monster slavering for his blood, butin the fluorescent light of the kitchen his terrible imaginings lost some oftheir power.

“Who’s there?” Josh’s voice cracked slightly. Wasthere something snuffling at the bottom of the door?

Silence.

Josh got carefully to his feet, and a ripple of feartrickled through him as he saw the dark reflective windows of the kitchen. Hecouldn’t see anything out of them, but he knew that things outside would beable to see him. He remembered a horror movie in which someone had thrown opensome curtains only to see a werewolf standing directly at the window.

“Stop it, Josh,” he said aloud and was dismayed tohear his voice sounded rather feeble in the big room.

He dumped his schoolbag on the table and hastened outof the kitchen to replace the cat.

After a few minutes of searching, Josh had forgottenabout the werewolf or whatever it was, and his fear had been replaced byfrustration and annoyance. Feynman, the cat, was nowhere to be found. He hadlooked in all the usual places and was beginning to think that the stupid catmight be outside, probably making rustling noises in the hedge.

He unbolted the back door and pulled it open.

Standing before him, both of them wet and bedraggledwere two things. One was Feynman, the cat, who padded in slowly as Josh openedthe door. The other made Josh jump back in surprise. It was a combination ofseeing something he had not expected to see and not expecting to see somethingso strange.

Through a bird’s nest of a beard and cartoon-clownhair Josh could just about make out a man’s face.

“Good evening, Joshua Bennett!” The apparition boomed.

Josh managed a tiny mewling sound.

“I do apologise for my appearance, but I have beenliving for a long time in a manner I’m not used to, I’m afraid. It has taken meconsiderable time to work out how all this works.” He performed a manic dance,apparently showing off the control he had over his arms and legs .

“How… how do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you.” The tramp saidmatter-of-factly. His loud but lucid voice was at odds with his appearance. Hewas dressed in the remains of a tuxedo, and on his feet wore shoes that he hadobviously fashioned himself from newspaper and twigs. Perched on top of hismatted hair was a sodden handkerchief.

“How? Who are you?” Josh wanted to shut the door, butFeynman was slithering about the tramp’s ankles.This was odd in itself as the cat normally only used humans to sharpen hisclaws. For a moment Josh thought he could hear a purring voice inside his headgently cajoling and coaxing him like a hypnotist. He tried to concentrate onthat inner voice, but the words slipped away without being heard.

“My name is Trevor Lewis Oakhampton, I think. Pleasedto make your acquaintance, Joshua Bennett.” He stuck out a grimy hand for Joshto shake. “That’s right isn’t it? That’s the way you greet each other for thefirst time?” He grinned earnestly.

Joshua nodded and carefully shook the proffered hand.There was so much eager sincerity in what he could see of the unfortunate man’sface that Josh wanted to invite him inside and out of the pouring rain. He wastoo sensible to do that, however, so he reached behind the door and offered thetramp his sister’s pink umbrella.

“Well, thank you very much.” Trevor looked momentarilyperplexed, but carefully accepted the umbrella and examined it minutely.Suddenly, as if struck by a flash of inspiration, he extravagantly lofted itover his head, but completely failed to open it.

“But…” Josh couldn’t work out how toexplain about the umbrella and gave up.

Neither of them spoke while Trevorcrouched to stroke Feynman and Josh got more uncomfortable as he tried to thinkof something to say. He began to wonder what his dad would say if he got hometo replace his house besieged by this unkempt visitor.

“I’ve come to talk to you about the plightof the Earth and your place in her future.” Trevor said suddenly, straighteningup again.

“Really? What can I do?” Josh asked withthe dawning realisation that this man was obviously a new-age eco-warriorcampaigning for the abolishment of roads or something.

“You can do an awful lot. You’re veryspecial. There is an imbalance in the Weave and as you are the successor to theShramanah, it is your responsibility to set things straight.”

“The what?”

“Shra-man-ah.” He said exaggerating eachsyllable, as if that would help. “It doesn’t matter that you don’t understandat the moment. In fact it’s probably for the best. This meeting is just tospeed up the building of the initial bridge to your world and I did that when Itouched you.”

Josh stared at his hand and even though itdidn’t look or feel different, he discretely wiped it on his side. He wonderedwhy he didn’t feel threatened by the unravelled lunacy that he was beingsubjected to. The purring in his mind returned for a second, distracting himfrom his worry.

“Are you sure you’ve got the rightperson?”

“Of course.” The answer was final andcertain.

“But I really don’t know what you’retalking about. What is this Shramanah thing?”

“You.”

“Yes, okay, but what does that mean?”

“You will replace out soon. Now is not the time forexplanations. Exciting times lie ahead for you, young male Homo Sapient, andyou will be tested.”

“Tested? How?”

“There are many to be healed and introduced back intothe embrace of Gaia. And you need to become whole once more.”

“Wait a minute. What’s Gaia?”

“You will see soon enough. For now I suggest that youfeed the cat. He is very hungry.” Feynman was glaring at Josh, and the mentalpurring had started to take on an accusing tone.

“I was going to. I was just looking for him.”

The tramp pulled his handkerchief off his head andwiped the rain from his face. “Good, then. Well, that’s all I wanted to tellyou. When we meet in my world I will explain more. Good day, Joshua Bennett.”

He smiled an all too brilliant smile, replaced hishandkerchief and walked off down the path.

After the tramp had gone Josh glanced at the kitchenclock to replace that it was nearly half past six. His dad would be home at sevenand he hadn’t fed the cat or done any of the other jobs that he was supposedto.

“Feynman!” Where had the cat gone now? He rememberedher coming in and wandering out of the kitchen, so he followed his train ofthought into the hallway and stopped dead still.

The door to his dad’s study was completely out ofcharacter with the rest of the house. Although it was covered with the samedark panelled wood as the other doors, it had a surround of grey steel and anelectronic keypad at the side. Josh had never been allowed inside, but now thedoor was slightly ajar and light spilled out through the cat-sized crack. Joshwas sure it had been closed when he had been in the hallway five minutes ago.He tiptoed to the door and, after telling himself he was just looking for thecat, he peered into the forbidden.

He had often wondered what his dad had hidden away andhis imagination had never failed to provide something spectacular. So he wasslightly disappointed with what he saw. Down a short flight of stairs, banksand banks of computer screens poured their digital fluorescence into the study,which was twice the size of the living room. Some of the screens presentedlines of green code scrolling up and down apparently at random; otherscontained complex three-dimensional diagrams or architectural drawings. But thescreen that attracted Josh’s attention above all the others stood on hisfather’s desk, alone.

He remembered a painting he had once seen that hethought was called ‘The Scream’, or something like that, and the kaleidoscopicimage on this central monitor reminded him of that painting. There was adesperation to the swirling pixels that mesmerised Josh and before he reallyknew what he was doing he had gone down the stairs and across the study tostare into the screen.

He could make out familiar symbols revolving aroundthe central agonised face. Symbols that flowed from shape to shape; symbolsthat Josh recognised because they were all from his own secret code language.

Help me.

Without knowing why Josh reached out gingerly andtouched two of the ephemeral symbols and they solidified with a glow anddropped to the bottom of the screen. The other symbols pulsed a deep crimsonand changed their meaning.

Who is there?

Josh did not know exactly how he was communicating,but it was clear in his mind. He selected some symbols to indicate that he wasa friend.

At last. I need your help, friend, for I am aprisoner.

“Of my father’s?”

Who is your father?

“Thomas Bennett.”

I do not know your names for people. Do you know whathe does?

“Not really. He’s an engineer for a computer softwarecompany.”

Then I think that your father is one of those who aretrying to help me, but he does not understand like you do. None of them do. Ihave been trying to communicate with these people for nearly a year andalthough their technology is advancing more rapidly than I thought possible,their understanding is not. You must be very special, Josh.

“Who are you?”

Your father thinks I am called Geigerzalion. I do notknow my true name.

“Have you been a prisoner for so long that you’veforgotten?”

When I said I was a prisoner, I did not mean it in thesense that I am imprisoned by anyone. No, I am more of a castaway than anythingelse. And I sense that I have been so for eons.

“A castaway? Where?”

I do not know. I feel as though I am in a cold, coldplace, but I have no memory of how I got here or for how long I have been here.

“Then how are you communicating withme?”

There are some threads of light where I am. I cantravel along these threads and sometimes they lead to windows to your world.

“Where is your world?”

I have little time. My powers are weak and it drainsme to communicate in this way.

Josh realised that thiscommunication was taking its toll on him as well. Sweat dribbled down histemples and his forehead was furrowed with concentration. He had a fleetingfeeling that there were many levels of meaning in this conversation and he wasonly consciously processing one of them.

Please, will you tell your father you can speak withme?

“I’m not supposed to be in here. If I tell him…”

You will not be in trouble, Josh. Your father will beoverjoyed that you have made such a contribution to his work. He will rewardyou. As will I.

Josh’s eyes blurred a little and a moment of dizzinessunsettled him. Thinking had become difficult, and something told him heshouldn’t be in the study. The symbols glowed a bright scarlet and started tospasm all over the screen.

He backed away from the desk.

“I’m…I’m sorry.” He muttered, but the symbols didn’tchange. The tormented face now looked more desperate and Josh stumbled backfurther, and then fled.

He ran up the stairs and into the hallway slamming thestudy door shut behind him.

Nothing else unusual happened before he went to bedthat evening. Josh had just finished feeding the cat when his sister, Jackie,came home, followed almost immediately by his dad.

It was Josh’s turn to cook tea, which they ate aroundthe kitchen table. His dad, as usual, tried to strike up a conversation, whichwas pointless because Jackie could never be bothered to speak to her dad unlessshe wanted money or a lift somewhere, and Josh was too involved in his ownthoughts.

“I do so like these little chats we have in theevenings. Well. I thought I’d sell the house and go and live in Brazil.”

“Hmmm.”

“Where I’ll beable to sell my children into slavery and live off the proceeds. Is that okay?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, that’s settled then.”

After tea his dad fell asleep in front of the tellyand underneath the newspaper while Josh and Jackie washed the dishes withoutsaying a single word to each other. Then, after Josh had checked all the doorsand windows were locked and made sure his dad hadn’t fallen asleep with a fullmug of tea in his hand, he wandered off to bed.

He spent an hour or so writing the events in hisnotebook as accurately as he could remember them, but for once his code seemedto fail him. Now he had seen the symbols in motion he realised that there wassomething missing from his static page-bound scribblings.

A hollow excitement kept him awake as he lay in bedand he began to wonder if someone was playing an elaborate trick on him. It wascertainly Toby’s style and the more he thought about it the more the idea madesense. Toby was reallyawesome with computers and could probably have hacked into his dad’s study. Andmaybe he had caught a glimpse of some of Josh’s notebooks.

He thought about ringing his friend and looked at hisclock. It glowed red in the darkness and he sighed gloomily as the time changedto one o’clock. He would be really tired in the morning. Then the clock flickedoff completely for a couple of seconds and came back on showing letters insteadof numbers. It read “H:AV” instead of “1:00”.

Josh stared at the letters and rubbed his eyes.

The clock changed again, this time itshowed “E:YO”, then “U:TO”, then “L:DY”, “O:UR”, “F:AT” and “H:ER”. Theserepeated over and over.

After a few minutes the clock revertedback to showing the normal time and Josh screwed his eyes shut and triedvaliantly to get to sleep.