The Last of the Runners

“You went into the house today?”

“The Watchers thought she had a boy in with her.”

“And did she?”

“There was no-one else in the house when they searched it.”

“Any sign that anyone had left in a hurry?”

“None they could find.”

“Did they search the house thoroughly?”

“From top to bottom. There was nothing – absolutely nothing – that you wouldn’t expect to find in an old woman’s house.”

“No books? No maps?”

“No, Sub-Magister. As I said, nothing you wouldn’t expect to find.”

“Well, I’m afraid you may have missed a perfect opportunity, Magister, to snuff out the runners by not waiting until just before the new moon. I can assure you that this was where the runners started. We will have to look for the next point at which we can block their route. We must only hope they have not been fully alerted to our plan.”

The Magister wheezed away to his own rooms in a subdued mood. His master plan was not proceeding as he had wished. His assistant’s superior attitude was not encouraging. He had to find a way to put him in his place.

Kyrin had never run so fast, Left at the end of the passage, third left, second right, fourth right and he was down to the Lattern Gate and out into the country. If he stopped running before he was a mile out of town, it could only have been by a matter of yards. He spent the next mile trying to get his breath back and not look as if he had been running. He had to get home and get the book of signs hidden without arousing his mother’s suspicions. Next, he had to find Antol and warn him not to go near Mrs Bruntler’s on the moonless night, and tell him he had to start his run. And what then? There was so much to think about.

He had his aunt to thank for making the first task easier, because he met his mother just as he got into the village.

“I’ve left out some meat and bread,” she said. “Your auntie has had a bit of a turn. Don’t be late to bed. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Kyrin watched as she bustled away, relieved not to have had to explain his lateness. He went home and brought his supper outside. It was a pleasant evening and it was nice to sit relaxed and watch the world pass. For a moment, he forgot the coloured house in the middle of the lanes and the enigmatic Mrs Bruntler. Then a tired boy in the grey robes of the Training School trudged past his front gate. Antol had been in Gan’s class and Kyrin had played with him on occasions before Gan’s run had made him such a leper.

Kyrin ran after him, catching him just before he opened his front gate.

“What do you want?” Antol said grumpily.

“I need to speak to you urgently,” said Kyrin.

“It’ll have to wait,” said Antol. “I’ve a huge calculus homework to complete for tomorrow.”

“So have I,” said Kyrin.

“I remember thinking how hard those homeworks were,” said Antol sadly. “Wait till you get to the Training School.”

“I have to talk to you about Mrs Bruntler,” Kyrin whispered, “And what you plan for the moonless night.”

Antol snapped alert, a look of fear running across his face. He looked around as if he expected to have been overheard.

“They know about Mrs Bruntler and the moonless nights. Someone has betrayed us.”

“I can’t talk now,” whispered Antol. “I have to go into dinner. I’ll meet you later.”

“Meet me at the end of garden, where it meets the meadow,” said Kyrin. “In case my mother has come back.”

Antol went into his house and Kyrin went back home. He got out the calculus problems he had been given and struggled through them. Failing to do homework was a sure way to do attract trouble and he did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself in school.

It was dark when he went to the end of the garden. His mother had still not returned and when Antol arrived, Kyrin took him down to the back of the house. There he would be able to hear his mother’s arrival and get into his bedroom while Antol slipped away through the garden.

He told Antol everything that had happened at Mrs Bruntler’s house and showed him the book of signs.

“If they know about Mrs Bruntler, will they know about the other places?” Antol asked.

“Do you know where you were to go on the moonless night?” said Kyrin.

“No. She was going to take me through the signs again and then tell me where to head on the night itself. No one knows anything more than the next step. That’s what she said anyway. It means each person on the network can only betray a single link.”

“But what if someone had been through the network almost all the way – would they be able to remember all the places they had been?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“There’s a rumour that the Magister has managed to get a failed runner to work for him.”

“I don’t know if there is just one route or several. It may not be that serious.”

“What about the warning note?”

“I don’t understand that at all,” said Antol. “Still, I will take Mrs Bruntler’s advice and go on the moonless night. I have no idea where to head for.”

“That’s just it. She told me you were to head for Contefay. And I’m coming with you,” said Kyrin. “I have to, I know it.”

He held out a hand to Antol.

“Until the moonless night then,” said Antol and he slipped away into the dark garden.

Kyrin prepared his bag for the next day, making sure he had his homework and all the equipment for the day’s lessons. He set it on the kitchen table and went to bed.

It was hard to sleep. Such a lot had happened that day and there was such a lot to think about. When sleep took him, it was into dreams where he was running along twisting lanes between tall houses with men in grey cloaks watching his every move, until even his dream self was exhausted and fell into a deep sleep in the shadow of a large oak tree.

“DO NOT DELAY. GO SOON.”

Kyrin stared at the slip of paper that marked the page in his calculus book. It had not been there when he did the exercise the night before, nor when he had packed the book into his bag. It was on the same fine quality paper and written in the same characterless capital letters.

How had it got there? His mother had not returned and the door had been locked.

How hard it had been to focus on the jumble of figures that filled the calculus lesson, but he managed it. How hard it had been to get through the rest of the day without anyone noticing how tense and excited he was. Even when he left school at the end of the day, he knew he would have to wait for Antol to return from the Training School before he could discuss what the message might mean and what they should do.

When he got home, he found his mother had chalked a message on the kitchen table.

“Auntie still poorly. Will have to stay a couple of days. Plenty of food in the larder. Be good.”

Whilst one part of him was relieved that his mother was away, as it would make many things simpler, Kyrin was struck with a sudden sense of loneliness. He wondered when he would see his mother again – if ever. The note did not suggest that he could wait for her to return. He had always imagined he would have been able to say goodbye in some way, even if it was just an extra hug when he said good night. Now he would be going off alone and never coming back.

Never coming back? Did he mean it? Where had the thought come from?

He waited on the porch for Antol to come by. He seemed to be trudging more wearily today. Kyrin beckoned to him and he came and sat on the step beside him.

“The Magister called us all into the Main Hall,” he said, “and told us that he had discovered the runner’s route. He said he knew where it began and all the places along the route. He said he knew when runners started so it would be easy to catch them. I don’t know if I can do it. If he knows about the moonless night, what else can he do?”

“Go sooner,” said Kyrin and showed Antol the slip of paper.

“Who sent this?”

“I don’t know,” said Kyrin, “but, whoever it is was right about Mrs Bruntler. Now you have said the Magister knows about the moonless night. I think it’s right again.”

“And what if we get caught?” Antol seemed to have no confidence anymore. “They know so much.”

“They don’t know when we are going to start,” said Kyrin, “if we don’t wait for the moonless night. It will be an advantage. Besides, they won’t know where we are headed.”

“But the Magister said they know the route.”

“Maybe they are other routes! Mrs Bruntler said this was the last copy of the book of signs,” said Kyrin. “When I brought it away, they had nothing to prove anything. Does the Magister always tell the truth or was he trying to frighten you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going,” said Kyrin, to his own surprise, “I am going tonight. If you are coming, meet me at midnight.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then we never met or spoke and you know and will say nothing about me to anyone. You owe Mrs Bruntler that.”

Antol got up from the porch steps. He looked very tired – very tired and very worried.

“I’d better get home, then,” he said. “Get some rest. Until midnight then.”

“Until midnight,” said Kyrin. He watched Antol plod wearily away. Would he have the energy to start their journey at midnight?

Going back into the house, Kyrin began to wonder what he had just said and what it meant. How had he become so certain of his course of action? He had seen Mrs Bruntler three times, received two strange notes and now he was ready to run. Not just ready to run, going to run and starting tonight.

His head was spinning as he packed what he could into one bag: a change of clothes, a pocketknife, and the book of signs. A second bag, a small haversack he filled with food. He took his heavy coat from the wardrobe. It would keep out the weather and give him somewhere warm to sleep, despite its weight. Autumn nights could be very cold and rain clouds could blow down from the mountains with a moment’s warning. Yes, he might curse the coat when the sun was out, but he would need it when the clouds came and the sun went down.

What was he to tell his mother? From the moment the idea of running had first entered his head, he had always imagined he would have found some way of telling her, of explaining what he was doing. But she was away and he had no more of her than a chalked message on the table. He traced the letters with his fingers, as if sensing her touch through the chalk. At that moment, it did not matter how harsh she had been recently, he just wished she was there. Then he rubbed out her message with his sleeve and wrote simply.

“I love you. Kyrin.”

It looked very plain, but it was all he could say. He didn’t know where he was going or when he was coming back. It was all he could say.

Then he sat in her chair at the kitchen table, curled herself up as best he could and tried to sleep.

Sleep he must have, for he was woken by knocking at the door. It was dark, but he was not sure of the time. He went to the door and opened it without lighting a lamp or candle. It would make it harder for anyone to see who came to the house. It was Antol. He stepped inside.

“Is it that time already?” said Kyrin, as he lit a candle.

“No,” said Antol, “I’ve brought you the notes I made after seeing Mrs Bruntler. I don’t have a good memory and there are so many signs. I thought they might be helpful.”

“I’m sure they will,” said Kyrin.

“Besides, it’s probably not a good idea to have them around the house. Not now.”

Kyrin sensed the awkwardness in Antol’s tone. What was he trying to say, as if Kyrin couldn’t guess?

“You’re not coming, are you?” he said.

Antol looked very sad, as if he was ready to cry, and shook his head.

“You didn’t hear the Magister,” he said. “He was terrifying. They’ll bring you back in a cage – that’s what he said.”

“He’ll have to catch me first,” said Kyrin.

“You’re definitely going then?”

“I must,” said Kyrin. “I know I must. I’ll take your notes. Then there’s nothing to link you to the runners or Mrs Bruntler. Now we have never spoken, Antol, never. You have no idea where I am heading. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry you’re not coming. This is a very scary journey to undertake alone.”

“I’m sorry too,” said Antol. “I thought I was ready, but I’m just not brave enough. Not now.”

“Maybe it’s braver to stay and not risk failing,” said Kyrin. “You’d better go. Don’t want to alert people to youngsters out of their beds!”

They went to the door. Kyrin dimmed the lamp before lifting the latch and letting Antol out onto the porch. They shook hands, as it felt the right thing to do and Antol slipped away into the autumn night.

Turning to go back in, Kyrin’s eyes flicked to the crack in the doorframe where the note had been wedged. There was another piece of paper sticking out, a much larger one. He pulled it out and went inside. Turning up the lamp, he sat at the table and unfolded the sheet of paper.

It was a map, old, brown and fragile from much use. It showed many places that lay between Villblanche and Villombre, from villages to small hamlets, farms and even individual cottages deep in the woods. Lines linked many of these places, though whether they were roads or just tracks the map did not tell him. Was there a message? He scanned the sheet and found it in the bottom left corner.

“THE LONGEST ROAD MAY BE THE QUICKEST. BE SEEN SOMETIMES SO AS NOT TO BE SEEN”.

The same bland capitals as before but this was the strangest message. Kyrin looked at the map. He had not seen such a detailed map before. He knew the main villages that lay between the two cities and had imagined that was the way he would go. It would take time as he had thought it would be best to travel at night and hide during the day. In each place, he then had to look for the signs that would tell him where help or shelter might be had.

Now he had this warning, he started to look at the map differently. He looked at all the places marked across the map and traced a snaking line through them from home to Villombre. It cut across four main routes between the cities at four random points, some closer, some further away from his destination.

If the Magister knew the route that runners took, was there anything Kyrin could do to get to Villombre? “THE LONGEST ROAD MAY BE THE QUICKEST,” said the message. What did that mean? How could a longer road be the quickest? The Magister knew the route the runners took – no, wait a moment. The Magister knows the quickest route. Was that what the message was telling him? So if he knew the quickest route, a longer route, one he did not know, would actually be the quickest. That was why the map was so detailed. It showed him all the possible places he might find help on his journey – he just needed to be able to read the signs.

What about the second part of the message?

“BE SEEN SOMETIMES SO AS NOT TO BE SEEN.”

What did that mean? Surely, he did not want to be seen at all? If he was seen, he could be caught. The message did not make sense. Kyrin stared glumly at the map, allowing his finger to trace routes across it. Each time he crossed a main road, he stopped, wondering whether he should follow the main route into Villombre. Each time, he hesitated because he felt sure the main road would be watched. How was he stop them watching?

“BE SEEN SOMETIMES SO AS NOT TO BE SEEN.”

Would they be looking at all the roads all the time? If they were looking at one road because they thought he was on it, perhaps they would not be watching the others? Was that the answer to the riddle? Make sure you are seen on one road so as not to be seen on another? It was easy enough to say but how could you do it? How did you make sure you were seen and not caught in one place? He came up with no answers as he stared at the map. Maybe this was something he had to discover on the road – how to do the impossible!

The lamp began to flicker. It was getting late.

Time to begin.

He put on his coat and slung the bags over his shoulders. He put out the lamp and went out onto the porch, locking the door and putting the key in its usual place under the window. The moon was in its final quarter and low in the sky. The stars were bright and, as they twinkled in the dark sky, they looked to Kyrin like the marks on the map, showing him the way to Villombre.

Time to begin.

A shadow heard the click of the lock.

He walked down the porch steps as quietly as he could. He remembered to lift the gate as he opened it to stop it squeaking and he let the latch back down softly. His mother would have spoken to the neighbours most likely, asking them to keep an eye on Kyrin. He did not need their eyes on him now.

Time to begin.

The shadow watched him close the gate.

Kyrin stood for a moment on the side of the road, nervous of where his next step would take him. There would be no going back. Once he was missed, once he was declared a runner, there could be no return to the quiet life, the lying in the grass with Gan telling stories. The next step into the road was a step to adulthood, in as final a way as moving to the Training School. This was his choice, however. He was not being forced to run, but he would have been forced to go the Training School and follow one of the approved courses that dragged him on to years of grey toil in one place of work or another, toil equally approved by the state for its own benefit. By running, he would be free – free to choose what he wanted to do; tell stories, paint pictures or make beautiful things just because they were beautiful; to live in such a way that allowed his imagination to run free and shape his life, rather than being shoehorned into a box the Elders thought would best serve the creation of wealth for the city, however dull and grey that might be for the citizen.

Time to begin.

The shadow held its breath. Would the boy walk on or go back inside?

Kyrin stepped out into the road and turned to the left, He started to walk, slowly at first, one step, two steps, three; then he got faster, five, six, seven, eight steps away from Villblanche. Didn’t it feel wonderful? Nine, ten, eleven, twelve and he was running, running as fast as he could out of the village.

He ran to the end of the big field, where the hayricks stood like sentries, guarding the village. He stopped by the signpost, breathing hard, and found his panting turning to laughter, free laughter that kept coming though he did his best to stifle it, as it sounded so loud out in the dark night.

“I’m a runner,” he whispered as loud as he dared, repeating it and building to a whispered shout of defiance. “I’m a runner and I’m never coming back.”

He shook his fist at the grey outline of Villblanche that loomed on the horizon, the clouds of smoke from the great engines blocking out the stars.

“I will beat you,” he said. “You won’t defeat me, I promise, and somehow I will make things better for everyone.”

Kyrin hitched his bags up onto his shoulders and strode away into the night.

The shadow melted back into the darkness, its face wet with tears of joy.

The one runner, the last runner, had begun.

Disappearing into the trees, the shadow was humming a scrap of a tune to itself, a tune older than many of the gnarled trunks it slipped by.

When just One runs,

the Weaver King comes,

the City is undone

and free runs the Sun.

At the base of the loom, the sleeper relaxed once more, the tension in the frame lessening as the golden thread began to weave its solitary pattern through her fine hairs.

Above, the Weaver felt the vibrations of pain diminish through the roots of the tree he rested against. Tears of relief trickled to the end of his nose and fell to the ground.

The journey had begun and the balance would be restored.