HIGH BENEATH THE SKY: Faith and Chance

By Mike Bates

Eagle Mountain is home to survivors of the Great Comet. After the villagers find comfort in the new way of life, predators from the toxic valley air invade, decimating the farm. With no hope of another harvest, it's only a matter of time before the food stores run bare for good. The future is bleak until siblings Faith and Chance find a gift fro

• Language: English
• Publisher: WrenchQuill
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781087891941

Book preview

1

LIFE

The end of class approached, and the children were either leaning on their elbows or constantly shifting in their seats.

Chance lost count how many times the kid in front of him yawned since the beginning of the guest speaker’s story. Mr. Williams, the newest village Elder, brought in an old suitcase the students assumed contained things for show and tell. But the weathered leather bag sat on the floor, untouched for over thirty minutes while he talked on and on about education and improving their lives. The only time he looked at the suitcase was when he almost knocked it over while pacing back and forth in the front of the classroom.

Chance whispered to Faith, I hate listening to old people talk; they never get to the point. Chance observed more black hairs along the edge of Mr. Williams’ tight-curled beard had turned gray since the last time he visited their class. What is he, like sixty years old?

He said he was fifty-two when he introduced himself. Pay attention. You know Dad says to listen to the Elders.

You’ve been listening? What did he say?

I don’t remember. But he’s been saying it again, and again, and—

The teacher cleared her throat. Mrs. Sanchez looked at Faith over her scratched and battered glasses. Faith felt her cheeks blush. Sorry, Mrs. Sanchez. Sorry, Mr. Williams.

Mr. Williams smiled and continued with his speech. Before he could finish his next sentence, Mrs. Sanchez pointed at her wrist as she motioned to the suitcase. Mr. Williams smiled again and set the suitcase on Mrs. Sanchez’s teaching stump. He placed the first item on the table next to the stump. Ow! He sucked on his ring finger.

Did you get a sliver, Mr. Williams? Mrs. Sanchez asked. I’m so sorry. Some of the children got carried away using a mallet for the first-time during leatherworking class. I’ve asked to get that old log resurfaced several times now.

Mr. Williams pulled the sliver out with his teeth, spitting it to the ground. No worries. I’ll put the order in myself. He carefully laid out the rest of the items. Now I’m putting these out on the table for you to look at, not touch. They’re old and delicate.

Mrs. Sanchez instructed the class to come up in a single file line, starting with the front row. Chance and Faith were the oldest in the little kid class, putting them in the back row. They stood and said in unison, "Last again."

Chance rubbed his backside. He gave the woolen pillow he sat on a light kick. I need a new seat pad. This one’s as hard as sitting on the rug.

Stop complaining. They’re all like that, Faith said.

No, they’re not. Look at the seats in the front row. They’re twice as thick. I’m going to sneak in later and switch them around.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

Why not? You going to tell on me?

No. But we turn ten in a few weeks.

So.

So, the oldest ones in the big kid class sit in the back row too. We’ll be in the front row, silly.

Oh, right.

The twins finally reached the table. Most of the stuff they had seen before and didn’t impress them. Their father was raised by a mechanic and developed a knack for turning others’ old junk into something useful.

The twins walked past the pager, the flashlight, and the radio. Chance whispered to Faith, Those are useless. He pointed to the flashlight. Except maybe that, it would make a good cup.

Faith pointed to the switch. No, it wouldn’t. It’d leak halfway up.

Chance stopped at an old mask. Mr. Williams, this one doesn’t help you breathe outside, right?

"That’s correct. I used this one to keep out the smoke and get clean air from a metal tank I wore on my back. I used to volunteer to put out… fires." The youngest kids in the class let out ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’.

A little girl raised her hand.

Yes? Mr. Williams asked.

Will our masks keep out smoke?

No. They help you dilute the bad stuff in the air by letting you rebreathe most of what you exhale. And that works because...

An eight-year-old boy raised his hand. Because we don’t use all the oxygen, we breathe in.

Mr. Williams nodded to Mrs. Sanchez. Someone paid attention in my CPR class.

Faith stopped at a magazine she didn’t recognize. It had a picture of the Great Comet just after it passed the moon. Shouldn’t this be in the village archive with the rest of our history? Faith loved that the archive was in the back of their fathers’ shop. He let his children browse its contents often, while the rest of the children had to wait to be shown things in class.

That’s my personal copy. I keep it in my tent. There’s one similar to it in the archive that’s complete. This one has some pages missing that didn’t relate to the event.

Faith reached to open the cover. We look with our eyes, not our hands, Mrs. Sanchez said.

Faith pulled her hand back. Sorry, Mrs. Sanchez.

Faith asked Mr. Williams, What happened to the missing pages?

I used them to light some wood, back when it was safe to start fires.

The class gasped. Faith jumped back. It’s flammable? She thought of her father’s shop bursting into flames. Are all magazines flammable?

Don’t worry children, just because something can burn doesn’t mean it can start on fire by itself. To start a fire, we had to have something… like… this...

Mr. Williams reached into a small pocket in the suitcase. He pulled out a little green rectangle. Again, the students gasped. He laughed. It’s okay. It’s been a long time since it was capable of starting a fire. There used to be lighter fluid in it, but that dried up after we moved up on this mountain, way before any of you were even born.

The students closed in, taking small, slow steps. Chance got the closest. It’s called a zi-p-p-o?

Zippo. That’s just the brand. Mr. Williams smiled at all the crinkled eyebrows. That’s the name of the company that made it. It’s called a lighter.

Chance got even closer. How did it work?

Like, this. Mr. Williams eased the top open. There used to be a little metal wheel here. You would spin it with your thumb and throw sparks onto this wick soaked in the lighter fluid. The students gasped again but didn’t jump back. It’s okay. It’s not dangerous anymore. The flint, the piece that makes the sparks, fell out after the wheel rusted away. I’d show you the cotton and felt pad inside that held the lighter fluid, but I can’t open it all the way. It’s not a real Zippo, it’s a cheap copy. The air has corroded the outer casing and insert together.

What’s cotton? Asked a seven-year-old boy.

Cotton is like wool, except it grew on a plant instead of a sheep. Some of your parents that have clothes from the old days, like their blue pants, would be made from cotton.

One kid asked, Did the air blow up when you’d make the sparks?

No. But the last time I used it, I tried to melt the broken end of my shoelace. A flash flame went from the lighter, across the room, and out a window I didn’t shut all the way. You could say my front yard blew up, though.

Did you get scared? An eight-year-old girl asked.

You bet it scared me, but it sure looked amazing.

Why do you keep it? One boy asked.

It doesn’t work, a girl said.

Yeah, it’s empty, another boy said.

Mr. Williams stopped smiling. It was my grandfather’s. He gave it to my father when he married my mother. My father gave it to me when I got married. He sniffed. This is all I have left of them. It’s full of memories.

Mrs. Sanchez wiped away her tears. Okay, children. That’s all for today. Thank you, Mr. Williams. She stepped to the tent door. Hurry and get your shoes on, you don’t want to be late for lunch. If those teenagers get back from their work before you get in line, they won’t leave you but a spoonful each.

The students made their way to the row of shoes, ordered from smallest to biggest. Chance’s shoes were the easiest to find at the end. He ran a finger over the hole growing in one of the heels. It reached the innermost layer of sheep hide.

You shouldn’t drag your feet, Faith said.

I know that. Chance pulled on his shoes. The braided wool shoelace broke when he tried to tie down the soft top-flap. He fixed it with a quick square knot before his sister noticed.

The first student with her shoes on headed for the door.

I almost forgot, Mrs. Sanchez said. Next week our guest speaker, for survival lessons, will be… The students took a deep breath. …Hope—

The children cheered and went out the door without listening to the rest of what she had to say.

The children made their way from the school tent to the village kitchen. Faith looked up in the sky. She found the largest piece of the comet in the earth’s ring. Oh, I forgot to ask Mr. Williams which of the three comets in the picture that one was.

Oh, I know that, Chance said. It’s the middle sized one. The big one passed by like everyone thought it would. He pointed to the sky. That one was slowed enough by the moon to stay in orbit while the little one broke up and turned into the ring.

I knew that. I just wanted to hear him tell it.

Why?

Because he actually saw it happen.

Dad saw it. Just ask him.

No, he didn’t.

Yes, he did. All the old people saw it.

Dad said he was just a kid and doesn’t really remember. He only remembers what happened after.

What happened after?

"The part the adults don’t like to talk about. Don’t you ever listen?"

The twins stood in line when the big kid class herded the sheep through the village gate with a larger Scout escort than usual.

Hope passed through the gate behind the herders, but she wasn’t a herder, nor a Smith like most of the teenagers. Hope was a Scout—the Lead Scout. She and fifteen others protected the students while they did their work.

The reason for the increased protection passed through the gate. Tied to a branch, hung the largest wolf Faith and Chance had ever seen. It took four of the strongest Scouts to carry it up the trail.

Faith counted four arrows stuck from the wolf’s body. She knew most of the Scouts’ arrows were made with two brown feathers and one white feather and the Scout’s initials carved into the shafts to identify them one from another. The three senior Scouts used two white feathers and one brown.

Faith squealed. The arrow that pierced the wolf’s heart had three white feathers: the mark of the Lead Scout.

Hope broke off from the rest of the Scouts to talk with the village Elders. Faith stared. She wanted to grow up to be just like her; to carry a bow and have a quiver of arrows slung over her back, instead of a sling and a small bag of rocks hanging from her belt.

Hope stood half a hand above any woman in the village. She took long strides. With each step, one leg gracefully appeared out of her cloak then disappeared again. Her hood was always pulled down just above her eyes. Whenever Faith got a glimpse of Hope’s face, her shiny red hair always draped over her right eye and swept into a braid from her chin down to her stomach.

Faith wondered what Hope was telling the Elders when Chance interrupted her daydream. She asked, ‘what will the two of you have today?’

The cook, Mrs. Jenkins, stood behind two large wood pots. We have the full complement of potato, onion, and carrots in both today. Your choice is between rabbit or squirrel.

The twins looked at each other. Rabbit. We had squirrel yesterday.

~~~

The younger students waited at the gate in the north wall for the Scouts to escort them to work. The Scouts took a longer lunch than usual. They were busy telling the other teenagers how silly the older students looked trying to gather all the sheep after the wolf attack.

Hunting practice was usually done during evening free-time or their monthly survival class, but the younger students got bored waiting, so they formed into two lines at the practice range with their slings in hand. The range was a sandpit with several logs carved into the shapes of rabbits, squirrels, and an odd-shaped thing the adults called a bowling pin. All children wanted to grow up to be a Scout. The first requirement was to be a marksman. Faith and Chance were better marksmen than the rest of the younger kids, and a lot of the older kids. Faith could hit a target more often than Chance, but she couldn’t knock them over with the power he could.

One kid tried to sling as hard as Chance. He missed the sandpit and struck a stone near the gate. A flame flashed two feet wide. A low ‘whoof’ reverberated off the wall.

The kids held their breath and looked toward the kitchen. None of the villagers heard it over the teenagers’ laughter. The kids quietly tucked their slings in their belts and lined back up against the wall.

~~~

Fifteen minutes late, the Scouts led the younger students, two-by-two, out the gate.

In the warmer months, they could hike most of the way down a winding trail to the working-fields before needing to put on their masks, but the cold season was nearing, and the noon sun struggled to erase the night-fog from around the mountain top, making it difficult to know when they entered the mist.

Some of the smaller kids didn’t wait for instruction and put their masks on as soon as they entered the fog. A couple of minutes later they entered the mist. Everyone not wearing a mask felt a tingle in their lungs.

The senior Scout on duty stopped. Okay. Re-breathers everyone!  The children who already had their masks on raised their right hand. After all the right hands were up, the Scout called, Valve check!

All the children, including the Scouts, covered the intake valves, then the exhaust valves to assure proper function. All left hands raised when completed.

And purge!

Everyone took a deep breath and pinched the top of a leather bag hanging from the center of the masks. They let go of the bag and covered the exhaust valve again.

Breathing out, the bags filled until the seam at the bottom of the bag gave way to the air pressure. Poof. Poof, poof, poof... Everyone raised both hands when completed.

Blades of light-green grass peeked up through the rocks the further they walked into the mist. Ahead of Faith and Chance, the younger kids picked the flowers along the path and placed them in their satchels.

Faith practiced her walk. No matter how smooth she made her steps, she was never as silent as the teenagers said Hope walked. Chance darted ahead to snatch a flower bud the other children missed. Too slow!

Hey! You agreed to only pick the ones on your side.

I know. Here, you can have it.

After a few more minutes of walking, they arrived at the working-fields. The children circled the senior Scout on duty. He tapped a random kid on the head. She immediately raised her hand with one finger in the air.

The next kid held up two, the next three, followed by another one. They went clockwise around the circle until all of them had a number. They split into three separate circles according to their number and played an old game to see who would represent their group. The game started with one hand held out with the palm up and the other hand on it in a fist. Everyone hit their fists on their other hand three times. On the fourth time, they changed their fist to one of three shapes. They would either point their fingers up or down, wiggling them, or cup their hand like a bowl.

After each group finished, the senior Scout watched the three winners run through the motions of the game again.

One boy had his fingers pointing down. Another had his up, and a girl had her hand cupped. Muffled by his mask, the senior Scout yelled the result for the kids who couldn’t see. Oh! Rain puts out fire, fire burns bowl, and bowl holds rain. Go again!

The next round, one of the boys pulled rain on two fires. The Scout yelled, Rain wins! What are the Twos doing first hour?

Hunters! The boy yelled. The rest of his group raised their slings in the air, cheering. The two kids who played fire went again. One did rain, and the other cupped her hand. Wooden bowl holds the rain! What are the Threes doing?

The girl held up her satchel. Pickers!

The boy who lost mumbled through his mask, Farmer. He led the rest of his group, including Chance, to a pile of small, wooden shovels.

Faith bumped against Chance as he trailed behind his group toward the farm. Her mask hid her smile while she twirled her sling around her finger. Stop moping. You like to eat, don’t you? Besides, we start herding in a few weeks.

Chance bumped her back. Yeah, yeah.

The senior Scout walked up to a tall tree stump. It had two square clocks hanging from its last branch. He flipped the small one over. Sand emptied from the top to the bottom through a narrow passage of wood between two panes of glass. First hour, let’s get to work!

As Chance moved into his assigned work area, he noticed invasive weeds and carefully removed them from among the young carrot plants. Behind him he heard someone sniffling.

A seven-year-old boy who started school a few days ago stared helplessly at his shovel.

What’s wrong? Chance asked. Chance couldn’t understand the boy’s sobs. Do you miss your parents?

The boy shook his head.

Are you scared of the mist?

He shook his head again.

Well, what is it?

The boy showed Chance an old shovel. It had so many scratches that Chance could barely make out the measuring notches.

Just go trade it for another shovel.

The boy’s shoulders dropped.

Was this the last one?

The boy bowed his head.

Chance handed him his newer shovel. Here, take mine. You do know what the different notches are, right?

The boy’s head bounced up and down.

Chance quizzed him. Which one is for carrots?

The boy pointed at the first notch.

Right. Potato?

The boy pointed at the third notch.

And onions?

The boy pointed at the middle notch, hopping with excitement.

Good. I’ll go fix this one.

Feeling very proud of himself, Chance sat on a rock. He carved at the first notch, only to discover his bone knife was dull. Knowing no one could hear him, he took out his sharpening stone and said, This should take me about an hour.

2

CATCH OF THE DAY

Every day the colder months came nearer, and the mist grew thicker, and every day, the berry bushes grew harder to see. The Scouts spread along the sides and bottom end of the field, where they could still see the students. The winds escalated this time of year. A strong gust followed by a steady breeze blew downhill, thinning the mist more than in the warmer months. Faith saw a small family of rabbits eating berries from the bottom of some bushes. My first catch of the day, she thought. With a light foot, she stepped as fast as she could. She snuck around one of the larger bushes. A twig snapped under her foot. Not now! She waited a moment, then continued. No rabbits.

How does Hope do this? She asked herself.

Her eyes widened. On the bush grew the largest berries she had ever seen.

She threw her arms in the air and yelled to the pickers, but there was no one close enough to hear her, not even the Scouts she accidentally snuck past. She looked at the surrounding bushes.  Pink, orange, purple—all huge.

She held her satchel up to the smallest pink berry. According to the three circles stamped into the