The Low Road By Megan Powell
Maggie wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and settled down next to
Robbie. He bleated at her and she ran her fingers along his ribs. Robbie
was one of her favorites; she'd helped bring him into the world.
Da
disapproved of her naming the sheep. He said they were just dumb animals,
and she shouldn't get attached. He also disapproved of her sleeping up in
the hills. On that, if nothing else, he and her ma agreed. They both
thought she'd get herself raped or murdered. But Maggie's friend Bess had
been raped right in her own bed, by a man who'd done work for her father.
So Maggie figured she was better off out here in the dark.
The moon was three-quarters full, and the shattered dome across the loch
shone with an ethereal beauty. Gran had told stories about when they
built the dome as part of the Centennial celebration. Back then, Gran
said, you could see pinpricks of light on the moon, all the colonies that
had been built, and you could trace the path of artificial satellites as
they crossed the sky. Maggie tried to imagine what it must have been like
to live on the moon, to look across space at the bright lights down on
Earth. It seemed impossibly magical, until she remembered that the people
on the moon who hadn't died from bombs had died when their equipment
failed, suffocating in the dark so far from home.
Da didn't like it when Gran talked about the old days. He said there was
no point reliving what couldn't be changed. "Lucky Robbie, wandering
around out here," Maggie said.
Robbie lifted his head, and Maggie began to stroke his nose. Then she
realized that Robbie wasn't paying any attention to her.
An oddly dressed man stood looking down at Loch Lomond and the ruined
dome. Maggie didn't recognize him, or know how he could have come so
close without her hearing. She was a little bit afraid, but he hadn't
seen her yet....
Then he turned, and looked so sad. That was what struck her first. Sad,
in the same ways Gran was sad, but he was much younger, not more than
twenty, twenty-five years old. And handsome--afraid or not, Maggie was
old enough to notice that. He seemed to glow in the moonlight, and might
have been an angel from heaven. There was nothing coarse about him, not
like the boys Maggie knew.
"Hello," she said, and stood up. If he came after her, she'd rather be
able to run, since there was no guarantee anyone would hear a scream or
come soon if they did. "My name's Maggie; my family and I live down by
the loch." She almost invented half a dozen strong older brothers but
decided that would be a bit much.
It didn't seem to matter in any case. The man just stared at her, and she
wondered if he was deaf or an idiot. But after a few moments her words
seemed to penetrate. "I'm Will MacGregor."
"Pleased to meet you," Maggie said politely. "That's not a local name."
The stare again, as if he was trying to remember something. "I
live--it's--" He turned away and looked across the loch once more. "Is
that the Rainbow Dome?"
"What's left of it," Maggie said. "Gran said it was beautiful, before
they blew it up."
"Gran...." he repeated, and shook his head.
Maggie glanced down at the ground, and realized that the grass and rocks
by his feet were a little more brightly lit than the rest of the hillside.
He wasn't just bathed in moonlight--he was actually glowing. It was very
faint, but it was real.
Instinctively, she backed up a step. Fortunately Will MacGregor was
paying more attention to the ruins than to her. Maggie forced herself to
breathe and studied him more carefully. His clothing was odd, loose
except at the wrists, neck and ankle, and the material was thin. She
couldn't tell what it was made from, but it bore more resemblance to the
old clothes in Gran's trunk than to anything Maggie owned.
She swallowed. He didn't seem evil, just sad. "Are you all right?" she
ventured.
"I don't...." He crouched down, eyes still on the dome. "I think I've
been lost. I don't remember. It seems like...I think there's a long time
I can't remember."
"What do you remember?" Maggie asked.
He shook his head, eyes tightly shut, and for a moment she thought he
wouldn't answer. "The drive. We lost the Vasquez drive, and I went down
to work on it." His eyes opened, and he spoke with greater assurance. "I
had to get the drive fixed. We were out so far, centuries away without
the drive, and a war to fight back here...." He trailed off, staring at
the dome once more.
"We came through all right," Maggie said, because that seemed like the
only thing to say. The dead should rest peacefully, without concern for
irradiated continents or orbiting graveyards.
"They didn't make it back, did they? The Glasgow?"
Gran might have known if that ship was destroyed or lost. But Maggie
didn't want to trouble a wandering spirit further; nor did she want to
invite him home to talk with her relatives. "You made it back. They'll
find their way."
"There's--there was a woman. Mary Duggan...?"
Decades dead or decades aged; either way, he couldn't be with her in this
world. By his expression, he knew that already. Maggie shook her head.
"I've met no one by that name. She may have gone away to start anew.
Otherwise, there's a cemetery across the loch, for those who died when the
dome was destroyed."
He nodded.
"You should go to her," Maggie said. "And your friends. If they aren't there waiting, they'll be along in time."
"Thank you, Maggie," he said softly. He smiled, still such a sad
expression, and then he turned and began walking down the hillside. Maggie watched until he was finally swallowed up by the darkness.
"Sleep well, Will MacGregor," she whispered, and shivered beneath her shawl.
Megan says:
My short fiction has appeared in various magazines and anthologies, most recently KINSHIPS, GATEWAY S-F, ROGUE WORLDS, THE LAWBREAKERS and THE NIGHT THE
LIGHTS WENT OUT IN ARKHAM. I also enjoy the publishing rollercoaster for longer work: I've got one fantasy novel circulating after the demise of the original publisher, another making the rounds and a couple others in various stages of completion. I'm active as an editor and publisher, and
if I really wanted to suck up I'd say I'm actively involved as a Scottish Country Dancer. But in the interests of honesty, my RSCDS membership has lapsed, my turnout is atrocious and I've spent far more time at a keyboard than on a dance floor.
Megan Powell's Author Site, www.meganpowell.net
FOXFIRE, www.silverlakepublishing.com/foxfire
FABLES, www.fables.org
|
Moonlicht Nicht
About the Editor
Links
|