Heart of Hope

“I'll start with a picture: the torrential rain had flattened out the chop and stilled the wind as the watch scanned the sea for the first signs of our returning expedition. We had communicated that we expected to arrive before dusk, but the light was fading as the hidden sun sunk below the unseen Western horizon. At last they saw the ghostly outline of the Western Lady gradually take form, sliding through the downpour towards them.

The waiting group ran down to the jetty from the watch outside Cadarnle. Ignoring the well-trodden path, they pelted headlong down the scree, slipping and jumping and tripping and rolling and running out onto the flat of the jetty decking. When Jorge hurled his rope from the bow they were ready. Another couple reached up for the flying line that Eira hurled from the stern.

“And then we were all ashore, feeling fit and elated, and wet. The group crowded around us, taking bags and baggage in hand and, with arms over shoulders and questions to confuse the hearing, escorted us up to our home above our lovely estuary. The 'Western Lady' was home.

“So, I shall tell you of our little adventure.

“We all know how the Great Inundation brought about the fighting and struggles which ultimately destroyed everything that everyone was trying to hang on to. From our recent excursions I can tell you that it is looking as though our small community is possibly the last technological stronghold in Britain. Give thanks that we have what we have.

“As you know, we set out on the good 'Western Lady' in early spring. It was a fabulous, calm morning. The air was clear and the sun sparkled on the ripples like diamonds scattered over a constantly changing green-blue carpet. I felt that we were being blessed with good fortune as Jorge cast off the last mooring line. Skipper Morgan called the hoist and Jorge and I hauled up the main to catch the light breezes. Bryn and Eira set the jib, with the lovely Eira taking control; her attentiveness and subtle touch makes her the most skilled jib-setter on this coast and we were lucky to have her. Our lady Ceridwen was along as my guide for when we reached the fabled destination. In the meantime all of us would be sharing watch duties for the voyage.

“We knew that our quest for the 'Heart of Hope' was a faint hope, but the time for a possible rebirth is upon us if we're to have any chance of stopping the spiral of climate collapse. There was the fear that, even if we found it, the Heart of Hope would not be what we hoped it would be. After all, it has become a fable from our dying culture. The documents that refer to it barely describe its properties, but I reasoned that the very nature of 'Hope' is that there must be an element of faith in our quest. These days, so much of our previous knowledge has become faith, with little more than incomplete writings and half-corrupted files, barely accessible to all but the most skilled technical wizards, and barely comprehensible much of the time. Thank the Lady that we still have our chip interface tech.

“I shall reprise the reasons for this insanely hopeful quest: you are all well aware that, despite our blessed location in this rain-soaked country, much of the World is becoming drier. The Midland Plains have not recovered from the chemical and biological destruction of pre-inundation society. The battles that were fought across most of this once-great island further rendered vast tracts uninhabitable by even the insects.

“Whilst we here bask in fresh falling water from the Western skies, that little water that makes its way to the Midland Plains is so polluted by the time it gets there as to be a constant re-contamination of the lands it reaches. I can tell you that our journey took us through the outfall of the perilously poisoned waters of the Avon. There was much death in the seas, and the smell was sickening, even after four generations of inundation. We also saw life that had been changed and corrupted by the constant chemical presence. I won't put images of those horrors in your heads now. You would not be sleeping easily tonight.

“Our plan had been to journey inland via the flooded valleys of the South, but we became so concerned at the state of the waters we worried that our hull would deteriorate. We therefore changed course, intending to follow the coast out through the Iwerddon Seas and the Atlantique, then around to the waters between us and Uropa. We hoped to eventually find our way through the shallow seas of Fenland and Suffolk to that fabled bastion of facts and history, The Isle of Cam.

“However, a powerful storm swept out of the North and we were bound to run before it. We found ourselves screaming out of the storm on fully reefed main and a storm jib to find the sheltered bay of Somers Setting. Here we laid up behind the island of Glastontorre. The storm kept us cowered there for weeks. Our stores ran low and it took all of Ceridwen's wonderful calm to keep us at our ease. We took to hunting the water life and searching the surrounding islands for suitable food. I expected the fishing to be as badly found as out off the Avon, but evidently, the fresh water still found in the surrounding hills has been flowing into the bay sufficiently to keep the waters sweet. As we tentatively began to hunt for local food we found eels aplenty and other species I'm not familiar with.

“Our solars were useless in those sullen storm-racked days so Skipper Morgan, Bryn and Eira rigged the wind turbine on the blessed slopes of Glastontorre.

“Almost as soon as we moored I started having a series of recurring dreams which began to trouble me regarding our destination and the prospects for our search. The tumbled rocks at the top of the hill featured in every one, so in the end I just had to investigate. I'd been going back over the legends and ancient maps of the Old Country during our rest. Glastontorre and its chapel used to sit in a great plain called the Levels before the inundation.

“There didn't appear to be anything remarkable about the ruins - at first. As I cast about though I noticed some small dimples in the land and wondered if perhaps there wasn't a passageway that had collapsed beneath the landscape. I began to search for anything that may have been a doorway and started moving the weathered stones. There was a definite dip along the northern edge of the rubble-filled pit that formed the middle part of the ruins. As the afternoon wore on I gradually removed all the stones from the dip, eventually coming to the base that must once have been the floor of the cellar. Here, the formal stone walls that lined the rest of the lower part of the pit were broken by an archway filled with a tumble of stone. At this point the rumbling in my belly reminded me that I was cooking that night. Bryn and Skipper Morgan had been on hunting duties, so it was time I got myself back to the 'Western Lady'.

“After a supper of steamed eel and wild garlic, I decided to bring my thoughts to our lady Ceridwen. No-one likes to look a fool, but as we all know, her inner sense is powerful and astute and I knew that she would give my musings serious consideration although opening a conversation with 'I've been having these dreams...' is likely to get a snigger from most of us. But she listened attentively as I described the typical confusion and moments of repeated clarity that had been jolting me awake in the early dawn and driving me to study my inner chip's recordings in increasing depth over recent days.

“Incidentally, don't you have your chip ceremony coming up soon, Dai bach?” Everyone turned to the youngest of the group and the lads either side of him patted little Dai on the shoulders. He coloured up and nodded with a shy, slightly anxious grin. “It's going to change your life, lad, and for the better. Believe me. And the surgery is really nothing to be frightened of.” Everyone there nodded, but my thoughts strayed to poor old Dong, the simple soul who swept the caverns and grew mushrooms. It was said that he had been a bright young spark as a lad. His ceremony had gone badly though and the chip net didn't take. I reassured myself that it had been many years before and the traditional heavy drinking by all at the pre-ceremony party had been stopped soon after Dong's disaster. “It'll be fine, Dai” I reassured him again – and myself.

“Anyway, where was I? Ah, the cerebral search for helpful information at Glastontorre; so Ceridwen and I agreed to return to the ruins in the morning. Skipper Morgan had overheard some of our discussion and decided that we should all have a stroll to the top to start the day. This turned out to be fortuitous.

“We climbed the hill after a breakfast of fried eel and crushed grains. At the top, I climbed down into the hollow and, pointing to the stonework and filled archway in the wall, asked Ceridwen what she thought. She clambered down and joined me while the others stood on the strewn stones around the top. I watched her close her eyes as her left hand traced part of the archway and lingered on the keystone. She gasped and her hand paused over a point at the centre of the keystone. When she opened her eyes there was a blend of shock and excitement! My heart picked up its pace and I realised I'd been holding my breath. When she removed her hand from the keystone I noticed a depression I hadn't seen before. I couldn't make out any real detail, but Ceridwen began to speak, almost breathlessly; 'We've been heading in the wrong direction. That storm was a stroke of good fortune. I believe that this is actually the next step on our trail!' Turning to the others she called up 'Let's get a line going. We're going to get the stone out of this doorway and see where it takes us.' The others scrambled down and I started to pull stones from the top of the heap, passing them to Skipper Morgan.

“Excitement grew as a passage came into view behind the shrinking pile of stone. Despite my expectations it was clear to the top of steps cut into the rock. We needed light. We all headed back to the camp for a bit of food and to pick up lights. I grabbed my data reader and jacked it into the chip port, just behind my left ear.

When we returned we made our way into the depths beneath the hill. A large room, clearly a relic from the end the technological era, greeted us. Everything appeared complete as though the technicians had simply left their equipment for the weekend.

“We fanned out through the room and started to explore the equipment and the shelves and cabinets. I turned a corner and found Eira bent over a desiccated corpse resting inside its intact Tech Age clothing. It was slumped back in its chair in front of a desk with a series of screens and keypads. But what had Eira's attention was the strange heart-shaped locket hanging around the shrivelled neck.

“Now I have your attention! (and Dai, you shall be the first beneficiary of our find...)”