The Settlement – Alchem’ s Hut – Markfarmer.

The smell of wood smoke tinged the air with a flavour of

the past, bringing to his mind, child-hood images of a
large group of people sitting around a bonfire. In the
picture, it was almost sundown and the fire had spent its
early burst of energy as any living thing does.

One minute a spark, the birth of a fragile flame, cupped

with eager tending hands from the harsh elements
around, until it can hold itself up alone. Then teetering
steps as it starts to find its way across the ground
running through the materials available, panting its hot
breath over the ground like a dogs nose testing curiously
at an object its other senses cannot define but won’t
discard in case it has some value, checking to see what
is edible and what is not.

Soon enough, the flame comes across something it can

consume, and crawling all over it, in a second devours it
and gives forth another spurt of growth, to move on
again in its search to satisfy and endless appetite, while
its progenitors take another step back to give their
handiwork some room, and share a look of pride and a
feeling of pleasure at their success.
Within a few minutes, the flame is as tall as its creators
and could threaten their very existence if they don’t now
keep a tight control over it. Others come, quickly, bearing
gifts of bark, and waste packing materials, anything they
can lay their hands on to appease this ‘old God’.

His minds eye travels across the scene in his memory,

there are people smiling and talking to each other in
small groups of threes and fours and a molten toffee sun
melting over the horizon, its last rays pushing through
the sparse trees behind the gathering, but losing
strength as the slim branches offer resistance to the
radiated beams on their journey to join the others around
the fire. Everybody in the vision appears happy and
contented with their life. Everything they need is
available to them, all they need do is listen to the sounds
of the earth, the seasons, smell the air and observe the
creatures that live within it, to hear the voice of the
provider. Knowing this ancient language, they go out into
the wilderness and seek what they know to be theirs,
their food, their sustenance, their right to live, in and as
part of this one great divinity, taking only what they
need, only what needs to be taken to keep everything in
balance.

The young man’s mind comes back into the present, and
the last wisps of the memory drift through his matted
hair and dissolve in to the sulphurous atmosphere of the
Alchem’s hut.
He is concentrating on the task now, grinding at the thick
pungent paste in the bowl in front of him with a large
rounded stone. At thirteen years of age, the boy was
chosen by Davidson, to be the groups next Chem-leader.
He had shown strong instincts and a good nose for the
plants, and the rains. He instinctively knew where to find
the plants needed for the old medicines and he had
proven all those who believed in him to be right, with the
new antidote they all depended on for their sanity, that
they all needed to stay in harmony with the oneness, the
provider.

Each day, he would venture into the surrounding Terra,

with his pack and his tools, and collect the special plants
he needed to care for the group, to return at sundown,
and be greeted back as a homecoming hero, cared for
and fed as a member of each of their families in thanks
for his ‘gift’ to them.

The paste was very versatile as an ingredient. It could be

used to baste when cooking over the fire, and to help
preserve meats. It could be used as a marinade, adding a
spiciness and bite quite rare in their usual diet. Or it
could be eaten in bite-size pieces, wrapped in the edible
leaf of the ground plants that flourished nearby, taking
the sting out of the flavour and adding a pleasantly
sweet aftertaste, giving the eater fresher breath. The
only relief available to them from the smells of their own
bodies.

The paste itself had no ‘magical’ properties, it was

merely a herbal mixture that underwent various stages of
grinding and mixing, then was left to stand for two days
and nights. On the third morning, the surface would be
skimmed gently to remove the oily residue, used in
lamps and to rub onto grazes and cuts aiding quicker
healing, and the paste left at the bottom was ready to be
used. It was allowed to ‘rest’ however, as a sign of
gratitude and reverence for the nature around them, off
which they were part, and in so doing, gave themselves a
period of reflection, to realize their place and worth
within the earth and air through which they lived, and
into which would ultimately lose themselves again when
the earth called for them.

Before he had discovered the mixture, led by recurrent

dreams, and the sounds of the earth all around, the
people of the group would suffer greatly with self doubts
and night fears. Anxiety about the things of their lives
that couldn’t be changed, low food stocks and the
foreboding of the darker seasons when the world slept
and they slowed their breathing in accordance with its
rhythms. The madness would seize people of any age,
strong and weak alike. Suddenly there would be a spate
of ten or fifteen people not sleeping, they would begin
wailing, quietly to themselves at first, but later rising in
volume and pain to such a pitch they would rock and
sob, unable to be soothed in anyway, by their loved ones
or group leaders. It was only a matter of time then
before they went ‘back to the earth’, the stronger ones
would last six, sometimes seven days, the weaker ones
and the children perhaps two or three.

Now, with the correct use of this magical paste, this gift
from the creation around them, there had not been a
‘moving on’ in three full cycles of the seasons, and a
new, stronger harmony vibrated through them all,
bonding them closer together as a group and at the
same time aiding their own individual connection with
the ‘voices’ of the elements.

Children as young as four or five were telling their

parents or neighbours the ‘knowledge’ they were
receiving through inner hearing. What time the plants
would break the surface, where to sow which crops this
season. They were much more sensitive, so much more
able to hear these messages from the ether than the
older ones, and as such, took on a greater responsibility
at a far younger age than ever before.
The whole group would sit around the fire every
thirteenth night, and silently, using the taught breathing,
relax into the sounds and smells of the air around them,
until they could ‘feel’ each others living presence and the
great presence that was forever about them. This bond
was the breath and heart of the group and aided by the
paste, was felt more fully, more freely and openly by all,
bringing health and a deeper wellbeing and bond to them
all, individually and as a single ‘force of life’.

If Dr. Phamber were to discover this miraculous paste,

this mystical unguent, and have it analyzed and
deconstructed in the laboratories at Core, he would find
nothing unusual in its chemistry, nothing spectacular
about its properties. Only an organic compound with
signs of decay and decomposition you would expect from
mashed and pulped leaves, berries and seed husks.
If however, he were to give this substance to a willing
participant, and then try his world changing, life style
providing marketing prosesses on that individual......he
would be astonished, stunned, fearful, and perhaps
angered, by the individuals self control and total freedom
of decision. It would seem as though they had some way
of shielding their mind from the beneficial and positive
effects of his imitative ray interceptions.
“Freedom of thought, to concentrate and choose or
disregard as they saw fit”

Looking deeper still, he may even notice a serenity in

their eyes and facial expression, a look of someone
perhaps listening to an otherworldly sound, clear eyed,
totally engaged and independent, yet in some state of
unity with a force or presence that could be neither seen
or perceived by anything or anyone save the ‘willing
participant’. The participant however, would have a very
sound sleep that night and wake feeling refreshed and
relaxed, and feeling they were in the very best of health
with no need for anything in the world save this feeling
of calmness and satisfaction at breathing and seeing and
feeling truly ‘themselves’.

At this time however, Mandeep Phamber and the rest of

Core Enterprises, were three thousand miles east of here
and had no idea of the settlers, or that any others like
them even existed. There were stories, letters in the
press from people who still thought it chic to travel out
into the wild parts of the country, saying they had seen
strange types in the barrens, backward and homeless
types, but these articles generally sat more comfortably
alongside items about privately run businesses, clean
energy sources and new species discoveries, they weren’t
the type of thing a person took too seriously.
The hut door opens and the light pours in from the
outside world, carrying the smell of smoke and leaves
and soil. The air rolls in behind bringing with it the sound
of crackling branches, chatter and laughter and children’s
raised voices shouting to each other as they play a game
of chase around the settlement.

Davidson puts a fatherly hand on Markfarmer’s shoulder

and leans over to look at the mixture. Turning his head to
face the boy, he says nothing, but looks into his eyes and
smiles gently as though listening to another, but sharing
this experience with his protégé. Markfarmer smiles back
in acknowledgement but breaks eye contact with the
older man and returns his concentration to the task.

With a slow and deliberate inward breath, Davidson turns

and leaves the hut, very gently closing the door behind
him, and the young Alchem sinks back into his
daydreams.

Outside of the hut, forty paces north, stood a central

clearing or gathering place where people came to
socialise, make exchanges of produce of one sort or
another, or just while away a couple of hours while the
children were being informed by the instructor.

Hasan Ntoubi and a small group of children where sat

casually about beneath the large Oak tree near the
centre of the clearing. Outwardly there appeared to be no
interaction between the Ghanaian and the Youngs but
when watched for several minutes, it became apparent
there were occasional nods from one child to another,
with intermittent smiles from the teacher as these
exchanges took place.

He would speak under his breath occasionally, or raise a

hand from his knee a few inches, but other than these
tiny details, outwardly nothing was happening. It was like
you were watching a game of sleeping tigers, only one
which spanned two to three hours and seemed to have
no eventual winner or loser despite the clear excitement
of the children at the end of these sessions. They were
highly animated, very tactile with each other, particularly
with Hasan and seemed to be lit from within, connected
by something secret.

A light breeze rustled the long grass nearby, darted

between saplings and sent little dust spinners across the
clearing. The sun sat at three quarter day in a cloudless
ocean of sky, a science fiction sky that bent the world
down at the edges if you looked straight up into it, and
left you to swoon momentarily as you brought your eyes
back to earth, the sum weight of all the heavens rushing
into your eyes, down through your torso, to race down
your legs, through your soles and return to the searing
hot iron core, the beating nuclear heart of Gaia.

Time had mass; time had gravity on a day like today. It

pulled your brain down in your skull, pulled it down closer
to the earth. Made your body heavier and your mind
lighter, surreally light. Light itself, turned from flesh into
pure racing scorching photons inside you head,
threatening to burst out of your eye sockets if you looked
at anything directly. To pour from your gaping mouth in a
torrent of pure energy, interstellar waves ripping through
the tepid air, turning all in its path to vibrating metallic
ions, the breath of eternity, song of the universe, echo of
the Quasars.

Davidson felt all this as he moved across the clearing

towards the African and his small class, as the children
took it in turns to hold one or both of his hands and
exchange a nod or word.

Hasan did not look up from his pupils until the very last
one had made their thanks, keeping Davidson waiting a
short time as this took place. Then, as the last Young
turned to go, Hasan raised his deep heavy eyes to meet
the Alchem’s. A moment passed between them, no
words. They turned in unison and headed out of the
clearing at a steady pace, towards the larger huts on the
western edge of the settlement.