Jesse

The 'Thundering Smoke', Living Stone

I could hear voices inside my head.

As if life wasn't hard enough. Right? Of course—I had to hear voices.

They talked to me. Every night, every day, they weren't fussy. They called to me, sometimes in a whisper, soft as a shadow, and sometimes in a scream, so loud I could barely hear myself think. No wonder people said that I didn't pay attention.

They should've tried hearing voices inside their heads.

*

'Yeeeeeeeeeeess!'

My screams echoed behind me as I sailed on the wind—I am faster than an eagle, swifter than a cobra—I soar through the air like a—

Jesse? Are you trying to get us killed?

No, I thought. I'd be happy to get you killed though.

Charming, as always.

'Whooooooooooooooo!'

The Thundering Smoke waterfall crashed over the mountain side as I dived. I flung my arms out as the wind swept through my hair, and fell into the abyss.

It was freedom like I'd never felt before. The colours of the world, the rainbows in the water and on the crystalline rocks, and every shade of green in the trees and the grass merged into one huge prism of light and colour. Tears streamed down my cheeks until I couldn't tell what was water and what were tears, and my heart stopped for just a second or two as I gasped for breath.

Then, the surface of the river shattered into a thousand diamonds as I crashed into its depths.

I climbed back up the rocky cliffs, saturated, bruised and sore but exhilarated like you wouldn't believe. What bigger buzz could there be than diving into the most beautiful waterfall on Earth with just a bit of rope wrapped round your torso.

'Jesse? What in blazes are you doing?'

And there, right on cue, was my father. I watched him storm towards me, his shaggy beard quivering with rage. The biggest killjoy in all the world. Quite literally, what with the choice of humans being so thin on the ground. Apart from the robustans, of course, but hell, they were killjoys by biology. My father was a killjoy by choice.

Prophecy sighed. Your father has a sensible head on his shoulders.

You wish you had a head on your shoulders.

Nice come back, little boy.

'Nothing?' I suggested.

'Damn it, Jesse. Why do you always bring shame upon me?' Father grabbed my shoulder and forced me forwards, away from the Falls into the surrounding rainforest.

Yeah. 'Cause in the current situation of imminent extinction, it's definitely me bringing shame upon him.

You bring it on yourself.

Your mum brings it—

Oh, shut up.

I could have argued with myself some more, but my father was giving me a rather odd look. You know— the kind that seems to say: 'why is my son insane?'.

'I don't try to bring shame on you, Father. I was just—'

'Don't even bother. It doesn't matter what excuse you're about to make up. I won't believe it anyway.'

'Fair enough.'

'Fine.'

We trudged back through Living Stone to our village in silence. Now, our village, it was really quite something. In fact, I'd go as far to say that I had the most incredible home you could ever asked for. Which might sound strange, given that as a species on the brink of extinction, we really didn't have a whole lot of choice over where we lived.

It's like, if our tribe could have picked anywhere on Earth to live, if the robustans spontaneously combusted and we could go anywhere we wanted, this is the exact place I would have chosen.

It was perfect.

Our village was a mile into the rainforest from The Thundering Smoke. We built huts in the trees so that if any robustans were crazy enough to venture here, which sometimes they did, searching for rumoured tribes of humans (can't image where the rumours came from), we would be safe up in the trees, camouflaged and silent. We collected water from the Piper river and drank it from round, woven bowls that we made from the reeds and rushes by the river banks.

The reception I received upon our return was frosty to say the least. The whole tribe was sat waiting, in ceremonial positions, in the heart of the village: neat little rows with the Chief at the head of the table, if you imagined there was a table.

'Thanks for keeping us waiting, Jesse. Again,' someone called out; they were immediately hushed. I saw my mother in one of the rows, covering her face with her hands.

'Sometimes I think it would be easier to wait until you're asleep to have these meetings,' my father hissed in my ear, yanking me along by the scruff of the neck. I stumbled towards my place next to the Chief and scowled.

'Stop talking to me when I'm asleep. You know I hate that.' I plonked myself onto the ground and leant my chin on my hand.

I also hated meetings.

'All rise for the arrival of the Chosen One.' The Chief stood up, bowed his head towards me, rolled his eyes to the heavens when I ignored him, and indicated for everyone to sit down again. 'We can begin.' With a collective sigh, everyone sat.

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'He's late, Chief Harazi,' one of the men, Zeke, grumbled. 'Again. He's always late and these meetings are always about him!' My father clapped Zeke on the shoulder as he walked past towards his seat.

'Tell me about it,' Father muttered, and everybody laughed. Well. Everyone except me.

'Maybe I just have better things to do,' I said.

Maybe you're just jealous because they only ever want to speak to me.

'Shut up,' I said, and Harazi glanced at me. His forehead pursed in a quizzical frown.

Then, he shook his head and turned back to the tribe. 'As you all know, last night we had another prophecy. Jesse revealed to us the location of a new tribe of humans.' A gasp rippled through the little crowd and I huffed to myself. 'Omar, Father of the Chosen One, would you like to tell the people what you heard last night?'

'Gladly.' My father got to his feet and cleared his throat. 'As I was sleeping, I was awoken by Jesse. He was sleeping fitfully again, much more so than usual, so I went to him.'

'I am here, you know.'

'And when I went, he acknowledged me. He grasped my hand whilst Jesse slept, and I could . . . I could feel a strength behind the grip. A strength beyond my Jesse's.'

Ouch. Okay. That stung.

'And so, I asked him— is that you? Am I speaking with the Prophet? And he replied, using Jesse's mouth— yes, it is I. I am here to guide you all once again.'

Oh, come on. I did not sound so pompous. He always makes me sound so pompous.

'And what did the prophet say?' Harazi leant forwards, oozing eagerness in desperate waves as he hung on to my father's every word.

They do know that you and I are the same person, right? That we are both the prophet?

Nope. I don't think they get it.

At last, my father looked at me. 'Tell them, Jesse. Tell me what the Prophet told me last night.'

I sighed. Most of the time, the fact that I hear voices just tends to annoy people. They get annoyed when I zone out in the middle of conversations; they get angry when I forget things because there's too much information in my head to keep track of it all; they shout at me when I say random things that don't make sense because I've forgotten to have one conversation in my head and another out loud. And then, every so often, the voice says something even I don't understand, about the survival of the human race blah blah blah, and suddenly everyone wants a bar of me. They can't get enough of Crazy Jesse's Prophecies, as they like to call them. Trust me to have the rotten luck that these nut jobs actually believe the crap I spout and call them Prophecies.

That's because it's NOT CRAP. I am legitimately prophesising to you.

Prophesising? Is that even a word?

Goddammit, if it isn't, it is now.

You are rude for a prophesising voice.

You are obnoxious for a prophet.

'Jesse?'

'Oh, yeah, right. Sorry, Chief Harazi. Was just talking to—never mind. So, yes, as I was fitfully sleeping, the voice of Prophecy spouted out of my mouth like Holy Water raining down from the Heaven of Angels—'

'JESSE—IF YOU CAN'T TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY—'

'Okay, okay! Sorry Father, sorry Chief Harazi, just a joke to take the edge off my nerves. Public speaking, you know how it is . . .'

'Jesse—'

'Okay, okay. So, I was sleeping and, actually, hang on. You talk to them instead.'

'Thank you. At last, you stop rambling and let me speak. I apologise; many thanks to you all for your attendance, your courtesy, and your patience. It was I who spoke to Omar last night, to deliver unto him my latest Prophecy. I saw a young man, who walks through the desert in terrible pain, with a weight on his back and his fellows in his wake. He leads them forwards but does not yet know where, only that he must keep going or die trying. He has committed a terrible crime: he has taken a life, but only to defend the one he loves. And now, their journey has begun—so ours too must begin. He may not know it, but he leads one of the missing tribes of humanity, and you must find him, before it is too late and the robustans find him first. He will help lead us to victory in this Great War and end the sufferings of us all.' Amen.

Shut up. You just wish your speeches were that cool.

There was a moment of hushed silence. Twenty-three members of my tribe, one of the last remaining on the whole planet, all united in awe.

In awe of me.

'There's another surviving Tribe? I thought you'd already revealed them all, Jesse?' Eliza, one of the village healers, 's voice was soft, timid as she addressed the "Mighty Voice of the Prophet."

'Yeah. He thought he had but woops, guess he forgot one. Never mind, he thinks he's revealed them all this time,' I told Eliza, in what I considered to be a very reassuring voice. 'But . . . this is different,' Sol said, ignoring my comment and looking around at the others with wide eyes. 'This time he's calling for action. Who is this leader? Jesse, what else do you know? How do we find him? How is he going to lead us to victory?'

'Um, to answer all your questions: I don't know, no, I don't know, and I don't know.'

'Which desert is he in?'

'How will we know him if we find him?'

'How many other survivors are there in his tribe?'

'I thought the Great War was over—how can we fight when most of us are gone?'

The questions were endless; soon everyone was standing up or over me, each trying to yell theories and plans and questions louder at me than the person next to them. I hunched down in my seat as low as I could sink. The new leader, the prophecies, the Great War . . . on and on and on.

It is all rather important.

I rested my chin in my palm. I know. I know. But maybe I don't want to be a part of it anymore.

*

It was dark by the time I was allowed to go home. Having twenty-three people shouting over you for hours on end is more bloody tiring than bungee-jumping off the Thundering Smoke.

'You did very well out there today.' My mum smiled at me as I shook off my shoes and trudged inside our hut. 'Sometimes when you're up there, I forget you're only sixteen.'

'Do you really?' My father snorted, sitting down expectantly at the table, not even noticing Mum glaring at him. Shaking her head, she went to get him some dinner; he kicked off his shoes and stuck his feet on the table. I stared at them. They smelt bad.

'You're too hard on him, Omar.' Mum frowned, setting a bowl of soup down in front of him so hard it spilt over the sides and onto his lap.

'Why does everybody talk about me like I'm not even here?' I joined my parents at the table and began prodding at my lumpy vegetables.

'Because most of the time we can't get any sense out of you. So, what's the point in talking to you?' My father laughed. Then he jerked, his knee lurching up at the table so that all of our soup spilt. He grimaced, rubbing his shin. 'I – I mean—'

'Don't bother, Father. I know what you mean.' We ate in silence. Or at least, my parents were silent.

Don't know what you're so crabby about.

I don't like the way he speaks to me.

He doesn't understand you. We are difficult to understand.

Maybe I wouldn't be so damned complicated if I didn't have YOU in my ear every five seconds.

'Jesse? Are you even listening to me?'

Oh. Maybe they weren't so silent after all.

'Nope. Sorry. Continue.'

My mum raised an eyebrow at my father, and he stifled his growl into a cough.

'I was—ahem—I was just saying that whilst everybody was getting all worked up at the meeting, I was having a very interesting conversation with Chief Harazi. About you.'

'Oh, were you now.'

'Yes. I was. We were saying—' Father stopped. He hesitated, looking to my mother for reassurance, which got my attention like nothing else. Since when was my father unsure of himself?

'—we were saying that it might be a good idea if we . . . uh . . . sent you to find this leader that you spoke of. We could send you out on a, uh, a mission of some sort, and you could use your prophecies to locate this man.'

I blinked. 'What do you mean—wait, what? You think I should go and find this guy?'

'Yes, yes we think that would be the most logical way forwards from here—'

'How?' I stood up, knocking the chair backwards onto the floor. 'How am I supposed to find this guy? I don't know any more about him than you do. YOU go find him.'

'Oh, stop being so facetious, Jesse, you don't understand—'

'No, Father—YOU don't understand! How can I get it through your thick skull—I don't know any of the answers to your questions! Prophecy doesn't even know the answers, he just comes to me sometimes and I can't control when or what he tells me! You KNOW this. What am I supposed to do—go out into the desert—HOW DO I EVEN KNOW WHERE THE DESERT IS ANYWAY—and find some random guy that I know NOTHING about?'

'Jesse—'

'NO.' Everybody has a limit. I stormed out of kitchen, ignoring my mum who reached out for me, and shoving my way past my father as he started to chase me. The rains had started but I didn't care; I dropped down from our tree-hut, my bare feet squelching as I landed in the mud, and I ran back towards the Thundering Smoke, towards Living Stone Island, where no-one cared about the voices in my head.

Don't you think you're being a little—?

NO.

Just—

No.