Picking fruit on a farm one day, deciding the fate of humanity a few days later. A harrowing journey of discovery in between.
Leena is a young, small-town woman, known for her questioning nature yet destined to live out her life like the others: in servitude to the Bright One, under the guidance of the Vicar.
Suffused with holy purpose, the Vicar demands the neighbouring towns be âcleansedâ, for through him the Bright One speaks. His
townspeople are faithful and will follow.
Mord, a hard, hard woman, head of the Vicarâs Blackcoats, leads the way without hesitation or mercy.
Floss, Leenaâs best friend, has doubts. These doubts will run them afoul of Mord and the Vicar.
Over the next few days Leena will be tested to the limits of her body and spirit, discover secrets unknown to humanity and come
to understand the nature of her world.
Because the world wants her to make a choice.
Picking fruit on a farm one day, deciding the fate of humanity a few days later. A harrowing journey of discovery in between.
Leena is a young, small-town woman, known for her questioning nature yet destined to live out her life like the others: in servitude to the Bright One, under the guidance of the Vicar.
Suffused with holy purpose, the Vicar demands the neighbouring towns be âcleansedâ, for through him the Bright One speaks. His
townspeople are faithful and will follow.
Mord, a hard, hard woman, head of the Vicarâs Blackcoats, leads the way without hesitation or mercy.
Floss, Leenaâs best friend, has doubts. These doubts will run them afoul of Mord and the Vicar.
Over the next few days Leena will be tested to the limits of her body and spirit, discover secrets unknown to humanity and come
to understand the nature of her world.
Because the world wants her to make a choice.
Leena straightens and faces her. âThanks for pressing the soil down. Could you walk over the rest of the field too?â
âLeena.â Mord dips her head in greeting. âYou are to come with me.â She turns on her heel and walks back the way she came.
Leena pinches the top of her nose and grits her teeth, quietly muttering, âWhat now?â
She is about to follow, smiles and instead starts turning over the trodden soil again, taking her time about it.
At the edge of the field, Mord looks around for Leena, spotting her doing something other than following her. A deep frown creasing her smooth skin as she crosses her arms. After a few more minutes of patient, diligent soil-turning, Leena shoves the spade into the ground at Mordâs feet, dusting herself off. âWell?â
Turning on her heel, Mord strides towards the church with Leena hurrying to keep up. She canât help but notice dark clouds, heavy with the promise of unpleasant weather, framing Mord as she heads to the church. As if being led into a storm.
On top of the nearby hill, overlooking the town of Walders Orchard, is the church. Its walls are wet with rain, deepening their normal, bland grey to a soulless slate colour. Today is a day without prayer, therefore the church bell has been silent. Leena and Mord make their way up the path towards the drab, grey building. Set into the large wooden door is a carving of a radiant woman floating over a world. Around her are thirteen apostles, resplendent in flowing cloaks and long hair. The long, thick slats of wood forming the door have warped from years of being in the sun. Long splits run up and down it, somehow still holding together despite the use it gets each day.
Mord pushes the door open. Its tortuous creak announces their arrival. Their footsteps on the stone floor are like staccato accompaniments to the fading echoes of the door.
Spread along the walls of both aisles are tapestries showing glorious moments of the most faithful servants to The Bright One. As she had done many times before, Leena canât help but observe the tapestries were all depictions of battles; soldiers with swords and armour in holy battle with each other. Swords and armour, Leena reflects, a thing of the past.
At the far end of the nave, kneeling at a stone altar and clothed in his usual dull grey robes with sandals on his feet, is the Vicar - the walking embodiment of the church. Mord stops at a respectful distance from him, where she stands with hands clasped in front. Leena does the same but a step behind and to the side of Mord, as is appropriate. Leena knows this is not the time to antagonise.
Minutes pass while they wait, listening to the rain pattering on the stone roof.
âBlessings be.â The Vicarâs soft words hang in the musty air as he slowly stands up to face them. His long grey hair rests on his shoulders, framing a lined face, home to an equally long beard. His face, like his garb, is as cheerless as the surrounding stone, along with his grey eyes showing no signs of warmth to welcome either of them.
âChild.â Though his voice isnât deep, it carries authority. The kind that comes from a lifetime of faith and a town full of people believing his every word. He is looking at Leena.
She suppresses an eye roll at being referred to as âchildâ. He uses that word a lot when addressing younger people in his faithful flock, as if there is a paternal quality passed on when he says it. Indeed, he has no children of his own and, as far as anybody knew, had not been with anyone. The Bright One was and always would be his only love. Leena wonders if the Vicar, in the deepest part of his soul, dreamed the radiant woman depicted on the door would descend and whisk him away. The thought brings some amusement to her.
He comes forward and grasps her shoulders. âI worry about you.â He folds his hands together in front of his chest, his eyes never leaving hers. âYou openly question what we are about to do. I see doubt in your eyes.â
Rain dances on the roof while Leena fidgets with her sleeves and holds the Vicarâs stare. He turns his back to her and points at a large metal circle with an eye in the centre, hanging on the far wall.
âThe symbol of The Bright One, Her benevolent eye, watches us all, child. She created us. She guides us. She teaches us. She nurtures us.â It is hard for Leena to suppress another eye roll at the familiar litany, usually spoken during morning prayers. The Vicar puts the fingertips of both his hands together, forming the shape of an eye over his heart. Mord faithfully replies. Leena follows last, to make a point.
âTell me, child. What ails you?â
She glances at Mord, then back at the Vicar and is about to speak, then pauses. Questioning with your family in the comfort of your home or with friends when you think you are some place private is one thing, but openly doing so to the Vicar?
Leena catches herself wiggling her fingers and clasps her hands together. âDo we really have to fight them?â She puts as much respect in her tone as possible.
Long grey hair obscures his face as he bows his head. âChild. It has become clear to me they have lost their way.â He turns and faces her, grey eyes piercing. âTheir spirit has become corrupted. I have tried.â Casting his eyes upward and shaking his head, he spreads his arms wide. âBy the Eye have I tried!â A small sigh comes from Mord, followed by a whispered, âBlessings be upon you.â
He leans towards Leena, hands together. âThey are lost.â
âBut,â she stops, gathering herself for a moment. âBut the whole town?â
âThey are lost.â Grey-eyed conviction.
âBy thine hand must the rotted branch be pruned.â Mord intones.
He smiles at Mord. âYes. Blessings be upon you.â She lowers her head, blushing. To Leena, he says, âOur leader of the Blackcoats is an exemplar. Her faith is bright and clean of taint.â He turns and motions for both women to kneel at the altar.
The altar, a chipped, grey hunk of rectangular stone, is the perfect symbol of the church. Since before the town existed, it has sat in this exact location, at the top of the hill. A few hundred years ago (Leena canât quite remember how long, church history bores her silly) the church was built around it and the stone floor wasnât allowed to interrupt the altarâs link to the ground.
Both women kneel, hands in prayer.
âThey are lost.â The Vicar says. Leena strains to hear him, leaning slightly to turn her ear in his direction. âThe Bright One has bestowed upon me, her most humble of servants, a glimpse into her vision. She has made it clear we are to cleanse them. Through Her word have we tried to reach them, but they have been deaf. Through her Hand we shall purify them.â
Leenaâs mind dwells on recent events. For a long time now the Vicar has been weaving into his morning sermons word of a âtaintâ in the land, fearing it will take hold in our souls, leading us away from Her light. His sermons had become more intense over the last few months, as if his flock were about to succumb to it. What this taint is and where it is coming from, the Vicar hasnât said. Or wonât.
The people of Walderâs Orchard are peaceful, faithful, and hard workers. Only a few days ago, a young couple were married, with everyone in the town coming together to celebrate. They had no home of their own, so she, her family, and many others banded together to build them a house. Itâs almost complete, giving the newly married couple a place to call their own.
Tannerâs Heath, the neighbouring town not ten miles away, was friendly enough but in the last few months tensions had been growing between them. Little skirmishes, a few fists being thrown and accusations skirting far enough away from blasphemous to avoid it going any further. Leena muses the Blackcoats of Walderâs Orchard have it in their heads this âtaintâ is everywhere, affecting perfectly friendly towns. Recently things had gotten more serious when a Blackcoat from Tannerâs Heath stabbed one from Walderâs Orchard. From what sheâd heard, an accusation of blasphemous activity had been laid against them. Heated words led to fists, then to weapons being drawn. Blood flowed, but no life was lost. Liam, the stabbed Blackcoat, was recovering at home but made it to yesterdayâs prayer. Plenty of well-wishing and clapping on the back for him as he walked up the aisle, taking his place with the other Blackcoats against the backdrop of glorious battles depicted in tapestries.
The Vicar had whipped the town up into a frenzy of righteous anger. Mord, the picture of calm intensity, had vowed to be the vessel for The Bright Oneâs fury. All voices and hands were raised in unison. Leena had followed outwardly, but inside there was something just not quite right. Even though an apology had been sent by messenger from Tannerâs Heath, written by their own Priest, it hadnât appeased the Vicar.
âBlessings be.â The Vicarâs voice brings Leena to the present and she mutters a âBlessings beâ before they both stand up. âI shall see you tomorrow morning, child.â The dismissal is clear.
Leena glances at Mord, then walks out.
That evening Leena sits at the table mulling over the conversation at the church, while her family busy themselves preparing the last meal of the day. Family activity at this time of the evening has been the same since she was born. The preparation of the evening meal is much like a family ritual, almost as regular and certain as the sun rising. Tonightâs ritual is against the background noise of rain on the roof and it is her turn to relax; a small thing but something enjoyed by all of them as meal duties rotate daily, something her family seems to be the only ones in the town to do (one reason she loves her family so much).
Her mother busies herself around the fire, getting the chicken off the spit and the boiling pot off the fire-tripod. Her father enters with some wood from the town store. It is just coming into autumn and though the days are still warm it is getting cooler in the evenings, so the fire will be extended a couple more hours. As he drops the wood in a pile by the fire, his long black hair, streaked with grey, falls across his face, dripping rainwater onto the floor. His wet beard, also streaked grey, drips down his top.
Leenaâs two brothers, both younger, finish setting the wooden plates and forks, then sit down. The chicken gets peeled of meat, then portioned out across the five of them, followed by boiled potatoes and carrots. Her father tears a loaf of bread into chunks and places one by each plate. Leena gets up and takes a handful of ground tea leaves, then sets about pouring them all hot water.
Once everything is laid, her mother sits down. Her father, as always, leads the evening prayer. They all join hands and her fatherâs deep voice fills the room.
âTo you, we owe this food.
To you, we owe this day.
To you, we owe the morrow.
To you, for now and evermore.â
âBlessings be.â Came the collective reply.
They immediately dig into the food. The smells waft around the table, fanning ravenous appetites built over a dayâs work. Tasty meat and warm vegetables get stuffed into hungry mouths, with barely enough time between swallows to put more in. They make quick work of the food and mop up the juices with bread, before sitting back with their cups of tea.
âWonderful!â breathes Tigg, the youngest, with a grin on his twelve-year-old face. His black hair dangles down both sides of his face, still wet from the rain.
Ethan grins at Tigg. âI think you beat me.â At fifteen, Ethan is filling out and growing into young adulthood. His hair is as black as Tiggâs, but longer and tied back, hanging between the middle of his shoulders.
At twenty-two, Leena is the eldest. Her own hair is black, like all her family, but cut just below her chin. To Leena, long hair is a pain, especially when at the orchards or working the fields with wind whipping it around her face. Her mother tolerates Leenaâs short hair, reminding her of that fact with a frown at every opportunity.
Father stands up and burps. âBlessings be.â He goes about gathering some plates together and takes them to the barrel for rinsing. With an accompanying âBlessings beâ, her mother gathers up the rest.
The family talk for a while about the events of the day; All the normal things happening in their lives, the different stories and gossip of the people in and about the town. Leena partially listens until her mother mentions the coming battle.
âI am worried about tomorrow.â Mother stands at the washing barrel, vigorously cleaning dishes and handing them to Ethan for drying. âThis is a friendly town with good people.â Her hands pause in their scrubbing. âPerhaps we should pray once more, just to be sure.â
Father leans back, looking at his wife. âOh, I think we are faithful enough, Yory my love.â Shifting in his seat, he adds, âAnd letâs not use the word âbattleâ. Weâre going there to make sure the Vicar is ok is all. Probably nothing will come of it.â
She tuts, shaking a dripping finger at him. âIâm worried their taint will spread here.â
He frowns, eyeing her. âTaint is a little harsh, my love. Yes, our towns have been disagreeing, but thatâs nothing more than Bright-One-fearing Blackcoats showing off their muscles.â
Ethan stands up. âFather, they stabbed one of ours!â
His father presses his pointed finger to the table. âAnd the one responsible will be punished. Their letter of apology said so.â
Not to be outshone by his bigger brother, Tigg also stands up. âWell, I think we go there tomorrow and fight them all!â
Father gets up, standing over Tigg. âWeâll be doing our part, my boy. Donât you worry about that. Youâll not be taking part in any of that, though.â
âFather! I want to fight!â
âYouâre too young, Tigg. Youâll be coming with us, but you wonât be taking part in any fighting. Youâll be travelling with the other children and old folk.â Father shrugs. âThe Vicar wants it that way.â
âBut I can fight. Youâve seen me do it!â Tiggâs wide eyes implore.
Father points at Ethan. âWhen called upon, your brother will become a Browncoat, get his training done before becoming a Blackcoat. But for now, heâll fight with the rest of us - if it comes to it. Heâs the right age for it.â The finger moves to Tigg. âYou arenât.â
âAnd there will be no more said on that.â Mother says, staring at the wishful-warrior. Tigg frowns, dropping onto his chair to stare at the table.
Ethan straightens. âIâll be there.â
âAnd I.â The parents smile at each other.
Terren slumps. âI wish I could.â
âNone of us should be there!â Both Leenaâs fists bang on the table. There is a dull ache in her jaw and she realises it has been tense since this conversation started. The rain tap-taps on the wooden roof.
Her mother clears her throat. âMeaning?â
âMeaningâŚâ Leena shuffles around to the back of the chair, keeping it between her mother and herself. âMeaning that we shouldnât be doing this.â One thing Leena knew about herself: when she felt something was right, she knew in her bones it was so.
Mother remains seated, motionless. âDoing what?â
âWe shouldnât be going off to fight any town, let alone the people in Tannerâs Heath.â Leena draws a breath before continuing. âThe Vicar is wrong.â
As if on cue, her mother and both brothers place both hands flat over their hearts, warding off bad luck.
Frowning, her father walks over to Leena and holds her shoulders, his brown eyes gazing intently into her own. âThe Vicar is the voice of The Bright One.â Up close she can see the lines on his face and, through the beard, his lips pressed in a thin line. âCarry on like that and youâll bring the Silver Man to our house.â Again, it reminded Leena of her meeting at the church.
Moving around the table, Mother stands next to her husband. âOur family will play its part, Leena, including you.â She says. âOur house is faithful and weâll not curry disfavour from the Vicar with blasphemous words. The Bright One favours our town. Our fruit crops are healthy and we have no sickness.â She points upwards. âShe watches over us. Always. Rewarding those who follow and act on Her word.â
Leenaâs hands ball into fists again. âBut I donât know how to fight! And neither do you!â She shakes off her fatherâs hands and points at them all. âAny of you!â
âOur faith will protect us, Leena.â Her father says. His confidence inspires the others, but it simply doesnât touch her. Something was missing. It irks her, as it had done since she was young. In scripture teachings, she would ask why things were the way they were in those writings. Why were they meant to follow what was written? Who was it written by? Any answer given was littered with âhave faithâ, âpray moreâ or âonly She knows her plan.â Answers that answered nothing! Each time she would ask questions, she would get annoyed looks from others in her group. Even the Vicar had no satisfying answers, with each one given merely seeding more questions.
A hole exists where her true faith should be. It wasnât enough to pray or believe The Bright One had a purpose for her, or she was part of some âBig Plan.â There was just no proof. Nothing that couldnât be attributed to something happening by chance, whether someone was there to see it or not.
In the end, Leena kept coming back to one central question: why was she different?
By now, she knew it was pointless to carry on the conversation with her family. It would go the same way it did every other time, so she bows her head and nods, then sits back down.
Her parents, like Leena, have been down this path before and know when to leave it alone. They look at each other, sharing a silent understanding any parent has. Her mother abruptly claps her hands.
âTime to study your scriptures.â She says, then points to Ethan. âYou especially.â
They each find a comfortable spot in the house. There are three rooms: the main area for eating and sitting; their parentsâ bedroom; and the other bedroom is for Leena, Ethan, and Tigg to sleep in. Between the bedrooms is a door leading out the back of the house. The house is like others in Walderâs Orchards, and other towns, made from logs and covered in wattle and daub. In the centre of the main area is an open fire pit with a flue extending over it, leading up to the chimney. Over the pit is a metal bar sitting on two thick Y-shaped branches stuck in the ground.
Ethan and Tigg eagerly grab their copies of the scriptures and settle down to study. Leena drags herself over to the shelf, takes her own scriptures and sits back down at the table, half-heartedly flipping through the pages.
The town gets its morning wake-up as the rooster crows, faithfully performing its duty. Leena cracks her eyes open to the sunbeams shining through the window shutters. Swinging her legs over the bed and suppressing a yawn, she quietly goes about getting dressed, then heads out of the house.
The sun peeks over the hills in the distance, slowly making its way upwards in a clear blue sky. Today will be warm. She heads towards the orchards, breaking into a loping run, not wanting to be late.
Leena arrives just as others from the town are getting started. The person she wants to talk to is standing on a ladder, reaching into an apple tree and picking its fruit. He is a little taller than she is, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. More often than not, he smiles, as he is now, whilst muttering to himself. She finds him funny, easygoing and above all - trustworthy.
âHi Flynn,â Leena smiles lopsidedly.
He stops and gives her a quick wave, âHa. Ha, Leena. Only mum calls me Flynn.â He reaches back up, continuing his pursuit of an errant fruit.
âIt never gets old.â She looks around her. âFloss?â
âBetter.â
âNeelam here yet?â Neelam is the overseer of this orchard and is none too tolerant of people arriving late. He tends towards the dour side of life and doesnât get on too well with people.
Floss stretches deeper into the tree, straining to reach a piece of fruit. âHe was, but had to go to one of the other orchards. He didnât say when heâd be back,â he gives up and tries for an easier one, âbut he made sure to tell us to get the dayâs harvest of apples in.â Smiling, he points at a pile of baskets. Leena grabs one and puts the strap across her neck, letting the basket hang from it, and joins Floss. He does a quick look left and right. âSo, what did the bitch want with you yesterday?â
âTo watch me squirm in front of the Vicar.â
He chuckles. âDid you squirm?â
âOf course I did!â She glances around. âI find him creepy.â
âOh?â Floss looks sidelong at her, âHe taken a liking to you, has he?â
âNo, not creepy like that. Just⌠I donât know. Intense.â Leena drops a couple of apples in her basket. âMordâs a bitch, but at least with her, what you see is what you get.â She double-checks nobody is close. âBut the Vicar? Thereâs something there which wasnât before.â
Floss grunts. âHeâs always been intense. You know how drab the church is. The intensity of all that drabness has seeped into him. Heâs as serious as stone.â
âYeah, as hard as stone, too.â
Floss checks on his apples, âMm.â
They pick for a while, feeling the growing warmth of the sun. Once Flossâ basket is full, he takes it over to some barrels lined up by a cart. Leena stops to take a break and watches him empty his basket into the nearest barrel. Keelan, a homely woman well into her forties, walks over to inspect his pickings, striking up a conversation with him. Wincing at the ache in her shoulder, Leena adjusts her increasingly heavy basket and continues picking.
A few minutes later, Floss returns with an empty basket bouncing across his belly. âI really hope we donât all have a big fight tomorrow.â
Leena stops and looks at him. âTomorrow? I didnât know it was going to be so soon!â
âKeelan told me.â
âDamn it!â Keelan helps at the church and sometimes passes word around on behalf of the Vicar. She is a sweet woman and not given to lying, so if she says the people of Walderâs Orchard are going to battle with Tannerâs Heath, then that is what is going to happen - by the Vicarâs decree.
Floss rests his hands on the basket and fiddles with the edge. âI donât want to go.âÂ
âMe neither.â
âI suppose theyâll be wanting me to fight.â He huffs a laugh, âIâve never had a fight in my life!â
âNeither have I. The only thing Iâve hit are fish heads on rocks.â Leena pauses for a moment. âThat and my brothers.â
âLeena, I canât go swinging some big pointy stick around, bashing and stabbing people.â He takes his basket off and puts it on the floor, turning to her, âThis is all between the bloody Blackcoats!â He pokes his thumb to his chest, âWhy are we getting caught up in it?â
She shrugs. Anything she says would be some half-hearted comment about faith, the will of The Bright One or the Vicarâs command. Things Leena already has deep misgivings about.
His shoulders slump. âYou know I pray and go to church,â he says. âI study and all that, but I donât know if I can do this.â He picks up an apple and turns it over in his hands. âWhat if I donât go? What will The Bright One do to me?â
âIâd be more worried about the Vicar and the bitch if I were you.â
âMaybe we could leave?â Floss looks at Leena, a small smile on his face.
âMm, perhaps.â Even to her own ears, her words dribble without conviction. âThe Vicar would set the Blackcoats on us though. The bitch would love that!â
The apple drops back into the basket and he slowly puts it back around his shoulders. âYeah, I suppose youâre right.â He smiles. âHey, maybe Keelan can protect us. The big, bad warrior woman!â
Leena chuckles half-heartedly, âSomehow I donât think sheâll be wading into any fight.â
From the top of the hill come the sounds of the church bell, calling the townspeople to their morning prayers. Leena and Floss empty their baskets in the barrels and head up the hill.
Growing up, Leena has always felt somewhat dissonant; she doesn't quite fit in with her communities religious zealousness. She despises the Vicar, who whips her small town into a frenzy, spreading rumours of their neighbouring towns suffering from a 'taint' which is leading them astray from the path of The Bright One and Her Love. As she watches the people she loves beat and murder innocent towns folk, she rebels. She attacks one of the Bright One's Agents on Earth (a Blackout) when he hurts a small child, and must face her punishment. That's when Leena's life changes for ever; she see's The Silver Man, and He orders her to follow him. She runs for her very life, trying to keep away from the Blackouts on her tail.
Hobson's Void is a strange tail. It comprises of three distinct parts, which do not have chapters, simply breaks in the pores. It's written in the third person perspective, with a present tense, you're experiencing everything at the same time as Leena is. In Part 1 of the book, that's fine - it follows a familiar trope: A simple, feudal lifestyle; religious fervour; a battle of morals. It's when we move to around half way through Part 2 that things take a strange turn. As there's no chapters, other than the three parts, the change in environment is discombobulating. We veer away from the manic villagers beating each other with sticks, and a mad, life saving dash through the wilderness to sleek metal corridors and rooms that make themselves, even down to the bedding (which, admittedly, is the dream).
The change in the scenery isn't the only disorientating curveball in Hobsons's Void. There's a change in vocabulary, a change in how the story is laid out in a speed that is whiplash fast. Philosophical questions and scientific jargon becomes the main prose. Although Jones may have known what he was writing about, as a reader, I was as helplessly lost as the poor townsfolk purportedly were in the first half of the book.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed Hobson's Void, I just didn't really understand what was going on.
S. A.