We are Tam Read online

  WE ARE TAM

  BY PATRICIA BERNARD

  COOL DUDE BOOKS

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1. WHERE DID IT COME FROM?

  CHAPTER 2. THE SINGING

  CHAPTER 3. TAMERON OF THE 25TH CENTURY'

  CHAPTER 4. MIRROR-IMAGING

  CHAPTER 5. THE PROMISE

  CHAPTER 6. STEVEN BECOMES INVOLVED

  CHAPTER 7. THE MYSTERIOUS PROFESSOR

  CHAPTER 8. WHERE IS IT HIDDEN

  CHAPTER 9. THE RUINS OF OLDCIT

  CHAPTER 10. THE DRAGON

  CHAPTER 11. THE INTRIGUING CODE

  CHAPTER 12. THE MEETING PLACE

  CHAPTER 13. TRAPPED UNDERGROUND

  CHAPTER 14. THE ENEMY

  CHAPTER 15. SNOW-WHITE MOSQUITO LAND

  CHAPTER 16. THE CLUE

  CHAPTER 17. THE SPYING STARTS

  CHAPTER 18. GATHERING EVIDENCE

  CHAPTER 19. DARWEI IS CLOSE

  CHAPTER 20. THE TWO TAMS

  CHAPTER 1. WHERE DID IT COME FROM?

  Tam sat rigidly on the wooden bench that ran around the gym hall. The noise of the springboard, the high pitched giggling of her classmates and Miss Burns's piercing whistle made her head ache even more. She leant back against the cool brick wall, screwing up her eyes as a sharp pain flashed through her head. The bench beneath her rocked. She hung on tightly as the walls of the gym seemed to fall away and the floor rose and fell in great waves.

  "Tamarisk Woodward, put your head between your knees," shouted Miss Burns.

  Tam squinted as flashes of navy and white flickered past and muttered, "I hate being called Tamarisk Woodward".

  She bent forward, her long blonde hair flopping to the floor. The strange musical voice in her head didn't call her Tamarisk. It called her Tam, over and over again.

  "Tam, Tam, Tam."

  The sound filled her head with a sharp pain.

  Miss Burns dismissed her class and walked briskly across the room towards Tamarisk.

  I think you'd better go to the sickroom. Are you sure you didn't bump your head?

  "No, I didn't. It's just a headache. I've had it all afternoon." But it wasn't just a headache. It was something different, it was a singing, in her head.

  She didn't like the sickroom. It always smelt of strong disinfectant. Instead, she made her way through the corridors to her locker. She stepped carefully, feeling as if her head was touching the ceiling. The corridor floor began to buckle as the voice called her name again. She staggered to the cloakroom and, with a gasp of relief, leant against the grey metal lockers. As she turned the handle of her locker, the floor tipped and shock waves ran through her legs, making her cling to the door.

  "Tam, Tam, answer me," sang the voice. "Answer me."

  "Oh, please stop it," cried Tam.

  "Are you all right? Miss Burns sent me to check on you,"

  A familiar face floated in front of her. Tam shook her head and tried to focus as Shona Maye waved a hand in front of her dazed face.

  "Wake up, Tam. It's me, Shona."

  Tam grabbed her hand.

  "Did you feel the floor move?" she asked.

  "No," Shona looked at her oddly.

  "The floor did move. I'm sure of it." Tam closed her eyes. "Everything's been moving all afternoon."

  "If we don't move, we'll be late for class."

  "Don't go without me," Tam pleaded as she fumbled with her locker key.

  "Okay, I won't. I haven't learnt my poem anyway." Shona shrugged her shoulders good-naturedly.

  Tam searched in her locker, looking for her English book.

  "I learnt one, a long one of Banjo Paterson's, all about cattle and drovers, but ..." She hesitated and frowned, with this headache the words have disappeared. I can't remember the first line."

  "You won't have to if we're much later. We'll end up with detention." Shona smiled ruefully. She was a large happy girl, often in trouble, yet always charming her way out of it.

  "I must contact you." There it was again, ringing out loud and clear, as if someone were standing beside her. Tam turned quickly.

  "What's wrong?" asked Shona.

  "Nothing." How could she tell Shona that she had a voice singing inside her head?

  With one hand to her eyes, she pushed her bag into the locker and closed the door. She felt numb with the pain.

  "Let's go. The sooner this lesson is over the better. I just want to go home and lie down."

  "I thought you liked English," Shona teased.

  Tam lowered herself gingerly into her seat at the back of the class room. Shona slipped in beside her. Mrs Zindler tapped loudly on the table.

  "No more latecomers, I hope. This class starts exactly on time. Right, girls? Now for the poetry you memorised for homework. You begin, Susan Cooper."

  Tam tried to concentrate, but the voice filled her mind. She could barely hear Susan's monotonous voice reciting a Shakespearean sonnet. The strange singing grew louder until she could hear nothing else.

  I'm going mad, she thought, staring at Mrs Zindler's mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish.

  "Shona Maye, your turn, please,"

  "Oh, Mrs Zindler, I couldn't learn a poem. I had to baby-sit for my sick aunt, and the baby cried all the time, and the dog got lost, and ...."

  The class tittered.

  "And your excuses are never ending. Please stay behind this afternoon."

  "Tamarisk Woodward! Stop dreaming. Your poem, please." The teacher tapped her pencil sharply.

  The class waited. Tam sat quite still, staring blankly at Mrs Zindler.

  "Stand up, Tamarisk, and recite your poem." The teacher frowned and leant forward to look over her glasses at Tam. "You have learnt one, haven't you?"

  "Yes, I have," stuttered Tam, rising to her feet, scraping her chair on the floor. "It's about ..." Her mind was as blank as a freshly painted wall.

  "We are waiting, Tameron."

  The tap, tap, tap, of her pencil marked the seconds of silence. There was a suppressed giggling as the girls in the front rows turned to look at Tam.

  It's about a drover and cattle," Shona tried to prompt Tam.

  "Silence, Shona," thundered Mrs Zindler.

  Shona's voice woke Tam from her trance, and she began to recite in a hoarse voice.

  I've seen a snow-white sparkling place,

  of dazzling, timeless light;

  A petrified and frightening place,

  A shadowless, searing sight.

  Of building blocks, stacked solid bright,

  Stretch up through endless sky.

  Mosquitoes, giant and snow-white,

  Alone are passing by.

  As Tam finished the last line, she sat down abruptly. Mrs Zindler's face shone with pleasure.

  "What an unusual poem, Tamarisk. So mystical, so imaginative. Where did you find it? Who is the poet?"

  "Darwei, Mrs Zindler, a man called Darwei." Tam squirmed in her seat. The name had just slipped out. She'd never heard of it or the poem before.

  "How unusual. We certainly must find out more about him. Thank you, Tamarisk.

  The lesson continued, but Tam sat with her head bowed, her eyes shut.

  Where had the poem come from? Who was Darwei? What if Mrs Zindler asked for more information, perhaps to see the poetry book? She'd think Tam had lied. She hadn't meant to. It was all too confusing. She turned her head carefully, waiting for the pain, but the singing voice had gone.

  CHAPTER 2. THE SINGING

  It was 3.30 in the afternoon, and her brother Steven hadn't arrived yet. Tam leant against the school fence. She usually waited there with Shona until he caught up with them. He went to a boys' school further down the High Street. Today he was late.

  "Just because I feel lousy," s
he grumbled. "Oh, come on, Steven, where are you?"

  He raced around the corner and sped towards her, coming to an exaggerated halt.

  "Hi sorry I'm late."

  "I was just about to go without you."

  "Oooh, touchy!"

  "Shut up Steven."

  Steven looked at her closely. She usually laughed at him.

  "Are you in a bad mood because I'm late?"

  "No."

  Steven looked around. "Where's Shona? Have you two had a fight?"

  "No, we haven't. Shona's been kept in for not learning her poem?"

  Steven chuckled. "She'll never learn anything. She's too lazy."

  "That's not true. She's fantastic at maths and art," retorted Tam.

  Steven kept up a running argument with Shona. He teased her about being lazy, and she teased him about football, racing cars and his comic collection.

  "How did your poem go? Did Mrs Zindler like it?"

  Tam nodded.

  "Then why've you've got a face like a bear with a bee sting." Steven swung his bag close to her legs.

  She sidestepped. "Cut it out, Steven. I'm thinking."

  "Oh excuse me" He shrugged and walked along beside her, pretending to ignore her.

  They crossed over Cascade Street and turned down the hill. Tam walked fast, her hands deep in her pockets.

  "Aw, come off it, Tam. I said I was sorry. What's up with you anyway?" Steven couldn't stand her silence. Most days she didn't stop chattering. Steven liked his sister, she was all right - for a girl.

  Tam slowed down, looking at him as if for the first time. As if through her mirror-image's eyes. He was thirteen, a year older than herself and short for his age, which made them the same height. They didn't look alike. His hair was straight, dark and fell over his face, hers was long and white blonde pulled back in a pony tail. His eyes were blue, hers green. He had freckles he hated, and a scar on his forehead, she had a sun-tan. He collected comics. She collected nothing.

  "I'm not mad at you, Steve. I feel sick."

  Steven was instantly interested.

  "Did you vomit?"

  "No, not that sort of sick." She hesitated. "Steven, you're good at English. Ever heard of a poet called Darwei?"

  "Darwei what?"

  "Just Darwei," she answered.

  "Nope. Is Mrs Zindler teaching you about modern poets?" Steven wasn't really interested, but at least she was talking.

  "It's a poem about white mosquitoes and a snow-white city."

  "Sounds spooky! When did you learn it?"

  "Sort of today. It just slipped into my head."

  They'd arrived at their front gate and Steven raced inside, jumping over their mother's prized geraniums and ignoring the path, his sister's problem about a poem instantly forgotten.

  "I have to get to football," he yelled. "See you later."

  Tam caught the swinging gate and shut it behind her.

  Their mother, Pat Woodward, was in the garden. She hated to be indoors on a sunny day. She spent as much time as she could digging and planting in the garden. The afternoon sun made Tam squint as she flopped down on the cool grass beside her.

  "Hi, Mum."

  "Hello there. I'm glad you're home. Look at this. I'm sure it's a young orange tree. Must have grown from a pip," She pointed at a small, dark-green leaf.

  Tam examined it. It looked like a small, dark-green leaf to her.

  "Mmmm, looks like it. Mum, I had a strange pain in my head all afternoon, a sort of singing in my mind, It really hurt. Miss Burns sent me to the sickroom, but I didn't go."

  Pat put down the small trowel and felt her daughter's forehead.

  "I wonder if you need glasses."

  Tam rested against her mother's hand. The smell of fresh earth lingered on it.

  "Mum, have you ever felt the floor move?"

  Pat Woodward laughed and shook her short blonde hair.

  "Only on one New Year's Eve."

  "Today the floor moved. Once it slipped away completely."

  Her mother examined her strained face. "Do you feel hot and feverish?"

  "No just awful."

  "Where are my footy shorts, Mum?" Steven, stuck his head out of the laundry window. "I can't find them."

  "You couldn't find them if they were lit up with neon lights. They're in the ironing basket." She put her arm around Tam's shoulders and pushed her gently towards the house. "How about lying down for a bit?"

  Tam climbed the stairs slowly. Her head was aching again, just faintly, way, way at the back. She could feel the singing more than hear it. Sort of like a tingly vibration, that was definitely getting louder. Her stomach felt sick and her legs

  shaky.

  Her room faced north and was warm from the winter sunshine captured through the open window. Slipping off her shoes, she stepped over the unfinished jigsaw puzzle that she and Steven were working on, and curled up on the bed, dragging her patchwork quilt over her legs. The whole room was losing shape. Even the bookcase, desk and shelves were becoming distorted. She buried her face in her pillow. I'm going mad, I'm going mad, she thought.

  "Tam, Tam..." The singing filled the bedroom. "I must contact you."

  Pain jabbed at her.

  "Go away!" She pulled the pillow over her head.

  "... Must contact you, contact you."

  "Then I wish you'd hurry up then," Tam cried desperately.

  At once the pain lessened. There was a strange, heavy feeling in the room, it felt the way it did just before a huge thunder storm.

  Tam pushed the pillow and quilt aside and sat up as a voice spoke to her as clearly as if someone was in the room.

  "Sit cross-legged and close your eyes. Raise your arms and stretch them in front of you, palms raised. Clear your mind of stress and activity. Think about your name. Repeat it. I will be with you as soon as I can."

  Tam crossed her legs and raised her arms. She wanted to keep her eyes open to see what might happen, but they closed as if willed by someone else. She felt as if she were floating about her bed. She said her name softly, over and over. The sound of her voice surprised her. She was singing.

  CHAPTER 3. TAMERON OF THE 25TH CENTURY'

  In another place in time, Tameron reluctantly left her home-dome and crossed the parkland towards her local Learnatec. She was too worried about her parent to concentrate on the lessons, but Older-Parent had insisted that she continue studying as if nothing were wrong. But there was something wrong. She knew it.

  Youngers of her own Decade-Living group smiled and waved to her as they entered the large Learnatec dome. As they chattered and laughed, their body-suits changed colour rapidly. Hers remained a pale blue, reflecting anxiety.

  The lessons were over by mid-sunning. Tameron was the first to leave. She raced across the cropped lawns and through the tree-lined lanes. She could just see the top of her home-dome, half hidden by the tall hedges that separated the home-domes from parklands and forest-ways.

  Let him be waiting for me, she willed as she ran through the archway of the high garden-dome. Warm tropical air swirled around her, and her body-suit changed to a soft red in anticipation. This was her favourite place. Here pineapples, bananas and mangoes grew in abundance. Tall ferns fanned out their curling fronds, and the trees covered with trailing orchids stretched to the ceiling. It was beneath these trees that Darwei had spoken to her about his life-studies. Perhaps he was standing behind the tall blue stone obelisk, or hiding among the dark green shadows to surprise her. She searched the garden-dome quickly calling his name, but it was empty. Her eyes stung with tears of disappointment and her uniform turned grey.

  Brushing the hair back from her face, she stared up at the green dome ceiling, determined not to cry. She was a tall slim girl with long blond hair that hung down her back in a plait interwoven with broad silver threads. A silver mark ran from her forehead to the tip of her nose. This showed that she belonged to the twelfth-decade living group.

  Slowly she walked through the g
arden-dome towards Darwei's rest-chamber. His body lay immobile on the transparent glass couch, his wide-open grey eyes focused on the glass ceiling. Nothing had changed. The walls of the chamber were almost white. Home-dome walls reflected life-force, and Tameron knew that Darwei's life-force was fading fast. For the last ten sunnings his walls and body-suit had gradually lost their colour, turning from strong deep hues of health to a pale, wavering yellow and then to an even paler cream.

  Tameron felt panic well up inside her. She began to rub his hands and feet and move his head from side to side. The energy she created raised the wall colour to a soft orange, but she knew that it would soon fade. This was why she'd begun to slip in at night and sleep on the warm metal floor, using her own life-force to raise the colour of the walls and curved ceiling. But Older-parent had thought it unhealthy and insisted that she return to her own rest-chamber to sleep.

  "It will not make any difference," he'd insisted, "Staying here will only weaken your own life-force."

  Older-parent was the oldest person Tameron knew. A tall man, he towered over her, his body-suit always glowing a calm rich brown. He wore his silver white hair short and brushed forwards as was the custom of the oldest generation. Beneath bushy white eyebrows, his kind eyes tilted slightly. Across his left cheek, reaching to the bridge of his hooked nose, ran the painted silver line that denoted his decade living-group.

  Tameron knew how fortunate she was to have an older-parent. Most youngers had only a parent. Older-parents were usually too interested in their life-studies and didn't have time for the third generation. They spent their sunnings in quiet discussion or logical argument with persons of their own decade living-group. Many chose to leave their home-domes and reside together in the great dome of the Elders, which dominated the city from the High Hill. Here they prepared themselves for their turn to govern.

  The Elders of Newcit governed with great firmness. They allowed no argument, and crime and violence were unknown in Newcit, where peace and meditation were the prime goals of everyone. For his own reasons, Older-parent had no ambition to govern. He preferred to remain in his home-dome with his younger, Darwei, and with Darwei's younger, Tameron. Here he meditated and contentedly continued his life-studies alone.