Saba, says DeMalo. Are you expected somewhere?
No, I says. I drain my wine, put the jar on the table an stand up. Let’s go see this wonderful somethin. Oh! I pluck at the shirt. Better put my clothes back on.
They’re wet, he says. Look in the trunk. I’ll wait outside.
There’s only three things in the trunk – a green dress, womanly skivvies an a good pair of pigskin boots. More suited to Molly than me. I ain’t never wore a dress in my life. What’s he doin with gear like this?
I check my own stuff. He’s right, it’s all soppin wet. Nero sleeps in his little box by the fire. I mutter curses as I step into the dress an fumble with the buttons that close it up the front. I block out nigglin thoughts of Emmi as I pull on the boots. I duck outside into the cool air.
I find a pale, pink world. Dawn ain’t far off. DeMalo’s waitin. The hawk – Culan – sits in a nearby tree. He turns his fierce yellow eyes on me an ruffles his feathers. DeMalo looks at me in the dress. It fits well, he says.
He says it like he knew it would.
Nero’s sleepin, I says, I—
We won’t be long, says DeMalo. He’ll be fine. Come, we need to hurry.
I follow him outta the trees, over a clear-runnin stream an through a lush, grassy meadow damp with rain. DeMalo keeps a check on the sky as he hurries us on.
This is good land, I says. I never seen finer.
This is New Eden, he says.
We come to a little hill covered with blackberry brambles. The air’s heavy with the sweet promise of ripe fruit. There’s a rusted metal door set into the hill, where it ain’t quite so thick with bramble. It stands open.
Here we are, says DeMalo. The brothers will show you in.
What—? I whirl around. Outta nowhere, there’s two Tonton suddenly with us. You said you was alone! What is this?
The two men bow their heads, clenched fists held to their hearts. One of ’em holds a lit lantern.
Everyone’s here, master, he says.
What’s goin on? I says.
You’ll come to no harm, I promise, says DeMalo. They’re an escort, that’s all. I’ll see you in a moment. He holds out his hands to the men. They grasp ’em, eagerly. She’s an honoured guest, he says. Thank you, brothers. Then, with a smile an a nod, he disappears around the hill, outta sight.
Me an the two Tonton stare at each other. Me. Two Tonton. I’m sniffin fer danger, on sharp edges, jest in case. The one with the lantern smiles an bows his head. Follow me, he says.
He goes through the door. I hesitate. Please, says the second one. We cain’t be late.
I go through the door. He closes it behind us. In front, the first Tonton lights our way through pitch blackness. We go down some steps, into the ground. It smells dry. Musty. Thick, earthy silence closes around us. I hate bein unnerground, closed in. Sweat damps my forehead. He leads us through a long narrow room with wide shelfs set in the walls, like bunks. We go through a doorway into another room, then another, but there ain’t nuthin in ’em.
What is all this? I says.
A bunker, says the man behind me. From Wrecker times. There was ten of ’em in here when the Pathfinder first come. Ten skellentons, that is. He says it was their hidin place.
What was they hidin from? I says.
Who knows? he says. War, pestilence, some kinda calamity.
We must be close to the centre of the hill by now. At the end of a narrow passage, the lantern man opens a closed door an we go through.
Twelve heads turn towards us. Twelve quartered circle brands. Stewards of the Earth. Six boys an six girls. Young an strong, dressed simple. Their right hands fly, clenched, to their hearts.
Long life to the Pathfinder! they says. The two Tonton reply likewise.
I’m paused in the doorway, one foot in, one out. Not only my guide, but a few of the Stewards hold lanterns too, so the room’s well lit. It ain’t long an narrow, like th’other rooms we jest come through. This one’s big, maybe twenny paces across each way. It’s got white, smooth walls, built pretty much square but round in the corners. A white ceilin an floor.
I realize that all eyes is on me. Wary eyes. Starin at my birthmoon tattoo.
The one that the Pathfinder seeks has come, says the lantern man. She’s his honoured guest. Please, he tells me, come in.
As I do, noddin at the Stewards, they shift away. Nobody wants to stand too close to the Angel of Death.
If only they knew.
She’s dead.
Auriel said so.
The second Tonton closes the door behind us. It disappears, becomes part of the smoothness of the wall.
It’s time, he says.
Stand around the edges, says the first one. Backs to the walls. That’s it. Now, blow out yer lanterns.
The puff of quick breaths an the light huffs out. We’re all in the dark. The blacker than black.
It’s silent. A deeper silence than any I ever knew before. All I can hear is the beat of my own heart. To my left, where the door is, a sudden waft of cold air. The faint tang of juniper. DeMalo’s jest come in. Silence agin.
Then. The tiniest pinprick of light in the ceilin. Directly in the centre of the room. A bird begins to sing. I jump. In the darkness of the room unner the hill, there’s a bird singin. How did it git in here? I dunno what kind it is neether. I never heard this song before. Another bird joins in. A different song. Then another bird, with another song.
The pinprick grows to a weak beam. I start to see DeMalo, standin in the centre of the room, right unnerneath it. He lifts a chunk of clear, glassy rock. The light beam latches onto it. The rock starts to glow with a faint pink light. An it ain’t jest the rock that’s glowin pink. It’s the whole room. In front of us, beside us, behind us. Gittin brighter an stronger every moment.
The Stewards murmur an shift. Now the light’s growin, changin to dark blue an red an gold. All around us. I can see now that it’s the walls. They’re changin.
The birds still sing. An somethin’s joined in that ain’t a bird. Sounds like a stringbox. It’s singin along with the birds. I cain’t tell where it’s comin from. It’s jest . . . here. In the room. Slow an sweet. It’s the most lovely thing I ever heard.
The light brightens. Brighter an brighter. Golden, yellow.
It’s the dawn. Dawn grows on the walls, all around the room. The birdsong fades an more stringboxes join in the song. Other musicmakers too. It’s so beautiful, it sends chills up an down my spine.
The music gits louder an louder, quicker an quicker.
Suddenly, green leaps out at us. Fer a moment or two, I cain’t figger out what it is. Then I see. It’s grasslands. But I’m seein ’em like Nero must do. From above. All around me, on the walls, a bird’s eye view of grasslands an blue sky an clouds. I’m movin fast, like the fastest bird that ever flew. The sound of wind weaves in with the music.
I’m a bird! I whisper. I’m a bird! Oh! I turn this way, that way, so’s I can watch everythin, everywhere, all around me. Everybody else is doin the same, exclaimin. I catch DeMalo’s eye. He smiles. I laugh.
Great herds of buffalo thunder over the plains. There’s mountains up ahead. Vast mountains with snow on the top. We fly over ’em, into ’em, past eagles in the sky. We soar on the wind, on the music. There’s animals I ain’t never seen before. Shaggy big-horned creatures leap from crag to crag. I try to touch ’em. My hands go right through to the cold of the wall.
No, I says. I drain my wine, put the jar on the table an stand up. Let’s go see this wonderful somethin. Oh! I pluck at the shirt. Better put my clothes back on.
They’re wet, he says. Look in the trunk. I’ll wait outside.
There’s only three things in the trunk – a green dress, womanly skivvies an a good pair of pigskin boots. More suited to Molly than me. I ain’t never wore a dress in my life. What’s he doin with gear like this?
I check my own stuff. He’s right, it’s all soppin wet. Nero sleeps in his little box by the fire. I mutter curses as I step into the dress an fumble with the buttons that close it up the front. I block out nigglin thoughts of Emmi as I pull on the boots. I duck outside into the cool air.
I find a pale, pink world. Dawn ain’t far off. DeMalo’s waitin. The hawk – Culan – sits in a nearby tree. He turns his fierce yellow eyes on me an ruffles his feathers. DeMalo looks at me in the dress. It fits well, he says.
He says it like he knew it would.
Nero’s sleepin, I says, I—
We won’t be long, says DeMalo. He’ll be fine. Come, we need to hurry.
I follow him outta the trees, over a clear-runnin stream an through a lush, grassy meadow damp with rain. DeMalo keeps a check on the sky as he hurries us on.
This is good land, I says. I never seen finer.
This is New Eden, he says.
We come to a little hill covered with blackberry brambles. The air’s heavy with the sweet promise of ripe fruit. There’s a rusted metal door set into the hill, where it ain’t quite so thick with bramble. It stands open.
Here we are, says DeMalo. The brothers will show you in.
What—? I whirl around. Outta nowhere, there’s two Tonton suddenly with us. You said you was alone! What is this?
The two men bow their heads, clenched fists held to their hearts. One of ’em holds a lit lantern.
Everyone’s here, master, he says.
What’s goin on? I says.
You’ll come to no harm, I promise, says DeMalo. They’re an escort, that’s all. I’ll see you in a moment. He holds out his hands to the men. They grasp ’em, eagerly. She’s an honoured guest, he says. Thank you, brothers. Then, with a smile an a nod, he disappears around the hill, outta sight.
Me an the two Tonton stare at each other. Me. Two Tonton. I’m sniffin fer danger, on sharp edges, jest in case. The one with the lantern smiles an bows his head. Follow me, he says.
He goes through the door. I hesitate. Please, says the second one. We cain’t be late.
I go through the door. He closes it behind us. In front, the first Tonton lights our way through pitch blackness. We go down some steps, into the ground. It smells dry. Musty. Thick, earthy silence closes around us. I hate bein unnerground, closed in. Sweat damps my forehead. He leads us through a long narrow room with wide shelfs set in the walls, like bunks. We go through a doorway into another room, then another, but there ain’t nuthin in ’em.
What is all this? I says.
A bunker, says the man behind me. From Wrecker times. There was ten of ’em in here when the Pathfinder first come. Ten skellentons, that is. He says it was their hidin place.
What was they hidin from? I says.
Who knows? he says. War, pestilence, some kinda calamity.
We must be close to the centre of the hill by now. At the end of a narrow passage, the lantern man opens a closed door an we go through.
Twelve heads turn towards us. Twelve quartered circle brands. Stewards of the Earth. Six boys an six girls. Young an strong, dressed simple. Their right hands fly, clenched, to their hearts.
Long life to the Pathfinder! they says. The two Tonton reply likewise.
I’m paused in the doorway, one foot in, one out. Not only my guide, but a few of the Stewards hold lanterns too, so the room’s well lit. It ain’t long an narrow, like th’other rooms we jest come through. This one’s big, maybe twenny paces across each way. It’s got white, smooth walls, built pretty much square but round in the corners. A white ceilin an floor.
I realize that all eyes is on me. Wary eyes. Starin at my birthmoon tattoo.
The one that the Pathfinder seeks has come, says the lantern man. She’s his honoured guest. Please, he tells me, come in.
As I do, noddin at the Stewards, they shift away. Nobody wants to stand too close to the Angel of Death.
If only they knew.
She’s dead.
Auriel said so.
The second Tonton closes the door behind us. It disappears, becomes part of the smoothness of the wall.
It’s time, he says.
Stand around the edges, says the first one. Backs to the walls. That’s it. Now, blow out yer lanterns.
The puff of quick breaths an the light huffs out. We’re all in the dark. The blacker than black.
It’s silent. A deeper silence than any I ever knew before. All I can hear is the beat of my own heart. To my left, where the door is, a sudden waft of cold air. The faint tang of juniper. DeMalo’s jest come in. Silence agin.
Then. The tiniest pinprick of light in the ceilin. Directly in the centre of the room. A bird begins to sing. I jump. In the darkness of the room unner the hill, there’s a bird singin. How did it git in here? I dunno what kind it is neether. I never heard this song before. Another bird joins in. A different song. Then another bird, with another song.
The pinprick grows to a weak beam. I start to see DeMalo, standin in the centre of the room, right unnerneath it. He lifts a chunk of clear, glassy rock. The light beam latches onto it. The rock starts to glow with a faint pink light. An it ain’t jest the rock that’s glowin pink. It’s the whole room. In front of us, beside us, behind us. Gittin brighter an stronger every moment.
The Stewards murmur an shift. Now the light’s growin, changin to dark blue an red an gold. All around us. I can see now that it’s the walls. They’re changin.
The birds still sing. An somethin’s joined in that ain’t a bird. Sounds like a stringbox. It’s singin along with the birds. I cain’t tell where it’s comin from. It’s jest . . . here. In the room. Slow an sweet. It’s the most lovely thing I ever heard.
The light brightens. Brighter an brighter. Golden, yellow.
It’s the dawn. Dawn grows on the walls, all around the room. The birdsong fades an more stringboxes join in the song. Other musicmakers too. It’s so beautiful, it sends chills up an down my spine.
The music gits louder an louder, quicker an quicker.
Suddenly, green leaps out at us. Fer a moment or two, I cain’t figger out what it is. Then I see. It’s grasslands. But I’m seein ’em like Nero must do. From above. All around me, on the walls, a bird’s eye view of grasslands an blue sky an clouds. I’m movin fast, like the fastest bird that ever flew. The sound of wind weaves in with the music.
I’m a bird! I whisper. I’m a bird! Oh! I turn this way, that way, so’s I can watch everythin, everywhere, all around me. Everybody else is doin the same, exclaimin. I catch DeMalo’s eye. He smiles. I laugh.
Great herds of buffalo thunder over the plains. There’s mountains up ahead. Vast mountains with snow on the top. We fly over ’em, into ’em, past eagles in the sky. We soar on the wind, on the music. There’s animals I ain’t never seen before. Shaggy big-horned creatures leap from crag to crag. I try to touch ’em. My hands go right through to the cold of the wall.
