Blue Fire and Ice (30 page)

Grunge slid his harmonica into his pocket. He was very happy with his five notes and was trying hard to turn them into six. He’d never before managed to assemble so many notes that actually sounded as if they belonged together. He was definitely pleased with his progress and he reflected on the value of a lifetime of diligent practice.

His great sadness, though, was Crimson. Grunge had missed Crimson’s company the last couple of days. She had closed herself to everyone, including him. He knew it was because she was concentrating all her willpower on battling what was afflicting her but he wished there was something he could do.

Once again, they ate as they walked. From their packs they took the last of their bread, and their cheese and dried fruit. Dot fed Miniver some dried fish as they walked. Crimson ate little. Walking took all her energy and she barely managed a few dried apricots and dates.

Towards the bottom of the long slope, the scattered trees turned to forest and the undergrowth became dense. Miniver was able to navigate her way around the trees but in several places her companions had to clear the brush, sweeping it aside with their shovels or stamping it down with their feet. Brian chided himself for not bringing a small hand scythe and made a mental note to add it to one of his lists. Back in his office were folders in which Brian had compiled lists for every event and occasion he could imagine and he had decided that, on his return, he would add a list for Implements Essential for Exploring Unknown Places. No one had more shelves and filing cabinets than Brian did.

Near the middle of the afternoon, they heard a roaring sound ahead. Stepping out of the trees, they found themselves at the foot of a high waterfall. The river cascaded a hundred metres down a jagged rock face into a turbulent pool, then plunged again down a shallower cliff to their right. The river at the bottom of the second waterfall was all foam and spray, squeezing between two rock faces about twenty metres high. It swirled and crashed over the rocks jutting up from the riverbed. The cliff faces diminished and became steep grassy banks a few hundred metres downstream, but the river continued to rush past the banks at a frightening speed. It would be impossible to cross.

‘There has to be a way across nearby,’ said Grunge. ‘Girth and his companions must have come this way.’

Copper was doubtful. ‘That was hundreds of years ago, Grunge. This land must have changed since then. And even if it hasn’t, they may have turned east earlier than we did and crossed further down.’

‘I don’t think so, Copper. Whoever attacked us last night was either going to the snowfield or coming from it. They must have come this way.’

‘Well,’ broke in Aunt Mag, ‘we can’t cross here. Copper is right. We should go downriver. If Girth did come this way, we’ll find where he crossed.’

Everyone agreed. Everyone except Crimson. She sat on a fallen tree, staring at the far side of the river.

‘Crimson,’ said Grunge, touching her shoulder.

Crimson flinched at his touch, then nodded dully. She stood and slowly followed her friends.

A spot of red flashed at the foot of the high cliffs behind the waterfall. An indistinct figure materialised behind the tumbling water. The travellers went back into the forest, watched by a pair of dark grey eyes.

*

How long before she returns? Kevin wondered. She told him nothing of her plans. He didn’t know why they were here. He didn’t know what interested her in this strange place. He didn’t know why he had spent the last six weeks living underground. Except that she had said it would be so. And for Kevin, what she said was so, was so.

Kevin counted the supplies. He’d made three trips to get the supplies up here from their small ship. Three trips; nine days of toil, carrying the supplies up the mountainside. They had enough for another month. Kevin hoped they would return home before then. He caught himself: ‘Don’t hope,’ he told himself. ‘There’s never hope. Only whatever happens next.’ He had learned that much in her service.

Kevin recalled how she had led him straight to the cave. It was really a series of caves, endless in number, it seemed to him, connected by long, twisting, dark tunnels. She had told him – no, warned him – never to go wandering in the tunnels.

Kevin hated the cave. It was cold, it was dark and it wasn’t home. They had made a temporary home in four adjoining rooms of the great underground labyrinth: one cavern for the kitchen, one for her sleeping quarters and a third for his. Another cavern, the one that led to the kitchen, she used as a sitting room. She had chosen it because it had a long, narrow opening in one corner that led to the surface; so high above that the sun was a mere pinprick of light when it was overhead. But it meant that they could have a fire in this room. Kevin spent as much time as he could in this room.

Which hadn’t been often these past few days. The day after their arrival, she had disappeared for a day, taking several metal cylinders in a pack. She arrived back late that afternoon. The next day she had left, taking a large rucksack and the metal cylinders. She had been gone for about a month. The day she returned she was in a foul mood. Since returning, she had flitted in and out of the cave. Often, she would sit near the fire, staring, eyes wide and unblinking, her mouth forming words he never heard. Kevin Mulled it over. ‘Like she was talking to someone far away.’

One of Kevin’s chores each day was to go out and collect wood for the fire. She had instructed him to use only the tunnel through which he had brought the supplies. It brought him out on the slope of a mountain facing the northern sea. And each day he would look down the slope in the direction they had come and think of home.

*

The companions emerged from the trees below the smaller waterfall, just downriver from where the rocky cliffs transformed into steep grassy banks. It was still quite a drop from the top of the bank to the water and they walked along the river looking for a place to cross. Any trail blazed by Girth had long since been reclaimed by the Land. When they did finally come to the bridge, they almost walked past it; a small makeshift affair hidden by trees and shrubs.

It wasn’t much of a bridge, just half a dozen tree trunks stretching from bank to bank across the narrowest part of the river, no more than twenty metres wide. At either end the trunks had been pinned together by wooden stakes driven into the soil. Free of the rocks that impeded it further upstream, the river ran smooth and fast through the narrow banks half a dozen metres or so below the bridge.

Aunt Mag looked sceptically at the crude bridge. Miniver ambled towards it, sledge behind her, and sniffed the logs. She shook her head and retreated a few paces.

Crimson watched the others at the bridge. She felt that she didn’t have anything inside her. Her legs were heavy and lifeless. She wanted to let herself fall to the ground and sleep. She wanted to sleep forever. Her eyes started to close and her knees began to buckle. A small part of her told her not to give in but it was overwhelmed by the greater part which longed to surrender to the emptiness filling her. Sleep, her head repeated, over and over.

Crimson fell to her knees, her body a burden she could no longer carry. Her eyes closed and she surrendered to the voice in her head.

‘Let the others go on if they wish. You are tired and weary. Sleep now. Let the grass be a bed and the trees a canopy to shelter you. There is peace in sleep. Sleep, Crimson. Sleep.’

Crimson slipped towards peaceful sleep. The sounds of the forest became distant and the noise of her companions faded. Like a crumb in bed that denies sleep, an uneasy thought pricked her. ‘Crimson? Why am I calling myself by my name? The voice ... it isn’t mine ... It’s inside me but it isn’t coming from inside me.’ Realisation jolted her awake. ‘The voice isn’t mine!’

Crimson dragged herself to her feet. Anger shot through her. This was wrong. Someone else was talking to her. She wouldn’t let someone else steal her thoughts and turn them against herself. ‘There is nothing wrong with you!’ she shouted to herself. ‘Don’t let someone else do this to you!’

The whispering voice in her headed ended abruptly. In its place came a humourless, mocking laughter. ‘Oh, sister! You are stronger than I imagined. Save your strength, Crimson. You’ll need it!’

Crimson raised her face to the mountain and spoke. Her voice was low but no less hard for that. ‘You will not make us all fail because I do!’ she promised. Her eyes turned to her friends. ‘They’ve done all the work. You’re letting them down.’ Her next promise was to herself. ‘I will not be burden!’

Strength came back to her. Not in a huge, overpowering wave that would restore her but like water slowly seeping into the soil. She turned and stared at the path they had just travelled. Somewhere back there, she knew, was something she’d have to face. For now, there was a bridge to cross.

Copper was kneeling at the end of the bridge when Crimson reached her friends. Standing back from them all, she watch as Copper took from his pocket a small, bulky pocket knife. Unfolding a small awl from the knife, Copper thrust it into one of the logs. Crimson could see that it barely penetrated the trunk.

Copper flicked the awl and it folded neatly back into the knife. With his fingertips, he unfolded a blade from the knife and scored the logs. Again, the trunk resisted. Carefully, he cut a small square of bark from the log. Underneath, the wood was still dense and firm. He stood and flicked the blade closed.

‘Oak,’ he declared. ‘Whoever made the bridge, whether by design or chance, used the best wood they could have chosen. This bridge might last for another few hundred years.’

‘Girth and his companions,’ said Grunge, without a trace of doubt. ‘They must have built it.’ But he couldn’t imagine how Girth and his companions had managed to place the massive trunks across the river. ‘How did they get them here? How did they get across the river?’

Copper smiled. ‘Rollers, I’ll wager. The trees grow right up to the bank. One or two they might have been able to cut down and let fall across. For the others, they cut smaller trees and used them as rollers to get the logs here. They only had to drag them a few feet.’ He peered across the opposite bank. ‘You say there were six of them?’ Grunge nodded. ‘Six could do this in half a day, maybe less.’

‘Is it wide enough for the sledge?’ asked Aunt Mag.

Copper measured the width of the bridge. ‘The wheels will be on the outer logs. The wood’s so slippery, we’ll have to take it slowly.’

‘We’ll push the sledge across,’ came a voice behind them. Crimson stood there, her face drawn but for the first time since Bourne Bridge, her eyes were bright and clear.

‘Grunge, Copper, Dot and I will take the sledge across. Brian can take the packs. If anything does happen, I don’t want Miniver still hitched to the sledge.’

They stood there for a moment, looking at her in surprise. Then Grunge’s face split in a broad smile. ‘Hey, Crimson,’ he said. Crimson reached out and took Grunge’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Hiya, Grunge,’ she said softly.

Crimson faced the others. Uncertainty showed in their faces. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said.

‘Of course you will, dear,’ said Aunt Mag. ‘Who said you wouldn’t be? Now, shall we get across this bunch of old twigs?’

And they set to doing just that.

Crimson dropped her pack on the grass and unhitched Miniver. Free of the harness, Miniver raised her head and looked into Crimson’s eyes. Crimson stroked the bear’s head. Neither said anything, but Miniver’s long pink tongue touched Crimson’s cheek.

‘How are your eyes, Miniver?’ asked Crimson.

Miniver sniffed. ‘Better. My nose is still tender and my sense of smell hasn’t quite returned. I missed a whole colony of ants today. Didn’t see them until I stepped on the nest.’

Copper walked onto the bridge. It looked even narrower with him on it. He started across, testing the trunks with each step. Every few feet he knelt and stuck the awl in the wood. When he had made it to the other side, he turned and came back.

‘It’s solid enough,’ he announced. ‘There’s a few spots where the wood has started to rot but it hasn’t gone deep. It’ll hold but, as I said, it’s a bit damp and slippery. We’ll have to walk slowly and be careful. That current looks strong.’

Aunt Mag went first. She had a determined look on her face and her progress was hesitant and slow. When she was safely across, she waved, a big smile on her face. Brian, carrying the extra packs, was followed by Miniver. Crimson picked up her bag and tossed it on the sledge. She smiled at Dot. ‘We’ll steer, else they’re liable to push it straight into the river.’ They stood either side of the sledge, holding the shafts, Grunge and Copper at the rear.

Brian joined Aunt Mag on the other side, and they watched the others. The sledge was nearly halfway. Its wheels slid on the damp logs and Crimson and Dot strained to keep it on the narrow bridge. The sledge lurched, then slewed, pushing its rear over the edge of the bridge. Grunge skipped sideways in time to stop himself being pushed into the river. He grabbed the corner of the sledge near Copper and pulled, stopping its slide into the river. Suddenly, the pressure eased. The sledge stopped where it was, one wheel spinning in the air over the river. They heaved, inching the wheel back onto the bridge. The wheel was nearly back when they heard Aunt Mag’s cry.

When the sledge lurched and slid, the shaft had wrenched from Dot’s hands. Frantically, she clutched at the shaft as it spun away and managed to grab it with one hand when she was pulled off her feet and swung through the air. Fear hit her as she realised that the bridge was no longer beneath her. Instead, the racing waters of the river lay directly below. Desperately, she tried to grab the shaft with her other hand, but the sledge jerked and her flailing hand failed to find the shaft. Her other hand started to lose its hold and she could feel the water under her, waiting.

Crimson held onto the shaft as tightly as she could, helping the others to stop the sledge from falling from the bridge. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dot make a grab for the shaft that had been wrenched from her hands. In horror, she saw the young girl flung off her feet and hang helplessly over the forbidding river.