Motherstone (6 page)

‘You think we should search his room? The whole Temple was searched. Nothing was found.’

‘Do it again. Pull up the floor. Break down the walls. There’s got to be something.’

Kenno sighed. ‘I will put men to it. But it wastes my time.’ He rubbed his face tiredly. ‘Come and see me before you go. And see our Council Hall. Now I must go. We must prepare to crush this new king, Osro.’ He and Limpy left, and for a time no one spoke. Then Soona said, ‘He’s so tired.’

‘He does too much,’ Silverwing said.

‘I wish we were still fisherfolk in Stonehaven.’

They left Nick to rest, and came for him in the evening, and they walked in one of the gardens of the old temple. Statues of High Priests, and of Susan, lay overturned and broken in corners. Nick found one of himself drowned in a fountain, with marble legs poking at the sky. The best place for it, he thought, but wished he could have seen it standing up. He thought he was better-looking than the face that frowned up at him through water. He turned away and said to Soona, ‘Did they search Osro’s room?’

‘Yes. They found a secret cell beyond the wall. But Limpy will not say what was in it. He tells me to play music and not worry about important things.’

Nick grunted angrily. Limpy would probably say the same to Susan, in spite of all the things she had done. He found himself caring less and less about O. There were just a few people he cared about, people or beings – Jimmy and Ben, Silverwing and Yellowclaw, Dawn. And Soona too. And Susan. What he had to concentrate on was finding her and getting her back home. Osro and his weapon were no worry of his. He looked at a statue of Susan standing in a niche in a wall. Someone had knocked the head off and it lay like a football at her feet. Next to it was a larger niche, with Jimmy standing in it, unbroken, and so lifelike he seemed about to say something. He spoke.

‘Gidday, youngker. Yer lookin’ skinny on it. Not eatin’ yer greens?’

It was not a niche. A door. And it was Jimmy. He stepped into the garden, and Ben the Varg, huge, blue, rippling in the light, shambled after him, with shoulders brushing the frame on either side.

‘Jimmy,’ Nick cried, running forward. The old man grinned and shook him by his arms, and Ben gave him a friendly butt that almost sent him tumbling into the fountain.

‘Jimmy, they told me you were up in the Hotlands. Have you found her? Where is she?’

‘No, we ain’t,’ Jimmy growled. He sat down on the fountain rim. ‘No sign of her. This bloddy land won’t leave her alone. It’s gunner wring out every drop she’s got.’

‘Did you see the Birdfolk? Are they still looking?’

‘I seen that Yellowclaw. He’s comin’ back.’ He looked at Silverwing. ‘Be here in the mornin’. He’s just organizin’ Birdfolk ter watch this army gettin’ mobilized up in the north. Geezers what paints themselves. Ther’s some bloddy talk they got a king an’ they’re headin’ south. They’re gunner stick our heads up on poles. There’s Birdfolk tellin’ Kenno about it now. It’s a bloddy shambles. All I want ter do is get back south.’

‘You can’t,’ Nick cried. ‘There’s Susan.’

‘Yeah, I ain’t fergotten.’

‘Was she there? With the army? With the king?’

‘No, she weren’t. No one’s seen ’er. Not since that time on the sand.’

‘Then …’

‘No,’ Jimmy said sharply. ‘She ain’t dead. I dunno where she is but she ain’t dead.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because of Ben. He ain’t felt it.’

Nick looked at the bear drinking placidly from the fountain. He lifted his head and looked at Nick and suddenly Susan was there, in his mind – Susan alive. His knees went weak with relief. He sat down beside Jimmy.

‘He don’t know where she is, Nick. He can’t tell. She’s a big country. She’s a bloddy nightmare. Makes Rotorua look like a Turkish bath. Steam an’ boilin’ pools an’ lakes of mud. Lava runnin’ like tomato soup. An’ sand, hot sand, fries yer like an egg. Ole Ben, he likes the ice. He couldn’ take it. Bloddy near pegged out. So we come back. But he knows she ain’t snuffed it. He would’ve felt. Like a kind’ve needle going in. That’s what it’s like when someone dies that they’re friendly with.’

‘Then where is she?’

‘Wish I knew. But I reckon she’s out of them Hotlands. It’s swarming with them geezers now, painted red an’ blue. They’d have her if she was there, head on a pole. Ole Ben, he reckons we should look down by the coast. Reckon ’e wants ter catch a fish or two, the cunnin’ ole bogger.’

‘Let’s go then. Let’s go now.’

‘In the mornin’, eh. We gotter rest. And Dawn’s on ’er way.’

‘Dawn?’

‘She went down south. Teamed up with ’er mate. They’re comin’ back. Be here termorrer. Ben can tell. Now I gotter get some shuteye, Nick. Been walkin’ five days straight. Me feet’s all swollen up like Christmas puddin’s.’

‘I’ll find you a room in the tower,’ Soona said. ‘What about Ben?’

‘He can doss down here. Might catch some goldfish in them pools, eh ole feller?’

When Nick passed Jimmy’s door on his way to bed the old man was snoring like a sawmill. In the morning Limpy came and took them to the Council Hall. Yellowclaw had arrived and made his report, but Dawn and her Varg were out in Wildwood. The bear was shy of humans, Jimmy said, and would not come in.

‘We’ll team up with them later on today when we take orf.’

‘Are we going today?’

‘No use wastin’ time. You fit enough?’

‘I could run a marathon,’ Nick said.

Yellowclaw came and gave him a friendly pat with one of his wings. ‘You’re thinner, Nick. And you have scars. And harder now. And older. That is plain. You have grown up fast.’

‘No news of Susan?’

‘None. She’s not with this Osro and his army, we’re sure of that. But Silverwing and I will search with you. There’s no more we can do for Kenno.’

‘Is Osro’s army big?’

‘The tribes are massing. Men so fierce and so in love with killing they remind me of Bloodcats. Women too, with spears and clubs and axes. And babies strapped on their backs. There are thousands of them. How this Osro bends them to his will we do not know. Kenno’s army will need all its courage. And there is talk of a Weapon – some new thing that shoots fire at the sky.’

‘That’s how Osro holds them, with fire.’

‘Birds cannot fight it. This will be a battle fought by humans.’

Nick looked at Kenno. He sat in a raised chair at one end of a huge oval table. Around were thirty or thirty-five men, no women. They were merchants and shopkeepers of the town, Nick supposed; and several were ex-priests, for they raised their hands by habit to where Ferris bones had hung from their necks. They were soft men, or withered; quick and cunning men of property, who would naturally find places on this – what was it called? – interim council. Alongside them, Kenno the fisherman was brown and weatherbeaten, slow and strong – and confused. Nick saw how he turned his head as if he wondered how he had come here. And then he blinked, and set his mouth. When he spoke the others inclined their heads, agreed with him, but Nick had the feeling he spoke words they chose. They talked of conscripting men, appointing generals, arming regiments. Of contracts for this and that. ‘Yes, yes,’ Kenno said, ‘as long as we are ready. The details of payment I leave to you.’

‘Why is his chair higher than the others?’ Nick whispered.

‘They voted it to him. He did not want it,’ Soona said.

‘They’ll vote him emperor next,’ Jimmy growled. Nick said nothing, but agreed. He did not think the common people would vote. Somehow the times would never be right for elections. Kenno would be king or emperor, or maybe just president for life. These men would manage him and he would not know. And then, when his usefulness was done, someone would organize a coup. And they would execute the ‘tyrants’. Perhaps they would throw them off Sheercliff. Kenno and poor Limpy. Soona too …

His reverie was broken by a noise at the door. A man hurried in, waving a piece of paper, and ran round the table to Kenno’s chair. Kenno looked at the paper, then handed it to the secretary beside him. Of course, Nick thought, he can’t read. That must be handy for the ones who managed him. The secretary – a hungry-looking ex-priest – scanned the paper. His eyes gleamed. He whispered to Kenno and they conferred with the man who had come in. Then Kenno said, ‘Council members, our scientists have uncovered the secret of Osro’s Weapon. Here is their report. It is hard to understand, but I will ask the Chief Scientist to tell it simply.’ He had a chair brought and the man sat down and began to talk. His excitement infected everyone at the table.

‘Men of O, it is this. Osro had a store of ancient books and there he found the pathway to his Weapon. Whatever his faults, he was a great man. Years he must have studied, hidden behind the false wall in his cell. His calculations – the intricacy of them. And his apparatus, experiments, they take the breath away – ’

‘Enough of this,’ cried a fat man halfway round the table. ‘Speak of the Weapon. Can you make it?’

‘Yes. I have a team. They are working now. The mechanics are difficult. But, six days, seven, it will be done. And the materials. I have sent men out. There are deposits south along the coast, and inland, in the mountains, at the back of the Throat of the Underworld. Osro had the places marked. And trees are being tapped for oils. All is under way.’

‘What does it do, this Weapon?’

The Chief Scientist sighed. He raised his glowing eyes. ‘Marvels of destruction.’

‘Be precise.’

‘We make a construction of multiple chambers. And place in each an ingredient. Metal. Vapour. Oil. And bring them together – with great care. With absolute precision. And contain their meeting, and direct their force …’

‘Force?’

‘A beam. A beam of – something. Light or fire, we do not know.’

‘What does it do?’

The man drew in his breath. ‘What does it not do? It will burn trees and melt stone. And shrivel men to ashes, more quickly than that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘It will make lakes boil. It will sear down buildings, wood or brick or marble, it matters not.’

‘How wide is the beam?’

‘It can be widened or narrowed. Made stronger or weaker. That is simple.’

‘The range?’

‘With it I can melt the tops of the mountains beyond Wildwood.’

‘Ha!’ cried the fat man excitedly.

‘But Osro has the Weapon,’ Kenno said.

‘Then we must have more and better ones,’ the fat man said. ‘And strike before he is ready. Then we can go further north. The tribes there are even more primitive than the Hotlanders. It will be our mission to conquer and civilize them. And then, the riches, the trade.’

‘Hold!’ Kenno said. ‘We will have no talk of conquest. Our war against Osro is defensive.’

‘And you mustn’t make these weapons,’ Nick cried. ‘You must capture Osro before he can use his.’

‘Who is this boy?’ the fat man said.

‘By what right does he speak?’ another asked.

‘Father,’ Soona called out, ‘Nick is right. Please don’t make it. The old tales say it consumes its maker.’

‘And it is forbidden to Birdfolk,’ Yellowclaw said. ‘The Weapon is evil. We can have no part in this war.’

‘Would you have us sit here while Osro conquers us?’ Kenno said.

‘Capture him. Before he makes his Weapon. We will help in that.’

‘It is made already. He knew the way,’ the scientist cried.

‘Then Birdfolk must withdraw from your battle.’

‘Withdraw from our Council Hall too,’ the fat man said. ‘Withdraw over your mountains. We do not need you. We have the Weapon.’

‘Hold!’ Kenno cried. ‘Silence!’ When all was quiet, he turned sadly to Nick and Jimmy and the Birdfolk. ‘We thank you for your help. But our ways must part. We must fight this war, and fight with the Weapon. That is clear. Osro must not rule. He would want the whole of O. No one would be safe. So we must stop him. But Birdfolk and Woodlanders and Varg are safe from us. All the Folk. We seek no conquest.’ He believed it, Nick saw, and he felt overwhelmed with sorrow for Kenno. ‘Now you must go and seek your friend and take her back to Earth. And we must go on with our counsels. That is the way of it. So – goodbye.’

‘Father,’ Soona said, ‘I will go with them. Susan is my friend.’

‘As you choose, my daughter. Come back safely. If all goes well we will know peace then.’

They turned and left the chamber, left Kenno and his Councilmen talking of the Weapon, and banded together at the Temple gates. Limpy came to say goodbye. Now that they were leaving, he seemed to regret his sharp words to Nick. They shook hands.

‘Don’t worry,’ Limpy said, ‘we’ll beat Osro.’

‘Look after your father. He needs help,’ Nick replied.

Limpy did not understand. He embraced his sister and stood waving at the gate, a lopsided figure, until their path took them into the forest.

Dawn and her Varg were waiting there. The sight of the Woodlander girl lifted Nick’s spirits: her downy, coloured face, her laugh, her quickness. The bears nuzzled each other. Over the trees, Silverwing and Yellowclaw called greetings.

‘Which way shall we go, Jimmy?’ Nick said.

‘North up through the mountains. Then down to the coast. I’m not going near them Hotlands. Makes me feel like bacon in a pan.’

‘That’s a long way.’

‘We gotter start somewhere. It ain’t gunner be easy, Nick. She’s a big country.’

‘I know. Are you ready, Soona?’

She was standing apart, looking at her flute. She raised it and blew notes, soft and dark. They echoed in the trees. He frowned at her. ‘Come on. There’s no time for music.’

She smiled. ‘Nick,’ she said, ‘there’s someone we should ask.’

‘What about?’

‘Susan. Can you find a cave for me? One that goes deep into the hills.’

For the first time in their five-day march Susan felt more than a thing of rags, led on a string. She felt her heart beating. Tears ran on her cheeks and dripped as hot as candle wax on her arms. Osro had knocked Slarda down and was kicking her. She heard the woman squeal and Osro grunt. It did not matter. They were puppets now, rags and bone. Nick was alive, he was not dead. If that was true (and it was true, for Yellowclaw had said it) Osro could be beaten. For five days she had trodden numbly, expecting her death. She was not afraid now.