Priests of Ferris (5 page)

Nick pulled her up and they started off. Coldness cramped her joints. They waded in shallow water at the edge of the lake. It came over her knees, over her waist, icy cold. Soon they swam one-handed, keeping their touch on the wall.

‘I hope nothing lives in this.’

‘Seeker would have told us.’

But the water was threatening, it seemed thick and slow, and every lap or splash was the sound of some creature sliding at them. They found the bottom again and pulled themselves along, clutching handholds, and splashed out shivering. The path was there as Seeker had promised and they climbed it, keeping their backs to the wall. They felt they were leaving some place deeply hidden, where even Stonefolk would not stay long. The lapping and fluttering of the water fell to tiny sounds, tiny stirrings.

‘It’s slippery,’ Nick said. ‘Make sure of your feet before you move.’

The path took them high, narrowing then widening, and now and then passing an overhang that forced them on their knees. It turned away from the lake and the sounds were gone. A sense of being closed in grew on them.

‘Another tunnel.’

‘This is where he said to watch for holes.’

‘Here’s one. There’s a way round the side. We’ll have to crawl.’

The holes and cracks in the floor seemed endless. Now and then Nick dropped in pieces of stone. Several seemed to fall for hundreds of metres before striking bottom. One splashed in water, far away. And one made no sound at all. It seemed to fall out of existence. They crawled on silently, with knees worn raw.

At last Nick stood up. ‘I think we’re past. It’s widening out.’

‘Yes,’ Limpy said. ‘I smell the forest.’

‘I smell trees. Sunshine,’ Susan said.

They felt their way along. The scent of the outside grew stronger.

‘Stop,’ Nick said. He listened to his voice. ‘We’re in a chamber. The air’s coming in from over here. Yes, here it is. It’s a pity we can’t go this way.’

‘No,’ Susan said. ‘We’ve done what Seeker told us. Don’t stop now.’ She felt her way past him along the wall. ‘Here’s the hole. You can get through.’

Past the narrow entrance the hole widened out. But the ceiling was low, closing down like the roof of a mouth. Twice they had to drag themselves on their stomachs. Nick scraped his head several times, and at last took off his shirt and wore it like a turban for protection. Then he stopped. ‘Dead end.’

‘It can’t be.’ They felt all round.

‘There’s a rock fall over here,’ Susan said. ‘And some air. It’s a funnel.’

Limpy wriggled past her. ‘It goes up. We’ll have to climb.’ They heard him grunting. ‘Up here. There’s not much room.’

This part, with the air of Wildwood sifting by, was the most difficult of all. The hole went straight up like a chimney, then angled through a fissure, and turned again like a question mark. It went down, and up, and down, and pools of stale water lay in each hollow. It seemed to Susan that Seeker could not have tried this passage.

‘Light,’ Limpy said. ‘I see light.’

It lay ahead like something spilled and forgotten. They crept towards it, only half believing, screwing up their eyes against the pain – but it was light, and when they could endure it, they looked through the broken hole and saw the sky forked like a lightning bolt. A green creeper curled over the rocks.

‘Wildwood,’ Susan whispered. ‘We’re safe.’

‘Not yet,’ Limpy said. ‘Stay here. I’ll scout.’

‘Seeker said the priests don’t know this hole.’

‘Seeker did not know everything.’

He crept away from them and knelt at the edge of the crack, peering out. Then he turned and beckoned, holding a finger to his lips. ‘See,’ he said, when they were at his side.

The hole came out in the roots of a tree high on a hill, with a cliff angling across it into the forest. Down there, a hundred metres away, where the trees began, a cave shaped like a church door stood in the cliff. ‘That’s the way he told us not to take.’

‘There aren’t any priests.’

‘Look again.’

They saw them then, figures crouching in the rain-worn limestone. They were hidden from the cave, half-hidden from the children, and they waited still as cats beside a mouse hole.

‘A different band,’ Limpy said. ‘There will be hundreds hunting us.’

‘Where are the dogs?’

‘There.’ He pointed further off at the trees, and they saw dogs in a pack, in the shade, with priests watching them.

‘While the breeze blows from that direction we are safe.’

‘How do we get away?’

‘When the sun goes down they will feed their dogs. And sing their hymns. There will be noise enough. We must take our chance. Once in the forest I can find grub-weed.’

‘Can you eat it?’

‘I need water more than food,’ Susan said.

‘Soon. It is nearly sundown.’

Shadows covered their hiding place and crept along the hill and the priests in the boulders seemed to turn grey.

‘Won’t they leave someone watching there?’

Limpy shook his head. ‘Everything comes second to the ritual. See, they are leaving.’

The priests came out of the boulders and walked in a band down to their camp. The dogs began yelping. Away in the west colours climbed in the sky, pink and lilac, and small clouds slid southwards on the horizon, smooth as pebbles. The hills behind the priests were lit by an afterglow. But the priests themselves were like a cluster of grubs on something dead. There were ten of them. They fed the dogs with meat and bones from a sack and the animals snarled and fought and then lay gnawing. The priests made a circle and as the darkness grew, at the moment the sun sank below the horizon, they stripped off their leather suits and turned them inside out, and dressed again, moving jerkily, in perfect time; and now instead of being white they were black. They held their Ferris bones in the circle and beat them against each other and sang a chant as the forest darkened.

‘Now,’ Limpy said. They crept out from the tree roots and went down the hillside, keeping low in the boulders.

‘The wind’s turning,’ Nick whispered.

‘We have time. And the dogs are feeding.’

A yell from the circle made them freeze, but it was only a solo chant from a priest. Other voices joined in and the chatter of bones grew faster.

‘They are finishing,’ Limpy said.

‘What are they singing?’

‘Thanks to Susan for their hunt. They caught a Woodlander today. That is why the dogs have meat.’

‘No,’ Susan whispered.

‘Woodlanders are vermin to them. Dog’s meat, that is all. And we are dead as well if they catch us.’

They went down through small trees into the forest, and Susan knelt. She thought she was going to be sick.

‘Come on,’ Limpy said roughly. He seemed to understand how she felt.

‘I’ll stop them. I promise,’ she whispered.

They struck deep into the bush and came to a creek. Limpy let them drink, then led them on, looking for swampy ground where grub-weed might grow. After a while he told them to rest. He limped off into some rushes and came back presently with two grey roots shaped like sweet potatoes. ‘I have put mine on.’ He split the tubers with his knife and showed them how to rub juice on their skins. ‘It will hurt. But it kills our scent.’ He grinned at Nick. ‘And you can’t eat it.’

The sting was sharp, but moving helped them forget. They travelled for another hour, heading away from the creek, then Limpy found a place where they could rest. They still had not eaten, but all they could think of was sleep. They made beds of fern and lay down.

‘I’m filthy with mud,’ Nick said.

‘You can wash tomorrow, when we have more grub-weed,’ Limpy said.

‘Can you find us food?’

‘Berries. Fish. We will not starve. Shady Home is four days south.’

‘Tomorrow you can tell us about your sister,’ Susan said.

‘Yes,’ Limpy promised, ‘I’ll do that.’

His voice was grim. As she went to sleep Susan wondered sadly why he should still be blaming her for all the things that had gone wrong on O.

The birds of Wildwood woke them with their song. A pale light was creeping through the trees. They lay a while, listening for other sounds. Then Limpy went hunting for food. Susan and Nick burrowed more deeply into the fern and whispered to each other, warm and hungry. They talked of home.

Limpy brought back fruit and berries. But he would not let them eat until they had rubbed grub-weed on themselves. The burn of it on their skin spoiled their breakfasts. It was mid-morning before they found a creek where they could drink. Then they washed, although Limpy grumbled at the lost time. They washed their muddy clothes and put them on wet, and found the coolness eased the pain of the fresh application of weed he demanded.

Through the rest of the day they pressed on south. Towards evening they climbed over a hump of land at the foot of hills and something about the place made Susan stop. She told Limpy to wait and climbed a short way towards the hills until she had a clearer view of them. ‘Nick,’ she called. She pointed at the scar running up the mountain wall. It was hollowed out as though by a giant scoop. The face of it was clothed in stunted trees and clinging ferns, although here and there sheets of rock shone in the evening sun.

‘It’s the Living Hill.’

Limpy had come up with Nick. ‘I have heard of it,’ he whispered. ‘Marna died here.’

‘She’s somewhere under our feet. This mound is the earth that came sliding down.’

‘We’re standing on her grave,’ Nick said.

They went on thoughtfully, down the side of the mound into the forest, and found a dry cave in the foot of the hills. While Nick and Susan made new beds of fern Limpy went out for food. He came back with more fruit and a trout he had speared with his knife on the end of a stick. He made a fire-drill and soon had branches blazing on the cave floor. ‘We’d starve without you, Limpy,’ Susan said.

‘We must put it out before dark.’ He watched anxiously until the wood fell into embers. ‘Smoke is dangerous too. Dogs can smell it and priests see it.’ He laid the gutted fish in the coals and soon they were picking the cooked flesh out on sticks. It was a sober meal. Crouched in the shadowy cave by the dying fire, they felt unsafe. And the flank of the hill outside troubled them.

‘Marna died. And now Seeker’s dead. Who’ll be next?’

‘Jimmy’s dead too.’

‘What about the dream? Watcher saw him with a bear. He saw me too. And the priest sniffed out a man who dreamed of Jimmy and a bear.’

They shivered, remembering the chase. ‘It’s no use thinking of Jimmy. He can’t help us. Limpy, you’d better tell us what’s happened on O.’

‘You know most of it. A hundred turns ago, Susan came. It was the Mending. Then she and Nick and – Jimmy Jaspers – ’ he still found the name hard to say, ‘they went to live on Earth, and all who obey the priests will follow them.’

‘No,’ Susan said.

‘That is what they say. It is in the holy book. Before you – before Susan left, she gave the task of ruling to the priests.’

‘This is lies.’

‘It is the teaching. Only heretics deny it.’

‘It’s still lies. You tell him, Nick.’

‘I can see how it happened, though,’ Nick said. ‘Someone had to rule, and whoever it was used you. He saw his chance. Probably there was some sort of real religion – or some superstition. You saved them, after all. Then someone came along and got it organized. Once the Temple was in power that was the end. You’d better tell us about your sister, Limpy.’

Limpy stirred the embers. He seemed to find it hard to look at Nick and Susan. Sadness, not fear, made him keep his face away from them.

‘I will tell you about Stonehaven, where I live. It is a village in the south. All down the coast are villages. The men go out to fish. We live from fishing. The land is poor and the coast is rocky. We only have small fields for crops, patches of soil in the sides of the hills.’

‘What about Soona?’

‘Our houses are built of stone,’ the boy went on. ‘They climb one above the other up the hill. Forty houses, that is all. Twenty boats inside the breakwater. And a gutting-shed, and a smoke-house. And a temple, where the priest lives with his dogs.’ Limpy dropped his stick in the ashes. ‘When winter storms come, waves crash over the breakwater and spray beats like hailstones through the town. Then we sit inside by our fires, mending our nets and making crayfish pots. My grandmother tells tales and my mother sings and Soona … Soona would play tunes on her flute.’ Limpy looked up. His eyes were wet with tears. ‘Stonehaven is the best place in the world.’

‘What happened, Limpy?’

Again he did not answer. He wiped his eyes and went on at his own pace with his tale. ‘When I was eleven I went out with my father on his boat. That is the age when we go. It is hard work. But I love the sea. I do not like this forest. I love boats and wind and storms. One day – one day … we were harnessed with my uncle’s boat. We were pulling in our nets to share the catch. Our holds were full and my uncle had space in his. The sea was rough, it was dangerous. And I was careless. I slipped, and my leg was crushed between the boats.’

He looked down at the bent limb thrust out awkwardly. ‘My uncle knows medicine. He said the leg was too badly hurt to save. But my father would not let him cut it off. I am his only son. Without me he has no one to work on his boat. He hoped my mother would be able to set my leg well enough for me to work again. Besides – he loves me. Soona and I are his children. So we sailed for Stonehaven – and the journey, in the storm… ’ Limpy shivered. ‘It was more than three years ago, but I cry out in my sleep even now. When we came home, my mother nursed me. She set my leg, and the priest came and laid his hands on it. But my uncle was right. The leg was too badly broken – and now you see it.’ He dragged his leg into the light and they saw again the unnatural bend, the painful twist, the muscles torn and wasted. ‘Even so, I could have worked. I am quick. I am strong. My father saw it, and when I was well again he wanted to take me back on his boat. But the priest said no.’

‘The priest?’ Nick said. ‘What’s he got to do with it?’

‘The priest’s word is the law. To disobey the priest is heresy.’