by Derek Smith
She had subsided into sleep. And Toby crept gratefully over to the fire where Far and Erdy were talking quietly.
‘I had to stay with her even though…’ said Toby. His confused thought halted him.
‘You did,’ said Erdy. He indicated a space at his side. ‘Sit down.’
Toby did so.
‘My mother said three things to you,’ went on Erdy. ‘Do you remember what they were?’
Toby thought a while. Only a few days ago but so long.
He at last said, ‘She said – I will rescue someone who lies with the dead. I will walk with the dead. I will destroy the secret of life.’
Erdy nodded. Then said, ‘You have done the first.’
He knew he had, by saving Orly.
‘And the second?’ he said.
‘You must go and see your father.’
‘My father is dead.’
Erdy nodded. ‘He is. But he must speak to you.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I have read it in your soup.’
Toby was bewildered and searched the man’s face. Erdy’s eyes were almost closed. He spoke in whispers, as if the dead might hear.
‘There is something he must say to you.’
‘How can I get to the dead?’
‘You must go to the Underworld.’
‘How?’
‘There is a way through. Not far. Can you climb?’
Toby nodded.
‘This journey will test the truth of it,’ said Erdy. ‘Take this.’ From a pocket he took out a thin metal bracelet. ‘Wear it always.’
‘What will it do?’
‘It will give strength to your hands and arms.’
‘Is it magic?’
‘Yes.’
‘When must I go?’
‘In the morning. By first light. Your father demands it. He is calling even now. He has some secret that can be told only to you. And on it depends the fate of your Kingdom. You must go. When you return, your friends will be ready.’
Chapter 30
The sun dazzled on the white mountain, the snow crackled underfoot. Toby wore woollen leg warmers, mittens and a hat with earflaps. Erdy was bound round and round in a scarf, which covered his neck, his mouth and nose and ended in a woolly hat, all in one connection like a serpent. Toby had to strain to hear him as his words too were muffled in wool.
He was surprised they were still climbing. It was the wrong direction for the Underworld. Way below were the fields of the countryside. There was no snow down there. The sun sparkled off a winding river. It seemed peaceful, untroubled, beautiful; they were too high to hear the screams.
No wonder Erdy chose to live up here.
‘How do you make your living?’ he said, breathing heavily from the climb.
‘A miller brings me up a sack of flour every month,’ he said in a voice muffled but with little sign of exertion. ‘I saved his daughter two winters ago. A shepherd gives me wool. And I spin and I knit my clothes. Your hat and mittens, my scarf. I knit and I sing. I haven’t much of a voice. But who cares? And every so often I go down,’ said Erdy. ‘I sell my potions in the market. I tell fortunes, I cure the rich for money. I cure the poor for a meal if they have it. I’d rather stay here on the mountain – but I must eat. And I’m curious about what is happening in the world.’
‘It’s so lonely here,’ said Toby.
‘Solitude is not the same as loneliness.’
Tears welled in Toby. He was as lonely as a flagpole.
‘I have no one to argue with but myself,’ went on Erdy. ‘And no soldiers with hacking swords come this way.’
‘Why not?’ said Toby wiping his eyes with the back of a glove.
Erdy had stopped. ‘It is too hard for the horses. And I have cured some of their masters. Besides, they are afraid of me.’
‘What can you do?’
‘I have some magic. And if I don’t say what – it makes men careful.’
He was standing by a rock the size of a sheep which rested against a rocky side, too steep to hold snow.
‘Move that, Toby.’
Toby was unsure he was in earnest. But there could be nothing else Erdy referred to. The instant he gripped the rock, he felt the power in his arms, hands and wrists from the band he wore. He swung it out as easy as a door. And that’s indeed what it was. For behind was a hole, disappearing into darkness. Just large enough to take a person.
‘That is Hell’s Chimney,’ said Erdy. ‘It is narrow to begin with. Then it widens out. Beneath is a cavern. And then a river… And after that – I don’t know.’
‘How dangerous is it?’
‘The climb is dangerous. There are the ravens. They’ll have your eyes if they see them. After that I can’t help. I only know of one man who ever went that way. One live man that is. And he never came back.’
‘Why must I go if it is so dangerous?’
‘Your father must speak with you. He would not call for you if he did not have something of great importance to tell you.’
‘But I may not come back.’
‘It is possible.’ Erdy placed his hands on his shoulders. He said quietly. ‘You do not have to go, Toby. It is not fixed.’
Toby thought, but it is fixed. Or his father would call for him forever. In every waking moment, in every dream.
‘I have no food or drink,’ he said.
Erdy held him in his dark eyes. ‘No one eats or drinks there.’
Of course, thought Toby. He steeled himself.
‘Take good care of Far and Orly,’ he said.
Erdy turned away. Was he hiding tears? Without looking back, he said, ‘Take off your woollens. Whatever dangers there are, cold is not one of them.’
Toby removed his hat, gloves and leg warmers.
‘Thank you for everything,’ he said, handing over the bundle. Yes, there were tears in Erdy’s eyes, and the remnants in his own. The cold was nipping at his fingertips.
He had so much to say. He had nothing to say. This might be the last living man he saw. He clenched his fist. Then so be it.
‘We shall be waiting for you, my son,’ said Erdy as Toby slid into the hole.
Part Two
The Underworld
Chapter 31
The chimney began as a narrow passageway. More of a crawl than a climb. He went down feet first, as he knew the slope would increase and he might not have room to turn round later. For a little way he watched the circle of light shrink, the patch of sky, the crust of snow round the edge. It was the last help that Erdy could give him. Soon he would replace the rock.
The surface was hard, with no dust or soil, as if a giant had drilled this out with an auger and then blown away any powder. He turned a corner and the slope downward increased, but it was easy enough to hold himself against the edge and continue. The light up top was oozing away, as he edged downwards. The hole of sky had gone when he’d turned the bend, and, with another bend, he was close to darkness. He heard a crunching from above, surprisingly loud, and then it was dark. Erdy had put back the rock.
He had a moment of terror in the solid black. Could he get out? Suppose he changed his mind, could he push back the rock?
He stopped. Let himself breathe.
Yes, he could.
He continued. The slope continued to grow steeper. And in a little while it was obvious why it was called a chimney. The passage was barely bigger than his body and he was heading straight down into the mountain. Though, with his feet and knees pressed against the sides, and hands and elbows at the top, it was easy enough to support himself. He had no fear of falling; fear of the darkness, yes, of getting stuck – but of falling, no. It was almost impossible to with the bumps and lumps sticking out, easy hand and footholds and the grip of the sides.
Quickly he lost his sense of time in the darkness. Erdy was right, he was warm enough. And he found it better to keep moving. The sound of his breath and his scraping was some comfort in the total blackness. When he stopped he coul
d imagine anything coming up from the land of the dead.
The tube became tighter. This was his dread, fear of getting stuck. He was now squeezed so tight at the hips, he could barely move forward. Toby stopped. What should he do? He might push himself in so hard he would not be able to get out. Neither go up or down. And be stuck till kingdom come.
And yet he had to get through.
He pushed on, slow inch by inch as if in the body of a great beast. One final squeeze and he’d be in as tight as a plug. His tunic rasped against the tight rock. Never had he been so frightened, so closed in. In the heart of the mountain, he felt like a foot in a wet boot. No room to turn his head, legs pressed against each other, arms fixed against his side as if he were stuffed in a sack.
He was sweating, trembling, as fixed as a bolt. His tunic had rucked up and he stuck fast. He could not move down. Wedged like a cork in a bottle. Toby tried pulling upwards. He would not go. Up or down.
He felt sickness. He felt panic. He would die packed in this tube. Shut in this coffin. He fought desperately like a worm in a bird’s beak. As if he could crack the mountain… and find daylight and space.
Exhausted, he rested, breathing heavily. Time he had plenty of. He had got down this far, it must be possible to get back up. Below him, he had no idea. Except that at least one other had come this way and he hadn’t found his jammed body.
Yet.
With a great effort, he inched his way upwards. Once up a foot, it was easier, and then further up. Until he had space enough. Or just about. He worked to take off his tunic. It was simple enough pulling it up his body, but difficult getting it off his arms which were over his head. At last it came away, and he dragged it behind him, as back he went, back down.
He hoped it was enough, shaving the thickness of the tunic off his body. Back into the tightness. Into the vice. Rapidly, it gripped again, but then he was past where he’d been. He was as hot as a lamp, sweating with fear and exertion. His body scraped the rock, each move was painful as if he were a nail pushing into wood, iron and timber fighting for space. Except he was flesh. And when flesh scraped rock there was only one winner.
Oh Mother, help me now!
No mother, no father. Only a squeeze of rock. If before he was lonely, this was its extremity. Packed in a tube, darker than midnight. Erdy had said he didn’t have to go. That had been his chance. To say No to this. To death in the rock.
Yet still he wriggled forward. Going on and on, until there is no going on.
His legs were in air. There was a pale luminescence slipping past. He had not been aware of it earlier as his eyes had been closed in his exertion. But now with his legs free, he had opened them. The light was faintly greenish, the colour of grass under a rock. He eased his body to meet his legs and found himself on a ledge.
With intense relief, he realised he had come through the chimney. He was in a vast cavern, chiselled out of a dark rock, made visible in the greenish light. There were no shadows, the light seemed to come from everywhere. He was still high up; way below was a sea of rock, its wave-blown face frozen. And beyond, way beyond, was a river that snaked away to a distant horizon.
That was the one to cross.
He peered over the edge of the ledge. The face was sheer. But as he looked longer, he could see it was creased here and there. No giant had planed it flat. There were little handholds, footholds, at least where he could see. And so there should be others beyond.
This he could deal with. He was out in the open again. He shuddered at the thought of Hell’s Chimney. At having to go back up again. But he dismissed the thought. Who knew what could happen before then?
Toby took up his tunic. He was about to put it back on, when he thought, no need. He was warm enough and the climb would make him warmer. Underclothes were decent enough. And who was here to judge? He dropped the tunic over the edge, and it flapped down like a bird. He marked out the spot at the bottom. He’d pick it up when he got there.
If.
Toby eased over the edge, holding himself on the ledge by his palms. He was so strong, he could support himself on just his hands, probably his fingers. His left foot found a cleft, and then his right. With one hand still on the ledge, he searched for one lower. And found a finger hold, eased the other hand down and searched for another grip. And once there, he was on the face of rock.
He had climbed many times down the castle wall. Going from handhold to handhold. This was much higher. That mattered little. Imagine it as twenty castle walls, one on the other. The height didn’t worry him, but the difficulty. No windows for support. Just tiny clefts for hands and feet.
But he had a new strength. Erdy’s gift.
And this was its element.
There was no rush. He could be as slow as he wished. There was no cold wind to freeze him. He found that he could support himself at three points easily. And even on two, if one of those was a hand. Take it calmly, take it logically. Release a hand, find a lower one, release a foot, search lower.
Several times he was stuck for maybe five minutes, and then having to go down on three points, a leg swinging, hoping to find something. And a couple of times on two, having even to go to one hand and hope there was something to grip on, with a hand or foot.
There was.
He would get there, he was pretty sure. It was simply a question of patience, logic and strength. And some luck. He was certainly afraid, but more excited. This was climbing. This was him and the rock.
He was no longer lonely.
Toby was perhaps halfway down the face when the ravens came.
Chapter 32
He hadn’t seen them coming as he was fixed on the rock, searching for hand and footholds. Completely concentrated on tiny clefts and bumps, shifting his weight and strength here, there – as if there were no world at all beyond this face. Or beyond, even, the tiny bit he held on to.
They swooped on him shrieking, wings flapping fiercely. They snapped and gouged at him. Toby flapped one hand ineffectually at them. Their beaks dug and pierced, their claws scraped. They would strip him to the bone, here on the face. Or he would fall to his death. And there, they would consume him.
There were claws in his face, blood was dripping down his cheek. He closed his eyes and grabbed at the feet. He had one in his grip, the legs trying to pull away, the bird’s wings beating in savage panic against his hand. He smashed the raven into the cliff face, and nearly swung himself off. But the bird was still. He had broken its head – and he let it fall.
The racket was still around him, the shrieking and rage, the beating of wings. There was one on his head, its claws digging in, its beak pecking at his forehead as if trying to crack a nut. He grabbed it by a wing. Feathers snapped in his grip. It was like holding a struggling fish, the pulling and fighting, the thrashing. He held fast. And hammered the bird into the rock face. The flapping ceased and he dropped the corpse. Purposefully, he reached out with his hand, grabbed a head, its beak pressing into him. His fingers jammed into its eyes and he squeezed it like a plum, the brains oozing out of his fist.
As this one fell, he felt the birds give up. Three dead were enough. He held still on the cliff face, eyes closed, and listening intensely as their flapping and shrieking died away. For perhaps a minute, he held himself this way. Then opened his eyes. They were gone. He searched about for them, in case they should come back and he could be better prepared. And at last saw them, three clusters on the ground. They were eating the meat of their dead fellows.
Toby wiped his hands as well as he could. He was oozing blood in various places but could do little to stem it. He must get down as quickly as possible. The birds feared him now but how quickly might they forget? Or others might come.
But speed was not a possibility. He was not running down steps, but going from tiny hold to tiny hold, searching them out in the rock face. He had but one pace, and that was a careful one. Erdy had warned him of the ravens.
Would they come again?
Pressed ag
ainst the rock, Toby made his slow way down. There was no resting place. It was an effort to even stay still, pressing into the minute holds. At times, he seemed to be making no progress, going sideways even, but the strength of his hands meant he could make the most of the slightest cleft.
The birds did come again. But less sure this time, as if they held some of the memory of his early carnage – but could not resist the lone figure on the cliff, dripping with blood. Such tantalising meat.
He was ready for them. And smashed two against the cliff as soon as they swooped in. That was enough. Frantically, they flew off. A little later, he saw them below, on the ground, fighting each other at their cannibal feast.
At length he reached the bottom. Unsteady and bloodied, but on terra firma.
Chapter 33
The black rock under his feet was shiny and sharp, like glass. There were jagged points and bits cleaved into cutting edges. It was hard on his feet, but harder still on his hands, as he kept falling and had to heave himself over the glassy rock.
He stopped. And ripped off a sleeve. And taking that between his strong hands, he tore it in two pieces. Toby wrapped the sleeve halves around his hands. He continued his scrambling along the rock. The sleeve pieces protected his hands, but made it harder to grip. But better that then have his hands torn to shreds.
At one point, he turned to look back at the face he had climbed down and marvelled. From here, it seemed unclimbable, and would have been, if not for the bracelet given him by Erdy. He twisted its slim, silvery metal gratefully. Without it, he would have fallen. Either from the climb or from the attack of the ravens.
There seemed no day or night in the cavern. The green light was constant, unwavering, with no cloud or horizon to hide it. And yet no obvious source. Could it come from the rocks itself? Toby took a tiny piece and held it in gloom of his tunic. It glowed. And even felt a little warm in his palm.
