Elidor (Essential Modern Classics)

by Alan Garner

  The children stayed on the corner. Ahead of them the street was a tunnel: no lamps were lit: the houses were empty.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE WASTELAND

  “‘C oincidence’!” said Roland. “That’s all you can say. ‘Coincidence.’ You make me sick!”

  “Well, if you think we’re traipsing round in that hole,” said David, “you can think again.”

  “But if we find him everything will be all right,” said Roland.

  “I’m too scared,” said Helen.

  “You landed us in enough trouble yesterday with your hen-brained ideas,” said David. “We’re not going. And that’s flat.”

  “Oh yes we are!” said Roland – and sprinted for the blacked-out street.

  “Roland! You great steaming chudd! Come back!”

  The voices died behind him.

  They’ll have to come now! They daren’t leave me!

  He ran along the wider streets until his eyes were used to the dark. The moon had risen, and the glow of the city lightened the sky. He twisted down alleyways, running blindly, through crossroads, over bombed sites, and along the streets again.

  I’ll find ’em when they’re right in. It’ll be easy. They’ll be calling after me.

  The iron railing was heavy. He carried it hanging at arm’s length, and it was beginning to pull his shoulder down. Roland stopped, and listened. There was only the noise of the city, a low, constant rumble that was like silence.

  He was in the demolition area. Roof skeletons made broken patterns against the sky.

  Now that he was tired Roland felt less sure of himself. But at the time it had seemed the only thing to do. He had looked at the three stubborn faces, and had known that he could not argue with them any more. It was not a matter of disbelief. They believed him: but they were frightened. And Roland was frightened too.

  The streets were so quiet. His footsteps echoed on the cobbles. The ruins hemmed him in. Doors and windows stared at him: abandoned furniture crouched among the rubble. A tin can rattled down a pile of bricks in the shadow of a building.

  “Here!” Roland called. “I’m here!”

  No answer.

  Roland went on. The difficulty was that he could never see far in any direction because of the streets. The whole place was a maze of right angles. The other children might be near, but he would miss them, and he was not going to shout again.

  Roland searched for a place that would be safe to climb, and found a staircase on the exposed inner wall of a house. The top step was the highest part of the house: everything above it, including the bedroom floor, had been knocked down.

  Roland tested his weight, but the wood was firm, so he went up.

  He could see little more of the streets from the top than from the ground. Behind him was a double row of back yards. The entry between them showed as a cleft.

  They’re bound to come sooner or later, thought Roland. The best thing is to stay put.

  He sat on the top of the stairs in the moonlight. It was freezing hard. Roofs and cobbles sparkled. Roland felt better. The menace left the streets, and instead he was aware of the quietness of something poised, as if he could always sit here under the moon.

  But the cold began to ache into him. He wondered if the others had decided to stay in one place and wait until he came.

  This thought bothered him, and he was still trying to make up his mind when the unicorn appeared at the end of the street.

  He was moving at a fast trot, and he wheeled about at the crossroad, unsure of the way. Then he came on towards Roland.

  Roland sat there above the street and watched the unicorn pass below him, and he dared not even breathe.

  The unicorn turned aside to pause at entries and gaps in the walls. He would stand at the threshold of a house, one hoof raised, but always he swung away, and on down the street.

  His mane flowed like a river in the moon: the point of the horn drew fire from the stars. Roland shivered with the effort of looking. He wanted to fix every detail in his mind for ever, so that no matter what else happened there would always be this.

  The unicorn turned into the next street, and Roland lost him until he heard the clatter of rubble in the entry, and there was the high neck moving between the walls.

  He hurried down the stairs as quietly as he could, and groped his way through the house to the yard. He climbed over the entry wall as the unicorn reached the far end. Roland went after him.

  The entry finished in a square of earth and cinders completely enclosed by walls. The unicorn had heard Roland and was waiting, alert, in the middle of the square. They both stood, motionless, watching each other.

  “Findhorn,” said Roland. “Findhorn.”

  The unicorn tossed his head. Roland walked forward very slowly.

  “Findhorn. Sing – Findhorn.”

  He was within twenty feet of the unicorn. The nostrils flared.

  “Sing, Findhorn.”

  The unicorn stamped his hoof and his ears dropped flat to his skull. Roland halted.

  “You must sing! You’ve got to!”

  He took a step forward, and the horn plunged towards him. Roland dodged aside, and the unicorn went by at a canter, heading for the entry.

  “No!” shouted Roland, and ran after the unicorn. “Wait! You mustn’t go!” He caught up with him and tried to turn him. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” He waved his arm. The unicorn stopped. “Whoa back!” He recognised the lowering of the neck, and moved in time. Still the unicorn did not follow up the thrust, but carried on towards the entry.

  “Wait!” Roland blocked the way. “Findhorn! Sing!” And he flourished the iron railing, the spear, in the unicorn’s face.

  The silver body grew black against the sky as the unicorn reared and brought his hoofs thrashing down. Roland flung himself sideways, and the hoofs showered him with frozen grit. He scrambled on all fours. “No, Findhorn!” But the unicorn was on him, cruel and merciless. Round and round, spraying cinders: only Roland’s agility saved him: hoofs and horn and teeth: round and round.

  There could be no end to it, no escape. Roland’s nerve failed. He ran for the wall.

  “Jump!”

  He heard the voice, and through sweat he saw a hunchbacked shape kneeling on the broad coping stone of the wall. “Catch hold!” An arm reached, and he leapt, grabbed, and half swung, half clawed himself up the wall.

  “You never learn, do you?” said Nicholas. The stone in the rucksack on his shoulders had nearly overbalanced him when he took Roland’s weight. They lay together, not daring to move, while the horn flashed below them.

  “Where’ve you come from?” gasped Roland.

  “I was in the street on the other side, and I heard you beefing.”

  “We’ve got to make him sing,” said Roland. “It’s the way to save Elidor. That’s what we’re here for.”

  “What?” said Nicholas. “That? Sing? Don’t make me laugh!”

  “He must. He’s got to. He’s frightened: you can’t blame him.”

  The unicorn was pacing backwards and forwards under the wall.

  “He doesn’t seem frightened to me,” said Nicholas. “I’d say he wanted to finish us off.”

  “That’s because he saw the spear. He thinks he’s being hunted again. Look at those scars all along his flank.”

  “He doesn’t give up, does he?” said Nicholas. “I’m glad we don’t have to go down there.”

  “But we do,” said Roland. “I dropped the spear when I jumped.”

  “That’s that, then,” said Nicholas. “We’ll have to get by on three Treasures. But why is the unicorn here in the first place?”

  “Trying to go back, I think,” said Roland. “He knows this is one of the gates through. I was watching him in the street.”

  “Have you seen David and Helen?”

  “No,” said Roland. “Aren’t they with you?”

  “We lost each other crossing a bombed site.”

  “Oh.”

 
“Yes, you’ve made a right mess of things one way or another,” said Nicholas.

  “We must find them,” said Roland.

  “You don’t say! Well, where are they?”

  Nicholas swept his arm to include the whole city. The row of houses they were on was at the edge of the demolition area. On the other side from where the unicorn was waiting lay the open wasteland.

  Roland looked across the frozen landscape. He started, nearly falling off the wall.

  “There!” he said. “There they are!”

  Two figures were running together towards the houses.

  “Thank goodness for that,” said Nicholas. “Ahoy! David! Helen! Here!”

  “Hello!” shouted a voice.

  “That’s David!” said Roland. “He’s in the street!”

  “Then who are those two?” said Nicholas.

  But by now the figures were near enough for Roland and Nicholas to see the cloaks, and the moon gleamed on the spears in the wasteland.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE SONG OF FINDHORN

  D avid’s head poked through the back window of a house.

  “So you’ve collared the little twerp,” he said. “Where was he?”

  “Up here, quick,” said Nicholas.

  “I’ll wring your neck for you one of these days, Roland,” said David. “Is Helen with you?”

  “No. Stop waffling, and get up here quick!” said Nicholas. David stepped over the windowsill into the yard, and climbed the bank of rubbish that was piled against the wall. Roland and Nicholas gave him a hand up on to the coping stone.

  “What are you doing here?” said David. “Oh, crumbs!” He found himself looking straight down at the unicorn.

  “That’s not the only thing,” said Nicholas. “Have you seen what’s coming?”

  The two men were near the edge of the wasteland, heading straight for the children.

  “Happy New Year,” said David. “Let’s nip along the wall to the other side of this square.”

  “I can’t leave the spear,” said Roland.

  “You’ll have one all to yourself soon enough if we don’t shift,” said Nicholas.

  They began to move along the wall. Findhorn kept pace with them below.

  “Roland wants him to sing,” said Nicholas. “Then we can all go home.”

  “You’re stark raving bonkers,” said David.

  “But he must sing,” said Roland. “It was in that book. ‘And the Darkness shall not fade unless there is heard the Song of Findhorn.’ It’s prophecy. He has to sing!”

  “No, he hasn’t,” said David. “‘Unless’ doesn’t mean he’s going to. It doesn’t even mean that he can. Sing? You go down there and we’ll see who does the singing!”

  “Watch out,” said Nicholas. “They’re here.”

  The men were on the wall across the corner of the square.

  David brandished the lath sword. “Treasures! Stinking bits of wood!”

  “Into this house and through the yard,” said Nicholas.

  “What if the door’s blocked?” said David. “Some are.”

  “Wait,” said Roland. “They’ve seen Findhorn.”

  And the unicorn had seen the men. He veered from the wall towards the centre of the square, snorting, tearing the earth, levelling his horn, showing fury.

  The men unslung their shields before dropping into the square.

  “They’re going to kill him to stop him from singing!” cried Roland.

  The men separated. They threw their spears from a distance, and then advanced with swords.

  “Findhorn! Run! Don’t stay! Run!”

  But Findhorn showed no sign of flight. He gathered himself to charge.

  “They’ve been trying to kill him all along. That’s why he was being hunted. They know he can sing!”

  The men came on. Findhorn swung his head, uncertain which to attack. The men crouched. And Findhorn launched himself at them. The man he attacked did not fight, but jumped aside, and the other sprang in and struck at Findhorn, tearing a gash down the shoulder, and when Findhorn whipped round, the first man thrust in to the side. And this way they played the unicorn so that he could never follow up his charge. The men were round him like dogs. From the wall it looked as if they juggled with lightning.

  “You have to admire their guts,” said David. “I wouldn’t go down there for anyone – especially if I was after the Treasures and there were just three kids to deal with. Though I suppose they know they can mop us up any day of the week.”

  “Where are you off to, Roland?” said Nicholas.

  Roland was walking back along the wall. “It’s all right,” he said.

  “I bet it is. You come here.”

  Roland began to run, his arms outstretched for balance. He heard Nicholas start after him but he did not look. He was trying to find the place where he had jumped on to the wall.

  The men were working Findhorn into a corner. Roland sat on the edge of the coping stone, twisted on to his stomach, lowered himself, and dropped.

  He landed in the dark of the wall close to the fighting. He scrabbled in the dirt for the railing, and found it. Nicholas was above him, but the height was too much for a standing jump, and as Roland lifted the railing one of the men glanced towards the wall. He turned back to the fight, gave one slash with his sword, and came for Roland.

  Nicholas slithered down into the yard on the other side of the wall. He heaved at the flat iron bar that bolted the door: it moved, and Roland fell inside. Nicholas rammed the bar back into its socket. A man’s warning shout was torn away by rushing hoofs, there was one loud scream outside the door, and the door was split by a horn. It stood out above Roland’s head.

  The horn jerked back, and the wood groaned, and a weight slumped against the door on the other side.

  David was on the coping stone, looking into the square.

  “He didn’t have a chance,” he said. “As soon as he took his eyes off it, it got him. Right through his shield, and everything.”

  Roland and Nicholas joined David on the wall. While Findhorn had been pulling himself clear the other man had fled for the entry. He could not face the unicorn alone.

  Findhorn charged.

  “Don’t lose him!” said David. “Try and warn Helen – she can’t be far off! And watch out! He whipped a spear!”

  “If she tangles with either of them she’s a gonner,” said Nicholas. “Just remember that, Roland. Just in case.”

  The unicorn had been so far ahead that they rushed out of the entry into the street, thinking they would catch no more than a glimpsed at a corner. But they nearly ran into him.

  All three scattered for cover.

  The unicorn was careering up and down the street, silver and dark with wounds.

  “He’s gone berserk!” shouted David.

  “I think he can still smell the man,” said Nicholas. “He could be anywhere.”

  “It’s hardly real!” said David. “All fire and air.”

  Findhorn spun on his hind legs and his nostrils smoked in the frost. And Helen walked round the corner of the street. She stopped in the middle of the cobbles when she saw the unicorn. She was holding the cup in both hands.

  “Helen! Look out! Get behind a wall or something!”

  Findhorn went down the street like a wind of flame. Helen seemed unable to move.

  And then Findhorn checked, and shied, and halted. He raised his head and walked delicately towards Helen, and when he reached her he left all his fierceness, and knelt before her, and lay down. Helen knelt too, and he put his great head in her lap.

  “It’s all right,” Roland called softly. “He won’t hurt you.”

  “I know,” said Helen.

  Roland climbed down, and walked up the street. Nicholas shouted something after him, but he did not hear.

  “What is it, Roland?” said Helen. “Oh, what is it?”

  She was looking into Findhorn’s eyes

  “Save maid that is makeless, no man w
ith me mell,” whispered Roland.

  Helen began to cry silently.

  “I’ve broken it,” she said.

  “Sing, Findhorn,” said Roland. “Please sing.”

  The unicorn stared up at Helen, and for the first time Roland looked into his eyes. What he saw he could not describe: it was almost too strong to bear.”

  “Findhorn: Findhorn. You must sing. Everything will be all right if you sing. No one will be able to hunt you. You’ll be safe. Please. Sing.”

  He heard David and Nicholas come and stand behind him. Findhorn did not move. All his strength slept.

  “You can save Elidor. I know you can. I know now. Sing, Findhorn.”

  A brick crashed into the street. Down one side, only the front of the terrace remained, and the man was coming along the top of the wall, his spear raised. Behind him the city glowed.

  David and Nicholas closed round the unicorn, but there was nothing they could do.

  “Sing” cried Roland. “Before it’s too late! You’ll be killed!”

  Findhorn strove almost as if to speak, but he could not, and he could not.

  The man paused: balanced himself to throw.

  “Sing: oh, sing.”

  Helen cradled his head, and stroked the curls of light.

  “Up!” shouted Roland. “Up Findhorn! Run! Oh, Findhorn! Findhorn! No!”

  The spear hissed down, and sank between the unicorn’s ribs to the heart. The white neck arched, and the head lifted to the stars and gave tongue of fire that rang beyond the streets, the city, the cold hills and the sky. The worlds shook at the song.

  A brightness grew on the windows of the terrace, and in the brightness was Elidor, and the four golden castles. Behind Gorias a sun-burst swept the land with colour. Streams danced, and rivers were set free, and all the shining air was new. But a mist was covering Findhorn’s eyes.

  “Now!” said Nicholas. “Now’s our chance! Give them back now!”

  He broke the straps on the rucksack to pull at the stone.

  The song went on, a note of beauty and terror.

  Roland looked through the windows out over Elidor. He saw the tall figure on the battlements of Gorias, with the golden cloak about him. He saw the life spring in the land from Mondrum to the mountains of the north. He saw the morning. It was not enough.