by Maurice Gee
Xantee remembered her parents’ story again. There were two corridors outside the eating room: a narrow one leading to a side door and, at right angles, a wider one to a wider door. The first opened into a washroom lined with latrines, the second into a dormitory that, in Pearl and Hari’s day, had been emptied of beds and set up as a factory for Ottmar’s poison bullets.
They went past the jumble of beds and tables, out of the eating hall, and chose the corridor leading straight ahead. It seemed safer simply because it was wide. Their feet whispered on the gritty floor. Their torches pushed the darkness back like skeins of wool and seemed to pile it at the corridor’s end. The door into the dormitory was jammed half open. Someone had drawn a skull on it with charcoal. Someone else had made the skull cry, with fat blood-red tears dropping down. But this whole downstairs space where the servants had lived gave the impression of being unscavenged and unexplored. Not even burrows men came here.
Duro edged into the dormitory, holding a club-shaped bed leg he had found by the door. Xantee and Danatok followed. A wooden table on trestles ran half the length of the room. There were no chairs and the table was bare except for two small balls, crouching like mice. Duro laid down his club and picked one up.
Heavy, he said.
Ottmar’s lead bullets, Xantee said. They were supposed to have poison salt in them. Put it down, Duro.
She was finding it hard to breathe. The smell of the gool was even thicker in this room. It was slippery, spreading on her skin like oil.
Duro put the bullet down. He gave a muffled cry. Two still figures lay on the other side of the table. Two dead men.
Again it was Xantee who understood. Not men. These long grey figures with rigid limbs were the lead suits Ottmar’s salt technicians had worn to protect themselves. They must have shed them here before they ran to escape his anger.
She calmed Duro. His fears were increasing every moment they spent in this underground place. He wanted to fight an enemy he could see and understand.
Meanwhile, Danatok had explored the room.
Here, he called.
He stopped before an iron safe bolted to the wall and leaned at it, feeling with his mind but keeping clear. Xantee and Duro approached, and felt at once why he did not go closer. He would have to swim through the smell of the gool like water, and chop and tear his way through her barrier of hatred – hatred of everything in this world not hers. It churned their stomachs and sickened their minds and they stood unable to move.
She’s in there, Xantee whispered.
Can she hurt us? Duro said. He was swaying as though he might fall.
She hurts us just by being herself, Danatok said.
The safe door was an inch or two ajar. Something oozed out: darkness that ran like a liquid and made a hissing like steam. It made their torches spit and tremble, and burn with a colour none of them had ever seen. It slid along their faces as though tasting their lips and eyes.
Duro, off to one side, reeled back, turned his back, gave a sob of pain. He whacked the thickened air with his club.
Duro, Danatok said, find a long piece of wood. Bring it back here.
Duro stumbled away behind his torch.
She’s strong, Xantee said. But she’s wounded. Killing Keech and the Clerk was like tearing something out of her.
But she won’t die, Danatok said.
She’s trying to find other things to feed on, Xantee said.
They heard Duro rummaging in the pile of beds by the latrines. He came back dragging a length of timber with a bolt protruding from one end. He had dropped his club but kept his torch.
Now, Danatok said, stand to one side. Use it to push the door open.
He and Xantee stood back. Duro put down his torch and fitted the bolt against the edge of the safe door. It slid off when he started to push. He reversed the timber and used the thicker end. The door was stiff, its hinges groaned. And something else groaned, low in the safe. The sound made Xantee’s skin prickle and her mouth go dry. It did not come from grief or anger or any emotion she could recognise. It was a sound no one was meant to hear, from a darkness no one was meant to see.
The hinge ran free, the door clanged open and a concentrated beam of hatred shot out and knocked Xantee and Danatok off their feet. It rolled them like logs on the floor. Somehow Danatok kept his torch alive. Duro, off to the side, snatched up his and moved to thrust it into the safe, but Xantee, jammed against the trestle legs, cried, No, stay back. She felt as if the gool’s hatred was tearing off her skin, but she managed to roll to one side of the invisible beam.
Danatok.
Yes, he answered weakly, and crawled after her.
Duro was on the other side. Crossing to them would be like stepping into the heat-blast from a furnace. Yet there was nothing to see. The gool stayed hidden at the back of the safe that was her home.
Xantee lit her dead torch at Danatok’s.
We’ve got to see her, she said. And then we’ve got to send her back.
If we join our minds, all three . . .
And make a shield. We should be able to keep her away from us. Duro, are you ready?
Ready, he gasped.
They folded their minds together and made their shield, visualising it – a sheet of light, as strong as iron, standing between them and the gool. Then, Xantee and Danatok from the right, Duro from the left, they stepped in front of the safe.
The gool’s hatred beat against the shield and buckled it, made dents the size of fists in its surface, but their minds kept it steady and inched it towards the open door. The torch-light mingling with the silver shine of the shield penetrated the safe. They saw the gool.
She was nothing like her children. Xantee thought at first she was a pile of rags, but that lasted only a second. Her hatred had the weight of an avalanche. It beat on their shield, sharp and blunt, like an axe one moment and a club the next, but they held steady, keeping their minds plaited like three ropes, keeping their gaze firm and their torches high, and studied her.
Not rags, Xantee thought. That had been an effect of the shadows. She was smooth and small and fat and grey, like a gourd taken from a vine – like an unripe gourd picked and stored for some reason in this safe. But that likeness would not do, for her smoothness was sticky and her greyness was transparent and something moved inside her, rolling and twisting like eels in a sack, making her lumpy, then moving deeper and sucking hollows in her skin. Heart perhaps, lungs perhaps, beating and breathing, and stomach and intestines, black and grey – but that too could not be right, for she had no mouth, no way to eat, and no nose to breathe through. Perhaps she breathed through her skin for it seemed to open and close in a thousand black pores, almost too fast to be seen.
She had no arms or legs, no limbs at all, breaking the swollen end of her gourd shape, and nothing at the thinner end, although some hidden part made a ticking sound and something protruded, no thicker than a wire, linking her, Xantee guessed, to the world she came from.
She had eyes. They floated inside her, white cloudy discs, deep one moment, shallow the next, and because there were two and because they watched, they became the focus of Xantee’s and Duro’s and Danatok’s attention.
They took a step closer, breathing lightly to stop her smell from overpowering them.
Gool, they said, speaking with Xantee’s voice. Gool, it’s time for you to go.
The creature had no language. All she had was hatred – hatred and enormous strength. It rolled from her in waves, rolled over them, but they braced themselves and held their ground, and Xantee said, Gool, your food is gone. The Clerk is dead. Keech is dead. The red star and the white that kept you nourished are gone. There’s nothing left to eat any more. No hatred. No cruelty. It died with them, and you’ll die if you stay here. Go back where you live. You and your children can’t have our world.
Still hatred rolled off the gool.
Does she understand? Duro said.
I heard her laugh when you told her there was n
o hatred left, Danatok said.
What can we do?
Force her back. Pick her up and throw her through whatever hole she came from, Duro said.
It won’t work, Xantee said. We’ve got to make her afraid of staying.
We’ve got to kill her, that’s what, Duro said. Give me your knife, Danatok.
Before Danatok had time to answer, Duro snatched it from the Dweller’s sheath, stepped out from the shield and threw in a single motion at the gool in her den. The knife struck between her floating eyes and sank in – and kept on sinking, blade and handle, until it disappeared. The gool’s eyes rolled over, then steadied and fixed on Duro. He stepped back behind the shield as a blast of hatred leapt at him. It clanged like a rain of spears but Xantee and Danatok held their cover firm.
She swallowed it, Duro whispered. She swallowed the knife.
We can’t kill her that way, Danatok said.
She’s stronger, Xantee said. Every time we try to kill her she’ll get stronger. It’s why she laughed. The Clerk and Keech fed her but she can survive even though they’re dead. All the bits of cruelty in our world are food for her. She can’t be killed.
We’ve got to try. Let’s take her down to the sea and drown her. Or throw her off the cliff. Or make a fire . . .
She’s laughing, Danatok said.
And that thing round Hari’s neck is still alive. It’ll never die, Xantee whispered.
So what do we do?
I don’t know. But she’s afraid of us. So there must be a way.
She looked at the gool. It looked back at her, turning the discs that served as eyes.
Go home, she whispered. Please. It’s not your world. She made a tipping gesture with her hand, as though sliding the gool into its place, and acknowledging that perhaps the gool heard a voice there that spoke its name, and everything it felt might be natural. Then she remembered her voice, the great voice, which said ‘Xantee’; which spoke – she was sure now – from a place of light opposing the gool’s darkness. She tried to hear it. There was only silence. Xantee, she said to herself, trying to command it. The silence went on – and deep in the gool she heard the gulping sound of its laughter.
Gool, she pleaded: but it was invulnerable. There was enough hatred in the world to feed it forever, and help it breed even more children. Hatred in the city, in the burrows: and hatred in Duro and, she supposed, herself. She was no different from anyone else. And so the gool could sip at her, and sip at her . . .
Xantee stared at the creature. It stared back at her.
You don’t have any other feelings, she whispered. This bulging sticky fat thing, with its blank eyes and surging hatred and huge greed, had no other feelings. I hate you, she thought, but as well as that . . . She was overwhelmed with pity for the things it could never know.
I don’t think you’re really alive, she whispered.
She put out her hand, pushing it through the shield that kept them safe.
Go back, she said. Go back where it doesn’t matter.
Silence. It was as if the world had stopped turning. Then there was a creaking, a groaning, and a crack like the breaking of a giant tree. The sound turned over, leaving a new silence that shivered with intensity. And growing out of it came a whimper, a baby’s whimper, as if the gool had drawn some knowledge into herself and disbelieved it. Xantee, Duro, Danatok could not breathe. A voice, not human, in a language not human, cried a single word they understood. No, it cried. Then a rumbling and splashing filled the room, as though a cliff was sliding into the sea. Deep in her head Xantee heard something scream, and scream again, and again. The sound fell gradually away, as though tumbling down long stairs into the dark. Soon it became a piteous mewing. Her own, her great voice, spoke to her, regretful and firm. She knew then that pity had been a weapon. Where Duro’s knife had failed, and flame and poison and spears would fail, pity had pierced the gool and made it shriek. Now the creature’s eyes rolled like wheels, she trembled and convulsed. She writhed in her den, making its iron walls bulge. Her eyes dulled and sank, fluttering like discs of tin deep in a pool, and her body sagged and seemed to melt.
‘What’s happening?’ Duro cried.
She’s dying, Danatok said.
‘Why? How?’
Danatok made no reply. He withdrew from the shield and Duro lurched after him. Xantee stepped out too and let the shield fall. She could not speak, could not explain, but sank to her knees and hugged her arms across her chest, trying to keep her own warmth in as the gool died. She had killed this creature, although it trembled and loosened still. Killed it without meaning to, by striking pity into it like a knife. She did not want to understand; but watched the gool, feeling its agony and trying to hasten its end.
The gool died, with a final shudder and a childlike sob. At once its skin began to curl and flake. A foul smell drove Duro and Danatok backwards, and Danatok pulled Xantee to her feet as he went. He pushed her, stumbling, to the door. They ran from the room. The smell followed, enfolding them and wetting their faces. They reached the steps, stumbled up, and burst from the ruined mansion into the air – where a breeze from the sea turned the stench away and carried it over the city. They ran past the fountain to the cage where Tarl lay and the dogs watched, and the open space with the dead men sleeping in a row, and Sal lying beside her cousin on the grass.
What happened? Duro said again.
I think she died because I pitied her, Xantee said.
Duro shook his head. He did not understand.
Does it mean the other gools are dead?
I don’t know. Let’s talk to the twins.
They were still trembling with horror, and trying to wipe the smell of the gool off themselves, so reaching the farm was harder. But they steadied their minds and found Blossom and Hubert waiting.
Hari? Is Hari all right? Xantee said.
Yes. The thing’s gone from his neck. It gave a squeak like a mouse and rolled over, and then it melted – but the stink! We’ve carried Hari out of there. Pearl and Tealeaf are washing him in the tub. What happened, Xantee?
The gool’s dead. The mother’s dead. And I think all the others, everywhere, must be dying.
She did not know how the mother had kept them alive; but threads, perhaps no more than threads of thought, perhaps of a strange kind of love, went out from her to her offspring and her death flowed along them to wherever the children were. Her pain was theirs and her dying theirs.
Karl and some of the others are taking the schooner, the twins said. They’ll see if the gool Sal and Mond found is dead. Xantee, there’s so much going on here –
Yes, here too. Tell Hari we love him. Tell Pearl.
And tell my ma, Duro said.
They gathered dry timber from the house and built a pyre. Xantee controlled the dogs while Duro and Danatok carried Tarl from the cage and laid him on it. Duro placed Tarl’s knife on his chest. They broke Mond’s hand from Sal’s, tearing the skin, and laid her beside Tarl. When the fire was blazing, Xantee woke Sal and held her lightly, but released her when she saw Sal understood. The dogs howled. Sal sang a dirge in a tongue only she understood. The pyre collapsed and when the bodies were reduced to charred bones in the embers, the dogs turned and ran soundlessly. They vanished round the fountain.
Where are they going? Duro said.
Back to the forest.
Sal sat by the embers and bowed her head.
They left her there and dragged the Clerk and Keech into the mansion and laid them side by side in the room with the fallen chandeliers. Then they dragged the dead men in and put them in a row, burrows men with city men. Duro and Danatok circled the outside walls, setting fires, and soon the mansion was ablaze. They did not stay to see it fall, but raised Sal to her feet and set off for Port.
The gool smell, turning in the smoke, faded away.
FIFTEEN
They reached Port at midday the next day. Behind them, the burrows were quiet. A haze of smoke drifted over the city from Mansion Hill but
the air was fresh beside the water. They swam in the sea, washing the last smell of the gool out of their clothes, but Xantee could not wash the creature out of her mind.
She’s left some of herself in me, she thought.
Danatok rowed them to his stilt house and they rested for three days. On the second they concentrated their minds and spoke with the twins. Hari was growing stronger, Blossom and Hubert said. He was able to whisper a few words.
Don’t tell him Tarl’s dead, Xantee said.
Karl had not reached the place where Sal and Mond had found their gool, but Xantee was not interested. She knew all the gools were dead. Whatever flowed to them from their mother was cut off. Like her they would fall shapeless and rot away.
On the third day they prepared to leave. Danatok was staying. Although he did not say so, he needed to be alone. He scouted the shoreline and found a canoe he could patch. It was enough. Xantee and Duro could take his boat.
They fitted it with a mast and sail, loaded it with provisions and water, enough for two days, and set off on the fourth morning, with Danatok beside them until they were out of the harbour. They called goodbye and he turned the canoe away.
The boat was heavy and the sail small, but Duro and Xantee were good sailors. They took turns at the tiller. Sal sat in the bow, taking no part. She had not spoken a word since singing her dirge for Mond. The bleeding on her palm had stopped but the flesh was raw. She hid her hand in her armpit whenever Xantee tried to bandage it.
They sailed for fourteen days, sleeping on beaches, foraging for food and taking water from streams.
Saltport slid past. Its buildings were empty and the dead hill behind it wore a scar. Xantee scarcely looked. The place was in Pearl’s and Hari’s life, not in hers.
Dwellers had gathered on the beach at Stone Creek. They welcomed and fed the travellers, and gave them news: Karl had found the gool. It had fallen to a puddle of sludge, turning to dust at the edges. And Dwellers in touch with the people with no name made the same report: the gools were dead.
Good, Duro said.
Xantee nodded. It was good. And Hari grew stronger, the Dwellers reported. That was good too. But she could not be happy. She was pining for her brother, Lo. There was no news of him.
