Blackberry Blue

by Jamila Gavin

  Abu dropped to his hands and knees, hands outstretched; feeling, touching, identifying stones, rocks – and bones. They were everywhere. Wherever he crawled, they rattled beneath his touch. Bones, bones, bones . . . piled up all around him.

  ‘How do I know which bones are Leyla’s?’ Abu wept despairingly.

  ‘Even if I had eyes to see, how would I know which are hers?’

  All at once, the cave was filled with singing. It was Leyla’s voice, Leyla’s song. It was as if every single one of her bones were singing, ‘Here I am, here I am!’

  With a cry of joy, he leaped forward, pushing into the rattling mounds, grabbing at bones and pressing them to his ear. Every bone that sang he thrust into the sack. On and on he worked, burrowing away, gradually finding every piece of her: legs, arms, shoulders, spine and ribs. When he found the skull, the sockets wide and empty, mouth open as it sang, Abu shouted for joy. ‘Oh Leyla!’

  There were just a few more bones to find. On and on he searched, listening and identifying his beloved sister. At last only one voice sang; one last bone to find. ‘Here I am, here I am!’

  Miskouri miaowed.

  ‘Miskouri?’ Abu whispered. ‘Wait. I’ve found her.’

  ‘We must leave now. It’s night. The dogs gave up the chase after the sun went down, and they are asleep with exhaustion. But it will soon be dawn. Let’s go, let’s go.’

  ‘There’s still one bone left to find,’ cried Abu, desperately clawing his way among the clattering pile.

  ‘Now, Abu, leave now – or all will be lost! Put the cord around my neck. We must leave.’

  Suddenly, all the bones in the cave began wailing and rattling. ‘Take us too, take us too! I am Asaria . . . I am Freddy . . . I am Jasvinder . . . Please find me. Take me home!’

  ‘I wish I could! I’m sorry! I’ll try and come back,’ cried Abu, attaching the cord to Miskouri and slinging the sack over his shoulder as the cat tugged him out of the cave.

  Abu ran; blindly, wildly, stumbling over uneven ground, with the sack of Leyla’s bones clanking against his back.

  He had no idea in which direction Miskouri was pulling him; he just ran and ran, hanging onto the velvet cord. Only when there was complete silence did they finally stop.

  Abu collapsed on the ground, his legs cramped, his lungs heaving fit to burst. They slept a while, but all too soon Miskouri’s furry body brushed against his face and woke him.

  ‘Get up, get up. The dogs will be searching for us, Abu. We must go,’ she urged.

  ‘Oh, this darkness, this blindness . . . if only I could see,’ moaned Abu.

  If he had been able to see, he would have noticed an ominous speck in the grey dawn sky wheeling round in great circles like a searchlight; he would have spotted, far in the distance, a tiny moving purple limousine following the track leading to the cave.

  Abu sniffed and smelled water. He felt a new surge of energy. They mustn’t stop. ‘We must find the Well of Eyes now,’ he said, clambering to his feet.

  He heard the soft croak of a frog. Miskouri heard it too, and was about to spring. Even though Abu had just shared some chicken and cheese with her, a frog for breakfast would have been very tasty . . .

  However, Abu tugged her back. ‘No, Miski, no! Where there are frogs there is water.’ On hands and knees, he groped his way towards the croaking creature. ‘Dear frog. Can you help me? Where can I find the Well of Eyes?’ he asked.

  The fellow’s a lunatic, thought the frog. No one should ask that question. It’s dangerous; and keep that cat off me.

  Miski squawked, still crouched, ready to pounce.

  ‘If you don’t answer my question, she’ll have you for breakfast,’ said Abu. ‘She would have had you a minute ago, if it hadn’t been for me.’

  ‘You’re mad to go there,’ croaked the frog, bemused that this mortal seemed able to read his thoughts. ‘But why should I care what happens to you? Follow the dried-up stream bed – you’re almost standing on it. But remember: this is where the Purple Lady brings the eyes of her victims. If she ever saw a living creature near the well, she would destroy them. I’ve done my bit. I’m off.’ And he hopped away.

  Abu suddenly heard barking again. It was far in the distance but getting nearer.

  ‘The dogs!’ yowled Miskouri. ‘The Purple Lady must be coming. They’ve picked up our scent. Run, Abu, run!’

  Abu ran, trying to keep the smell of wet mud in his nostrils. He ran and ran, stopping once to throw himself down on the ground to sniff. It was there – earthy water, somewhere beneath his feet; reeds grew thickly, and dragonflies fluttered across his face like ghosts. ‘We must be close. Can you see anything, Miski?’ he asked, untying the cord. ‘Go and find the well.’

  He felt a stirring amongst the bones in his sack; they were singing Leyla’s song. ‘Hurry, Miski. We’ve not got much time.’ The barking was closer still.

  ‘It’s here! I’ve found it!’ miaowed Miskouri. But Abu heard her terror as she peered down into the deepest, darkest well, where daylight gleamed like an eye gazing back up from the still black water at the bottom. ‘I hate water.’

  At that moment, there was a thrashing through bushes, and the snarls of dogs. Miskouri yowled, and leaped onto Abu’s shoulders. Then the dogs were upon him, ripping and tearing at his clothes. With one great shout – as though it were the last he would utter on this earth, Abu flung himself, Miskouri and the sack into the void of the well.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed when he found he was awake again. Not drowned, but awake. Not at the bottom of a well, but in a sweet-smelling meadow, with larks trilling, as if they had somehow landed in a summer field. He could smell grass and wild rose, blackthorn and may. Miskouri lay across his chest, her body throbbing against his heart like a little engine. She wasn’t drowned – she who was so terrified of water. He took a deep breath and found that the air was sweet as honey. He listened and heard the sound of a blackbird whistling ecstatically somewhere close by. He stretched, his senses attuned – except that he was still blind. Miskouri’s claws still penetrated his coat and dug into his flesh. ‘What can you see?’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s everything; everything that people have ever wanted to see: beauty, animals, fields of gold and white; orchards of rosy apples, chestnuts casting wide shadows. We could just stay here for ever,’ marvelled Miskouri, leaping off his chest.

  ‘No we can’t. It’s Leyla we’ve come to find.’ Abu groped for the sack and clutched it close. ‘I have to find her. This is all an illusion to defeat us. Miskouri . . .?’ No answer; only silence. ‘Miskouri, where are you?’

  ‘Your little friend has left you,’ said a voice so enticing, so dark; a woman’s voice, replete with kindness and helpfulness. ‘Come with me, dear boy. Wake up. Open your eyes and see what a lovely place you have found.’

  Abu would have looked and looked if he could. ‘Oh, how I wish I could see you,’ he wept – so full of longing to peer into the face above him, for this was surely the voice of an angel, full of comfort and reassurance. But the ointment kept him blind.

  Soft fingers prised open his eyes. ‘Look at me, dear boy,’ the voice enticed him, and indeed his eyelids parted, but he saw nothing.

  When only blank eyeballs stared sightlessly up, the angel gave a terrible screech. The gentle fingers turned to claws. ‘The stupid boy is blind!’ All loving kindness was now replaced by fury, and he felt nails scratching his face like some dreadful bird. ‘Well, if I can’t have you, I’ll just have to leave you to the Image Snatcher,’ the angel screamed. ‘Come!’

  And Abu heard a snuffling and slavering of hounds, and he knew that it was the Purple Lady who had bent over him. He heard a car’s engine roar into life – and she was gone.

  ‘Abu!’ Soft fur brushed across his face.

  ‘Miskouri! Oh, thank goodness you’re here.’

  ‘There are eyes everywhere,’ Miskouri whispered. ‘I see eyes in the trunks of trees, and eyes peeping through the grass, a
nd eyes looking down from the sky like stars, and eyes among the pebbles on the lake shore. I see blue eyes, green and grey eyes, flecked eyes, and all shades of brown eyes, and eyes as black as jet. To look into those eyes is to look into people’s souls; I see so much sadness and gladness, goodness and badness. Oh Abu – this is a dreadfully wondrous place.’

  The bones on his back began to moan.

  ‘Sing, Leyla, sing!’ he begged. ‘Tell us when we are close to your eyes.’

  The bones set up a rattling and clattering. ‘Look, look, look!’ they chanted.

  ‘Look, Miskouri!’ begged Abu. ‘What do you see?’

  Miskouri looked. And then she saw them: eyes of dark gold – gold because the sun shone into them; gold because they looked into hers with tears of love and recognition, begging to be found; gold because each was set in the heart of a marigold.

  ‘Bring out your silver box, Abu,’ cried Miskouri joyfully. ‘I’ve found Leyla’s eyes.’

  He held out the box and, with her paw, Miskouri patted the stem of the flower, and first one eye, then the second dropped into the box. ‘Close the lid now, Abu.’

  So he did, and returned the box to his pocket.

  He knew they must keep going. Two days had nearly gone by, and there was only one day left before the ointment wore off and he regained his sight.

  ‘Can you see a lake?’ asked Abu anxiously.

  Miskouri replied sullenly, ‘Not more water!’

  ‘Can you, though? Can you see a lake?’

  ‘I see a lake through the trees beyond the next field, flat and still as a mirror, and a boat in the reeds.’

  Holding onto the cord, he followed her low growling as, reluctantly, she headed towards the water. And he was fearful when he heard what she saw: ‘Reflections – birds and clouds – and . . .’ Miskouri hesitated. ‘Faces – human; faces of young people shimmering, shivering, weeping and pleading just below the surface. On the other side, something shining – purple . . . a palace. Although there are reeds and water lilies and all kinds of long grasses, and weeping willows with leaves trailing in the water, yet I see no water fowl; no ducks or coots or herons – just their reflections.’

  So this was the dreadful lake that Shasti had spoken of. The lake they must cross; the lake where the Image Snatcher dwelt. This was their final task: they must take Leyla’s bones and eyes across the lake and reunite them with her soul, which was locked in the Amethyst Palace on the other side.

  ‘Miskouri,’ he called. ‘Where is the boat?’

  She took him to it.

  ‘Where is the sun?’

  ‘It has two hours left before it sets.’

  Abu groaned. He had wanted to cross the lake at night when there was less chance of casting any reflection, but he didn’t know if he would have enough time left to find Leyla before the ointment wore off. He would have to risk crossing when the sun was up.

  Suddenly, there was a beating of wings. ‘It’s a swan,’ murmured Miskouri, and he felt her fur stand up under his hand. ‘It must be a stranger – looking for a lake on which to swim.’

  ‘Is it flying over the water now?’ asked Abu fearfully.

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Miskouri watched its grey shadow skimming the surface below.

  ‘What’s happening, Miski?’ he cried desperately.

  ‘There’s a churning in the lake; a whirlpool like a huge mouth. It’s getting bigger . . . It’s . . .’

  The beating of wings stopped; there was a terrible pause, and then a splash like a gulp. The Image Snatcher had sucked the swan down into the lake and swallowed it. That could be their fate too, if they should cast even one scrap of shadow upon the water. But they couldn’t give up now. Abu knew they must cross the lake.

  ‘Point me into the sun,’ he said, ‘so that I cast no shadow outside the boat.’

  He tucked Miskouri under his arm, pushed the boat out from the shore and leaped in, carefully stowing Leyla’s bones under the seat. He fumbled for the oars – one, two – and began to row with all his might, trusting to the warmth of the sun on his face. Horrible groans came from below the lake’s surface; things scratched and banged beneath the boat, as if desperate fingers were appealing to him. If he had been able to see, Abu would have longed to lean over and look into the water. The water around him now began to heave as though a storm were churning it up. The boat pitched and tipped: some force was surely trying to upturn it and toss them into the water.

  Abu continued to row with all his might. ‘Can you see anything, Miskouri?’ he called.

  ‘I see a purple glow on the far shore. It must be the Amethyst Palace. That’s where we must go.’

  Abu steered the boat in the direction she described, and felt the sun’s warmth leave his face. Miskouri howled with fright. ‘I see your shadow. Your reflection is almost in the water!’

  The surface churned. With a hopeless groan, Abu rested the oars and, grabbing Miskouri, pulled her and their shadows down into the bottom of the boat. ‘It’s no good. We must wait till nightfall.’ And suddenly he was asleep, his head resting on the sack of bones, with Miskouri curled up on his chest and the boat drifting.

  It was the sound of the hull scraping the shore that woke him. It had bobbed along, all through the night, and carried them safely to land.

  ‘Miskouri! What can you see?’ asked Abu.

  ‘We’ve arrived, Abu. I see the Amethyst Palace. Stay here, while I go and find where Leyla’s spirit is being kept.’ She sprang from the boat.

  She padded into the Amethyst Palace and entered amazing chambers of icy purple; a ballroom embedded with strands of gold and droplets of diamonds; she climbed transparent staircases, but found nothing. Then she discovered a back staircase; it was a spiral, twisting so that even she, a cat, felt dizzy as she spun downwards as if drilling into the very centre of the earth.

  At the bottom, she found herself in a dark glowing chamber, its walls rough and spiky as needles, then smooth like clusters of blossoms that had somehow petrified. Shades of palest pink deepened to inky purple, and there, hollowed into the very heart of the amethyst chamber, was a purple throne.

  If only I could sing, thought Miskouri, and awaken Leyla from this eternal imprisonment. But all she could do was miaow; the long, wailing ‘Wait for me!’ miaow that she had so often used when accompanying her mistress.

  And then, suddenly, she heard a strange cracking sound; a hammering as if a thousand crystals had been scattered across the floor. Miskouri saw, imprisoned in the raw amethyst, bodies of light; faces like reflections in a mirror. She passed one after another, trying to identify Leyla. There – ahead! A face was pressed to the glassy rock, the mouth open, the lips moving noiselessly. It was framed by shining black hair. It was Leyla. Miskouri stood on her hind legs and pawed at the rock, miaowing with all her might, begging her mistress to be brave, to be patient; telling her that her brother had come to save her. Then Miskouri leaped away, back up the spiral staircase to find Abu.

  He was lying with his face pressed into the sack of bones. Miskouri pattered over and licked his hands. ‘I’ve found her.’

  Abu wouldn’t look up.

  ‘I’ve found her, Abu. Come – we must hurry. The Purple Lady could return any moment. Follow me with Leyla’s bones. The only way we can break the spell is by reassembling her. Abu!’ Miskouri scratched him fiercely.

  ‘My eyes,’ cried Abu despairingly. ‘In a few hours, my sight will return. The ointment will wear off. If the Purple Lady finds me, I’m done for – Leyla too. We’ll never escape.’

  ‘Then hurry, silly boy!’ cried Miskouri with exasperation. ‘You must use your own powers of self-control now. You will think of nothing and no one but Leyla. And to bring him to his senses, Miskouri dug her claws into his arm, drawing blood.

  ‘Ow!’ Abu looked up.

  ‘That’s better,’ she miaowed. ‘Put the lead on me and I’ll take you to her.’ She led him up the stairs and through the chambers, then down, down, down the spiral staircase, a
nd finally to his imprisoned sister.

  ‘You are before your sister. Assemble her bones now, so that she can re-enter her body.’

  Abu set down the sack of Leyla’s bones and spread them out like pieces of a jigsaw. Bit by bit, feeling for each one, he began to assemble them. Piece by piece, seeing her outline in his mind, he laid out the twenty-four vertebrae of her spine; her ribs and neck bones; the bones of her legs and arms, ankles and wrists; her elbow joints and knees and thighs. Next he set out the five sets of finger-bones of her right hand, and then the one, two, three, four sets of fingerbones of her left. He felt everywhere for the fifth finger, but it wasn’t there; even though he shook out the sack and searched again, he couldn’t find it. And then he knew he wouldn’t, as this was the bone he had left behind. He couldn’t bear to think that even one little finger of hers was still in that dreadful cave. But now he took up her skull and placed it tenderly at the top of her spine.

  Miskouri walked around her mistress, making strange guttural noises in her throat. ‘Her eyes, Abu! Put in her eyes.’

  Abu groped for the silver box in his pocket and took out the golden eyes. He felt for the sockets in the skull and dropped an eye into each one.

  Exhausted, he rolled away from the lifeless skeleton and lay there, feeling as empty of soul and spirit as the skeleton beside him. The darkness in his eyes turned to purple. ‘Miskouri! My sight is returning!’

  He scrambled over to the transparent wall behind which Leyla was held. He took the axe from his belt, brought it down with all his might, and struck the wall.

  The whole cave shuddered. There was the sound of splitting and splintering – like arctic ice thawing in the spring, or a glacier moving in the mountains. Abu felt a rush of air and warmth. There was a swishing sound as spirits fled from their prisons and, like a torrential river, flowed from all the openings of the cave in one long joyful current. Just one light detached itself from the flow and hovered over them. He couldn’t touch it or hold it, and yet it embraced him; he breathed it and enveloped it. ‘Return to us, Leyla,’ he whispered, crawling over to her skeleton and lying down beside her. The purple darkness behind his eyes faded as slowly, wondrously, his sight returned.