‘Raoul is now one of the dwarfs, Thomas. He has moved on.’ Ariana saw the confusion on the boy’s face and said, her voice gentle, ‘Thomas, there are many, many things about Rainbow’s End that you do not know - that I have not told you yet. To do so would take days… many days.’ She paused, looking for the right words.
‘In the next weeks, the next months, you will learn and understand much more of where you are and what Rainbow’s End is about. Much, much more than I can tell you in a few hours. And in anyway - our time is almost up. Big John is already on his way.
‘Before he gets here, there are two more things,’ Ariana said. ‘I would like to see you again in three night’s time. Is that all right?’ Thomas nodded and when Ariana next spoke, her voice had turned puzzled and very serious; he saw her frown.
‘Thomas, do you have any idea… do you remember me telling you about receiving distress-signals?’ Thomas nodded again and Ariana continued. ‘In your case, someone…’ She took a deep breath. ‘Someone sent me a signal that was so strong, so vital, so different… It was as if whoever sent it was calling out to me personally. Talking to me - almost pleading with me… The signal was strong enough for Kraylle to pick up on, and even he felt the difference. He sent all of his boys to fetch you - or kill you.’ Ariana looked at Thomas questioningly, ‘Do you know who sent that signal, Thomas? That message?’
Thomas shook his head slowly and silently, just as puzzled as Ariana, and more confused than ever. And more than ready to call it a day - or night. But first, he had a question of his own.
He looked at Ariana. ‘Can I ask a last question?’
She was lost in her own thoughts and looked at him in surprise. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Ask.’
‘What am I doing here? In Rainbow’s End?’
The young woman was silent for a full minute and then she stood up. Thomas followed and when she turned to him, he again saw how very beautiful she was.
She asked, ‘You’ve been to see Orson yesterday?’ Thomas nodded and she said, ‘He’s old Thomas. Orson has been Rainbow’s End’s Traveller for more than a hundred years: Earth years. Longer - much longer, than any of his predecessors. He’s tired and he’s old and he wants to go over…’
‘And I’m to take his place then - to be a Traveller?’ Thomas deduced, frowning.
Ariana laid a soft hand against his cheek and her skin was as warm as his own. She said, ‘I cannot answer that, Thomas. I simply do not know.’ She paused. ‘Only one person does.’
‘Who?’ he asked, baffled.
‘You.’ the goddess said, before turning to the water. She stepped forward and was gone; leaving just ripples where she’d been.
Thomas stood staring at the star-sprinkled pool for a long time. The frogs and crickets had gone quiet; the only sound a rustling in the branches of the nearby willow tree. A very light breeze started up, wafting soft jasmine, and then Big John was there, laying a huge hand on his shoulder.
‘Come Thomas,’ he said, softly. ‘It’s time to go back.’
The boy took a long last look at the silver pool; at the moon and stars floating in it. It seemed very cold of a sudden, and very, very lonely. He shivered and turned from it; an owl said goodnight from the willow as they walked away.
*****
‘She’s so very beautiful, Annie.’
Maggie had fallen asleep in the chair (which Annie had thought smaller), and was leaning forward on the occasional table in front of her; her head close to, and her auburn hair touching the pool of ice cream which lay melting next to the half-empty plate. Her long eyelashes lay on cheeks that wore red spots and highlighted the freckles of her face, and her cupid-mouth - sticky and smeared with ice cream, made little burbling sounds when she breathed.
They were in Annie’s room and the two women were sitting in their easy-chairs, watching the little girl sleep. It had been Maggie’s first full day at Rainbow’s End and they had kept her busy through all of it. Too busy to ask questions, and too busy for tears.
Annie stood up and went into the bathroom, returning with a damp facecloth which she used to wipe Maggie’s face (without waking her); and her sticky little fingers as well, after removing the spoon still clutched in them. She leaned over and placed a soft kiss on the little girl’s forehead, then said to the other woman, ‘Take her to bed, Frieda. And try to get some sleep yourself. Don’t stay up all night staring at her.’
They both laughed softly; and when Frieda lifted Maggie’s tiny frame out of the chair, it resumed its normal size.
The little girl’s pink night dress was stained with damp splotches of green and brown and blue, but Frieda ignored them and held her carefully but tight. Annie held open the door, and with a soft goodnight and a last smile, the younger woman left - clutching her little bundle as if it were the most precious thing on Earth and Rainbow’s End.
10
FIRHAM GAZETTE; Monday, 20th January
A Rose dies in Firham
It is with a heavy heart that the gazette bids farewell to one of its all-time favourites. After a three year long battle with leukaemia, Roshalee (Rose) Ross passed away on Thursday last week. She leaves a gap that would be very difficult, if not impossible, to fill.
Miss Rose, or just Rose, as she was affectionately called by pupils and peers, was one of Firham’s, and its smaller sister, Rockham’s, building blocks - albeit a newer one.
She and her grandson Thomas, arrived here only eleven short years ago, but in that time, Rose Ross has made herself indispensable to our small community - both as a teacher at our local school, and as a participant in almost every community project started here. She was also a regular contributor to this newspaper.
Rose was an outdoors-person and an avid hiker, and the conservation of our forests lay especially close to her heart. She was a person to depend on, and solid as the trees she loved so much. Like them, she will never be completely gone.
Roshalee Ross, Firham and Rockham salute you… We shall miss you - sorely.
Rose will be laid to rest in Rockham (where she lived), at 10 am on Wednesday (22nd Jan). A small memorial service will take place in the community hall directly after.
Editor’s note: Thomas Ross - Rose’s grandson, and also well known to us all, went missing on the day of his grandmother’s passing. Anyone who knows of his whereabouts or who has information, please contact Sergeant Wilson at Rockham, 1133.
It was very early still. The sun had only been up for an hour, and when Thomas opened his bedroom door, a little man or woman - he was not sure which - scrambled away faster than he had thought possible on two such short legs. He or she was carrying a small tin, and left a chair upended on the floor. Thomas set it upright, and when he turned around to close his door, saw some haphazardly painted lettering on it. It said “THOMAS” - in glitter-blue-green.
He walked to the back of the cave and was greeted by Arnold, a jolly fat man with a pointy black moustache, when he entered the dining room. Arnold came from a large family of eight boys and five girls, and had learned to cook in a succession of prisons, starting at the age of eighteen and ending at thirty-eight: when he tried to hijack a brand new, heavily laden lorry, with a skinny old man listening to classical music and swinging a crystal behind its steering wheel.
Apart from the moustache, he also affected a French accent, albeit with a touch of London’s south end. He beamed at the boy and the spiky tips of the moustache jumped; said ‘Allo, Thomas,’ and pushed him into a chair, and without waiting for a reply, turned and waddled through the swinging door and into his kitchen.
Four minutes later, he was back - carrying a tray laden with a large plate, which overflowed with an even larger omelette: fluffy and golden-yellow and almost an inch thick, strewn with slices of fresh banana and grated cheese and steaming hot. There was a side plate heaped with buttered toast and a huge glass of orange juice as well, and Arnold plonked the whole of it down in front of a gaping Thomas, before sitting down opposite him and resting h
is three chins in his cupped hands. He loved watching children enjoy his food.
*
The long grass was wet from the early morning’s rain; it ran in little rivers down Thomas’ bare feet and lower legs by the time he got to Big John’s Pool. He needed time to think and this seemed like the best place in which to do it. The other children hadn’t come out yet, the only sounds were from the several yellow and red finches - which had nests in the willow trees - making noisy early morning conversation.
The single bench was already occupied, but before a disappointed Thomas could turn back, a bedraggled Izzadore Greenbaum spotted him and motioned him closer, patting the empty space beside him. He hadn’t shaved or combed his hair, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked several years older than when they had met the day before. He greeted Thomas with a grunt and when the boy enquired about his health, groaned and sat in silence again.
They were both quiet for some time, but when a particularly raucous finch started screeching and squawking in the branches above them, Izzy squeezed his eyes tightly shut and made a sound like a kitten, covering his face with opened hands.
‘Have you been visiting Orson, Mr. Izzy?’ Thomas asked. The question was so devoid of guile, it caused Izzy to cast a suspicious glare at the boy. Thomas was sitting on his hands and swinging his feet - his gaze angelically innocent and directed at some far away thing. The skinny old Traveller made the kittenish sound again and whispered, ‘Izzy, not Mr. Izzy. He seemed to gather his strength and then said, in a voice that was a sob.
‘It happens every time… I never learn… Bloody Orson and that bloody dog.’ He got up from the bench and stumbled to the water’s edge, fell to his knees and dunked his head under for several seconds. When he came up, he blew like a beached whale, then made a cup of his hands and drank greedily. And then just stood on hands and knees - head hanging and running water in little streams.
A minute later, he shook himself like a wet dog and staggered to his feet, then tottered back to his place on the bench; where he sat combing his thinning wet hair with slender, well-manicured fingers, all the time muttering and moaning under his breath.
Thomas gave him another minute or two, and when Izzy seemed to moan less and open his eyes more, asked, ‘Mr. Izzy?’
‘Mmmh?’
‘Why do you stay on the Earth?’
‘What?’
‘You are a Traveller?’ Izzy nodded. ‘Then why do you live on the Earth,’ Thomas asked, ‘when you could be staying here - on Rainbow’s End?’
‘Fell in love…’ Izzy muttered.
‘I’m sorry…?’ Thomas said, not at all sure he’d heard right, and Izzy looked at him with gentle, albeit bloodshot eyes.
‘I fell in love, Thomas,’ he said, with a sad smile. ‘I fell in love with a woman who wanted children of her own and I had to choose. Rainbow’s End or her… I chose her.’
He took a deep breath and seemed to gather his thoughts, then continued: ‘I was thirteen when Orson brought me back to Rainbow’s End; he was thirty. My parents and I had been in a car accident. A very bad one… They were both killed on impact and I… Well, I was very badly hurt. Orson pulled me from the wreck and brought me back here. If he hadn’t, I would have died as well.
‘I was fourteen when I started Travelling, and was supposed to take over from Orson when he went over. It didn’t work out that way.’ He looked at Thomas. The boy was listening, seemingly spellbound, and Izzy continued once more.
‘On one of my Travels - I had just turned twenty-nine - I met a girl called Deborah. She was Scottish and the most beautiful thing in the world, and I fell head over heels in love with her… And she with me.’ Izzy pushed his fingers through his thinning hair again and smiled wryly. ‘Believe it or not,’ he said.
‘She was prepared to come live with me at Rainbow’s End - I wouldn’t have been the first Traveller with a wife. She even came here with me once, and we had a wonderful time… And then Deborah found out that women at Rainbow’s End could not have children. She so badly wanted little ones of her own…’ He fell morosely quiet for some time, eyes turned misty with recall; then, ‘She had me choose,’ he shrugged, ‘and the rest is history. We went back to the Earth, to live, and I ran Rainbow’s End’s finances from there… Still do, and very well, if I have to say so myself.’ A little laugh. ‘There is a downside of course,’ he said and Thomas waited. ‘If I had stayed.’ Izzy said, ‘I would still be seventeen years younger than Orson. As it is, I’m three years older.’
Izzy saw scepticism on the boy’s face. He explained. ‘The three or four days a month I spend at Rainbow’s End rejuvenate me Thomas. I don’t look it, but I am seventy years old. Orson is sixty-seven.’ He laughed. ‘Eleven years younger than John - his twin.’ Thomas looked the other way, politely, but not before Izzy saw the look on his face. It hurt, but he couldn’t help but laugh again.
He said, ‘Orson came to Rainbow’s End when he was just ten years old, Thomas. He had just turned twenty-one when he fetched John. But while Orson had aged eleven years on Rainbow’s End; John had aged twenty-two on the Earth, and so, was thirty-two. It takes a bit of arithmetic, but it’s simple really.’
He was quiet for a minute, and then said, ‘My doctors say I have the stamina - and the organs, of a forty-year old.’ He gave an Orsonish cackle and jabbed Thomas in his side with an elbow. And spoke with a put-on Scott’s accent, ‘It’s a pity about me face, right?’
They both laughed and then enjoyed the day in silence for a while, before Thomas asked, ‘How many children do you have, Izzy?’
‘More than two hundred,’ the thin old man replied, matter of fact. And gave a long, hearty laugh at the boy’s shocked expression. (He liked laughing, Izzy did). ‘Do yourself a favour Thomas,’ he said. ‘Never play poker. Your face will bankrupt you. It’s too much of an open book.’
He looked at the still water of the pool again and said, ‘I fund - through Rainbow’s End - fifteen orphanages back on the Earth, Thomas. Most of the children in them are from here; or have been here. They feel like my own and I like to think of them as my own.’
He shook his head then, slowly, and said, softer, ‘But none of my own; Deborah and I had no children of our own.’ His new smile was as sad as his eyes, and Thomas had to strain to hear what Izzy said next.
‘She died five years ago, my wife. We’d been married for thirty-five.’ His eyes turned soft in recall and he said, ‘Thirty-five beautiful, wonderful years that I would not exchange for three hundred at Rainbow’s End.’
A few more seconds of introspection and then Izzy seemed to shake himself, and said, in a lighter tone, ‘I’ve had a good life, Thomas.’ Laughing softly. ‘You might say I have traded longevity for the life of a lorry driver. A delivery man, but a very happy one.’
*****
The huge rainbow arching over the cliff and waterfall was only a few hundred metres away, its seven pillars shimmering in the early morning sunlight. The fish eagles were busy with their interminable patrolling of the river, and already a few children’s voices could be heard in the distance. The finch was working on his nest again and making the usual racket, but otherwise, all else at Ariana’s Pool was at peace.
She’d come out of the water again and was sitting next to Annie, both of them had their feet in the cool water fronting the Talking Rock. An almost imperceptible breeze was blowing: it turned the kiss of the sun into a soft caress.
‘Gypsy Rose,’ Annie said and Ariana sat looking at the fidgety finch for a long minute before turning to her visitor. ‘Are you sure, Annie?’ she asked.
Annie looked at the “younger” woman next to her with adoration in her eyes. She loved Ariana - as a friend, a mother, a sister; and sometimes, a daughter. The woman, or goddess, had given her life meaning. A purpose.
Almost forty Rainbow years ago, a twenty-six year old Annie Murdoch had found out that she - who loved children more than life itself, would never be able to have any. Her job application to fill
an opening at the local crèche had also been turned down, as she was suffering from, and dying, of tuberculosis.
She was standing on top of her ten storey flat block and was about to jump, when a snooty little man of around thirty suddenly stood next to her and said, in a haughty voice, ‘She wants you.’
Annie smiled to herself. Orson was spectacularly ugly - even then.
‘I’m sure Ariana,’ she said. ‘Very sure.’
‘So that’s why…’ Ariana breathed, and her voice was suddenly animated. ‘That’s who! That’s who, Annie!’ She nudged her friend’s ribs excitedly. ‘It was Rosie! Rosie sent me that signal! It was Rosie who asked me to fetch Thomas!’ The young woman fell quiet then, with a happy smile on her face.
‘Rosie’s grandson,’ she said after a while, in quiet wonder. And then, as she remembered something else.
‘Oh my. Oh, no.’
*****
John held open the door and when Thomas stepped through it, his mouth fell open. The room was massive - at least as big as a football field. And white: its walls and roof were of raw rock, but it, together with the large shining floor, had been painted a glaring white. There were four long and widely spaced rows, and their stacked boxes and parcels and shelves reached halfway and sometimes higher towards the roof. The whole warehouse - for that was what it was, was lit by pairs of long white fluorescent tubes that glared from on high and stretched into the distance.
Rainbow's End - Wizard Page 10
