PART FIVE
THE MONSTER
In the Unknown,
In this deep darkness –
Two figures.
In the Gloaming, two boys wander hand in hand.
Where now?
Which direction to go?
What did Father say?
What will become of Mountfathom?
Luke thinks these questions. Or perhaps speaks them because Killian offers an answer.
We’re here – that’ll have to do for a minute. We’re standing here together.
Luke thinks/says: Can you walk?
Killian: Dunno about walk but I can limp. Why?
Luke: We need to start searching.
Killian: What for?
Luke: For the Monster – for the way to save Mountfathom.
Luke, your hair is white.
I know. We need to keep moving.
Luke walks and Killian limps, but still only through darkness. No light from the crimson key, it won’t lead them – lays no ready path.
Killian says, Here – let me try this one.
And soon as the emerald key is in his hand a light stretches ahead from their feet and off into an Unknown.
You’re more certain of yourself, says Luke. You know where you want to go.
Don’t know about that, says Killian. When do you think we’ll come across this Monster?
Luke says, I think that will be up to the Monster.
Killian asks, So where will we go till then?
And Luke knows; feels as though he has always known.
He says, I was told a story once about a Magician. He could travel into his own past, or his future. I think that is what we need to do – and we might find some clue or some way to save Mountfathom.
Is this only imagined? Something created?
I have no memory of this memory.
Luke and Killian stand in the stone passageway beneath Mountfathom. It has the feel of a winter evening – darkness finding a foothold at an early hour, fires kept alive until late, yet everyone safe and content indoors.
Killian asks, How can you be so sure?
Once again Luke discovers he has been saying all things aloud – any barrier between thought and utterance has melted away.
Luke answers, Because I am. This way.
They walk the corridor and take only a few steps before someone races ahead of them on tiptoe. A child of two or two and a half – races so quick to the kitchen where a fire is still warming the walls, and Luke hears a voice say, What are you still doing up? Do you know how late it is? Do you never sleep, child?
Luke walks faster and Killian follows.
They hear a voice of a woman half-scolding, And not a slipper or a dressing gown on you or nothing! You’re going to get me into some trouble, you wee rascal!
Luke knows this voice – these words harsh but said in a tone soft.
They reach the window that gives a view onto the kitchen and, inside, Luke sees a woman settling a saucepan of milk on the range. Now unscrewing the lid on a large brown jar and spooning dark chocolate powder into a mug.
Thank you.
These words from a child who sits cross-legged on a rug by the fire. He is looking around the room with such curiosity and in his hands he is holding (perhaps too tightly) a disgruntled cat the colour of smoke and with turquoise eyes. Now the child is prodding the tiles on the hearth, counting them. Now is asking, How do you know when the milk is hot enough for making the hot chocolate, Nanny Bogram?
Oh, I know, she tells him. I’ve done it enough times for you!
Can I have some sugar in it? asks the boy.
Now now, says Bogram, you’re sweet enough!
The child on the rug laughs.
Killian whispers, This is you?
Luke nods.
There we are, says Nanny Bogram. She hands the mug to the child and enfolds him in a blanket and the child goes sip, sip, sip … sigh.
The Nanny and the child sit and chat companionably. Laugh and disagree and wonder and –
She was so good to me, says Luke. She was so good.
But we have to keep going, says Killian. This doesn’t help us save Mountfathom.
He is right, of course.
And Luke realises there are so many ways to become lost in the Gloaming – not only by slipping into the wrong part of the story, but lingering there and never allowing yourself to turn the page. So he allows Killian to take his hand, to lead him away from himself and back into the dark.
Hear that? Hear that whispering?
What is it? ask Killian.
It is the Monster, says Luke. It is the thing we must face.
And in the most distant of whispers: You have more to see before you can be prepared to face the truth of things. You must face both past and future before the end.
Yes, says Luke.
And the crimson key blazes bright – urgently leads them on, and suddenly they are back again in Mountfathom.
A party.
What sort of party?
I do not know.
They stand in a gallery looking down – a crowd of exotic colour below, so many people all crammed close to the double doors of The World. The sense of waiting is palpable, and the excitement of the assembly makes both boys smile.
Killian says, Lot of people here – wonder why?
And somehow Luke knows. They are here for me.
Killian asks, What for?
Luke says, For my Naming.
And they stand and watch as a voice makes an announcement and the smoky curtain rises and doors of The World open and the guests move in – such an excited tide. And Luke feels as though he has been living always in the world like this – both within it and at the same time hovering above, always observing-exploring-asking.
Killian asks, Can we do something here that might help save the House?
Luke says, Perhaps.
When?
When they will least expect it.
Do not ruin such a night as this – it will solve nothing.
Leave. Be sensible now about this. Depart while you still have some chance!
It is snowing and Luke sees the anguish in the eyes of his mother and father – the knowledge. They knew: they knew everything, always.
But still Luke longs for them to recognise and acknowledge him so says, Listen to me now – none of this will last. There is no safe place, not even at Mountfathom. Remember these things!
But he knows the past takes no heed of the future. He is neither a ghost nor a Trace but only a threat. No one wants to know – no one wishes to be forewarned. Luke doesn’t blame them.
Let’s go, says Killian, taking Luke’s hand.
And it is the fear Luke sees in the eyes of those around that makes him flee – makes him run and become lost once more in the dark.
Keep going! We need to keep searching!
The Gloaming teems with memory of Mountfathom now, and the boys arrive in so many scenes. See Luke at so many ages.
The Amazon: As a three year old with stuffed toys in hand – tapir and capybara. Beside, a smoke-coloured cat lounging in a patch of bright sun.
Berlin: A little older, opening the doors of a large wardrobe to hear bursts of Bach – a blaring that ceases when he shuts the doors. Laughing and laughing with the joy of it all … and opening the doors again …
Atlantis: On his belly on an aquamarine carpet, maybe seven or eight years old now and pretending to swim, arms thrashing and bare feet kicking. Morrigan lies beside as though drowning – on her back, tail doing a lazy flick.
The World: Seated at a table with so many people – cousins and Aunt and Uncle and the Driochta, and a group of soldiers. Aunt Nancy suddenly rises, announces she has had enough and moves fast to the door. The soldier asks is the son of Mountfathom mute. Luke thinks, Yes. I am now. I can do nothing.
Killian whispers, It’s pointless – we can’t change anything here. We can’t do a thing! Where do we go?
And before Luke
can speak he hears a whisper –
Now you must face me – now you must see the truth.
Yes – we must face this Monster.
And as soon as the decision is made, a new way opens – like the burrow for some massive animal. The boys step into it together, hand in hand. Crimson light and emerald falls on walls that churn and squirm with so much sickly iridescence.
Killian falters but Luke says, Don’t be afraid of it – that’s what it wants.
And on and further in, and finally they feel more than see; they hear –
You have at last come to face me – to know the truth.
Yes, says Luke. I need to know how to save Mountfathom.
The darkness boils, trembles and groans, and there is the sense of something now, a creature of immense size and strength. Size of a mountain, deep as an ocean, fathomless and cold as space …
The Monster says, You think that is what awaits you? You believe that is the answer and the end of things?
Yes, says Luke. I believe it.
Silence.
And suddenly not a single word but all words – the beginning and end of all language! All Tragedy
Worry
Hope
Fear
Joy
Heartache
Wondering
Pain
Loss
Love
all pours from some void.
Luke feels as though his skin is being slowly stripped, thoughts plundered, jaw bolted shut, his only role to listen and learn and listen more. Only to obey; to hope to understand the truth of human feeling.
We have to get away from it, says Killian. Let’s go!
But Luke will not move – he knows that the fear of this thing will only increase its power. He must withstand it, will not give it more to feast on. And the longer he stands and refuses, the more he sees – there is light beyond the dark. Behind the monster, there is truth. And he knows it is where he must go.
I do not fear it, Luke tells the monster. I will face whatever is ahead, whatever you are guarding. I need to see it. I am not afraid.
You are such frail beings – standing lost between one great dark and the next. Such threadbare souls!
Yes, says Luke. Now, please – give me what I want. Show me what I need to see!
And like a Spell Dismissed, the Monster steps aside. Shrinks and cringes as though Luke is brandishing a weapon, which perhaps he is.
And he and Killian are allowed to step forward and into the light.
We have arrived. This is what we need to see.
They stand in the gardens of Mountfathom at night. Stars prick the sky, cold and numerous.
Killian asks, Is this the past or the future or what?
Luke says nothing. He sees the Rise and the Temple of Ivory, and whispers, I do not know when we are, not yet, but I know where we need to go.
They start up the slope. Ground is brittle with cold.
Killian asks: How did you know what to do with that creature?
It wants to show us the truth, says Luke. And I want to see it, no matter what it is.
What if we don’t get shown how to save Mountfathom?
Luke does not reply.
They gain the top of the Rise. And they see now how far they have travelled.
Mountfathom is no more. They see from their height only two walls still standing. Archway where the front door once stood – how many years ago? – is managing to stand too, a feeble testament. All else is overgrown and dark and broken. A place abandoned; appears unreal, like a House a child might make, or imagine.
Killian says: It doesn’t survive.
Luke says: No. But nothing does. He understands now.
Luke’s gaze drops to the ivory gravestones – slim as fingernails now, and planted at dejected angles. Shrunken but sending long shadows. And one of these draws Luke attention.
Killian sees first and says, No. Don’t look!
I must, says Luke. I cannot be afraid. I’ve lost almost everything already.
He stoops, places his fingers in the grooves and feels –
LUKE MOUNTFATHOM
Dates engraved too, a line of poetry below. But these details don’t matter; it is the fact of his death that strikes Luke. That makes him lie down on the cold earth beside his own grave and say, Mountfathom is finished. Everything ends.
There can be more, says Killian. He lies down beside Luke. He says, It is not just being born and dying.
Luke begins to weep. Feels as though his skin is shrinking, bones splintering, blood in his veins molten but slowing, slowing; taking its time to enter and depart his heart.
He says, I need to rest now.
Killian puts an arm around him and says, And I’ll stay with you.
Luke dreams.
Imagines lying on the ground with Killian and the world hurrying through season after season with such speed, laying them with winter frost and spring and summer sunshine; bedding them in the fallen leaves of autumn, and once more the snow of winters … and all the while the stars overhead whirl too fast, become only white scars on the dark.
Luke dreams that he stands, shakes off the cold. He sees that the Temple of Ivory is not ivory now but bones. An old habit, he names each, seeing femur and rib and wing and beak and collarbone and skull … The doors open silently. He steps inside.
Within is a towering tree – bark of cracked silver, trunk wide and branches sprawling. Roots ancient and bold beneath his feet, breaking ground. And on each bough rests a burden of heavy darkness – a black bud, tender when Luke reaches out and touches.
A sudden crack and he steps away.
One of the buds sheds a soft shell in two clean halves. Reveals a papery carapace that unpeels, and tucked inside like tender fruit – a wrinkled coil of flesh. Silent thing … and then such a wail! Such a scream! It is an infant shaking its fists and crying, craving attention.
Luke watches. Knows what is next.
Takes only a minute. The wailing child on the tree grows quickly older, becomes bearded like a vegetable left too long in the ground, darkening and rotting on the vine until only a cold husk is left. It drops and strikes the ground, and softly disperses on the air like pale spore.
Like dust.
Like only dust.
Take me to the water.
Luke wakes from his dream and speaks before thinking.
It is morning. There is colour, and sunlight, and birdsong.
Killian sits up and asks, Where are we now?
Luke knows where he is; feels that they are no longer in the future, but the past. And knows what he must do next.
He asks Killian, Please. Take me to the water.
Asks because he feels so tired, so wearied.
Luke says, I cannot make it by myself.
Alright, says Killian. He looks so tired as well, but summons enough energy to stoop and lifts Luke into his arms.
Please, says Luke. Down to the lagoon.
Why there? asks Killian.
And if Luke knows anything now he knows this.
Because there are two people I need to see.
So much sound! As they make their way down the slope of the Rise, Luke feels so aware of everything – brightness of the blossom and heart-stopping swiftness of each bird and the careful industry of every insect. Everything fizzes and shivers in glory and blaze.
Luke thinks, Perhaps this is something. Perhaps this is something that never ends.
And almost too soon, Luke sees.
By the blue-green water, beside the statue of the Faerie King, they are waiting.
I can walk now, Luke tells Killian. Thank you. I would like to walk to them.
Killian settles Luke on his feet and steps back.
I am here, says Luke. I am here.
Already his parents are smiling at him. Are weeping for him. Are happy and heartbroken – burdened with such knowledge because they know, have always known, that Mountfathom will fail. And when Luke arrives by the water, he sa
ys, I fought my way here. I was trying to find a way to save Mountfathom, but I have failed.
Perhaps not, says his father. Do not be so hard on yourself, my son.
Did you meet what was in the dark? asks his mother. The Monster?
I did, says Luke. What is it exactly?
You tell us your ideas, says his father.
Is it death? asks Luke.
Perhaps, says his mother.
Or perhaps life? says his father. Perhaps the thing we must all face when we leave behind the familiar?
Perhaps, says Luke, it doesn’t matter what name I put on it. What mattered more was how I looked at it.
And both his parents smile with such pride.
You have come so far, says his mother. You have learned so much.
Now a sudden pain claws at Luke’s insides – now an ache, now a tearing at his skin as though something wants to snatch him from where he stands.
You cannot stay here, his father tells him. You cannot forever wander.
I must go back? asks Luke.
As if you did not already know, says his mother with a smile.
Another attack of pain and Luke almost folds –
What is happening to me?
His mother says simply: It is not so easy to return to the place you began.
But I haven’t done enough, says Luke. He is weeping, has to fight his own sorrow to say, breathless: Nothing is saved. Mountfathom has fallen. Everything is lost. Everything dies.
And yet, said his mother, here we are. Here we are reunited. Take solace from that, my love. There are no certain answers in this world. No final thing to be learned. There are only the days, and how you best live them.
There must be something else, says Luke.
That’s our boy, says his father. Always questioning!
They stand in silence and Luke knows that time is short; sees the clouds darkening, knows that soon will come the storm.
He asks, How can I go on now? How can I keep going without you?
You will find your way, says his mother. And you are not alone now.
Her eyes leave Luke for the first time and wander to Killian, standing so many feet behind but yet still so close.
Is there no answer? Luke asks his father. You always had some answer.
As I recall, says his father, I usually only have questions, do I not?
The House of Mountfathom Page 25
