by Meg McKinlay
Quiet footsteps padded around the corner of the building. Jena raced for the door, grabbing the ledger as she ran and setting it back on the shelf.
It was not until she had jiggled the lock closed again that she realised the piece of paper was still in her pocket. Down the hall, the shape passed the window in the front room. Whoever it was would soon be at the door, sliding their own key into the lock.
A few short steps and Jena was there, reaching for her satchel almost before her last stride landed. She willed her breathing to slow, her hands to stop shaking.
There was silence outside. No key in the lock, no one trying the handle. The door remained shut.
Then a sound, soft. Someone whispering.
Jena edged towards the door.
Pouch on the left, rope on the right. Knife, headlamp, water.
Make the harvest. Find the light.
Relief washed over her. She reached for the doorknob and twisted.
“Oh!” The figure jumped back.
It was Min. Her hair was tightly braided, her eyes wide. One hand was over her mouth, the other clutched to her chest.
“You’re here. I thought I’d be first.” She flushed. “I just … I couldn’t sleep.”
Despite everything, Jena felt a smile ghost her own lips. She might have known. A restless night, a foolishly early arrival. Hadn’t she been the same when she was new?
She pushed the paper firmly into the bottom of her pocket. The other girls would be along soon. She must put aside the thoughts that careered through her head and settle into the day’s familiar rhythms: a coil of rope looped over the shoulder, a belt cinched around the waist, a single chip of mica snapped into each headlamp.
Make the harvest. Find the light.
There was something unsettling about how easily her mind turned back to that well-worn path.
“Come inside.” She gestured towards the door. “We’ll go over your gear.”
TWELVE
“I’m done.”
Loren looped the drawstring around the neck of her pouch and drew the ends together in a secure knot. The area they were harvesting was illuminated by all seven headlamps, each making its own halo of light. They were bright at the centre but faded into a pale blue at the edges, which blurred into the surrounding dark. Each lamp would glow until its chip was spent; once struck, mica had to burn itself out. It was not like a fire you could damp down nor blow out to be re-lit later.
Jena looked around her, taking stock. Their progress had been painstakingly slow but eventually the long stretch of tight tunnel had opened out into this cavernous space. Wide and accommodating at its base, it extended upwards almost as far as the eye could see in a rapidly narrowing shaft. A thin stream of water trickled down it from somewhere far beyond sight, ending in a shallow pool at their feet. Asha and Kari sat nearby, sipping from their flasks.
Next to Jena, Renae lifted the last few flakes of mica from the patch in front of her. She tucked them into her pouch and then crawled over to join the others on the far side of the cavern, drawing a piece of dried fruit from her belt.
It was just Calla harvesting now, and Min. They were working alongside each other a few feet away. There had been no finger-touches today, no whispers into the darkness. When Jena directed Min to the centre of the line behind Loren, she put her head down and followed without a sound. And when the rock opened out to reveal the mica’s blue glow, she went immediately to her tools and set to work.
There was something hypnotic in the calm efficiency of her movements, and something familiar too: a sureness in the way she handled the knife.
Min turned her head. “I’m almost finished.”
There were just a few last scrapes to be made, a final gentle levering of the mica that bloomed on the surface of the stone. There were veins through the rock wall here – deep blue lines like those in an old Mother’s legs – but they would not touch those. That harvest belonged to another line, another age.
“It’s all right,” Jena reassured her. “Don’t hurry.” She knelt beside her. “Did you see Berta yesterday?” In the confusion of this morning, she had forgotten to ask.
Min nodded. “Our bag … she added five scoops.”
“Five?” Calla gave a low whistle. “That’s more than we get.”
“And how many in your house?” Jena asked softly.
It was not a question that called for a response, and Calla did not offer one. She tied her pouch at the neck, then moved over to join the others. Snippets of conversation floated across the cavern. Kari was telling stories about the baby while the others listened eagerly. “You should come and see her,” she said. “All of you.”
“Would they let us?” Asha asked.
The Mothers were understandably cautious with newborns. Family was one thing but they could ill afford to endanger a daughter with the dirt from a hundred curious hands.
“Not likely,” Renae said. “When Twila was born, they didn’t let anyone visit for ages.”
Asha looked thoughtful. “I would like to see her though. Forty and forty.”
“I know,” Renae said. “Twila was forty-eight. I can’t imagine a baby smaller than that.”
“Thanks be.” This last was a chorus of several voices, including Min’s. She sheathed her knife and took her place on the edge of the group.
With the harvest secured, Jena allowed herself to relax. She sank to the floor of the chamber, feeling the cool of the stone seep through her thin garments. She drew her knees in to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself close.
Min leaned across to Kari. “What did you say her name was?”
“Ailin.”
“It’s so pretty.”
“Isn’t it?” There were murmurs of agreement, but furtive glances at the rock too. None of them said what they were surely thinking. That it was early. Risky. No girl wanted to be the one to say such things out loud.
Instead, Min spoke again. “My name means precious. Thom says it’s boring but I like it.”
“It’s nice,” Renae said. “Simple, but nice.”
“Ralf is friends with your brother,” Calla said. “Not that one though – Ernst, I think.”
“He’s the eldest,” Min said. “I’ve got five brothers. Thom’s last, and then me.”
“Five boys,” Loren breathed. “I guess that’s why you’re precious. What were your numbers?”
“My numbers? I …”
“I’m sure they were better than mine,” Calla said. “Fifty and forty-nine.” She cast an appraising glance over her slender frame.
“Fifty’s all right,” Loren said.
Calla shook her head. “Not any more.”
Jena let their voices wash over her. Everyone liked talking numbers but it could be a distraction in here. She knew she should keep the conversation in check, remind the girls to rest and drink, to breathe deeply and recover their strength.
But as she opened her mouth to do so, something occurred to her. Calla Brandt. Loren Armen.
Their family names had been on that paper along with Jena’s. If she hadn’t been interrupted, might she have found Asha’s and Renae’s there as well? And Kari’s too?
No one was looking her way. She drew the paper from her pocket, and rested it between her knees and chest, out of sight, angling her headlamp over the writing.
Dietz. Her heart raced as she made out the spidery writing near the bottom of the page. But just then Kari rose onto her haunches and called out across the cavern. “What are you doing, Jena?”
“Nothing.” Jena lifted her head quickly, sending shafts of light bouncing off the stone.
“Is that a map? I thought you had it all in your head,” Kari teased.
Jena crumpled the paper in her fist and shoved it back into her pants. “It’s just rubbish. I must have left it in my pocket.”
For a moment, she tried to believe her own words. That the paper was nothing. That it was just a page of old notes that had ended up in the back
corner of the cupboard, alongside the bottle, by chance.
But she knew that it wasn’t. This was the list of mamas who had been given that tonic. Tunnelling mamas. Ripening early. Birthing tiny babies on the very edge of survival.
The Mothers were growing a line.
“Is something wrong?” Kari was looking at her oddly. Jena forced a smile, then reached for her water and took a long, slow swig, fighting to keep her hands from trembling.
She stood up. They had rested long enough. They had been in the mountain long enough.
Make the harvest. Find the light. They were the Mothers’ words but today her reasons were her own.
“Get your gear. We’re going.”
Kari headed towards the opening in the rock.
“Not that way.”
“But there’s no other–”
“Yes, there is.” Jena let the fading light from her lamp spill into the space overhead. There was a current of air there, the faintest waft of a familiar smell.
Signs, if you knew how to read them.
“Up there?”
“It will be quicker.” Jena began to uncoil the rope.
Experience told her that before long the shaft would meet a wide fissure, an almost tunnel-like space sloping east-west. There were a few such passages in this part of the mountain, their walls smooth and accommodating, as if they had been hollowed out by the flow of rainfall or melting snow. If she was right, to go this way would save them hundreds of feet of slow, painstaking crawling.
She struck a fresh chip of mica and snapped it into her headlamp. After slipping the spent chip into a nearby crack, she reached through the opening, feeling for handholds. The sides of the shaft were jagged and rough, rocks jutting every which way. It was almost like the mountain was giving them a ladder.
The others moved to the centre of the cavern and roped in, falling into line behind her without a word.
It was the way, and so they took it.
THIRTEEN
Jena pulled herself into the shaft.
Hand over hand now, toe over toe. Below, the rope stretched taut then slackened by turns as each girl followed.
As the space angled to the left, it narrowed briefly; it took Jena a minute to negotiate the bend, easing herself around the twisting contours of the rock. She paused just above and waited.
Asha grunted as she manoeuvred herself through; it was some time before she emerged, rubbing a fresh graze on one elbow. She gave Jena a rueful look before perching alongside her on the opposite face of the shaft.
And now the others – three … four … Min passed through easily, Jena noted with satisfaction. Renae and Calla followed soon after and there was only Kari to come.
Jena reached for the next handhold. Below, there was a pause, the sound of muffled voices, and then the rope found its rhythm once more.
Now it was just upwards. Upwards and out. Their progress was steady but laborious and there were times when she came to a stop, waiting for the rope to slacken behind her so they could move on. She checked the impatience that rose in her at such times. It came harder to some; that was all. What mattered was that they got through.
Half an hour passed – perhaps more. They were close now; Jena could sense it. There was no smell or shift in the air this time, only the swinging of some internal compass. The shaft had risen far enough that they must be almost level with the wider passage. Just ahead, the way seemed to be opening out, spreading to make room.
It had been a tight climb but this part at least would be easy. There was a bend here, but it too seemed wide, angling out like an elbow. And once they were clear of the shaft there would be plenty of space around them. They could rest and stretch awhile, then push on. In a few short hours they would be home.
But as Jena hauled herself around the bend, her eyes widened. It was a cruel trick. For the rock to open out like that only to constrict even further than before, to close its throat upon them.
She had been right – the shaft came to an end here; just ahead she could see the point where it met one of the larger passages. But the way through was so narrow. A head’s width? A hip’s?
Jena glanced behind her – beneath her – to where the other girls waited. Could they descend from here, return the way they had come? Even with the lingering light from their headlamps, they would be climbing blind most of the time, their feet stepping down into space.
Remember, she scolded herself. What did she tell the others in training? Trust the space. Find a finger space and the hand will follow. And after that the arm. Ease yourself in. Ease yourself out. She edged forwards. Breath held, ribs contracted. Head. Shoulders. Rock cut through the rough material of her shirt. Skin scraped and bled.
Hips. There was a moment, then; fear knotted inside her, tight as a fist.
Something caught, then released. Legs followed arms. Lungs exhaled.
She was through.
She inched into the space, pulling up some slack in the rope, and then turned to look behind her. As her headlamp illuminated the gap through which she had come, she drew a sharp breath.
It was the narrowest opening, a bare sliver of space between two rocks. But this was what they trained for. She had passed through it and the others would too.
“Come on,” she urged. “It’s fine.”
Breath caught in throats. Stone etched itself into flesh. Between Asha and Loren the rope frayed as it rubbed against a jagged rock. Once Loren was through, Asha drew her knife and cut the ragged strands from the rope. She took the two clean ends and tied them together, then pulled sharply, testing the knot.
Three … four … five. It was meaningless to count, but Jena did so anyway. As if her words might somehow help pull the others through.
They were six now, backs to stone, rubbing bruises, prodding scrapes, reminding themselves not to waste water on wounds. There was just Kari to come. Already Jena was looking about, testing the air. Which passage were they in? How much longer before they reached the outside?
She peered down the line. As each girl had emerged, Jena had shuffled further away from the opening. The other girls’ headlamps had dimmed almost to nothing and she could only make out indistinct shapes in the gloom. She turned to Asha. “Is Kari through yet?”
Asha leaned away towards the others. Someone spoke, their voice muffled and blurry. Asha turned back to Jena. “She’s coming. She’s just–”
A cry echoed through the tunnel, ricocheting off the walls. It sounded eerie, distorted, but the voice was unmistakable.
Kari.
“What’s happening?” Jena asked.
“I need more light.” Calla’s voice was quiet but steady.
“Here.” Jena removed her own headlamp and passed it to Asha. She watched it move down the line to where Calla sat, bent almost double beneath the low stone roof. Calla shone the light into the opening and Kari blinked as the glow hit her face. She was halfway through the opening, her torso flat to the floor of the tunnel, arms straining forwards, fingers grasping. Her face was a sickly white.
“Jena.” There was a deadening flatness in her voice. “I … I’m stuck.”
“No, you’re not. It’s tight; that’s all. Work the angles.”
“I did. I have been.” Kari’s reply was clipped.
Kari knew as well as anyone what to do, how to turn and twist, to make herself small and fluid. But the others had come through. She must have missed something. It was like this sometimes – there was one precise passage and only one. You just had to find it, work yourself into it a certain way.
“One with the rock,” Jena said. “Flatten and pull.”
“I know!” Kari’s voice cracked into a gulping sob.
Dread coiled inside Jena. This was the beginning of panic. She had seen it before – had watched it grow from a moment’s weakness and then spiral on and on, feeding on itself until it was beyond any control.
Kari twisted, groaning, every movement laboured, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I can’
t, Jena.” There was a new note in her voice, the sense of something rising to a point at which it must surely break.
Across the gloom of the tunnel, Jena’s eyes met Calla’s. She held her gaze until the other girl nodded, a sudden set to her jaw. Calla had not done this before – none of them had. But she knew what was needed. She passed the lamp to Renae and squared her shoulders.
Jena felt herself doing the same. What did it sound like when a bone splintered? She forced back the nausea that threatened to overtake her.
“Take her hands,” she said. “Pull.”
Even as Calla began, Jena’s mind tumbled with possibilities. If Kari broke – a hip, a leg? – they would have to get her out of the mountain somehow. Pushing, carrying, dragging.
Kari’s scream cut across her thoughts. In the dim light, Calla’s shoulders strained. There was another sound too. A muted sobbing.
Min. Jena felt a stab of disappointment; though this was a lot for a new tunneller to handle, she had such hopes for the girl. But then the light shifted and she saw that it was not Min but Renae, her shoulders shaking.
“Stop,” Renae begged. “Please.”
Jena opened her mouth to reply – to reassure Renae but to caution her too. While this was hard, it was necessary; they must not waver. But before she could speak, Min did so, her voice soft yet firm. “If you can’t do it, then give it to me.”
“It’s just … what if …?”
Without another word, Min leaned across Renae and took the lamp. “I’ve got it.”
Renae slumped against the tunnel wall while Min angled the light towards the opening. Calla began to pull once more and Kari twisted, moaning.
Darkness clotted Jena’s mind. Her hands clenched at her side.
There was a sound like something tearing, rending itself from the inside out. And then something was on her. Someone. It was dark and then light, shadows spinning wildly. Jena tumbled backwards, throwing her hands out to break her fall. Asha was on top of her, and Loren upon Asha. The line collapsed onto itself as Calla staggered back, pulling the rope taut, and a body with it. In the mad kaleidoscope of light, Jena saw Kari’s face – white, pitching forwards into the tunnel.
