The Tunnel of Dreams

by Bernard Beckett

  ‘I know you’re frightened,’ she said. ‘I know this feels like it isn’t possible. But we don’t get to waste our energy on those sorts of feelings. You saw Jackie. I don’t know how much longer she can last.’

  There was no answer to that, but to suck in a deep breath of night air, nod, and follow Alice back up the steps and towards the hidden exit.

  Back on the farmland, with the Academy nothing more than a dark shadow in the valley below, Alice began to run. Arlo struggled to keep up.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘There are only a few hours of darkness left,’ Alice puffed. ‘And we have to teach you how to fly.’

  At exactly that moment there was a rush of air and the night was filled with the sound of powerfully flapping wings. A ruru had swept low and was performing a series of tight turns around them, leaving them with no choice but to stand still and watch.

  Arlo was certain it was the owl he had rescued earlier. ‘Seymour?’

  Like Alice, the bird preferred to cut to the chase. ‘I know about the flying competition,’ it said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Is it talking?’ Alice interrupted. ‘What’s it saying?’

  Arlo had forgotten she couldn’t hear the animals.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I think it wants to help us.’

  The owl nodded. That much Alice could understand.

  ‘How?’ she asked.

  ‘However you need us,’ Seymour told Arlo. ‘It might be useful to have extra eyes in the sky. I will see you in two nights’ time, and you can tell me what you have planned.’

  ‘Eyes in the sky,’ Arlo translated, for Alice.

  ‘Tell him we might need him for a messenger,’ Alice said.

  ‘Pretty sure he can understand you,’ Arlo said.

  ‘Actually I’m a she,’ Seymour told him. ‘You should get under cover, there are sentries out tonight.’

  And with a flurry of flapping she was gone.

  Back at the camp Alice immediately put Arlo through his paces, again and again making him go through the visualisation steps Stefan had outlined. Arlo did them dutifully, trying to clear his mind, to feel the air around him, to imagine it speaking to him. He reached up, felt his hands moving through the empty space, imagined them moving still higher, until he stood on the tips of his toes and could feel his spine stretching, from the base of his back to his head, and each time he whispered the same words: I am floating. I am of the air.

  But each time his feet stayed on the ground, just as they would have if he had completed none of the steps, just as they would have if he had possessed no magic. And each time Alice urged him to try again.

  They spent the three hours until dawn this way, trying and failing hundreds of times. Every muscle ached. Arlo’s shoulders, his neck, even his throat and his fingers, were beaten by hours of reaching for the impossible. When Alice told him that was enough, and sloped off to sleep without another word, Arlo felt miserable with failure. But he was too tired to waste time in wakeful self-pity and quickly followed into their hideaway. The last thing he was aware of, before sleep took hold, was the sound of his friend trying to silence her sobs. She understood how little chance they had of saving her sister.

  When he returned to his bed, Stefan heard Harriet roll over, and even in the blackness of the dormitory could tell her eyes were on him.

  ‘Did anybody come looking for me?’ he whispered.

  ‘All safe,’ Harriet replied. ‘Get what you were after in the kitchen?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Stefan said.

  ‘Hey, Stefan, you know you can trust me, right? You know you can tell me anything?’

  ‘I know,’ Stefan said. How desperately he wanted to say the rest, to tell her his story and ask for her help. There was nothing he wanted more. But this wasn’t the time.

  ‘You know I’m not going to survive the flying challenge, don’t you?’ Harriet said, and her voice was filled with great sadness. Not sadness for herself, but some other thing he didn’t understand.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Stefan told her.

  ‘It’s true,’ Harriet answered. ‘I know you have a story, Stefan. I know you have you own reason for needing to win and your own reason for not wanting to tell me. I just need you to know I won’t be able to help you, that’s all. Not the whole way to the end. I want to, but I can’t.’

  ‘We should sleep now,’ Stefan said, scared that if he tried to say anything more he might start crying. It was frightening enough being in here, without imagining what that might be like without Harriet by his side.

  THE DAY OF the flying elimination dawned still and cold. The twenty-five competitors stood nervously at the start line, their agitated breath forming small clouds of steam, their shuffling feet providing an anxious beat. To the west, the half-moon hung low in the sky. In another week it would be a perfect orb and they would have their only chance to escape, but Stefan could not allow himself to think about that. He had more pressing concerns. Next to him, Harriet trembled. She had been too nervous to eat breakfast.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Stefan whispered.

  Harriet acted as if she hadn’t heard him.

  Stefan looked further down the line. Halfway along, appearing relaxed and confident, was Malcolm Strawbridge. He had excelled during the training sessions and had established himself as Madame Johnson’s favourite. He jiggled his longs arms loosely at his side, the way Stefan had seen athletes doing before their races at the Olympics. Malcolm was calmly chewing, and when he saw Stefan watching him, he gave a sarcastic wave.

  The competitors faced three dark ponds, said to be the homes of huge, ravenous eels, and beyond that a stretch of grass the width of a football pitch scattered with large pointed rocks that reminded Stefan of gravestones. Beyond that was the familiar wall. The Major, who always seemed to puff up to twice his natural size on occasions like this, began his explanation. Madame Latitude and Madame Johnson watched. The competitors listened in breathless silence, determined to understand the rules perfectly.

  Stefan was especially on edge. Alice’s plan depended on the details. High above, little more than a speck in the morning sky, a bird circled, watching. Another, a light brown owl, perched on the perimeter fence, its head cocked as if listening. A sparrow pecked quietly, just behind the Major’s boots. Stefan noticed all these things and took comfort in them.

  ‘Right, you lot, listen up,’ the Major began. ‘Here are the rules for today’s competition. You are currently standing behind a yellow line. While you are on this side of the line, you may have your feet on the ground. Once you cross the line, you must be flying at all times. Land in the water, brush a rock or scrape against the wall and you will be eliminated. Your task is to fly over the pond, over the field of rocks and land on the other side of the wall.’

  Every eye focused on the scene. In training few had achieved the height of the wall or covered a distance as long as the one before them. Now they were being asked to achieve both. And it was about to get worse.

  ‘On the other side of the wall you may touch the ground. There, you will each find a wooden pyramid, made up of ten puzzle pieces. You are to disassemble the pyramid, studying how it is put together. You will then fly the pieces back to here, one piece at a time.’

  Every competitor did the same grim calculation. To bring the ten puzzle pieces back meant clearing the wall and the hazards twenty times. Few believed they could manage it once. Surely even Malcolm Strawbridge would fail.

  ‘When you have all ten pieces of your puzzle,’ the Major continued, as if explaining something as simple as a game of checkers, ‘you must assemble it. The first ten competitors to complete their puzzle will remain in the Academy. The rest of you will be going home. And, remember, there is also a bonus available today. Whoever wins this tournament wins themselves one life, which they can use to avoid a later elimination. Are there any questions?’

  Stefan heard Harriet whimper.

  Madame Latitude stepped forward. ‘Rig
ht now, a great many of you, perhaps all of you, are looking at this challenge and thinking it is impossible. But remember this, mountains always look most forbidding before they are conquered. This is not just a test of your flying ability; it is a test of your mental fortitude. You came here hoping to join the Royal Guard. And a Royal Guard does not baulk at the impossible.

  ‘You must learn not to lose heart, but to look within and discover talents and abilities you didn’t know you had. You can rest as long as you need to between flights. You are much more likely to lose by scraping the wall than you are to lose by failing to complete your puzzle. Last year one student who took five full hours to complete the challenge still made it through to the next round. Will, not skill, shall win the day.’

  ‘See?’ Stefan whispered to Harriet. ‘Just take your time, and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Harriet closed her eyes and shook her head firmly. ‘I’ve done my best, but this is the end for me. Sorry.’

  Stefan saw the sadness in his friend’s eyes, the collapsing inwards that comes from letting others down. He felt sorry for her, but her pain at disappointing her father would be nothing compared to the pain of having to tell Alice he had failed her.

  ‘Prepare to begin.’ The Major’s voice filled the air.

  Stefan crouched, flooded with a heart-surge of adrenaline, even though he knew there was no point in starting quickly. In fact, his whole plan depended upon being slow to scale the wall. The whole plan—he could not let himself think about it. What if it failed? What if they were caught? What if—

  ‘Three, two, one…start!’ The command echoed through the courtyard, and twenty-five children rose into the air as one, all of them, it seemed, ignoring Madame Latitude’s advice. Stefan looked across to Harriet, who had her fists clenched and her eyes half closed. They moved slowly together over the pond, already the last two competitors.

  Harriet began to lose height. Beneath her the eels thrashed in excitement as her shadow on their pond grew ever larger.

  Stefan moved closer to her. ‘Deep breath, calm down. You’re doing fine,’ he offered.

  ‘Fine?’ Harriet spat at him. ‘I’m dead last and I’m headed for that water!’

  It was quite true. The rest of the pack was already over solid ground, some maintaining enough height to clear the gravestone rocks, others steering paths between them. Far out in front, of course, was Malcolm Strawbridge. He had arrived at the wall and was now completing slow circuits in the air, gaining height with each loop.

  ‘Not dead last,’ Stefan said. ‘I’m with you.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t be,’ Harriet hissed. ‘Don’t lose your chance just because I’m no good at this. Go on, I’ve seen how you can fly. Hurry.’

  Stefan wished he could explain that flying with the others was the last thing he should do, that his only hope lay with becoming separated from the pack. He wished he could tell her that his twin and his new friend had broken into the compound at dawn and at this very moment were hunkered down in their hiding place, waiting, and that above them, high in the sky, secret friends watched it all, waiting to signal the all clear. But he could tell her none of these things. For now, she would have to believe that all was lost.

  Ahead at the wall there was a sudden scream. A boy had attempted to rise too quickly and had scraped the stone. The first competitor was out.

  ‘See,’ Stefan said. ‘You’re not dead last. Now you just need to outlast another fourteen.’

  Harriet shook ahead, but Stefan noticed she had managed to level out a full metre clear of the frantic eels. There was hope.

  ‘But I’ll never clear the wall, Stefan,’ Harriet said. ‘Never.’

  Arlo and Alice crouched together in the supply shed. Between them they took up almost all the space in the small shed, whose main purpose was to house the chute by which deliveries of food, firewood and other necessities were transported to the main storeroom below. Through the gap between the doors they had a clear view of the wall, and the twenty-five pyramid puzzles. Earlier, in the last hours of darkness, they had taken one apart and reassembled it twenty times over, to make sure they understood the puzzle’s tricks and patterns. In a few moments, the first competitor would appear over the wall. Soon after that, it would be time to act.

  ‘Any sign of Seymour?’ Arlo asked.

  Piwi, when he’d heard of their plan from the other birds had been predictably outraged. ‘I could have helped you,’ he’d squawked. ‘I could have been your look out.’

  Arlo had explained, not unreasonably, that a pukeko circling over the Academy would be such an unusual sight that people would be sure to notice. Piwi had sulked beneath the roots of a massive totara, refusing to come out for the entire afternoon.

  ‘Yes,’ Alice said. ‘Seymour’s still circling. Okay, here we go. First competitor.’

  Arlo pushed his eye to the gap in the splintered wood. A tall figure crested the wall and dropped quickly to the ground on the other side. It was Malcolm Strawbridge. Who else?

  Alice and Arlo watched him roll over and bring his knees to his chest, breathing in deeply. Although he had made the flight look easy, it had clearly exhausted him. Arlo counted twenty deep breaths before Malcolm crawled towards his puzzle. He studied it carefully, taking one piece off, putting it back in its place, then two, then three. He was clever and he was disciplined. He would not take a piece out until he had memorised its position. Arlo couldn’t help but admire his thoroughness.

  When Malcolm finally seemed confident he could reassemble the puzzle, he took not the first part he had removed, but the last one, and tucked it into his belt. He crouched, breathed in and closed his eyes, preparing to take off again. The return journey was far more difficult, as the competitors had to achieve the height of the wall immediately, which meant a vertical climb, the most difficult flying manoeuvre of all. As Malcolm rose steadily into the air, the next competitors appeared over the wall, already well behind. It would take a miracle for somebody to head off Malcolm.

  ‘You can do that, right?’ Alice whispered into Arlo’s ear as they watched Malcolm crest the wall.

  ‘Of course I can,’ Arlo replied, although all of a sudden he didn’t feel so sure. He’d done all his practising in the forest, with Piwi at his side, offering unhelpful advice.

  ‘Flap your wings.’

  ‘I don’t have any wings!’

  ‘You should grow some wings.’

  It was different here, out in the open, with the pressure of failing.

  The other competitors were even more exhausted when they landed than Malcolm had been. Some crouched, some lay on the ground with their eyes closed. One sat cross-legged and sang softly to herself.

  One by one they chose their first puzzle pieces and prepared themselves for the departure, willing themselves up and over. The last to leave crashed into the wall and out of the competition.

  ‘Where are they?’ There was still no sign of Stefan, and Arlo was becoming nervous.

  ‘There, right on time,’ Alice replied. ‘Look.’

  Stefan and Harriet appeared over the top of the wall. The last two to do so, but at least they were still in the game. Harriet was so broken she lay face down on the dirt, eyes closed.

  Alice watched Seymour swoop in to perch atop the roof of the perimeter watchtower—the signal that nobody else was coming. The coast was clear.

  ‘Now!’ Alice ordered. Arlo rushed out of the shed, his heart beating so hard that the sound of pulsing blood filled his ears.

  ‘Nice work,’ he whispered to Stefan, grabbing the first puzzle piece and forcing himself to wait for a moment, stand still and concentrate. His brother hurried into the shed and out of sight, to recover properly. Harriet remained on the ground, barely moving, oblivious.

  ‘Arlo will be back before she’s even noticed I’ve gone,’ Stefan whispered. His voice was hoarse and his hands were shaking.

  ‘Is she going to make it?’ Alice asked.

  ‘It’s too soon to sa
y,’ Stefan answered. ‘There’s already two out, and a couple of others definitely started too fast.’

  He wasn’t about to tell Alice the second part of his plan. That was his secret alone.

  Arlo rose steadily, but still he was terrified. What if something distracted him and his concentration broke? What if a sudden wind gust pushed him against the wall? But he felt proud too, to be part of this, to be making a contribution.

  He flew over the wall and began to descend, remembering how difficult it was to control his altitude. A rock rushed up at him and it took all his concentration to pull back and swerve. He felt himself hollowing out, as if the energy required for flying was being stripped from every cell of him. Be the air, he whispered to himself, trying not to waste his strength on panicking. Be the air.

  His landing was clumsy, there’d been no time for perfecting that, but he’d passed three competitors on the return and, while the flight had drained him, the others collapsed with such complete exhaustion that he knew Alice’s plan was working. With he and Stefan sharing the task, they each had only half the number of journeys to complete, and had twice the time to recover between them.

  Arlo placed the first puzzle piece on his marker and waited a sensible time before attempting to fly again. Alice had been very clear on this. Their advantage would count for nothing if one of them attempted to return too quickly. As if to reinforce her warning, up ahead a third competitor wavered, coming down too low over the eel pond, her feet bicycling up a spray of water before she landed with an anguished yelp on the grass beyond.

  The flight back was harder, but Arlo was getting used to the pain and this helped him to stay calmer and to focus on keeping his flight path smooth and efficient. His second landing was softer, but still he came down with enough of a thud to startle Harriet, who was sitting with her head in her hands.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she said, when she saw who it was. ‘I can’t do another nineteen trips.’