Helix and the Arrival (12 page)

We find a quiet place away from the caves to sit. Every now and then, Dark Side folk amble past, wanting to get a glimpse of the stranger from Rockfall, as well as the tasty-looking swamp boar.

Most of the Dark Side folk have something about their appearance that stands out. They are special in themselves, but in the eyes of Rockfall they would be considered not-quite-right, which is probably why they've been cast here. But none of them scares me, which is at odds with everything I've ever been told about this place.

‘These views …' I say, looking out into the great beyond.

‘Yes, the Dark Side's little secret,' he says. ‘It's the finest view from the mountain. It's a shame that folk
from Rockfall and Newstone will never get to see it for themselves.'

Porgo has decided to sit by propping her bristly backside against my leg. She looks up into my eyes and blinks once as if to check that I don't mind. I pat her on the head and she twitches her nose.

‘Now speak to me, Helix. You must have a very good reason for venturing to such a scary, forbidden place.' Steckman chuckles under his breath.

‘It's Ugthorn. You know of him, don't you?'

‘Yes, I do. Big man. Fine hunter. Well respected.'

‘He's been hurt – badly hurt – by a sabre-tooth.'

‘When did this happen?'

I think back. ‘It happened on the day I last saw you. You were coming from Rockfall. You must have just missed it.'

‘That was a good few days ago. You say he's still alive?' says Steckman, sounding surprised.

‘Yes, but only just. He sleeps with a fever and groans in pain from time to time.'

Porgo has slumped down onto the ground and fallen asleep. She's still resting up against my leg, and her bristly side is giving me the twin sensations of tickling and scraping as her chest rises and falls with each breath.

‘What's being done for him?' asks Steckman.

‘Korg called for Krike, the medicine man.'

Steckman nods slowly. ‘And?'

‘At first he used rocks –'

Steckman interrupts me. ‘Let me guess: one on each side of his head, each a different colour?'

‘How did you know?'

‘It's an old “cure”. Been around since the mountain was a boy. Hasn't worked for just as long. What did he do next?'

‘Since then, he's been mixing medicine from his own ingredients. He places the medicine into the intestine of a mountain vole, ties the intestine at both ends and then pushes it into Ugthorn's wound.'

Steckman doesn't look very impressed. ‘And what of the wound?'

‘It isn't getting better. It looks to be turning green.'

‘The wound should be cleaned and a poultice applied to it.' Steckman speaks these words without hesitation.

‘Can you help?' I ask.

He nearly falls off his rock. ‘Me? Help? I'm a cave-to-cave salesman, Helix, not a medicine man. Do you know what would happen to me if I was caught practising medicine without permission?'

‘No,' I say.

‘I'd be banished from the mountain, Helix! And that would mean the end of my livelihood here. So I think you'll understand, for this reason alone, I cannot help you.'

‘But Steckman,' I say, ‘I know you give medicine to Crag for his hand.'

Steckman's body stiffens. ‘He should not have told you. That was meant to be our secret. Wait till I see him …'

‘Crag didn't tell me – I worked it out. Look, Steckman, Ugthorn is going to die unless he gets some proper medicine.'

Steckman turns his back on me. ‘I can't help you, Helix.'

‘You get it from the river people, don't you? You told me that they understand medicine.'

‘I'm not helping. It's too risky.'

‘Why not?' I say. ‘You helped Crag.'

He turns back and faces me. ‘It wouldn't be the same as giving Crag some herbs for his sore hand – your friend's father has been mauled by a sabre-tooth! He requires a poultice made by a proper medicine man.'

‘We're his last hope. We've got to try something.'

‘No, Helix. This has nothing to do with me. I don't belong to your people – I don't belong to any people.'

There's a loud clap of thunder. Porgo jumps up onto all fours in a shudder of snorts and spins around in a circle. Heavy rain begins to fall. We run into the nearest cave. It's large and empty. It appears to be a communal meeting space.

The rain is so heavy that it looks like a waterfall beyond the entrance. Steckman points upwards and speaks loudly into my ear, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the water.

‘My sacks. I must return to the cave where I'm staying and make sure nothing gets wet. You'll have to stay here the night. The Common Way will be flooded and it's getting late.'

Steckman's right. I can't return to Rockfall tonight.

The rain bashes the ground outside and forms deep puddles in the swales along the path.

‘If you don't help me,' I say to Steckman, ‘I will go
to the lowlands without you and seek the help of the river people.'

I don't know if he hears what I've said.

He whistles twice for Porgo and the two of them run out into the open. They turn inwards and climb the slippery, zigzagging path back to their dry cave.

I hear Porgo squealing, as much in delight as in fear, I think.

The storm is so fierce it's as though the river has come to the mountain. Mum and Dad will be worried and Krike will miss his suup, but there's nothing I can do.

The cave I'm in has a wide mouth but, thankfully, it's also deep, which means I can take shelter from the rain being blown through the entrance. It's an old cave by the feel of it, and has seen many folk come and go. There are creepy paintings on the walls of creatures that have long since disappeared from our hunting grounds: woolly rhinoceros, giant cave bears and the greater mountain ibex (as opposed to the lesser mountain ibex, which is pretty unimpressive and is sometimes hunted today).

There's a pit for a fire near the back of the cave and wood piled beside it. The small pouch I carry on my belt contains flint, some bark shavings and a firestone used for
making sparks. It was a present from Mum and Dad for my tenth birthday – a caveboy's fire-making kit, in case of emergency. I've never had to use it before …

I hold the firestone in one hand and the flint in the other. I strike the flint against the firestone but the wind and cold defeat any hint of a spark. I smash the firestone with the flint again.

And again.

And again.

Until …

Sparks!

Embers!

Smoke!

I blow, making the bark shavings glow orange and the kindling catch alight. Soon there are the makings of a real fire, a fire made by me.

I try to make myself comfortable on one of the storage ledges at the back of the cavern. I wouldn't say it's the most luxurious place to rest, but by rearranging the large, flat stones of the shelf, I'm able to make myself a smooth surface to sleep on, up off the dusty cave floor.

The heat from the fire rises and feeds me with a small amount of warmth. The flames from the fire flicker shadows on the cave wall and ceiling, illuminating the cave paintings and making them come to life.

I roll this way and that, but I can't seem to get comfortable.

I sit up to try to reorganise my stone bed and in the flashes of light from the fire, I notice that one of the
stones, the biggest and flattest one, contains word signs: I'm sleeping on a tablet of some kind. I look at the rest of the rocks that form the ledge, but this looks to be the only tablet.

I slide off the ledge and remove the tablet, holding it beside the fire so that I can see it better. I blow away the dirt that's found a home in the grooves of the stone etchings. Across the top is written what looks to be names and I can just make them out: Herb, Vedgar and Crev. How many Herbs, Vedgars and Crevs can there be? It has to be my great-grandfather Herb, Veldo's great-grandfather Vedgar and Korg the Magnificent!

I have to read slowly and keep blowing dirt from the etchings, but the words slowly come to life:

I can't believe the words before my eyes. I read them again and then a third time to make sure I'm not imagining them. But each time I read, the same message appears. I think back to when I last saw Korg. When he saw the sacred rock from the river, I remember him saying, ‘It is a thing of memories.' His words make sense to me now. Korg remembered seeing the blue rock and was there the day that Vedgar pulled it out of the river.

The writing continues. I blow away some more dirt, eager to keep reading.

My chest is pounding as if I've just run to the top of the mountain. Not only had Herb, Vedgar and Korg visited the river, but they'd crossed it and eaten the river people's food! And enjoyed it! I wish Speel was sitting beside me right now – I'd read the tablet to him slowly and finish each line with a smirk.

I read on.

I knew it. The river people's roundhouses are not poor imitations of caves as Speel would have us believe. Why hasn't Korg told this to everyone? Why does he allow Speel to lie?

The final rows of word signs at the bottom of the tablet are thickly encrusted with dirt. I blow away what I can and scrape away the rest with a twig.

I let go of the tablet. It makes a thud as it lands on the floor of the cave. A puff of dust rises.

I say it to myself and it sounds like a victory chant.

There is no Land's End. There is no Land's End. There is no Land's End
…