Quest for the Sun (20 page)

‘It's him.'

‘But I thought Richard said the Lost Tribe —'

‘It's him.'

‘What about the time difference, though? Surely he'd be —'

‘It's him.'

‘But Adam, how could —'

‘Give the guy a break,' said Richard. ‘I'd say Adam'd know his own brother.'

My heart had sprouted wings … and suddenly the words that had been choked up inside were tumbling from my mouth. ‘I know it doesn't make sense, but Rich is right — I
do
know him. I knew him right from the start, deep down in my heart, just like I think he knew me — we just didn't realise it.

‘Yes, they put him out to die but he didn't. As for the time difference …' A huge, incredible joy was flooding my mind like sunlight, and with it came Meirion's words, their meaning suddenly clear:
‘The twin moons of Karazan follow each their own
orbit, one near, one far, tracing their own path through the skies; but at Sunbalance they rise together as one, silver and gold, a perfect pair balancing the heavens.'

‘It ties in with the prophecy too,' Jamie said.
‘When man is child and child is man …'

‘I've always thought twins had a kind of magic,' said Gen. ‘If Lyulf had been some random person, an ordinary brother, he'd have aged in Karazan-years, the same as everyone else; but being a twin was a link so powerful it held him back to Adam's age.'

‘The age of the firstborn …' murmured Kenta.

‘But that'd be awful!' Rich protested. ‘Everyone'd think …'

I was remembering Temba's words:
‘The mind was whole! I knew it with a mother's heart — saw the spirit shine from his eyes, bright as fire. But at a year, he was not able even to crawl upon his hands and knees, he just lay and smiled at me.'

I must have spoken aloud; Kenta was staring at me, solemn-faced. ‘That's why he was put out to die. Temba thought he was handicapped because at the age of one he wasn't even sitting up. But he wasn't really one. He was a little baby of only three months old, our time.'

‘And there was that thing Blade said, remember?' Rich chipped in. ‘When I opened my big mouth and made an idiot of myself … she said Lyulf had the skills of a swordsman five times his age …'

‘Along with the speed and stamina of youth,' Gen finished. ‘It was right there in front of us all the time. We just didn't see it.'

And something else made sense. Those anguished words I'd overheard in the firelight: Blade's whispered question:
What are you running from?
And Lyulf's reply:
The evil I battle is mine alone to face or flee, my curse mine alone to carry.

How much had she known, or guessed?

And how must it have been for my brother to carry the burden of his secret for fifty long years — a curse whose reason he couldn't begin to guess at?

For two days we journeyed across the featureless desert of Limbo. We kept the sun on our right through the morning, stopped in whatever shade we could find when it was overhead, then pushed on till it sank below the left horizon and purple twilight spilled across the land.

For two dark, moonless nights we huddled by the fire, keeping watch in twos, the whispering of the wind merging with the far-off howling of wolves as the night wore on, and weaving its way through our dreams.

More than once I knew there was something — someone — beyond the glow of the fire. If I turned I'd see nothing, but in my mind's eye I could picture them: lithe, dark figures watching, just far enough away to remain hidden, just close enough to keep guard over us. Whatever the dangers of the wildlands, the silent sentinels of the Lost Tribe kept them at bay.

 

On the third day the wind changed direction, bringing with it something that brought Richard to a standstill, sniffing the air. ‘Do you smell what I smell?' he asked with a grin. ‘Grass!'

‘You can't smell grass!' Jamie objected, then sniffed. ‘Though now you mention it …'

It was true. After so long surrounded by dust and the occasional stone we could all smell it: a glossy golden succulence with an edge of sweetness that transported me in an instant back to the playing-field on sports day, the newly cut lawn prickling my legs.

By afternoon it was all round us: a billowing sea of grey-green, flocks of tiny birds with strident voices surfing the warm currents of air above. We waded through it, grinning like idiots, pulling long strands and nibbling the pale, tender ends.

‘Where there's grass there must be water,' said Gen hopefully. Our bottles were almost empty, and even Rich's magic crystal wouldn't change dust into water.

We walked on further than usual in the hope she'd be right, but the ground was rising steadily instead of falling to a river
valley, and soon our steps were dragging and it was almost too dark to see. ‘I vote we stop,' said Jamie at last.

‘Let's carry on to that next rise,' Kenta suggested. ‘Who knows what's on the other side?'

On we plodded, Jamie in the lead, spurred on as always by the thought of dinner and an end to the day's journey. Suddenly he staggered as if he'd been shot and stumbled back with a hoarse cry of alarm, arms windmilling; dropped to hands and knees and crawled backwards, whimpering.

‘Stop right there, everyone!' We didn't need Rich to tell us. We were all rooted to the spot, hearts thumping — all except Gen. She hurried forward, bent double as if there might be an invisible sniper, and crouched beside Jamie. ‘What is it, Jamie?' she asked, sharp-voiced with fright and worry.

‘It's the edge!' Jamie was warbling. ‘The edge of the world!'

‘Rubbish!' scoffed Richard, striding up. ‘Any excuse to stop, is all —'

He broke off, took a hasty step back and stood, arms folded, staring outwards. ‘I'd stay away, guys,' he said over his shoulder. Carefully —
very
carefully — I shuffled up beside him.

Jamie was right: it was the edge of the world. The grassy plain stretched away on either side as far as we could see into the darkness, but ahead … ahead there was nothing. It was more than a cliff: two strides ahead the ground fell away as cleanly as if it had been cut with a knife. The grassy plain rolled to its edge — and ended. Below was swimming darkness.

‘Maybe in the morning …' Kenta began.

‘Well,' said Jamie from a safe distance, ‘I vote we don't set up camp too close to the edge. What if one of us sleepwalks?'

With that uncomfortable thought in our minds we backtracked a full five minutes, then trampled ourselves a nest in the grass. We shared out a ration of water smaller than we would have liked, and snacked on some dry noodles and cold beef jerky — Jamie voted we didn't light a fire either, with all that grass around, and for once not even Richard argued.

Though no one mentioned it, I knew we were all thinking of that yawning drop and what lay beyond. If what Lyulf and Blade had told us was true, it was the end of the world. But we also knew that past it lay the Realms of the Undead, our friends and the end of our quest — so somehow, in the morning, we were going to have to figure out a way down.

Soon the others' whispers settled into regular breathing and snuffling snores. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground, a million miles from sleep. There was something missing, something I'd forgotten. What could it be? Was there something I should have thought of, or done? It hovered on the fringes of my mind, agonisingly close.

I lay back down, scowling up at the clouds. And suddenly it came to me: my thumb! How long had it been? I felt a pang of disloyalty. Hauled it out from under my sleeping bag, and popped it into my mouth. It tasted the same as ever — dirtier, with a kind of spiciness that was a hundred percent Karazan, but otherwise pretty much the way it always had. I settled back, waiting for it to mould to the exact shape of the roof of my mouth. But something wasn't quite right. Different … as if my thumb didn't slot into its old position quite the same. I gave it another couple of sucks, partly to be sure I wasn't imagining things, partly for old times' sake. Then I slipped it out and wiped it dry, locked my hands behind my head, and lay staring up at the pale blur of the moon.

I felt almost as if I should apologise to it — though what for, I wasn't sure. But deep down I knew it would understand. And one thing was for sure: it'd still be there, if ever I needed it again.

I was woken by the sound of thunder. It was just before dawn, when the air has that pearly greyness. But it wasn't thunder: it was an earthquake. The ground under my cheek was shaking itself apart in a drumming vibration that brought Blue-bum diving headfirst into my sleeping bag. The girls sat up tangle-haired and wild-eyed; Jamie popped out of his sleeping bag like a gopher, chubby cheeks still rosy with sleep.

It was Rich who yelled the warning. ‘Hit the deck —
now!
'

In the split second before I dropped to the ground my eyes took a flash-photo my befuddled brain, hazy with dreams and fizzing with adrenaline, refused to process.

Then it broke over us: a tidal wave of thundering giants that shook the earth, riding a hot whirlwind of air with a wild pungency that shot through me in a dizzying mixture of fear, disbelief and wonder.

Though my face was buried in my arms I was aware of their huge bodies stampeding past, massive hooves smashing down all round me like sledgehammers, missing my ears by a
hair's-breadth; of great dark shapes launching themselves up and over me, blotting out the dawn light. There was another sound too, a soaring, rushing whoosh. Then as quickly as it had come, it was over.

A muffled voice came from the direction of Jamie's sleeping bag. ‘Is it safe to come out now?'

I sat up warily. Before, our little nest had been a hollow in the grass, the tall stalks surrounding us like walls. Now the whole world was trampled flat. I stumbled to my feet and hobbled a few steps, my sleeping bag crumpled round my ankles, gazing after them.

‘What was it?' Jamie quavered, his eyes and the tip of his nose peeking out. ‘Is it coming back?'

‘Horses. It was horses.' I could see them in the distance; they'd wheeled round, still galloping, far away and tiny, scattering, spiralling and regrouping like a flock of birds playing in the breeze.

‘Whew!' Jamie was saying shakily. ‘How lucky was that! They could've killed us!'

I narrowed my eyes, staring, only vaguely aware of the voices of the others.

‘They wouldn't. Horses don't.'

‘Well, they nearly did — one jumped right over me!'

‘That's exactly it. If a horse sees you're there, it'll do just about anything to avoid standing on you. It happens in horse-racing all the time, with those pile-ups in steeplechases and things …'

So Karazeel had been wrong. He hadn't killed all the horses — there were still some left. This one herd at least, safe on the farthest fringes of the world.

I was about to turn away when a movement among the specks caught my eye. Something lifted, wheeled, then dropped again. Birds, massive ones, two of them, soaring above the herd. Chasing each other, coming together, then spinning apart; playing, or … fighting? They were too far away to tell.

‘Don't worry, Adam, I don't think they'll come back,' Jamie was saying comfortingly. ‘Look — the sun's coming up. Let's check out the cliff before breakfast, then work out how to tackle it while we eat. Come on!'

 

We stood in a solemn line a safe distance from the edge of the precipice and stared down in silence. There wasn't much to say.

The cliff face was perpendicular and smooth as glass. Way, way down was something I thought must be water — the light hadn't reached there yet, and it was too dark to tell. Further from the cliff face it turned patchy and broke up into a deeper darkness that disappeared into distance.

‘It's clouds,' Rich croaked. ‘Those paler billowy things are clouds. And beyond them, way down — that must be trees: the forest Blade told us about.'

I said nothing. It seemed to me the only way down would be to sprout wings and fly but it didn't seem helpful to say so.

‘Well,' said Gen after a pause, ‘there must be a path or something. If that's where the Realms of the Undead are, and the others have been taken there, then there's a way down.'

‘Gen's right. We just walk along the top till we find it.' Kenta didn't sound convinced.

‘Maybe we're supposed to use Meirion's magic sail as a parachute?' hazarded Jamie.

‘I don't know,' said Rich. ‘I wouldn't want to be the one to try it. But standing here won't help. Let's eat. The answer's bound to come. It always does.'

 

But it didn't. We finished our dribble of water and dried apricots in gloomy silence, and all too soon Rich clambered to his feet and said, ‘Well, I guess it's walk-along-the-cliff-time, guys. How about a vote, Jamie: left or right?'

Then he frowned and tilted his head, listening. Turned, shading his eyes, gazing south. I was on my feet in a flash, heart hammering. I could hear it too. Hoof beats, coming closer.

I could see them now: three of them, two together in tight formation, the other right behind. They were heading straight for us. But there was something about the two bigger ones, something odd …

‘Adam …' Jamie was quavering. I glanced at him. His face was grey and slack with fear.

‘Don't worry, Jamie, they won't hurt us. Look at them, they're beautiful!'

As I said it, the impossible happened. The rear horse, a powerful white stallion, suddenly spread a massive pair of wings — and flew. My mouth dropped open. He rose in a steep climb, then plummeted like an eagle falling on its prey. As he dropped from the sky he let out a scream of rage.

The other two horses reacted instantly. The smaller one, running ahead, wheeled and raced back the way she'd come, ears flat against her head. I had a clear view of her as she turned: a filly, wingless, a dark dapple-grey with a star on her forehead, her silver tail rippling out behind her like silk. I saw her eyes roll with wild terror; then her haunches bunched and thrust, clods of earth flew, and she was gone.

The other horse spun to face its attacker. As the great stallion fell from the sky he rose to meet it, his own wings outspread, forelegs scything the air. Something about his lightness of foot and the way he held his head, his crazy courage and fierce pride, told me he was hardly more than a colt. The early morning sun gleamed on a coat glossy as a conker and flashed off wingtips blue-black as a starling's; his dark mane and tail flew in the breeze like the spray of a shimmering waterfall. He'd stolen the filly, or tried to — challenged the dominant stallion. And now he would pay.

I half expected the stallion to veer away at the last second but he didn't. He dive-bombed the colt, smashing into him with a thwac
k
that jarred us where we stood. The colt met the blow head-on, but the impact threw him to the ground. Legs flashed as he scrambled to his feet again, but the stallion was
on him, hooves slicing like cleavers, yellow teeth snapping like giant castanets.

Somehow the bay colt struggled free, spread his wings and in a single beat was airborne; now it was his turn to scream, a feral shriek with a fury that made my blood race. Then he swooped on the stallion, teeth bared, eyes rolling white.

They met in a confusion of flashing hide and flailing hooves, first one, then the other rearing skywards, necks snaking, teeth slashing and tearing. Suddenly it was over. The stallion wrested himself from the colt's fierce embrace and soared upwards, wheeling like a warplane once over his challenger with widespread wings and a final savage screech of warning before gliding in a lowering swoop after the far-off figure of the grey mare.

The colt galloped after him, nostrils flared. Twice he trumpeted a challenge before his pace broke to a lilting trot, then stumbled to a walk. He gazed into the distance, one foreleg held awkwardly, flanks heaving and head held high. His wings were half-spread, as if he was undecided whether to pursue the stallion or turn back; then at last, with a stretch and a shuffle, he folded them into place at his sides. Slowly, head jerking painfully with each step, he moved away in the direction the others had taken.

‘He's hurt,' Kenta whispered. ‘Look at him, he's limping.'

‘He'll be OK,' said Rich. ‘It's all in a day's work to him.'

I walked slowly over to the trampled battleground where the fight had taken place. Where the young horse had walked the golden grass was bent apart to make a V-shaped pathway — and all along one side the stems were slick with blood.