Blue Fire and Ice (41 page)

Kevin’s eyes widened in surprised, then his face broke into a wide grin. ‘I should like that very much.’ He jumped off his chair. ‘Cup of tea, anyone?’

The room went completely quiet and seven heads turned to look at him. He had a lot to learn.

‘There’s coffee and a metal pot in my pack,’ said Copper. ‘C’mon, Kevin, I’ll give you a hand.’

Aunt Mag sat down at the writing table. Idly, she opened the book and flicked through the pages. After a moment, she stopped flicking and began reading. She read a page then went back to the beginning of the book.

‘Copper! Kevin! Come here, I think everyone should hear this, ’ she called, reading through the second page as Kevin and Copper entered from the kitchen.

‘That’s Amelia’s book,’ protested Kevin. ‘I’m not sure she’d like …’ He stopped.

‘This isn’t a diary, Kevin,’ said Aunt Mag. ‘She was writing a book about what she was doing here. She meant for people to read this some day.’

So, Aunt Mag read Amelia’s story. It was also the story of the land Amelia called The Place, which lay far away across the northern sea.

“My family is among the oldest and the most respected in The Place. From as early as I can remember, I have been taught what it means to be a Myrmidot and to fulfil my responsibilities to The Place. From the words of my mother and father, I have also learned that the Myrmidots have forgotten the duty they have to our way of life and to our land. We have become a lazy, weakened people who have lost their purpose and the knowledge of the true order of things.

I see our weakness and decline in a hundred different things: in the way we prefer pleasure over work; in our schools, where our Rules are questioned, instead of being taught as Truth. Our writers mock the past when they should respect it. We no longer build monuments to remind us of our purpose and our strength; instead, our engineers build only to please the people and only what is practical.

Nothing, though, shows our weakness like our relationship to the Beadles. They are small in mind as well as in body. They are like children and they were given into our care. Through our foolish generosity, we gave them their freedom. They still serve us, of course. We let them speak but we take little notice of what they say. Yet I fear our kindness has made Myrmidots forget the proper order of things.

I know it is the people of The Place – the true people, the Myrmidots – who give The Place its strength. The heart of its people is the heart of The Place. They nourish it with their pride and purpose. As their purpose diminishes, so does The Place…

We had once been sure and proud … I have devoted my life to restoring The Place to what it had been. Other Myrmidots, lazy and short-sighted, shunned me. They thought me fanatical and old-fashioned. Yet, my belief has helped me to endure their scorn …

Year after year was consumed by learning. I came to realise that in order to be as we had been, we had to rediscover the past. I sought to learn more of our history. I studied what we had been and how we came to be. Our library and museum became as familiar to me as my own home. In attics and basements I found forgotten clues to the past in the things people treasure, then put aside. It was in one of these attics that I found what other Myrmidots had forgotten …

And when I found it, I knew what I had to do to restore The Place…

From ancient, yellowed letters and maps, locked in a rusted boxes, I learned the story. Many centuries ago, a group of Myrmidots had set out to explore the sea to the south. They sailed until they came to a new land. Huge mountains rose straight up from the sea. They had tried to cross the mountains, but as soon as they set foot on their slopes a feeling of oppression and despair fell over them. Many retreated back to the ship; a few made it beyond the mountains to the valleys and plains below. Eventually, the few returned, with tales of a strange, unpredictable and lazy people who could magically transform themselves.

One more attempt was made. This time, a group of Beadles, who were then still in servitude, was sent to accompany the Myrmidots. None of the second expedition returned. Whether they were lost during the voyage or perished in the Land was never known. But the Myrmidots of The Place turned their curiosity in other directions. The Land became a mythical place, populated by a fairy-tale people who called themselves Muddles …

Those voyagers had passed through the mountains and found the Muddles in the plains below. And they had stayed. The Myrmidots released the Beadles from their bondage to let them decide their own future. The Muddles had welcomed them all and offered them what part of the Land they wished, though the Muddles never settled too far from the river that flowed through the centre of the Land. Thus, the Myrmidots chose the west, where the land was suited to their skills at building; and the Beadles happily chose the hills to the east, which seemed fresh and new to them.

For a few generations, secret trips were made back to The Place and disillusioned or adventurous Myrmidots migrated to the Land, along with Beadles who had dreamed of being more than servants and clerks. The Myrmidots had built Bourne Bridge to welcome the newcomers. Gradually, the people of the Land grew in numbers and they no longer looked north for new settlers. The secret trips became more infrequent and further apart until no one thought to go ever again. And as the Land faded from the memory of the Myrmidots in The Place, so The Place faded from the memory of the people in the Land.

I knew then what had caused our decline. Like a wounded body, we had been weakened by the loss of our blood. The Place would never be what is once was until all Myrmidots were once more back in its arms…

I resolved to go to the Land and persuade the Myrmidots to return to their true home… I was so sure. Sure that the spirit of The Place still lived in the hearts of the voyagers’ descendants. Sure that they must feel incomplete. Sure that they would be grateful when I explained how they could be whole once more. And they would come back to The Place with me.

I kept my plans to myself, knowing none would believe me in The Place. All would scoff and laugh at me. Thus, I made my preparations alone. I had wealth; buying a small ship and months of supplies was easy. Taking only my servant, that pathetic Beadle Kevin, and using the old maps, I made my way to the Land.

The mountains nearly defeated me… They guard the Land as securely as the walls of the mightiest fortress. They sap the strength from one’s bones and the will from one’s mind. Only my determination to succeed made me resist the despair they created in me.

At first, I kept myself hidden. I observed the Myrmidots in the west. I had not believed what I had read about the Myrmidots of the Land letting the Beadles go. I could not believe they would be guilty of forsaking their responsibility. Yet, as I spied on the people of the Land, I knew what was written in the letters was true…

Gradually, as I watched them and the towns they had built, I came to know that these Myrmidots would never return with me. They had forgotten how to lead and to rule, and were concerned only with their tinkering and inventions.

With that realisation came an understanding that it was too late for the Myrmidots of The Place. I knew I would never find the way to restore the past. And it was all the fault of those Myrmidots who had deserted The Place so many generations before. They had deprived us of the nourishment of their spirit …

The more I watched, the angrier I grew … and my hatred of the Myrmidots of the Land grew. They were traitors who had betrayed my beloved Place. The blame for the decay was theirs. Theirs, and the Beadles who had been sent to serve them. They had betrayed their betters… I came to hate the Myrmidots and the Beadles of the Land as much as I loved The Place. And the Muddles, who seduced our people with their laziness…

Revenge was all I had left. I would punish them all for their betrayal…

When I discovered the fire rock, I knew I had discovered the shape of my revenge. The Beadles would be first. I would burn their buildings and erase their past. I would drive them from their homes and their little towns. With nowhere to go, they would come with me and I could return them to servitude…

And then I would deal with the Myrmidots … and those foolish Muddles.’”

None of the companions said a word while Aunt Mag read Amelia’s account. And there wasn’t one who did not feel sorry for the Myrmidot who had forsaken love for hatred.

‘There’s more, so much more. It seems she had been here quite a few times before she brought you here, Kevin,’ said Aunt Mag. She flicked through the pages of the book. ‘Good heavens! You are mentioned here, Crimson. And Beatrice, from Forge!’

‘What does it say?’ asked Crimson quietly.

‘Well, she believes that you …’ Aunt Mag’s voice trailed off. She looked embarrassed.

‘Go on, Aunt Mag.’

‘She believes that you are not a pure Muddle; that you have Myrmidot blood in you.’ Aunt Mag sounded very apologetic.

Crimson laughed. ‘A pure Muddle? That somehow seems like a contradiction in terms, doesn’t it? And if she was right, what does it signify? Oh, Aunt Mag, it’s been centuries since the three peoples started living in the Land side by side. What are the chances of any of us being “pure”?’ Crimson’s face took on a mischievous look. ‘Who knows? Maybe centuries ago Muddles, Myrmidots and Beadles all looked very different!’

They all laughed and Grunge felt good to hear their laughter.

‘What else does she say?’ said Crimson.

‘Well, that’s why you could sense her, why she could call to you. You had a tie to her that the Land somehow heightens. It’s the same with Beatrice. Amelia knew Beatrice could sense her, and she was aware of Beatrice even from a distance. She believed that she and Beatrice were related, which is why it was so strong.’

Brian could believe that. Amelia must have been a very strong-willed Myrmidot and Beatrice struck him as being just the same.

‘Beatrice must have felt something about you, Crimson. Maybe she sensed the connection you had with Amelia. Maybe that’s why she warned me to watch you,’ said Copper.

‘So perhaps Amelia was speaking the truth at the river, when she called me sister,’ said Crimson. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter much now.’

‘This is clever!’ exclaimed Aunt Mag. She unfolded a page at the end of the book. It unfolded once, then unfolded again and again in both directions until a large map was revealed.

It was a map of the High Mountains, far more detailed than the one Crimson and Grunge had discovered in the library.

‘Look,’ said Dot, pointing to a spot on the map, ‘that’s the waterfall! And there’s the ridge where our camp is!’

‘Well, by the fire!’ said Copper. ‘There’s a tunnel that leads right from here straight down to the bottom of the mountains. It comes out not far from Bourne Bridge! Amelia would have been able to get down and back in much less time than we did. Perhaps in a day.’

‘Well, I think we’ve just found our way home,’ said Grunge.

‘And isn’t this curious?’ said Aunt Mag, extracting another, similar map from the end of the book.

‘It looks like a map of the caves and tunnels through the mountains,’ said Copper. ‘Here we are now ’ – he traced a dark line eastward – ‘and here’s the tunnel which we followed Amelia through.’ He traced another line. ‘And this must be the one you came through, Brian.’ Copper grinned at the Beadle. ‘You really did take the long way!’

‘What’s this wavy line?’ asked Grunge. Brian peered at the map. ‘That must be the underground river I had to cross.’ He shivered at the memory. ‘You could feel the cold coming from it. I’ve never felt anything so cold.’

Crimson thought a moment. ‘A river underground? Where does it start?’ she asked.

‘Hard to tell,’ said Aunt Mag, ‘but it looks as if it starts at that big mountain at the top of the ice field. It runs right under the snowfield and then under the ridge and then … no, this must be wrong, that can’t be.’

‘What can’t be, Aunt Mag?’ asked Crimson.

Aunt Mag looked uncertain. ‘Well, it seems to become the Meddle. But everyone knows that the Meddle comes from the Salvation River.’

‘It’s more like everyone assumes it does. No one’s ever really explored that area. According to this map, it must run under the mountains and emerge just south of the Salvation River. That’s why everyone assumes the Meddle runs off the Salvation River,’ said Grunge.

Crimson’s brow creased. ‘Brian, you said it was very cold. Could you see the water?’

‘Of course. It looked very black and very cold. And a bit shiny.’

‘Shiny?’ said Crimson.

‘Mmm. Shiny, like it sort of glowed.’

‘I think we’d better take a look at this river,’ said Crimson.

A short while later, they had packed everything that Kevin wanted to take and that they could carry.

‘If there’s anything you have to leave behind, you can come back another time, Kevin,’ said Brian.

‘I’m not sure I want to come back,’ admitted Kevin. ‘I was pretty lonely here and it doesn’t seem right to return to her place.’

Brian understood. ‘Well, let’s go.’

The companions filed out through the alcove where Brian had first encountered Kevin. As Kevin disappeared into the tunnel, a thought came to Brian.

‘Kevin,’ he yelled, ‘did you bring the rest of that cheese?’

*

‘This is the Land’s Guardian,’ said Crimson. She was certain of it. Here, the feeling of a presence, of a connection, was too strong for there to be any mistake.

They stood in the cavern through which flowed the river. They could all feel its chill but only Crimson, Grunge and Miniver could feel something else. It was like sensing the blood running through your body. Every once in a while, you can feel your own pulse, the subtle coursing of your blood. That’s what it was like for the Muddles, standing next to the dark river.

‘It is the Meddle,’ growled Miniver. She stood between Grunge and Crimson, looking at the rushing waters in the light of their lanterns and torches. A dim, blue glow reflected off the river.

Grunge patted his friend. ‘Yes, it is, Miniver. And I think I know what Crimson was thinking back there at Amelia’s.’ He looked at Crimson. ‘You think this is fed by the blue ice, don’t you?’