How to Live Forever (9 page)

‘Don't you get lonely?' said Festival.

‘I suppose so,' said Peter. ‘I never thought about it before.'

‘What about cousins and aunts and uncles?'

‘No, there's only the three of us,' said Peter, and he realised just how lonely he was sometimes.

‘I've got heaps of cousins and Orleans and a big sister who's got two children,' said Festival.

‘I've got Archimedes,' said Peter, but a cat, no matter how wise and wonderful, was not the same as having a brother or sister.

The wind dropped to no more than a breeze so the boat barely seemed to move. Peter felt as if he was getting smaller and smaller and further and further away from everything he'd ever known. He wanted to hide in his mother's arms, have her stroke his hair and tell him everything was okay. But although she loved him, his mother wasn't good at showing it and only cuddled him when he had hurt himself or had nightmares.

Festival moved closer to Peter and put her arm round his shoulder. Her family had no trouble showing each other how much they loved one another.

‘I'll be your sister,' she said, and Peter started to cry.

‘It's all right,' Festival added.

‘My hand's hurting,' said Peter, to cover up the real reason for his tears.

As they got closer to the clouds, the old man began to cry too. Silent tears ran down his face, yet his mouth smiled. He sniffed the air. Peter and Festival could smell nothing, but there was something calling Earshader, something playing old songs inside his heart. Now and then he made a small adjustment to the tiller that kept them on course.

They sailed into the wall of clouds and at first all they could see was the thick white fog on all sides. Festival tightened her grip on Peter's shoulder. She was afraid and it was her turn to need reassurance. Further in, a dark shape began to form in front of them. Closer still and they could see a beach. Yet closer and the cloud cleared and behind the beach they could see a dense forest, and in the distance beyond the forest there were tall mountains. From above, back in the galleries, the clouds hadn't looked that big, but the island seemed to stretch away for miles.

The boat ran onto the beach and Peter and Festival jumped out into the water. Earshader, still holding Archimedes, followed them and fell to his knees on the beach. He ran the sand through his fingers, pouring it into his pockets. He kissed the ground and lay face
down on it, so still the children thought he might have died from the excitement of being back there.

Festival knelt down beside him and touched his head. Earshader sat up and wrote in the sand with his finger.

Then he pushed the boat clear, climbed aboard and drifted back into the lake.

‘Wait!' Festival shouted, but of course Earshader couldn't hear her.

‘I was going to ask him to come back and get us tomorrow,' she said as the boat drifted away.

Peter was too busy scanning the top of the beach to pay any attention.

‘I wonder where we're supposed to go,' he said.

At the top of the sand there was a thick forest that stretched around the bay and ended in sheer cliffs at either end. There seemed to be no gap in the trees and the only clue to where they should go were Archimedes' footprints going in a straight line up to the trees.

Out in the water, the boat drifted slowly away into the mist and was soon out of sight.

‘If Earshader loves this island so much,' said Peter, ‘I wonder why he doesn't live here.'

‘I don't know,' said Festival. ‘But this place gives me the creeps.'

The children followed Archimedes up to the forest's edge. There was a path leading into the trees and as they reached it, the cat, meowing loudly for the children to follow him, set off along it. Soon they were walking in the thick gloom of a dense forest. High above them in the canopy the mist cleared and the sky was blue and the sun was shining, but down on the ground it was as dark and cool as a winter's evening. Now and then there was a gap in the branches and a long beam of sunshine shone down like a spotlight. The air was still and quiet, the kind of place where unblinking eyes might follow you as you passed, but there seemed to be no life there at all, not even insects.

They walked all morning, climbing steadily, and as they went higher, the trees grew smaller and further apart. Higher still, the trees gave way to straggling shrubs and rocks and the air began to grow cool.

‘We need to find the bell,' said Festival.

‘What bell?'

‘The Journey Bell. We ring it and Trellis will come and take us down into the valley to the waterfall,' she explained.

‘Trellis? Who's Trellis?'

‘A horse.'

‘If you haven't been here before,' said Peter, ‘how do you know about all that?'

‘It's in the encyclopaedia dream,' said Festival. ‘Everyone knows it.'

‘You mean it's a story?' said Peter.

‘I suppose so, but everyone believes it.'

‘But you don't know anyone who's been here. You don't know anyone who's actually seen it?'

‘No, not exactly,' said Festival.

‘What do you mean, not exactly? They've either seen it or they haven't,' said Peter.

‘We've all seen it,' Festival explained, ‘in our dreams.'

‘What, everyone?'

‘Of course. We all have the same dreams.'

Peter stopped and looked at Festival.

‘You mean you all dream the same thing at the same time?' he said.

‘I don't know if it's at the same time,' said Festival, ‘but we all have the same dreams. What's so odd about that?'

Peter thought it was very odd. He couldn't exactly say why, because until Festival had told him, it had never occurred to him that it could happen. He was sure it didn't happen where he came from.

‘Even the dogs?' he said.

‘Dogs?'

‘I was wondering if your dogs and cats had the same dreams too.'

‘Don't know,' said Festival. ‘I wouldn't think so. I mean, dogs probably dream about chasing cats. I wouldn't have thought cats would have that dream.'

‘So how many different dreams do you all have?' Peter asked.

‘Thirteen, one for each month, one for each gallery,' said Festival. ‘There's the one about Trellis and the bell. There's the one about the glass bottle and the one about the great whale and the one about the giant bat and –'

‘Thirteen months?' said Peter. ‘There aren't thirteen months. There's only twelve.'

‘Don't be silly,' said Festival. ‘There are thirteen.'

‘What are they, then?' Peter asked.

‘January, February, March, April, May,' Festival began.

‘Yes, June, July, August, September,' Peter added.

‘Exactly,' said Festival. ‘October, November, December, Remember.'

‘Of course I do,' said Peter.

‘Do what?'

‘Remember,' said Peter.

‘Remember is the last month,' said Festival.

‘Remember's not a month.'

‘Of course it is,' said Festival. ‘There are twelve months thirty days long and the five days at the end of the year that are left over are called Remember. It's when we all remember what happened in the past year, all the people who were born and all the people who died. You have to have Remember, otherwise you'd start the next year out of balance.'

‘So you're saying that each month has its own dream?' said Peter.

‘Of course,' said Festival. ‘The encyclopaedia dream is May's dream.'

Festival looked at Peter as though she thought that maybe he wasn't as bright as he seemed. The thirteen dreams and the month of Remember were part of the basic rules of life. They weren't opinions or facts you learned as you grew up. They were things everyone knew from the day they were born, except in Peter's world, but Festival wasn't to know that.

‘That's why it's called Remember and not Forget.'

Peter wasn't concentrating. He'd decided there wasn't enough room inside his head at the moment to take all this weird stuff in, not with all the other things going on.

Archimedes trotted on ahead of them up the
path. As Peter watched him he wondered what sort of dreams the old cat had.

‘It should be over the next rise,' said Festival, and it was.

The ground flattened out. They had reached the top of the hill. The path widened, and hanging from a wooden tripod was a bell. Beside the bell was the skeleton of a dead fire, a few blackened remains of branches and some burnt cloth.

And there was the encyclopaedia.

Below them the ground fell sharply away into a long narrow valley with sheer cliffs on either side, and the cliffs were like Festival's dream, massive tall dark books, thousands and thousands of them fading away into the distance. The valley was so deep that even at midday the sun never reached the bottom. In the darkness on the valley floor Peter could see a river, half hidden by trees, and far away at the other end of the valley a brilliant waterfall poured out of a dark cave halfway up a sheer cliff.

It was exactly like the dream except the valley had an end. Festival was amazed. She had never stopped to think whether the dreams were about real things or not. They were just dreams, things that came into your head while you were asleep. When you were awake, everything was there in front of you. When you were asleep, everything was inside your
head. She had never stopped to think about whether the two things were the same or not. They were just real in different ways.

Yet, there it was. The waterfall.

‘That's where we have to go,' said Festival, pointing at the waterfall.

‘But it'll take forever,' said Peter. ‘It's miles away and how do we get down into the valley?'

‘You have to ring the bell,' said Festival, ‘and Trellis will come.'

Peter pulled the rope that hung inside the bell ring, but it made no sound. The clapper, the piece of metal that makes the noise, was missing.

‘It's broken,' he said.

‘No it's not,' said Festival. ‘Whoever rings the bell has to bring the piece that makes it sing.'

‘Why didn't you tell me?' said Peter. ‘I haven't got anything.'

‘Empty your pockets.'

All he had were some tissues, a few coins and his father's watch.

‘You have to use that,' said Festival, pointing at the watch. ‘You have to use your most treasured possession.'

‘But, no –'

‘You have to or it won't work.'

‘Couldn't I just get a stone and tie the rope round it?'

‘No, it won't work,' Festival explained. ‘It has to be something that is really important to you, something you have to sacrifice.'

Peter could feel the tears coming up inside him. The watch was the only thing he had that his father had owned, the only real proof that his father had ever existed, except of course that if he hadn't existed then neither would Peter, but the watch made his father into a real person, not just an unknown memory. Peter had only had the watch a few days and now he was going to lose it. He knew, though, that if they were to continue their journey, he must give it up, so he tied it to the bell rope. Maybe if he rang gently, the watch would be okay. Besides, the discovery of his father's new wife and child made the watch seem less precious.

The bell sounded unlike any bell he had ever heard before. Its song floated across the open lake. Earshader, deaf, dumb and blind, felt it as it flowed over him. It filled his heart with happy memories of his childhood, memories that he had put away and forgotten many years ago. The song drifted on until it reached the jetties and the lower galleries, and everyone who heard it stopped in their tracks, frozen for a moment, until it had passed. For children it was the first time they had ever heard the sound, but even the oldest people, who had heard it several
times, were moved in the same way. Though no one could say exactly why, the song of the Journey Bell was the most beautiful and perfect sound they had ever heard. Its voice was so pure it carried for miles, an enchanting song with an endless echo. It was a sound that no one hearing it would ever forget, and it was different for every person who heard it. Even Archimedes, who had been washing himself, stopped and sat perfectly still as the song surrounded him.

As the bell struck, so the watch was destroyed. Peter struggled not to cry and picked up as many pieces as he could find in the dirt and put them back in his pocket.

But the sacrifice had worked. A white horse appeared. She leaned down and nuzzled Archimedes as if the cat was an old friend, and then went over to a rock to let Peter and Festival climb onto her back. Peter climbed onto the horse's back and took hold of her mane with his good hand while Festival climbed up behind him and put her arms round his waist. She spoke to the horse in words too soft for Peter to hear. Trellis nodded and walked to the narrow path that led down the mountain into the valley.

The path was in a terrible state. It was obvious from the branches growing across it that no one had been down there for a very long time. The horse picked her way slowly over the crumbling surface,
sending large rocks crashing into the trees below. Almost all of the path disintegrated behind them. They would not be able to return this way, nor would anyone else ever be able to follow in their footsteps.

The children hung on for dear life, terrified that the horse might lose her step and send them falling to their deaths, but Trellis picked her way steadily down to the valley floor.

It grew darker. The daylight caught the tops of the mountains but down here it was all shadows. Finally the path ended and they were at the bottom. The river coming out of the trees vanished into the rocks at the foot of the cliff.