Snowbone (29 page)

Over the waves, under the moon, into the east he went. Over sailing ships that snailed across the ocean, leaving their trails behind them, silver as starlight. Over islands, secret-sleeping, scattered like cushions on the wakeful waves. Over sage whales, barnacle blue, singing sea songs older than time.

On he went, till the Indigo Ocean became the Silverana Sea, and the water lapped clear. Here he saw a great graveyard of ships: keels sticking out of the seabed; masts reaching for the light, stark and bony like dead men's fingers; and an immense wall of seaweed surrounding them all, so thick no living man could pass.

Finally, he saw the formidable bulk of Ashenpeake Mountain, with the island slumbering beneath it. And as soon as he had cleared the coast, he flipped onto his back and started to descend.

Down into the darkness he went, savoring the moist, peaty air. Down, down, down into the belly of the earth: the
Otherworld. Into the tunnels, just as he remembered them, with their strange half-light and serpentine turns. Into the caverns with their root-rafter ceilings, where the souls of the ashen trees flickered and danced like frost fairies.

But Blackeye had seen these things, and he had no time to waste. He pushed on, descending to a much lower level. Here the atmosphere changed. It felt curiously charged, like the hour before a thunderstorm. The air was perfumed with the scent of sandalwood, and the light was pearly, shifting and swirling iridescently in all the colors of the rainbow.

And here, in a vaulted chamber, he found the Ancients. All nine of them, fast asleep on magnificent wooden beds. It was the breath from their slumbering bodies that perfumed the air and set the light shimmering.

Blackeye's jaw dropped. An overwhelming sense of awe washed over him. In the presence of these beings, he felt very small and unimportant.

He tiptoed between the beds. They were intricately carved with flowers, leaves, buds and berries, and each bore the name of the Ancient sleeping upon it. Pel … Edda … Fig … Bekkle … Gil … Kip … Ama … Sol … Tunni. Blackeye couldn't help smiling. It was sweet, like a nursery.

Blackeye was growing bolder. The Ancients were deep in slumber. He dared to move closer.

What majestic beings these were! Twice the size of any Ashenpeaker. The males had long, flowing beards with elaborate curls. The females had braided hair and elegant robes, girdled at the waist. All were lying absolutely still, like statues carved from the finest ash. Perfectly at peace, undisturbed for centuries.

With a jolt, Blackeye suddenly remembered why he was
there. He needed to speak to these people. Oh, but who would dare wake them? Not he. They were so mighty. So wondrous. So terrifying.

Blackeye mustered his courage and moved closer.
Doi-oi-oi-oi-oing
! A small golden bell hanging from the roof rang out. He hadn't seen it dangling and somehow he'd walked right through it, setting it ringing. It wasn't a clamor; it was a warm, smooth, melodious sound. But it was enough.

To Blackeye's horror, there came the dry groaning of timbers. Eyes opened. Fingers stretched. Limbs loosened.

And in a single movement, the nine sleepers sat up in their beds, swiveled their great heads and saw him.

“
hat … do … you … want … boy?”

The voice seemed to rumble from the guts of the earth, the words coming together like travelers at a crossroads. Unfamiliar. Weary. Cautious.

Blackeye turned to the sleeper that had spoken—Sol—and wanted to be bold. But when he looked into the Ancient's eyes, his courage trickled away.

“What … do … you … want?”

Blackeye gulped. His mouth felt as dry as an old man's slipper. “I—I—have to—speak to you, sir,” he stammered.

“Then … speak,” said Sol.

“No … wait,” said one of the females, Ama. “I am … not ready … to listen.” She clicked her long, tapering fingers and instantly a well appeared in the middle of the chamber. A low well, with stone sides, strangely carved and brimming with black water.

Ama walked stiffly to the well, pressed her lips to the water and drank. When she had finished, she stretched, and the years fell away from her like leaves. Suddenly she was tall and
slender as a willow. Lithe and lovely. Blackeye couldn't help staring. She was magnificent.

Ama smiled at him seductively. “Now I can listen,” she purred. She dipped her hand back into the well and brought it out dripping with water. “Drink,” she said. And to Blackeye's astonishment, she held her hand up to his lips.

Blackeye looked at her fingers. At the drops slipping between them. He looked at her face, with its unfathomable eyes and full, wet lips. And he lowered his head and drank.

The water coursed through him like a moorland stream. Cold, wild, free. He smacked his lips and looked for more. But Ama had gone.

The Ancients drank from the well in turn, while Blackeye wondered how on earth he'd managed to drink when he had no body.
It must be this place
, he thought.
These people.
Suddenly anything was possible.

“Come,” said Sol, slowly beckoning.

Blackeye followed him into a second chamber. Ama was there already, sitting serenely upon one of nine beautiful wooden thrones, and soon the others joined her. Blackeye stood confidently before them. Perhaps it was something in the water, but his courage had returned, like a mouse when the cat's gone by.

“You have something to tell us,” said Sol. “It must be important for you to venture so deep into the Otherworld.”

“It is,” said Blackeye. “Desperately important.” And he took a deep breath and told them everything.

y the time Blackeye had finished speaking, Sol was pacing up and down in a terrible temper. Fig was standing behind his throne, gripping it viciously. Ama had her eyes closed, but her face was pained, not peaceful. Tunni and Bekkle were openly weeping. The other Ancients were staring at him, horrified.

“To think this was happening while we slept,” said Gil in disgust. “So much time wasted.”

“Why didn't our people do more to save themselves?” said Fig angrily. “Why didn't they fight? We gave them courage and stamina and tenacity.”

“It seems we didn't give them leaders,” said Ama. “This …
Snowbone …
is something new. Something rare.”

“What is to be done?” said Tunni. No one answered her. “Something
must
be done!”

“If I may …,” said Blackeye.

“Indeed you
must,”
said Gil. “You have more than earned the right to counsel us.”

“If the slaves could Move On, they could escape into another, better way of living,” said Blackeye.

“That is easily done!” cried Tunni. “We could make them all Move On, just like that!” She clicked her fingers.

“Wait,” said Edda. “Some of the slaves might not want to Move On. They might have families. Their lives might be tolerable.”

“I don't think slaves are allowed families,” said Blackeye. “The girl at the quarry said so.”

Edda smiled. “With respect to that girl, her knowledge was limited to the quarry. I imagine that elsewhere slaves are encouraged to pair off and breed.”

“moving on has to be a matter of personal choice,” said Ama. “If an individual feels the time has come, he must start the process consciously—with agreed words and gestures.”

“Like casting a spell?” said Blackeye.

“Exactly,” said Ama.

“But what happens then?” said Blackeye. “How do we stop the traders cutting down the trees for their sap?”

“We make the sap worthless,” said Kip. “Again, that is easily done. The sap of a living ashen tree will continue to be potent—it must be, otherwise the tree will not grow and flourish—but if the central vein is cut, the sap will sour and lose its healing properties.”

“Then … it's done!” said Blackeye breathlessly. “The slaves can escape and live long and peaceful lives as ashen trees! It's done!”

“It won't happen overnight,” said Edda. “Some lives will still be lost. And there are still many eggs to be bought. But one day, when the last living slave Moves On, it will be over. Forever.”

Blackeye had a tear in his eye and a lump in his throat. He blinked and swallowed hard. This was no time to blubber. “I have to go,” he said. “I have to get this thing started.”

“Wait!” cried Tunni. “Haven't you forgotten something?”

Blackeye didn't think so. He shook his head.

“Oh, you overeager boy!” laughed Tunni. “You don't know the moving on spell!”

lackeye floated back down the tunnel. He was so elated, he felt he'd float even when he was back inside his body. Like a feather—or a balloon! Figgis would have to tether him to the wagon, with a string round his ankle. He'd float in the air and wave at everyone:
I'm soooo happy!

He knew he should be flying back to share the good news, but he wanted to stay in the Otherworld just a little longer. The caverns were so beautiful. So magical.

He drifted along, simply enjoying the moment. Soon the lower level was behind him and he was back in the peaty, half-lit burrows of the upper level. Then he reached a fork in the system and suddenly felt a strong desire to go left. He made the turn and followed the tunnel into a cavern. Whatever force had drawn him there seemed infinitely stronger now. It was lifting his chin. Making him look up.

The roof was a tangle of tree roots, with a host of souls darting and flashing between them. But Blackeye was drawn to one particular soul-light. It was small: no bigger than his thumb. Blue as forget-me-nots. And it was flickering
more than the others, as if it were new and unused to shining.

Blackeye gazed at it, though he didn't know why. Then he felt a strange sensation between his eyes and, for one heart-stopping moment, he thought he was going blind, like Snow-bone. But he wasn't. It was his shadow-sight, moving and molding and misting and holding an image before him:
Mouse.
She was standing in the middle of a wood, lovely as ever, watching him with her soft brown eyes. But her feet were rooted to the ground. Her fingers were twisted and twiggy. The flesh on her arms was rough, knotty. And she opened her mouth and breathed a single word:
good-bye.

The vision disappeared. Blackeye was staring at the flickering blue light again. This wasn't any ordinary soul. This was Mouse's soul. She was moving on.

If that is her soul
, thought Blackeye,
those are her roots. She's up there. She's right above me.

Suddenly Blackeye was lost. He was spinning in a whirlwind of love and grief and panic and fear. He couldn't think of anything but Mouse. Her smile, her laughter, her chocolatey eyes.

Thuum.
A footfall in the tunnel. Blackeye didn't hear it.

Thuum … Thuum.

How could he hear it? He could hear nothing but
good-bye.

Thuum … Thuum.

It was coming closer.

Thuum. Thuum.

It stopped. Sniffed. Sensed. Came.

Thuum-thuum-thuum-thuum-thuum-thuum-thuum!

Whooof!
The air buckled around Blackeye as the massive paw came down. Dagger claws sliced through his shadow; he
rippled like water. But Blackeye was still standing. His real body was safe on the wagon.