The Cloud Road Page 2

  Bily had never felt the need to go anywhere strongly. When they had lived in the cottage he had supposed this was because he was where he belonged, but even now, with the cottage gone, he felt no urge to go anywhere in particular. The cottage they might build in the land of the bellflowers was no more than a lovely dream that lived in his mind.

  It was not long before they went on again, but this time Zluty did not play his pipe, and the wheel chirped alone. Having risen in the daylight hours, the moon set early and it became very dark. They stopped again, to wait for the little chain of bright stars that had been rising just above the Western horizon for the last few nights. This would cast just enough light for them to see to continue.

  But before that happened, there was a rush of wings.

  ‘Redwing!’ Bily cried with relief, reaching for the bird.

  Zluty hurried to fetch the little net pouch of shining skystones and came to kneel alongside his brother. Bily held out the leaf he had taken from her claw.

  ‘Ask her how far away we are from the place where it grew,’ Zluty said.

  Bily leaned close to Redwing. Zluty could speak to her, but his mind was always too busy for him to understand much of what she said. Bily seemed able to gentle his own mind before he questioned her.

  He listened to Redwing, then turned to Zluty excitedly. ‘It is close by, but she says that she can’t reach the water.’

  Zluty knitted his brow. ‘Most likely the water is below the surface and we will have to dig for it.’ He got to his feet. ‘Let’s go on. If it is very close, I should be able to see plants growing by the light of the skystones.’

  But as they set off, the chain of stars appeared above the horizon, and it was by their delicate light that they had their first glimpse of a long dark crack in the seam of the hard sand ahead.

  Zluty dropped the tow ropes and hurried forward to look into it. ‘It is too deep to see into now, but there are a lot of plants growing in it. Maybe there is a stream running along the bottom of it,’ he shouted back to Bily. ‘No wonder Redwing could not see the water. Her wingspan is far too wide for her to go into the crack.’

  He held the skystones over the dark jagged opening, but their pale light showed nothing but darkness.

  ‘Plants mean seeds!’ Bily murmured. Kneeling beside Zluty and seeing how thickly plants grew on ledges just inside the rift, his fingers itched. He had brought all of the seeds he had been able to salvage from the flooded cellar, but many had got wet in the freakish rain that had fallen after the arosh, and there was no way to be sure they would germinate, save by planting them. But seeds from the plants in the rift would certainly germinate, once planted.

  ‘I will lower the skystones into the rift on the end of my staff to see if I can see the water,’ Zluty said. He seemed convinced there was a stream at the bottom. Bily hoped he was right. Sometimes Zluty was so very determined on a thing it was as if he thought he could make it so by willing it. Certainly, if willing a thing could make it so, then Zluty had strength enough of mind to manage it. But what if there was no stream, and no source of water that they could get at easily? Bily sighed a little, for his own will always seemed beset by distracting whispers of doubt that made it nearly impossible to be sure of anything.

  Though that was not quite true either, he realised. He had felt very, very certain that they must bring the Monster with them, and he was also quite sure it would recover from its injuries. He knew the Monster and Zluty doubted it but did not want to worry him by saying so aloud, yet Bily was good at hearing things that were not said, like the soft fluttering thoughts of birds or the humming song of the bees. It did not matter that Zluty doubted it, but it was a great pity the Monster doubted its ability to get well. Bily had seen time and time again how injured birds that believed they would die, even when the hurt was small, usually did.

  It turned out to be impossible to see the bottom of the rift, even with the pouch of skystones fastened to the end of Zluty’s staff and lowered as far as it would reach. There were just too many plants blocking the way.

  ‘Let’s set up camp and have something to eat while we wait for the sun to rise,’ Zluty said, getting to his feet. ‘Then I will climb down.’

  Bily bit his tongue as he had done when his brother had gone off for days on end to the Northern Forest to forage. He disliked the thought of Zluty climbing down into the rift, but they needed water, and at least Zluty would not be away for days. Indeed, the best thing to come out of all that had happened was that he and Zluty did not have to be apart. It was what Bily had always longed for.

  It was strange, Bily thought a little later, toasting nuts over the fire Zluty had built. He had always been so fearful of the idea of travelling away from the cottage but now that he was on a journey, there were so many things to wonder about that most of the time he quite forgot to be afraid. Indeed he woke each morning with a little thrill of curiosity about the day to come, for every day differed and you never knew what you might do or see next.

  Even in the desert, which had seemed at first to be so barren, there was always something to see. He loved how their shadows stretched eagerly ahead of them and then lagged behind, changing shape as the day progressed; the way the sky and the dunes changed colour from morning to evening; the desert silvered with moonlight; the sight of an unknown bird flying impossibly high overhead; the track of the wagon running away behind them all the way back to their ruined cottage; the gallant brightness of their little campfire against the black of a moonless night.

  Of course he had seen shadow and flame and sky when they had lived in the cottage, but somehow his life had been spent inside it and inside his mind, so that he had seen only the littlest broken fragments of the vast whole that was now unfolding around him. It was not that he did not miss the cottage, but he saw now that there was more than one way to live and be happy. And who knew how many of those ways he might see before they had completed this journey?

  The fire gave a loud crack and Bily smiled to remember how he used to shudder at the thought of sleeping outside without a roof over his head.

  But how could he have known what it would be like to lie under the vast sky, blue as the egg of a fire lizard in the daytime, or black, with the enormous white moon shining down surrounded by glimmering stars. How could he have guessed how his heart would thrill at the occasional slash of brightness when one of the great boulders that sometimes fell, passed burning overhead. How could he have imagined the loveliness of seeing Zluty smiling at him from the other side of the campfire as a shower of sparks whorled upwards?

  His only regret was that he had no means of rendering all he saw in dye or woven cloth. He had his precious spindle and his little loom, of course, and all of his brushes for painting colour onto pots but there were no white fluff balls to be harvested and spun into thread and no kiln to fire clay. He must store up all his ideas for the future. But, oh, it was hard not to be able to make things. Sometimes he ached to capture a shape or color and the best he could do was to make careful notes and markings using the last bits of his dyes on the few precious sheets of paper that had not been destroyed by the rain that flooded the cellar, for there was no way to make more until they were settled.

  Often Bily found himself dreaming not of what he had seen that day or night, but of how he would render those things into dye and weave and markings on clay.

  ‘I can be happy travelling only because I know that eventually the journey will end,’ he thought.

  The porridge had thickened beautifully and Bily spooned it into two bowls, added the toasted nuts and a dribble of honey and passed one to his brother. His own stomach grumbled with hunger because they had eaten sparingly the last few days. Zluty had insisted upon it, not only to spare their dwindling food supply but because eating meant they would need to drink more. Now, there was no need for them to worry.

  Bily was less assured of this than Zluty, but he had not said so for fear of spoiling his brother’s determined happiness.

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nbsp; They ate in silence, relishing the food to the last mouthful, then Zluty heaved a contented sigh and lay down. ‘I think we ought to stay here until tomorrow night,’ he said.

  ‘That would give me time to boil the cactus needles,’ Bily said, pleased. ‘And I can use the liquid to make some soothing ointment for the Monster’s paw. I could even grind up some grain for flour and we can have pancakes for supper.’

  Zluty soon fell asleep, but Bily sat for a long time, gazing half mesmerised into the fire. It was the nearness of the dark crack in the ground that kept him awake, Bily thought, so unpleasantly like an open mouth. Yet the sweet scent of the plants growing inside it drifted delicately on the air and surely it was silly to fear a place that could harbour green life.

  Redwing stirred beside him and Bily saw she was awake, the flickering tongues of the flame reflected in her bright eyes. Being close and calm, Bily felt the full force of the steady ache in her mind that was the pull to fly West. He marvelled at its strength. He longed to ask what caused such yearnings, but he knew questions would unsettle her. He stroked her feathers, soothing himself and her, until her eyes closed. Then he lay down and closed his eyes.

  When he woke the fire had burned down to a few embers. Redwing was still sleeping and Zluty lay wrapped in his blanket on the other side of the dying fire. A red brightness in the East heralded the dawn as Bily crept away and padded over to look at the Monster.

  It was asleep, too. In fact, Bily did not think it had moved a whisker since the last time he had looked at it. He was troubled to see that its wounded paw looked slightly swollen again. Sighing, he went away from their camp to relieve himself, then he came back and fetched the cooking pot and bowls to give them a sand wash. This done, he went to the crack in the sand with one of the clay bulbs, hoping to be able to dipper up some water for boiling the cactus needles, rather than using the last drops in the urns. Perhaps by daylight, he would be able to see the stream. Where the sun reached, he could see the green plants and grasses growing on little ledges jutting out here and there from stony walls, but below was only blackest shadow, as if a bit of night had lodged there.

  It was late in the morning before Zluty climbed down into the crack, for he had wanted to wait until the sun was high enough for him to see what he was getting into. It was still impossible to see the bottom, for there was a great tangled thicket of greenery blocking the way.

  ‘I will push though it,’ Zluty announced blithely. He tied most of the water bulbs into a cluster at the end of the first tow rope and fastened them about his middle. Then he attached a couple more to his chest strap. ‘Lower the water bulbs when I tug on my tow rope. When I am ready for you to pull them up, I will tug on the rope again.’

  As Zluty eased himself into the widest part of the crack, ears twitching alertly, Bily thought it looked horridly as if the ground was devouring him. He had only just been thinking how nice it was for them not to have to be apart any more, and here was Zluty once again leaving him. Bily was suddenly afraid. He did not know why, but the last time he had felt so frightened had been when he had seen the Monster looking at him out of the darkness in the cottage cellar, eyes glowing like two lanterns.

  ‘And look how that turned out,’ he chided himself.

  Zluty shouted up to say that the tangle of greenery was growing on a wide ledge jutting out from the wall, but there was enough of a gap that he could squeeze by it. ‘Don’t wait there the whole time, Bily. After you have lowered the bulbs, go back into the shade. It is likely to take me a while to fill them, especially if I have to dig. Tie a bell on the tow rope and I will pull on it when I am ready.’

  Then he vanished.

  Bily had to press his lips together to stop himself shouting out to Zluty to come back up. He watched the tow rope pay out, wondering what they would do if it ran short before Zluty reached the bottom. He looked around at the desert glaring and shimmering with heat and, for the first time, felt the terrible deadly barrenness of it.

  To begin with sunlight had poured down into what was more a crevice than a mere crack, lighting the air so that every mote of dust Zluty disturbed turned in a slow dance before his eyes. The first time he called to Bily, he had made the mistake of looking up and the brightness flooding into the crevice nearly blinded him. But only a few shafts of sunlight filtered past the ledge, and they had a soft greenish hue that reminded Zluty of the light at the edges of the Northern Forest.

  Zluty continued to descend, still unable to see the bottom. Although there was nothing growing on the dark, rather slimy walls below the ledge, there were lots of jutting rocks where he could get a foothold, and in some places the walls were close enough together that he could set both feet on one side of the crevice and brace his back against the other.

  Down and down he climbed, his thoughts drifting as he concentrated on hand and footholds. Once he thought he heard Bily cry out and stopped to prick his ears, but he heard no further sound and reminded himself nothing terrible had happened in all the days they had been walking across the desert.

  Zluty smiled wryly, admitting to himself that it was not only Bily who fretted when they were apart. The truth was, a little corner of his mind was always wondering what his brother was doing when they weren’t together. Yet when something had happened, like the grass fire, Bily had dealt with it. And in recent times he had shown that he could be as bold and brave as Zluty had ever been. But there was still something in him that Zluty wanted to protect.

  ‘You underestimate your brother,’ the Monster had once told him.

  Did he? Zluty wondered. Certainly Bily’s championship of the Monster had surprised him very much, and yet it fitted his brother’s character exactly that pity would outweigh any sensible fear. Maybe that was it, Zluty thought. Maybe he always feared for Bily because once his brother’s tender heart was roused, he was heedless of danger.

  Zluty was so intent on his thoughts that he forgot to pay attention to the climb, and when he reached the bottom quite suddenly he tripped and sat down hard. He was not hurt, but to his dismay the bulbs hooked to his chest harness were all cracked.

  Vexed by his clumsiness, Zluty unhooked them and set them gently to one side before untying the rope around his waist and giving it a sharp tug. When the remaining bulbs came down, he lowered them carefully to the ground before unfastening them and standing them in a neat row. Only then did he straighten up, slip off his backpack and look around.

  The bottom of the crevice was dry but his nose told him there was water not far away. He walked along it and found that it turned into a tunnel. He could not see how far this ran for light fell only directly beneath the mouth of the crevice high above. Taking the little pouch of skystones from his forage bag, Zluty went to the edge of the light and, holding it out, walked slowly into the darkness until they began to glow. A few steps more and their brightness strengthened. The tunnel widened and Zluty knelt, holding the stones down so that he could see that the flat stone floor shone with shiny dampness. Water must be close.

  Straightening, Zluty pressed on, glancing back over his shoulder every few steps to make sure he could still see green daylight falling onto the row of cracked pottery bulbs. When the ground turned spongy underfoot, he knelt again to find he was now walking on a soft flat fungus. He broke off a piece and slipped it into his foraging bag, reminding himself that it would not be long before the sun shifted and the crevice fell into total shadow. He had brought a few ground cones down with him to light a fire, but first he must find the water source.

  As he continued, the silence felt so heavy and sombre that he felt the chill weight of all the earth and stone between him and the sunlit surface in it. He had to force himself not to hold his breath.

  Then he heard a soft wet sound ahead.

  It was the noise of something in the water, moving through it.

  Zluty shuddered but reminded himself that Bily had swum under the water in the flooded cellar beneath the cottage, when he had been trying to find the ladder t
o climb out.

  He froze as he heard another furtive movement, but the sound was small, and he reassured himself that the creature that made it was likely small as well. Then it occurred to him that the tiny blackclaws were deadly dangerous.

  ‘It would be better not to think of such things,’ he muttered grimly aloud. The words came back as a whispering hissing echo and he stopped, dismayed, fur fluffed. Again he heard the furtive sound of watery movement, and imagined something lifting its head to listen as another wave of echoes broke over the first.

  Only when the heavy silence settled did he go on. He had taken just a few steps when his foot touched cold liquid. Gasping in fright, he held out the net of skystones, his hand shaking a little. Their soft light was reflected in the gleaming black surface of a vast pool that ran out of sight before and either side of him.

  It dizzied him to see so much water in one place. There had been great puddles left after the unnatural rain that followed the stone fall, but they had been so shallow you could walk through them without wetting your ankles. He sensed that this water was much deeper.

  He squatted, leaning closer to the pool, and sniffed to be sure it was water. A faint ripple ran over its glassy surface and a pale face with huge eyes floated up and peered at him. Zluty gave a cry of fright and staggered backwards. But even as he overbalanced and sat down hard on his tail again, he had already realised it was only his own reflection.

  Before long, he had kindled a little fire back at the base of the crevice and had begun filling the empty bulbs with water. He had wanted to light a fire beside the dark pool, but the flint sparks had snuffed out before they could ignite the little cluster of white fluffs he had arranged. After several tries, he had been forced to accept that the same sort of thick darkness inimical to flame lay here as under the trees in the Northern Forest. Instead, he laid a trail of skystones from the bottom of the rift to the pool. They gave out just enough feeble light to guide him, and he was able to warm himself by the fire whenever he brought back filled water bulbs and fetched more empty ones. He filled all of the unbroken bulbs, listening hard for sounds from the pool, but there was nothing. He decided finally that he must have frightened off whatever he had disturbed.