Helix and the Arrival (3 page)

‘What's for breakfast?' says Dad.

‘You should know,' says Mum. ‘You caught it yesterday.'

I look at the blackened outlines on sticks.

‘Gecko kebab!' says Dad. ‘Very tasty indeed.'

Mum looks up at him, unimpressed. She passes the gecko kebabs around, giving me the biggest one, which isn't that big. ‘Here, Helix. Eat up. You need to put on some weight.'

As Mum, Sherwin and I begin to crunch away on our gecko kebabs, Dad takes the opportunity to raise his favourite topic: torism.

‘That reminds me,' he says, ‘I've been doing some more thinking about our torism idea.'

‘
Our
torism idea?' says Mum, charred pieces of gecko flying from her mouth and spraying Dad.

Dad is momentarily blinded by a gecko toe in his eye, but he keeps going: ‘Ours … yours … mine … it doesn't matter, Barb. The point is, I think it has great potential. People could have guests in their cave in exchange for skins. Or, if they're not interested in earning skins, if they only want to visit another part of the mountain, they could just swap caves with someone else. I call it “caveswap”.'

‘Jerg,' says Mum, ‘no one in their right mind would want to swap caves with someone from the Dark Side.'

Dad concedes this point. ‘Okay, but what about folk from Rockfall swapping with folk from Newstone? Haven't you heard how dry and spacious those Newstone caves are? I hear there's enough room to swing a bandiquoll above your head without hitting the cave walls.'

‘That might be so, dear, but I can't imagine living somewhere so new and different, somewhere without a past. I mean, look at our cave – it's full of beautiful paintings from the ancestors.'

It's true – our cave certainly does have a lot of artwork in it. But I wouldn't call it beautiful. The highlights are:

‘Anyway,' says Dad, sounding deflated, ‘it's just an idea.'

‘I think it's great,' I say. ‘Why shouldn't we get to know how other folk on the mountain live?'

‘Yeah right. As if,' says Sherwin.

Mum pats me on the head.

I go back to my blackened gecko threaded on a stick. I wonder for a moment what river people eat for their breakfast. Ug says their food grows from the ground, so is not fit for mountain folk.

‘What are you going to do?' says Sherwin, turning to me.

‘What do you mean?' I say.

‘What are you going to do when you fail your Arrival?'

‘Sherwin, that's enough,' says Mum.

‘He'll do just fine,' says Dad.

I build up some courage to speak back. ‘Maybe if I practise, I'll get better,' I say.

‘In your dreams!' says Sherwin, gnawing on a lump of gecko charcoal. ‘The day you become a caveman is the day I become a river person.'

I've had enough of Sherwin, so decide to pull out my secret weapon. ‘Maybe the day I become a caveman is the day you get a wife!' Ha!

Sherwin stops breathing for a moment and his eyes try to free themselves from their sockets. He drops what's left of his breakfast and lunges at me, clasping my neck with his hands.

I can't break his grip. He's too strong. Dad jumps on top of him, trying to pull him off me. Mum is screeching like an angry vulture and slowly everything goes dark as my air runs out …

I'm brought back to life with a splash of cold water. Mum has squirted a bladder of water over Sherwin's head and he's released his grip.

‘It burns, it burns!' says Sherwin, with his hands over his eyes. Mountain folk don't like water in their eyes. It makes them think of the river.

Some of the water has ended up in Dad's face, too. ‘Can't. See,' he says, rolling on the ground and rubbing his eyes.

‘Serves you all right,' says Mum. ‘Come on. The Gathering is starting soon.'

Folk from Newstone, about fifty to sixty of them, have travelled along the Common Way and are arriving in Rockfall for this morning's Gathering. They are neatly dressed and reasonably clean (compared to the dirt-encrusted Rockfall folk), and are gathered in a tight huddle as if they're trying to avoid contamination from Rockfall.

As is custom, Dark Side folk aren't invited to the Gathering; this is because they are outcasts, with some being part-beast, according to Speel. But although they are not allowed to come to Rockfall, they are still seen as part of the mountain and expected to follow the rules laid down by Korg the Magnificent and Speel.

The Gathering occurs at the speaking rock, which is really more of a boulder than a rock. It is higher than
me and has a flat platform on top where the speaker stands. Three steps are carved into its side so that old folk like Korg the Magnificent can climb to the top without having to scrabble up its rounded surface (which would be pretty humiliating for Korg given his importance).

According to Speel, the rock was a gift from the heavens to the people of the mountain. It fell during the time of Korg the Originator and was given to us because we were the only people with anything important to say. The river people, of course, had no need for a speaking rock, because they had nothing of interest to say to each other … So the story goes.

Korg is helped up the steps to the top of the rock. The mumbles of the crowd die down until there is silence.

‘Good morning, folk of the mountain,' he says with his raspy voice. ‘Thank you all for coming to this Gathering. Especially, thanks to those folk from Newstone who have made the journey along the Common Way to be here. Before I let Speel speak, let me remind you that although we may live apart, we are all of the one clan and, therefore, have a responsibility to each other.' He finishes and steps down off the speaking rock.

Speel steps up onto the rock. Although Korg the Magnificent is the ruler of the mountain, it seems to me that Speel does most of the talking these days. His lone eyeball scans the crowd and his tongue rolls about in his mouth as if something in there doesn't taste good. He is carrying a small tablet. On it, I assume, is carved something of importance.

‘Ahem,' he starts, clearing a blockage in his throat. ‘Folk of the mountain. As you are all aware, we live in difficult times. The river folk from the lowlands are growing in numbers. They cross the river and hunt in the woods, which are lands belonging to the mountain folk.'

This is the first I've heard of river folk crossing the river into our lands.

‘Now, more than ever, we need to act as one to protect the glorious legacy of the mountain, the legacy that was born in Rockfall. With that in mind, after careful consideration, I … Korg and I have decided that we must create a skin stockpile, to be maintained in case our hunting grounds become decimated even further. In addition to this, the meat from the skins will serve to replenish the store caves for the coming winter. To that effect, a new levy will be placed.'

A fed-up groan comes from the crowd, but it's quickly silenced as Speel's eyeball bulges in fury.

‘As of today, there will be a new skintax. Cavemen and cavewomen from Newstone will be asked to deliver ten skins per mooncycle, with no more than five coming from palm-square beasts. Rockfall folk will be required to deliver five skins from beasts of their choosing.'

‘Palm-square beasts' are animals that can fit in a caveman's palm – the kind of animals my family eats.

The Newstone folk clearly aren't happy, but because of their polite nature, the most they're doing is putting their hands on their hips and shaking their heads disapprovingly. They are wondering why they're
being asked to carry the burden … But Speel hasn't finished yet.

‘And as for those folk living on the Dark Side …' Speel clears his throat again. ‘Because of the known riches of their hunting grounds, they will be required to provide twenty skins per mooncycle, with no palm-square beasts permitted.'

The Newstone folk are yabbering away to each other and sound relieved – the Dark Side's twenty skins makes their ten look much more reasonable. I wonder how Dark Side folk will react when they receive a mail tablet informing them of the new skintax.

‘Enough chatter!' thunders Speel, and everyone stops what they were saying mid-sentence. ‘Do not forget that the river snakes closer to the mountain every day, and that those in the lowlands covet this glorious land of ours.'

I look around, trying to work out which part of this dusty, craggy mountain is glorious. Have I missed something?

‘Now go. Go back to your caves. And do not for a moment think that this mountain of ours can be taken for granted.'

When the Gathering is over, I meet Ug in front of his family's cave.

Ug and I are opposites in lots of ways:

Ug and I have been friends since we were cavekids. He started walking before I did, so would pick me up
under one arm and take me places. And I was talking long before him (in fact, I skipped grunting and went straight to words), so while he carried me around, I'd teach him how to talk. It was a good arrangement: I got to travel places and Ug learnt to talk, pronouncing each word slowly and in full, which he still does to this day.

Ug's resting a heavy club on his shoulder, holding onto it with one hand. It looks small when Ug holds it.

‘Hi, Ug. Nice club,' I say.

‘It is my dad's. He said we can practise with it. Here,' he says, handing it to me.

I take it from him, wondering if there's a special way to hold it.

‘What do you think?' he says.

‘It's not as heavy as I thought,' I say, cradling it in my arms. But then I try to raise it above my head, and that's when I realise there's a whole lot of weight in
this lump of wood. The higher I raise it, the more I feel like I need to drop it or I might topple over from its weight.

Ug sees I'm struggling. ‘Are you all right?' he says.

‘Here … Take it,' I say, straining under the weight.

Ug plucks it from my weak grip with one hand and rests it back on his shoulder again.

I let my arms flop down. Both my shoulders feel like they've become detached from my body. What's the point of even bothering to learn how to use this thing? I'll never be strong enough to wield a heavy club.

‘How about we practise with the heavy club another day?' I say.

‘I thought you wanted to prepare for your Arrival.'

‘Another day will be fine,' I say, my shoulders taking it in turns to throb with pain.

‘Well,' says Ug, ‘I guess it is up to you.'

‘Let's visit the Ledge,' I say.

I can tell by the look in Ug's eyes that he's keen.

The Ledge is a rock shelf high above Rockfall's caveline. To get there, you have to climb up a sheer rock face. Sometimes the climb is dangerous – rocks get dislodged and tumble down from above. Ug, who is padded with muscle, agrees to go first and act as my human shield.

The final part of the climb is the most difficult – the Ledge juts out from the mountain like a caveman's jaw, meaning that you need to haul yourself up on an angle, with some of your weight suspended in midair. It's best not to look down at this point.

But even though it's difficult, I don't find it too much of a struggle. Climbing is one of the few things I'm good at: because I'm so skinny, there isn't much of me to drag around. I'm also good at running or, more accurately, running away from things that scare me.

Ug pulls himself up onto the Ledge and I follow. It's a big effort for him, heaving such a mass of muscles, bones and body hair up and over the lip of the Ledge, but he makes it with the slightest of grunts.

The view from the Ledge makes the climb worth it. As well as being able to look down on Rockfall from a great height, we can see out over the woods, across the river and down to the lowlands where the river people live. We can even see as far as Land's End, which is the end of the world.

‘What do you think is there?' I ask Ug.

‘Where?'

‘Land's End.'

‘It is the end,' says Ug. ‘Beyond Land's End there is nothing.'

‘How can there be nothing?' I say. ‘There must be something.'

‘No. There is nothing. It is the end of the world,' says Ug.

‘How can you be so sure?' I ask.

‘It is knowledge,' says Ug. ‘We learnt it from Speel.'

‘It must be true then,' I say.

Ug lets out a huff. ‘Why do you always want to argue with everything Speel says?'

‘I don't argue with
everything
, just with most things. I mean, how does he know there's nothing there? Has
he been to Land's End? I don't think he's even been to Newstone or the Dark Side!'

‘It is written, Helix. Do you not get it?'

‘Oh, the sacred tablets. I almost forgot. The same sacred tablets that he won't let anyone read.'

‘Yeah, well, cavemen cannot read, anyway!' says Ug. ‘And even if they could, why would they want to?'

He's right. If someone took a vote on the top three interests of cavemen, they would be:

‘But that's just it! If reading the sacred tablets was allowed, I'm sure folk would teach themselves how to read.'

‘The sacred tablets are not for everyone's eyes, Helix. They are for the Storykeeper alone.'

‘Well, that's wrong,' I say.

‘If you are unhappy, you should go to speak with Korg the Magnificent,' says Ug.

Korg, as our clan's leader, has the final say in everything. Most times these days, though, he just shuffles about slowly, looking tired and old, staring at the ground deep in thought.

‘Did you hear that?' says Ug, his body stiffening.

‘Hear what? The sound of a vulture flapping? The sound of the wind bristling against your hairy back? The sound of a monobrowed baby crying?'

‘Shut up! There it is again.' Ug takes his flint knife from his belt and rises into a crouching position. ‘Sh … It is coming from above.'

Great. There's a creature stalking us and we're trapped on the Ledge. I wonder if it's a rock gibbon. The bigger males can be aggressive and have been known to pull a caveman's arm out of its socket. I'm glad Ug is here.

I crouch behind Ug, peeking out from behind his large body.

‘Whatever it was, I think it has gone,' he says, and sits back cautiously.

‘Are you sure?'

‘I think so.'

We're relaxing again, taking in the view, when our peace is shattered by something jumping down from above, landing between us. Before I can see what it is, Ug is on top of the creature, his flint knife drawn.