The Second Forever (11 page)

The two children opened the windows back as far as they could go and pushed the boat until it was balanced on the sill. While Festival climbed in and sat steady on the middle seat, Peter reached up and gave one last push against the window frame. The boat swayed. Peter leapt into the boat just in time as it fell out of the building. They began to fall, but then the wind caught the wings, and sure enough they glided in a gentle arc towards the water.

They hit the waves fifty yards from shore and began to drift out into the open sea. The rain had eased off, but a thick mist had covered their flight so that no one had seen them go. The wind that had been pushing the boat had dropped, so Peter folded the wings back into the sides of the boat before hauling the sail up the mast and dropping the tiller into the water.

‘Which way are we supposed to go?' said Festival.
‘The mist is so dense we can't see anything.'

Behind them a foghorn blew out a long mournful moan, telling the children they were travelling away from land, which meant they were heading out into the middle of the lake. The rain dropped to a fine drizzle. The wind slowed to a whisper and the sea fell flat as glass. The sail hung limp and the boat drifted to a halt.

‘This doesn't feel right,' said Peter.

‘Well, no,' said Festival. ‘We've stopped moving.'

‘No, not that. I mean, it doesn't seem natural,' said Peter. ‘It's as if someone has made this happen. The weather can't change that much so quickly.'

‘Yes,' said Festival, ‘but none of the weather feels natural. It's not supposed to rain forever and ever, and it's not supposed to stop raining forever and ever, either.'

‘It's not the same,' said Peter. ‘It's as though it's deliberately happening to us.'

‘What, like someone wants to stop us from getting to the island?'

‘Yes.'

‘There's only one person who would want to do that, isn't there?'

‘Yes. Darkwood.'

The mist began to clear, though at first they could see nothing but white fog. There was still no sign of
the land they had left behind and only the distant foghorn told them which direction it was in. It had grown fainter as they had sailed away, but then it grew louder and changed direction. There was one brief moment when the faint foghorn and the loud foghorn sounded together and they were in opposite directions. Then the faint sound was gone and the loud one moved.

‘Darkwood,' repeated Peter.

But Darkwood had shown he was not in total control, or else the two sounds would not have run together for that one moment and given him away. Nor did he have control over the mist, for it cleared slightly to show the children that there was something directly ahead of them in the water.

It was the top of a tree – the tallest one on the island and the only remaining sign of where they should go. There was very little of it above the water. Another day at most and it would be gone.

Peter pulled down the sail and began to row towards the tree and as he did so the mist closed in again and the tree was hidden. The rain grew even heavier and colder, but Peter had the direction in his eye and continued to row steadily forwards.

‘Shall I take an oar?' said Festival, but Peter shook his head.

‘Can't speak or else I'll lose the line,' he said.

It seemed to take forever and the wind grew stronger and stronger, whipping up the waves, and the forever felt as if it had gone on too long and maybe they had changed direction and missed the tree.

But then it was there, suddenly and so close that they could reach out and hold it. The two tied a rope, which they had found inside the boat, to a branch and released the breaths they had both been holding for so long.

They said nothing, but smiled and touched hands.

The children dropped the mast and tied it to the two oars before draping the sail over it to make a shelter, under which they could read the book. Peter wished that they had written the book in waterproof ink, but even then the paper would get wrecked in the rain.

‘Though we could just recite it,' said Festival.

‘I suppose,' said Peter, ‘but something tells me the book itself has to exist like it did before.'

‘Why do you think Darkwood is trying to stop us?' said Festival.

‘I'm not sure,' said Peter. ‘But maybe he just wants
the whole world to suffer as much as he has.

‘And no matter what he does he'll still be left,' Peter continued, ‘and the Ancient Child and you and me and, no doubt, a few other people too who have been made immortal forever.'

‘I've been thinking about that,' said Festival. ‘What would happen if one of us fell into a massive fire? You know, like a volcano, or was shot out into space or right at the heart of a nuclear bomb, or even just ripped apart by a wild animal? Surely you wouldn't survive that.'

‘You wouldn't think so,' said Peter, but something told him that you would, even if it was in some other form.

Before they could dwell any more on it, the weather began to change again, only this time it was different. The wind dropped, turning the water back to glass, which then began to move.

It was very slow at first, and it was impossible to tell exactly when it had started, but it gradually got stronger until a gentle whirlpool centred around the tree. Peter jumped up and untied the rope, which was being wrapped around the trunk, and began to pull the submerged front of the boat out of the water. The rain grew so heavy it was difficult to see more than a few feet in any direction and the noise it made, falling on their makeshift shelter, was deafening. The
sky grew as dark as night, even though it was only the middle of the day.

‘We must read the book,' Peter shouted. ‘If it gets any darker, we won't be able to see the words.'

But it did. So much so that they couldn't see anything.

They huddled side by side; Festival wrapped her arms around Peter as he unwrapped the book from its velvet covers.

‘I can't see,' he said.

The whirlpool got faster and faster until it began to dip in the middle, uncovering more of the tree and making them feel nauseous.

‘Why don't we climb out into the tree?' Festival suggested, but no sooner had she spoken when the wind broke several branches off and threw them into the whirlpool.

The children clung together and Festival put her hand over Peter's as he moved his fingers over the pages and recited the words in the book.

‘Before the beginning was the void, before time, before light, before day and night. I was the darkness that created the first breath of life. I was the vacuum that was nothing. Yet it was not nothing, for I was there. And I was part of it, the spark that lit the shadows for the very first time, as life crawled out of the abyss.'

The boat smashed against the tree, but Earshader had done a magnificent job repairing it and disguising his work to keep the old boat looking like a wreck. It had obviously fooled Darkwood, for after trying to destroy the boat a few more times with no success, he gave up and concentrated on the whirlpool. Peter continued.

‘I was the darkness.

‘I was the vacuum. I created myself and became life, the giver of life and the taker of life too. For all life sits in my hands.

‘I was, am and will always be forever.'

The rain was fading. The clouds were clearing, the light returning. Far away came the sounds of thunder and a lightning flash.

‘I don't think we need to read any more,' said Peter. ‘The storm we're hearing is coming from outside the roof of your world. I think we've done it.'

‘But we should finish,' said Festival. ‘Just in case.'

‘Yes.'

Although the book was only a few hundred words, it seemed to take forever to reach the end. The noise made it difficult to hear each other's words and they kept repeating themselves over and over as the lightning flashed around them, throwing the sea into
frantic waves that looked as if it were boiling. A giant albatross, never seen before in Festival's world, came crashing down into the boat, almost tipping it over.

But then they were on the last page and then on the last paragraph, and the whirlpool and the wind and the rain slowed to a stop and Festival's world fell silent apart from the distant roar of the incredible storm above the dome.

‘I would so love to be there right now,' Peter said as they fell back exhausted. ‘To see the first rain falling and the people and the animals and the plants all coming back to life.'

Darkwood had failed to stop them. They knew it would not be the end of him. It would never be the end. Darkwood would hide himself away and make new plans, but at least for now everyone was safe again.

Peter and Festival were too tired to row back to shore straightaway. They tied their longest rope to a branch on the waterline, and as they rested for the next hour the water dropped until the rope was two metres above them.

‘We should visit Foreclaw,' said Festival, ‘and see if the river has started running again.'

Peter was desperate to return to his own world, but according to his calculations there were three days left until the full moon when they would be able to call the giant bat. He had the recording of the Journey Bell safe in his pocket, ready for the flight home.

There was Festival too. He wanted her to go back
with him, but he knew she probably wouldn't. She would want to stay in her own world and want him to as well.

By the time they had rowed back to shore the water had almost dropped an entire gallery. People were wading around in the ankle-deep water reclaiming their old homes. They were already inside their houses dragging out wet carpets and hanging them over the handrails that went around the entire gallery. Here and there a few fires were lit, though there was precious little dry stuff to start them with.

Even though Festival had told people why they wanted the boat, no one realised as she and Peter tied up the boat and climbed ashore that the falling water had anything to do with the two children, that it had been them and them alone who had reversed the flood. Nor did anyone really notice that the sky was becoming brighter as the rain that had returned outside washed the dust off the great glass dome.

‘Idiots,' said Festival as they went up to the old hotel, deserted now, as everyone queued up to climb the ladders to the lower levels. The mood that had been as dark as the overcast sky when they had set sail was now as bright as midsummer.

Peter followed Festival up the narrow ladder to Foreclaw's apartment, where her family greeted them with open arms. Then all together they went out
onto the balcony and looked across the galleries and over the water.

On the island, they could see that the tallest tree was now standing on top of a hill, and other trees were re-appearing. The water fell away from the gallery where Peter and Festival had come ashore and uncovered the rooftops of the gallery below. Birds that had been huddling half-starved on the upper balcony handrails took flight searching for their old homes. One flock had already flown out to the island and settled in the trees.

It would take weeks for the water to fall back to its normal level and months for everything to dry out completely, but no one minded. The rain had stopped and everyone was happy to wait. Twenty-four hours earlier it had felt as if the end of the world, or rather the end of all living things, had arrived and it would only be a short time until the last insect ate the last flake of discarded skin and died. Now, tomorrow stretched off into the distance like it had done before the floods had started.

As Peter, Festival and her family stood out on the balcony, no one said a word. They were all too overwhelmed to speak. Eventually Festival's mother put her arm around Peter's shoulder and said, ‘Thank you.'

All Peter wanted was for Festival's family to go
back inside Foreclaw's house so he and Festival could open the other door and head to the Hourglasses to see if the river was running again. There was no way they could do it while there was anyone else there.

‘Why don't you go down and see if our gallery's uncovered yet?' said Festival.

‘No,' said Festival's father leaning over the balcony, ‘it's got a long way to go yet.'

‘I think you should be down there waiting,' said Festival. ‘I've heard there's a lot of people taking over empty houses.'

‘Where did you hear that?' said Festival's mother.

‘Someone said it when we were coming back just now,' Festival lied. ‘And there were people breaking into places that obviously weren't theirs.'

‘Well, I knew that this was going on when the water was flooding everyone's houses, but I wouldn't have thought it was happening now,' said her father. ‘I'll nip down and check it out.'

‘And I'll go and get tea started,' said her mother. ‘Keep an eye on Orleans.'

‘Mum,' Orleans protested, ‘I'm eleven. I'm not a baby. I don't need keeping an eye on.'

‘Why don't you go and explore?' Festival said to her brother after her mother had gone back into the apartment and her father headed to the lower levels. ‘No one can get up here. There's probably all sorts of
treasure hidden away in the old books.'

‘No there isn't,' said Orleans. ‘It's just rubbish.'

‘That's what you think,' said Peter, pointing to the far side of the gallery. ‘See that old lady way over there? She's been up here for years, collecting gold off the backs of the books. She's probably the richest person in the world.'

‘As if.'

‘You go and ask her,' said Festival. ‘And I reckon she's got so much gold, she probably can't carry it all. I mean, look how little and old she is. I bet she's got lots of it hidden in secret places. Just think what you could do if you found some of it.'

‘Really?'

‘Absolutely,' said Peter.

Orleans was desperate to believe them and even though he thought they were probably lying to him, he went off for the gallery.

‘Make sure you check everywhere,' Peter called after him.

‘Yes,' Festival added, ‘and if you find plenty, we want our share of it.'

As soon as the boy had disappeared inside a book, Peter took Foreclaw's key from around his neck and opened the secret door, making sure they locked and bolted it once they were inside.

‘You know how Darkwood tried to stop us from
reading the book by creating the storm?' he said as they walked along the corridor towards the stairs. ‘He couldn't, could he?'

‘Yes, but he's sort of won, though,' said Festival. ‘I mean, remember when he tried to get you to re-write the book after we destroyed the original one? Well, now we have.'

‘So why hasn't he come and tried to get it from us?'

‘He doesn't need to hurry,' said Festival. ‘He's immortal like us. I suspect he's satisfied to know it exists. He probably doesn't need to have the actual book in his hands.'

‘Yes, but you'd think he'd want it just in case we try to get rid of it again.'

‘Maybe he has just given up,' said Festival. ‘And he's not as powerful as everyone thinks he is.'

‘I doubt that,' said Peter as they climbed the stairs.

‘But look at the disaster he created the last time we destroyed it – the flood here and the drought in your world,' said Festival. ‘Anyway, where is it?'

‘I've hidden it,' said Peter and opened the door.

Festival wanted to ask him where, but by the way Peter had answered her, it was clear he wasn't going to say anything else.

After locking that door behind them too, the children walked out onto the small balcony and looked down into the immense hourglass room. They were
just as overwhelmed as they had been the first time. Hourglasses were still falling to the ground in a steady rain and were being replaced by new ones.

But now there was a new sound.

Water.

Far below them the river was running again, and down near the tunnel they could see Foreclaw. From where they were it was impossible to be sure it was the old man, but there was no one else it could be.

Peter and Festival headed down the stairs until they reached the Warden's room. They first checked that no one was there before continuing to the bottom, where Foreclaw had tied himself to the handrail with
a thick rope and was trying to clear the huge backlog of shattered hourglasses with a long pole. The river was carrying away thousands of shards of shattered glass and the sea of sand that had once been people's lives, but the backlog was piling up and threatening to block the flow.

‘Do you have another pole?' Peter shouted over the roar of water and cascading glass.

‘No,' Foreclaw called back.

Peter took the pole from the old man and began to smash at the wall of glass. Foreclaw sat on the bottom step, exhausted.

‘Well, you managed it,' Foreclaw said. ‘The river is running again and I suppose if we do nothing, it will clear everything eventually.'

‘I'm not sure it will,' said Peter, pausing for breath. ‘Even with our help, it seems to be getting worse.'

With the noise of the water drowning everything, none of them had heard the footsteps coming down the ladder.

‘Maybe this will help,' said the new arrival from fifty steps above them.

The three of them turned and looked up.

It was Darkwood. He was leaning over the hand rail, clutching a small bundle of sticks.

‘With my compliments,' he laughed as he suddenly threw the bundle at them. ‘This should clear things in
more ways than one.'

It was then that the three realised that the sticks were actually dynamite. The fuse sparkled and crackled as they fell at Foreclaw's feet. Peter tried to pull him away, but he refused to move. The old man seemed to be literally fixed to the ground.

‘Go, go,' he shouted at Peter. ‘This is the right time.'

Peter and Festival ran back as far as they could and crouched down under the stairs.

Everything seemed to run in slow motion as Foreclaw turned towards the calling children. As he lifted his foot to take a step, the dynamite exploded and killed him instantly. It also blasted away forty-nine steps, cutting off the way back up.

Festival hid her head in Peter's arms and he could feel her crying. They had hardly known Foreclaw, but he had been kind to them and it was distressing to see such a gentle and lonely old man come to such a sudden and violent end right in front of them.

Darkwood looked down at Foreclaw's remains and sneered, ‘Well, it looks as if dynamite beats immortality.

‘Still,' he added. ‘It has cleared the backlog.' The broken hourglasses had shattered into tiny pieces that the river carried effortlessly away.

‘And as for you two,' Darkwood said as he began to climb back up the stairs, ‘looks like the only way out
is down the Styx, the river of death. Bye.'

The river slowed down and grew quieter as it cleared the last of the accumulated hourglasses. From far above the children could hear Darkwood cursing and screaming at the locked door. Frustrated, he ran back down and demanded, ‘If you give me the key, I will fetch a ladder for you.'

‘I don't think so,' said Peter.

‘No, it's best that you stay here and become the new Warden,' Festival said and laughed.

‘Then you two can remain here forever as well,' Darkwood shouted, going up to the Warden's room and slamming the door shut behind him.

‘There is only one way out of here, isn't there?' said Festival.

‘No,' said Peter. ‘There are two. The river comes in and the river goes out.'

‘We can't even see the far end where the river enters through,' said Festival. ‘And the ground is littered with broken glass. If we don't get cut to shreds by that, there are hourglasses falling constantly! I reckon you couldn't walk a hundredth of the way upstream without one crashing right on top of you.'

‘I suppose so.'

‘If you were immortal and lost all your blood, I wonder if you'd die,' said Festival.

‘You probably wouldn't,' said Peter. ‘When I found
Bathline and her son, I noticed their arms were covered in scars. I reckon she had tried that.'

So the two attempted to build a pile of broken glass that would reach up to the bottom stair, but it was impossible. And all the time hourglasses shattered around them.

Darkwood came back out onto the stairs. ‘There is another way,' he said. ‘The book.'

‘What?' said Peter.

‘Don't try to be cute,' said Darkwood. ‘You know what I mean.'

‘We haven't got it,' said Peter.

‘Okay, I'll play your little game then. So, where is it?'

‘I dropped it into the sea when we'd finished reading it.'

‘No you didn't,' said Darkwood. ‘It's near here. Don't forget I created it. It calls to me.'

‘Well then, I expect it's saying
, oh, oh save me for I am drowning out in the sea
,' Peter sneered.

‘Fine,' said Darkwood. ‘There's no hurry. I can wait and so can the book.

‘And so can you,' he added. ‘We are all immortal.' Laughing, Darkwood returned into the Warden's room.

‘So the only way out is down the river?' said Festival.

‘Yes.'

With the rope that Foreclaw had used to stop
himself from falling into the river and the remains of the demolished stairs, the children managed to make something that looked like a pile of demolished stairs tied together with a bit of old rope. It certainly didn't look like a raft.

‘At least there's more water than glass now,' said Festival as they pushed their creation towards the water's edge.