The Tower of Bones (35 page)

‘Well now – you may ask me your questions.’

Kate nodded. ‘If it’s not impolite, can I ask how old you are?’

‘In your terms, child, I am very old indeed.’

‘Do you mean, centuries old?’

‘A good deal older still.’

Kate’s eyes widened. ‘And throughout all that time have you been obliged to stay here – in this chamber?’

‘Oh, I can leave the birthing chamber as I please. But at my age I prefer to travel through water.’

‘You can swim out there, into the ocean?’

The Momu’s pupils performed a series of rapid oscillations, accompanied by a musical sound that might have been laughter. ‘Surely, the ocean is my world.’

Kate clapped her hands together with delight. ‘There are lots of questions I want to ask you. But I don’t want to be selfish. I expect that you have some questions for me?’

‘Indeed I do. I have altogether too many such questions – and I can hardly restrain my own impatience. I would know everything. Who, and what, are you? Where have you come from? I would know everything of how you came to be the bearer of the great power you carry in your brow.’

Kate felt surprisingly comfortable in the presence of the Momu. And she was only too glad to be able to talk about all that had happened to her in this bewildering world. Once she began she thought she would never end talking to the Momu, who sat and listened to every word, largely in silence, the strange webbed hand about her slender shoulders, and the extraordinary eyes all the while appraising Kate. When she had finished telling her story the Momu took Kate’s hands between her own and kissed them with great tenderness. ‘So young and fair in all that you have witnessed, and suffered, and still admirable in your faith and trust. Greeneyes – you are a True Believer.’

Tears rose into Kate’s eyes, tears of release and uncertainty at one and the same time. ‘But what does it all
mean? Why was I chosen? Was it just fate … the fact that four of us became friends? That we just happened to come together in Clonmel that day?’

‘You must not talk of fate thus, as if it were random, or unimportant. Fate is a very great power – and mystery is its very essence.’

Kate dropped her head and sighed. ‘I don’t even pretend to understand. Alan has become obsessed with this thing called the Fáil. Is this another word for fate?’

‘Hush! I would advise you not to speak openly of this. Yet there is a quality inborn to all True Believers, some for good, and some for evil.’

‘But what does that mean?’

‘Ah – such questions! Perhaps a quality that comes into its own in that most mysterious of domains, the between-world we know as Dromenon. And yet, without understanding of the mysteries, or what power resides within you, have you not resurrected a being of magic? Surely there is a miraculous potency in you.’

‘A being of magic – you mean, Driftwood?’

‘Even asleep, you willed it into being. And it became so.’

‘But how did I do that? How could I give life to a fossil?’

‘A very great power, indeed, have you. The gift of life, of rebirth.’

Kate looked up into the enormous, gentle face, astonished at what the Momu was telling her.

‘This gift, will you show me how I’m supposed to use it?’

The crystal dangling from the Momu’s neck took fire. The explosion of light, alive with a multi-hued matrix, filled the chamber. It was as if with an effort of will that the voice of the Momu stayed gentle. ‘Greeneyes – child! Your very naivety leads you to flaunt such a temptation before the Momu.’

‘But it’s a power I don’t understand. I don’t know what’s expected of me.’

Those huge eyes came to within inches of Kate’s own, as if to gaze into her mind. Then, the Momu burrowed, with one webbed hand, at the base of the tree, returning with her palm uppermost before Kate’s startled gaze and nostrils. Kate saw, and smelled, decay. The heart of the great tree was rotten.

‘Beloved Greeneyes, do you understand?’

‘I … I saw the same decay in some of the houses, the streets …’

The Momu’s pearly eyes performed that slow blink, and she put her arm around Kate’s shoulders again. ‘Nidhoggr, the serpent, who gnawed at the roots of the world, fertilised a seed of the Tree of Life. That seed grew into the One Tree in whose roots we converse, a chimera of magic and being. The One Tree is dying, and with it my beautiful Ulla Quemar. I, the first born of that chimera – who am almost as old as the One Tree itself – am dying with her. There will be no more Shaamis.’

‘Please stop! You’re frightening me.’

The Momu’s eyes were unblinking in their appraisal
of Kate, now held so very close to her. ‘You talked of fate. And I told you that mystery was its essence. Yet was it not Fate that brought you here to me?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Will you not stay here? Will you not help me?’

‘What you’re thinking …’

‘You know my mind?’

The mind of the Momu, as Kate read it through her oraculum, was many-stranded, like a gargantuan spider’s web. Her thoughts, now invading Kate’s own, were a symphony of beautiful tones, yet behind the serenity Kate sensed despair. It was like drowning in an ocean of rotting silken threads.

Terror grew in Kate at what she was sensing in the mind of the Momu. ‘You know it would be wrong to keep me here.’

‘Oh, my darling Greeneyes! You must try to understand how perilous the situation has become. Even though she failed to locate and destroy my beautiful Ulla Quemar, the Great Witch has succeeded in isolating it, and in doing so, destroying the harmony it needed to survive. Yet you – so innocent and fair – you have the potential to change this. You have the power to refresh and renew.’

‘You want to make me a prisoner, just like the Witch. So you can use me, as she tried to use me.’

‘How cold are your words, now cruelly directed to me! Yet I would not use you for evil, like the Witch. On the contrary, I would cherish you, keep you safe in hope and
love, with my purpose only to do good. I beg you. Grant me this respite? A year. A few years! A mote in the great cycle of time, yet together we might cure the One Tree and make Ulla Quemar whole again.’

Kate pitied the Momu even though she was now very much afraid of her.

She spoke, softly, ‘Granny Dew sent me to Driftwood, and he brought me to you. He didn’t bring me here so you could use me. He brought me to you so I could stop running. Can’t you see that you can’t go on hiding? There’s only one way to save you and your people. We have to beat her. We have to destroy the Witch.’

‘You imagine you can confront the epitome of evil and win? You will fail. Your purpose would be hopeless, even if you were to face her on her own. But you have seen for yourself that Olc is not alone. She has subverted the Eyrie People, though I know they have long baulked against it.’

Kate’s head was spinning with these revelations. ‘The Eyrie People?’

‘Those you call the Gargs.’

‘What are you saying? You know about those … those horrible beings?’

‘Once we were allies and not enemies, the Eyrie People, and the Cill.’

‘You were friends with the Gargs?’

But the Momu was no longer listening to Kate. Her voice was distant, lost in memories and despair. ‘Long ago, these were bountiful and prosperous lands with room and
plenitude. We lived in a harmony of differences that respected all. We worshipped knowledge as much as we traded the fruits of our hunting and our skills. There were powerful covenants of fire and blessings between our peoples. This world was kind to all before the coming of the Witch …

‘But I must look beyond mere nostalgia for what was lost. Putting all that aside, more monstrous than all of the suffering she has inflicted on both the Cill and the Eyrie People, is the coming peril of her growing insanity. You, O, beloved Greeneyes – please be warned! Olc is plotting to recruit another to her cause. A demigod of immense power and malice. Can you not see that what you propose is worse than naive? It is madness to think you can confront and then destroy the Witch.’

Kate looked deep into the Momu’s sad and beautiful eyes, and beyond them, her tormented mind.

‘Listen to me, Momu. Please think about what I’m telling you. This power, in my brow – through it I can sense things that are sick – things that are capable of confusing your thinking so you see only darkness everywhere. The sickness that is weakening the One Tree is the same despair that is eating at your heart. Sure, it wouldn’t matter how long I stayed with you, I couldn’t cure your world any more than I could cure you. Not while the Witch remains a threat. I hear your warning about her – I know it will be horribly risky to take her on. But still I know that there will be no hope for you, or for lovely Ulla
Quemar, unless we do. My friend, Alan, is coming. He promised he would and I know he’ll keep that promise. He too is an oraculum-bearer. But his oraculum is very different from mine. I won’t be alone when I confront the Witch.’

Alan stared down with dismay into a tumble of razorsharp rocks and cascading water. Next to him Turkeya was pleading with Kataba, who was sitting on the waterlogged ground, his back against a lichen-encrusted cliff face. Kataba’s injured leg was stretched out stiffly in front of him.

‘My ankle is useless. I can’t go on. I’m sorry, Turkeya. Just leave me here with a little food.’ The burly Olhyiu laughed, gazing about himself into the mist. ‘There’ll be no shortage of water.’

‘You know we won’t be coming back.’

‘Who knows what will be.’

‘It’s out of the question.’

The Aides helped Kataba to his feet, then rigged crutches from thick creepers so he could take the weight off his bad ankle. The contents of his pack were shared out among the others, reducing his load. They moved on
again, picking their way with care down the treacherous escarpment. By midday they were confronted by a fastrushing river channel, about sixty feet wide, that had cut through the skirts of the mountains, creating a waterfall above a drop of sixty feet or more.

‘Be sensible – it’s hopeless!’ Kataba stood, keeping a somewhat unsteady balance on one foot with his crutches planted on solid ground, contemplating the swell of water that ran as fast as a herd of leaping bucks between stepping stones slippery with moss. ‘You know I’m a liability to this mission.’

‘It would take half a day to go around this pass. You must try,’ the Kyra pressed him. ‘Xeenra will assist you.’

Alan caught the questioning glance of the grey-haired Shee, which was directed towards the Kyra. Kataba was at least as tall and three times as broad as the Shee. But Ainé was insistent. ‘We’ll fashion a chain, holding hands, so that any who falter will be supported by the others.’

Kataba threw down his crutches and appealed to Turkeya. ‘Stop this foolishness now. From the very beginning I’ve been a burden.’

Turkeya sighed. He examined the swollen flesh surrounding Kataba’s damaged ankle. The hard journey had made things worse. Livid trails of inflammation ran up his shin almost to the knee. Even Turkeya’s examination caused Kataba to groan aloud. The poor man’s face was awash with sweat. Kataba reached out and grasped Turkeya’s wrist, as if attempting to squeeze sense into
him. His hand trembled, yet the muscles and tendons stuck out like iron bands, so fierce was his plea.

He whispered: ‘Make them see.’

Turkeya could not keep the worry from his voice. ‘Kataba is right. This ankle isn’t just sprained. There’s poison in the wound. It’s no good. The poison is travelling into his blood. He’ll die if we can’t stop it.’

‘But what can we do?’

‘I’m the shaman,’ Turkeya murmured, as much to himself as those gathered around him. ‘I’ll find a way to help him!’

The senior Aides, Layheas, intervened. ‘I have healwell, which will reduce the inflammation and pain. But it will not cure the poison.’

Alan nodded: ‘Go ahead, Layheas. Do what you can for him.’

Turkeya whispered into Alan’s ear. ‘I have an idea. Something I’ve been thinking about through the night. A herbal plant that might subdue the poison. The queen of night as some call it – others know it as venom balm. I’ve no experience in using it, but Kemtuk described its benefits and the form of its leaf to me. It’s said to be capable of curing most poisons if made into a brew. I’d better go and look for it.’

‘Not on your own!’

‘I won’t go far. None but I would recognise it. I’ll be back before anybody knows I’m gone.’

Alan turned, ready to call Qwenqwo, but a groan from
Kataba distracted him. Layheas was looking up at him for assistance as she attempted to administer another sip of healwell. Alan took the cloth from her hand to dab the sweat from the man’s brow.

Turkeya had pretended to be confident when speaking to Alan, but immediately he entered the encircling swamps he felt less sure about his search. The humidity among the clinging tendrils and creepers took his breath away. Still, he must strive to keep his wits about him. There were dangers here at every step. No matter how carefully he tried to avoid them, the hair-wicks of the man-eaters brushed the skin of his face, and the smell of their digestive acids grew stronger. The danger would be no more terrifying if he heard the nearby growl of a predator. And while there were no growls he could hear those horrible slithering sounds, and in the trees, hisses and panting that seemed to cluster about him in the encircling gloom. With his sword unsheathed and his eyes darting from side to side, he tiptoed over the marshy ground, searching for the herb, all the while doing his best to keep a sense of direction.

‘Precious little good will it serve Kataba if I end up lost!’

He had left his water with his injured cousin and already he was thirsty from the heat and dehydration. Following the sound of a stream he came to a pool. Peering in, he withdrew in shock from the shadows darting beneath the brackish surface. He dare not drink the water.

Increasingly thirsty, Turkeya flopped onto an island of solid ground under the shade of a rocky overhang. There was no sign of the herb. Had it been a delusion that had convinced him that venom balm was to be found here? He was coming to realise that this search was the most stupid idea imaginable. He had broken his word to his father and wandered off on a hopeless mission. And to make matters worse he might have lost his way. Despairingly, he reflected that if he truly were lost, it was unlikely he would ever find his way back. His head muzzy with worry, he hadn’t noticed how the forest, previously noisy with slithering and hissing, had become so hushed he could hear his own heartbeat. There was nothing to see, yet he sensed danger nearby. And he thought perhaps that he smelt it too, a sickly smell, as of meat going putrid. Pulling back further into the shadows, his eyes searched frantically amid the gloom.