Under The Mountain (7 page)

He shook his head and said nothing.

‘What happened?’ Theo said.

He shook his head again. ‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing, Theo. It had been too long a journey. I was the younger, the stronger, but my companion was old. He fought to stay alive – but as I said, it was too long a journey.’

‘He died?’

‘Yes, Rachel. We landed. We set out to use our weapon. But before we could use it, he died.’

‘So you’re the last one left.’

‘Yes. The last. The last of
The People who understand
.’

‘But why didn’t
you
use the stones?’ Theo burst out. ‘By yourself?’

‘It wasn’t so simple, Theo. Our magic depends upon poles. Opposites. Two stones – two people to use them. And not just any two. I could not use them with any member of my race – just my companion. And I couldn’t use them with you. Or you, Rachel.’

Theo was silent. At last the old man said, ‘But I stay alive. Utterly helpless. I can go anywhere. They can’t keep me out of their tunnels and caves. I sit under their mountains and brood. I stand on the backs of their worms. But I can do nothing. I’ve learned to take this human shape. I’ve even come to like it. It’s hard for me now to turn back into myself. I’m almost human. It’s less lonely like that.’

‘Oh, Mr Jones,’ Rachel said.

But Theo interrupted. ‘Not helpless,’ he said. ‘That’s a lot of hooey, isn’t it?’

‘Hooey?’

‘Rubbish, I mean. Bullswool. Be quiet, Rachel.’

‘Why is it rubbish?’

‘Because you found those other twins. And you found us. And
we
can use the stones. Isn’t that right?’

7

THE SWEDISH TWINS

‘So let’s get started,’ he said.

The old man laughed. ‘Theo brings us down to earth.’ But his face had taken a more lively expression. ‘He’s right, Rachel. We aren’t beaten. They’re close to breaking free, those worms of ours, but we’ve got one last chance to lay them low.’

He went to the window, picked up the stones, and came back to his chair. ‘I’ve been more than four hundred years on your world and in that time I’ve found only one other pair who could use them. I’ve hunted in every land. But only one pair. And now two. Twins. Red-heads – red is our colour. Opposites. And with the gift of “speaking”. I thought because you weren’t identical it mightn’t work – but see …’ He held the stones out on his palms. ‘… they want to go to you. They want to be used.’

The stones were flickering – at least, the one in his left hand was flickering for Rachel, from white to reddish-yellow, from oval to seven-sided, and the one in his right for Theo, in shape, in colour – white to blue. They felt warmth radiating from them, and they reached out their hands.

‘No,’ Mr Jones said. ‘Things have changed since yesterday. You’ve come a long way – the mud-people have pushed you through whole generations of change. You’re not the same Rachel and Theo Matheson. But there’s still a long way to go. You can’t touch these again until you can see them. Absolutely steady. And you’ve got to see every side at once. All seven sides. And see yourself looking in from every one. And you’ve got to see the colour – rich and dark, and yet as clear as water.’

He looked steadily at them. The stones flickered and threw out their warmth.

‘And when you can do that you’ve got to hold them. And that will hurt. You’ve got to endure the hurt – and wait – until it grows less. It will go away in the end.’

Silence again. They could hear themselves breathing.

At last Theo said, ‘All right. I think we understand. What happens then? When we can hold them how do we use them?’

‘One thing at a time, Theo. I’ll show you how to use them – but first, you show me you can hold them.’

‘All right.’

He reached out his hand and picked up the blue pebble. But at once he yelled with pain and jerked his hand in the air. The stone fell on the floor and lay there flickering.

‘It’s red-hot.’

‘You’re too fast, Theo. Learn to see it first. Then it will not be so hot. Not quite so hot.’ Mr Jones was smiling but he had gone pale. He reached down and picked up the stone.

‘Now look at them. Concentrate. Forget your hand, Theo, the pain’s gone now. Look at your stone. Seven sides. Take it in your mind. Let it know it belongs to you – you’re the boss. Tell it to keep still. Tell it to stop flickering. You too, Rachel. See it clear, see it still, see it whole.’

Theo stared – he stared – he stared – until he could feel himself going cross-eyed. Rachel seemed further ahead. Her eyes were very wide, absolutely still. Her stone to him was a white egg lying on Mr Jones’s palm, but he could tell that to her it was a heptahedron, yellow-red, blinking only slightly, clear as glass, rich as the skin of an orange, reflecting her face to her from each of its seven mirrors. He was not going to be left behind. He concentrated harder. He tried to bore into his stone and look out from the inside. He pretended he was a geologist with a tiny hammer, tapping the surface trying to find a way in – and slowly, as the rhythmical sound played on his mind, the image faded, the stone grew larger, it seemed to invade his head. Its flickering became less regular, its shape could be seen for longer and longer periods. Its colour was the colour of the sky, and yet of the sea, and of delphiniums – but it was one colour only, clear as water, thick and rich as paint. He sighed with the pleasure of looking at it. But soon, though he knew he should not, he questioned it. What are you? he murmured, how am I supposed to use you? And the stone flickered madly and lost its shape. He came out of his trance with an exclamation of disappointment.

‘Well done, Theo,’ Mr Jones said. ‘You went a long way. You very nearly had it.’

Theo shook his head. Something seemed to be wrong. The sun was slanting differently through the window. He looked at his watch. An hour and a quarter had passed.

‘Hey!’

‘Don’t be frightened.’

‘I thought it was only a minute.’ He saw that Mr Jones was sitting at the table now and the stones were on the arms of the chair he had left. ‘How did you move without us seeing?’

‘You were very deep down, Theo.’

‘What about Rachel?’

‘She’s doing very well. Very well indeed.’

She was sitting exactly as he had seen her last – wide-eyed, still as a lizard on a rock. He felt if he looked hard enough he would see the line of her sight spearing out to her stone.

‘I’m going to try again.’

‘Good boy. Relax. Take it slowly. You shouldn’t need your little hammer this time.’

And this was so. His mind was ready and he held the stone easily in its embrace – blue, seven-sided, steady – almost steady. It
would
flicker just when he believed he had it. But he saw it from every side at once. He saw it from inside and out. The moments when it lost shape, when it became again just a white river-bed pebble, were painful. He felt them like the sting of a rubber band. How long it went on he did not know. A soft voice began to sound in his mind. ‘Theo, Theo.’

‘What?’

‘You can come out now.’

It was Mr Jones. Theo shivered. He was suddenly very tired and he realised that this was the hardest work he had ever done. He blinked and swayed a little. Rachel was grinning at him. She had a bottle of Fanta in her hand. More than anything he wanted a drink. Mr Jones reached out with another bottle.

‘Here you are, Theo. It’s dry work.’

He drank, letting the ice-cold liquid pour down his throat until the bottle was half empty.

‘Now have some chocolate. You’ve used up a lot of energy.’

‘What time is it?’

‘It’s nearly lunch-time, Theo,’ Rachel said. ‘But we don’t have to go. I rang Auntie. And Mr Jones talked to her too, so that’s all right. She even said we could stay for tea.’ She laughed excitedly, ‘I did better than you. I can hold mine fifteen seconds without a flicker. You can only do twelve.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘He did.’

‘It’s not a competition,’ Mr Jones said. ‘You’re a team. The two stones work together. Now you finish your drinks while I get lunch. You can look at those’ – he motioned at the stones on the arms of the chair – ‘but don’t try to pick them up.’

Theo put out a finger and stopped it an inch or two away from his stone. Heat came off as though from the element of a stove. He felt depressed. It seemed no cooler than before.

Mr Jones gave them boiled eggs and thick tomato sandwiches. He ate nothing himself but paced about the room. He seemed unable to keep still and once or twice the twins caught him looking at them with something like pity.

‘Don’t you eat the same food as us?’ Rachel asked.

‘Oh, yes. I’m just not hungry.’

‘What did you eat on your world? And what did you look like?’

‘It’s a long time ago, Rachel. It’s not something I like to remember. I’m almost as human now as you or Theo … Do you think you can go on? You’ve done very well but there’s still a great deal to get through.’

They had another session ‘seeing’ the stones. Rachel held hers steady for almost a minute. But Theo could manage only the same twelve seconds. He saw that Mr Jones was disappointed.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Have a rest, Theo. You’ve had enough for a while. We’ll concentrate on Rachel.’

‘I can beat her. It’s just that I keep wanting to know why. How it happens, I mean. There must be a scientific explanation.’

‘I thought that might be it.’ Mr Jones sighed. ‘Well, I can’t tell you. There are mysteries, that’s all. Rachel doesn’t look for answers. That’s why she’s nearly there. Just think of it as something like – birth. Or time.’

‘I’ll try,’ Theo said. But he was beginning to feel defeated. Why weren’t there answers? There had to be. Mysteries were all right in books and pictures but in real life there were always explanations. He began to be angry with Rachel, who was stroking her hair in a way that meant she was pleased with herself.

Mr Jones said, ‘Watch for a little while. I’m going to get Rachel to pick up her stone. And stop looking so clever, Rachel. It’s going to be a good deal worse than the dentist.’

‘Oh,’ Rachel said. Her face went a little pale. ‘I think I’ll go to the toilet first.’

She washed her hands, washed her face, and dried them on a towel that had
Belvedere Hotel
stencilled on it. She looked at this with pretended interest. She even giggled. He was a thief. But all of this was an attempt to forget – oh why had he mentioned the dentist?

‘Where did you get that towel?’ she said when she was back in the kitchen.

‘I travel a lot, Rachel. And I haven’t any money.’

‘Did you steal those bottles of Fanta too?’

Mr Jones laughed, not very heartily. ‘I always pay in some way or other. Now come on, my dear. Don’t try to put it off.’

‘All right.’ She sat down. She wished he would not look so sorry for her. ‘Do I just pick it up?’

He nodded. ‘Drop it if it hurts too much. And remember, the longer you hold it the cooler it will be next time.’

She brushed her fear away as though it were an insect: no need to be frightened of spiders or wasps – they could sting you but that was all. She picked up the stone, and although it burned like steam from a kettle she held it, she kept her hand clenched – she held it though a crying noise forced its way between her lips. ‘Oh, please, somebody. Talk to me. Say something. I can hold it if somebody says something.’

‘You’re a brave girl –’

‘Not that. Tell me a story. Anything. Please.’

‘Beneath the spreading chestnut tree, the village blacksmith stands –’

‘Oh shut up, Theo. Mr Jones, please …’

‘What, my dear?’

‘Those twins. Those other twins. Tell me about them.’

‘It was so long ago.’

‘Their names? What were their names?’

‘Johan. Lenart.’

‘Funny names.’

‘They were Swedish.’

‘Show me. Please.’

Tears were running down her face. The heat was not growing, but neither did it seem to be getting less. She was sure the skin was burning off her palm. ‘I know you don’t want to remember. But I want to know. So tell me. Or else I’ll drop it. It’s burning me up.’

Slowly a picture began to grow in her mind. It was grey, and she knew the lack of colour came from Mr Jones’s reluctance. But slowly it began to take other tones. Two boys, both with red hair, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, were at a table sewing boots with leather thread. They were in a tiny room, dark, littered with scraps of leather. A man seemed to be shouting at them.

‘Where is it?’

‘Uppsala. In Sweden.’

‘When?’

‘Eighteen hundred and eleven.’

‘Is the man their father?’

‘They’re orphans. He’s their master. They’re boot-making apprentices. He was cruel to them. I took them away.’

She saw another room, simply furnished with beds, a table, chairs. The two boys were sitting at the table with their eyes fixed on the stones. One of the stones was red. The boy – she knew his name was Johan – reached out and picked it up. He grimaced, but held it. Then he grinned.

‘It’s not so hot for him.’

‘He’s had more practice. I didn’t have to hurry. The Wilberforces were far away.’

She saw a sailing ship then, with grey patched sails. It was running before a strong wind amongst islands covered with green bush.

‘She’s a whaler. I paid the captain to bring us to New Zealand – yes, with stolen money. He set us down there, in the Bay of Islands. We came the rest of the way on foot.’

She saw them camping by a stream. The boys were roasting wood pigeons over a fire. Each held his stone tightly in his fist. Mr Jones was a little way off, resting with his hands behind his head. Words began to echo in her mind – but the language was foreign. The boys laughed as though at a joke, and Johan tossed his stone in the air, one-handed, and caught it neatly. Rachel felt jealous. But she discovered her palm was burning less.

Mr Jones smiled, sadly she thought. ‘It’s all right now, Rachel. You’ve got past the worst. You can manage now.’

‘But you mustn’t stop. What happened?’

‘I’d rather not tell you.’

‘Oh, please. Don’t treat me like a child.’

‘You are a child, my dear.’

‘I’m old enough to hold this stone.’

‘You’ve got to tell us,’ Theo’s voice said. ‘You can’t just stop. We’ve got to know. If we’re going to carry on.’

‘Yes. I know it’s sad for you. But we’ve got to see what happened.’

For a while there was greyness in her mind. The stone burned in her hand like a freshly boiled egg. Then slowly a picture took shape out of the gloom. It was another camp, by another stream. The boys were chopping with axes, shaping a log canoe. Their clothes were more ragged now. Each had a cloth bag tied around his neck. The stones were inside – she saw a glow of red through the cloth of Johan’s bag.

‘This is Deep Creek at Torbay,’ said the voice in her mind. ‘We lived there for almost a year. The Maori brought us food. We made friends with them. They had never seen red hair before. They would have taken us out to the island too – but we made our own canoe instead. There seemed to be no reason for hurry. The Wilberforces were still underground, hollowing out their chambers. I spied on them from time to time. There’s no way they can keep me out. We made our canoe. We fished and we swam. And the boys hunted for birds. This is Johan.’ They saw a boy of fourteen in tattered clothes and a belt of woven flax. His red hair fell to his waist. He was sitting cross-legged on the sand, playing a tune on a wooden flute. ‘He made the flute. Listen.’ The tune came clearly – a light, skipping, merry sound made of half a dozen notes. Then they saw a camp-fire and Johan playing once more – this time slowly, mournfully. ‘He’s remembering his homeland. Johan was a dreamer. A poet. Mysteries didn’t upset him. Like you, Rachel. And Lenart – he was the scientist, the one who wanted explanations.’