by Peter Harris
Chapter Thirty
The Monks of the Zagonamara
Their robes flapped about them as they fell, faster and faster. ‘Now!’ yelled Shelley over the rush of cold air. They let go of the silk bundles they each cradled, and felt a stomach-flipping tug as the improvised parachutes billowed open with a satisfying ‘whump’. They spiralled and sank like thistledown into the dark ravine. After the first shock, Shelley yelled ‘Yahoo!’ and Korman yelled jubilantly in the Tímathian tongue. Shelley grinned at him, hugely relieved that her idea had worked, and proud to see how impressed Korman was.
‘Pull one side or the other to steer,’ she called, as Korman veered off towards an outcrop in the cliff. Bootnip was writhing under his robes, but was in no danger of falling out, it seemed, because he had hold of Korman’s stomach. Turning sharply just as he sped past, Korman’s boot clipped the outcrop. A few fragments of rock hurtled down into the depths below them.
The colours of the cliff were mainly ochres and pale purple, with some startling veins of malachite green and layers of grainy white and pink, like exotic marble. Shelley saw broad bands of glittering rock, broken here and there with whitish protrusions. Before she could see what they were, they had flashed past. She thought they could have been fossils.
When she looked down again, she saw the dark surface of the lake, just seconds before so distant and remote, rushing up to meet them. Her experiment was not yet over… The water was calm but for some long oily ripples coming from the southern end, as if there had been something disturbing the water. No breeze stirred below, and all was silent but for the rush of air past their clothes and the parachutes.
Shelley was falling slower than Korman. ‘Get ready to go in feet first so you don’t get winded,’ she called down to him.
‘I hear you,’ he called back. He hit the lake with a huge depth-charge of a splash. Shelley steered away slightly and splashed down close by.
She went down like a stone at first, scarily deep. She was sure her eardrums would burst and her lungs be crushed, but her downward momentum vanished as she kicked frantically upwards, impeded by her clothes and pack. Just when she was sure she must be at the surface she felt something clingy closing over her head and impeding her arms. It was her parachute, hanging like a giant jellyfish in the water. There was a nasty moment that seemed to go on forever as she struggled to pull it aside. Finally she was free, and took in great gulps of air. ‘It’s COLD!’ she yelped, and her voice echoed back to her, ‘It’s COLD, it’s cold it’s cold’ until the sound disappeared into the distance. Overhead, she heard the distant rumour of the burning and cries of fear. Glowing embers were falling over the edge in places, slowly fading as they descended.
Korman had already surfaced, and was treading water in the half-light, fending off the growling, spluttering anklebiter, shaking his long hair and blinking the water from his eyes as it dripped off his bushy eyebrows. The adrenalin and the cold of the water were electrifying. He smiled at her, a wry smile. They both began to laugh maniacally, and the walls of the Canyon took up the sound until there was a whole copycat chorus of laughter.
The cold quickly drove them to action. They were no longer in Faery, and they knew they would not last long in that icy water. They undid the ropes with shaky fingers as the parachutes slowly sank like silk jellyfish. ‘The packs!’ cried Korman. They swam in circles until they found them where they had drifted, just before they sank completely. The packs in tow, they swam for the shore. Bootnip swam behind Korman, nipping vengefully at his feet, getting water in his mouth and spluttering. Shelley felt a familiar tingle up her spine at the thought of all that dark water under her. She tried not to think of monsters – giant eels in particular – and failed. She swam as fast as she could, almost panicking as Korman, a more powerful swimmer, got further ahead of her. Then she felt a powerful surge in the water as she swam, as if the whole lake was alive, and it exhilarated her and at the same time terrified her. But nothing attacked, and soon they reached the shore and clambered up the slippery stones onto a rocky shelf just above the level of the lake. They made their way along it, towards the southern end and the Cave of the Voice. Bootnip kept stopping to shake himself, shivering and groaning pointedly.
‘Is it true there are m…m…monks who live d…d…down here?’ asked Shelley, also shivering with the cold. Bootnip had stopped again and flopped down with a decisive grunt that said, ‘I am not going one step further.’
‘Yes,’ replied Korman, dropping the damp, grumbling Bootnip back into his pack. ‘The monks of Zagonamara. But I know little about them. Except that they revere the Zagonamara, or as it is sometimes called in your world, the Wouivre, of this lake.’
‘The what?’
‘The subterranean snake whose track this lake is, winding through the earth’s bones.’
‘Oh my g…god, what? A g…giant snake in the water! As well as the z…zaghlizag-thingy eels! If you’d told me that I’d NEVER have…’
‘Saved us from death. But the Zagonamara is not that kind of snake. It is subtle energy. Without that energy the world would be barren, they say. And anywhere the Zagonamara lies the land is specially blessed. It used to flow most powerfully beneath the Tree. Now it chiefly runs from Baldrock through the Bottomless Lake, beneath the high pass which we came over, and down to Lake Avalon of the Lady. There the Zagonamara is strongest of all (since the Heartstone was taken), and there is the blessed isle of Avalon, bathed in its influence.’
‘Will we go there?’
‘Yes, if all goes to plan.’
‘I saw the Lady last night, I mean this morning. She reminded me that we can walk in Faery. She led me to you, then vanished.’
‘I saw her too. She stood on the bridge and saved me from being shot by an Edarthan boy named Gareth, adopted son of Hithrax.’
‘A boy from my world?’ said Shelley in disgust, warming up as they strode along and leaped from rock to rock, ‘On their side?’
‘Yes. He is no doubt one of the captured ones who were endarkened and put to work in the Nered factories, where the Aghmaath incite them to invent engines of destruction. He was in charge of one of the great mechanical bows that shot ropes and fiery bolts across the Canyon.’
‘Son of Hithrax… Ugh! Will he ever be… saved?’ Korman, troubled, asked himself, ‘Should I tell her now, or wait? If she learns that her brother has come to Aeden and is on their side, who knows what it will do to her! No, I must wait until she is stronger.’
Aloud, he said, ‘Yes, I hope so. But only if he can be reached somehow – perhaps by someone who loves him. Without love, the darkness is almost invincible, once it takes hold of a mind. I know from experience.’
‘You’re not saying you were…’
‘Initiated into the mysteries of the Void? Yes, when my parents were killed. But I was rescued and brought back to the light. But now, we must talk of the path ahead.’
‘Do you think the others have made it?’
‘I… I saw…’ Korman hesitated.
‘You saw what?’
‘The others going into the inn of the Diamond Dog, and the building set alight.’
‘Oh, that, I know. But there is a secret passage into the mines, that leads all the way down here.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Goldheart told me. That’s why they went in there.’
Korman sighed with relief.
‘Then we must believe they will find their way down to the lake, where we will, with any luck, meet up with them.’