“Where are we, Craith? What can you see, for I can see nothing, nothing at all.”
As though in a dream, he softly and at first slowly described all he could see: the ordinariness of the plank-lined room, its obscured view through the window, then that there was a low table at its centre, a child’s chair drawn up to what appeared to be a steaming meal set on a round, shiny white platter. He told her of a large but low box, set against one wall, stuffed with all manner of toys: building blocks, the handle of a skipping rope poking out, a spinning-top, a hoop, a lifelike doll in gay coloured clothing—
Janeen must have heard his sharp intake of breath, felt him tense, for he’d caught sight of a figure standing in a corner to one side of the window.
“What’s wrong, Craith?”
“There’s…there’s a…a rocking-donkey, but one like I’ve never seen before; nowt like Duncan,” he almost laughed, as though freed of a disabling tension. It looked a sleeker mount, he told her: a narrower, more elegant head; higher withers and croup; smaller girth; long, fragile-looking legs; and a full tail that streamed out behind.
“Guide me in, Craith. Take me into this room.”
As he helped her out of the cubicle, Craith noticed low shelves stacked with paper, strewn with crayons and pencils, and on which were displayed a selection of childlike drawings.
“That food smells tempting,” Janeen said, sniffing the air. “Do you think there’s enough for us both?” but her easy manner only served to confuse him.
“For us both? Oh, right, er, well, no, it’s all right, Janeen. I… I managed to eat earlier,” and to his own ears his voice came out as more settled, although taut with embarrassment for his having shed tears. “You have it all, Janeen. Here,” and hobbling on his bare foot and remaining boot, he led her to the table and chair. “It might be better if you knelt on the floor. I think this chair’s a bit too…”
His suspicions, though, could no longer be ignored, and again they reared their ugly head. He wondered if the food might be poisoned, but before he could say anything, he saw that the cubicle had vanished. That side of the room now held a large bookcase crammed with brightly coloured spines.
“I didn’t realise,” Janeen forced out through a mouthful of food, “just how hungry I was,” and alarm startled him back to look at her at the very moment she swallowed. Too late, but not for himself, he resolved.
“On…on second thoughts, Janeen, would you mind if I shared it with you?” to which she nodded, and together they soon quietly finished it off.
He studied her, her assurance battling his resurgent fears, until he could stand it no longer. “You… You sure you can’t mind-see anything, Janeen,” he hurriedly asked, distracting himself, “like…like the forest through the window?” at which he nervously pointed.
She shook her head. “All I can see is you and me, Craith.” It now sank in just how calm she was, bewildered certainly, as was he, but accepting, all the same. But then she yelped in surprise and faced into the corner opposite the rocking-donkey, taking Craith’s own stare that way.
“Oh my,” came from the figure of a tall and lithe-looking woman standing there, a closed door Craith was sure hadn’t been there before now behind her. She said something more, but Craith was still too confused, too distracted by her appearance to take it in.
Her long blond hair hung in a tight donkey-tail down to one shoulder. From her pleasant but plain face his gaze fell to a tight, woven top that fastened across the swell of her chest to a bow at her hip. Tightly fitting and high-waisted leggings hid nothing of her shapely legs, their hems drawn to tassels that trailed from her calves, down to what looked like pigskin slippers.
Although her face showed surprise, her eyes held a look of relief and a glint of curiosity. Janeen, though, must have heard what the woman had said, for she indicated Craith and began to say, “Yes, and this is—”
“We’ll work that one out soon enough, Janeen,” the woman said in earnest, but through a strangely satisfied smile. “But now we need to get you cleaned up and dressed more appropriately.” She held her hand out to Janeen, who, to Craith’s amazement, got up from the floor and went straight to her.
“You,” the woman said, narrowing her eyes at Craith, “have not been factored in, so we are unprepared. You’ll have to wait here. Another will come for you.”
Bewildered enough as he was, Craith could do no more than wonder what in Dwargstor “Factored in” meant. Then, as the woman began to guide Janeen out through the opened door, he cried out “No” and leapt forward, grabbing her arm.
Janeen turned to him but said nothing, only kissed him lightly on his forehead before letting herself be ushered out. The woman briefly smiled at Craith as she closed the door behind them, its place somehow then no more than a featureless wall.
Craith ran his hands over its strangely cold and unyielding wood planking, and despite Janeen’s reassuring manner and words, a familiar anxiety once again crawled down his back. He now felt utterly sick at heart at their abrupt parting.
Soon at the window, he pressed his nose against its glass, trying to see beyond the frosting. As blurred as the view was, he could see nothing moving outside, nothing to show that Janeen had been taken that way. But then, as he moved his head from side to side, trying to find a clearer patch, he realised something was wrong: the impression of the forest glade moved in line with his gaze, as though much nearer than it looked.
“And it should be dark by now,” he reasoned, remembering the encroaching twilight before they’d entered the recess. “None of this is real; it can’t be. Are we already dead? Is this some sort of awful Dwargstor we’ve been cast into?”
“Carter Craith Waindrifa of Crook’s Fold, I presume,” swung him away from the window, to stare at a tall man now standing before the reinstated door. Craith slowly nodded, not taking his eyes from the man.
His long dark hair, held back from his face by a plain green headband, fell in a wave down the back of his simple, tight and high-necked jerkin. A broad wrap of green cloth about his waist hid the top of close-fitting trousers, ones that finished above the calf, his bare legs leading down to the second pair of pigskin slippers he’d seen this day.
The man smiled broadly. “I’m Tom Ackroyd.”
“Oh aye,” Craith managed.
“I’m to show you to your own bath, and whilst you’re in there, to go and find you something suitable to wear.” He looked Craith up and down, clearly measuring him. “Please; this way,” and he stood aside from the door, his arm outstretched.
“Bath’s a bit small, I’m afraid,” he said as he led Craith along a brightly green-lit passage. “They’ve all been children up to now, you see,” and he swung open a door. Inside was a small bathroom—appropriate to the small bath of steaming hot water and low chair it contained. “Get yourself cleaned up while I go find you some clothes.”
Once Craith had entered, Tom left him to his own devices, the door locked when Craith went to try it. The bathwater, though, looked tempting. But as soon as he was undressed and in, and the water had stopped lapping after he’d laid back as best he could—knees bent before him—he found the utter silence unnerving. He busied himself scrubbing at his muck-mired body, and even took to whistling to keep his worries at bay.
When Tom returned, he carried a bundle of clothes in and placed them on the chair, suggesting Craith get himself out, dried and dressed. He then left Craith to work out how to get into his strange new attire. Only when Tom came back in shortly later and helped him finish off did Craith finally stand, self-consciously and feeling like a trussed up chicken in slippers, before the man’s appraising gaze.
“You’ll do,” was all he said, then led Craith back out into the passage, where his heart leapt as he came face to face with Janeen.
He couldn’t believe the transformation. All but her pain-guard shone as though scrubbed, her figure startlingly revealed by her tight new clothing, her full hair flowing free. He realised his mouth hung op
en and closed it, but was unable to contain a broad grin of relief.
“Come on, then,” the woman said, beckoning them to follow, and Craith took Janeen’s hand in his, for the first time feeling more hopeful.
“Where are you taking us?” he asked the woman.
“Home,” she said, her eyes softening at his bewildered look. “Well, Janeen’s, until we work out what to do with you, Craith Waindrifa,” and her smile seemed oddly reassuring. “By the way, I’m Alice Baxendall. I’ll be looking after Janeen… Well, both of you now, I suppose, although that’ll all come out in the wash, no doubt,” and she barked a brief laugh.
At the end of the passage stood another door, this one larger and more solid. Alice opened it wide and stood aside for them to pass through, out into what felt like the outdoors. It was dark, but as his eyes adjusted, Craith could see the odd flicker of light here and there and finally a hint of thin, starlit cloud high above.
“I can mind-see again, Craith,” Janeen whispered. “There are people dotted around. I think most are looking down from high windows, given how they’re cut off at the waist.”
Craith could see no one, although some of the faint lights illuminated sections of wall or pathways beneath trees, here and there a bench or two, and a door, then a distant archway through which passed a narrow road.
“This way,” Alice instructed, and she moved ahead, glancing back to make sure they’d followed. Craith helped Janeen as they made their way towards one of the lights, under which stood a door. They passed beneath small, widely spaced trees, past a couple of the benches and finally up to the door, where Alice and Tom turned to face them.
Craith stayed Janeen and peered up into Alice’s now heavily shadowed face. “Where are we? What is this place?”
He couldn’t be sure, but thought she again smiled that understanding smile he’d glimpsed before. Then she peered into the darkness surrounding them and quietly said, “All this, Craith, and much more besides, is the Fintweg: your new world,” and with that, she opened the door and invited them inside.
44 Of Serum and White Powder
The bright morning sunshine seemed channelled somehow into the long corridor along which Tom led Craith. The light spilled in from gaps in the cornices, splashing down the walls and onto the smooth slate floor, as it had done earlier in his own hastily prepared room.
Tom stopped before an anonymous door against which he smartly rapped.
“Come in,” Craith heard Alice call, and they did.
Janeen’s place was clearly larger than his own, for a number of doors led off the hallway into which they’d entered. One was already open and through which Alice waved them in.
They found Janeen sitting at a table, finishing off her breakfast. Craith hovered uncertainly until Alice pointed to one of the chairs opposite Janeen. He sat down as Alice then left the room, before looking across at Janeen’s huge smile.
“Did you sleep all right, Craith?” she asked.
“Not as well as I did in your bud-house, although it were comfy enough,” he quickly added as Alice came back in with a fresh pot of tea.
“Help yourself,” she said to him, placing it on the table beside what looked like a couple of small beakers. “We’ve a lot to get through today before seeing the Hartsghul, so I’ll bring you a quick breakfast. You’ll have to take what’s going, though; no time for picking and choosing.”
“The Hartsghul?” Craith queried.
“She runs this place, apparently,” Janeen told him.
Tom poured himself some tea and followed Alice from the room.
Craith poured his own, then checked if Janeen’s needed topping up. She caught his arm and whispered, “Do you know what this Fintweg place is all about? Alice just says ‘Be patient, there’s a lot to explain’ when I ask her.”
He could only bring himself to shake his head and mumble “Not really”.
“You’re not holding back on me, are you, Craith?”
The slap of Alice’s slippers preceded her sweeping in with what Janeen assured him would be a “plate” on which lay his breakfast. Placed before him, he tapped this second example of shiny white material with his fingernail, surprised at its sharp ring.
“A ‘plate’, eh?” but he was then confused when Alice handed him a knife and a strange pronged implement, not unlike a small pitchfork.
“Er, what’s this for?”
Janeen revelled in explaining how he should use it. “It’s a lot easier than a spoon, although Alice cut mine up for me, to save time,” and she smiled up at the woman.
“Which neatly brings me,” Alice said, sitting down, “to what we’ve decided to do with you, Craith.” His stomach tightened. “Given that most of the Fintweg is dead stone and the like, which Janeen clearly can’t see, we thought you’d be best off being her eyes.”
“Her eyes?”
“Yes. You know: guide her about the place, do her reading for her; stuff like that.”
“But—”
“And you can start today. There’s a lot Janeen needs to know, places we have to see and which you can describe to her.” She tilted her head to one side. “That’d make you useful then, wouldn’t it, Craith? Seeing we’re stuck with you.”
“Eh? Stuck wi’ me?”
She glanced up at Tom, now ambling back into the room.
“This is a closed world,” he said, placing his hand on Craith’s shoulder as he put his small beaker down. “One way in; no way out…other than as the smoke of your own pyre.” He sat beside Craith and patted his arm. “Although I think you’ll find your life here rewarding enough, from what we’ve already worked out about the two of you.” He smiled at Janeen as he again patted Craith’s arm.
“But more on that later,” Alice said. “For the moment, you just be quick and eat up. Then we can be on our way. I don’t want the Hartsghul having to wait all day; I think she’s a little anxious to meet you, Janeen. But before she does, we’d better get that pain-guard of yours cleaned. It does let you down, you know.”
Craith noticed that Alice looked a little distracted as she stared at it, her eyes narrowing a touch, then she seemed to snap to and chivvied him into finishing his breakfast.
When the four of them came to step out of the building, Craith at first saw nothing more than he’d seen from his own room’s window when he’d looked out at first light. Before them lay a small square of elegant but diminutive trees, all peppered with newly bursting pink blossom. Through the grass beneath them snaked dark stone pathways dotted with benches. Rising high above the trees, on the far side, climbed a sheer black wall, featureless but for its smears and streaks of moss and lichen. At one side of the square stood a pavilion, above the roof of which the wall could be seen vanishing into the distance, as it did beyond a tall row of narrow, pointed trees at the other side.
Alice led them back along the path they’d used the previous night, across the square and to the same solid-looking door. In the daylight, Craith saw it was of the same material as the wall, at the base of which they now stood.
Soon through and once again within the green-lit passage, Alice closed the door behind them and turned to Janeen.
“Would you like to remove your pain-guard now? Then I can give it a proper clean.”
“But it’s daytime,” Janeen protested. “The pain’s always the worst during the day.”
“I suspect you’ll find there’s no need to worry. Trust me, eh?” and she nodded her encouragement.
Janeen turned to Craith, clearly uncertain.
“You can always put it back on if it gets painful,” he shrugged, and so she raised her hands to its knot.
“Come here,” Craith said when it became clear she was having difficulties, and he stepped behind her, soon untying the thongs.
Slowly, Janeen removed the guard.
Alice and Tom both drew in a sharp breath, their eyes startled wide as they stared at Janeen. Craith angled forward, to look for himself, and he too breathed in sharply.
“What’s wrong? Why are you all staring at me?”
“Er…we’re… We’re just wondering if the pain’s coming back, that’s all, Janeen,” Craith said. “Is it?”
She shook her head, but only slowly. “It’s more than that, isn’t it, Craith?”
“Well, it’s just that—”
“You don’t have any eyes!” Alice said, in a hushed voice. “None at all.”
“What do you mean, ‘don’t have any’?” and she raised her hands to her face and felt the smooth skin of the hollows where they’d once been. “What… What’s happened to them, Craith? Eh, Alice? Where’ve they gone?”
Craith grabbed her when he saw her legs begin to buckle, and carefully sat her on the floor, sitting beside her himself.
“Well, Alice?” he said, looking up at her, anger sharpening his words as he remembered back to Dwelgefa Fulmer resurrecting Janeen. “What’s Gryff’s serum and white powder finally done to her eyes, then? Eh?”
At first Alice only stared at Janeen, open-mouthed, her brows closely knotted, until she turned to a stunned Tom and whispered something neither Craith nor Janeen could understand: “It must be… It must be a…a miracle.” Then they both again stared at her, but this time with wonder sparkling in their own very present eyes.
45 Together, as One
“I’ll be like this for the rest of my life, won’t I?” Janeen repeated for the umpteenth time.
“But you can still mind-see, Janeen,” Craith yet again insisted.
“That’s not much good here, is it?” and she cast her arm out to encompass the place but struck the green-lit wall beside her. “Ow! See what I mean? All I’ve seen of it so far is a few trees, some grass and a wall of moss, and she bowed her head again.
Alice was about to speak when Tom snuck back in through the door, quickly closing it. “They don’t really know yet,” he made clear to her alone. “They’ve instigated a search but reckon the path will take some time,” then he lowered his voice yet more and leant closer in to Alice. “But you know how unlikely it is they’ll find anything,” and she nodded.
Solem Page 21