The Wind Singer

by William Nicholson

  ‘Do you understand it?’

  ‘Understand it? Yes, oh yes .. .’

  She raised one trembling wrinkled finger, and traced the path on the yellowed paper.

  ‘This is what they called the Great Way .. . Ah, it was fine once! There were giants, to guide you. I saw them, when I was a little girl .. .’

  The bony finger moved on.

  ‘Just the one bridge over the ravine. Over the – the – what was it called? Oh, perish it, I hate growing old!’

  ‘Crack-in-the-land,’ said Kestrel.

  ‘That’s it! How did you know that?’

  ‘My father can read old Manth.’

  ‘Can he? There’s not many left can do that. He must be even older than me. Crack-in-the-land, there, you see. You must follow the Great Way, because it leads to the only bridge .. .’

  Her voice faded.

  ‘You’re getting tired, my dear,’ said Queen Num. ‘You should rest.’

  ‘Time enough to rest, soon enough,’ came the murmured reply.

  ‘And what happens after that?’ asked Bowman.

  ‘After that, there’s the mountain .. . There’s fire .. . There’s the one we don’t name .. . There’s going into the fire, but there’s no coming out .. .’

  ‘Why not? What would it do to us?’

  ‘What does it do to all the world, little skinnies? It steals your loving heart.’

  ‘We have no choice,’ said Kestrel in a low voice. ‘We have to make the wind singer sing again, or the unkindness will never end.’

  The Old Queen opened her eyes and squinted at her.

  ‘The unkindness will never end .. . You’re right there. Well, well, maybe this is how it’s to be .. . You’d best put the skinnies on the path to the uplands, Num. Help them in any way you can. Send our love after them. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  The Old Queen’s voice sank to an exhausted murmur.

  ‘If it must come, it must come,’ she said. And they were the last words she spoke, before falling into a shallow dream-tossed sleep.

  Queen Num indicated to the visitors that they should leave, and took them to another part of the palace, where there was a late supper laid out.

  ‘Nothing to be done till morning,’ she said in her sensible way.

  She showed them an empty space where they could lie down after they had eaten. She herself was proposing to pass the night in a chair, watching over the sleeping babies.

  ‘I never sleep on harvest nights,’ she said. ‘I just sit and watch till morning. It does my heart good, watching the sleeping babies.’

  The twins knelt down on the rug-strewn floor, and there, before settling down for the night, they made a small wish huddle. It felt all sad and wrong without the broad arms of their parents, and without their little sister’s hot breath on their faces, but it was better than nothing, and it reminded them of home.

  Kestrel laid her brow against her brother’s brow and made her wish first, speaking very quietly in the sleepy soft-breathing room.

  ‘I wish we might find the wind singer’s voice and come quickly home.’

  Bowman then made his wish.

  ‘I wish ma and pa and Pinpin are safe and not sad that we’re away and know that somehow we’ll come back again.’

  Then they curled up in each other’s arms to go to sleep.

  ‘Kess,’ whispered Bowman. ‘Are you afraid?’

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Kestrel back. ‘But whatever happens, we’ll be together.’

  ‘I won’t mind if you’re with me.’

  And so at last they slept.

  13

  The Hath family punished

  Ira Hath had not slept since the twins had vanished.

  That night, alone with Pinpin in their one room in Grey District, she had put her to bed as usual, and had then sat up late into the night, expecting to hear a soft tap at the door. They were hiding somewhere in the city, she knew, and would surely make their way to her under cover of darkness. But they did not come.

  The next morning she had a visit from two stern-faced marshals, who asked her many questions about the twins, and warned her that she must report them as soon as they came home. This visit gave her new hope. Clearly they had not been caught. She now realised they would not have dared to approach their new apartment, in case it too was being watched. So she decided to go out into the district and show herself, in the hope that they might see her from their hiding place, and send her a message.

  As soon as she stepped out on to the street with Pinpin by her side, she found every passer-by stared at her in an angry sneering sort of way. None of them approached her, or spoke to her. They just stared, and sneered.

  There was a bakery nearby, and she went into it to buy some corn-cakes for their breakfast. The baker’s wife also stared, in the same insolent manner, and said as she handed over the cakes,

  ‘I don’t suppose they eat corn-cakes in Orange.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ said Ira, surprised.

  ‘Oh, they’ll have fancy cakes in Orange,’ said the baker’s wife, tossing her fringe out of her eyes. ‘Quite a come-down for you, I’m sure.’

  Out in the street she found a little crowd of grey-clothed neighbours had gathered, all hissing and clucking together like chickens. One of them, the mother from a family that lived on the same passage, suddenly dashed forward and said sharply:

  ‘No use putting on airs round here. Grey’s good enough for us, so it’s good enough for you.’

  Only then did Ira Hath realise that in all the bustle and stress of the removal she had forgotten to change her clothing. Both she and Pinpin were still wearing orange.

  Another neighbour called out,

  ‘We’ve reported you! You’ll be in trouble now, and serve you right.’

  ‘I forgot,’ said Ira.

  ‘Oh, she forgot! Thought she was still in Orange!’

  ‘She’s no better than us. Not with children running wild in the streets like rats.’

  ‘Look at her poor little mite! It’s wrong, that’s what it is.’

  Pinpin began to cry. Ira Hath looked from face to face and saw on them all the same expression of hatred.

  ‘I don’t think I’m better than you,’ she said. ‘I’m on my own for now, and it’s not easy.’

  This was in its way a plea for sympathy, but she spoke in such a calm voice that it only enraged her neighbours more.

  ‘Whose fault is that?’ said Mrs Mooth, the one from down the passage. ‘Your husband should work harder, shouldn’t he? You don’t get anything for nothing in this world.’

  O, unhappy people, thought Ira Hath within herself. But she said no more. She hoisted the crying Pinpin into her arms and made her way back up three flights of stairs, and along the gloomy passage to Number 318, Block 29, Grey District, the single room which was now their home.

  She had not spoken back to her neighbours, but as she closed the door behind her, and put Pinpin down, her heart was blazing with anger. She missed her husband desperately, she was frantic with worry about the twins, and she hated the people of Grey District with a terrible burning hatred.

  She sat down on the bed, which filled half the room, and stared out of the small window at Block 28 across the road. The buildings were made of grey concrete. The walls of her room were unpainted grey cement. The single curtain was grey. The door was grey. The only colour in the room came from the orange clothes she wore, and the striped bedspread she had brought with her from Orange District, on which she was now sitting.

  ‘O my dear ones,’ she said aloud. ‘Please come home .. .’

  At about this time, Hanno Hath was sitting at his desk alongside the forty-two other candidates, as they were termed, in the main seminar room of the Residential Study Centre, listening to Principal Pillish telling them that he was only there to help them.

  ‘You have all performed poorly in the High Examination in the past,’ he intoned, in the kind of voice always used by peop
le who have said the same thing in the same words many times before. ‘You have all let yourselves down and let your families down, and you are all very sorry. Now you are here to put it all right again, and I am here to help you. But most of all, you are here to help yourselves, because the only way to better your unhappy condition is by hard work.’

  He clapped his hands sharply together to emphasise this most important point, and repeated,

  ‘Hard work!’

  He took up four brown-backed books.

  ‘The High Examination is not especially difficult. Its questions are wide-ranging. It does not favour only those with natural aptitude. It favours those who work hard.’

  He held up the brown books one by one.

  ‘Calculation. Grammar. General Science. General Art. Everything you need to know for the High Examination is in these four study books. Read. Remember. Repeat. That is all you have to do. Read. Remember. Repeat.’

  Hanno Hath heard none of this. His mind was entirely occupied with fears for his family. During the mid-morning break, he walked round the high-walled yard, trying to calm himself, and think clearly. He had heard nothing since he left home. That would seem to suggest that Kestrel had not been caught, but was still in hiding somewhere in the city. If so, it was surely only a matter of time, for there was noway she could get out of Aramanth.

  The tormenting thoughts went round and round in his brain, following the circular course of his walk, until the sound of low sobbing broke through to him, and brought him to a stop. One of the other candidates, a small man with thinning grey hair, was standing with his face to the wall, weeping.

  Hanno approached him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ said the man, and he dabbed at his eyes. ‘Sometimes I just can’t stop myself.’

  ‘Is it because of the High Examination?’

  The little man nodded.

  ‘I do try. But as soon as I sit down at my desk, everything I’ve ever learned goes clean out of my head.’

  His name was Miko Mimilith. He was a tailor, who lived with his family in Maroon District. He worked hard, he said, and he was good at his job, but the annual High Examination was a terror to him.

  ‘I’ll be forty-seven years old this year,’ he said. ‘I’ve sat the High Examination twenty-five times. It’s always the same.’

  ‘Can you answer any of the questions?’

  ‘I can do the calculations, some of them, if I don’t get too flustered. But that’s all.’

  ‘Then you’re lucky.’ This came from a youngish man with fair hair, who had overheard their conversation. ‘I wish I could do calculations. Now, if they’d only ask me about butterflies, I could tell them a thing or two.’

  ‘Or cloud formations,’ put in a third man.

  ‘I know every butterfly that’s ever been seen in Aramanth,’ said the fair young man earnestly. ‘And one that’s not been seen for thirty years and more.’

  ‘Ask me a question about clouds,’ said the third man, not to be outdone. ‘Give me the wind strength, the wind direction, and the air temperature, and I’ll tell you where the rain will fall, and when.’

  ‘What I’d like,’ said little Miko Mimilith, stroking the air with his delicate fingers, ‘is questions about fabrics. Fine cotton, cool linen, warm wool tweeds. I know them all. You could blindfold me and touch the tip of my little finger to a swatch of cloth, and I could tell you what it is, and most likely where it was woven.’

  Hanno Hath looked from one to the other, and saw how the dulled listless look had gone from their eyes, and how they held their heads high and butted in on each other in their eagerness to speak.

  ‘Oh, but wouldn’t it be grand,’ said the cloud man with a long sigh, ‘if we could be tested on what we really know.’

  ‘Maybe we should be,’ said Hanno Hath.

  Before he could explain further, the voice of Principal Pillish came booming across the yard.

  ‘Candidate Hath! Report to the Principal’s office.’

  Hanno entered the book-lined room to find Principal Pillish in conversation with the Chief Examiner himself, Maslo Inch.

  ‘Ah, here he is,’ said Principal Pillish. ‘Should I absent myself?’

  ‘No need,’ said Maslo Inch. He turned his cold smile on to Hanno. ‘Well, my old friend. I hate to break in on your studies. But no doubt you want to know what has become of your children.’

  Hanno said nothing to this, but his heart began to beat hard.

  ‘The news is not good. They were seen entering the Underlake, yesterday around noon. They have not emerged. I fear there can be very little hope that they are still alive.’

  He was watching Hanno closely as he spoke, and Hanno kept his expression as blank as he could, but inside, hope had suddenly blossomed.

  There was daylight down there, he told himself. Kess saw it. They’re on their way.

  He felt a surge of pride in his beloved children, that they had dared to set out on such a dangerous journey. But this was followed immediately by a chill of dread.

  Keep them safe, he said, as if there was someone or something out there to whom he could appeal. They’re so young. Watch over them.

  ‘You have only yourself to blame, my friend.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hanno. ‘I see that now.’

  The Chief Examiner had brought him this news in person because he wanted to punish him. Hanno understood that well enough. He let his head droop low, hoping he looked chastened. He didn’t want to arouse any suspicions.

  ‘You have one child remaining to you. As yet, she is too young to have been damaged by your poor example. My advice to you is to apply yourself from this moment on. Let this unfortunate business teach you the value of discipline, proper ambition, and plain hard work.’

  ‘Hard work,’ echoed Principal Pillish reverently.

  ‘I will see to it that your wife is informed.’

  ‘She’ll be very distressed,’ said Hanno in a low voice. ‘Might I be allowed to tell her myself?’

  The Chief Examiner looked to the Principal.

  ‘I think a short interview might be permitted, under the circumstances,’ he said.

  Ira Hath was wearing sober grey when she was escorted into the visiting room of the Residential Study Centre. Hanno was waiting for her, also wearing grey. Principal Pillish watched the encounter, as it was his duty to do, through a closed window. He was gratified to see that there was much sobbing and embracing by the bereaved couple. What he did not hear were the words they said to each other, which struck a very different note. Now that they had reason to believe the twins had escaped, they were filled with new courage. Bowman and Kestrel were risking everything to break the grim power that was crushing their lives. They could do no less.

  ‘I’m going to fight back,’ said Hanno.

  ‘So am I,’ said his wife. ‘And I know how.’

  14

  Return of the old children

  When Bowman and Kestrel woke, they found all the mudbabies were gone, and Mumpo was up and full of bounce, having eaten a large breakfast. An escort of mudmen arrived, to guide them out of the Underlake. Among them was Willum, looking very grey and sorry for himself.

  ‘Hard work, harvest,’ he mumbled to no one in particular. ‘Leaves a body well wore out.’

  ‘We’re going on an adventure,’ Mumpo announced. ‘Kess is my friend.’

  The sun was already beaming down through the roof-holes, so the twins ate quickly, and made their farewells. Queen Num patted them, and looked unexpectedly sad as she handed them the nut-socks she’d filled for their journey.

  ‘There’s two socks for each of you, which is all you’ll want to carry. You’m be careful, little skinnies. ’Tis a cruel dry world up yonder.’

  They tied the heavy nut-socks together in pairs and hung them round their necks, as the mudmen did. The dangling mud-nuts bumped against their chests and stomachs as they walked, but they soon grew used to this, and found it comforting.


  They departed from the palace accompanied by an escort about twenty strong. As they marched along the ever-lightening trail others joined them, and more and more, until in time there were over a hundred mudpeople swinging along behind.

  ‘We’re the three friends, we’re the three friends,’ sang Mumpo, until Kestrel told him to shut up.

  The land rose almost imperceptibly, and the mud hardened underfoot, the nearer they approached to the mouth of the great salt cave that contained the Underlake. After a while they began to feel a cool breeze on their faces, and the silver stone of the cavern roof seemed to grow brighter as the light strengthened.

  Their first sight of the cave mouth was no more than a strip of burning brightness, far ahead. But as they drew closer, walking now on moist but firm sand, they saw that the cave narrowed here to a span of barely half a mile, and arched downwards, to form an overhead lip no higher than the topmost branches of a tall tree. Beyond the cave, the brightness was now taking shape, revealing an expanse of sandy plain beneath a deep blue sky.

  When the marching column at last reached the point where direct sunlight fell on to the hard earth, they came to a halt, keeping themselves well in the realm of shadows. The children understood that from this point onwards they were to proceed alone.

  ‘Thank you,’ they said. ‘Thank you for looking after us.’

  ‘We’ll sing for you,’ said Willum. ‘To see you on your way.’

  As they set off, the mudpeople raised their hands in a gesture of farewell, and then they started to sing. It was a sweet soft farewell song, no words, just wave upon wave of melody.

  ‘It’s their love,’ said Kestrel, remembering what the Old Queen had said. ‘They’re sending it after us.’

  As the children made their way out of the mouth of the salt cave and up on to the dusty plains, the song of the mudpeople followed them, warm and loving like the burrows in which they slept. And then it came fainter on the breeze, and fainter, until at last they could hear the song no more, and they knew they were alone.

  After the protective shadows of the Underlake, the plains across which they now walked seemed to be without limits. Only to the north, far far away, could they make out the pale grey line of the mountains. Then as the sun climbed higher, the heat haze rising up from the baked earth melted the horizon into the sky, sealing them in a featureless shimmering world in which they were the only living creatures. For a little while they could see, if they turned their heads, the long dark mouth of the cave out of which they had come, but then that too was swallowed up by the dusty air and the distance, and they were without any sense of direction at all.