by Ariel Dodson
She waited, still, thinking nothing. She could not focus on anything – he would know. He would find her. He would find them. Yet images swam before her eyes like planets in the sky, and Alice’s scared, white face came into view. Her fears had calmed considerably since her escape from Aunt Maud, but the strange figure of her twin, standing as if frozen, looking at something that she couldn’t see, was enough to unnerve her again.
“Arlen?” she whispered frantically. “Arlen, are you alright?”
“We have to move on,” Arlen said, and her voice was hoarse and cracked. “They know we’re here.”
Without a word Alice felt for her sister’s hand, and the pair followed the path before them. Arlen was slow, still so slow, that Alice quite despaired of them ever finding the way out. She could almost feel the presence surrounding her twin, an invisible forcefield that pricked her hand with tingling hot pins and needles even as she touched her. Above them the shadow feet stamped and the ceiling crumbled; their eyes were stinging with the grit of sand and small pebbles, and the chant grew louder and louder and the heat more intense as the roof began to split and crack, and the crumble became a thunderstorm as the ceiling caved in behind them.
“Quick!” Alice cried, and dragged Arlen forward. She could see the tear in the roof flashing across the stone like lightning, and the girls could barely keep ahead of it. Arlen’s feet were heavy, but at least she was moving now, and they had to keep going, had to, or else they’d be buried, trapped forever in the rubble of sand and water and shadow. All around them the snuffling intensified until Arlen felt that they were at her heels, hot noses shooting up her legs like flames, and something inside her snapped as she burst into speed to escape them. Behind them the earth was collapsing, and the sea and sand rushed through in a deafening pour and Arlen could feel the hot breath on her neck. Before them the tunnel stretched on, longer and darker, until they came to –
“A wall!” Alice cried, in disgust and fear. “What do we do now?
There were no pictures on this one. Just a tall, blank stone, mocking them with its blindness.
Arlen stared frantically. She knew if she turned, it would be there. The ring, the fire, glowing, beckoning. They had to find a way out.
She stared so hard and long that her vision began to blur, and she could almost see the red stone flickering before her like a mirror, and something behind it – a white hand, withdrawing a small golden charm from a cloak.
“But there’s no keyhole,” she almost wept.
Then the face, so like hers, smiled and nodded and put her finger to her lips, pointing with her other hand to the red glow.
“What?” Arlen whispered.
But it was true, for behind the ruby reflection lay a small hole. “The charm,” she whispered urgently.
“What?”
“The charm. Give it to me.”
“OK, OK,” Alice reluctantly opened her hand and dropped the charm, warm and sticky, into her sister’s palm. Without a word, Arlen inserted it quickly, jiggling it desperately as she fought with the stiffened magic.
“Quick,” Alice aided her hands, and between them it turned. The wall quivered and trembled like a waterfall, and the girls passed through it into the arms of the cave and collapsed onto the ground, unable to speak for some time.
“You’re bleeding,” Alice said suddenly, concerned.
“I know.” Arlen was shaken, but her head felt clear and free in the cool darkness, and she rubbed her heel, staining her hand with blood. “He grabbed for me just as we went through.” She examined the wound carefully, a long scratch trailing from mid calf to heel, and bubbling with her bright blood. The cold water was stinging, and she bit her lip fiercely as she bathed the tear, his whisper still hissing in her ear. Morwenna.
“That lock. I don’t understand it.” Alice was shaking her head. “It wasn’t there a minute ago. And then behind the ruby. That ruby. What did it do, burn a hole in the wall?”
“I don’t know,” Arlen admitted. “But it was the way. She showed me.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Don’t forget, it was his ruby first. The alchemist’s, I mean. And this was his passageway, or his daughters’. It must have served some other purpose originally.”
“Like burning keyholes in walls,” Alice said logically, the words ringing strangely in her ears. “They don’t put this sort of thing in the tourist guides.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. I just wish we could find out the whole story.”
They remained in silence for a few minutes, the waterfall trilling its music as the rainbow beams streamed through the chinks in the stone above them, bathing the room in a soft, green light.
“‘Green fingers’,” Alice quoted softly. “Like in the poem. There are green fingers around the wall.”
“Green fingers,” Arlen repeated, watching the water crimson with her blood. The wound was deep, and her leg was starting to numb. The water below was cold and icy, and the submerged ferns waved balletic fronds in the sluggish flow. “Green fingers.”
And then she saw it. A small brown parcel, hugged closely within the clinging embrace of the sea plants, an anemone jealously standing guard as it greedily watched the small, coloured fish darting around it.
“What are you doing?” Alice asked, as Arlen lowered herself into the water, waiting carefully for the anemone to snatch a small pink fish and concentrate on tearing it open before stretching her hand into the bed of plants.
“‘Encas’d in glass’,” she sang, as she climbed out of the pool, her leg stinging red with diluted blood. “This is where she hid it. It’s here.”
She laid the small parcel on a rock by the fall and both girls knelt over it, hearts beating quickly.
“It’s so silly,” Arlen said, with a low laugh. “I feel quite nervous.”
“Just open it!” Alice cried, unable to bear the suspense any longer.
The parcel was wrapped in a waxy sort of covering, and was shining with algae and moss. Arlen peeled it off gently, wincing a little at the slime. Within it was a small brown bag, still soft and tender, an ancient skin, like the book. The waxy covering had done its job well.
Arlen looked at Alice, and motioned for her to hold out her hands. The gems tumbled out, smooth and cool, and with them a shining coil of gold – the twin to Arlen’s charm.
“It was waiting,” Alice whispered. “Guarding them.” She passed the dark pearl to Arlen, keeping the milky jewel in her own palm.
As if in answer, Arlen’s charm began to glow, and a tingling thrill shot through both girls like an electric current. The gems resting snugly in their hands began to emit a soft, translucent light, as if communicating, and it seemed suddenly that both girls could see through the outer shells into some other swirling, shimmering current of life, a glimpse of another energy, and then the light faded, the pearls once again opaque and enigmatic.
“They’re magic,” Alice said softly, and the small, smooth orbs warmed their hands again, as if in response. It was a crackling, tugging pull, like a magnetic attraction.
“They’re drawn to each other,” Arlen said. “Can you feel it?”
“Yes,” replied Alice. “But now what?”
But it didn’t seem to matter as the charms sparkled and shone, and they sat, mesmerised, by the single thread of light which connected the two halves. They could see faces and swirling cloaks, and could hear the faint trill of faraway music which seemed to dance in crystal notes across the rainbow light of the cave.
“Hey!”
The world was gone, snapped back suddenly into the dimmed orbs which sat, still and silent once again, in their palms.
Arlen gazed around her, bewildered. The voice had come from the small tunnel leading onto the beach, and she felt little surprise and much frustration when the head of Robbie MacKenzie peered in once again. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was accusing, and she tried to quash the guilt that rose to her cheeks like flames.
“Robbie!” Alice’s voice he
ld a relieved surprise. “How are you?”
“Well, I – ” Robbie stopped and grinned, wanly. “Recovered, I guess. I – I just wanted to see how you two were doing,” he finished, a little sheepishly, a lone ray of light falling from the pearly roof to play in his thick, dark hair.
“We’re fine,” Arlen said shortly, and Alice glared at her. “We’re – ” and then, “How did you know we were here?”
“I don’t know,” he half shrugged, as if knowing how ridiculous it sounded. “I just knew.”
Arlen was smarting with anger and fear. How had he not been seen by the dancers? Had he shown them the way in? She swayed suddenly, sick with terror and, as if in answer, the walls shook with a loud cracking and tearing noise from behind. All three turned quickly as the sky opened above them and they were drowned in a heavy shower of gravel and dust, which filled the room in an opaque cloud.
“What’s – what’s going on?” Alice coughed, hardly able to breathe.
“I don’t know,” Arlen shouted above the noise. An iron fist seemed to clutch at her heart as her cave, her room, her secret place, began to tear apart before her. The walls were vibrating as if they would collapse at any second, crystal lights shooting through the dust like a giant glitterball, the ceiling above already an open and gaping wound as the sand streamed in and the cold sea mist engulfed them.
“I don’t know either,” Robbie shouted back, “but I do know that we’d better get out of here in a hurry. This thing is going down.”
He moved back towards the tunnel, which was miraculously still open, with Alice following. He saw her safely through and turned to wait for Arlen, whom he could no longer see in the dense cloud of dust.
It reminded him a little of a ride he’d been on at a theme park, although he could see that there was much less chance of coming through this one safely. The ceiling was crumbling now, and the frozen icicles of stalagtites fell and crashed around him like daggers. But this was no ride. He shook, as his foot was nearly speared by one of the descending blades. “Arlen?” he shouted loudly. The noise was nearly deafening. “Arlen!” He had almost fallen into the lake, fighting its own unnatural storm, and he experienced a sickening moment when all turned green and hazy, his stomach turning over when he realised that she might be in there.
“Arlen? Robbie? Where are you?” He could hear Alice’s terrified voice echoing from somewhere.
“Stay there. Don’t come in!” he shouted, knowing that it would be useless. “I’ll find her!” He turned sharply and almost fell over Arlen, who was seated silently on her rock seat by the water’s edge. Falling rubble grazed her, and her hair was white with flying dust, and still she sat as though entranced. “Arlen! Arlen!” He was almost furious with her now for scaring him like that. Still she said nothing, and he reached down and shook her fiercely until her head rang and she snapped to suddenly and answered him with a stinging blow to the face. He would never forget the way she looked at him then, her eyes smeared with tears, with loss. She had almost felt that she could die there, amongst its falling magic. Her cave. She hadn’t wanted to move. She couldn’t –
“Arlen, what are you doing?” Alice’s voice rang with anguish. “Come on. Get out!”
Arlen started. Her eyes grew black, and she turned and made her way unsteadily to where Alice stood, Robbie silently following. Her hair was matted against her face with blood and dust, and Alice pressed her hand and drew her through the tunnel and into the open air. Robbie squeezed himself out behind her, his tall body just clear of the small entrance when there was a roar and a rush and the tunnel collapsed behind him. “Come on. Quick,” he said, and the trio made their way, half sliding in the pool of sea slime, towards the maze of paths as the earth rumbled behind them, disappearing beneath their footprints.
It was a miracle that none of them were killed. But they headed away from the dancing ground and the castle, further along the beach, where they stood firmly on the ground and watched the falling rubble from a distance. The alchemist’s cave was no more. There would be no entrance to it now, from either side, and even if there were, there would now be no cave to find. Arlen drew a sharp breath, but her eyes were dry and stinging, and she would not cry any more.
It looked just as though there had been a landslide. The sea splashed and swallowed beneath the bare cliffside, and there was a strange, surreal beauty as the rocks shook their last and gradually subsided, with a silent sigh, beneath the still mantle of night.
They stood quietly, and the darkness closed its heavy folds around them. The silence was so powerful they could almost hear it. Even the water, which had been so racked a few moments before, was now still and winking like smooth glass, waiting, patiently. Arlen had often wondered what she should see below her, if she ever did dare to walk across it, as it had so often invited.
But the evening’s destruction had not yet finished and, as they stood and regarded each other in silence, the darkness above them split with a resounding crack, and their faces were illuminated for an instant by the explosive ray of a thunderbolt. Alice jumped, shaking. She had never liked thunder. From between the jagged fronds of cloud the rain poured like bullets, stinging sharp and cold against their faces, penetrating and soaking them in a few seconds.
“Maybe I’d better see you home,” Robbie said then, shouting to be heard over the downpour.
“We’re not scared of a storm,” Arlen yelled back, standing firm, as proud and tall as her small frame would allow. She, too, was trembling, but hers was from a longing and excitement that thunderstorms always seemed to bring out in her. She felt the rain streaming on her face and her body tingling with cold and her soul shimmering inside her. The wind sang in a passion as if in response, whipping the wet strands of hair around her face, its lost songs clamouring in her ear.
“I know,” Robbie shouted through the rising gale, “but I thought maybe I could see you home. We’ve got to get out of this anyway.”
Both girls were silent. Neither of them really wanted to go back to the castle and face Aunt Maud and her strange behaviour. Arlen was desperately trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t arouse his suspicions. The cave was gone now, and she certainly wouldn’t want to go back to the ship. From the corner of her eye she could see Alice shrugging and shaking, a hopeless, questioning look on her face.
“I – ” she began, not knowing how to finish. But she was saved from ending the sentence anyway, as a torrential sweep of gurgling black water came rushing towards them, drowning road, beach and rocks in its wake, bubbling from the small mouths gaping between the rocks now blocking the tunnel and speeding, curling and merciless, on towards them.
“No way,” said Robbie, determined.
“It’s flooded,” Alice gasped, as the heavy raindrops spat against her face. “We’d never make it!”
“We could go back to Mac’s,” Robbie suggested. “At least it’s dry there.”
“Where’s Arlen?” Alice asked, looking around suddenly.
Faced with little choice, Arlen had been ready to follow the others, when a bright object sucking in the water like a drowning star caught her eye. Drawn, she approached it and picked it up.
It was another pearl, white and shining and slimy with foam, and rolling within a piece of dark cloth. How strange, she thought, holding it, her dark legacy warm in her pocket. Another one.
“Arlen, come on!” Alice startled her out of her dream, and she quickly slipped the find into her other pocket and scrambled back up the beach, ahead of the advancing flood, to join the others.
Chapter Nine
“Wow,” Alice came in from the balcony after having thoroughly examined the large telescope. Not even Arlen, although great friends with Mr MacKenzie, had actually been in his home before. It was a small and curious place, whose architect must have been a drunkard. Yet somehow everything seemed to fit. The tiny sitting room was filled with curiosities from abroad – Persian rugs, jade monkeys, sea paintings, carved zebras, and a large ship i
n a bottle on the mantlepiece, above which hung a large picture in a simple wooden frame. The similarity between this painting and the picture of the alchemist’s ship in the book struck Alice immediately. The form, the style, the colour – even the design of the ship and the roar and lurch of the waves appeared to closely resemble each other. She shuddered suddenly.
An odd, twisted, rickety staircase, made of mismatched wood and uneven planks, drifted off into the wall, opening halfway up onto a tiny balcony, where sat a large and ornate brass telescope. Its vision was extremely powerful, as the girls had discovered after braving the elements for a peep.
“So that explains it,” Arlen was almost speaking to herself as she drifted down the stairs, shaking raindrops from her hair in a fine sprinkle of mist. The oppressive heaviness had lifted, and she felt strangely and keenly alert, every nerve seeming to vibrate and quiver with an anticipation she could not explain.
“What?” Robbie looked up from where he was rearranging his grandfather’s strange, dragonlike chess pieces onto the gameboard.
“A glint,” Arlen replied, musingly, to herself. “I used to see it from somewhere up here. It must have been the reflection from the glass of the telescope.”
It wasn’t until later that she thought how odd it was that the telescope should be trained on the castle.
“Yeah, well, Grandad spends a lot of his time birdwatching,” Robbie explained. “That thing’s usually focused on the seabirds, especially the gulls.” He paused from replacing the rooks in their rightful positions as guardians on the edges of the chessboard, and looked up. “It’s funny, but here the birds do seem to have a language all their own, don’t they? I mean, it’s like they’re trained or something.”
“Yes, I noticed that too,” Alice sank down onto the couch arm. “Like when I first arrived here I could have sworn there was somebody watching me, but when I looked around, all that was there was a lone seagull. It followed me all the way to the castle.” She turned to her sister. “And then there was the bird that tried to attack us on the Beach Road, remember? It even tried to get into the house.”