‘And her dreams, Abbess, so disruptive—’
‘Alleged dreams, Sister. Alleged. We only have her word for it. What’s to stop her just making them all up, eh? We can’t trust a thing she says – you know that!’
Sister Khalu said something too quiet for them to hear, but the Abbess’ response was clear enough.
‘Well, what of it? What’s to stop all of them just making it up? And then whispering, spreading rumours, undermining me. It’s bad enough in my own Abbey but now to have ignorant gowboys breaking down the doors, daring—’
Here the Abbess’ voice was drowned in a flurry of soothing murmurs, ending with, ‘If you’ll just see the boy, Abbess. Squelch his nonsense. And then he’ll be off down the Mountain and away.’
There was nothing Pema wanted more.
The sudden appearance of Sister Khalu in the doorway broke the spell. Singay flushed red, turned on her heel and fled.
Pema stumbled forward.
‘Pick up your feet, boy!’ snapped the Sister, glaring up at him, and he was led into the presence of the Abbess.
It was a fine, impressive room, spacious, with wide windows that opened onto white distances and the clear blue of the sky. But Pema had little chance to admire the view. The Abbess stood, glowering, hands on her bony hips. There was the distinct sound of an impatiently tapping foot.
‘So. What is your name, boy?’
‘Pema. Ma’am.’ Pema had no idea how to bow, but ducked his head awkwardly to show willing.
The Abbess looked at him disdainfully.
‘I understand you have concerns. You question the ancient Way of Mother Mountain.’
‘No! It’s not . . . I just . . .’
‘You just what? You just want to come to this holy place and disrupt everything? Spout wild stories? Lies? Blasphemy? Are you not grateful to Holy Mother Mountain? I know things were lax before I took over here, but oh, Poomba, Poomba, did no one ever teach you your prayers?’
‘Er, it’s Pema, and yes, of course, but—’
‘I’m disappointed in you, Poomba. Deeply, deeply disappointed. Go home and say your prayers. Thank Mother Mountain. I have nothing more to say to you.’
‘But . . .’
It was no use. Without quite knowing how it happened, Pema found himself on the other side of the Abbess’ firmly closed door, dismissed in every possible way. Then, before he could even begin to worry about what in the name of Snow he was going to tell his grandparents, someone grabbed his arm so hard it made him yelp.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cracked
Her heart burning with the Abbess’ words and the look of pity on the boy’s face, Singay had fled. Partway down the corridor she turned and blundered into a windowed alcove. Fists clenched, she leaned her hot forehead against the cold glass and stared out at the view.
I won’t cry, she thought, swallowing a sob. She scowled at the cold whiteness of the Mountain. I won’t and you can’t make me. So there. She knew she was being childish. And wrong-headed. Again.
‘Why can’t you be like your big sisters?’ her parents would say wistfully. ‘Why can’t you be like your little sisters?’ Out of all their large family of girls, only Singay, bang in the middle, was a worry. She was awkward. She was spiky. She was always getting into trouble, always getting ideas.
When she got it into her head to join the Abbey, everybody knew things would be a lot more peaceful at home, so they scraped together the dowry and said goodbye – and Singay had been so excited . . .
She’d been wrong-headed to think that anyone would ever look at her with the respect accorded a White Woman. She’d been wrong-headed to think that there was something special waiting for her, just around the next corner. She’d been looking for that something ever since she was old enough to toddle off into the garden to tame the dragons that should have been there. And then, sooner or later (but usually sooner), there would be that sick taste in her mouth as she realised she’d made a mistake. Again. Nothing ever went as she wanted it to go.
She had that sick taste in her mouth now.
That’s it. Not any more. She wasn’t going to feel like that another day. She’d get the evidence she needed and then she’d make them listen to her. The boy would be her witness. She’d take him and show him. He’d be impressed.
He’d never look at her with pity again.
She heard a door open and close and realised that the boy’s interview with the Abbess must be over. Before he could get away – before she could change her mind – she rushed down the corridor and grabbed him by the arm.
He gave a satisfying yelp.
‘Come with me.’ Singay dragged him back to the alcove, trying to quell the doubts in her mind. What if he didn’t believe her? What if he just laughed, or worse, acted sorry for her?
Eyes narrowing, looking for any sign of mockery or pity, she glared at him.
Pema tried to take a step back, but the cold window at his back stopped him short.
Now what?
It was as if she were trying to look inside his skull. Then she gave a small, fierce nod that reminded him all at once of the ice eagle.
‘You’ll do,’ she said. ‘Come on.’
‘I’ll do what?’ Pema began, but she had already turned away. She didn’t look back to see if he was following. For a second he considered staying put, just to spite her, but as soon as he had the thought he knew he wouldn’t.
What a good little dugg I am, he thought sourly, and trotted after her. What a nightmare this has all been.
Then he stopped. ‘The Abbess – she said you had dreams.’
The girl’s back stiffened visibly but she kept on walking. ‘So? What of it?’
‘Well? What do you dream about?’ It took only a few strides to catch her up.
‘None of your business, gowboy,’ she snapped, turning abruptly to face him, then bit her lip.
She’d been a fool to blab about her dreams. Her family had stopped listening to them years ago. They didn’t think a little girl’s made-up adventures were quite . . . proper. But when she came to the Abbey her dreams had flared up in such a different way. They had become horrible nightmares, and they seemed so vivid, so real. Maybe if the old Abbess hadn’t died . . . She’d been a woman with a wise and open mind, but the new Abbess was cut from very different cloth. And Singay knew how strange her dreams sounded.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ She hoped he’d be well-brought-up enough not to insist. She was right, though she might not have been so pleased if she’d known what he was thinking about her just then.
Snows, she’s spiky! She’s just like that gow we got cheap that year, the one who used to bite the others all the time. That was one bad-tempered gow . . . Where in the name of Mother Mountain is she taking me?
The Abbey was huge, and built on no plan that Pema could discern. He followed Singay along hallways and up spiral staircases, past doors, through doors, into rooms that led to more corridors. Any hopes he might have had about finding his own way back died as they scurried further and further into the maze, and then she stopped so suddenly he had to twist sideways to avoid running her over.
‘This is it,’ she said, reaching for the handle of a closed door. ‘You need to be quiet. The birds are hooded, and tied by leads to the perches, but there’s nothing wrong with their hearing. Or their claws. And their wings can give you a nasty whack if you get them agitated enough. So keep your voice down and move softly.’
‘Birds?’ Pema began, but Singay had already opened the door and gone in. There was nothing for it but to follow.
It was a long, low, dimly lit room. There was a row of wooden perches running down one side of it, and along the other, pegs hung with leather hawking equipment, gloves and jesses and things Pema couldn’t identify. What Singay had said about the birds’ keen hearing was obviously true: a dozen hooded heads had turned to stare blindly at him, and here and there bells tinkled as eagles, killstrels and hawks stir
red uneasily.
‘We think this is probably the oldest part of the Abbey,’ said Singay, in the kind of low voice that is quieter than a whisper. ‘The birds are best away from any bustle, and no one comes to this part of the buildings except me and Sister Hodges, our falconer. She’s old, and very deaf, and she knows everything there is to know about raptors. The birds will do anything for her. They just tolerate me.’ He thought she looked a bit bleak at that, then the moment passed. ‘But I didn’t bring you here to see them. I wanted to show you this.’
She led him down the length of the room to the end wall.
‘There,’ she said, and pointed.
Pema looked at the wall – and then realised that what he was looking at wasn’t a wall at all. It was the Mountain. The original builders had simply built out from the raw rock. But it wasn’t the cleverness of the joins they had made at wall and ceiling and floor that Singay was pointing out.
It was the crack.
Or rather, a series of cracks, mostly diagonally from left to right, but a few that crossed them going the other way. Cracks . . . in the rock.
He reached out a hand as if to touch them, then changed his mind.
‘See?’ said Singay. ‘What you tried to tell the Abbess makes sense of a lot of things. For years, there have been walls and ceilings shifting and cracking all over the Abbey. But these cracks are in the Mountain.’
‘But . . . why are you showing them to me?’ asked Pema. He was suddenly horribly aware that he was a long way from home. A long way from anyone. Nobody knew where he was! For all anybody else at the Abbey knew, he’d walked out of the Abbess’ rooms and just disappeared. What if this strange girl was cracked like the Mountain? What if she’d kidnapped him?
‘Why have you brought me here?’ He stepped back, but she wasn’t even looking at him. She was staring at the fissures in the stone, as if she could read them like a book if only she looked hard enough.
Pema shifted nervously, shooting a quick glance towards the door.
‘You’d never find your way back, you know,’ she said meanly. Then she seemed to regret her tone. ‘Look, I’m sorry. But before you decide I’m crazy, you could at least listen to me. Promise me you’ll listen.’
He hesitated, and then nodded. What else could he do?
‘All right,’ she continued, taking a deep breath. ‘It happened like this. One night I couldn’t sleep and I brought my blankets up here. It’s quiet, and out of the way, and sort of peaceful, and the birds don’t seem to mind. Anyway, I was just dropping off when I heard it. A sound like . . . someone crying.’ Her voice had dropped so low he could barely hear her. He leaned closer. She looked at him, her eyes wide. ‘It was heart-breaking. I tried to get up and find whoever it was, but I got tangled in my blankets and then I banged one of the perches and the birds got upset and started screeching, and by the time I’d got them all settled and quiet again, the sound was gone. But I was sure I’d heard it. So I decided to come back another night and not sleep, to see if I would hear it again.’
‘And did you?’ said Pema.
Singay nodded. ‘Yes, but not the first night, or the second. I couldn’t come every night, of course, or I’d have dropped in my tracks. I had to spend some nights catching up on sleep. I grabbed naps in the day too, when I could manage without anybody noticing. But then, about a week after the first time, I heard it again.’
She looked at him with the utmost seriousness. ‘I heard somebody crying,’ she said, ‘from inside the Mountain.’
Pema realised he’d been holding his breath, and let it out now in a low whistle.
‘Who was it?’ he whispered.
‘I don’t know!’ Singay’s voice was suddenly too loud. Down the line of perches, birds of prey clacked their beaks together and thrashed against the leads. Two ended up hanging upside down, and she had to go and rescue them. She came back to Pema licking blood off her hand.
‘Sorry, that was stupid of me,’ she said quietly.
‘Never mind. Go on with your story!’ Pema urged.
She spread her hands helplessly. ‘I can’t. That’s it! I rushed off to tell the Abbess but of course she wouldn’t listen. I tried to tell her what I heard, offered to bring her here so that she could hear it too, and all I got was “little girls shouldn’t tell tales” and “you’re just trying to make yourself seem special again” and “haven’t we talked about that before?” She wouldn’t believe me.’ She gave a laugh that was close to a sob. ‘Though I’ve had doubts too! Sometimes I can’t manage to sneak up here at night, or I do manage and I don’t hear anything, and then on the night when I say to myself, This is it, this is the last time, no more, I’ll catch the faintest echo of it again.’
There was a pause. He reached out a hand and carefully touched her sleeve.
‘I believe you, Sister,’ he said. ‘What can I do to help?’
Singay looked at him in surprise.
‘Oh, I’m not a Sister. Not yet. Probably never will be, if Abbess Great Gow has anything to say about it. No, I’m just a novice. But . . . do you mean it? You’ll help?’
Pema nodded, though he gulped as well. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘I’ll tell you,’ she said, with a smile that completely changed her face.
It was simple. After dark, when all the Sisters were asleep, Pema and Singay were going to return . . .
. . . and break down the side of the Mountain.
CHAPTER SIX
On the Other Side
‘Be as quiet as you can,’ Singay muttered tensely. ‘I’ll do my best to keep the birds calm, but you’ve seen what they’re like.’
It was later that night. Fortunately the Sisters went to their beds early, and there’d been no one else staying in the guest quarters. So Singay had been able to collect Pema and lead him through the silent corridors to the mews without alerting anyone.
Then she’d shown him the hammer.
‘I nicked it from Sister Loong this afternoon.’
Pema looked at the hammer doubtfully. She says be quiet, but who ever heard of hammering quietly?
They’d discussed exactly what bit of the wall he was to strike. There was a place low down where the cracks crossed each other, making a large, rough diamond shape. If Singay was right, and there was a space behind the rock, the hope was that he’d be able to loosen the block and push it through. Then all they had to do was crawl through after it . . .
‘Here goes,’ muttered Pema, and he grasped the wooden handle with both hands.
Fortunately, Sister Loong’s tools were all well made, and the hammer had the balance of a quality instrument. Pema’s aim was a little erratic, but after a number of near misses, he hit just the right spot. He felt the block shift.
‘I did it!’ he whispered proudly, but Singay was too busy soothing the birds to hear him. He gave the wall a few more bashes and grinned to himself. It was definitely moving!
Now that the block was loosened, Pema used the head of the hammer and all his weight to push it through to the other side. It dropped down out of sight with a satisfying thud, and then something happened that made him jerk back with a gasp, leaving the hammer sticking out of the hole.
Light flooded into the mews – from inside the Mountain!
Even through their hoods, the birds sensed something strange and instantly fell still.
Pema and Singay stared at each other, and at the light. Then Pema leaned forward cautiously and retrieved the hammer from the hole. He turned to lean it against the wall.
‘I’ll go first,’ he began, but Singay was already halfway through the gap, blocking the light. Her kicking legs disappeared, then the strange glow poured back into the room.
‘This is . . .’ she said. Her voice sounded muffled and strange.
‘This is what?’ called Pema. ‘What is it?’
But she didn’t answer.
He waited. Nothing.
He raised his voice, even though it made the birds shift unhappily. ‘Are you
all right?’
Silence. The moment stretched horribly.
This is where I should go and get somebody, he thought, trying not to panic. This is where somebody needs to be told. Then, Why am I here? This has nothing to do with me – I should be halfway to home again by now! But he knew he couldn’t leave. She needed to be rescued. He had to save her. He gritted his teeth and, hands sweating, he shoved himself into the gap.
‘Isn’t this amazing?’ squeaked Singay as he landed in a heap on the other side.
She didn’t need rescuing. She was fine, standing there with a great grin pasted across her face. He scrambled to his feet, all set to yell at her for scaring him like that. But then he forgot all about it.
What in the name of . . .
Instead of the cramped, little hole he’d somehow expected, he found himself in a tall, vaulted space, a wide passageway that curved away in both directions, bending out of sight at a distance that was hard to judge.
‘What . . . where . . . ?’
There was a clunking sound, and Pema turned round to see Singay pushing the block of rock back into the hole.
‘What are you doing?’ he squawked.
‘What does it look like?’ she said, grunting with the effort.
‘It looks like you’re blocking up the hole!’
‘Well spotted.’
‘But why? The hammer’s on the other side! How are we going to get back in?’
She straightened, dusting her hands, and looked at him as if he were an idiot.
‘I’m blocking the hole because I don’t want anybody following us. Not until I get this sorted. Er, I mean, not until we get this sorted.’ She gave the rock one more shove. ‘We find out what this is all about, the cracks and the crying and everything, then we just pull the stone out again – look, I can move it! – and go tell everybody who thinks I’m crazy that they’re crazy!’ She frowned at him. ‘Why are you staring at me like that?’
Pema’s brain was struggling. He was inside the Mountain in the middle of the night with nobody knowing where he was and there was something very weird about the person he was standing beside. She looked . . . not right.
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