The Tunnel Behind the Waterfall

by William Corlett

  ‘I was trying to stop my mind,’ William explained.

  ‘Stop it?’ Alice exclaimed. ‘How?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure. It’s very difficult. Thoughts keep coming.’

  ‘Listen, Will,’ Alice whispered, interrupting him. ‘That bird. I think I saw through its eyes for a moment.’

  ‘Well, that’s happened before, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, doubtfully. ‘Only this time it was like . . . like as if I was seeing myself . . . like a hunter would see me.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ William asked.

  ‘Just that. It was like as if at any minute I’d swoop down and . . .’ Alice shuddered and shook her head. ‘It wasn’t nice, William.’

  William turned and looked out of the window again and, as he did so, the black bird that had been slowly flying round and round in the sky above the tree, suddenly swooped, making again the terrible squawking sound that Alice had felt in her own throat earlier.

  ‘Watch out!’ William yelled, ducking down. ‘It’s coming for us.’

  As he finished speaking the window opening in front of them was filled by the body of the crow. Its wings beat fiercely and the sound of its deep, angry, croaking voice filled the small room as it alighted on the sill and stared at them through piercing eyes.

  The bird was entirely black; as black as the blackest night. Even its bill was black; even its claws. It stared with such intensity that Alice could feel her legs beginning to shake. William, who had been sitting on the chair in front of her, had slid off as the bird flew at them and was now crouching on the floor. Slowly he looked up at the bird.

  ‘Go away,’ he said. ‘Go away!’

  The crow remained, staring deeply.

  ‘Mr Tyler?’ Alice whispered, hopefully.

  ‘Squawk!’ the bird screamed.

  ‘Not Mr Tyler,’ Alice whispered, shaking her head.

  Very slowly William rose from the floor until he was standing immediately in front of the crow. Alice watched her brother as he took a long, deep, steadying breath. His eyes were as unblinking as the bird’s eyes; his body as tense and as motionless.

  ‘Go away!’ William said, his voice shaking with emotion.

  The bird glared silently, as if trying to stare William out. But William was equally strong. He seemed to Alice, as she watched, standing slightly to the side and behind him, to be so enclosed in stillness that he was like a stone.

  ‘Go away!’ he said again. And this time his voice was quiet and very calm. It had almost a conversational tone, as if he were having a long discussion with the bird of which Alice had only been able to hear those two words.

  The bird blinked and, as it did so, it seemed to lose some of its power. William didn’t move. For a moment longer the crow hesitated, darting its head from side to side, blinking and staring at him. Then, shrugging its wings and hooding its eyes, it turned away and launched itself off the sill, out into the hot morning light.

  ‘It’s gone,’ Alice whispered.

  ‘Poor bird!’ William said – his voice still sounding unfamiliar to Alice; distant and calm and strong.

  ‘It was a horrible bird,’ Alice said. ‘I think it wanted to eat me.’

  ‘Yes,’ her brother said, quietly. ‘I think it probably did.’ Then, turning his back on the light, he suddenly shivered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Mary asked, stepping into the room from the platform outside the door.

  ‘I didn’t know you were there,’ William said, sounding now, not only like himself once more, but also a little bit afraid.

  ‘I was watching. I didn’t dare come in,’ Mary explained. ‘It was Morden, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I think so,’ William said, quietly. ‘Not exactly in person, you know – but like Jasper told us . . . Morden was filling the bird’s mind. I couldn’t get in . . .’

  ‘But you did,’ Mary said. ‘You sent the bird away.’

  William shook his head and frowned.

  ‘The bird went of its own accord – once Morden had left its mind.’

  ‘And did you make Morden leave, Will?’ Alice asked, not at all sure what had really been going on.

  ‘I don’t know,’ William replied, with a shrug. His voice sounded tired now. ‘I didn’t really do anything. I just tried not to think. Tried to be still and empty. No. I didn’t even really try. I just did nothing.’

  ‘Well,’ Mary said, looking at him thoughtfully, ‘whatever you did or didn’t do – it seemed to work.’

  ‘How d’you mean – work?’ he asked her.

  ‘The bird obeyed you,’ she told him. ‘It did what you told it to do. It went away.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Alice said. ‘It was a horrible bird.’

  ‘No,’ William said, losing his temper. ‘It wasn’t horrible itself. It was being made to be horrible. But why? Why does Morden hate us so? Why?’

  ‘There you go again,’ Mary said, glad to be able to criticize him. ‘Asking questions!’ And she turned and led the way out of the tree house.

  13

  Crow

  THE HEAT SHIMMERED over the lake, crinkling the view. The water seemed to ripple up into the air and the reflection on the surface had no beginning and no end. William sat, cross-legged, on the pebble strand and stared silently at the moving light glittering and dancing in front of him.

  Mary was lying on the parched grass behind him, soaking up the sun, and Alice and Spot were paddling along the edge of the lake, not far away.

  For a long time nobody had spoken and the only sounds had been the distant lazy singing of a bird and the occasional plop as a fish jumped for a fly.

  Then Mary suddenly sat up, saying;

  ‘I wonder what happened to the boat,’ and shading her eyes, she searched the shoreline along beyond where Alice was now bending down, watching some tiny fish swimming round her legs beneath the water.

  ‘Alice,’ Mary called.

  ‘What?’ she yelled, without turning round.

  ‘You can’t see the boat, can you?’

  ‘What boat?’

  ‘The rowing boat. The one we went in the other day,’ Mary said, irritably. Alice had a habit of being deliberately obtuse, sometimes.

  ‘Can’t see it,’ she called, looking along the shore in front of her and shaking her head. ‘It’s probably hidden somewhere.’

  ‘But who would have hidden it? We left it over there on the shore where we were picnicking,’ Mary said.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Alice replied, sounding far from interested. She looked up, shading her eyes, and slowly moved her head, scanning the whole lake and the high dome of milk-blue sky above it.

  The black crow sailed on a thermal of warm air, looking down.

  ‘That bird’s still there,’ she called, nervously.

  Mary squinted up into the dazzling light.

  ‘I know,’ she said. Then she turned her attention to William, sitting in front of her, as still as a rock.

  ‘William – did you hear?’ she asked. ‘That crow’s watching us.’

  William remained silent.

  ‘William,’ Mary repeated. ‘That bird’s flying overhead still . . .’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Mary! Please,’ William begged her.

  ‘Why? What are you doing?’

  ‘Trying to stop thinking,’ William replied.

  ‘How?’

  ‘By not listening to you, for one thing, and by trying to stop any thoughts from coming into my head – which is very difficult, with you nagging all the time.’

  ‘Boring!’ Mary muttered, lying back on the ground. ‘If that bird attacks me, it will be entirely your fault!’ Then, closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to slide once more towards that delicious state, on the edge of sleep, where sound and dreams merge.

  In her mind she saw a picture of William and herself dipping the oars in and out of the water as they rowed Stephen Tyler and Alice slowly across the lake. She saw Stephen Tyler swing the small tiller round, so that they were
crossing the imaginary line down the centre of the lake. Still in her half-dreaming mind she saw, as if from the boat, the distant edge of the lake and the standing stone, with the yew tree behind it and, beyond, far across the unseen space that contained Golden Valley, the V in the trees that marked the continuation of the mysterious, invisible line towards the east.

  Mary sighed contentedly and stretched, enjoying the warm sun on her body. Then, gradually at first, but soon growing in intensity, she began to hear the sound of running water. It was so real that it didn’t seem to belong to a dream at all. As she sank deeper into sleep, the sound of this tumbling, boiling, bubbling water, filled and deluged her mind.

  ‘Goldenspring,’ a voice whispered. ‘Meet me at Goldenspring.’

  ‘Oh!’ Mary exclaimed, waking, sitting up and looking round at the same moment. There was no one there, of course, and yet the voice had sounded real enough.

  ‘Dreaming!’ Mary said and she was about to lie down again when she noticed a spider weaving a web between two stiff stalks of rush grass beside her.

  She turned and lay on her stomach, resting her chin on her hands, and watched the tiny insect as it busily knitted the gossamer threads with its legs. It worked with great precision, all its energy and concentration directed on the task. At one moment it fell, seemingly without any support, and then started to climb up the air again as it returned, supported on an invisible strand of its own making.

  ‘Go to Goldenspring,’ the voice whispered again and, as she heard it, the spider stopped working for a moment and looked at her.

  ‘Mr Tyler?’ Mary whispered, excitedly.

  ‘Where?’ William said, turning round and seeing his sister, lying on her stomach, gazing with rapt attention at a blade of grass.

  Mary didn’t answer him. She seemed scarcely to have even heard him.

  ‘Mary?’ William said, crawling towards her and pushing straight through the rushy grass where the spider had been making its web.

  ‘Oh, William!’ Mary cried.

  ‘Now what?’ he asked, exasperated.

  ‘The spider. You’ve broken its web.’

  ‘Is that all? I thought you’d seen Stephen Tyler.’

  ‘Maybe I did,’ she said, after a moment, ‘. . . in a way.’ Then she frowned. ‘Except – the funny thing is – he seems to be everywhere, doesn’t he? I mean, it isn’t so much that we see him as that all the creatures seem to be part of him.’ She scratched her head. ‘It is very confusing – and I hate spiders usually . . .’

  ‘You know what you were saying about that boat . . .’ William said.

  ‘What about it?’ Mary asked, searching for signs of the spider.

  ‘. . . I think he brought it from the past – Mr Tyler, I mean . . .’ Then another thought occurred to him. ‘Hey, Mare!’ he said. ‘Have you still got his pendulum thing?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ Mary said, rising and crossing towards him, producing the gold nugget on the chain from her jeans pocket.

  ‘Can I hold it?’ William asked her.

  ‘Yes,’ his sister replied with a shrug. ‘It isn’t mine, you know. I just happened to find it.’

  William held the pendulum by its golden chain. It swung slowly backwards and forwards then gradually became still. William stared at it thoughtfully.

  ‘Nothing’s happening,’ he said but then, almost before he’d finished speaking, everything started to happen very fast.

  They saw Alice running along the side of the lake towards them, waving her arms to attract their attention. Distracted for an instant, William took his eyes off the pendulum. As he did so it started to rotate, going so fast that it all but disappeared. The crow, which had been circling slowly above them, dropped out of the sky, making straight for William’s outstretched hand.

  ‘William!’ Mary shrieked and, as she did so, she grabbed hold of her brother and pulled him towards her.

  With a terrible squawk, the crow flew at William and Mary then, beating its wings to slow its flight, it hovered for a moment in front of them and pecked the pendulum out of William’s still outstretched hand. They felt the air fanned into a cold draught as the bird beat its wings once more, making for the sky.

  William threw himself at the bird, reaching out with both his hands, grabbing at the flapping wings. He almost managed to catch it, but when he fell forward on to the ground he was holding only a single tail feather in his clenched fist.

  ‘It’s taken the pendulum,’ he gasped, looking up to where the crow was now flying away from them, the glittering gold chain dangling from its beak.

  ‘William! Mary!’ Alice gasped, breathlessly, as she raced towards them, followed by Spot. ‘There are men coming through the trees over there. I don’t think they saw me.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Mary said, catching Alice’s agitation, ‘I mean, we’re not doing anything wrong. We’ve a right to be here . . .’

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ Alice hissed. ‘It’s them . . . The men from the meeting.’

  William was still watching the crow. It flew towards the standing stone and landed on top of it. Then it turned and glared at the three children, fixing them with its bright, black eyes. The golden nugget dangled from its beak and flashed in the sunlight.

  William took in a long, slow breath of air. As he did so he straightened his back and shook his head. Then, just as the bird was stretching its wings to fly off, he glared at it again, with piercing, unblinking eyes.

  The crow, taken by surprise, seemed unable to look away. It raised first one foot and then the other and flapped its wings. But William’s eyes seemed to be holding it, as if by some invisible thread.

  Still maintaining this look, William walked towards the standing stone . . .

  He saw the boy walking slowly towards him. He even recognized the boy as himself. At the same moment he knew that he had entered the crow’s mind and was seeing through the crow’s eyes. It seemed a most natural state of affairs.

  A movement, just beyond the edge of his sight, made him look to the left. The colour of the grass was suddenly brighter and more lush. The distant trees were heavy with summer leaf. The lake rippled, reflecting a cloudless sky . . .

  Standing below him on the grass was a young man. He was wearing an open-necked jerkin of a dull red colour, baggy shorts, nipped in at the knees, and thin stockings that clung to his legs. His black hair reached almost to his shoulders. He had dark eyes beneath black brows and a very pale complexion.

  ‘Give it to me; crow!’ the man said and, as he did so, he reached out his hand and walked towards the stone on the top of which William was standing.

  William bent forward and dropped the golden nugget on its chain from his beak on to the surface of the stone in front of him. Then, hunching his feathered shoulders, he stared down once more at the man.

  ‘Give it to me!’ the man repeated, holding out his hand and willing the bird to obey.

  William felt his mind being filled with half-formed thoughts and ideas, each of them clamouring to be heard. The desire to give in to them was very strong – particularly for William who liked to be in control of what went on in his head. He sensed the thoughts tempting him to give them his attention. Each thought needed to be considered and each idea to be worked out. It was like being in a room with the door closed and hearing voices at a distance; not being able to distinguish the words being said, there was a strong desire to reach out mentally and try to listen. But he knew that if he did so he would lose his advantage. He had to keep his mind still and empty. He took in another deep breath and stared into the man’s eyes.

  ‘What’s happening, crow?’ the man asked, his voice trembling with intensity.

  ‘Morden,’ William croaked. It was half a question and half a statement.

  The man gasped and raised his hands in front of his face, as if warding off an attack.

  ‘Morden,’ William said again.

  ‘Who are you?’ the man whispered.

  ‘Why are you attackin
g us?’ William asked.

  Morden gasped and took a step backwards.

  ‘Why are you interfering with the Magician’s work? Why won’t you leave us alone? Why?’ William demanded.

  ‘You? You have come from that time?’ Morden whispered. ‘I don’t believe this. It is my mind playing tricks. It isn’t possible for you to have travelled. You are ignorant children. This is some sort of trap. Now, crow,’ and as he said the word, so the man’s voice grew shrill with indignation, ‘give me the pendulum!’

  William stared at the man he called Morden. He felt no fear. He was in command.

  ‘If you want it, come and get it,’ he croaked.

  But the man was obviously not impressed by this implied threat. His thin lips curled into a smile and he threw back his head.

  ‘Think we’re clever, do we, little boy? Think we’ve learnt the ancient secrets? You know no more about anything than that stone!’

  ‘I agree,’ William said. ‘But I’ve only just started to learn. Just give me time.’

  ‘Oh, yes! You think you’re so clever,’ Morden mocked him. ‘You think you’re safe because you have the Master working for you. But what will happen when he goes, little boy? What then? You’ll be lost without him. You’ll be nothing.’

  ‘Why are you fighting us, Morden?’ William said, ignoring the man’s insinuation. ‘Why? What have we done to you?’

  ‘Give me that pendulum!’ Morden yelled, his voice shaking with anger.

  ‘No,’ William said. ‘You’re a bad, wicked person. You use rats to frighten us. You tried to stop Stephanie being born. When the badgers were being killed . . . you could have helped us, but you didn’t. I expect you were even glad. You associate yourself with all that’s horrible and cruel in the world. Now, when men are thinking of spoiling this place, you could be working with us and the Magician. Instead you let it happen . . . you want it to happen. Why? What’s in it for you?’

  Morden stared coldly up at the crow on top of the standing stone. His eyes were so penetrating that William felt himself being held by them. He could sense the other man’s mind fighting for supremacy over his. A moment of panic seized him. He saw Morden take the advantage. William breathed again deeply, tensing his crow claws on the hard rock beneath him.