‘Look,’ Bani said, ‘someone dug this hole. Someone went in there and came back out. It should be fine.’ He looked down at the water rushing below. So did Kal. The water looked black, and cold, and it was moving fast. Kal said, ‘Right.’
‘It will be fine!’ Bani said. ‘I’ve brought ropes. We’ll tie you safely before we lower you in. If you don’t reach the cavern in time we’ll just pull you back.’
Kal said, ‘I—’ and stopped. It is possible his mouth may have dropped slightly down at that point, though there is no historical evidence to support it. It is also, therefore, mere speculation that his next words were, ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
Bani had that effect on Kal. He made him swear a lot.
‘We’ll lower you into the hole,’ Bani said patiently. ‘Then we’ll—come on, Kal, what’s the problem?’
‘What do you mean I’m going in that hole?’ Kal said. He felt the others behind him, watching the conversation. He turned around on them. ‘Get Tanuaiterai to jump in there.’
The anthropology student took off his spectacles and polished them nervously. ‘I’d love to go in first,’ he said. ‘Believe me, it would be an honour. But my eyes … ‘
‘Kal,’ Bani said. ‘We need you. I need you. You’re the right man for the job. You know that. We’re city people. We don’t have your skills.’ He sighed. ‘I promise you, it will be easy.’
That, perhaps, was the point where Kal should have simply turned away and gone back to the ship. And perhaps, had he done so, things would have turned out differently. Perhaps. Yet always, far away, the dark tower waited. Always, like a lode-stone, it pulled at Kal, and at Bani too, bound together like banana leaves around grated taro. And it is the nature of such—the grated taro, wrapped in leaves and tied—to be, after all, put into the fire. And so—
‘Fine,’ Kal said. ‘Fine.’ It was, perhaps, curiosity which got him at last. He stared again at the rushing water and thought, this is not so bad.
The truth was that, now that he was here, he wanted to find out about the Narawan. Curiosity, for humans, is a strong and effective lure, and Kal had succumbed to it with only a token fight. He was, after all, only yet a boy, and he did not seriously think anything could happen to him. Boys are immortal—until age creeps on them, at least, and they are boys no more, and mortal.
‘Give me the rope,’ Kal said, and Bani laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder, and the others all cheered, though quietly. There was no sound inside the cave, beyond the rushing of the subterranean water. It was as if the outside had momentarily ceased to exist.
Kal took off the backpack, and the rope was tied around him. The others held it. Bani handed him a small, water-proof backpack. Kal sat on the edge of the water, his feet dangling.
‘How do you know what’s there?’ he said.
‘Coleridge.’
The answer was so nonsensical that Kal merely shrugged.
And jumped.
The fall was short. He hit the water (it was cold!) and for a moment was shocked to immobility. Then the current snatched him up and he was carried along, all light gone, through a tunnel of what felt like (his hands brushed against it. His feet failed to find purchase) slimy stone.
The water carried him, then spat him out. He fell, hard. Kal rolled on a hard surface. He came to a stop and lay there, winded, gasping for air.
He slowly sat up. He almost felt good again. Then a savage pull on the rope still tied to his body nearly sent him flying again and he screamed an obscenity and pulled back, hard.
His shout echoed in the space around him. Where was he? He could see nothing. The darkness was absolute. The air felt old, disused, and yet … he had an uncomfortable feeling, as if somewhere in the darkness a thing that had been slumbering had been disturbed. He reached for the small backpack, opened it, rooted inside.
A lamp. He flicked a switch and a bright, white light momentarily blinded him. He blinked, then cautiously opened his eyes.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!’ Something came sailing through the air and landed close by. Bani, looking paler than ever, and faintly ridiculous in drenched underclothes. He, too, wore a rope.
‘Awe, brata!’ Bani said. ‘Yu yu bin lukem long ples ia?’ Have you been looking around?
‘Mi stap luk naoia,’ Kal said. I’m looking now.
It was good to see Bani again. He did not enjoy his short time alone in the darkness.
He looked up. Then he looked down. And found himself on the edge of a cliff.
Memories of Epi came back to him, of that day on the cliff-top, of the kite launching into the air. The sea had seemed so calm.
He stood on the edge of a cliff. Above his head, from where he had come, water pulsed out of the wall and cascaded down in a great waterfall. He followed the water with his eyes, captivated, but could not see the bottom; it was shrouded in darkness.
Beside him Bani whistled. Kal turned around in a circle, taking in their surroundings. They stood on a sliver of rock that rose out of that dark, bottomless pit (he knew it had a bottom. And besides, it was not a pit. But there is a difference between looking at something and feeling it). Before them was the waterfall. On the edge of the cliff there was a …
‘Where the hell are we?’ Kal said. Panic made his voice shrill.
‘What the hell are we doing here? What’s that?’
Something came sliding down on them from the air, and for a moment Kal couldn’t tell what it was. Then he realised: the ropes, their safety lines, had been released and were falling down at their feet.
‘What the—’ he began to say, again.
Above their heads there was another scream, as another member of the team came sailing out of the waterfall. It was Tanuaiterai.
But something, this time, had gone wrong.
Perhaps it was a matter of mass, or weight; perhaps it was the angle. But Tanuaiterai did not land on the rock. For one horrible moment they thought he would make it. His hands reached out, almost touched the edge. He did not wear a rope.
Then he fell, the water raining down on him; fell into that darkness that lay below.
As he fell he screamed.
Everything happened very quickly after that.
Images flashing, as off of a mirror broken into fragments. Tanuaiterai falling. The thing, the object that stood at the edge of the cliff—an altar?—suddenly flaring, blinding Kal for a moment, so all he could hear was the screams, that seemed to go on for ever and then, suddenly, were cut off.
The silence was worse than Tanuaiterai’s cries. It was an expectant, menacing silence, as of a low pressure area heralding the coming of a cyclone and hurting old bones.
Bani, turning around to say something, his face ghastly, ghostly in the light. Kal, shouting (he thought) though no sound came.
And then the Olfala Bigwan rose from the deeps and was upon them.
— Chapter 12 —
WAN MIKSAP BLONG BUN MO BLAD
THE BIGFALA OLDWAN rose from the deeps. It was—it goes almost without saying—monstrous. Kal’s confused memory recalls only vague shapes—a slick oblong head resembling that of a giant squid— a white-eyed stare from eyes as big as human heads—the thump of a long, slimy, heavy tentacle landing on the cliff-top, missing him and Bani by the length of a human arm.
Kal didn’t know where to run. They were trapped on the subterranean cliff. Then he saw what else was rising from the depths and was nearly sick: another, red tentacle rose, and clasped in its grasp was Tanuaiterai; or rather, his remains.
The white, milky eyes of the Olfala Bigwan stared down at Kal as Tanuaiterai’s corpse flopped down on the cliff-top with a wet sickening sound, splattering Kal’s face and body with blood and small, sharp fragments of bone.
It is possible Kal screamed.
It was at that point (or slightly after) that he suddenly realised Bani was no longer beside him. Frantically, he turned around, thinking another tentacle, perhaps, had snuck up from behind him and snatched Ba
ni up.
‘Bani?’
‘Over here! Quick!’
Bani was at the back of the cliff, where it ended against the wall of the cave. He was looking down, desperation in his eyes. For a moment he raised his head and looked up, above Kal, at the monstrous head they had awoken. Bani seemed to shake with inner rage: Kal had never seen him so angry. ‘Mi fakem yu!’ Bani screamed. ‘Mi fakem yu long as, yu faken sit!’
Kal couldn’t help himself. He looked back.
The great milky eyes slowly blinked. The great bald squid’s head rose even higher.
A beak-like mouth opened, as wide as the trunk of an ancient nambanga tree. Behind it was … Kal tried not to gag as the smell hit him.
Then the Olfala Bigwan screamed.
It was a scream of inhuman anger—a wet, humid, sub-aquatic sound, the sound of a sickness travelling like waves. Bani grabbed Kal by the arm, hard. He tried to shout but Kal couldn’t hear him. He felt slow, confused. He couldn’t figure out what Bani was doing. He had the rope, and he was tying it to something—a jagged rock that rose from the cliff-side like an upturned finger—and then tying it to himself, and to Kal—they were bundled together like firewood— and then, on the edge of the cliff, looking down into the darkness, the Olfala Bigwan’s wet scream pushing against their backs, they—
The people of the island of Pentecost, in the archipelago on Earth that was variously known as the New Hebrides and, later, Vanuatu, have a curious custom. Every year, during a three months period, the men of Pentecost build leaning towers out of wood and, every year, the boys and men of the island go seeking suitable vines. The vines, when chosen, are used for the Nagol, or land-diving ceremony. They climb onto the tower, and the vines are tied to their ankles. Then they stand on the top, looking down at the land sloping down below, and after a suitable interval (accompanied by a short, rhythmic dance) they jump, head first, towards the earth.
The men of Niu Pentekos, on the world of Heven, still maintain that custom. It was, originally, a women’s custom, and on the island of Niu Pentekos it is now practiced by both sexes, and people travel from the outer islands, too, to participate sometimes. Yet it is a kastom of Pentecost alone. What Bani and Kal did was not Nagol. It was an act of desperation, perhaps—so Kal thought afterwards—of absolute stupidity. They—Fell.
Kal remembered that fall, later. It was, needless to say, terrifying. He expected death to come, for his head to hit a rock and for darkness to come. He was scared, but … there was also, underneath the fear, excitement. He felt the air rushing against him, felt every pore in his skin opening, and he felt—in the moment before possible death—alive.
They fell down the cliff and into the bottomless darkness below. Kal wondered how long the rope was. And how far the ground was. If there was a ground.
Above them the rope tightened … there was a moment of absolute stillness. Then they were pulled, violently, upwards.
And down again. Their bodies hit the rock face, hard. Kal felt his bones jar, as if he were a cup and his bones were loose inside, and someone was shaking the cup. He felt Bani against him, and his friend was still.
They dropped, rose, dropped, and stopped. Kal’s hands dangled downwards … touched water. If he could, he would have sagged, in relief. But then, he thought, his position was one of absolute sagging … he almost laughed. It felt good to still be alive. He said,’Bani?’
There was no answer from his friend.
‘Bani?’ And he thought, shit.
It was a reasonable thought in that context.
Kal dangled, tied to his friend. Was he dead? Concussed? He reached down again, felt the water, so close. It felt warm, almost uncomfortably so. He tried to peer through the darkness, but could see nothing. There was a silence, which worried him. Where was the—the thing?
He reached for his knife. Did he have a knife? Feeling suddenly awkward and not knowing why, he reached out and touched Bani. He was out cold. Kal patted his friend, looking for—
At last he found it. So Bani did carry a knife. Kal, breathing hard, cut the rope that held them. It took him several tries, and then—
They dropped again. The water was getting hotter, he realised. He held Bani and tried to swim. He felt Bani waking up and sagged with relief, then panicked as his feet failed to find purchase.
‘Kal? Where are we?’
‘At the bottom of a big fucking hole,’ Kal said. ‘Can you swim?’
‘I can try.’
‘Good.’
He released him, but carefully. Bani floundered for a moment, then settled, and Kal could feel him swimming beside him.
Something rose behind them. The water churned. Too late, Kal noticed, tried to turn—
A tentacle as big as a dugout came out of the water, hovered once in the air, and came crashing down. The resulting wave sent Kal flying. He hit the water hard.
— Chapter 13 —
LONG OL BIGFALA HOL BLONG STON …
Ples Alf, wan tabu riva ron
Long ol bigfala hol blong ston
Se man I no save skelem
Daon long wan solwota I no gat san …
WHEN KAL OPENED HIS EYES AGAIN, these were the words he heard, though he didn’t quite understand them. He was no longer in the water. He was lying on a hard surface, and it was dark. Stones. He was lying on stone, and it was cool against his back. There was a damp smell, as of thick vegetation. The voice he heard was Bani’s.
‘Ples Alf, wan tabu river ron … ’ Bani was saying mournfully.
‘Long ol bigfala hol blong ston … ’ He sounded stoned. Stones. Kal felt a sudden urge to giggle. It escaped his mouth in a cough and he dribbled water. Bani, unseen, said, ‘So you’re awake. Good.’
‘Where are we? Do you know?’ Kal said. He felt light-headed. He sat up.
‘We’re in the tabu place,’ Bani said. ‘We’re in the bad place, the sad place, the long and lone place where there is no sun.’
‘Bani?’
‘Daon long wan solwota I no gat san … ’
‘Bani?’
‘Coleridge.’
He had given that answer before, and it had made as little sense. Kal gave up, for the moment. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, and tried to stand.
The darkness had hands; it pushed at him with soft fleshy palms. Kal swayed. A hand grasped him by the elbow. It was Bani. ‘We have to go down,’ Bani said, in the same mournful, singsong voice. ‘Down and down, to the Narawan town, down to the place where the ghosts exist, the place they wouldn’t let us see, the place that has the map, and holds the key.’
‘Bani?’
Suddenly Kal felt frightened. Not the fright from monsters of the deep, or the fright of falling—falling—falling into uncertainty, but fear of the kind that grips a man when he comes to a realisation, which is: my friend has lied to me.
‘You knew?’ he said. ‘You knew about the Olfala Bigwan? About this place?’
He felt Bani’s hand steady him. They began to walk, uneasy on feet that felt as if they belonged to someone—something—else. The darkness pushed around them, wrapping, warping, hands rough and smooth. There was a sickly, sweet smell in the air, like flowers that had been left too long in water; bloated things, and pale.
‘I didn’t know,’ he heard Bani say, at last. The air felt as if full of cobwebs. The ground sloped down. They were descending. ‘I only knew what it said in the—’ He fell quiet again. Kal felt an urge to kick him, and resisted. ‘In the—?’ he said, patiently.
‘In this thing I stole.’
‘I see,’ Kal said. But he couldn’t. The darkness pressed on him, like faces against glass. You idiot, he thought, what have you done?
‘I stole this map,’ Bani said. ‘A treasure map. To a treasure island. It was in the form of a poem.’ He giggled. ‘I stole it from the Guardians.’
‘What,’ Kal said, exasperated, ‘are the Guardians?’
‘Your problem,’ Bani said in the kind of reasonable voice that Kal
found extremely annoying, ‘is that you never listen. What did I tell you, the first time we met?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kal said. ‘Your problem is that you talk too much.’ Bani laughed. ‘A lot of people know about the prophecy, Kal,’ he said, his voice a singsong of recollection. ‘A lot of people are interested in you. They’re watching you, Kal. Day and night. You are like a rare seed that has been planted in soil, and everyone is watching to see if it bears fruit.’
Kal remembered him saying it. Now, in the darkness of the caves (caves? Where were they?) with Tanuaiterai dead and he and Bani stranded in the depths, it didn’t seem all that fanciful anymore. He said, ‘Who are the Guardians?’
‘Secret societies,’ Bani said, ‘do not, as a rule, exhibit much in the way of creative naming. You always get Guardians of This, Guardians of That … ‘ His voice trailed off. ‘These guys call themselves the Guardians of the Tower.’
‘You what?’ Kal said.
‘I think,’ Bani said, ‘that here, on this island, there is a … a key. Or a map. Or something—a device, a drawing, something that points the way to the tower. And the Guardians—’ he coughed ‘—as their name, perhaps, suggests, are guarding it.’ They stopped. The air felt hot and humid but now there was something else, a faint cool breeze that tickled Kal’s face, as if the ocean was reaching into the bottoms of the earth to hold him. ‘I think they found out, though,’ Bani said, with a note of regret. ‘One of the others must have been a Guardian. Georgie, or Toa … ‘
‘Why?’ Kal said. The word seemed to encompass a world of meanings. He wasn’t sure himself what he was asking. Why did you bring me here? Or—Why didn’t you tell me? Or perhaps, simply—Why me? Why you?
‘You swim in a sea of ignorance, Kal,’ Bani said. ‘A sunless sea … Come on.’
He pulled at Kal’s arm. They moved again, sluggish in the darkness. ‘Tanuaiterai is dead,’ Kal said. Unspoken—because of you.
‘Come on!’
‘Where are we going?’
‘A man without eyes doesn’t see the darkness around him,’ Bani said.
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