Snowbone

by Cat Weatherill

  “Sounds easy enough,” said Manu.

  “Hm. A bit too easy,” said Snowbone. She drank from her water bottle. “Let's go. The sooner we're there, the sooner we're back.”

  They started across the scrubland. It was strewn with boulders and colonized by ferns. The ground was curiously bumpy, with endless dips and hollows, like a giant's pillow after a restless night.

  “These bumps can't be natural,” said Blackeye. “They must be man-made.”

  And Snowbone was just about to say mines when the ground gave way beneath their feet.

  “Whooooa!”

  They plummeted down in a thunderous shower of stones and earth and fern and rubble.

  “Whooooa!”

  And still they fell. Down, down, down the mine shaft into the black gaping yawn of the volcano while the light above faded fast. Down, down, down and—doof!—they fell no farther.

  “Manu,” said Snowbone into the darkness, “are you all right?”

  “Mmmmm,” groaned Manu. “The soil landed first. Cushioned the fall.”

  Snowbone picked herself up. “You there, Blackeye?”

  “Yep.”

  Snowbone assumed he was still in one piece. She was. “Can you see anything?”

  “No. But I think we're in a tunnel, and it seems brighter that way. Give me your hand.”

  Snowbone wavered. Oh, how she hated touching people! Animals, yes. Boys, no.

  “Come on,” urged Blackeye, anxious to be off.

  Snowbone was glad it was dark; Blackeye couldn't see her face. Every fiber in her body was crying out against touching him, but she had no choice. She inched toward his voice and held out her hand. She felt his fingers brush against her arm. They tapped down its length until they found her hand. His fingers closed round her own. Tight. Solid. Unexpectedly reassuring. Her palm began to tingle. It was quite nice really.

  “Manu,” said Blackeye, “find Snowbone's hand.”

  And now Snowbone felt another set of fingers feeling for her. When they found her, there was no tingling, but they felt OK. Snowbone smiled in spite of herself.

  Blackeye led them on. Lava had coursed along the tunnel once and now the adventurers stumbled through, their boots banging every bump and lump in the floor. But it was getting lighter. There was a pale, flickering amber glow and, when they reached the end of the tunnel, they found its source.

  Lanterns! Ornate, golden lanterns, hundreds of them, with candles burning inside. The volcano was hollow but its sides were riddled with tunnels, just like the one they had come along. The lanterns were set into the walls between the tunnel mouths. They bathed the whole interior with an enchanting, golden fairy glow.

  Snowbone wondered at it all. It was so organized. So clever. So well tended.

  “Get back!” said Blackeye. He pulled her into the shadows. “They might see us.”

  “Who?”

  “I don't know,” said Blackeye, “but there's definitely someone here.”

  “So much for the natives being long gone,” said Snowbone. “And so much for ‘Follow the Solitary Way.’ There are hundreds of tunnels in here. Oh, this stupid map!”

  “No, wait,” said Manu. “There is only one way. One path. We're looking at it, see?” He pointed. “It comes in up there and spirals down. All the other tunnels lead off it.”

  “Are we going to bother with the Tongue?” said Blackeye. “I just want to get out. We should do it now while there's no one around.”

  “I agree,” said Snowbone. “I think the Tongue will be farther down, but we need to go up to get out.”

  They started walking. As they climbed, they heard sounds coming from the tunnels. The tink—tink—tink of pickaxes; the scraping of shovels; the rumble of trucks; the muted voices of miners.

  “It's so hot in here,” said Manu. His shirt was sticking to his back. “I can't believe this volcano is inactive. Skua's wrong.”

  “Skua's a liar,” said Snowbone grimly. “I swear, when I see him again I'll—”

  “Shhh!” hissed Blackeye. “They'll hear us.”

  Too late. The Finoans had heard them already. How could they not, when Snowbone's boots were scuffing the tunnel floor and Manu's breath was coming in gasps?

  They heard, they watched, they waited. Then they pounced.

  Granite-gray fingers grab-grab-grabbing! Poking, pulling, pushing, stabbing! The three friends were hauled into the air and carried like coffins, though with rather less dignity. They were bumped and bashed against the tunnel wall, bounced off the ceiling, squeezed and prodded until the tiddlins were chipped as chairs and Manu had bruises on his bruises.

  As they were borne along, Snowbone suddenly realized: they were going down. Down the Solitary Way to the Cavern at the Core. To the Crusty Cave and the Tongue of Torbijn.

  But then she saw something that made her forget the Tongue in an instant.

  They were passing a cave and it was full of bones. Human bones, carelessly tossed into muddled piles.

  That was why Skua hadn't tried for the Tongue himself. That was why he had sent Ashenpeakers to fetch it.

  The Finoans were cannibals.

  Chapter 48

  t seemed to Snowbone that they were carried into the very belly of the earth. When they were finally set down, the heat was so overwhelming that Manu ripped off his shirt and threw it to the ground.

  “I can hardly breathe!” he said. “It's like an oven in here!”

  But the heat didn't bother Snowbone and Blackeye. They were far more interested in their captors. The Finoans were clearly human, but they were gray. Gray hair. Gray faces. Ragged gray clothing. Thin gray bodies, curiously stringy, like beans that have grown in too little light. Gray eyes: huge, round, owlish, with fat black pupils. And there were so many of them! Snowbone guessed there might be a hundred, but there were more coming out of tunnels: above, below, behind. They were standing in an enormous space, but it was rapidly filling.

  “What do you want with us?” demanded Snowbone.

  “We want nothing from you,” said a gray man, stepping forward. “But he is most welcome.” He nodded in the direction of Manu.

  “You can't have him,” said Snowbone hotly. “No way.”

  “What do you mean?” said Manu. “Snowbone? What do you mean?”

  Snowbone said nothing. Manu stared at her. Despite the heat, he could feel a cold finger of fear caressing his spine. He turned to the gray man. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Nothing—until we have the blessing of the king.” The gray man turned to a boy by his side. “Fetch him!”

  Instantly, the boy disappeared into the crowd, and the tiddlins didn't have to wait long before they heard the boom— boom—boom of drums reverberating through the volcano. Then there came a horn—a wild, unearthly sound like a terrified horse—and a strange red glow emanated from one of the tunnels. And then the royal procession entered the cavern, and the gray people fell as one to their knees.

  First came the torchbearers, and the walls were a battleground of shadows, brutal and bloody in the unnatural red light of the flames. Next came the drummers, beating strange pyramidal drums, like upended volcanoes. Then came the horn player—a woman, with a terrifying headdress that looked like a mass of worms dangling down over her face. And then— tiiish!—to the clash of an unseen cymbal, four bare-chested men strode regally into the cavern. On their shoulders they carried a magnificent silver shield and sitting on top of it was the king.

  Snowbone gasped. He was tiny. Tiny! No bigger than a five-year-old human. But surely he was older than that? The shield-bearers carefully lowered the shield and placed it upon a stone dais. Up close, Snowbone saw the king was ten, maybe eleven years old. And he wasn't gray: he was black. As black as Manu.

  His skin had been oiled; it shone opulently in the torchlight. And because the king was wearing nothing but a crown, a chain and a loincloth, Snowbone could clearly see his body. It was strangely shortened, with very little neck, stubby arms, and his legs
… ? They were squashed under him somehow. Instead of feet, he seemed to have flippers. Snowbone couldn't help thinking he looked like a tree stump. His legs were like roots, anchoring him upright.

  Snowbone was captivated. Her eyes wandered over his face, his body, his crown. She wanted to memorize every last detail. And then … she couldn't be sure whether it was just a trick of the torchlight, but the slender golden chain around the king's neck seemed to be shining more brightly than it had been before. Soon it was glowing. Shimmering in the dark with an incredible intensity.

  “Manu!” said Blackeye. “Manu!”

  Snowbone turned. Blackeye was goggle-eyed. Breathless with excitement.

  “Manu!” he said again. “Look at your necklace!”

  It was shining as brightly as the king's.

  Chapter 49

  “here did you get that chain?” said Manu.

  Oooof! No so oner had the words left his lips than he was thumped in the back by one of the shield-bearers.

  “Fall to your knees, boy!” roared the shield-bearer. “And do not dare speak to the king again!”

  “No!” said Manu defiantly. “I will not fall to my knees! I am High Prince Manu of Balaa, firstborn son of Meru, king of Balaa. It is you who should fall to your knees before me.”

  The shield-bearer glared at him.

  “Do you not understand?” said Manu menacingly. “You will fall to your knees.”

  The shield-bearer looked to his comrades for support, but found they had already obeyed. He grunted and, with a scowl, sank to his knees before Manu.

  Snowbone's jaw was dangling. Was Manu really a prince? She'd always thought it was just a story, but now …

  Manu approached the dais. He bowed elegantly and then sank to one knee—not out of deference, but out of choice. He wanted to meet the eyes of this king. “Where did you get that chain?” he said again. “Only a high prince of Balaa is entitled to wear one.”

  The king smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “In truth, my friend,” he said, “I do not know. Mine is a strange story and not one to be told here. Come! Bring your friends. We shall retire to my private quarters.”

  And with that, the king clapped his hands and the shield-bearers bore him away, with Manu and the tiddlins following behind.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” said the king when they reached the royal bedchamber. He indicated a sea of cushions on the carpeted cave floor. “Forgive me if I don't join you.” He settled himself on a low couch.

  Snowbone looked around the king's cave. It was elaborately furnished, with tapestries hanging on the walls and torches burning in golden sconces. Attendants were offering drinks in silver goblets. A manservant was dressing the king in a magnificent silk coat. And, judging by Manu, the temperature in here was infinitely more acceptable.

  “To begin,” said the king, “my name is Filizar. At least, that is the name the Finoans have given me. They found me on the beach when I was a very young baby. I was in a wooden chest, with no letter of explanation, no belongings—nothing! Just this golden chain round my neck. And I have no idea how it got there. It has no clasp.”

  “This is bizarre!” said Snowbone to Filizar. “It almost makes sense. You and Manu could be brothers. Except Manu has only one brother, and he's much younger. He's six. But you look about ten. I don't see where you fit in.”

  “I do,” said Manu. He took a deep breath and sighed it away. “I thought I'd forgotten but it's still there.” He shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he was remembering.

  “One day,” he said, “when I was very young—about three years old—my stepmother told me I was going to have a baby brother or sister to play with. I remember I was very excited. My stepmother was definitely carrying a child. Her belly grew big, though at the time I didn't understand why. And then, one morning, she retired to her room and there were cries. The servants ran backwards and forwards all day, with bowls of water and towels. And then there was a scream and it all went quiet.”

  Manu fell silent, gathering his thoughts. “A week or so later, I asked my father when I would be getting the baby brother or sister. He began to cry and said it had gone away.”

  “Are you saying that my parents got rid of me?” said Filizar. “My own parents? No! I don't believe it. No one could be so cruel.”

  “Your mother could,” said Snowbone. “She did the same to Manu.”

  “But why?” said Filizar. “I was their son. A prince! Why would they do that?”

  “Because kings walk tall,” said Manu simply. “That's the family motto: ‘Kings walk tall while others crawl.’ On Balaa, we pride ourselves on our physicality. So the king and the royal family must be like gods. They must be perfect. Tall, healthy, physically beautiful. If they're not …” Manu's voice trailed away as he looked at his brother.

  “Don't worry,” said Filizar. “I know what you're thinking. But I can assure you, I'm stronger than I look. I'm strong here, in my heart, and here, in my head. I don't need your pity. And also I have been very lucky.”

  He paused and looked around to check that the attendants had gone. Then he leaned forward and said quietly, “Why? Because of all the islands I could have drifted to, I was washed up here. When I arrived, the Finoans were without a ruler. But there was an old prophecy that talked of a king coming from the sea. So when the waves threw me ashore, they welcomed me like a god!”

  He gleefully wiggled his finlike feet. “Just look at me. Flipper Boy! They thought I'd come from the seals. And I have to confess, I've considered it myself in the past. But now I know the truth, I'm not going to tell them. And please, don't you tell them either. Let them think I'm the King from the Sea. I want to stay. I like it here. I live like … well, a king!” And he collapsed into a heap of giggles.

  Snowbone smiled. She couldn't help it. Filizar's good humor was infectious.

  “Do you know the full prophecy?” asked Blackeye.

  Filizar nodded. “It's this:

  'When winter waves throw the king from the sea

  The queen still dreams of ascendancy

  And the king upon the gilded throne

  Laments what never shall be known

  When the sea turns red and the rivers rise

  And the storm bird o'er the summit flies

  The King of the Sea shall leave this land

  And carry death within his hand.'”

  “It's spooky,” said Snowbone.

  “It's hokum!” said Filizar. “It makes no sense. But it has served me well. Which reminds me—I haven't eaten today.” He reached for a small bell and rang it. When an attendant appeared, Filizar ordered food for his guests. Then he leaned back indulgently on the couch and smiled again. “Now,” he said, “let me guess why you're here. In four words: the Tongue of Torbijn.”

  The tiddlins exchanged wary glances.

  “It's all right,” said Filizar reassuringly. “I'm not going to burn you! The Tongue is sacred to the Finoans, but”—he lowered his voice again—“it means nothing to me.”

  “So it's real? It's here?” said Snowbone.

  “Oh, yes,” said Filizar. “And you're not the first to come looking for it. I daresay you won't be the last! It's in another cave, on the far side of the Core. You can see it after we've eaten. But now, Manu, my half-brother! Tell me about our homeland.”

  And so Manu began to talk, but Snowbone didn't listen. All she could think about was the Tongue of Torbijn, lying no more than a wish away.

  Chapter 50

  n hour passed. Manu talked. Filizar listened. Snowbone and Blackeye ate everything that was placed before them. Then Filizar summoned a guide and the friends headed for the Crusty Cave.

  “Is it always this hot?” Manu asked the guide as they reached the Core.

  “No, it's usually quite cool,” said the guide. “This heat has been building for a week now.”

  Manu wiped the sweat from his forehead and trudged on.

  “Manu,” said Snowbone, “I've been thinkin
g. Balaa must be close. A baby couldn't survive in a chest for more than a day or two.”

  “You're right,” said Manu. “My knowledge of geography is patchy, I must confess. As a prince, I was taught diplomacy and dancing and very little else! But I seem to recall a map and, yes, Balaa is fairly close.”

  “Why don't you go back?” said Snowbone. “Tell your father what happened?”

  “I think my father will be dead,” said Manu. “He was an old man. My disappearance will have hit him hard.”

  “Then you should be king!” cried Snowbone. “You should get rid of the queen and her son.”

  “One day perhaps,” said Manu. “But not yet. I'm still young. I want to see something of the world. I don't want to sit on a throne all day, sorting out petty squabbles and marrying a princess I barely know. I want adventure! I want to go with you to Farrago.”

  “But if you were king, you could raise an army,” said Snow-bone. “We could sail to the Nova Land and really fight slavery. We could change the world.”

  “No,” said Manu. “I will happily risk my neck, but a king is responsible for the safety of his people. I wouldn't lead them into a war that had nothing to do with them.”

  “It has everything to do with them!” cried Snowbone. “It's their world too.”

  “They wouldn't see it like that,” said Manu. “I will go with you, Snowbone, but as a friend, not a king.”

  “We're here!” whispered Blackeye.

  They were in a small cave, dimly lit with candles, and it was indeed crusty. All the tunnels and caves inside the volcano were rough, but here the walls seemed coated in an extra layer of dust, like powder on the face of an old, old woman. Two guards were standing by the far wall. In the wall was a niche. In the niche was a shelf. And on the shelf was the Tongue of Torbijn.

  The tiddlins crept forward. They didn't know why they were creeping. There was just something about the place that made them do it: a magical, holy aura that pervaded the room, hanging in the air like breath in winter. The silence … the flickering candles … the heady scent of incense … the stillness of the guards … It was truly awesome.