Web of Fire Bind-up

by Steve Voake

  Outside in the blackness, thunder rumbled through the dark clouds and suddenly Odoursin began to shout, his voice driven by a wild and terrible joy that was born out of the years of frustration, pain and struggle.

  ‘Gentlemen, loyal members of the Council, the time has come and the Earth shall be rid of its tormentors. Together we shall create the promised land!’

  As he raised his right fist with the others in fervent support, Hekken received a short message through a tiny speaker concealed in his ear and allowed himself a discreet smile. It seemed that in all the excitement, everyone had forgotten to mention the Dreamwalker’s Child.

  Which was very good news indeed.

  Particularly as he now knew that by the time the Council met again, the Dreamwalker’s Child would be dead.

  Twenty-eight

  The sun was already high in the sky as they left the cool green woods of the lower slopes behind them. Several weeks had passed since Sam’s first flying lesson and now – much as he had enjoyed the training – he was glad to be taking a break from the intensive schedule. As he followed Skipper along the narrow path that snaked up the side of the mountain, he heard the loose stones rattle beneath his boots and tried to ignore the ache that came from muscles he didn’t even know he had.

  Firebrand had given them some time off and Sam guessed this meant that things were coming to a head. It was likely that a strike against Vermian airbases would take place very soon and Firebrand wanted them to get some ‘rest and recreation’ before operations commenced. Sam felt nervous when he thought about the days to come, but he also felt excited knowing that he was about to take part in such a dangerous and important mission.

  Skipper’s idea of r & r was to hike up into the mountains for a day or two. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the mountain was a lot steeper than it had first appeared from the comfort of his balcony and the backs of his legs were protesting.

  To take his mind off the discomfort, Sam let his thoughts wander back over the events of the past few weeks. The hours of intensive training had left Sam feeling as though he had been flying all his life. Everything had come so naturally to him, twisting and turning through the forest trails or climbing effortlessly into the blue sky and watching the thin wisps of cloud fall away. He no longer had to think about where to move the stick or how much throttle was needed to take him over a ridge or across a valley. It was as easy as having an extra body. You just thought about where you wanted to go and then went there.

  It had been a proud moment yesterday, standing there on the parade ground with Mump and all the others. Firebrand had stood on the podium with the sunlight glinting off his medals and had spoken to them of their achievements.

  ‘You have done well,’ he’d said. ‘Every one of you who stands here today is here not only because you have shown mastery of your aircraft but also because you have shown that you have determination, perseverance, endurance and, above all, courage. These qualities will be essential to you in the days that lie ahead, for in the East there is a darkness that casts a shadow across the future. The time draws near when every one of us will have a part to play.

  ‘But perhaps we should not talk of tomorrow when there is so much to celebrate today. For whatever happens in the future, your present achievements can never be undone. Through dedication and tenacity you have climbed your first hill and already from where you stand the world looks different to you. And as you continue to learn and grow, so your perspective will change with you. Never again will you see things as you once did. It is this which sets you apart from others.’

  Firebrand’s speech had been followed by a solemn and respectful silence until Mump had gone forward to receive his pilot’s badge and tripped up the steps to the podium, landing flat on his face at Firebrand’s feet.

  The whole place had erupted and Sam had clapped and cheered madly with all the others as Mump struggled to his feet before turning and giving a cheerful wave to the crowd.

  Then it had been Sam’s turn, and as Firebrand shook his hand and pinned the golden wasp onto his lapel, the tremendous pride he felt was tinged with a sadness that he couldn’t quite understand. It was only now that he realised what it was.

  His mother and father would have been so proud of him. And they would never, ever know.

  A familiar voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Are you all right back there?’

  Sam looked up to find that Skipper had stopped and was waiting for him on a long, flat rock that jutted out from the side of the mountain. He climbed up to join her and realised with some alarm that behind her lay a thousand-metre drop all the way to the valley floor.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Sam replied somewhat nervously. ‘Just don’t step back any further, that’s all.’

  Skipper glanced nonchalantly over her shoulder at the dizzying fall that lay just a metre or so behind her.

  ‘Oh, you know me,’ she said. ‘I’m always very careful.’

  Then she jumped in the air, did a quick backflip and landed perfectly with her heels on the very edge of the precipice.

  ‘Whoops,’ she said, and put a hand up to her mouth in mock concern. ‘That was a bit close.’

  Then she proceeded to stick her arms out and rotate them in small circles as if trying to keep her balance. ‘Woe, whey, whoe…’

  ‘Skipper!’ shouted Sam nervously. ‘Cut it out!’

  Skipper smiled apologetically and cartwheeled back over to him. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t resist it.’

  ‘You’re going to kill yourself one of these days,’ said Sam, realising as he did so that he sounded like a sensible, middle-aged aunt. ‘Mind you,’ he added, ‘I’m a fine one to talk. I mean, I killed myself and just look at me now: I’m a qualified pilot, I can escape from a cockpit in five metres of water and I’m halfway up a mountain with a nutty gymnast who wants to chuck herself off the edge.’

  He paused. ‘So perhaps these things have an upside after all.’

  ‘You didn’t kill yourself, Sam,’ Skipper reminded him gently. ‘You got knocked off your bike, remember? But part of you is still up there, lying in a hospital and waiting for your return. The door’s still open, you know.’

  Sam picked up a stone and threw it over the edge, watching it arc and fall through the still morning air to the valley below.

  ‘Yeah, maybe. But for how long?’

  Skipper shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But then I suppose, when you think about it, nobody really knows anything.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The sun was hot and Skipper wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

  ‘Well, we all like things to be predictable, don’t we? We expect things to be safe and to keep on happening just the way they always have. We expect the sun to rise in the morning. We expect to get up, survive the day and finish up back in bed at the end of it, ready to start all over again the next day. But maybe that’s just a trick we play on ourselves, our way of making life seem ordinary. Because the truth is, life is so extraordinary that for most of the time we can’t bring ourselves to look at it. It’s too bright and it hurts our eyes. The fact of the matter is that nothing is ever certain. But most people never find that out until the ground suddenly disappears from beneath their feet.’

  ‘Like me, you mean?’

  ‘Well, think about it. You expected to go for a ride on your bike, come back home and then everything would be just as it had always been. Didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Of course you did. Which is perfectly natural. After all, if you spent your life worrying about all the strange things that might be lurking around the next bend in the road, you’d never do anything. But like thousands of others, on that day and on every day, the life that you were so sure of came to a sudden end. And then you – like the rest of them – realised for the first time that the solid boundaries of your world could dissolve and disappear in a moment. Yet just seconds before, the world was everything to you and the idea that it
might not continue didn’t even enter your head.’

  Sam listened to Skipper as she spoke and wondered how she had gained so much knowledge about things in her short life. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she was only the same age as him, she seemed so wise. And what she said was true. Like most people, Sam had just assumed that his life would follow a pleasant but fairly predictable path. Swimming with mosquito larvae, being hunted by ants and learning to fly wasps had never been signposted anywhere along the route.

  But it still irritated him that Skipper never seemed able to give him a simple answer.

  ‘What’s your point exactly?’ he said.

  ‘My point,’ Skipper replied patiently, ‘is that if you are meant to find a way back to your other life, then a door will stay open long enough for you to do so.’

  ‘But what if I’m not,’ asked Sam. ‘What then?’

  ‘Then something else will turn up,’ said Skipper. ‘These things have a habit of sorting themselves out in the end. But there’s no point in trying to guess how exactly. The best we can do is just to keep on going.’

  ‘Keep on going?’ said Sam. ‘Where?’

  ‘Forwards,’ said Skipper simply. ‘And in this case, upwards.’

  She took his hand and began to pull him up the mountain path again. ‘One thing I’ve learned,’ she said as the sun burned hot and the sweat stung Sam’s eyes, ‘is to never give up until it’s over.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said Sam, whose legs had already decided it was over about a mile back. ‘Tell me, have you ever heard the expression “It’s not over until the fat lady sings”?’

  ‘No,’ said Skipper. ‘What’s it mean?’

  ‘This,’ he said.

  He stopped, puffed out his cheeks and spread his arms wide like a large diva about to deliver her swansong. Then he took a deep breath and began to sing in a high, loud and extremely wavery voice.

  ‘Isn’t that a song from The Sound of Music?’ asked Skipper. She began to giggle. ‘Julie Andrews isn’t fat!’

  ‘When have you seen Julie Andrews?’ asked Sam.

  ‘When I was chasing a mozzie into a cinema,’ replied Skipper. ‘I ended up staying for the whole film. Good, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ said Sam, ‘it was soppy. Anyway,’ he went on, ‘I’m not Julie Andrews, I’m Mrs Banwick, our music teacher, who is the size of a planet. Now shush.’

  He continued to sing the song in a high, falsetto voice and Skipper quickly picked several of the yellow, daisy-like flowers which were growing in abundance on the mountainside. As Sam finished with a final flourish she flung them at him and clapped madly. ‘Bravo, maestro,’ she cried. ‘Bravo!’

  Sam promptly fell over, announcing in a solemn voice: ‘She died doing what she loved best, performing in front of her adoring fans.’

  As the two of them collapsed in a fit of the giggles, Sam forgot everything except the sun on his face and the joy of the moment. No one could see them and no one could hear them. Perhaps their brief happiness meant nothing, for it would never be known or, in the end, even remembered.

  But there it was. And the sound of their laughter carried on the breeze, over the mountain slopes and across the valley before fading at last into the quiet blue air beyond.

  Twenty-nine

  It was the middle of the day, and the fierce heat of the sun combined with the steepness of the climb had left Sam weak and thirsty. His throat was parched and he ached all over. He was having difficulty even placing his next footstep. All he wanted to do was lie down and rest.

  ‘Last bit, Sam,’ said Skipper.

  She reached a hand down from the ridge above where he stood, panting like a dog on a summer pavement. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and realised that he could see nothing above and beyond her.

  ‘Are we at the top?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I am,’ said Skipper.

  With a final effort, Sam grabbed her hand and scrambled up over the ridge. He stood there blinking, staggered by what he saw.

  Instead of the expanse of dry rock that he had expected, it was as if a giant spoon had scooped out the top of the mountain, leaving in its place a vast fertile basin of exotic plants and flowers the like of which Sam had never seen before. Enormous palms spread their fronds into a feathery canopy through which cool green light filtered into thick, lush vegetation beneath. Bright flowers of orange, purple, red and yellow rose up between a jumble of different-shaped leaves. Sam noticed that some of the leaves were covered in a variety of crimson and blue spots which glowed with an eerie luminescence in the warm shadows. Steam rose from the forest floor and he could feel the heat and humidity sweeping past him, carrying with them the rich, heavy perfume of a thousand flowers in bloom.

  Sudden flashes of colour between the treetops betrayed the fact that the canopy was alive with small birds and for the first time Sam noticed the warble and chatter of their song filling the air.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Skipper. ‘Worth the climb?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ whispered Sam in amazement. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘You haven’t seen the best bit yet,’ said Skipper. ‘Follow me.’

  She led him down past twisting vines and through curtains of waxy leaves the size of elephants’ ears until they came to a clear, fast-moving stream which twisted like a silver thread through the dense undergrowth. They stopped and drank deeply, and as the cool water ran down his dry throat and slaked his thirst, Sam felt his strength gradually returning.

  They continued to follow the course of the stream for a while until at last they stumbled out into a clearing where the stream gathered pace and disappeared with a roar over the edge of a cliff.

  ‘Look,’ said Skipper. ‘Lake Orceia.’

  Sam joined Skipper at the edge and looked down. He saw that the stream had become a waterfall that tumbled fifty metres down a cliff face into a huge pool of crystal-blue water. The pool formed part of a great lake which shone like a diamond in the sunlight, a secret jewel hidden away in the very heart of the mountain. The water was so clear that you could see straight down to the rocks at the bottom. It was very deep, and Sam imagined himself leaving the heat of the day behind and swimming languidly through its cool waters. But, he reasoned, it was a long way down and the jungle was very thick. It would be at least another hour before they got to it.

  Skipper took him by the hand. ‘Ready?’ she said.

  Sam looked at her. ‘Ready for what?’ he asked. Then he saw the look in her eye. He’d seen that same look on previous occasions. It had been there before the breakout from the larvae factory. It has been there before the crash at the airbase and before the backflip. It was not a safe look. Not safe at all.

  Sam gazed down at the pool far below, then back at Skipper, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. ‘You have got to be kidding,’ he said.

  ‘After three,’ said Skipper. ‘One…’

  ‘You’re not kidding, are you? You’re serious.’

  ‘Of course I’m serious. Now come on. Live a little. Two…’

  ‘Skipper, no. No, no, no. I don’t want to live a little. I want to live a lot. Skipper! SKIPPER!’

  ‘Three!’

  Suddenly there was space where the ground used to be and Sam’s legs and arms were flailing in the air. He felt his stomach flip and had a sense of falling rapidly into a fast cool wind that made his eyes water. At the edge of his blurred and filmy vision he just had time to register Skipper jackknife into a perfect dive before the blue pool rushed up to meet him. With a tremendous smack on the soles of his feet, the world erupted into a shocking cacophony of white foam and bubbles. His toes brushed momentarily against the smooth pebbles at the bottom of the pool before he pulled back with his arms and swam up towards the sunlight once more. Breaking through into the air with a gasp, he flicked his head so that droplets flew from his hair and skittered like tiny crystals across the surface of the pool.

  Skipper was busy treading water a few feet away.


  ‘Now be honest,’ she said with a grin as Sam fought to get his breath back, ‘you can’t tell me that wasn’t exhilarating!’

  Sam stared at Skipper for a few seconds and then he began to growl like an angry dog. The sound was quiet at first, soft and low in the back of his throat, but gradually it became louder and louder.

  ‘Now, Sam,’ said Skipper, ‘don’t get mad. It wasn’t as bad as all that. Was it?’

  But Sam had his head down now and was swimming towards her as fast as he could. Realising that he was set on revenge, she let out a little scream and struck out for the shore with Sam grabbing at her heels all the way. ‘Help!’ she shrieked in mock alarm, running up the beach with Sam in hot pursuit. ‘I’m being attacked by the fat lady from The Sound of Music!’

  At which point the fat lady caught up with her, picked her up and dumped her unceremoniously back into the water with a satisfying splash.

  The rest of the day was spent sunbathing, swimming and diving into the pool. Skipper taught Sam how to do a backwards somersault off a rock into the water and together they managed to tie a long vine to the branch of a tall tree which grew out from the side of the mountain.

  They took turns grabbing hold of the vine and swinging out over the pool, letting go at the last second and flying off at great speed into the water. A couple of times Sam got the angle just right so that he landed on his bottom and went skimming across the surface like a stone.

  They were still playing as the sun went down behind the mountain.

  ‘Do you think we ought to stop and get something to eat?’ asked Skipper as they dripped their way back up the steep path which led to the swing.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Sam. ‘You can have too much of a good thing. Just fifty more goes and we’ll call it a day.’