‘What?’
‘I’m not saying she doesn’t love you. I know she does from the way she talks about you. But she just sort of expects you to take it for granted—and she gets on with other things.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Well, she’s just not a mother type person, as far as I can see. She’s just never been terribly interested in doing mother-type things—like playing or cooking or helping with homework. And she’s got to earn a living you know. But you take it all as a personal insult!’
‘There’s nothing much more personal than a mother and her son!’
Ariel considered. She stroked Mr Jones’ cheek. ‘See, you’ve got to think of Madeline as a person as well as your mother. She really does care about you, but she cares about heaps of other things, too. She always has to be out in the world discovering some injustice or other.’
‘Yes, like Zimbabwe and her report on the war and the children dying of starvation in India. She cares about everyone else’s children but her own.’
‘As well as, I’d say. But see, your mother thinks that by third world standards you should be as happy as a king. Maybe she needs to know a few plain facts about sons and what they need. Tell her you’re living in a substandard emotional zone.’
‘Hmm,’ said Zed again. ‘Maybe.’ He fidgeted with the fringe on the bedspread. ‘So you don’t think she just gets kind of sick of me?’
‘No, I don’t. For all the aforesaid reasons. So, seriously now, you really think my teeth are okay?’
‘Fabulous,’ said Zed, and grinned.
But later, when Ariel had gone and he’d put the light out, he began to replay the day in his mind. It was incredible that he could have believed Goodshot’s story. But the man was so cunning, so sly. He’d do anything to get what he wanted.
Suddenly Zed felt cold all over. He remembered Goodshot’s questions, how he’d been so insistent, and then how he’d so suddenly departed. With a sinking heart, Zed saw his notebook lying on the table. He remembered how he’d raced off to the toilet, not thinking, leaving it there. By now, Goodshot must know everything about the cave. He’d got what he wanted. And it was Zed’s fault.
Zed sat bolt upright in bed. If Goodshot got his hands on the Elixir, the Island’s secret would be destroyed. The Island would be destroyed. He tried to picture Electra’s face. Miss Heckle. McGull. Ariel. For thousands of years, as long as there had been stories, this island had been here—a kind of haven, an imaginative paradise. And now just because he had been trusted with a secret, it was going to end.
So what are you going to do about it? NZ silently asked. Zed saw him clearly in his mind’s eye, daring him, with Zed’s own smile.
Zed leapt out of bed and pulled on his jeans.
‘I’m going to stop that Goodshot,’ he swore softly, ‘even if I have to push him off one of those damn cliffs myself.’
As he stole out of the house, torch in his hand, a picture of a great slinking cat came into his mind. The tiger. How was he going to deal with the tiger? He stood at the gate, frozen, until another image came. It was dark and scaled and malformed, and it blotted out his other thoughts like a shadow. Goodshot’s shadow. Zed shivered as he walked out into the balmy night air.
17. DREAMS AND SHADOWS
ZED HAD NEVER RIDDEN his bike at night, and he was glad of its strong beam lighting the path. Around him the darkness was deep, a wild kind of darkness untamed by distant lights. It held grunts and smells and rustlings in its folds, but Zed fixed his eyes on the path that led on and on into the black shapes of the hills.
He took the inland road, avoiding the rocky ground of the rainforest. He was pedalling hard, in rhythm with his breath. Although it was one o’clock in the morning, his mind was electric with watchfulness. The dark was like an animal he had to keep at bay.
Fireflies pricked holes in the black. Around them it was blacker still. It was astonishing, he thought, how a landscape that he’d got to know so well could become a foreign country in the dark. His eyes darted off the path, staring into the dark. If he looked long enough he saw shapes changing, trees growing heads, bushes hunched like tigers. The whole Island was waiting, holding its breath. And he was the only thing moving across its stillness, like a spider running across a painting.
He sped on up into the plantations and down to the canefields, and the moon rose, a great white fist, casting shadows into the night.
Now he was nearing the town and the houses loomed white in the moonlight. He cycled through the archway into the silent streets. He passed the School and saw a light shining in Electra’s window.
‘Hello down there!’ she called. Her voice was shockingly loud in the quiet.
Zed stopped and looked up.
‘Fabulous night for a ride,’ she said, leaning out of the window. ‘Can’t you sleep either?’
‘No,’ Zed tried to smile back at her. ‘I was, er, actually going to visit Daniel Goodshot. Have you seen him?’
‘What, has he got a business deal for you, too?’ she grinned. ‘He lives in Number Ten, but I saw him go out a while ago. Seems everyone’s up and about tonight. It must be the full moon.’
‘Did you see which way he was headed?’
‘Well, when I talked to him earlier he said something about wanting to see McGull. But the Captain’s away, I think, gone to fetch some character or other most likely. Poor old McGull, he finds these trips so tiresome. Do you want to come up and see the latest rushes from my film?’
Zed said some other time and, when Electra had finished telling him to be careful out there at night, he hopped back on his bike and headed west toward McGull’s house, and the beach.
His heart was pumping hard now. With every minute he grew more afraid. It was difficult to keep his eyes on the path—a twig snapping, a bird call made him peer sharply into the bushes, his heart knocking between his ribs.
Goodshot knows McGull is away, Zed thought. He’s going to break in and steal his persimmons. And then there’ll be no way of stopping him. But you’ve got to try, NZ whispered in his mind. So what do you think I’m doing? Zed whispered angrily back.
Now he was chugging up the hill and as he crested it he saw McGull’s house, dim and shadowy in the moonlight. But when he drew nearer he saw, in a small window at the side, a light burning. A dark shape passed in front of the light and as it rose up he saw the massive head of the tiger.
‘Goodbye world,’ Zed whispered into the darkness. He pushed his bike alongside him and crept toward the house.
The boards creaked on the verandah. He stopped. He held his breath. Silently, he opened the door.
The room was drenched in darkness. To the right, under the closed door, lay a line of light. With a sixth sense, Zed felt something stir in the air. A sound, infinitesimal, broke through layers of darkness. The skin along Zed’s spine crawled. And then, in a rush of heat and roaring as if the walls were about to break apart, something huge and heavy jumped on his chest.
With the weight of two men it knocked him to the ground and Zed smelled the rank odour of animal. Its throat was pushing into his face, stuffing his mouth with fur. He couldn’t breathe. He fought for air, his blood pounding, screaming in his head.
‘Heel, boy,’ a voice boomed above.
The lights snapped on and the tiger slowly stood up. Zed looked up to see the silky fur of its belly. Then the tiger stepped over him and sank back on its haunches at Zed’s feet. But it never took its eyes from Zed’s face.
‘Strange time to come visiting,’ said Goodshot in a voice of grinding steel.
‘I could say the same to you,’ panted Zed. His throat still felt raw. Dazed, he got to his feet.
‘Have you changed your mind? Come to be my assistant in crime?’ Goodshot smiled but his eyes slithered over Zed, dark and cruel.
Zed wiped his face. He could smell the tiger’s saliva, and he had a scratch on his forehead. ‘I know what you’re up to,’ said Zed. His voice squeaked over the banging of his heart.
/> ‘Ten marks for Intelligence,’ sneered Goodshot. ‘But you’re too late, boy. I’ve found what I wanted,’ and he opened his hand to show two perfect orange fruit. The persimmons.
Zed’s feet moved before his mind could stop him. He rushed at Goodshot, grabbing at his hand and twisting it behind his back. The persimmons dropped to the floor as the tiger sprang up with a growl.
In that split second, over Goodshot’s shoulder, Zed saw something move. There, on the ground, a shadow was forming.
Goodshot’s shadow. A nucleus of light gleamed at its centre and around it the darkness gathered.
‘Look, boy, look into the shadow,’ whispered Goodshot, ‘and feel my magic.’ His voice was mesmerising in Zed’s ear.
Zed felt the will drain out of him. He lost the sensation of having arms and legs and feet and became two eyes, staring. As he looked into the shadow, the centre of light became bloodshot red, and the shadow stretched into the long body of a snake. It reared up and spat, its head bulbous and searching. Zed screamed in horror and the shadow shivered again, breaking apart and reforming its flesh.
And as Zed looked, he recognised an old dream.
He opened his mouth to shout, but just like his dream, his vocal cords froze. No sound came out. The shadow clotted, and in its centre the eye turned black. A face was forming around it, a woman’s face. It was frowning and its mouth was twisted in contempt. Zed fell back and tried to close his eyes. But his lids wouldn’t move. They were like thin sheets of plastic, hardened, and they were stuck open.
‘Look,’ breathed Goodshot at his side.
And now the shadow pulsed and the woman’s face lost its form. In its place another face was forming. It was familiar and loved, bald on top with light ginger curls wisping at the sides. It was smiling at him. Zed took a step toward it. The pain in his heart was unbearable. But as he stretched out his hand his father’s face changed and the eyes rolled back in his head. The jaw went slack and the mouth opened. It was full of earth.
The light went off behind Zed’s eyes. He closed them. He had seen before him every nightmare he had ever had, and now the memory was inside him. He would have to drag it around with him forever.
Dimly he felt someone haul him off the ground where he must have fallen, and then he felt the soft night breeze on his face. He was being bumped along, his head lolling loosely over Goodshot’s shoulder. He didn’t care. Every sensation was numbed as if his body lived at a great distance.
Then the air changed and he could smell a salty sea smell. And now he could hear the gentle lap of the waves breaking on the shore. They were at Opal Beach, heading toward the rocks. As he was carried along he thought of the times he’d had here—the first picnic, the horses, the swim with Ariel. He felt nothing as the images glided by in his brain.
Suddenly he was flung down on something hard. He was sitting up with his back leaning against a rough, solid surface. The waves were loud now, and very near. Regularly, like a breath coming, a fine spray of water tickled his toes.
‘Okay, we’re going to tie you up to this rock here, and let nature take its course. I’ve got a weak stomach for bloodshed.’ Goodshot’s voice chiselled in his ear. Zed felt the rope going round his chest, over his arms and in between his legs. When the knots were tied the rope was tight, eating into his flesh. Panic flickered in Zed’s mind, then went out.
‘So long, Zed boy,’ Goodshot called. ‘I’ll leave Tiger here to watch over you, ha ha! By dawn the tide will probably be up to your interfering mug, and then it’ll really be lights out, am I right?’ He hesitated a moment. ‘It’s a pity, but I gave you your chance. And you blew it.’
Zed heard his footsteps crunching over the rocks, and then he was alone with the darkness.
19. THE NEW ZED
ZED TASTED SALT on his lip, and opened his eyes. The dawn light gleaming on the horizon made him squint. He looked down. His body was covered by water, the waves lapping around his chest.
He wriggled under his ropes. He pushed his chest forward and tried to shake his arms, but the rope held as tight as steel.
Zed looked up and down the shore. The tide was rising on the beach and spreading over this southern end where the rocks met the sea. He flexed his back and a hot needle of pain shot up to his head. His legs were numb and his left arm had gone to sleep. He could see his skin under the water all pruned and wrinkly like an old man’s.
From above him there came a low growl. Zed craned his head, straining his neck under the rope to see. On a rock higher up sat the tiger, its great amber eyes fixed on Zed. Its pink tongue shot out and it licked its chops.
Zed looked at the rising water and back at the tiger. Panic started in long slow waves from the pit of his belly. But his mind lay dull inside him. It was as if his body was physically afraid, but his mind was choked and distant, like something that didn’t belong to him.
He couldn’t tell how long he had been lying in this grey world. Images of the shadow clung to his mind. A sense of hopelessness was seeping through his body, carrying tendrils of memory—a face, his mother’s eye, a snake coiling. He tasted salt on his lip again and jerked instinctively against the rope. Soon the water would rise to his mouth, and then his nose, and then the world would go black again, forever.
He felt a terrible sadness at the thought. His eyes filled. ‘So, at least you’ve got the strength to feel something,’ said a voice in his mind. NZ was flickering in and out of focus there in his head. Zed could see him, vague as a cobweb, scraping at the shadow and the dullness. He felt something stir on his face, a muscle twitching into a grin of welcome. He wanted to cheer good old NZ.
He looked out at the water, glittering under the rising sun. He’d swum out there, dived under the waves, somersaulted through the deep with Ariel.
Ariel. How good he’d felt with her last night. She could have been Best Friend material. Maybe more. He remembered how surprised he’d been to hear that even she worried about things—like not getting on with other kids, or her ears being too big. Who would have thought it? Still, there wasn’t much point pondering that now.
He tried to shift his limbs. Nothing moved, he was trapped, helpless as a fish on a hook. He lifted his head but the water had risen right up to his chin. Panic punched at his belly.
Typical. Here he was, totally passive—able to do nothing but panic. He thought of those adventure movies he’d seen, where there was always one man in the group who just couldn’t make it—the one who let the rope slip through his fingers at the last moment, or couldn’t hold on to the ledge any longer. The one who let go. Secretly, he’d always identified with that one. I’m like that, he’d told himself, and shuddered. And now here he was, the one who got tied up. Slow, passive death by drowning.
A flame of anger flared in Zed’s mind. NZ wouldn’t stand for that, he knew. He was like the other men in the films, the survivors. NZ would flex his muscles and burst out of these ropes. He’d leap up, flinging them off like bits of seaweed. Zed saw his smiling mouth, the ginger waves of hair flying back off his face, the grey eyes alive with laughter. His grey eyes. Oh, if he ever got out of this he’d write NZ down properly, in a real story. And then he’d always have him close. He’d write about his thirst for life, firing like a torch through the dullness. He’d write about NZ’s courage, and faith in things getting better, and his ability to love without fear. He’d make him a hero who rescued his friend and got the girl in the end. Because that was what he deserved.
Zed’s eyes were squeezed shut as he pictured NZ. They were shut so tightly that when he opened them red sparks of colour danced before him. Slowly, the red sparks met and joined, becoming solid.
Zed opened his eyes fully to stare into a face very much like his own. Ginger curls, grey eyes, skin that glowed like copper. The boy’s face creased into a grin.
‘The writing magic runs in the family, I see,’ he said.
Zed gasped. ‘But I didn’t write a story!’
‘Your imagination was strong e
nough to create me, and that’s what counts. Pleased to meet you!’
Zed wanted to gaze and gaze at this boy. He wanted to drink in his fiery spirit—but first he wanted to get out of here. He had just swallowed his first mouthful of sea water.
NZ waded through the water and grappled busily with the rope around Zed’s legs. He untied the knots at his chest and arms and Zed felt the hateful things slither off around him. He rubbed at the welts on his arms. They stung like fire.
Zed jumped up in a plume of spray. ‘Look out!’ cried NZ and Zed spun round to see the tiger poised to leap down, its jaws open. But as they watched, their two pairs of eyes holding the tiger in midair, it began to tremble slightly and stop, its outline wavering against the blue of the sky. With every second it faded a little more until its golden coat and startled expression were no more than thoughts hanging in the air.
‘You see what we can do together?’ cried NZ, and he slapped Zed on the back.
They picked their way quickly over the sharp rocks and raced onto the sand. Zed felt like leaping through the air.
‘Ahr..ehah,ehah…ehah,ehaarrrh!’ he yelled.
‘Come on, Tarzan,’ called NZ, ‘let’s go and get that rat Goodshot!’
Zed stopped dead. ‘You mean, go after him?’
‘Sure,’ nodded NZ. ‘You want to stop him, don’t you? What else am I doing here?’
Zed felt the clammy breath of the shadow again. ‘I just kind of like having you around,’ he said, and shivered.
NZ looked at him steadily.
‘Okay,’ Zed said wearily. ‘The cave it is. But he must be already there by now. It’s hours since he left me here.’
‘Yeah,’ said NZ, ‘but he’s on foot, isn’t he? The cave’s on the other side of the Island—it’s a long way when you’re walking. I don’t think he’ll have got there yet. And anyway, he was in no hurry—he thought you were all tied up. So did I—you had me worried there for a while, you know.’
‘But we’re on foot, too,’ Zed said. ‘Oh, unless we get my bike from McGull’s.’ He thought a moment. ‘I’ve got an idea. Let’s head south and this time we’ll come from the back and attack him from the top of the cliff. He won’t be expecting us to come up on the roof of the cave, and I’m sure we can find a point low enough to pounce. We can sort of leap down on top of him and take him by surprise.’
Ariel, Zed and the Secret of Life Page 13