Red Rowan: Book 2: All Gone, the Gods

by Helen Gosney

  ‘These’ were several good-sized woven baskets with well-fitting lids. Moss laughed and took one from him.

  “See, I lift the lid thus... and... there thee are,” A soft glow filled the waystation.

  “These are glowbaskets, made from the mosses that grow on the walls of the cavern. Each will last for a couple of hours; when they start to fade, I just have to close the lid again...” the glow vanished “... and in an hour or two, they are as good as new.”

  “What a clever idea,” said Rose, looking at the glowbaskets carefully. She’d never heard of such a thing, but could see how useful the baskets would be to them. She too silently thanked the trolls for their kindness.

  “And Shale has promised to keep an eye on our horses too. He said they’d be returning their own beasts to this valley today or tomorrow,” Rowan looked at the others soberly, “So we might as well go after breakfast... But remember what I’ve said before... there’s no shame in being sensible and staying here.”

  “Be quiet, Rowan,” Rose said firmly, “Or we’ll start to think you don’t want us to come with you...”

  “No... don’t ever think that... you’d be very mistaken...” he said quietly, his voice still a bit rough from his previous night’s efforts.

  **********

  They descended into the manhole in the early morning. Everyone was excited and tense about what was before them, but nobody wanted to be left behind now. Rowan went first and lit all the torches along the tunnel and at the base of the great octagonal shaft. He knew that Rose was still nervous, even though she was determined to come with them and he hoped that it might help to ease her fears a little. He also took one of their packs and left it in the second chamber. Moss wouldn’t be able to carry anything through the tunnel; there’d be little enough room to spare for his big body as it was, but like Rose, the troll was definite about coming with them on this next stage of their journey.

  Eventually they all entered the bigger chamber: Rowan first, then Rose and Cris, followed by a troll who was wishing for the first time in his life that he was just a little bit smaller. Rose gasped as she looked around her. The huge chamber and the stairway leading upwards looked oddly welcoming in the warm torchlight, and in spite of her earlier doubts she felt herself relax a little. Yes, she could manage to do this, she thought.

  “It looks different with it all lit up like this,” Cris commented, then as Moss came through the tunnel behind him, “And you look like a troll in need of some of Rowan’s famous exercises!”

  “Thou might be right, at that!” Moss said with a grimace, as he wriggled his shoulders and bent and stretched himself to unkink his great muscles. It hadn’t been quite as tight as he’d feared it might be, but nevertheless he was glad to be through the - to him – very cramped tunnel. They redistributed their loads and headed for the staircase.

  “Wait a moment...” Rowan said as he thought it through, “I suppose we can leave the torches burning; they’re nearly done now, anyway, and we won’t really need to light them all when we come back... but I wonder if we should leave a glowbasket here at the bottom, so we’ll know when we’re nearly down again. It can replenish itself in the darkness.”

  “A good idea,” Cris said, “And then I suppose we’d better go. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll get to the top of the wretched things...”

  There was no arguing with such wisdom. The staircase was broad enough for two or three people to walk abreast, but they went up it in single file, Rowan in the lead and Moss at the rear. After a short time they were grateful for the strong carved balustrade on the inner side; even though they couldn’t really see the central void, the sense of its presence became stronger as they climbed higher.

  “Bless Shale for these glowbaskets,” Rose said on one of their frequent stops to rest and refresh themselves, “It’s amazing how much light they give out.” They’d decided to leave an exhausted glowbasket at intervals along the stairs so it could replenish itself and help to guide them back down again.

  “And bless him... or more likely Marna, I suppose... for these hats and mittens. It’s damned cold in here,” said Cris.

  It really was very cold in the great shaft and as they climbed higher their breath began to form misty clouds in front of their faces. The ring of torches had extinguished itself long before, and they could no longer see the solitary glowbasket at the bottom; if any of the exhausted glowbaskets in between had replenished themselves, they couldn’t really see them either, apart from a couple of dim glimmers far below them. They’d lost count of the number of steps, and they were beginning to feel as if they’d been climbing into the inky blackness forever. Rowan had got quite a bit ahead of the others when he suddenly stumbled and fell, dropping his glowbasket. He swore imaginatively and fluently as he found himself on his knees in sudden darkness.

  There was an immediate chorus of worried voices.

  “Rowan...!”

  “What’s happened...?”

  “Art thou all right up there...?”

  “Aye, I’m all right!” he said, then laughed suddenly, “Sorry, Rose! Wouldn’t old Gran wash my mouth out! But my feet were expecting these cursed stairs to go on forever...”

  “I think I’m at the top... thank the Gods...” he said, scrabbling about and reassembling his mossy light.

  “...And my poor legs...!” he added fervently. He thought privately that the Gods had had little to do with it.

  The others trailed up the steps and joined him. The stone balustrading that had helped them to pull themselves up the stairs and given them some feeling of security now bordered a wide gallery that ran right around the shaft. In one wall was a tall narrow window, and above their heads was a smooth dome. They dropped their packs with grateful groans and sighs, and went to the window, where Rowan was standing looking out.

  In the pale golden light of the late afternoon sun there were icy mountain peaks as far as they could see.

  “Look down there...” said Rowan.

  Far below them, through a gap in fleecy cloud, they could see the valley they’d left that morning. It looked very distant and very peaceful. Zig-zagging up the mountainside towards them was a stairway, a great stairway that seemed to be carved from the living rock, and it ended some eight or ten manheights below the window. Between the two was a sheer wall of smooth rock.

  “I don’t understand...” Rose said, tiredly shaking her head. All she wanted to do was rest and never see another set of stairs in her life.

  “Nor do I... but maybe if we have a good long rest now, we’ll be able to think more clearly,” Rowan said.

  “A good idea. Some more food will make us feel better,” said Moss as he rummaged hopefully in a bag, “Hast one of thee got the geese?”

  They sat on the floor, leaning on their packs, eating roast goose and the remaining pieces of Trollish pastie. Nobody was sorry to see the end of the great staircase.

  “Gods! I thought those bloody stairs would never end!” Cris sighed, rubbing his aching thighs.

  “Now that they have... I wonder...” Rowan said thoughtfully.

  “What dost thee wonder?”

  “Well... I just wonder why anyone would go to all the trouble of making a great huge stairway like that one out there,” he gestured at the window, “... and have it go nowhere...? Blank walls at top and bottom like that...”

  “It makes no sense,” Cris agreed. He was too worn out to really think about it, but yes, it did seem… odd.

  “Who knows? Maybe the Gods have a funny sense of humour,” Rose said wearily, “Oh, do sit down, Rowan! You’re like a bee in a bloody bottle!”

  “Aye, in a minute...” he stood and began to wander around the walls of the octagonal gallery. It was still quite dark in this upper chamber, for the window was too narrow to admit much of the failing light, and they’d closed all but one glowbasket.

  “Cris, could you bring me a light, please?” Rowan called softly from the other side of the gallery, “I haven’t found
any ‘great portals’ yet, but this wall feels… I don’t know, different...”

  With a stifled curse and a groan Cris got to his feet and went to where Rowan was running his fingers lightly over the wall. He took the lid off the basket and blinked at the sudden brightness. On the wall under Rowan’s hands was carved an ornate octagon within a simple circle.

  Cris fished in his pocket and brought out the talismans that Hess and Tadeus had given him so many weeks ago. He looked up at Rowan, his eyes wide.

  “But this is a wall, not a damned doorway...” Cris said, his tiredness suddenly getting the better of him.

  “Maybe I could just try and...” Rowan gave the wall a hard shove and fell forwards into blackness as part of it pivoted smoothly around its central axis.

  **********

  34. “… you all think you are indestructible!”

  Cris gaped at the wall - or door - as it settled back into place. For a few moments his mind refused to function, then common sense reasserted itself and he called to Moss to come and help him.

  “You two are pests... do you need me as well?” Rose answered tiredly, without looking up.

  “Umm... no... no, just Moss for the moment...” Cris said, realising that the others hadn’t yet noticed Rowan’s sudden disappearance, and thinking that he might save Rose some unnecessary worry. For all he knew Rowan might be standing just inside the door swearing, unable to open it from the other side.

  Moss groaned, but got to his feet and came around the gallery. His eyes widened when he saw that Rowan wasn’t there. He looked around in disbelief.

  “...so if you can just hold the door open, Moss; then I can see what’s happened...” Cris said quietly.

  Moss nodded and pushed carefully at the door, surprised at how very easily it opened.

  It was completely dark inside, of course. Cris raised his glowbasket, not sure what to expect. The doorway opened directly onto a cracked semicircular landing just large enough to allow the door to pivot. Below this was a steep flight of perhaps a couple of dozen stone steps running downwards in a high narrow tunnel; there was a sharp turn to the right at the bottom almost beyond the reach of the glowbasket’s light. From somewhere below there came the sound of soft virulent blasphemy.

  “Rowan…?” Cris said anxiously.

  “I’m all right, I think … I’m not sure yet,” Rowan sounded shaken and uncertain. “I can’t see a damned thing down here… and be careful of those bloody steps, Cris, they’re very steep and some are broken I think. If they weren’t before, they probably are now.”

  Worried about his friend, Cris tried to hurry but the steps really were rough and dangerously steep and the darkness seemed to swallow the glow of the light he carried. He was wishing he’d got a torch as he came to the corner. Here the steps were even more cracked and broken, with bright crimson splashes here and there on them and the rocky wall at the end. Cris tried to see further: there looked to be at least another couple of dozen steps yet. At the very edge of the glowbasket’s light he thought he could see Rowan struggling to get to his feet.

  “Gods, Rowan... are you all right?”

  “Aye, I think so, sort of... a bit bruised mainly, I think... and…” suddenly he gasped in pain then swore again.

  Even under the very worrying circumstances, Cris found himself admiring Rowan’s impressive grasp of blasphemy in several languages. He set off down the rest of the steps, stumbling a couple of times on the way. For a few horrible moments he thought he was going to join Rowan at the bottom rather more quickly than he’d intended, but finally he was down safely. Rowan was leaning against the wall of a rough tunnel that led away into darkness, awkwardly cradling his left elbow in his other hand. He looked like he could barely stand and blood was running freely down his face.

  “Rowan... your head... your head’s bleeding,” Cris said, trying to see how badly his friend might be hurt.

  Rowan brushed his hand against the side of his face and seemed surprised to see the blood glistening on his fingers.

  “’Tis all right, I think... I must have knocked it on something when I hit that damned corner up there... but I think I’ve put my bloody shoulder out.”

  “Rowan, art thou hurt...? Dost thou need my help down there...?” Moss’s voice echoing down the stairs sounded worried.

  “No, Moss... I think we can manage, and we don’t want that damned door to close on us,” Cris replied, “Come on Rowan, lean on me.”

  Getting back up the steps was difficult as they were so steep and broken and barely wide enough for the two of them side by side. Rowan was limping heavily and trying to protect his injured shoulder and it wasn’t easy for Cris to both support his friend and hold the glowbasket so that it showed enough light for them to see where they were going.

  Finally they came awkwardly through the doorway, just as Rose came around the gallery to see what Moss was doing.

  “Rowan! What have you done?” she gasped, hurrying to his side.

  “I’m all right, Rose... truly, I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to make light of his fall, “I’ve just fallen down these cursed steps like old Granny McPhee did that time at home.”

  “You certainly don’t look fine!” she said, looking at his pale bloodied face in horror, “And poor old Granny McPhee did herself no good at all either.”

  Rowan cursed himself under his breath but he was glad to sit down as they took stock of the damage. All jokes about poor old Granny McPhee aside, he really had taken a bad fall. His left shoulder was obviously dislocated, the running horses tattooed there oddly distorted, and his left knee was bruised and tender and already beginning to swell. There were a lot of scrapes and bruises on his body and his face was deeply grazed and bruised. As well as that, the scar on his forehead had split open and there was a deep cut above his eye; both were bleeding freely and would need to be stitched. He didn’t want to know about the big bump on the back of his head. And all that from a damned fall, he thought bitterly. How idiotic to survive Messton and bloody Rollo and near as dammit kill yourself on a set of Gods rotted stairs that you didn’t even see.

  “I can help thee with thy shoulder, I think,” said Moss, gently probing it with his big fingers.

  “You just need to pull it straight and sort of twist it at the same…” Rowan began, then gasped in pain as the troll did just that and his shoulder slid back into its rightful place with an audible click.

  “Well, I think you might have been luckier than you deserved,” Rose said, her relief making her tone sharp, “Now... will someone please tell me what happened?”

  “Well... I... I just…” Rowan began, not entirely sure himself exactly what had happened. One moment he was pushing at the image on the wall...door? Probably a bit too hard, now he thought about it. And the next he was sprawled at the bottom of the steps in complete darkness, hardly knowing what to do with himself.

  In between, he thought he’d simply overbalanced, tripped on the cracked top step and well, fallen. He’d instinctively ducked his head and rolled, and he thought he’d have been all right if it hadn’t been for that cursed corner. He’d hit it hard, got to his feet, and disoriented with the darkness and the knock to his head had fallen down the second lot of steps too. What a useless, clumsy bloody idiot, he thought. This time he’d landed harder. In the absolute darkness, stunned and confused, he’d been almost too afraid to move in case he fell again and really did himself some damage. He’d felt around gingerly until he found the wall and was sitting there trying to gather his scattered wits and think what the hell he was going to do when he’d heard Cris calling to him. He’d seldom been so pleased to hear anyone.

  “Rose, it wasn’t his fault...” Cris said hastily. He’d damn nearly fallen himself and he’d had a light to see what was there.

  “The door is remarkably easy to move... he just pushed it too firmly... and... and overbalanced,” Moss added.

  Rose looked at them all in turn, shaking her head in wonder.

  “Men
... and trolls... you all think you are indestructible!” she muttered to herself. Rowan grimaced as she rubbed liniment into his shoulder a little more firmly than he felt was really necessary.

  “Well, now I know that I’m not,” he said ruefully, “And I know how poor Bimm Olafsen must have felt, too, that time in Gnash.”

  Next morning Rowan’s bruises were spectacular against his fair skin, but he was adamant that he’d be able to continue that day.

  “See... I can move my arm... well, near enough...and I can walk... like so... ” he said, carefully doing so, “...well, more or less...” he added, for his knee was still swollen and painful and he couldn’t hide his limp. He thought it was probably better not to mention his pounding headache, and hoped Rose’s willowbark tea would help that too.

  “Rose, I’m going,” he said as she started to object, “I’m not about to sit in this damned cold shaft all day, thinking how much a few miserable bruises are hurting.”

  “Gods, you’re bloody stubborn!” she muttered as she followed him around the gallery. At least he’d agreed that he shouldn’t carry a pack until his shoulder was better, but that was the only concession he would make.

  **********

  They made sure that they could open the door from the other side, then they moved off very carefully down the steep broken stairs and into the tunnel. Moss helped Rowan, and Cris helped Rose, and after a few stumbles they all arrived safely at the bottom of the steps. Looking back at the treacherous steps Rose could finally appreciate just how someone as sure-footed as Rowan had come to fall so heavily. It must have been horrible waiting here in the darkness for help to come, she thought apologetically.

  Unlike the first tunnel they’d found, this one appeared to be a natural passage through the mountain. It twisted and turned; sometimes the floor was of smooth rock and sometimes it was covered in gravel and small broken stones; at times they climbed up short steep gradients, and then the tunnel would turn again and they’d find themselves scrambling downwards. Even Rowan and Rose almost lost their foresters’ sense of which way was which and poor Cris was completely bewildered. Although the rough roof of the tunnel remained well above Moss’s head - much to his relief - there were a few places where it became quite narrow, and the troll thought at one stage that he mightn’t be able to get through the gap.