Helix and the Arrival (6 page)

‘I
absolutely
promise,' I say.

‘So what do you want to know?' he says, stroking his orange beard.

‘Just … what they're like,' I say, unable to think of anything specific.

‘What they're like,' he repeats, pondering the question. ‘Not like your lot, that's for sure.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘They're … different.'

‘I've heard they can't hunt so need to grow their food from the mud,' I say.

Steckman explodes in laughter. ‘Who told you that? Speel?'

‘Well, yes. Not that I really believe it … See, that's the problem: I don't know what to believe.'

‘How can I say this?' he says, stroking his beard some more. ‘The river people are –'

I hear a noise. I turn and see a group of Rockfall cavemen, spears and heavy clubs in hand, approaching us on their way to a hunt. I turn back to Steckman, but he's already gone. Porgo, however, is still sitting slumped against a rock. Two short whistles later, though, she springs to her feet and launches herself into the bushes in search of her master.

The cavemen have scared them off.

Great. So much for learning about the river people.

Newstone is, as you'd expect it to be, new. The caves look like they've only been lived in for one generation, and they have. Like their caves, the folk of Newstone also look fresh and clean – their eyes are bright and their hair is neat, not tangled and matted, which is the Rockfall style. No one walks with a hunch or a limp, and everyone looks well fed. They wear new loincloths that have been cut to the latest fashion – longer at the back and front and shorter at the sides. Everyone and everything looks so … new.

I pass Newstone's store cave, which is much bigger and cleaner than Rockfall's. I peer in and notice a range of different fresh and dried meats hanging from a timber beam. Compared to Rockfall's store cave, where palm-square beasts are all that's on offer, it's pretty impressive.

Speel has an assistant Storykeeper in Newstone named Veldo. It's from Veldo that I need to collect the writing skins for Speel.

Veldo's cave is even bigger than Speel's but then again, so are all the other caves in Newstone. All of them seem to be large, with high ceilings and deep passageways.

The bandi-twang at the entrance to Veldo's cave has three strings. I strum the strings, thickest to thinnest, and they make a pleasant tune.

‘Yar, like, coming,' says an airy voice from deep in the cave.

Folk from Newstone say ‘yar' instead of ‘yes', and they use the word ‘like' a lot, not to mean anything, but just to fill the gaps between words. Rockfall folk find this way of talking very odd.

Veldo appears at the cave entrance, his arms hanging loosely by his side.

‘Hello, Veldo. My name is Helix. I'm from Rockfall.'

‘Yar, I can see that,' he says, looking me up and down.

Veldo is a tall man. Tall and thin. His loincloth, as stylish as it is, is far too short for him and barely covers his man parts.

‘I'm here to collect some writing skins for Speel.' Veldo points a long finger in the air and says, ‘Yar, of course. The writing skins. Come in and, like, make yourself at home.'

I enter his cave and am immediately impressed by how clean and big it is. On a rock shelf along one wall are displayed all sorts of interesting objects – rocks, bone carvings, mini-tablets and a row of animal teeth lined
up from biggest to smallest. I take a few steps closer to get a better look.

‘I'm a collector,' he says, as if he's been bursting to make this confession.

‘I can see that,' I say.

‘I try to collect objects from the woods and beyond – the, like, further away from the mountain, the more precious the object.' He takes a big step towards the ledge and picks up a small, round, dark-blue rock with gold veins running through it. ‘See this? It's, like, from the river.'

‘Have you been to the river?' I ask, maybe a little too eagerly.

‘Oh no. No, no, no,' he says, repeating his ‘no' many times to make his point clear. ‘Folk from the mountain shouldn't go to the river. And, like, anyway, I'm assistant Storykeeper to Speel. My place is here, recording the stories of our people.'

Some of the excitement seems to have drained from Veldo upon mentioning Speel's name.

‘But do you ever wonder what the river people might be like?' I say.

He's silent in thought as he ponders my question. ‘Yar, I, like, think of it a lot. Sometimes I climb to a high place and look down at the river's beauty. But … But then I see its size and the river people beyond.' He stops another moment to ponder something. ‘There are many tablets, you know – many tablets that talk of the river people.'

‘What do they say?' I ask.

‘Bad things, all bad things.' He has a worried look on his face.

‘Yes, but what bad things?' I really want to know.

Veldo looks up at the roof of the cave as if he's searching for an answer to my question. ‘You know – like, they were born in the mud, they eat food from the ground, they have those pitiful mud houses … All that sort of thing.'

‘Have you seen any of this yourself?' I say.

‘Seen? Like, of course not!'

‘But you believe what is written?'

‘Yar, it is written so it, like, must be true,' he says, his hands forming fists at the end of his long-boned arms.

I change the subject. ‘I must admit, this is an impressive cave you've got, Veldo.'

‘Thanks. I've tried to give it a little of my own, like, personality.'

Instead of three separate fires as there are in Speel's cave – one for cooking, one for stonehacks and one for Speel – there's a single large fire in the middle of Veldo's cave. On one side of the fire sits a stonehack, who's working on translating word signs from skins to tablets.

‘How rude of me,' says Veldo. ‘Helix, this is Mason. He, like, works for me doing the carving bits and bobs.'

‘Hi,' says Mason, with a smile. ‘It's, like, a real pleasure to meet you.' He sticks out his giant calloused hand and shakes my tiny hand inside it.

‘Nice to meet you, too,' I say.

Mason is big and strong, much like Crag and Tor. His forearms are like heavy clubs and his fists are like
boulders. Unlike Crag and Tor, though, he seems a bit more relaxed – his brow isn't as furrowed and his eyes are softer.

‘Isn't it about time you, like, took a break?' says Veldo to Mason.

‘I'll just finish this tablet,' says Mason.

Although I've visited Newstone before, I've never really spoken to anyone or had a proper look inside a cave. I feel as though I've arrived in another world. How can Veldo talk to his stonehack like this, as if they're … as if they're
equal
? I can't imagine Speel ever asking Crag or Tor if they'd like a break.

Towards the back of Veldo's cave is a stack of tablets. ‘Do you keep any sacred tablets here?' I ask.

‘Sacred tablets?' Veldo says with a snorting laugh. ‘Are you, like, kidding? Speel would never let me keep the sacred tablets. They belong in Rockfall.'

‘Have you read them?' I ask.

Veldo looks around the cave, as if the answer is hiding beneath a rock. ‘I've read, like, some … some of the best ones.'

‘As in …?'

‘Like, the one written about Fleg and Fler,' he says. ‘That's a classic – especially the bit with the talking claw-gripped fork-tongued vulture. Have you heard the story?'

‘Of course I have. It's all I ever hear about in Speel's Learnings.'

‘Learnings? Why are you doing Learnings? You're just, like … like …'

‘I know,' I snap. ‘I look younger than I am, all right?'

‘Sorry,' says Veldo, twiddling his fingers.

‘I'm twelve years old and soon I'll be passing my Arrival,' I say, trying to sound like I mean it.

Veldo can tell from my wavering voice that I don't really believe what I'm saying. He looks upwards, as if he's just discovered a new cave painting on the roof of the cave. The only noise is a
tick
,
tick
,
tick
coming from Mason chiselling away behind us. To cut through the awkwardness, I decide it's a good time to ask a favour of Veldo.

‘There's something I've been meaning to ask,' I say.

‘Yar, go ahead – ask.'

‘Could I borrow the blue rock? Just for a few days.'

I'm expecting him to say ‘no' – after all, he's only just met me. But Veldo sways back and forth and considers my request. ‘Only for a few days?'

‘Yes, only for a few days, and I promise I'll take good care of it. I'll return it as soon as I can. I just need to show it to someone.'

‘Yar, all right,' says Veldo, a little uncertainly. ‘But please make sure you, like, take good care of it. It's one of my most precious things.'

‘I promise I will.'

‘All right, here you are.' He hands me the blue rock. ‘Now let me get you those writing skins.'

I roll the rock between my hands. It's smooth and definitely not of the mountain.

Veldo helps me tie the skins to my back. I take as many as I can, but there's still a small pile remaining.

‘Don't worry,' he says, ‘you can, like, pick these up when you return with my rock.'

I say farewell, happy to have met him, and begin the long walk back to Rockfall.

It might only be Newstone, a place I always knew of, but I feel my world has grown a little bigger.

I make it back to Rockfall as the sun is setting over Land's End. The light is soft and the evening is cool. Most of the folk are in their caves, huddled around a fire.

Before heading home, I decide to deliver the writing skins to Speel. They are weighing heavily on my back, so I want to get rid of them.

I twang the single-string bandi-twang at the entrance to Speel's cave. It's much less impressive now that I've strummed the three-string version in Newstone. I'm hoping that Speel doesn't answer my call, so that I'll be able to leave the skins at the entrance and return to my cave without talking to him. Just as I'm about to drop the skins, turn around and begin tiptoeing away, I hear him say, ‘Come in.'

I enter his cave and see him sitting with Korg the Magnificent in front of the main fire, showing him something written on one of the tablets. I stop at a distance, unsure whether I should approach any further.

‘Helix has travelled to Newstone to collect writing skins for me,' says Speel to Korg, squinting with his one good eye.

Korg looks at me, stooped with the skins. ‘I think you can put them down now,' he says, with his soft, croaking voice.

I lower the skins to the floor of the cave.

‘Is that all of them?' asks Speel, looking up and down at the pile of skins.

‘Actually, no. I couldn't carry the full load, so I'll have to return for the others.'

‘Very well,' he says, unimpressed.

‘Well, I'd better be going,' I say, turning to walk out. ‘Lots to do. Still got to sharpen my flint knife, polish my club, straighten my spear –'

‘One moment, Helix,' says Korg. ‘Sit down by the fire. It has been a long time since we talked.'

By the look on Speel's face, he would rather have me gone. But I walk slowly to the fire and sit cross-legged on one of the thinner skins reserved for guests like me.

Korg is propped high on top of a pile of thick skins, sitting tall with a straight back. He is old – very old, by caveman standards. Some believe him to be as old as fifty. There are rumours of some really old folk living on the Dark Side, but apart from Korg, no one as old as fifty lives in Rockfall or Newstone.

Korg looks into the fire and says to me, ‘What do you think of Newstone, Helix?'

My voice feels small and feeble as it leaves my lips. ‘I think it's … different.'

Korg nods slowly. ‘What of your Arrival, Helix? Are you prepared?' he asks. This close, I can see how long and thick his beard is – the grey wisps flow all the way down to his waist. He is wearing a loincloth made of bison skin, which means that it must be many years old.

‘Yes, Korg, I'm prepared,' I say. What else is there to say when Korg the Magnificent asks you about your Arrival?

‘I'm glad to hear it,' says Korg. ‘It is an important step in a young person's life.'

I reply with a throaty noise. It's neither a ‘yes' or a ‘no'.

Speel looks up as if he's just remembered something. ‘Did you retrieve the sacred rock from Newstone?' he asks, with a smirk lurking behind his beard.

‘Yes,' I say. ‘Do you want to see it?'

Speel's smirk disappears and is replaced by a look of surprise. ‘Yes, I'd be most interested to see this rock,' he says. Then to Korg: ‘Helix owes me some homework – a sacred rock.'

‘Wonderful,' says Korg. ‘Sacred rocks are one of my favourite objects.'

Speel is waiting for me to come up with an excuse like, ‘Sorry, a vulture must've swooped down and plucked it out of my pocket,' so when I remove the perfectly round, dark-blue rock from the pocket attached to my
belt, Speel's beard, along with his jaw, drops. His one eye bulges in its socket, and I'm half-expecting it to pop out of his head and bounce across the cave floor.

‘Here it is,' I say.

Speel sticks out his palm, demanding to see it.

I pass it to him. I can tell he's suspicious.

‘Very interesting. I have never seen a rock like this before.' He looks at it some more, turning it rapidly between his fingers. ‘You didn't mention the gold veins when you first described it,' he says.

‘I didn't want to brag,' I say. ‘And anyway, it was hard to see the gold veins when the stone was wedged in the crevice.'

‘Yes … I would have expected a rock wedged in a crevice to be marked with scratches …'

Now he's getting really suspicious.

‘Um … I've been polishing it. I used a rock-gerbil skin and boar fat. It's come up really well, don't you think?' I'm even impressing myself, now.

Speel is scowling. He smells a cave rat.

Korg looks to be taking an interest, too. The thick brow above his eyes is scrunched tight. ‘Pass the rock to me,' he says to Speel.

Speel and Korg stand, and pass the rock between them. I follow them and rise to my feet. Korg studies the rock closely. After a time, he looks across to me and says, ‘You say this came from the mountain, Helix?'

‘Yes,' I say, hoping for an end to their questions.

‘It is not a rock of the mountain, but of the river. And not of the shallow flood plains but the deep water.'
His eyes glaze over like the water itself. Who knows what he's thinking. I guess fifty years of living means he has lots of memories stored away in his head.

‘How do you know it came from the river?' I ask him.

Korg hesitates a moment before saying, ‘I've seen lots of rocks in my time, Helix, and this one is rare and definitely of the river.' He passes it back to me. ‘Thank you for showing me such a fine rock. It is a thing of memories.'

A thing of memories? What does that mean?

‘It's my pleasure,' I say.

‘Take care, Helix.'