The Greenstone Grail (42 page)

Nathan tugged on the reins, probably too hard, and his xaurian swerved awkwardly, circling away to the left. As he swung round he saw Raymor make a low pass, close to the ground, double back, and return lower still. ‘Next time,’ he said over the communicator, ‘you come from the other side. Fly swift and low, jump off, and run for the cave. Don’t worry about your mount: it can take care of itself. Ready?’

No, Nathan thought. Raymor quickened his xaurian and plummeted. Nathan hesitated – nudged his steed just too late – saw the ground moving, rising, sand streaming from the forty-foot muzzle – saw the monster give itself a shake like an earth tremor, so the dust whirled into clouds. Raymor’s mount would surely be blinded, though the extra lid might protect its eyes from hurt. Nathan looped back, uncertain what to do, and a swish of the giant tail took him unawares, catching his xaurian a glancing blow. They were knocked
sideways – Nathan almost fell, clutching at the saddle, hanging on somehow. The xaurian, more intelligent than its rider, drove its wings down, gaining height, clearing the flying sand and sweeping tail. Nathan pulled himself upright and looked apprehensively for Raymor.

His guide had managed to sheer off and was hovering just out of range. The blue tongue shot out, but it wasn’t long enough. The great head swayed to and fro, eying first Raymor, then Nathan, waiting for its prey to come within reach. Somehow, it knew better than to move away from the cave mouth. ‘Sorry,’ Nathan said. ‘I was too slow. Scared …’ Oddly, his close shave had wiped out some of his fear; he felt sharper now, ready to act.

‘It’s natural,’ said Raymor. ‘I too …’

‘What do we do now?’

‘Try again. This time, I’ll give you the word. Don’t move till I say – then move
fast
.’

Nathan said: ‘
Na’ ka
,’ the Eosian equivalent of
okay
. He watched Raymor retreating, putting more height and distance between him and the Grokkul. The monster followed him with its right eye, keeping the left – the one injured in an earlier encounter – on Nathan; then, satisfied Ray was leaving, it swung round to seek the other meal, jaws parting to reveal the three-tiered teeth and coiled-spring tongue. It took all Nathan’s courage not to kick the xaurian into flight, but he waited, hoping he was far enough away, determined not to mess up again. Far beyond the Grokkul, Raymor turned his mount, poised – and plunged.

The dive was so swift there was a tearing noise as the wings sliced through the air. With a speed unnatural to its size, the monster’s head jerked back. ‘
Now
!’ cried Raymor, but Nathan !had already moved. He aimed straight for the slot of the cave mouth – the ground zoomed towards him – he was aware of
horrible things happening above, of pinions thrashing helplessly, of the crunch of jaw meeting jaw. But he daren’t look – he was rolling out of the saddle, tumbling over and over on the sand – scrambling to his feet and running, running for the cave. Behind him, there was a thud that loosened stone-chips from the cliff, and a scream. Not human. He flung himself into the dark, wriggled between the rock walls, staggered a couple of yards – then checked, and turned back.

He knew what he would see. Peering out of the cave, the broad head was too close for comfort, part of a wing and a tail, still twitching, protruding from the jaws. Raymor had vanished. The monster was masticating an obstinate morsel: suddenly it made a deep coughing noise, spitting out a hunk of metallized cloth and a spray of blood. A few droplets penetrated the cave entrance, spattering Nathan’s coverall. He didn’t move. He felt sick with disgust and horror, but the guilt was worse. Raymor had died for
him
. The thought flickered through his mind that Halmé had expected it, had still given the order, but it didn’t make any difference. His own xaurian was crushed under a huge foot, stabbed through the body with a claw a yard long. One limb jerked abruptly and then was still. The Grokkul chewed, swallowed, and then lowered its head, swinging it this way and that, attempting to see into the cave. Nathan wished he had a weapon, preferably something nuclear, but he was unarmed. ‘I’ll get you one day,’ he muttered, knowing it was futile. He retreated back into the dark, raised his goggles, pulled the torch Halmé had provided from an inner pocket and switched it on.

It wasn’t like an ordinary torch since instead of producing a single beam it had a tiny sphere at one end which gave an all-round light, like a candle only far brighter. He held it up in front of him, seeing the shadows move across the ribbed walls and veins of colour patterning the rock like watermarks.
After a few turns the passage opened out into the main chamber: the torch-glow showed him three recesses in the far wall, crude but plainly man-made, each shielded by a metal grille. They were all empty. But there was something on the ground beside them, leaning against the rock-face. Some
one
. He recognized her only because there was no one else she could be.

What skin remained to her was red and split: blood leaked from the cracks. The burning had gone beyond mere blisters; much of her body seemed to be covered with pus, some of it drying into scabs. He drew closer to her, and saw her eyes were open and aware. He couldn’t see her properly, and realized he was crying. He groped inside the front of his suit for the water-bottle which was stored there, hearing himself murmuring he knew not what. ‘Oh God, dear God … so sorry … I tried to come back, I tried to come straight away, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave you. I told you, I can’t control it, I just seem to go where I’m sent – Here, drink this.’ He dribbled some of the water between what was left of her lips. It was difficult while holding the torch, and he wondered if she could hold it for him, but her hands were clasped around something else, so he put it on the ground. He managed to give her some more water, and presently he saw her throat flex and swallow. ‘You need medical help,’ he said, stating the obvious, feeling foolish and ineffectual. ‘I have to get you out of here.’ But his xaurian was dead, and the Grokkul was waiting, and the killer sun blazed down on the shelterless desert. He could adjust his communicator to reach Halmé, but she had warned him any long distance call would inevitably be overheard – and Kwanji Ley was an escaped prisoner. Still, surely prison was better than death …

‘Too late.’ Kwanji’s voice had shrunk to a croaking whisper. ‘No treatment … for this.’ She swallowed again, a brief
pain convulsing her face. ‘I knew the risk. To die here, like this, is better … than to live in the Pit.’

‘You must be in agony,’ he said helplessly.

‘Not now. Nerves mostly … dead. The rest of me will catch up soon.’ He gave her more water, hoping it would ease the remainder of her suffering. He could think of nothing else to do. She went on talking, as far as she was able, pouring visible effort into every word. ‘It is good … that you came. You must take it … take it back.’ She attempted a gesture, but evidently it was too much for her. Looking down, he saw what she held – the object she was trying to pass to him. He would have known what it must be, if he had taken the time to think, but his thoughts had been full of her. Her hands were locked around it; she had no more strength to release them. He had to uncurl her fingers one by one. ‘Take it,’ she went on. ‘To … Osskva. He will know … the spell.’

‘Who is he? How will I find him?’

‘My father.’ She hadn’t mentioned her father before; only her grandfather. He thought the twitching of her face might have been an attempt to smile. ‘He didn’t approve … but no matter. Your dream will find him.’

He said wretchedly: ‘I can’t be sure of that.’ He had to take the Grail back to his own world, but he couldn’t tell her that, not when she was dying.

‘You found me,’ she said. ‘Fate guides you. I must believe …’

‘The other things – the crown, the sword – where are they? Shouldn’t they be here?’

She made a tiny movement with her head, negation or bewilderment. ‘Only found … the cup. Grille locked – but I knew the word of release. Grandfather … told me. I think … you will find … the rest. Hope …’ Her voice was growing fainter, more laboured. He took her hand and then let it
go, afraid of hurting her, but she nudged it back into his clasp. ‘Chosen,’ she whispered. ‘You … chosen, to save us …’

He sensed she was clutching at that idea because it was all she had left, it gave meaning to the last moments of her life, to her death. He didn’t think it was true, but he couldn’t say so. She didn’t try to talk any more. They sat in silence for some time, he didn’t know how long, perhaps hours. He thought: I’m waiting for her to die, and that seemed dreadful to him, but to leave her, dying alone, would have been worse. Anyway, he had no notion how he was going to get back to Arkatron, let alone to his own world. There should be an opening from here to the sunken chapel in the Darkwood, but he didn’t know how to use it. He couldn’t solve the problem, so for now, at least, he tried not to think about it. Instead, he found himself remembering how Annie had told him once about sitting at Daniel’s bedside – Daniel who he assumed was his father – while the life ebbed out of him, sitting and waiting for the end. He had said: That must have been awful, and she had said: You will do it for someone one day, maybe for me, and if you are lucky, someone will do it for you. Death gives life meaning, and when we share it with another we accept that, we face it without fear, and maybe we can go beyond it, into a wider world.

He waited with Kwanji Ley, to share her death.

Annie woke early the next day, knowing there was a burden on her mind. Nathan – the police … (And in the background, still the pulse-churning recollection of Michael’s kiss.) She went through the routine of washing, dressing, making herself tea and toast for breakfast, putting off waking Nathan because that would hasten the moment when she had to call the inspector. Perhaps he had found the Grail, in his dreams – although then Pobjoy would be certain he’d taken it, even if they didn’t
proceed with charges. It was a ludicrous paradox. Returning the cup might be the end of the matter, but in the eyes of the law it would be a confirmation of guilt. She worried about this for some time, knowing it was futile. You could only try to do right, and never mind what people thought. Teenagers hardly ever seemed to be prosecuted even for wanton vandalism or habitual theft, so surely they wouldn’t prosecute for a crime when they believed the motive was pure …

She emerged from reflection to notice that it was nearly nine and there was still no sound of Nathan stirring. She went up to his room, tapped on the door, called out, and went in.

The bed was empty.

She was sure he hadn’t gone out earlier: in her present restless state, his movements would almost certainly have woken her. Besides, he was good about things like straightening his bed, and the blanket was still rumpled over the duvet, and the pillow, unplumped, was dented from the pressure of a head. He’d have folded the blanket, she thought. He’d have changed his clothes. He’d have left a note. For the first time, she noticed where the Mark of Agares had been torn off the wall.

She ran downstairs to the telephone.

Bartlemy was out. His machine answered, requesting her to leave a message, and she tried to talk coherently, not to babble. ‘Nathan’s gone. He went to bed early, like I told you, to try and find the Grail. He hasn’t left the house: I’d have heard. If he gets up before I do I nearly always hear him. The bedding’s all rucked up, as if he’s still there, but he isn’t. He must’ve – dematerialized, got stuck in the other world. The Mark you drew him, it was on the wall over the bed, but it’s torn down, I don’t know why. Supposing he can’t get back … Please call me.
Please
call me.’

She hung up, and waited, watching the clock, but no call came.

By ten she could stand it no longer. She had to talk to someone, go somewhere, do
something
. She locked up the shop and headed for Riverside House.

Kwanji’s eyes had closed, and he thought she must have slipped away without his realizing it, but then they opened again. They were bloodshot, but they appeared to clear and brighten, or maybe that was his imagination. She gave him a look that seemed to reach deep inside him, into his mind, into his soul, then a tiny sigh escaped her, barely audible even in the silence of the cave, and the look faded. Long afterwards, he said: ‘There were people there. I couldn’t see them, but they were there. I don’t know that I was aware of them at the time, but I
remember
them. They came for her.’ Then he was alone.

He closed her eyes again, the way he had seen it done on television. He wondered if he should arrange the body more formally, laying her down, crossing her arms on her breast, but it didn’t seem to be necessary. She was still propped against the cave wall, and she looked quite comfortable, which mattered to him, even though there was no one there to feel comfort any more. Then he picked up the Grail, holding the torch to illuminate it, looking at it properly now. He half expected it to glow at his touch, like the vision in the chapel, maybe to fill with blood, but the stone, though pared to fineness and polished to a dull lustre, had no sheen but that of the torchlight reflected in the curve of the bowl, and there was nothing inside. A gem or two glinted in the coils of the design, like the eye-blink of a furtive animal; that was all. The gnomons must have followed it, or so he reasoned, and he listened for soft snake-voices creeping from the shadows of the cave, but heard none. He didn’t know that although Ozmosees may migrate from world to world on a thought-wave the Gate – the legitimate passage between states of being – is forbidden
to them, and so they avoid the dying and the dead, and though they bring fear and madness they never kill. Death is inimical to them. But Nathan knew only that they had gone. He gazed at the Grail for a long while, awed by its ancientry, the might of legend that it carried and the power it was rumoured to encapsulate; but if any spirit lived within the stone, it was hidden. At last he tucked it inside his suit, where it made an irregular bulge that dug into his side. Then he drank a mouthful of water – there was hardly any left now – and made his way cautiously to the cave entrance.