Authors: Gillian Cross

The Nightmare Game (23 page)

BOOK: The Nightmare Game

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The explanation jumped suddenly into his head and he blurted out a question. “Are you telling me this kind of thing has happened
before
? Other people have suddenly found themselves here, without knowing how?”

“Unnerving, isn't it?” Zak said wryly.

There was a low murmur of agreement from all around the cavern. Was it possible that they'd
all
been through this strange experience? His mind raced wildly, filled with ideas about mass kidnapping and hallucinogenic drugs. “Are you telling me that
none
of you knows where we are?”

Zak's eyes blanked suddenly, looking through him, and Bando make a low, unhappy noise in his throat. Behind them, people stirred restlessly, muttering words he couldn't hear.

They
did
know!

“Tell me!” he said fiercely. “What is this place? You have to tell me.”

For a second, there was silence.

Then Zak said, “That's something that people have to discover for themselves. We don't let them join us in the cavern until they've found out.”

Cam nodded vigorously. “If they can't cope with
that
, then they're no use to us.”

He looked at her and then at Zak, trying to work out where this was leading. “But I've joined you already. I'm here.”

“A most unusual situation.” Zak's smile had vanished now and his eyes were grave. “Logically, we should send you out of here, to take your chance above the ground. Until you know.”

But it's too cold. I'll die.
He realized, just in time, that he couldn't make that protest. He wasn't supposed to know anything about the world outside. Pulling the fur closer around his body, he stood firm, trying to appeal to their sympathy.

“Are you going to send me out like this? With nothing?”

What was this terrible secret that they couldn't just
tell
him? They must know what the temperature was like outside. Were they really going to send him out into that?

Cam's face was unrelenting. And when he glanced over his shoulder, the others avoided his eyes, staring down at the ground and scuffing the earth with their feet.

“He's got to go out,” someone muttered. “He'll never believe it unless he sees for himself.”

They began to whisper to each other, gradually fixing on a single word. Almost under their breath, they began to chant, falling into a rhythm that hovered on the edge of his hearing.

“Out . . . out . . . out . . .”

Soon, Bando was the only one not chanting. He shook his head from side to side, looking wretched, as if he was trying to get rid of the sound. But the others ignored him, and the chant went on and on.

“. . . out . . . out . . .”

It was Zak who brought it to a stop. Lifting the little drum he was holding, he rapped on it twice, with his fingertips. Like magic, the murmuring subsided and everyone turned to face him, waiting for him to speak.

“This is a hard existence,” he said. “We have to trust one another with our lives. We can do that because we all share the terrible knowledge of where we are. Because we've all been through the shock of finding out. Everyone must experience that.”

He nodded at Cam, and immediately she began to give orders. “Abâopen up the tunnel. Dess and Shangâyou take him through.”

Oh no. He wasn't having that. No one was going to drag him out, like a criminal. If he really had to go, he was going with his dignity intact. Lifting his head high, he turned his back on them all and started walking toward the entrance tunnel, holding the fur around himself, like a robe.

“That's our blanket,” Cam called after him. “And we need it.”

At the same moment, Ab pulled a plug of branches out of the entrance tunnel and a swirl of icy air came billowing into the cave. Even through the blanket, he could feel how cold it was. He clenched his teeth, determined not to turn back and plead.

SELF-CONTROL AND SELF-RESPECT GO HAND IN HAND

But he knew he couldn't do it. It would be suicidal to go out into the cold without even a blanket to cover his body. He was about to give in, about to turn and beg, when something happened that altered the whole situation. From the far end of the cave, a voice shouted urgently.

“Fire!”

He did turn then, like everyone else. They all stared down toward the furnace and saw a cloud of smoke come billowing around one side of it, swelling out of the space behind.

HE EXPECTED A MASS PANIC, WITH ALL OF THEM BOLTING PAST him, like the savages they were. Trampling him underfoot in their scramble to escape. But it didn't happen. No one moved except for Cam. She raced down the cavern, toward the smoke, and disappeared around the furnace. After a moment, she called out of the shadows.

“It's all right. There's no dangerâit's almost burned out already. But come and look at this.”

They all went together. If he'd wanted to run away from them, that would have been the ideal moment. But there was nowhere to goâexcept out into the cold air overhead. And that meant certain death. His only hope was to stick with them until he understood what had happened and where he was.

And that made the smoke important to him, too.

He followed them, as unobtrusively as he could, into the cramped, crowded space behind the furnace. There was still smoke hanging in the hot, stale air, but the fire had gone. All that was left was a small heap of gray, fluffy ash, with a few stray sparks running through it.

And an arrow.

It was scratched into the earth ahead of them, pointing toward the ramp. Even in the dim light, the grooves were clearly visible. The shaft of the arrow was as long as his arm.

“What does it mean?” Ab said uncertainly. “Is it a message?”

“Of course it is.” Cam bent down, moving forward as she traced the line. When she reached the point of the arrow, she stooped and lifted something off the ground. “Look.”

The others pushed forward. Peering between their heads, he saw that Cam was holding the end of a primitive rope. The rest of it had been laid along the ground, so that it led down the ramp ahead of them and into the storeroom.

“It'sâLorn,” Annet said. “That's what she did before, when she wanted us to come and save Bando. She's left us a trail to follow.”

“How can it be Lorn?” someone else said scornfully. “We shut her in behind the wall. She could never have moved those stones on her own.”

Was that the name of the girl in the tunnels? Lorn? It looked as though she'd saved him again. But how long would it take these savages to work out who had moved the stones? And what would they do when they realized that he'd lied to them?

He was the one who almost panicked then. But a lifetime of self-control kept him from running. And it was justified. Clearly, no one was thinking about him at that moment. All their attention was on the rope.

Cam looked down at the end she was holding. “So what do we do?” she said pensively. “Are we going to do what she wantsâafter throwing her out of the cavern? How do we know this isn't some kind of trap?”

“Lorn wouldn't do that!” Bando said hotly. “She wouldn't hurt us!”

Ab kicked at the pile of ashes. “She tried to start a fire, didn't she? If she could do thatâ”

Zak shook his head firmly. “That fire was never meant as a danger. It was just a signal, to draw our attention. Of course we must follow the rope. How else will we know the end of Lorn's story?”

That seemed like a completely ridiculous argument. Why go down into the darkness for something as trivial as a
story
? Surely even savages wouldn't be persuaded by such a triviality?

Clearly he didn't understand their primitive minds. They muttered to each other for a second and then Cam called out to someone called Perdew to fetch a torch. Guided by the unsteady light of a piece of glowing wood, they all began to move forward, picking up the rope and running it through their hands as they went down the ramp.

He watched them go, without any idea of following. But as the last person disappeared into the storeroom, Zak turned to him and held out the end of the rope.

“You, too,” he said.

What had it got to do with him? He backed away, shaking his head. “No thank you. I'm not interested in stories. I prefer real life.”

There was no reply. Just the rope end, held out to him, and Zak's steady blue stare. Something about that stare made him move forward, slowly and reluctantly, and take hold of the rope.

As his fingers touched itâas they felt the intricate, twisted patternâhe was hit by a shock of recognition. The rope was made of many separate strands
(he knew there were twelve, without counting)
intricately braided together into a neat, square braid. It was likeâexactly likeâ

NO. THIS IDEA IS NOT APPROPRIATE.

Before his mind could make the comparison, some deeper part of his brain clamped tight, not letting him complete the thought. Recognition of the rope was clearly an impossibility. Smoothly, his mind produced a more correct idea.

THIS IS A PRIMITIVE ROPE CLEVERLY BRAIDED BY HAND THE DESIGN IS PRESUMABLY TRADITIONAL

Zak watched him with a small, wry smile. “This is your story, too,” he said softly.

A flicker of fear danced at the edge of his mind. But he wasn't going to let himself be intimidated by a shabby, tin-pot shaman. If it was necessary, he would follow the rope, but only on his own terms. As a detached observer.

Without wasting any breath on answering, he went down into the dark, after the others. And Zak came behind him, bringing up the rear.

THE TORCH DIDN'T LAST LONG. THEY WERE FOLLOWING NOT A single rope but half a dozen or more, knotted together in sequence. By the time his hands closed around the second knot, the wood had burned away and Perdew tossed it to one side in a shower of sparks.

That sudden, dying brightness was gone within a few seconds. Now they were in pitch darkness, shuffling along one behind another. What were they expecting? What could there possibly be at the end of the rope that would justify this mindless procession?

In spite of his own precarious position, he almost took the risk of pointing out what an idiotic waste of energy the whole thing was. The words were actually forming in his mind, when Cam called out suddenly from in front.

“We've reached the end of the rope!”

Before anyone could react, a loud, clear voice shouted from ahead of them. “And you've reached the next part of my story. Make a line across the tunnel, so that everyone can see.”

It was her, of course. The girl who'd saved him. Her voice was instantly recognizableâeven though he had no idea what she was talking about. It seemed to make sense to the others, though. They began to inch sideways, spreading out so that they stood side by side, staring forward.

He tried to squeeze in at one end, to watch without getting involved. But Zak seized his hand and pulled him right into the middle of the line. Wedged in between Zak and Bando, he had no chance of sneaking away.

The girl ahead of them didn't speak until they'd stopped moving. When there was complete silence, her voice rang out again. This time, it seemed to be coming from somewhere higher up. She wasn't shouting now, but every word was clear.

“You've heard my story about three friends trying to rescue a prisoner. And Zak told you about the man whose daughter was stolen away from under the floorâ”

(What? The words jerked him to attention. How had Zak come to be talking about that?
This is your story, too
, he'd said. Did that actually mean something? Peering forward into the darkness, he tried to see the girl who was speaking, but he couldn't even work out exactly where she was. There was only her voice, continuing steadily.)

“You've listened to both of thoseâbut no one has ever asked for the most important story of all. Have you even thought about it?”

No one attempted to answer her question. After a brief pause, her voice went on, uninterrupted.

“There's a story that goes right to the heart of what was happening, down in that black room. That's what I'm going to tell you now. I've brought you here to listen so that you can
see
and
feel
the truth of it. Are you ready?”

A small noise of assent, faint as a sigh, ran quickly along the line. He was the only one who didn't make a sound. He stood frozen, fighting the voice in his brain that told him to cover his ears and hang on to the truth he knew.

With a huge effort, he willed himself to hear what she was going to say.

And then she began. “Once upon a time, there was a girl whose father kept her down in a hole in the ground. . . .”

BOOK: The Nightmare Game

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