The Wind Singer (22 page)

‘Is that wrong, Kess?’ said Mumpo.

‘Do you want to be like a baby?’

‘I want to be whatever you want me to be,’ said Mumpo simply.

‘Oh, honestly. It’s no use talking to you.’

‘Sorry, Kess.’

‘I really don’t know how you managed to stay in Orange all these years.’

Bowman said quietly, ‘That’s because we’ve never asked him.’

Kestrel stared at her brother. It was true: she knew next to nothing about Mumpo. At school, he had always been the one who was odd, the one to avoid. Then when he had become her unwanted friend, she had found his affection irritating, and had not wanted to do anything to encourage it. In the course of their journey together she had come to think of him as a kind of wild animal, that had attached itself to her, and become almost a pet. But he was not an animal. He was a child, like herself.

‘What happened to your father and mother, Mumpo?’

Mumpo was surprised at her question, but very happy to answer her.

‘My mother died when I was little. And I haven’t got a father.’

‘Did he die too?’

‘I’m not sure. I think I just haven’t got one.’

‘Everyone’s got a father. At least for a while.’

‘Well, I haven’t.’

‘Don’t you want to know what happened to him?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just don’t.’

‘If you haven’t got a family,’ said Bowman, ‘how can you have a family rating?’

‘How can you go to school in Orange District,’ said Kestrel, ‘even though – ’

She caught Bowman’s glance, and broke off.

‘Even though I’m so stupid?’

He didn’t seem at all offended.

‘I’ve got an uncle. It’s because of my uncle that I go to school in Orange District, even though I’m so stupid.’

Bowman felt a wave of sadness pass through him, and he shuddered as if it were his own.

‘Do you hate school, Mumpo?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ replied Mumpo simply. ‘I don’t understand anything, and I’m always alone. So I’m always unhappy.’

The twins looked at him and remembered how they had laughed at him along with the others, and they felt ashamed.

‘But it’s all right now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a friend now. Haven’t I, Kess?’

‘Yes,’ said Kestrel. ‘I’m your friend.’

Bowman loved Kestrel for saying that, even if she didn’t mean it.

Love you, Kess
.

‘Who’s your uncle, Mumpo?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen him. He’s very important, and has a very high rating. But I’m stupid, you see, so he doesn’t want me in his family.’

‘But that’s horrible!’

‘Oh, no, he’s very good to me. Mrs Chirish is always telling me so. Only, if I was in his family, it would make his family rating much lower. So it’s better that I lodge with Mrs Chirish.’

‘Oh, Mumpo,’ said Kestrel. ‘What a bad, sad place Aramanth has become.’

‘Do you think so, Kess? I thought only I thought that.’

Bowman wondered at Mumpo. The more he knew of him, the more, in a strange way, he admired him. There seemed to be no malice in him, or vanity. He accepted what each moment brought him, and never troubled himself with matters that were outside his control. Despite the unhappiness of his lonely life, he seemed to have been born incurably good-hearted: or perhaps the one had somehow led to the other, and the many cruelties he had known had taught him to be grateful for even the smallest kindness.

They had eaten now, and rested, and the day was wearing on, so they rose and continued on their journey. Mumpo was in much better heart, and it was in a new spirit of determination and fellow feeling that they marched up the ruins of the Great Way towards the mountains.

Their road ran straight enough, but all the time it was climbing, ascending the foothills of the larger mountain range ahead. Little by little, the trees grew taller on either side, and closer together, and as the sun dropped in the sky, the shadows deepened round them. They began to see or to imagine shapes moving between the trees, and the glint of watching eyes. They kept close together, and walked faster, and it seemed that the shapes loped alongside them, always just out of sight.

When dusk began to gather, they realised they would have to pass at least one night in the forest. They kept moving, but now as they went they looked about them for a suitable place to make camp. Mumpo was becoming tired, and cared very little where he lay down, so long as it was soon.

‘What about here? Here’s good.’

‘What’s good about it?’

‘Between these big trees, then.’

‘No, Mumpo. We need somewhere where we can’t be seen.’

‘Why? Who’s looking for us?’

‘I don’t know. Probably nobody.’

But Mumpo got nervous after that, and kept jumping and looking round. Once he saw something, or thought he saw something, in the trees, and started to run round and round in a panic. Bowman had to catch him and hold him until he became quiet again.

‘It’s all right, Mumpo.’

‘I saw eyes watching us! I did!’

‘Yes, I’ve seen them too. So whatever it is, we mustn’t let it hurt Kess.’

‘You’re right, Bo.’ He became calmer at once. ‘Kess is my friend.’

He still went on looking nervously into the trees, but after that, whenever he saw a shape moving, he shook his fist at it and cried,

‘Come any nearer, I’ll bash you!’

So they trudged on into the twilight, determined to cover as much ground as they could. And just when they had decided the time had come to stop, whether there was a suitable camping place or not, they saw looming ahead of them between the trees two tall stone pillars.

The pillars stood on either side of the old Great Way, marking the beginning of a long stone bridge across a ravine. On the far side, two more pillars stood, where the land began again: far away, two hundred yards or more. The bridge was in ruins. Its two walls, each one capped with a parapet, crossed the ravine on two lines of immense stone arches, twenty yards apart: but the entire middle of the bridge, what had once been the roadway, was gone. How had these twin rows of soaring arches survived without the support they had once given each other? For the gorge they had been built to cross was stupendous.

The three children came to a stop by the pillars, and gazed into the canyon. The ground dropped away before them in a series of steep rock faces, down and down into the twilight shadows, to a river far below. They could see it glinting as it rushed along, passing between the two centre arches that held the high bridge. The further side of the canyon rose up before them, higher than any sea cliff, its fissures sprouting grasses and scrubby bushes, and crazed and riven with fault lines. To either side of them, the jagged edge of the gorge ripped through the forest as far as the eye could see, like a great knife-wound in the world.

‘Crack-in-the-land,’ said Kestrel.

There was no way across the great rift except by the bridge: and the more they looked at the bridge, the less they wanted to cross it.

‘It’s crumbling,’ said Bowman. ‘It won’t hold us.’

Eroded by a hundred winters, the masonry had crackled and broken away, leaving sloping shoulders of stone that looked friable and treacherous. Only the two parapets, cut from a more enduring stone, stood unbroken, forming a narrow but level cap to the remaining walls.

Kestrel went up to one parapet and felt its surface. It was firm to the touch. The top of the wall was about two feet wide, and it was flat. She looked along its length, all the way to the far pillars. It ran straight and level all the way.

‘We can walk on the wall,’ she said.

Bowman said nothing, but he was filled with terror at the narrowness of the parapet, and the dizzying drop below.

‘Just don’t look down,’ said Kestrel, who knew what he would be thinking. ‘Then it’ll be no different from walking along a path.’

I can’t do it, Kess
.

‘What about you, Mumpo? Can you walk on the wall to the other side?’

‘If you go, Kess,’ said Mumpo, ‘I’ll go too.’

I can’t do it, Kess
.

But even as he was sending his sister this fear-filled thought, there came a shuffling sound behind them, and an icy chill went through him. He turned slowly, dreading what he knew he would see. There they were, in a line, holding hands all across the Great Way. They advanced slowly and carefully, snickering as they came, like children playing a secret game; except that their laughter was deep and old.

‘You have come a long way,’ said their leader. ‘But here we are again.’

Mumpo began to whimper with fear. Kestrel took one look at the line of old children, another at the long parapet, and said,

‘Come on! Let’s go.’

She jumped up on to the parapet and set off towards the far side. Mumpo followed her, calling out,

‘Don’t let them touch me, Kess!’

Bowman hesitated a little longer, but he knew he had no choice. So he drew a long breath, and climbed up on to the parapet. Moving with tense and careful steps, he followed after the other two.

For a few yards, the bridge wall ran over the broken edge of the gorge, and the drop below wasn’t far at all. But suddenly the land fell away in a sheer cliff below them, and after that it was as if they were walking in mid-air. The daylight was now fading fast, but not fast enough, and when Bowman looked down, as he had sworn he would not, he could see the gleam of the river running like a silver thread so far below that it made his head go faint, and his body started to shake.

Kestrel stopped to look back, and saw that the old children had clambered up on to the parapet and were following them.

‘Just keep walking,’ she said. ‘Remember, they’re old, and can’t go as fast as us. We’ll be on the other side long before them.’

She pressed on, drawing the other two after her by sheer determination. Bowman, looking back, saw that she was right, and they were crossing the long bridge much faster than the old children. Several of them were now on the parapet, coming one behind the other, picking their way with slow care.

Kestrel stepped steadily on, one foot in front of the other, not looking down, not thinking about the gorge below, thinking, Halfway there, not much longer now, when she saw on the far side a sight that made her heart jump. Beside the pillars that marked the end of the bridge stood more old children, dozens of them. And as she came to a stop, and stared, they climbed up on to the parapet ahead and began to shuffle towards her.

Bo! They’re at the other end
!

Bowman looked, and saw, and understood, in a single flash of knowledge. This time there was no escape. The old children were advancing slowly from either end. Once they reached the middle, there was no way of fighting them off, because every touch brought weakness. He looked over the side, at the immense drop into the gathering darkness, and wondered what it would feel like to fall and fall, and then
smash
! to hit the rocks. Would the dying be quick?

Bo! We have to fight
!

How
?

I don’t know. But I’m going to fight them
.

He felt the familiar fury in her thoughts, which was oddly reassuring. He tried to think what they could do, but all the time the old children were shuffling nearer and nearer. At this point, Mumpo realised what was happening, and began to panic.

‘Kess! Bo! They’re coming to get us! Don’t let them touch me! What shall we do? I don’t want to be old!’

‘Don’t jump about, Mumpo! Stay still.’

‘It’s all right, Mumpo. They won’t get past us.’

Remember
, said Kestrel,
they’re old and weak, and they can only come one at a time. All we have to do is keep them out of reach
.

‘Without touching them,’ said Bowman, answering aloud.

‘Keep them away from me!’ cried Mumpo, jerking from side to side in his fear. He tried to grab hold of Kestrel, and was threatening to unbalance them all.

‘Stop it, Mumpo!’

How can we calm Mumpo down
?

Feed him
, replied Bowman.

Kestrel then realised she was still carrying her nut-socks round her neck, and that in one of the socks there was one mudnut remaining. She unhooked it and reached it out to Mumpo.

‘Here you are, Mumpo.’

As she swung it towards him, she felt the weight of the mudnut, and letting it swing back, she set it circling round and round at the end of the sock. Her eyes followed the swinging weighted end.

‘Bo!’ she cried out. ‘Have you got any mudnuts left?’

Bowman felt the nut-socks round his neck. One mudnut left in each. He had distributed the last two that way, for balance.

‘Two,’ he said.

‘Here’s how we keep them away from us,’ said Kestrel, and she swung her weighted nut-sock through the air before her.

‘Mudnuts won’t hurt them.’

‘They don’t have to. All we have to do is knock them off balance.’

‘Or us.’

‘Remember, we’re young and bendy. They’re old and stiff.’

Not at all convinced, Bowman tried swinging his nut-sock round and round, and nearly fell off the wall. Heart pounding, sweat streaming down his body, he righted himself.

‘It won’t work. I can’t do it.’

‘You’ve got to,’ said Kestrel.

‘I’m hungry,’ said Mumpo. In all this talk of mudnuts, he had forgotten his fear.

‘Shut up, Mumpo.’

‘All right, Kess.’

All this time, the two leading old children were still creeping towards them across the parapet, from either end of the bridge. Others followed steadily behind them. The ones on Bowman’s side were the nearest, and would have to be fought off first.

‘Swing it round, Bo,’ called Kestrel. ‘Get your balance.’

Bowman looked down and saw beneath him now only inky blackness. I wouldn’t mind, if there wasn’t that great drop below, he thought. And as he stared down, a simple idea popped into his head. It’s all dark down there. It can be anything I want. So he stopped imagining the great drop, and built a new picture in his head. There’s no Crack-in-the-land, he told himself. Just a little way below me there’s soft meadow grass. He added some details to this picture: clover, and poppies, and, to be real, a clump of stinging nettles, and he found to his surprise that his fear of falling was gone. That left the old child, shuffling ever closer on the wall.