Childhood's End

5. THE HOLE AND THE MIRROR

Minerva saw in the fast diminishing light that Gig had gone rigid, her hands splayed about her cheeks and staring stupidly. She'd seen that look on cornered animals before--tharn the old folks called it. It was a prelude to mindless bolting or complete collapse. Instinctively, she embraced Gig to reassure her and also shield her as best she could from the rising gale. She mustered up what she hoped was a calm voice, but she had to shout to be heard, so the effect was lost.

"IT'LL BE ALL RIGHT GIG...JUST HOLD ON NOW!"

Behind them came a booming sound, as if a herd of crazed Graphorns was trying to fit through the doorway all at once. A really strong gust of wind caught her full in the back and knocked them both sprawling. As she hit the floor, Minerva inhaled a lungful of dust and--freezing air. She gagged and felt Gig coughing beneath her. They could hear the pennants and banners flapping furiously overhead. And there were voices, ebbing and flowing around them with the changes in the wind, keening, whispering, cursing. The coldest sensation Minerva had ever felt flooded through her. She hoped Gig was not hearing or feeling the same things she was. If so, she might never get her friend back out into the sunshine.

Now she heard Gig whisper, very slow and deliberate, though her teeth were chattering: "This p-place belongs to the w-wights and the ghouls, it does--like the b-b-barrows of the South Downs. Oh Minerva..."

"That's not true," Minerva whispered back. "It's only the spirits of my ancestors--they're good people, and they won't harm me--or my friends." Even if one so-called friend was a knock-kneed coward. She had a mental image of her last sight of Petey, his eyes white with terror and wailing like a banshee in a bog. The wind and the voices seemed to be dying away in the direction of his flight. Serve him right if they do turn his insides out, she thought.

"Come on now, Gig. Let's go. I know the way, but I'll need your help. One foot in front of the other." That last was a saying Goodie Gudgeon used often, whenever there was a long journey or a hated task to complete. One foot afore the other, lass, an we'll be hame in a wee."

She tried to pull her friend to her feet. It was no easy task, because although Gig was hollow-boned and easy to maneuver as a rule, fear and rigor had made her into a dead weight. No, worse than dead--rigid and resistant. So Minerva did something she had never, ever done. She shook her, hard. Gig gave a little pinched sob and yielded to her younger friend's determination.

Now as Minerva looked around, she had to fight down panic. The darkness was so complete. There was no afterglow or starlight here deep underground to gradually reveal shapes and shadows. For a horrible instant she found herself wishing she could change back into the Beast she had been the other night. She remembered the keen awareness she'd had of everything: smells, sounds, shadows, infinitesimal movements of creeping things. Her whiskers--yes, she had had whiskers--had sensed every breath of breeze, every ripple set up by the minuscule vibrations of tiny beating prey-hearts.

And, by Circe, she thought she actually felt the start of that sensation, the beginnings of the Change, like an infusion of a hotter blood than her own into her veins, and with it a fierce animal energy. But she could not allow it to happen. However beneficial it might be, the sudden appearance of the Beast beside her would surely send Gig over the edge into madness. With a superhuman will, Minerva quelled the oddly reassuring tingle, squeezed it out of herself. She thought she heard a faint 'pop!' as if the effort had broken something inside her, but there was no time to dwell on that now.

Now they started back, hand in hand. Minerva remembered the order and general floor plan of each room, but she pretended ignorance and encouraged Gig to describe them as they stumbled along, to keep her sensible and 'in the game'.

"H-here's the Hardic Ball..." Minerva recalled the name--the Bardic Hall--as Petey had christened it in his lordly hubris. "We have to kee bareful here," Gig opined with a hint of returning strength. Minerva remembered thinking this herself, even when they had the benefit of Petey's light. Stringed instruments were ranged about the walls, the larger ones on randomly placed pedestals.

Gig was still talking as they felt their way, clinging to the wall. "...and if nee wock over that big hooden warp near the center, the noise will wurely shake any ghost that's still asleep." Minerva grinned at the crack and breathed relief that her friend's sense of humor was returning. They felt their way around the edge of the chamber, only once knocking into something-- a round-bodied mandolin Minerva remembered. It had looked much like a cook pot with strings. It twanged a mournful note, like an Augurey's song. They both giggled at this and knew now that they would be all right.

They made it through The Library the same way, step by careful step. It was easier here. Shelves full of scrolls and books were ranged in parallel rows leading straight to the next opening. At one point Gig thought she heard a noise, a groan or something, but they waited several minutes and did not hear it again, so went on. But now came the challenge. Beyond the Library was the dreaded Hole-Room. They stood some precious moments, catching their breath.

Minerva led the way through the arch, with Gig behind, her right hand tucked into Minerva's waistband, her left, like Minerva's, feeling along the cavern wall. They negotiated the uneven ground without a misstep. Halfway round as she judged it, Minerva began to feel they could do this. She allowed her mind to stray from intense concentration on balance and foot placement to a cautious preview. Only three rooms to go: the Wardrobe (some standing suits of armor to avoid there, but most of its contents were robes and cloaks hung on wall pegs), The Armory with its gridwork of weapons, (again mainly on the walls, and, she hoped, with no sharp edges protruding into their path), and finally, The Mirror-room. It should be easy to find the hole to the outer cave. Surely it would give itself away with a glimmer of outside light and there would be light enough to see around those stalagmites. It couldn't be night time. Not yet.

There was a gasp behind her. "Thumsing brushed my leg," whispered Gig.

"It's just a stone," returned Minerva in a normal tone.

"No, it was--something--soft." She was laboring to stay calm and make herself understood.

Not a bat then. Their wings were stiff and leathery. Then Minerva heard it--a patting or padding sound and something like snuffling coming from her right--from the Hole itself.

They froze and clung to each other, pressed against the wall. It was not difficult to remain silent. Their breath had ceased utterly on hearing that sound.

"Ach. Vassiss?" A question. And definitely not Petey's voice. It had the hard gutturals of Gaelic, but was otherwise unfamiliar. Then there was a cry and a thud. After an age of time, Minerva peered through slit eyes and saw--a faint, flickering glow coming from the Hole. Starved for light, she strained in the gloom, devoured every shape as it became clear. There was the crack-striated floor, the rough, curved walls, and, as she turned her head cautiously, the darkness of the exit door, not so far away as she'd thought, yet not near enough. There was no clue to the owner of the voice. It had retreated--dropped or fallen--into the Hole. Then her eyes rested on Gig's, which were tight-shut.

One thing was sure, she had to get her friend into the next room and out of sight. She gave her a gentle shake and Gig blinked. Minerva nodded deliberately and gestured towards the door with her head. She hoped Gig understood. She didn't dare risk so much as a whisper. Still clinging, but lightly now, she backed towards the exit door, step by halting step, pulling Gig after her, like they were in a kind of slow-motion dance. Twice they halted in midstep, the first time, as the voice repeated its odd combination of sounds: "Ach. Vass iss," and again a moment later when a high-pitched cackle echoed through the cave.

They made it to the door, exhausted by tension and bated breath. Minerva shoved her friend into some soft folds of material, hanging from the wall, and wrapped the ends around her, tucking them in like a blanket. "I'll be right back," she whispered, her mouth in Gig's ear. Sensing no protest, she inched back towards the Hole-Room, then eased herself down to hands and knees.

She crawled towards the light in the floor. Her purpose was clear. It had been stupid and cowardly to have passed the Hole earlier without having a look along with Petey. Well, no matter what her fears were, she had to see the source of the danger now, if danger it was, before she would turn her back on it again. And...she had to know what kind of beast had such a curious, oddly appealing laugh. Reaching the Hole, she assumed a crouching position, ready for flight, if the discovery was bigger or faster than she could handle, and peered over the edge.

In what was no abyss, but merely a wide depression about six feet deep, she saw an elf-like creature bent over a guttering lantern. It was bigger than a garden gnome, and skinny, with bony bare feet sticking out of its robe. It looked slow and harmless. It had no weapons that she could discern, except a stick protruding from a neat bundle and a staff that lay nearby. It seemed to have made itself at home down there. But behind the elf was another hole--in the floor of the depression. It was about three feet wide, but how deep she could not say.

The creature turned suddenly and looked up. It stared at her for an instant out of twinkling black eyes, then made that cackling sound and stretched out its arms, as if it expected her to leap down into them. "Mine kint," it cried. "Come!" And once again, it laughed. The curious thing was, Minerva felt a powerful urge to obey it. The laughter tickled at her brain and seemed to promise the company of pink-cheeked children about a hearth, chestnuts roasting on the fire, and a tin of ginger snaps. Only Jacko's cautionary tales of babes replaced in their beds with Faerie changelings and Red Caps stalking travelers to their deaths kept her in her place.

The elf's demeanor changed. Its slanted eyes flashed and its pointy chin wobbled. More of that strange language issued from its mouth, but now it sounded petulant. It started to climb up towards her. Minerva instinctively kicked out, and her heavy brogues made contact with its face. Falling back, the creature missed its footing, hit its head hard on the lantern, and lay still.

Minerva longed to climb down and retrieve the light. She wasn't all that sure that it was still day outside, and feeling their way through the cavern with sharp rocks all around would be no picnic. But the lantern looked heavy--it had hardly budged in the collision. It had shutters, and she recognized it as the kind made to stand up to windy nights guarding sheep in the mountains. She wasn't sure she could maneuver it and herself up the steep sides of the hole. And she expected Gig would be too scared to be much help.

But now there came a scuffling sound behind her, and Gig threw herself down beside Minerva, looking indignant.

"That robe you hid me in," she hissed, "it stried to trangle--mingle--strangle me. What's that?" She pointed to the elf, its body splayed out between the lantern and the smaller hole, its sharp features ghastly in the flickering light. "Oo, Erkling," she exclaimed.

"What?"

"Erman jelf--I mean--German elf. Kidnaps children. Detey's Pad has one in his brylairy. Stuffed."

Minerva shivered. An Erkling. Its merry laughter had very nearly lured her into its clutches--and from there--where? The Hole? Or worse?

"If I climb down, I think I could lift that lantern up to you on a staff. Do you think you can hold it?"

"If it's hot too not."

"I'm going to try. Keep an eye on our friend there."

Minerva lowered herself into the depression, with the help of some large rocks jutting out of the dirt. She looked the elf over--it lay as if dead. She felt the briefest twinge of conscience, but turned her attention to the task at hand. The lantern was indeed heavy and she'd have to boost it straight up with the staff, keeping her weight under it. But the staff, though long enough, was completely smooth. No knob or notch marred its surface to provide a convenient hook.

The bindle stick was better. It was thick and had a fork at the end, perfect for her purpose, but she judged it a bit short. She rummaged through the elf's belongings to see if she could find anything else that would help. The only remotely useful item was a long rusty knife, half-buried in the dirt. There were also some papers and orts of grayish bread and a hooded cape in a dusty knapsack. She set the handle of the lantern into the crotch of the stick and swayed it upright.

"You'll have to reach down for it, Gig. Lie full out with just your arms over the rim. Grasp it by the handle. It's not that hot." Minerva braced herself with her back against the cliff--she couldn't bring herself to turn her back on the Erkling--and lifted the lantern over her head on the end of the stick. She inched it hand over hand straight upward. It wavered in her grasp. Rocks dug into her back. Sweat trickled down her face. Her muscles were tiring quickly. She glanced at the prostrate elf. A trick of the flickering light made it seem as if it were winking at her. But now a foot twitched, then an arm. It was no illusion. The creature was waking up!

She forced herself to glance upward, and she could see that the lantern was not yet high enough for Gig to reach it. The Erkling sat up, then started to raise itself to a standing position, shaking its head as if trying to clear it. Minerva gave a last lunge of superhuman effort and stretched up on tiptoe. The lantern, if it was going to clear the rim, had to do so--right now. She grimaced, and a loud "MMMMMRRRRRRUHHH" of frustration escaped her lips.

The creature stared at Minerva. It might have taken her for a menacing beast, roaring and raving, with a great bright weapon raised over her head because its eyes widened in surprise--and fear. It took an instinctive step backward--foolhardy, for the hole was but inches away. Its foot struck the edge. It seemed to realize its mistake and tried to correct it by paddling with its arms, but to no avail. It toppled backwards through the hole, and disappeared into the darkness.

Seconds later she heard the impact. The bottom was a long fatal way down. Silence ensued.

In her shock, Minerva hadn't realized that her burden had lightened. She tore her eyes from the hole and saw Gig hauling the lantern up over the rim.

"Where'd he go?" Gig asked. She obviously hadn't been watching.

Minerva couldn't bring herself to reply. She was glad Gig had identified the thing as an Erkling. She'd read about them somewhere. They were firmly classified as beasts, nasty child-eating beasts, so she didn't need to feel guilty about its painful end. Still, she couldn't help wondering about the voice she'd heard. It had sounded so like language.

Minerva shrugged and fell to examining her surroundings. Busy work helped in times of confused emotions, Goodie always said. She gathered up the elf's belongings and thought a moment about sending them down the hole to join the beast's remains. Her ancestors had buried their dead with their possessions. But this--this creature was not human.

Then her logic asserted itself. What was an Erkling--native to Germany--doing in Scotland in the first place? Perhaps there was a clue in his belongings. It was a bit of a struggle getting them up to Gig, but the prospect of soon escaping this oppressive space strengthened them both.

They made it without incident to the Mirror-room. Gig found the entry hole and wriggled on through. Minerva laid down her burdens and started poking 'the loot', as Gig had christened it, through the hole. As the lantern disappeared, she became aware of another light source somewhere in the room. Gig called out that it looked like the sun was setting and that Minerva should get a move on.

Minerva stuck her head into the opening. "Go on and find Petey. He's probably out there hiding somewhere, the big feardie. I'll be along straightaway." She saw Gig shrug in the day's enduring glow and then make her way eagerly towards it.

Minerva turned to face the mirror. Something inside it shone with a fierce white light. She could just make out the walls of the room in its glow. Alone with this undoubtedly magical phenomenon, she wondered if she was safe to listen to the urgings of curiosity. She took a step closer to the mirror and could see that the light came from a silvery column within it, whirling and writhing like a tornado.

A wind from the depths of the cave freshened and seemed to penetrate the glass, for immediately the column rippled and distorted. It took on the form and coloring of a man in Muggle Scots clothing: heavy leather shoes with knee-high stockings and a long dust-colored coat covering a kilt of a pattern she couldn't make out. He was carrying a long crooked stick with a kind of a knife fastened to one end and he wore a metal cap with a brim all the way around. It covered the crown of his head but stopped well short of his ears and was fastened with a chin-strap. And as he turned this way and that, apparently looking for something or someone, she could see on his back a knapsack much like the one they'd found, but with many smaller pouches and kit bags attached it, seemingly balanced one upon another.

Now he spoke to someone only he could see. "Who goes there?" He had a Highlands accent, sharp and firm, and he pointed into the fog menacingly with his stick. Yes, it was fog, not just magical residue, and it dragged wetly at the man's garments. Now Minerva could make out a shape, another man in the mist, but he was dressed incongruously in wizarding robes. He was holding his side and coughing as if he had a very bad cold. "Oh, it's you lot," said the Muggle, raising his stick, his voice not so hostile now. "What's the matter? Lost your magical compass?" The other made no sound, but pulled out a wand from inside his sleeve. He drew himself up to his full height and aimed it at the Muggle. There was a flash of light and the mirror went dark.

Minerva blinked and rubbed her eyes. The flash left her sunblind, and a reddish afterimage was all she could see for a few scary moments. Gradually she perceived behind her the light from the hole to the outside. She put her hand to her face and felt her eyes streaming with moisture.

There was a sound like a keening wind, but no accompanying gust of cool cave air. Minerva remained rigid staring at the glass, willing it to lighten again, and the story to continue. Who were those men? There was something about one of them--the Muggle--that seemed familiar, the twist at the corner of the lips, the dimpling of the cheek when he thought he recognized a friend in the wizard. It seemed he was mistaken, for the spell had been of the attacking variety, of that she was sure. Well, almost sure. Perhaps it was her love of Jacko Gwynn's stories that primed her to believe the worst had happened. But was there not, just before the spell hit, a look of surprise and dismay on the Muggle's face? Who was the wizard fellow? And where did the confrontation take place? Was this a premonition of a future event, or something that had already happened? If so, when? And why, oh why had the glass revealed this to her?

A sound at the cave mouth roused her.

"'Nerva, you okay?" It was Gig.

Minerva sloughed off the nagging questions, picked up the knapsack, and headed out. She had spent too long in that dark place. Perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her. Perhaps the whole thing, the rooms, the ghosts, the Erkling, had all been illusion. But no, she still had 'the loot' and too much residual fear cramping her muscles for that last to have been a dream.

She didn't remember afterward how she got back into the open air. The sun was bright and cool behind the mountain, but not too bright for her eyes, which had endured a flash far brighter, and at the same time, darker...

Something about her face made Gig ask, in an excited whisper, "What did you see?"

"Kind of hard to explain." Minerva wanted to think about her vision--if that was what it had been--before sharing it with anyone else. "Where's Fat-Hair?"

Gig grinned, "Think he went on home. Probably ashamed--knew yo? But..." She patted the bindle. "We lot the goot."