Concrete Grove. She was less shabby, more substantial.
“What happened to you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why are we here?”
“Because we followed the Path of Black Leaves.”
One of the girls — Abby’s daughter, Tessa; he recognised her from her photograph — broke away from the pack and held her mother’s hand. Her face was a porcelain mask; it held no expression. The eyes were flat and shiny. She was like a life-size doll.
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been talking, my daughter and me. She’s been telling me stories, lots of stories.
“Things started to happen a long time ago, and this is the outcome. Different people started to interfere with this place, tried to gain entry so they could use the power here for their own reasons. There’s pollution under the ground and it gets stronger with each negative emotion that ends up here — the pollution came from us, from humankind. There used to be balance. Now that balance is misaligned. That’s why they’re struggling…” She indicated the hummingbirds with a raised hand. “If they drop the teardrop, it’ll shatter. I don’t know what happens then, but it can’t be good. Not for any of us. But the Path of Black Leaves will grow longer and wider… other things will use it to leave Loculus and find their way back there, to our world.”
“What about Terryn Mowbray?”
She didn’t reply.
“Captain Clickety.”
She nodded. “Oh, him.”
“Yeah, him.”
Abby sighed. “As far as I can tell, he’s a… what’s the word? A tulpa?”
“Yeah, that word would fit.”
“You think about him, and he comes. It’s like opening a door for him. Last year three men spent a lot of time thinking about him. He got his claws in. He broke through. They dealt with him, I think, and what we’ve seen is the leftovers… the remains. Not much, but enough to try and cling on, to use my pain and my memories of Tessa to try and stay there, in the Concrete Grove.”
Marc turned to face her, finding it difficult to take his eyes off the birds. “So what are we supposed to do about all this?”
“The girls were brought here to watch over this cave, and what’s inside it. They came to bear witness to the struggle for balance. Because that’s all that’s ever required, for somebody to see what’s happening. Our world forgot about this place, absorbed it into our myths and our legends. The first dreams mankind ever had ended up here, strands of power. The last dreams we ever have will come here, too. This place… it’s just concentrated Creation. But you’d be surprised how easy it is for creation to become destruction, when the balance isn’t right.”
“What about the girls?”
She shook her head. “They’re tired. They were too weak for the task. They were inadequate replacements. You were promised and prepared a long time ago, to act as a permanent witness, but your parents reneged on the deal and that’s when the balance really began to tip. You were always meant to be here. You were born to be here. I’m sorry… Clickety knew that. He tried to repair the damage. If the balance tips, he fades. He is a product of the status quo.”
“So he isn’t a monster?”
She nodded. “Yes, he’s a monster. But one who knows what’s good for him.”
He thought of the life he was being asked to leave behind, and how it had always seemed hollow and insubstantial. He’d always felt that he was destined for something else, something better or more important, but he’d never been able to discover what it was he was meant to do. And now here it was: his purpose. He was nothing more than a witness.
“What happens if I say no?”
Abby smiled, but sadly. “Who knows? There are no rules here. It’s just another form of chaos.”
“What’s in those other caves?” He motioned to the cave mouths beyond the plinth and its birds.
“They lead to other places. Maybe even other worlds or other times… probably both. This place we’re in is just a way station. I have no idea what other routes might be available, but there are hundreds of them scattered throughout these caves and tunnels. All those hummingbirds originally belonged somewhere in there. Now they’re lost in Loculus, just like the rest of us.”
Without another thought, Marc nodded, stepped forward and knelt down at the foot of the plinth. It seemed natural, as if long ago — perhaps in another lifetime — he’d been trained to do exactly this. He wasn’t sure, but the two birds seemed to respond to his approach. Their wings beat harder, their beaks looked stronger, and their colours were far brighter than they had been only seconds before. The shattered stone plinth began to mend itself.
He felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder, and then another as it enclosed the first. Five hands clutched him, thanking him and saying goodbye. He did not turn around. There was no need. This was his station — he belonged here, in this little place. He always had.
For the first time in his life, Marc felt useful. He was glad.
He’d hate to have made another mistake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ROYLE FELT IMMENSE pressure in his lower back as he held onto the small, soft hand. When Abby Hansen had dropped into the hole, he’d bent over and reached out instinctively, trying to save her. His flailing grasping fingers had come into contact with something, so he’d tightened his grip. But the hand he held did not feel right… there was something wrong with it.
When he looked down now, braced above the opening with one foot on either side of the hole, he wasn’t sure whose hand he had hold of. He shifted his position, gripped tightly with both hands, and pulled. A small, dark shape began to rise up from the depths of the hole, covered in black leaves. The leaves formed a layer — a skin. They coated the figure, making it seem even smaller, compressed.
He tugged as hard as he could and the figure emerged, popping out like something being born. He thought of Vanessa, and the unborn child they had made together… he felt sick, wasted. His energy dipped dramatically.
He stepped away from the hole, hauling the body out and shoving it aside. It was damp, slimy. Unclean.
He looked at his hands. They were covered in those mulch-like black leaves. He wiped them on his trouser legs. The body stirred. Leaves came away, falling to the floor and making a soft, slippery sound. Royle went down onto his knees and stared at the figure. It was inchoate, not quite complete: a stunted child’s body with an oversized, beaked head. The limbs were thin and wasted; the hands were three-fingered claws. He reached out and grabbed the mask, tearing it away… there was nothing beneath: just a shapeless mush of black leaves and a lot of tiny, fragile bones, as if a flock of birds had died in that mess.
The figure began to shred, parts of it slithering away and liquefying. Royle sat down and watched as it was reduced to a thick, black slime on the carpet. The last thing it did was reach out and hold his hand.
“You didn’t make it,” he said. “You couldn’t get through. We stopped you… somehow they stopped you.”
He stood and turned away, then, as an afterthought more than a calculated act, he turned back and kicked at the remains of the mound at the centre of the room, destroying the structure that Abby Hansen had so painstakingly made in honour of her missing child. There was no longer a hole in the floor. He could see no evidence of the route by which Abby Hansen had travelled… she was gone; her point of access had closed up, like a wound scabbing over. He wondered if she would ever return, if he would ever see her again.
Erik Best’s body lay a few feet away, its ruined face turned away from him. He shook his head. “You stupid bastard…” He walked away, left the room, and went downstairs.
