Kit settled himself beside En-Ul and tried once more to reconstruct what had happened to him. After dropping through the floor of the Bone House and making the leap into the unknown, he had followed a sunlit, leafy trail through the paradise world as through a garden of delights, eventually discovering the Spirit Well. Something had happened there. At the mystical pool he had seen Arthur Flinders-Petrie and… something so incredible that even now it seemed to cast a magical glow over him-if he could only remember what it was.
Concentrate! he told himself. What did you see?
Pressing cold hands to his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, and into his mind came the image of his own feet on that otherworldly path
… walking swiftly, almost running-away from the pool of light, retracing his steps… and then he felt himself falling, his foot catching something in the path-a vine maybe, or the root of a tree.. falling hard, hitting his head…
Kit reached a hand to the back of his skull and felt a tender goose egg there. Yes! He had fallen and struck his head. Of course! That proved it was no dream. He had been there; he had witnessed a miracle. That was it! He had witnessed a miracle of rebirth, or resurrection.
Instantly, memory snapped sharp and focused once more; his mind filled with clear, precise images. He saw again the wondrous pool; a movement at its edge had warned him to take cover amongst the foliage. He withdrew into the shadows, and Arthur Flinders-Petrie had appeared at the edge of the pool carrying the body of a woman. The woman, clearly dead, had been restored to life by the vivifying waters of that extraordinary pool. Cradled in the arms of Arthur Flinders-Petrie, her corpse had been carried into the water, emerging a moment later fully alive. Kit had seen it with his own eyes, the same eyes that now misted at the thought that the beautiful world he had found was now lost again.
The memory of that wonder so fleetingly glimpsed and experienced filled him with a longing of such intensity he could hardly breathe. Kit slumped back, holding his throbbing head and feeling immensely sorry for himself until it occurred to him that what had been discovered once could be discovered again. Why not? The first time had been by accident; he had not even been searching. The Well of Souls had found him, so to speak. This time, he would find that miraculous pool and plunge himself into its living, healing water.
With that in mind, Kit fished the ley lamp from its place in the interior pouch he had sewn into his deerskin shirt. Wilhelmina’s curious brass gizmo was dark now; the little row of holes that glowed bright blue in the presence of telluric activity were black and empty. From this Kit knew the ley portal that had opened to allow him to pass to the other world was no longer active. Just to be sure, he waved the device around the interior of the Bone House. The lamp remained a dark, cold, unlit lump of cast metal. The sense of loss sharpened at the realisation that he would not be able to return to the Spirit Well-at least not yet, not until the ley or portal opened once more. He stuffed the instrument back into the pouch; he would try again later. Resigning himself to waiting, Kit settled back and, listening to the slow, easy rhythm of the sleeping En-Ul, was soon dozing.
In his dreamy state Kit let his mind roam where it would, and it soon wandered to Wilhelmina. He wondered what she was doing. Was she still searching for him? Did she fear for his safety? As for himself, he had no such fears. He had found a place among the River City dwellers and, aside from the lack of a few obvious creature comforts, Kit was not only surviving but thriving. In fact, in ways he could not have predicted, he was content. He still wanted to go home, eventually, but for now it seemed right to stay. If this was meant to be, he could accept that.
Thinking of Wilhelmina tirelessly searching for him stirred in Kit a desire to somehow reassure her that he was safe and was content to wait, however long it might take. “I’m okay, Mina,” he murmured as he nodded off. “Don’t worry. Take your time. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Kit dozed on and off for a while. When he stirred again, it was darker inside the Bone House than before. He yawned and stretched and looked around, then saw that he was being watched.
“You are awake, En-Ul,” he said aloud, holding in his mind the image of a man waking up.
The Ancient One gave the customary satisfied grunt that Kit associated with assent, and in his mind’s eye Kit saw the clan sitting by a fire eating meat… followed by the image of an empty mouth opening wide.
“You are hungry?” asked Kit, rubbing his stomach in a pantomime gesture for hunger. “Shall we go back to the camp?” He mimed walking with his fingers against his palm and then pointed in the vague direction of the gorge.
Again came the grunt of affirmation, and the old chieftain made to rise. Kit helped him sit up. “We can take it slow,” he advised, forming a mental picture of this thought. “There is no hurry.”
They sat in silence for a time, and then En-Ul moved to crawl out of the hut. Kit followed and emerged in the early twilight. A snowsoftened hush lay upon the forest. He could hear the soft plop of clumps falling from the branches of the trees around them. The air was crisp and tasted of pine. Kit drew a deep breath into his lungs and exhaled, feeling the icy tang on the back of his tongue. En-Ul stood for a moment, gazing around, listening, then turned and began the trek back to the gorge and the safety of the rock ledge where the clan waited.
Night came upon them long before they reached the valley floor; Kit saw torchlight winking through the trees on the trail leading to the limestone escarpment, and they were soon greeted by members of River City Clan who had come out to welcome them. Once again Kit experienced the uncanny sixth sense of these primitive people; he thought of it as a sort of mental radio that allowed them to communicate with one another instantaneously and over considerable distance. They might have had the vocal acuity of bright toddlers, but telepathically they were wizards.
Their looks, too, were highly deceptive. A casual observer might reasonably surmise that the typical River City Clan member was a shaggy, lumbering specimen, slow of foot and apprehension, a hulking, ham-fisted brute utterly lacking all human refinements. In actual fact, they were agile and lithe, possessing a peculiar grace all their own. They could move through their forested world in complete silence and near invisibility; they knew how to avail themselves of every source of food on foot, wing, or root; they possessed the gentleness, patience, and long- suffering tolerance worthy of saints. They would never be mistaken for elegant; their stocky, muscular build, thick limbs, and broad bodies were not designed for dance, but for endurance. Shaggy they were, true, but in the months Kit had been with them he was no less hairy; in many ways life was simpler without scissors.
The clansmen were glad to see them; with much patting and pawing and grunts of satisfaction, the two sojourners were gathered back into the fold. To Kit it felt like a genuine homecoming; he had a place among these people, yes, but in light of his experience at the Well of Souls, he could not help thinking it was something more- that he had some more definite purpose here. What that purpose might be eluded him at the moment, but the feeling was real and inescapable.
The words of Sir Henry came back to him: No such thing as coincidence.
Despite all that had happened to him, or maybe because of it, Kit could accept that at face value, thinking, I am meant to be here. Now all he had to do was figure out why.
The welcome concluded, the greeting party led them back to the winter quarters. The soft flutter of the burning brands and the soft squeak of snow beneath feet swaddled in bearskin were the only sounds to mark their passing. They moved along the river’s edge, now iced over, the snow-covered humps of stones creating a lumpy field; they trooped up the narrow passage along the wall of the gorge to the generous rock ledge that was the clan’s winter home. By the time they tumbled into camp once more, Kit was chilled all the way through. A wide, flat space on the lip of the ledge had been given over to a sizeable campfire, which was kept burning day and night. Sleeping mats made of bundles of dried grass overspread with pelts and furs lay scattered around the perimeter of the fire, and at the back of the ledge two hollows-one for food and one for water-allowed the clansmen to keep ready supplies close at hand.
Kit threaded his way among the well-wishers and stood as close to the campfire as he dared until the flames warmed him once more. Strips of venison from the haunch of a deer were sizzling on wooden skewers, filling the air with the aroma of roasting meat; the skewers were passed hand to hand. After all had eaten their fill, River City settled in for the night. Kit sat up for a long time, watching the fire and thinking about what he had experienced in the Bone House and what it meant. Then, tired at last, he squeezed a place in amongst the scattered bodies and slept to the slow tick of smouldering embers.
It snowed throughout the night and was still snowing the next morning when En-Ul rose and stood before the clan as they huddled around the fire. Kit, like the others, noticed at once-it was not a common action-and all looked in hushed expectation of what the Ancient One would do. Standing before his people, En-Ul looked around and then gave a grunt. Into Kit’s mind came the image of a dimly flickering light and a hand. The hand was red and dripping
