Zluty supposed the bits of metal must have come from the larger metal objects at the foot of the mountains. Yet why turn metal into soup?
Later, when the tide of molten metal rose to the rim of the cauldron, one of the Monks pulled a lever to tilt it and a rivulet of orange flowed along a channel cut into the stone rim around the fire and spilled into grooves carved in the floor around the fire pit. Still later, when the metal cooled, diggers came to remove it and Zluty saw it had hardened again but in the shape of the grooves.
When one of the diggers brought him food, Zluty realised with a shock that the little metal shape it wore was the same as the metal from the grooves, bent to curve around its head, and with a small metal object fixed to it.
He tried to ask the digger about it, and when he received no reply he later questioned another that brought him water. It too did not answer. Indeed, all of the diggers undertook their tasks silently, with expressionless faces and vacant eyes. Remembering the clever liveliness of the diggers in the settlement, Zluty understood that something was wrong with their minds and wills. He would have judged the metal shapes responsible, except Monks also wore metal shapes and it did not appear to affect their wills.
Zluty wrapped his arms around himself, wondering longingly what Bily was doing. But it hurt too much to think of his brother, so he curled up and tried to sleep. The cold made it hard, but eventually he drifted into a restless doze in which he dreamed that he was in the Northern Forest searching for Bily.
‘You belong together,’ whispered a voice. ‘That is the most important thing. Only together have you the power to do what must be done.’
Zluty woke with a start to the sound of feet slapping on the stone. Through his cell door he could see a group of Monks. One at a time they approached the Machine and put things into the black slot with such exaggerated care and with so many ornate gestures that it reminded him of the dance some male birds did to attract a mate to nest. Only here, there were no she Monks, and the Machine was no nest.
When this strange ceremony was finished, the Monks left, save for the biggest – a brutish soot-coloured beast that lumbered into his cell.
Zluty could not help shrinking from its glittering black gaze as the Monk bared its teeth horribly and gave a snarling growl. This must have been a summons for a smaller black Monk came scuttling in to join it.
‘Should killing unplanned strangeness!’ the big Monk growled.
‘Maybe strangeness only seeming unplanned. Maybe it being sent by Makers,’ said the smaller Monk.
The big Monk looked at it sharply. ‘Thinking Makers testing Monks?’
‘Thinking caution being wisdom when not knowing,’ the small Monk said softly. ‘Especially when unplanned strangeness carries message egg from Makers.’
‘Maybe unplanned strangeness stole message egg meant for Listeners!’ the big Monk snapped.
‘Unpossible to accuse Listeners of carelessness,’ the other said loftily. ‘When new Listener coming to clouded mountain, we must telling of unplanned strangeness carrying message egg.’
The big Monk settled back on its haunches. ‘Listener claiming egg and unplanned strangeness.’
The small Monk leaned forward eagerly.
‘Listener only claiming trouble if unplanned strangeness’s head is fixed,’ it said with a glitter of malice.
The big Monk’s eyes widened. ‘But if we fixing head of unplanned strangeness, it can telling Listener nothing of its doings.’
‘This not being problem of Monks,’ the smaller said slyly. ‘It being job of Monks to fixing heads. If unplanned strangeness is test, then Listeners failing test, not Monks.’
The big Monk grunted and lumbered out, followed by the smaller one, and Zluty suddenly felt very frightened.
The diggers roused Bily from a restless half sleep to tell him most of the lights had gone out in Stonehouse, which meant the Monks now slept.
‘It being timeliness for doing rescuing,’ the she digger said.
Bily’s heart began to pound, but he helped the diggers to pack up the things they would take, and after they had wrapped the embers back into the moss, they climbed out into the cold, still night and donned their blanket cloaks. The coldwhites had ceased falling and once again the air was thick with mist. The she digger showed Bily how to turn his cloak inside out so the paler side would hide him in the white mist, but she bade him wear the grey side to begin with so they did not lose each other.
As they set off, Bily noticed there was a thick layer of cloud overhead. The he digger murmured that the clouds had a belly full of coldwhites to spill. They had left the lantern behind in the rift, but when they got closer to Stonehouse there was light enough to see where they were going. Bily was startled to discover that it was not a settlement on a hill as he had thought, but a single mound-like lump of a building with many levels, each level being smaller than the last. It was as if a dozen houses had been built higgledy-piggledy alongside and atop one another creating a burrow system above ground instead of below it. At least, he supposed it was only above ground.
Light came from only a few windows at the bottom level, but in the top level every single window blazed with light.
Seeing the direction of his gaze, the he digger said, ‘That being where memory songs say captives wait for heads to be turned to metal.’
Bily’s heart sank. Foolishly he had imagined climbing through a window into Zluty’s cell to rescue him. He could not even hope Zluty was in one of the lower rooms, since this would mean his head had been turned to metal. Whatever that meant.
‘Must going round to back of Stonehouse,’ the he digger said. ‘Memory songs say Monks always guarding front door.’ He pointed to where light flooded from the wide, square entrance at the front of the lowest level. Bily could see no guards outside, but shadows moved in the light. He wished one of the Monks would step out so that he could see what they looked like, but given what the diggers said, they would not come out while it was night.
The diggers led Bily in a wide arc around the settlement to a part where all of the windows but two on the ground level were dark. They huddled together to talk under their turned cloaks.
‘I can’t see a door,’ Bily said.
‘There is only one door into Stonehouse and it is guarded,’ the she digger told him gravely.
‘How do we get in, then?’ Bily asked.
‘We get in through a window,’ she answered, pity in her eyes. That was when Bily realised that most of the windows were small, and all of the larger ones at ground level were crisscrossed with bars.
‘I can’t fit,’ he realised.
‘We will do seeking of stolen beloveds,’ the she digger told him. ‘You must going back to lantern and doing waiting. If other diggers coming now that coldwhites have stopped falling, they will go there and you must do a telling of all that has happened.’
Bily wanted badly to say they could not rescue his brother without him; that Zluty might be unable to walk without help; that they must find another way in. But he forced himself to nod.
Bily went with them as the diggers crept closer to the building, hooded heads bent low. At the wall, they flattened themselves and moved sideways to the nearest window. It was dark, but they could hear snoring sounds and grunts from within, so they crawled under it and made their way to the next window. Though dark, this was barred, and they crawled under it, too. Just as they reached the next window, a light came on.
They froze and waited, pressing themselves to the wall.
Shadows moved in the light and then there was silence. They waited a long time, and then the she digger signalled that they should continue.
The diggers crawled under the window, and Bily was about to follow but he could not resist peeping inside.
He had to clench his teeth together hard to keep from crying out at the sight of a great, long-armed, hairy beast bent over a stone trough that seemed to serve as a giant bowl, for it was scooping a mess from it to its mouth. It was
intent on its meal, so Bily went on staring, transfixed by its size and the sharpness of its fangs and claws.
The she digger hissed at him to come and Bily was about to obey when he saw a little group of diggers come down a ramp into the room, carrying bowls. Ignoring the enormous Monk, for what else could it be, they tipped the contents of the bowls into the long trough. It went on eating, paying no attention to them. None of the diggers was bound, but all had queer blank expressions.
‘Must come,’ the she digger urged, tugging at his elbow.
‘Look,’ Bily whispered urgently.
And she did.
He saw her go rigid, and they stayed like that until the he digger called to them to hurry. The she digger tore her gaze from the window and crawled along the wall, and Bily followed. When they were far enough from the window to be sure they would not be overheard, they stopped and the she digger told their companion what they had seen.
‘No one did know this,’ the she digger muttered. ‘No one did guess it.’
‘Unpossible,’ the he said. ‘Diggers not being taken for many generations.’
‘Must be Monks doing keeping and breeding of ancestors of first digger captives to serving them,’ the she said, sounding sick.
Bily wanted to suggest that the Makers might simply have sent more diggers, if they sent the first, but the he digger said firmly, ‘Timeliness for doing finding of lost beloveds now.’
The she digger shook herself and nodded. ‘Yes. Must doing rescuing then can taking the telling of this to the clan.’
‘If the Monks are used to seeing diggers, maybe they won’t even notice you,’ Bily said.
The she digger gave him a blazing look. ‘You are right, Bee-lee!’ she said. ‘Now you must going back to rift and waiting.’
‘I will wait here,’ Bily said.
She shook her head. ‘Smell of blizzard in the air. Better to take refuge in rift. We will do returning when we learn the where of the Zchloo-tee.’
Bily was ashamed to let the little diggers go into danger while he went to wait in warmth and safety, but clearly there was nothing to be done about it. He slipped his pack off and gave them the metal tools in case they needed them to break Zluty’s chains, and his pouch of healing salve and bandages. ‘In case someone is hurt,’ he said.
The diggers took what he offered and then he watched as they bounded lightly away along the wall. They soon found an unbarred, dark window and disappeared into it. Bily waited anxiously, but when there was no outcry he forced himself to move. When he was far enough away from the wall not to have to be careful, he stood up, turned his cloak again, and cast a last look at Stonehouse before setting off for the rift. How hard it was to have to be the one to wait again.
He had not gone more than a few steps when coldwhites began to fall. In seconds, they were falling so thickly that he could see nothing at all. He turned, intending to take his bearings from Stonehouse, and was dismayed to discover that he could not see it. He could not even see his own tracks.
He turned again and began to walk slowly, hoping he was moving towards the rift. He knew he was not far from it and he did not want to fall into it. Luckily he had brought Zluty’s staff and could probe the way ahead with it.
Zluty lay his head down wearily, wondering how Bily had ever endured waiting at the cottage when he had gone foraging. Of course, his resourceful brother had spent his time cooking and spinning and firing pots. Yet still it had been waiting, and only now did Zluty understand how very hard that was to do. Which was foolish, he knew, because he was waiting for the Monks to come and fix his head, and the longer they took the better.
For a while he had been full of determination to escape. But there was simply no way to free himself. The only plan he had been able to devise required him to catch hold of one of the diggers that brought him food and pull the metal thing off its head. Yet there was no certainty that this would restore the little creature’s will and wit at once, if at all. And even if it worked, and it was willing to help him, they would still have to find a way to break his metal bonds before they could try to escape.
Zluty had no doubt his brother would have tried to convince the diggers to rescue him. For all his gentleness, Bily had shown a strength of will Zluty had never guessed at, since the stone storm had come. But it would be impossible for the diggers to do battle with the enormous Monks and rescue him, even if they could find some way to get to the top of the mountains. He only hoped they had been able to convince Bily there was no point in coming after him.
Zluty had tried to accept that there was no one coming to save him. But he was not made for despair, and after a time he dried his tears and vowed never to let the Monks fix his head. For all their strength and agility, he had noticed they were neither quick nor quick-witted. When they came to take him, he would struggle and fight and try to make them kill him. Better that than to be turned into a mindless slave with vacant eyes like the poor little digger captives.
He gave up trying to sleep and sat up. It was too cold. The falling ice fluffs the Monks had called ‘snow’ were blowing thickly through the window, forming a deep chilly drift under it. Bily thought longingly of the fire in the main chamber.
Then he heard the Monks coming. They were arguing and paid no heed to him at all as they entered his cell. It was difficult to understand exactly what they were saying when his mind was in such turmoil, but he thought they were talking about the metal shapes made for diggers’ small heads not fitting his head. At length a pale grey Monk said sullenly and very clearly, ‘Trying to trick Makers into anger at Listeners being dangerful.’
The biggest Monk cuffed it hard, knocking it against the wall, then it began to hammer its fists against its chest, making a hooting sound. The other Monks hammered their chests too and then the big Monk reached for the metal ring set in the floor and bent it so that the rope of metal links around Zluty’s feet slid free.
Zluty might have fought then, but he could not bring himself to do it with so many Monks about, and the certain knowledge that he would be killed.
‘Where there is life there is hope,’ he whispered Bily’s words to himself and resolved to wait for an opportunity to escape. The big Monk dragged him to the Machine, where a table stood with an array of small metal tools lined up on it. Alongside them sat a metal shape like the ones worn by the captive diggers, only larger.
Seeing it, Zluty realised with horror that they had already created something that would fit his head. Now he did struggle, but it was too late and the Monks were too strong. They bent the metal form around his head using some of the metal tools, and then they used others to attach it under his jaw. There was a searing pain in one ear and Zluty cried out in shock and fear.
But when they had finished, his mind and will were still his own! He was desperately relieved, until they lifted him towards the dark slot at the front of the Machine.
Filled with terror at the certainty that this was what the diggers had meant by heads being turned to metal, he began to struggle violently. He caught hold of both sides of the Machine to prevent them pushing him into the dark opening and tried to bite the hand of the Monk holding him.
It simply lifted him free and knocked his head on the Machine.
Zluty lost all strength then, and as the Monk pushed him into the mouth of the Machine, darkness flowed unstoppably into his mind, blotting out light and thought and hope.
Bily was utterly lost. He had been walking for hours and what he wanted most was to lie down in the soft coldwhites blanketing the stone and sleep. But the thought of Zluty burned in him like an ember in moss, keeping him moving. The flying coldwhites buffeting him on all sides seemed to have got into his head and it was very hard to think. He had been terribly cold, but somehow he could no longer feel the cold. The wind was strong and seemed to be getting worse. As if annoyed by his thought, it slapped at him so hard that he just managed to catch hold of his cloak as it slipped from his neck and was nearly swept away into the screaming ni
ght.
He was roused from his stumbling stupor as it came to him that he must have walked all the way through the high peaks to the Western side of the mountains. Indeed, for all he knew he might be just about to walk off a cliff!
He stopped abruptly and then, without him deciding it, his legs gave out and he sank to his knees. He fell forward onto his hands, only to discover he was on steeply sloping ground. He sat back on his heels and tried to think.
The wind meant that he was no longer shielded by the peaks that lay around Stonehouse, and the sloping ground must mean he had left the plateau altogether and was now halfway up the flank of the next mountain.
If he was right, then all he needed to do to find his way back to the rift was to turn and retrace his steps. But when he struggled to his feet he noticed a light shining further to what he had decided was the South. The diggers’ memory songs had said nothing of any settlement or dwelling in the mountains other than Stonehouse, where all the Monks lived. He decided the best thing to do would be to see what was giving out the light. It did not look as if it was very far away. As the ground levelled out, he began to think he had got completely turned round and the light was from Stonehouse, but the closer Bily got to it, the larger and whiter the light became, until it seemed to him that it was a great white eye peering at him.
Then his gaze fell and he saw enormous eyes just below the shining white light. He tried to tell himself they were a mirage of the cold and terrible white night, sparked by the memory of the Monster he had found in the cellar of the cottage. But where his Monster’s eyes burned hot and bright yellow, these were pale blue and icy as the heart of winter, blue as moonlit frost.