‘Like the flame maker!’ Bily cried, suddenly realising what the diggers meant when they said a metal object lived. But the rest was so puzzling that he could not make head nor tail of it. It was impossible that all of the metal objects on their cottage plain had been thrown from the mountain rift. It was much too far away. Trying to make sense of it, he asked why the Makers would throw metal objects down the mountain, but the diggers said only that they were for widening the sky crack.
Gradually Bily began to see that the diggers did not like to speak of the Makers in the sky crack. They seemed both ashamed and defiant on the subject. He could not understand why they would feel either of those things but decided he must stop fretting at things he did not understand and concentrate on the plan. It was very simple.
When the sun set he and his companions would travel to the mountains and use the Monk’s moving device to ascend to the heights. They would follow the Monks’ path to Stonehouse and find out where Zluty was being held. If they were lucky, they would find him before dawn and be able to free him from his chains and get away. Bily prayed his brother would be chained, else he might already have had his head turned to metal. The thought of Zluty emptied of laughter and words and courage was so awful that Bily’s mind shied away from it.
At length he forced himself to warm the pot of food he had made hours before and eat. He was not hungry, but it might be days before he would eat properly again. The bottom of the pot was burned and the soup bitter, but he did not care. His thoughts were all of Zluty and what he might be enduring. The moment he had finished eating he rose and pulled on his chest harness and pack. His companions did the same. Three of them carried small lanterns with little flames that flickered behind windows of the same clear stuff the plains diggers had made.
Bily glanced North, wishing Redwing had returned. Sighing, he asked the clan leader to explain to her what had happened. Then he embraced the sleeping Monster.
‘Fear not for Him,’ the clan leader said. ‘We will do healing of metal.’ He reached out to stroke Bily’s hand tenderly. ‘Be carefulness.’
Dusk was fading in the sky when they reached the place where the metal objects were laid out. Bily and the diggers lost a good bit of time searching for the broken boulder behind which Zluty had hidden, for in the darkness one boulder looked much like another and the strong scent of Monks was everywhere, smothering all other trails.
There was no sign of the he digger, which Bily feared meant he had been taken, too. Finally they found Zluty’s neck kerchief and the remains of his torn pack. The contents were strewn about it, save for the metal egg, but perhaps Zluty had left that in the wagon. One of the diggers found the pouch of skystones lying in a crack alongside Zluty’s staff. Its shaft was cracked and the shining stone that had adorned its head was shattered. Bily tied a piece of cloth around the staff to hold it together and took it and the pouch of skystones.
It was very dark in the shadowy fold of the mountain face where the ascending platform hung at the end of great thick cords of metal rope. These looped through a large metal object standing alongside it, and went back up into the clouds. At the top of the mountain, so the diggers’ memory songs said, the ropes went up to another platform and looped through another metal object. Both would work to hoist the platform up, if they could be made to obey.
Bily gazed at the platform, thinking of Zluty, who must have been carried up the mountain on it. Some of the diggers set down their lanterns and began examining little knobs and sticks poking out the top of the metal object. Bily did not doubt that the diggers would figure out how to make the object obedient, for had they not made the fire-maker work?
Suddenly the metal object gave out a great grinding squeal. All of the diggers gaped at it, but Bily had been looking at the platform and he saw it begin to rise! With a cry, he leapt onto it, landing on his belly and winding himself. A second later the digger that had given him tools to break Zluty’s chains landed beside him, and then the she digger who had brought back news of Zluty’s capture leapt aboard as well. The rest were left behind, staring at them as they were carried upwards.
The speed of the platform’s ascent made Bily’s head spin but he forced himself to sit up. The mist was very thick, but fortunately the he digger had kept hold of his lantern. Yet all it illuminated was the platform creaking and swaying under them and the dark face of the mountain rushing by. All else was mist.
The she digger was gazing fixidly upward, and Bily guessed she was thinking of the missing he digger, who had been her mate. He wished he could comfort her, but his own fears for Zluty were too heavy.
Up and up the platform carried them, and despite everything Bily was awed at the thought of the monstrous quaking of the earth that had thrust stone so high. The sensation of being carried up was not unpleasant. Indeed, this flying up through the mist and darkness was truly the most wondrous thing he had ever experienced, and Bily could not help but marvel that he was being carried up by the power of one of the metal objects he had seen scattered around the plains his whole life, never knowing they could do such a thing.
The whine of the metal object labouring below faded until there was only silence and a slight muffled hum from the ropes. It had been cold, but it grew colder yet, and when Bily saw the diggers drawing out their hooded blankets from their packs, he did the same, glad he had not given in to the impulse to leave the bulky thing behind. Draping it around his shoulders, he welcomed its warmth, and when his ears and nose began to ache with cold, he pulled the hood up just as the diggers did.
Still the platform continued to ascend until Bily wondered if they would ever reach the top. He had seen jagged mountain peaks from a distance when the mists had parted, but that had been further South. Perhaps the mountains here were even higher.
The she digger gave a soft warning yelp and Bily looked up in time to see a great dark thing swooping down towards them. He cringed, but it was only the other platform, descending.
When it had vanished below them, the he digger said this meant they were halfway to the top. Bily could hardly believe they had only come halfway.
Up and up they went until the air was so fiercely cold it hurt to breathe. Bily’s head began to ache as if something were pressing it hard from the inside.
‘Look,’ murmured the she digger, pointing to the cliff, and Bily saw a reflection of the three of them gliding upward on the platform, lit by the faint orange glow of the lanterns in the stone.
‘Is wetness turned to iciness,’ she said.
When the platform finally stopped, Bily had to rub his limbs to life before he could stand up, and then he had to muster the courage to step across the gap between the suspended platform and the ledge alongside which it had come to a halt. It was not the top of the mountain, for the memory songs had told of steps leading up from a stone landing to the plateau where Stonehouse stood.
Bily tried not to think how much misty emptiness lay between him and the ground, but the stone landing was slicked with ice, and when he tried to take a step his feet slid out from under him. He saved himself by planting the end of Zluty’s staff hard, his heart galloping with fright. For one dreadful moment he had thought he was going to slide backwards into the misty abyss!
He took several careful steps away from the edge and turned to watch the diggers leap lightly across the gap, gripping the icy stone with their claws.
Suddenly the air was full of falling white fluffs. Bily was astonished, especially when one of them landed on his nose and, after an icy moment, turned to water and ran down his cheek like a cold tear. He opened out his good hand and several of the cold fluffs landed delicately on his palm. He watched them turn at once to drops of water and realised with wonder that each white fluff was a tiny fragile flower of ice.
‘They are coldwhites,’ said the she digger. ‘Other diggers cannot coming now, for memory songs say up and downness stops when coldwhites fall. We three must doing rescuing.’
Bily swallowed and nodded.
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‘These being first coldwhites of winter. Soon stopping, maybe, then can coming others,’ the he digger added reassuringly, and Bily felt ashamed of himself because despite their smallness the diggers were so much braver than he was.
The she digger led the way up the stone steps, and the he digger followed, holding his lantern high to light the way. The diggers climbed lightly and easily though the steps were clearly made for much larger feet than theirs. Bily, following in their wake, felt himself to be slow and clumsy. He was very glad of Zluty’s staff, for without it he would have had no way to steady himself. As they climbed, the coldwhites fell lightly and constantly. Oddly, it seemed to Bily it was slightly warmer than it had been on the platform, but maybe it was only the effort of climbing.
When he heard an ominous howling overhead, Bily immediately thought it must be blizzards, but when he stepped up onto the plateau he almost fell as a freezing shrieking wind full of flying coldwhites hit him. For all their soft fluffiness, the ice flowers stung when hurled against his cheeks. Bily was confused because the memory songs said the plateau where Stonehouse lay was sheltered by higher peaks. He peered ahead. The mist had been blown away by the wind, but he could see nothing but blank darkness ahead save where the furious whirl of flying coldwhites was illuminated by the lantern light.
The she digger gestured to the he digger to hold the lantern close to the ground. Zluty saw by its light that there was a smooth flat path cut into the weathered stone, running West in a perfectly straight line. They set off along it, the diggers taking the lead and Bily following. His eyes were soon full of tears that froze on his lashes. He leaned into the wind and kept his head down to protect his cheeks. The coldwhites seemed less and less like flowers and more like icy bees now. That reminded him suddenly of the urn of bees, and Bily realised with dismay that he had completely forgotten to mention them to the clan leader. He could only hope the Monster would wake and mention them, or that the bees would sleep soundly until they returned.
They did not try to talk over the howling wind. Indeed, it would have been impossible. It took all of Bily’s concentration just to move forward. The blanket fastened around his neck flapped and heaved like a mad thing and if he had not been so cold he would have untied it and let it fly free. As it was, he did as the diggers had done and gathered the flapping ends in his free hand.
He did not know how long they walked in the teeth of that icy, relentless wind, but when it suddenly dropped away, Bily felt half dazed. His face was stiff and numb and he could not even feel his nose. He could still hear the shrilling of the wind, and when he looked back he saw that it was still blowing hard. He realised they must be close enough to the high Western peaks to be sheltered by them. Which meant they were getting closer to Stonehouse.
They went on a little further until the sound of the wind faded enough that they could talk, and then Bily asked if they ought to put out the lantern in case the Monks saw it and came out to investigate.
‘Monks fear the night,’ the she digger said.
‘Because of blizzards?’ Bily guessed nervously.
‘Blizzards not caring if it night or day,’ she said. ‘Songs say Monks fear guardian that hunts at night.’
‘What is a guardian?’ Bily asked faintly.
The digger shrugged. ‘Songs say Makers did sending guardian through sky crack but its metal did break and ever since it is eating all who venture out at night. Even Monks. But no digger ever seeing it.’
Bily frowned. ‘If no digger ever saw it, how can your songs tell of it?’
The diggers exchanged a look, then the she digger said, ‘This not being timeliness for that telling, Bee-lee. We must doing rescuing of stolen beloveds. Then will come the tellings.’
They walked on for a time and then the he digger stopped to fix the hinged windows on the lantern so that its light was cast down. Soon after Bily had his first sight of a settlement that he realised must be built upon a hill. There were a multitude of lit windows rising gradually higher, light shining out into the darkness in all directions. Behind the settlement Bily could just make out the high mountain peaks shielding Stonehouse from the wind.
‘Now is timeliness for leaving path,’ said the she digger. ‘We must wait until it is later when the Monks do sleeping. Memory songs tell of a place where the digger hid who rescued stolen beloved. We will do waiting there.’
The hiding place turned out to be a shallow rift on the other side of the settlement, with an overhang that gave them some shelter from the falling coldwhites beginning to blanket the plateau. The diggers produced a little ball of the strange moss they had brought from their settlement. Within it, miraculously and safely, hot embers burned. The diggers broke it open to reveal the embers and piled atop them a few bits of black, greasy-looking stone from their packs. The embers were soon fanned into a little fire that ignited the lumps of stone and quickly gave out a warmth that made their fur steam.
‘Tell me how the diggers who made the memory songs knew so much about Monks,’ Bily asked.
‘They did spying on the Monks,’ the she digger said. She gave him a sideways look, then added, ‘Much they knew before that, for in the long ago, diggers being sent by Makers to do fixing of metal objects.’
Bily stared. ‘Sent?’
‘In beginning, Makers putting things they did not want through sky crack,’ she told him, eyes shining in the firelight. ‘Then they did wondering what was in sky crack and sent metal objects to do seeing. Many objects did break coming through sky crack so Makers sending diggers to fixing what could be fixed.’
‘You think your people came out of the sky crack?’ Bily asked incredulously.
She did not seem to hear. ‘Later, Monks and guardian and listeners sent. Beetles and moths did creak and flitter through, too, by chancefulness. All things came from the sky crack save the Redwinged firstlings. They did dwell here before Makers doing any sendings. Great red flocks doing wheeling and patterning in skyfullness.’
Bily listened, riveted.
‘One day diggers fix metal object that did making of a big storm that gouged the skies and killed all Redwinged firstlings. Diggers in sorrowfulness did breaking of storm maker. Saying wrongfulness in Makers plan that did so much of killing. Makers angry and sending Monks to punishing and forcing diggers to keep fixing. Diggers die or run away. Nevermore obeying plan. So Monks must doing fixing themselves.’
‘The . . . the storm maker that was broken . . . ’ Bily asked hesitantly. ‘Did it make stones fall from the sky?’
The she digger nodded grimly. ‘Monks did fix storm maker, but not fixing well and now it making only small, broken stormings. Nevermore making such storming as killed the firstlings.’
Bily thought of the cottage he and Zluty had so lovingly laboured to build, and of the garden he had planted where so many birds had lived. Then he thought of great wheeling flocks of birds like Redwing, all slain by the arosh, and felt a cold come over him that had nothing to do with the falling coldwhites beginning to mound up on the edges of the rift. At last, he said, ‘If all of the firstlings died, then how does Redwing live?’
‘That is being wondrous mystery,’ the she digger said.
‘Why would the Makers send a thing to make storms?’ Bily asked.
‘They will do makings when they come, and they want no makings here but their own. So say songs.’
‘I don’t understand how all of these things and people could have come from a crack in the ground,’ Bily said, gesturing about them.
‘Crack not in ground,’ the she digger said. ‘Makings of Makers cracked the sky.’
Bily thought of what the Monster had said about Makers. Then he asked, ‘What about me and Zluty? Where do you think we came from?’
‘Memory songs saying nothing here but Redwinged firstlings before the sky cracked,’ the he digger said. ‘So Bee-lee and the Zchloo-tee must have come through sky crack, too. But Makers not doing sending because you are having no Makers metal inside.
Not like diggers and Listeners and Monks.’
‘Then how did we get here?’ Bily asked, thinking of the metal egg with its whispering voices from which he and Zluty had come.
‘That being another mystery,’ the she digger said.
Zluty had never been so cold.
He would have stood up and walked to get warm, but his right ankle was too badly chafed from the metal band to put any weight on it.
If it had been hot he would have worried about infection, but as it was he was more concerned he would freeze to death.
The only time he had been warm since the Monks had taken him captive was when they first brought him to the circular building housing the metal object they called the Machine.
The enormous square metal box seemed no different to any of the other metal objects strewn on the plain, save for its size and the golden metal ropes that joined it to two smaller metal objects sitting by its side. The Monks had carried him towards it, and for one terrible moment Zluty had thought they meant to push him into the dark slot in its front. But they had only been examining a little window with markings, and after a moment they had carried him away and chained him in one of the cells along the side of the circular chamber.
Where he had been ever since.
There was one window, and when they had carried him into the cell, he had caught a glimpse through it of the top of mountains to the West. The sun had been rising behind their jagged peaks, turning to gold the thick blanket of cloud that lay below it. This told him how high he was. He could no longer see out the window, but the force of the wind flowing over the mountaintops shook the building. A fierce fire burning in a pit near the Machine kept its chamber warm but the heat did not reach into his cell.
Despite the danger he was in, and to distract himself from the miserable cold, Zluty pondered the Monks and their doings. He could see the Machine chamber through his cell door and had watched a constant straggling procession of diggers arriving to throw small pieces of metal into a great flat black cauldron suspended above the fire. The cauldron looked like it was metal, though it did not melt even when the metal pieces thrown into it slowly dissolved into a bright orange soup.