A Single Stone (11 page)

Jena crumpled the paper in her fist and shoved it back into her pants. “It’s just rubbish. I must have left it in my pocket.”

For a moment, she tried to believe her own words. That the paper was nothing. That it was just a page of old notes that had ended up in the back corner of the cupboard, alongside the bottle, by chance.

But she knew that it wasn’t. This was the list of mamas who had been given that tonic. Tunnelling mamas. Ripening early. Birthing tiny babies on the very edge of survival.

The Mothers were growing a line.

“Is something wrong?” Kari was looking at her oddly. Jena forced a smile, then reached for her water and took a long, slow swig, fighting to keep her hands from trembling.

She stood up. They had rested long enough. They had been in the mountain long enough.

Make the harvest. Find the light.
They were the Mothers’ words but today her reasons were her own.

“Get your gear. We’re going.”

Kari headed towards the opening in the rock.

“Not that way.”

“But there’s no other–”

“Yes, there is.” Jena let the fading light from her lamp spill into the space overhead. There was a current of air there, the faintest waft of a familiar smell.

Signs, if you knew how to read them.

“Up there?”

“It will be quicker.” Jena began to uncoil the rope.

Experience told her that before long the shaft would meet a wide fissure, an almost tunnel-like space sloping east-west. There were a few such passages in this part of the mountain, their walls smooth and accommodating, as if they had been hollowed out by the flow of rainfall or melting snow. If she was right, to go this way would save them hundreds of feet of slow, painstaking crawling.

She struck a fresh chip of mica and snapped it into her headlamp. After slipping the spent chip into a nearby crack, she reached through the opening, feeling for handholds. The sides of the shaft were jagged and rough, rocks jutting every which way. It was almost like the mountain was giving them a ladder.

The others moved to the centre of the cavern and roped in, falling into line behind her without a word.

It was the way, and so they took it.

Jena pulled herself into the shaft.

Hand over hand now, toe over toe. Below, the rope stretched taut then slackened by turns as each girl followed.

As the space angled to the left, it narrowed briefly; it took Jena a minute to negotiate the bend, easing herself around the twisting contours of the rock. She paused just above and waited.

Asha grunted as she manoeuvred herself through; it was some time before she emerged, rubbing a fresh graze on one elbow. She gave Jena a rueful look before perching alongside her on the opposite face of the shaft.

And now the others –
three
…
four
… Min passed through easily, Jena noted with satisfaction. Renae and Calla followed soon after and there was only Kari to come.

Jena reached for the next handhold. Below, there was a pause, the sound of muffled voices, and then the rope found its rhythm once more.

Now it was just upwards. Upwards and out. Their progress was steady but laborious and there were times when she came to a stop, waiting for the rope to slacken behind her so they could move on. She checked the impatience that rose in her at such times. It came harder to some; that was all. What mattered was that they got through.

Half an hour passed – perhaps more. They were close now; Jena could sense it. There was no smell or shift in the air this time, only the swinging of some internal compass. The shaft had risen far enough that they must be almost level with the wider passage. Just ahead, the way seemed to be opening out, spreading to make room.

It had been a tight climb but this part at least would be easy. There was a bend here, but it too seemed wide, angling out like an elbow. And once they were clear of the shaft there would be plenty of space around them. They could rest and stretch awhile, then push on. In a few short hours they would be home.

But as Jena hauled herself around the bend, her eyes widened. It was a cruel trick. For the rock to open out like that only to constrict even further than before, to close its throat upon them.

She had been right – the shaft came to an end here; just ahead she could see the point where it met one of the larger passages. But the way through was so narrow. A head’s width? A hip’s?

Jena glanced behind her –
beneath
her – to where the other girls waited. Could they descend from here, return the way they had come? Even with the lingering light from their headlamps, they would be climbing blind most of the time, their feet stepping down into space.

Remember
, she scolded herself. What did she tell the others in training?
Trust the space.
Find a finger space and the hand will follow. And after that the arm. Ease yourself in. Ease yourself out. She edged forwards. Breath held, ribs contracted. Head. Shoulders. Rock cut through the rough material of her shirt. Skin scraped and bled.

Hips. There was a moment, then; fear knotted inside her, tight as a fist.

Something caught, then released. Legs followed arms. Lungs exhaled.

She was through.

She inched into the space, pulling up some slack in the rope, and then turned to look behind her. As her headlamp illuminated the gap through which she had come, she drew a sharp breath.

It was the narrowest opening, a bare sliver of space between two rocks. But this was what they trained for. She had passed through it and the others would too.

“Come on,” she urged. “It’s fine.”

Breath caught in throats. Stone etched itself into flesh. Between Asha and Loren the rope frayed as it rubbed against a jagged rock. Once Loren was through, Asha drew her knife and cut the ragged strands from the rope. She took the two clean ends and tied them together, then pulled sharply, testing the knot.

Three
…
four
…
five
. It was meaningless to count, but Jena did so anyway. As if her words might somehow help pull the others through.

They were six now, backs to stone, rubbing bruises, prodding scrapes, reminding themselves not to waste water on wounds. There was just Kari to come. Already Jena was looking about, testing the air. Which passage were they in? How much longer before they reached the outside?

She peered down the line. As each girl had emerged, Jena had shuffled further away from the opening. The other girls’ headlamps had dimmed almost to nothing and she could only make out indistinct shapes in the gloom. She turned to Asha. “Is Kari through yet?”

Asha leaned away towards the others. Someone spoke, their voice muffled and blurry. Asha turned back to Jena. “She’s coming. She’s just–”

A cry echoed through the tunnel, ricocheting off the walls. It sounded eerie, distorted, but the voice was unmistakable.

Kari.

“What’s happening?” Jena asked.

“I need more light.” Calla’s voice was quiet but steady.

“Here.” Jena removed her own headlamp and passed it to Asha. She watched it move down the line to where Calla sat, bent almost double beneath the low stone roof. Calla shone the light into the opening and Kari blinked as the glow hit her face. She was halfway through the opening, her torso flat to the floor of the tunnel, arms straining forwards, fingers grasping. Her face was a sickly white.

“Jena.” There was a deadening flatness in her voice. “I … I’m stuck.”

“No, you’re not. It’s tight; that’s all. Work the angles.”

“I did. I have been.” Kari’s reply was clipped.

Kari knew as well as anyone what to do, how to turn and twist, to make herself small and fluid. But the others had come through. She must have missed something. It was like this sometimes – there was one precise passage and only one. You just had to find it, work yourself into it a certain way.

“One with the rock,” Jena said. “Flatten and pull.”

“I
know
!” Kari’s voice cracked into a gulping sob.

Dread coiled inside Jena. This was the beginning of panic. She had seen it before – had watched it grow from a moment’s weakness and then spiral on and on, feeding on itself until it was beyond any control.

Kari twisted, groaning, every movement laboured, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I
can’t
, Jena.” There was a new note in her voice, the sense of something rising to a point at which it must surely break.

Across the gloom of the tunnel, Jena’s eyes met Calla’s. She held her gaze until the other girl nodded, a sudden set to her jaw. Calla had not done this before – none of them had. But she knew what was needed. She passed the lamp to Renae and squared her shoulders.

Jena felt herself doing the same. What did it sound like when a bone splintered? She forced back the nausea that threatened to overtake her.

“Take her hands,” she said. “Pull.”

Even as Calla began, Jena’s mind tumbled with possibilities. If Kari broke – a hip, a leg? – they would have to get her out of the mountain somehow. Pushing, carrying, dragging.

Kari’s scream cut across her thoughts. In the dim light, Calla’s shoulders strained. There was another sound too. A muted sobbing.

Min.
Jena felt a stab of disappointment; though this was a lot for a new tunneller to handle, she had such hopes for the girl. But then the light shifted and she saw that it was not Min but Renae, her shoulders shaking.

“Stop,” Renae begged. “Please.”

Jena opened her mouth to reply – to reassure Renae but to caution her too. While this was hard, it was necessary; they must not waver. But before she could speak, Min did so, her voice soft yet firm. “If you can’t do it, then give it to me.”

“It’s just … what if …?”

Without another word, Min leaned across Renae and took the lamp. “I’ve got it.”

Renae slumped against the tunnel wall while Min angled the light towards the opening. Calla began to pull once more and Kari twisted, moaning.

Darkness clotted Jena’s mind. Her hands clenched at her side.

There was a sound like something tearing, rending itself from the inside out. And then something was on her. Someone. It was dark and then light, shadows spinning wildly. Jena tumbled backwards, throwing her hands out to break her fall. Asha was on top of her, and Loren upon Asha. The line collapsed onto itself as Calla staggered back, pulling the rope taut, and a body with it. In the mad kaleidoscope of light, Jena saw Kari’s face – white, pitching forwards into the tunnel.

“Kari?”

There was no answer, just a confusion of limbs. Girls struggled to right themselves, to disentangle. The light flickered, then steadied. The shadows stopped spinning but still Jena couldn’t see. The weight of the other girls was on her and it took all the restraint she could summon not to push them away.

“Kari!” she repeated, more loudly this time.

“I’m out.” The voice that answered was shaky, as though it were fighting for balance. “I’m–”

“You’re hurt.” It was Min who spoke. She lowered the lamp, tracking it along Kari’s body. Loren leaned back and Jena was finally able to see down the line. Kari was half-collapsed on the floor of the passage, arms outstretched, her hands still clutching Calla’s. Her pants hung loosely in ragged strips where they had caught and shredded on the rock. She was bruised and bleeding. But none of that mattered.

“Are you broken?” Jena asked.

Kari hauled herself up onto her elbows, then her knees. She ran her hands down her side, along her hips, her legs, gingerly at first, then more firmly.

“No,” she said finally. “I think I’m okay. I …” She raised her head. “I’m sorry, Jena.”

Jena gave a tight shake of her head. “It’s not your fault.”

Perhaps it was her own, for having led them this way, her thoughts upon her own purpose rather than that of the line, or the mountain. But that was not a question for now. Her eyes sought Kari’s across the tunnel. “You’re all right, then?”

In reply, Kari nodded sharply, her lips pressed together.

Jena motioned along the line. “Pass me the lamp.”

Then she turned away down the tunnel, and began to crawl.

Deep in the mountain, Lia turns her head towards a sound.

It is muffled, distant, an echo coming to her through thick layers of stone. And so it cannot be what it sounds like, which is a voice, screaming.

Perhaps it is a skybird. Something outside, wheeling, calling.

Up ahead, there is a sliver of light, the edge of the sky leaking into the mountain. She had thought the village was at her back, but the fissures she has followed through the rock have led her up and down and all about. Somewhere along the way she must have got turned around. The mountain, she has learned, is full of such tricks.

She waits awhile, listening, but the sound does not come again.

Home soon
, she tells herself. A fire in the hearth. Dinner. She must check her snare. Yesterday she lost track of time while she was in here and came out into darkness – too late to gather firewood, too late to catch the bird she had promised Father for the pot.

She must not let that happen again. It is one thing to come to the mountain; she must not neglect her chores on the outside.