The Greenstone Grail (18 page)

‘So you do have made-up things,’ Nathan said. ‘You have made-up food. Your food is a lie.’

‘You are wise,’ Eric declared. ‘Made-up food bad.’

‘You said, the force was poisoned. Is that what they meant when they talked of the contamination?’ Eric looked uncomprehending, and Nathan strove to recollect his dreams, and the sound of the language. ‘
Unvarhu-sag
?’

‘Yes!
Unvarhu-sag
. Force poisoned. What word you say? Contamination. I will remember.’

They had reached the café, which did vegetarian lunches. It was early for lunch, but Nathan decided that didn’t matter. ‘Come and have some real food,’ he said, glad he hadn’t chosen anything like a McDonald’s – not that there was one in Eade. They sat down at a corner table and Nathan ordered baked potatoes with cheese and a salad. He hoped that would be real enough.

‘What exactly
is
the contamination?’ he asked Eric. ‘What were they doing when they closed off Maali?’

‘
Unvarhu-sag
is … poisoning. People sick, animals, birds – few left after air grow thin, but contamination take them. In time trees, plants die too. All die. It begin long ago –’ he gave a wry smile ‘– in galaxy far, far away. Powerful men use force to destroy, in war. Create bad force, evil, poison. Like dark side, but … illness. Illness of everything. Galaxy cut off with good force, but all force same power, same energy. In the end, bad corrupt good. Where is force, is contamination. It spread through universe. First, we poison with
technology
, make air thin, water unclean, but that is slow, slow, many thousand years to destroy one planet. Contamination quicker. Maali cut off, maybe gone in two, three seasons. Nothing can do. All die. All die …’

‘You had family,’ Nathan said, realizing. ‘A wife, children …’

‘No children. In my world, we use force to live long. Force inside us, make us strong, not much sick, never old. Only contamination kill. But long life mean, no children. Force change you.’

‘The force – magic – makes you sterile?’

‘Sterile.’ Once again, Nathan saw him committing a word to memory. ‘Yes. No children now for many hundred years.’

‘
None
?’

‘None.’ Suddenly, Eric’s face lightened. ‘Many children here.
Is good to see children. Your world younger, cleaner.
You
save me – a child save me. In old legend, angels are children. Legends made up – is crime to make up story now, against law, but legend very old, before crime, before law. I think – you are right. We learn from made-up story, perhaps more than from history.’ He repeated, emphatically: ‘You are wise.’

Nathan didn’t feel at all wise, but he pushed away his embarrassment. When you were talking to someone from another universe, there were bound to be misunderstandings. Their baked potatoes arrived; Eric sniffed enthusiastically. ‘I have this before,’ he explained. ‘In hostel.’ He forked up a lavish mouthful. ‘Taste better here.’

‘This is a good place,’ Nathan said, meaning the café. ‘Do you live in the hostel?’

‘No. I go for meals, sometimes. Also to Mrs Squires and her friends, kind people. But I like to sleep under sky, to be free. In my world, dangerous to stay outside too long, even at night. Moons reflect sunrays.’ There was a pause while he concentrated on eating. ‘They say, I am asylum-seeker. Must apply to government to stay, or go back. But I think, they cannot send me back.’ He grinned wolfishly through the baked potato. ‘But you say, no force here except in made-up story. This not true. You bring me here. The force is strong in
you
. There is force in every world. Like electrics, like gravity. Is part of life.’

‘Not here,’ Nathan said positively. ‘I don’t
know
how I brought you here. I dream about your world, but I can’t control what happens in my dream, or what I do.’ He thought about the last dream, when they could see him, or almost see him, and shivered. ‘It frightens me.’

Eric nodded sagely. ‘To have power is fearful,’ he said. ‘Is good you know that. You learn control, in time.’

‘There’s no one to teach me,’ Nathan said. ‘Not in this
world.’ He continued, awkwardly: ‘Are you angry about being here? On the telephone, you said you found our society backward. I know it must seem sort of primitive to you; I’ve seen enough of your world to realize that. Would you like – if I could do it – would you want to go home?’

‘Of course not. I go home, I die. Many good things here. I like to sleep under sky, to see children. My world very far away now, like long ago. Memory old, not sharp, not bad pain. Much to learn here, to fill my mind. I grow accustomed very soon.’ He added, after an intermission with salad and more potato: ‘Food good. No real food in my world now. I like real food.’

‘I think,’ Nathan said, ‘my mother suggested – I should take you to see Uncle Barty. He’s the wisest person I know. We should tell him the truth about you.’ Nobody meeting Eric, he thought, could possibly doubt him. He wondered what Jillian Squires had really made of the exile. ‘Besides, he’s the best cook in the whole world.’

‘I always tell truth,’ Eric said. ‘But people believe I come from another country, not another world. There is place called Maali here?’

‘In Africa,’ Nathan affirmed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Mali. It’s nearly the same name. Like Errek and Eric. I suppose … names could be similar in all worlds.’ He found himself inventing addresses like Paris, Narnia and Timbuktu, Tattooine. That sounded reasonable, but what if you tried it with Manchester, or Worthing? Worthing, Naboo, for instance?

‘This
Uncle Barty
, he is good friend?’

‘He’s not really my uncle,’ Nathan said. Perhaps Eric didn’t know what
uncle
meant, but he didn’t feel up to explaining it now, particularly since it wasn’t relevant. ‘But he is a
great
friend, and a truly wonderful cook. He’ll give you more real food than you can eat.’

‘When we go see him?’

They finished their meal, and Nathan paid from the allowance he now received in honour of being thirteen. ‘Children have pocket money,’ Annie had said. ‘Teenagers have an allowance.’ He left the café with Eric and headed out of the village to Thornyhill. People stared to see them together: the dark, serious boy and the man with his height and his wild hair and his purple eyes. Many who had commented occasionally on Nathan’s strangeness – ‘Too polite – too quiet – never teases smaller children – never yells at adults’ – saw further evidence of it in his eccentric companion. Jason Wicks, slouching round a corner with a friend (Jason had practised slouching so much he was getting very good at it) shouted an insult which its target didn’t even hear, and relapsed into a savage mutter.

‘You don’t like that kid, do you?’ said the friend, astutely. ‘We ought to deal with him.’

‘I will.’

‘Who’s the weirdo?’

‘Nathan’s the weirdo.’ He embellished the phrase with ugly adjectives. ‘The other bloke’s just some tramp.’ He continued, with rare perception: ‘Probably one of those illegal immigrants. dad says they sneak over here, sponge off the state, take our jobs …’

‘Your dad’s been on the dole for years.’

‘Goes to show then, dunnit?’

Beyond the village, Nathan was trying to clear his backlog of questions, but there were too many for one day, one talk, and he didn’t want Eric to feel under pressure, and he didn’t know where to begin, or when to stop. He returned over and over to the subject of the contamination. ‘You mean, it’s poisoned your entire galaxy?’

‘Many galaxies. Too many to count. I tell you, whole universe poisoned.’ Eric’s eyes seemed to darken at the thought. ‘My planet in last galaxy. Maybe a few other planets survive, but not right for life. No air. My planet – Eos – good place, then air grow thin, sundeath come. Now, contamination. Last people run to Eos, nowhere else left to go. Government set up in Ynd.’

‘Ynd? Is that the city?’

‘Continent. City is called Arkatron. Grandir live there.’

‘Please tell me about the Grandir,’ Nathan said.

‘Emperor. President. No word here. Like prime minister, but more important. Ruler of whole world.’ Eric was evidently thinking hard, trying to clarify his meaning, but his stride didn’t slacken. ‘Once, Grandir rule galaxies – thousand thousand galaxies.’ He didn’t know the terms for the higher numbers, Nathan guessed. ‘Now, just one planet, maybe just one continent.’

‘Is the Grandir a title, like emperor, or a name?’ Nathan wanted to know.

‘Title. Like prime minister, like – queen. Name not used. Perhaps by family; no one else.’

‘How long has this Grandir ruled?’

Eric shrugged. ‘Before contamination. Much before. Five thousand years, ten … Force is strong with him. Power give long life. Is good for ruler – he learn much wisdom, many things. They say, he has plan to save us, ancient plan from long ago, but not ready yet. Hope plan ready soon, or nobody left to save.’

‘I wish I could help,’ Nathan said, ‘but I don’t think I could dream everyone here.’

‘Would be wrong,’ Eric said thoughtfully. ‘Too many of us for small planet. Backward here. My people take over. Not good for you.’

‘Are all the people in your world as clever as you?’ Nathan asked. ‘It’s amazing how fast you’ve learnt our language.’

‘No. I am stupid. I learn slow, slow, and speak very bad. English easy, not too many words. My language more difficult.’

‘In the dreams,’ Nathan remarked, ‘I understand it. Would you say something, to see if I understand now?’

Eric obliged, glancing round at the woods they were entering as he spoke. Nathan found he
could
follow his speech, though it was far harder than in dreams, as though the atmosphere of this world fogged his thinking, and when he tried to answer his tongue stumbled over the simplest phrases.

‘You have accent of Ynd,’ Eric said, ‘accent of the city. I think you dream much there.’

‘Yes.’

The woods were deepening on either side as they made their way towards Thornyhill. It was a sunlit afternoon with a few skimming clouds, their shadows flying swiftly over the ground. As always there was movement everywhere: the dancing of light and shade, leaf and wind. Nathan looked for Woody, feeling he was there, but could not see him. And suddenly there seemed to be too much movement – a shimmer over the road, a twisting of the path that wound away beneath the trees, a shifting of the leaf-mould where no feet were seen to tread. Eric stiffened and stared, his eyes widening until white showed all round the purple iris. Nathan took his arm and felt the tensing of muscles beneath his clothes, a rigidity which he realized was that of fear.

‘We go back,’ Eric said. ‘Now.
Now
.’

It’s like at the site of the lost house, Nathan thought. A wind coming after us, just above ground – a wind with footsteps in it …

‘What is it?’ he demanded, though there was no reason Eric should know.

‘Gnomon,’ the exile said. He had swung round and they were walking quickly back towards the village, looking behind every few seconds, along the empty road. The grasses on the verge trembled and bent; seeds scattered from a dandelion-head.

‘Shouldn’t we run?’ Nathan whispered.

‘No. They run faster. We walk, they walk. I hope.’ Eric’s dark-ochre complexion had faded to sallow.

‘What’s a gnomon? Is it from your world?’

‘They. Always many. Have shape sometimes, but not solid. No flesh. Move between worlds. Also called Ozmosees: in old legend they are servants of Oz, king of underworld. Story untrue, illegal, but maybe some truth, very small truth. Someone control them, send them here. Send them for
me
.’

‘How would anyone know you’re here?’

They were walking quicker now, and still quicker. The ripple of movement kept pace with them.

‘Maybe riders see I not drown. See you. Tell Grandir. Tell
someone
.’

‘But … I’ve seen them before,’ Nathan said. ‘Before you came.’

A car whizzed past; on the verges, the grasses froze; Eric stopped abruptly. ‘Then maybe,’ he said, ‘they come for you.’ He seized Nathan’s hand and began to walk much faster, so the boy had to run to keep up.

‘What happens – if they catch us?’ Nathan panted, but Eric didn’t answer. And then they were out of the woods, and into broad fields, and wide spaces of sunlight, and only a natural breeze ruffled the grass behind them.

Eric released Nathan’s hand with an air of bewilderment. ‘I fear for you,’ he said. ‘Adult must protect child, yes? I not remember, but I do it.
Imris
. Older than memory.’

‘Instinct,’ Nathan supplied, finding he knew the word.

‘Much here I not understand. Chance you save me, but your power not chance. Is like Ozmosees, to dream into other world – but you sometime solid there, real; gnomon never solid. And gnomons from my world, but follow
you
…’ He thought for a minute. His thought had a visible intensity; his brow contracted, his eye-colour fluctuated; Nathan could almost see the flickering of circuits inside his head. ‘I stay,’ he announced at last. ‘You save me; I save you. Is balance. I watch and learn. In my world, special herb keep off gnomons.
Sylpherim
. Smell very strong, very bad. Gnomons not solid, all senses: smell, hearing, sight. Made of senses. Not endure too strong smell, very high noise, bright bright light. Maybe I find same herb here. I search.’