had brought when young, and stone from before him; the black stone and the white. He had gone with the old man up to where the Mother lay, and they had sung and danced before her, and the old man had told the stories of the Beginning, so that the Mother would let them take her bone from the land for the getting of life.
But all this had been before, and he saw that the stones too were old now and might not hear the songs that he must sing and the stories that he must tell for the stones to learn the shaping of his hand. If he cut with a blade from tired stone the woman would be tired and her belly dry, without blood.
He had heard the stories of the Beginning and the songs and the steps of the dance; and he knew the way. He had to go to the Mother while his legs could walk and dance, to bring the stone that had the life to make the blade to cut the rock to free the woman to make the child to learn the dance to keep the world. If he did not, there would be no other.
He took a fire stick and went from Ludcruck to where the sun rose at its longest.
He walked for one day, he walked for two days, he walked for three days into the further land. But he did not come to where the Mother lay. He walked past torrent beds, which led him by the cobbles of her rolled bones. He walked for four days. He walked for seven. He walked for nine. And he came to the Mother.
Her flanks were covered with scrub. He went to where he had come with the old man; but the marks of their taking had grown dead. No blades lay in that stone.
He sang and danced and told the stories of the Beginning; and he sat and dreamed. Then he took a piece of her weathered skin, and drove it, smashing away the dead flesh, maggot-cleansing the Mother, for three days till he came to the white bone. He saw the living blades within, the blades that she had grown in the Beginning, the life that came from the start of things, and he sang to the Mother that the bone should not break, telling the stories as he worked, so she would know that he sang true.
The bone came free. It was as much as he could bear.
He sang to the Mother, to make her sleep and feel no hurt. He gathered the splinters of his work from the taking and buried them by her ribs. He lifted the bone upon his shoulder and set out under the weight. His shoulder tore, but he went on. His arms were numb; his hands did not hold. Sweat and thirst made his mind a cloud, and blood came from his eyes, but he followed the torrent beds down, and in a time he could not tell he came to the Bearstone above Ludcruck, and dropped into the cleft.
‘Why am I scared of you?’ said Colin.
‘God knows,’ said Meg. ‘Do you?’
‘Now I’ve found her everything should be right again.’
‘“Again”? When was that?’
‘Before I lost her.’
‘Remind me. Who is “her”?’
‘You don’t need reminding,’ said Colin. ‘You mean repeat. What you don’t know is she’s my twin. She tells me.’
‘Ah now. Twin. What’s her name?’
‘I can’t access the data. She went before—’
‘Before you were thirteen.’
‘But she’s real. She is. She is real.’
‘What did your parents say?’ said Meg.
‘I can’t access them.’
‘Why not?’
Colin shook his head. ‘They were deleted.’
‘Your parents were killed. Air crash.’
‘Sierra Papa Lima Tango Victor.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. But you were twelve years old.’
‘Flight one-six-five. Was I?’
‘Yes. What do you remember of your adolescence?’
‘School. Holidays. University.’
‘Who paid for it all?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Aren’t you interested, Colin?’
‘What happened to my sister?’
‘Colin. I’ve tracked the records. Has it never occurred to you to do the same?’
‘No.’
‘You have no surviving family.’
‘There’s my sister. I lost her. My sister. I’ve been looking; searching; for years; even in the stars.’
‘Where did you spend those holidays?’
‘Here, on the Edge. Down Hocker
But all this had been before, and he saw that the stones too were old now and might not hear the songs that he must sing and the stories that he must tell for the stones to learn the shaping of his hand. If he cut with a blade from tired stone the woman would be tired and her belly dry, without blood.
He had heard the stories of the Beginning and the songs and the steps of the dance; and he knew the way. He had to go to the Mother while his legs could walk and dance, to bring the stone that had the life to make the blade to cut the rock to free the woman to make the child to learn the dance to keep the world. If he did not, there would be no other.
He took a fire stick and went from Ludcruck to where the sun rose at its longest.
He walked for one day, he walked for two days, he walked for three days into the further land. But he did not come to where the Mother lay. He walked past torrent beds, which led him by the cobbles of her rolled bones. He walked for four days. He walked for seven. He walked for nine. And he came to the Mother.
Her flanks were covered with scrub. He went to where he had come with the old man; but the marks of their taking had grown dead. No blades lay in that stone.
He sang and danced and told the stories of the Beginning; and he sat and dreamed. Then he took a piece of her weathered skin, and drove it, smashing away the dead flesh, maggot-cleansing the Mother, for three days till he came to the white bone. He saw the living blades within, the blades that she had grown in the Beginning, the life that came from the start of things, and he sang to the Mother that the bone should not break, telling the stories as he worked, so she would know that he sang true.
The bone came free. It was as much as he could bear.
He sang to the Mother, to make her sleep and feel no hurt. He gathered the splinters of his work from the taking and buried them by her ribs. He lifted the bone upon his shoulder and set out under the weight. His shoulder tore, but he went on. His arms were numb; his hands did not hold. Sweat and thirst made his mind a cloud, and blood came from his eyes, but he followed the torrent beds down, and in a time he could not tell he came to the Bearstone above Ludcruck, and dropped into the cleft.
‘Why am I scared of you?’ said Colin.
‘God knows,’ said Meg. ‘Do you?’
‘Now I’ve found her everything should be right again.’
‘“Again”? When was that?’
‘Before I lost her.’
‘Remind me. Who is “her”?’
‘You don’t need reminding,’ said Colin. ‘You mean repeat. What you don’t know is she’s my twin. She tells me.’
‘Ah now. Twin. What’s her name?’
‘I can’t access the data. She went before—’
‘Before you were thirteen.’
‘But she’s real. She is. She is real.’
‘What did your parents say?’ said Meg.
‘I can’t access them.’
‘Why not?’
Colin shook his head. ‘They were deleted.’
‘Your parents were killed. Air crash.’
‘Sierra Papa Lima Tango Victor.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. But you were twelve years old.’
‘Flight one-six-five. Was I?’
‘Yes. What do you remember of your adolescence?’
‘School. Holidays. University.’
‘Who paid for it all?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Aren’t you interested, Colin?’
‘What happened to my sister?’
‘Colin. I’ve tracked the records. Has it never occurred to you to do the same?’
‘No.’
‘You have no surviving family.’
‘There’s my sister. I lost her. My sister. I’ve been looking; searching; for years; even in the stars.’
‘Where did you spend those holidays?’
‘Here, on the Edge. Down Hocker
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