no sun.’
‘Bani?’
‘Daon long wan solwota I no gat san … ’
‘Bani?’
‘Coleridge.’
He had given that answer before, and it had made as little sense. Kal gave up, for the moment. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, and tried to stand.
The darkness had hands; it pushed at him with soft fleshy palms. Kal swayed. A hand grasped him by the elbow. It was Bani. ‘We have to go down,’ Bani said, in the same mournful, singsong voice. ‘Down and down, to the Narawan town, down to the place where the ghosts exist, the place they wouldn’t let us see, the place that has the map, and holds the key.’
‘Bani?’
Suddenly Kal felt frightened. Not the fright from monsters of the deep, or the fright of falling—falling—falling into uncertainty, but fear of the kind that grips a man when he comes to a realisation, which is: my friend has lied to me.
‘You knew?’ he said. ‘You knew about the Olfala Bigwan? About this place?’
He felt Bani’s hand steady him. They began to walk, uneasy on feet that felt as if they belonged to someone—something—else. The darkness pushed around them, wrapping, warping, hands rough and smooth. There was a sickly, sweet smell in the air, like flowers that had been left too long in water; bloated things, and pale.
‘I didn’t know ,’ he heard Bani say, at last. The air felt as if full of cobwebs. The ground sloped down. They were descending. ‘I only knew what it said in the—’ He fell quiet again. Kal felt an urge to kick him, and resisted. ‘In the—?’ he said, patiently.
‘In this thing I stole.’
‘I see,’ Kal said. But he couldn’t. The darkness pressed on him, like faces against glass. You idiot, he thought, what have you done?
‘I stole this map,’ Bani said. ‘A treasure map. To a treasure island. It was in the form of a poem.’ He giggled. ‘I stole it from the Guardians.’
‘What,’ Kal said, exasperated, ‘are the Guardians?’
‘Your problem,’ Bani said in the kind of reasonable voice that Kal found extremely annoying, ‘is that you never listen. What did I tell you, the first time we met?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kal said. ‘ Your problem is that you talk too much.’ Bani laughed. ‘A lot of people know about the prophecy, Kal,’ he said, his voice a singsong of recollection. ‘A lot of people are interested in you. They’re watching you, Kal. Day and night. You are like a rare seed that has been planted in soil, and everyone is watching to see if it bears fruit.’
Kal remembered him saying it. Now, in the darkness of the caves (caves? Where were they?) with Tanuaiterai dead and he and Bani stranded in the depths, it didn’t seem all that fanciful anymore. He said, ‘Who are the Guardians?’
‘Secret societies,’ Bani said, ‘do not, as a rule, exhibit much in the way of creative naming. You always get Guardians of This, Guardians of That … ‘ His voice trailed off. ‘These guys call themselves the Guardians of the Tower.’
‘You what?’ Kal said.
‘I think,’ Bani said, ‘that here, on this island, there is a … a key. Or a map. Or something—a device, a drawing, something that points the way to the tower. And the Guardians—’ he coughed ‘—as their name, perhaps, suggests, are guarding it.’ They stopped. The air felt hot and humid but now there was something else, a faint cool breeze that tickled Kal’s face, as if the ocean was reaching into the bottoms of the earth to hold him. ‘I think they found out, though,’ Bani said, with a note of regret. ‘One of the others must have been a Guardian. Georgie, or Toa … ‘
‘Why?’ Kal said. The word seemed to encompass a world of meanings. He wasn’t sure himself what he was asking. Why did you bring me here? Or—Why didn’t you tell me? Or perhaps, simply—Why me? Why you?
‘You swim in a sea of ignorance, Kal,’ Bani said. ‘A sunless sea … Come on.’
He pulled at Kal’s arm. They moved again, sluggish in the
‘Bani?’
‘Daon long wan solwota I no gat san … ’
‘Bani?’
‘Coleridge.’
He had given that answer before, and it had made as little sense. Kal gave up, for the moment. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, and tried to stand.
The darkness had hands; it pushed at him with soft fleshy palms. Kal swayed. A hand grasped him by the elbow. It was Bani. ‘We have to go down,’ Bani said, in the same mournful, singsong voice. ‘Down and down, to the Narawan town, down to the place where the ghosts exist, the place they wouldn’t let us see, the place that has the map, and holds the key.’
‘Bani?’
Suddenly Kal felt frightened. Not the fright from monsters of the deep, or the fright of falling—falling—falling into uncertainty, but fear of the kind that grips a man when he comes to a realisation, which is: my friend has lied to me.
‘You knew?’ he said. ‘You knew about the Olfala Bigwan? About this place?’
He felt Bani’s hand steady him. They began to walk, uneasy on feet that felt as if they belonged to someone—something—else. The darkness pushed around them, wrapping, warping, hands rough and smooth. There was a sickly, sweet smell in the air, like flowers that had been left too long in water; bloated things, and pale.
‘I didn’t know ,’ he heard Bani say, at last. The air felt as if full of cobwebs. The ground sloped down. They were descending. ‘I only knew what it said in the—’ He fell quiet again. Kal felt an urge to kick him, and resisted. ‘In the—?’ he said, patiently.
‘In this thing I stole.’
‘I see,’ Kal said. But he couldn’t. The darkness pressed on him, like faces against glass. You idiot, he thought, what have you done?
‘I stole this map,’ Bani said. ‘A treasure map. To a treasure island. It was in the form of a poem.’ He giggled. ‘I stole it from the Guardians.’
‘What,’ Kal said, exasperated, ‘are the Guardians?’
‘Your problem,’ Bani said in the kind of reasonable voice that Kal found extremely annoying, ‘is that you never listen. What did I tell you, the first time we met?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kal said. ‘ Your problem is that you talk too much.’ Bani laughed. ‘A lot of people know about the prophecy, Kal,’ he said, his voice a singsong of recollection. ‘A lot of people are interested in you. They’re watching you, Kal. Day and night. You are like a rare seed that has been planted in soil, and everyone is watching to see if it bears fruit.’
Kal remembered him saying it. Now, in the darkness of the caves (caves? Where were they?) with Tanuaiterai dead and he and Bani stranded in the depths, it didn’t seem all that fanciful anymore. He said, ‘Who are the Guardians?’
‘Secret societies,’ Bani said, ‘do not, as a rule, exhibit much in the way of creative naming. You always get Guardians of This, Guardians of That … ‘ His voice trailed off. ‘These guys call themselves the Guardians of the Tower.’
‘You what?’ Kal said.
‘I think,’ Bani said, ‘that here, on this island, there is a … a key. Or a map. Or something—a device, a drawing, something that points the way to the tower. And the Guardians—’ he coughed ‘—as their name, perhaps, suggests, are guarding it.’ They stopped. The air felt hot and humid but now there was something else, a faint cool breeze that tickled Kal’s face, as if the ocean was reaching into the bottoms of the earth to hold him. ‘I think they found out, though,’ Bani said, with a note of regret. ‘One of the others must have been a Guardian. Georgie, or Toa … ‘
‘Why?’ Kal said. The word seemed to encompass a world of meanings. He wasn’t sure himself what he was asking. Why did you bring me here? Or—Why didn’t you tell me? Or perhaps, simply—Why me? Why you?
‘You swim in a sea of ignorance, Kal,’ Bani said. ‘A sunless sea … Come on.’
He pulled at Kal’s arm. They moved again, sluggish in the
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