Emily Rodda - The Lake of Tears

There was a small, deep pool there, fed by a little stream that bubbled down from some gentle hills. Manus moved up the stream, sometimes splashing through the water, sometimes trotting along the bank. They followed, keeping up with difficulty, trying to keep his bobbing red top-knot in sight when he drew ahead.

He did not speak a word. All of them could feel his tension as he neared the place he had missed for so long. But when at last they reached a waterfall that cascaded in a fine veil from a sheet of rock, he stopped.

He turned and waited for them, his small face completely without expression. But even when they reached him, he did not move.

We have arrived, thought Lief. But Manus is afraid to go the last step. He is afraid of what he will find.

The silence grew long. Finally, Jasmine spoke.

“It is best to know,” she said quietly.

Manus stared at her for a moment. Then abruptly he turned and plunged through the waterfall.

One by one the three companions went after him, shivering as icy water drenched them. There was darkness beyond — first the darkness of a cave, and then the greater darkness of a tunnel. And finally there was a soft glow in the distance that grew brighter and brighter as they moved towards it.

Then they were climbing through an opening on the other side of the hill, blinking in the sunlight. A pebbled path ran down from the opening to a beautiful village of small, round houses, workshops, and halls, all simply but craftily made of curved, baked earth bricks. The buildings surrounded a square paved with large, flat stones. In the center of the square a fountain splashed, its clear, running water sparkling in the sunlight.

But there were no lights in the houses. Spiders had spun thick webs over the windows. The doors hung open, creaking as they swung to and fro in the gentle breeze.

And there was no other movement. None at all.

They trudged down the pebbled path to the village and began searching for signs of life. Lief and Jasmine looked carefully and slowly, their hearts growing heavier by the moment. Manus ran desperately into one house after another, with Barda pacing grimly behind him.

Every house was deserted. What had not been taken from inside had been destroyed.

When finally they met by the fountain in the square, the Ralad man’s face was lined with grief.

“Manus thinks that his people have been taken to the Shadowlands, or are dead,” Barda murmured.

“They may simply have moved away from here, Manus,” said Lief. “They may have escaped.”

The Ralad man shook his head vigorously.

“They would never have left Raladin willingly,” said Barda. “It has always been their place.”

He pointed at the piles of rubbish and the ashes of fires that dotted the streets and the square. “Grey Guards’ leavings,” he said, curling his lip in disgust. “They must have been using the village as a resting place for some time. And see how thickly the spiderweb coats the windows. I would say that Raladin has been empty for a year or more.”

Manus slumped onto the edge of the fountain. His feet kicked against something caught between a paving stone and the fountain edge. He bent and picked it up. It was a long flute, carved from wood. He cradled it in his arms and bowed his head.

“What are we to do?” whispered Lief, watching him.

Jasmine shrugged. “Rest for a day, then move on,” she said. “We are not far now from the Lake of Tears. Manus will guide us the rest of the way, I am sure. There is nothing to keep him here.”

Her voice was flat and cold, but this time Lief was not deceived into thinking that she cared nothing for the Ralad man. He knew now how well she cloaked her feelings.

Suddenly, a beautiful, clear sound filled the air. Startled, Lief looked up.

Manus had put the flute to his lips and was playing. His eyes were closed, and he was swaying from side to side.

Lief stood, spellbound, as the pure, running notes filled his ears and his mind. It was the most exquisite music he had ever heard, and the most heart-breaking. It was as though all the feelings of grief and loss that Manus could not speak aloud were pouring through the flute, straight from his heart.

Lief’s eyes stung with tears. In Del he had never cried, fearing to be thought unmanly. But here and now, he felt no shame.

He could feel Barda, motionless beside him. He could see Jasmine nearby, her green eyes dark with pity. Filli was sitting bolt upright in Jasmine’s arms, staring at Manus in wonder, and Kree was perched on her shoulder, still as a statue. All of them were caught and held, as he was, by the sound of Manus mourning his lost people.

Just then, behind Jasmine, in the corner of the square, Lief saw something move. He blinked furiously, thinking at first that his wet eyes were playing tricks. But there was no mistake. One of the huge paving stones was tilting!

He made a choking sound as a cry of alarm stuck in his throat. He saw Jasmine glance at him, startled, and turn to look behind her.

The stone was moving noiselessly from its place. Beneath it was a deep space glowing with warm light. Something was moving there!

Lief caught a single glimpse of a red-tufted head, and peering black button eyes. And then, with one, quick movement of a long-fingered, blue-grey hand, the stone was thrust completely aside. In moments, dozens of Ralads were clambering out into the open and rushing towards Manus.

Gaping in amazement, Lief turned and saw that exactly the same thing was happening at the other three corners of the square. Stones were sliding open and Ralad people were popping out of the holes beneath like corn from a hot pan.

There were dozens of them … hundreds! Adults and children of all ages. All of them were clapping, laughing, rushing to greet Manus, who had sprung up, dropping the flute, his face alight with joy.

Hours later, bathed, filled with good food, and resting on soft couches of bracken fern and blankets, Lief, Barda, and Jasmine looked with wonder at what the Ralads had made in a few short years.

The cavern was huge. Lanterns filled it with soft light. There was a stream of water at one side, running into a deep, clear pool. Fresh, sweet air blew softly through pipes that ran through the chimneys of the houses above and opened to the sky. On the ground were cottages, storehouses, and a meeting hall. There were even streets and a central square like the one above their heads.

“What labor it must have been, to hollow out this cavern and make a hidden village here,” Lief murmured. “It is like the secret tunnel their ancestors dug under the palace in Del. But so much larger!”

Barda nodded sleepily. “I told you the Ralads were tireless workers and clever builders,” he said. “And I told you they would never abandon Raladin. But even I did not suspect this!”

“And, plainly, Thaegan and the Grey Guards do not suspect it either,” yawned Jasmine, who was lying back with her eyes closed. “The Guards camp above this very spot, with no idea that the Ralads are below.”

“ We had no idea, until they showed themselves,” said Lief. “And they only did that because they heard the sound of the flute.”

Jasmine laughed. She looked more peaceful than Lief had ever seen her. “It is good. The Shadow Lord must be very angry because the Ralads have slipped through his fingers. The more time the Guards take searching for them, the less time they will have to trouble us.”

Lief watched Manus, who, surrounded by his friends, was still describing his adventures and the dangers he had faced since last seeing them. He was scribbling on a wall of the cavern with some sort of chalk, rubbing marks out almost as soon as he had written them.