17. THE UNDERGROUND LESSON

In search of the future...

Zoz spent some time examining the multicoloured water spouts that the Untouchable seemed to be focussing on him, then he nodded and turned to his three students.

“This way,” he demanded briskly, “there is the possibility that the stream we were washed along in might rise and flood this entire space. It does, the Untouchable tells me, after most storms as the waters recede. We must make haste!”

And with that terse warning he led the way towards the key that Els had noticed. It was small, petite almost, but shone with a dim but golden light, and it stuck out from a charcoal door like a diamond stud might highlight a head of flaxen raven hair.

“This must be the only way, for I can see no other,” he remarked, and with one easy twist he turned the key.

There was a creaking sound, but the door swung open and the four figures, dwarfed by its hugeness, made their way through it.

“This is most strange,” muttered Din.

“It is in my records that, upon arrival on this blue and watery planet one of the first things the adventurers, our ancestors, did was construct routes to a vast series of natural underground caverns that they turned into the occupied part of Terraful,” said a terse Zoz. “This, I believe, to be the very first of those passages, and they struggled for a long age in constructing it, following fissures that were already in the rocky substance of the crust, until they achieved their destination.”

“It can’t have been easy,” suggested Pul.

Zoz nodded. “It is recorded in my present memories that it took them the best part of a generation to create a resting place for the Wise Council,” he said, “and it is our good fortune that we are, even now, following the route that they took. I believe that we will soon come upon that sacred chamber, one that maybe no man has entered since its creation, though I was probably in its vestibule, but on the other side, so to speak, when the sacred voice issued the orders to destroy your colleagues.”

“And you disobeyed it,” muttered Din.

Zoz nodded. “I had to,” he said sadly, “for our population on Terraful is so fragile a thing that the loss of two females of Michaelmas age might be the single thing that causes us to diminish to nothing, and thus possibly bring to an end the human race in this Universe.”

“You say possibly?” asked Els, “is there no other planet occupied by our ancestors?”

“No more than a dozen left the Earth,” Zoz told her, “that is a subject I was due to teach you quite soon, after I had covered the complex matter of Newton and his rainbows. I wish I had more knowledge about them! It might have helped in communicating with the Untouchables! But back to those who left Earth when our ancestors fled in the aftermath of the Trumpster’s collapse and the Great Chaos made our home planet uninhabitable. As I said, no more than a dozen mighty ships left the Earth, and they kept in communication with each other as they searched the galaxy for a suitable new home planet. But first one and then others ceased that communication until there was only our own ancestors left in the darkness between the stars. Eventually they found this world, settled here and after a long period of settlement Terraful as you know it was established.

“But the truth of the matter is, no word or message has been received from any of those other populations since the last one fell to silence.”

“What about the original home planet?” asked Pul.

“That is what we are waiting for,” sighed Zoz, “news that it has recovered from the Trumpster’s machinations. But no news has come from there either, and even though automatic systems keep their ears open, it is not now expected that any word will ever come. This planet, this Terraful, is not the most hospitable, but it is said to be a million times more conducive to life than the old Earth with its degraded environment. Our major problem has been the contraceptive nature of the water and although the solution is hardly perfect, the establishment of Michaelmas and the distribution of anti-contraceptive drugs to a handful of young women each year, it has kept our population from disappearing altogether.”

That was a long speech and it gave the three students something to think about.

“It’s a mess,” sighed Els.

“Never say die,” grunted Zoz with uncharacteristic optimism.

They trooped along the winding passage in silence. The door behind them was locked by them, meaning that the key that had opened it was now on the other side of it and still glowing with a fairy light of its own. But they struggled along. It would have been pitch darkness but for an eerie glow that was cast by threads of some mineral in its rocky and roughly hewn walls.

An hour passed, then two, then three, and still they made their slow way along until Els paused.

“I can’t go much further,” she gasped, “I am wearier than I have ever been before.”

“I’m knackered too,” pronounced Pul.

“I believe we are almost at the end of the passage,” assured Zoz, “I’ve never been here before, of course, but look ahead.”

They did just that. It was difficult trying to see anything in the dusty half-light that was all they had, but Els was sure, as she tried to focus her eyes, that she could just about make out the ending of the passage, and was that another door?

“I think...” she gasped, “but can we rest first? Just a few minutes while I get my breath back.”

Zoz nodded. “You three wait here and I’ll go ahead and see what I might see,” he said with his usual sepulchral seriousness.

“Thanks, Zoz,” sighed Els.

Zoz was gone for about half an hour, and when he returned his face was almost alight with joy.

“It is the end of the passage,” he said, “and there is a door without a key, so I opened it and looked in. The other side of the door is a small cave with a single table set in it, and on that table is something I have defined from my early memories of Terraful. It is an instrument the original adventurers brought with them. And it fills me with great hope, for it is what I have researched as a laptop, and on its lid, before it is lifted, in ancient script, but quite, quite clear to me, is the wording ‘THE TRUMPSTER’S WISE COUNCIL’

“We are approaching sacred ground.”

© Peter Rogerson 27.04.19