Chapters (68)
- Title page
- Dedication
- Part I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- GAIA YOUNG. SUBJECTIVE IMPRESSIONS.MISSION DAY 20. 20:25 MT.
- Part II
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- GAIA YOUNG. SUBJECTIVE IMPRESSIONS.MISSION DAY 22. 20:05 MT.
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- GAIA YOUNG. SUBJECTIVE IMPRESSIONS.MISSION DAY 25. 15:30 MT.
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- Forty-seven
- Forty-eight
- Forty-nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-one
- Fifty-two
- Fifty-three
- Fifty-four
- Part III
- Fifty-five
- Fifty-six
- Fifty-seven
- Fifty-eight
- Also by Chris Beckett
- Copyright page
Forest hummed. Behind the sleeping guard, the little river trickled over its rocky bed where Tommy and Gela found the stones. Jeff’s eyes, I thought to myself, if there was anywhere in Eden where you were going to hear the voice of Mother Gela – the voices of all the dead, for that matter – it would be here, in this old old place where people first set their feet on Eden’s ground. That had been one of the things that made it hard for me to admit I heard nothing. It had felt like I should be able to. It had felt like any fool should be able to hear those old voices, if they just sat here quietly and listened.
And now, while I was thinking about that, a weird thing happened. We did hear something.
‘What’s that sound, Auntie?’
Trueheart was younger than me and her ears were sharper. There were a few heartbeats before I could make it out myself, and when I did, I had no idea what to make of it. It wasn’t a voice, certainly. It wasn’t the sound of trees or of wind. It wasn’t the cry of an animal. It was a kind of high-pitched whining sound, almost too high to hear. Neither of us could tell where it was coming from, but pretty much as soon as we heard it, something else began to change.
‘Look, Auntie. The clearing’s getting lighter!’
‘Are you sure? Isn’t it just—’
I broke off because, even while I was speaking, the light had become so much brighter that it was simply obvious. There was a big patch of white light that filled up most of the clearing and it was getting so bright that it was starting to blot out the soft and many-coloured light that came from the trees.
I stood up. I was scared scared, but scared in a weird kind of way, because I had no idea what I was looking at, or what there was to be afraid of. I knew this light wasn’t anything to do with the Johnfolk. I knew the sound wasn’t a leopard, or a crazed buck, or the Johnfolk running down from the Dark, or old Mount Snellins going off in the Rockies, as sometimes happened, and throwing hot ash into Circle Valley.
Trueheart stood up with me, and we reached out to take each other’s hands. There was no obvious threat to us. What scared us was just that there was something here we couldn’t explain. That light had now reached almost right out to the edge of the clearing, and the whining noise was growing louder: not loud loud, not as loud as the trees, not even as loud as the river running over the stones, but still much louder than before.