Pattern

Ciartan shuddered at the horror of such an idea. 'That's awful,' he said. 'So why didn't our people chase out the soldiers then, instead of later?'

Grandfather shrugged. 'Back then, the Empire was still strong,' he said. 'Later on, they got weak, because they were always quarrelling among themselves, and when that happened the people of Morevish were able to get rid of them. But we're getting ahead of the story.'

'Sorry,' Ciartan said. 'Please go on.'

A single solitary buzzard was wheeling in the air below them. It felt strange to be higher up than a bird.

'At the time I'm talking about,' Grandfather said carefully, 'two hundred years ago or more, our people still believed in gods. We don't do that any more, of course, just as you stopped believing in trolls and goblins when you were six. It's part of growing up.'

Ciartan nodded; though, to tell the truth, he still hadn't made up his mind about trolls. On the one hand, it didn't make sense to have people who turned to stone if they went out in the sun. On the other hand, he was almost sure he'd seen one once in the distance, on a bright moonlit night, when he and Grandfather had been out with the long-net.

'They used to believe in lots of gods,' Grandfather was saying, 'but their favourite god, the one they believed in the most, was a god called Polden. Now, the way with gods is that each of them's supposed to be in charge of something-like Grandma's in charge of the jam cupboard and the linen chest, or I'm in charge of the smithy. Polden was in charge of lots of things all at the same time, which was why our people believed in him so much. Polden was in charge of everything that had to do with fire; from keeping the house warm and cooking the dinner to making nails and horseshoes in the forge, right across to the fire that burns down houses when people fight each other. That made him different from the other gods; because, you see, all the other gods were either good or bad, depending on whether they were in charge of a good thing, like farming or making something, or a bad thing, like fighting. But Polden was both good and bad, all at the same time-because, you see, fire can be useful or it can be dangerous, and even when it's useful it's still dangerous, because if you're not careful when you're cooking the dinner you can set light to the chimney and set the thatch on fire, and the house'll burn down.'

Ciartan nodded sagely; he could understand that. In fact, this Polden sounded rather like himself, because he always tried to be good but somehow he kept managing to do bad things, or so the grown-ups told him.

'Anyway,' Grandfather went on, as the buzzard dwindled out of sight in the distance, 'lots of people from other parts of the Empire got to hear about Polden and started believing in him too; and this annoyed the men who ruled the Empire, because they believed in a whole different lot of gods; and that just made them treat our people even more cruelly than they'd done before. In the end,' Grandfather said, his eyes still fixed on the distant prospect of the farm, 'our people tried to fight the Empire's soldiers, but they lost; and the Emperor-'

'Who's the Emperor?'

'The man who ran the Empire. He told his soldiers to round up all our people who'd tried to fight the soldiers, and their families too, and put them on two hundred ships and launch them out into the sea.'

Ciartan gasped. It seemed a very harsh and unjust thing to do.

'It'd have been bad enough,' Grandfather went on, 'if they'd known these islands were here. But they didn't. For all they knew, there wasn't anything across the western sea but miles and miles of empty water, and our people would either have died of thirst or drowned. But they didn't. Just when they were at the very end of their food and drinking-water, they woke up one morning and saw the very top of a mountain-not this one, it was one of the Broken River mountains on West Island-and they knew they were saved.'

Ciartan had closed his eyes, as if to spare himself the horror of the exiles' plight. He opened them, and sighed with relief. 'What a terrible thing,' he said.

Grandfather smiled. 'Not so terrible, as it turned out,' he said. 'Because this country is far, far better than Morevish, which is very hot and dry, and very little grows there; and besides, back then it was part of the Empire, while out here our people could be free.'

'Ah.' That made sense, too; though Ciartan couldn't help feeling it had been pure luck, and the fact that it was so nice here didn't make what the Emperor had done any less wicked. 'So,' he said, 'why's this mountain called Polden's Forge?'

'I was coming to that,' Grandfather said. 'You see, when our people first came here and saw the clouds of steam and found that the water in the springs was boiling hot, they imagined that their god Polden must have his forge right underneath this mountain; and that's where the name comes from.'

'Oh,' Ciartan said, enlightened. 'I see.'

'Some people even said, 'Grandfather went on, 'that when they first got here, they could see smoke and flames roaring up out of the top of the mountain, and the glowing coals of the forge fire. Mind you, nobody's ever seen that since, so they were probably making it up.'

A thought occurred to Ciartan, lodging in his mind like a fish-bone stuck in his throat. 'But Grandfather,' he said, 'if Polden was a god in Morvitch-'

'Morevish.'

'Morryvitch,' Ciartan amended. 'If he lived there, how could he have his forge here, if it's such a long way from there?'

He got the impression that Grandfather hadn't been expecting that. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Maybe they assumed Polden had come with them when they left.'

'What, on the ships, you mean?'

'I suppose so, yes.'

Ciartan shook his head. 'No, that can't be right,' he said. 'Because if he came with them, and reached this place the same time they did, he wouldn't have had time to build his forge, would he?'

Grandfather frowned. 'Oh, they believed gods could do anything,' he said. 'Well, it was all just superstition, anyway.'

'Maybe,' Ciartan said doubtfully. 'Actually, what I think is that Polden had his forge here all the time, and when our people were put in the ships with nowhere to go, he brought them here so they'd be safe and happy, where he could keep an eye on them.'

Grandfather looked like he didn't know what to make of that. 'I don't think so,' he said. 'Because, after all, Polden's only make-believe, he doesn't really exist. There's no such thing as gods, as we both know.'

Ciartan nodded, but he wasn't convinced. After all, Grandfather didn't believe in trolls, either, and he was almost certain he'd seen one that time. And if trolls could exist, maybe gods existed too. It'd be great, he couldn't help thinking, if there really was a big, powerful god living under their mountain, especially if he was a god who liked their people and had undertaken to look after them. The idea of it made him feel safe, somehow, as if the mountain he was standing on was really his home, not the farm way down below in the valley. It'd be fun living under a mountain, with a big fire to keep you warm and all the hot water you could ever want.

'Anyway,' Grandfather said firmly, 'that's quite enough of that. And now you know the name of this mountain, and a lot about where we all came from into the bargain. It's important that you remember it, all about the Empire and what they did to us. They were very wicked, and we haven't forgotten, or forgiven.'

Ciartan nodded dutifully. 'I'll remember,' he said. 'Now can we go to the hot springs, please?'

Grandfather smiled. 'Well, that's what we came for, isn't it?'

The hot springs were great fun; there was a great big pool, as big as the long barn, and the water was a strange light green colour. It was so hot Ciartan didn't dare get in it to start with, but once he'd got over the shock it was the most glorious feeling, and he wished he could find the god Polden and thank him for such a wonderful birthday treat. Then there was the waterspout, a hole in the ground out of which a great column of boiling water spurted just when you were least expecting it; and a dozen more hot pools, some of them green like the big one, some of them yellow (Grandfather said it was yellow because of something called sulphur; anyhow, they smelled horrible, and if you dipped your hand in, the smell got into your skin and wouldn't wash off when you went back in the green pool). Also, the noise was cheerful, the gurgling of the springs and the gruff whooshing sound the water made as it came huffing up out of the rock; if he closed his eyes he could imagine that he could hear words in those noises, as if someone jolly and cheerful was chattering away to himself, a long, long way under the ground. It was sad that they had to leave so early, but Grandfather wanted to be home by nightfall, and they had a long way to go. As they left the hot springs, walking carefully because of the hateful black rocks, Ciartan couldn't help turning his head and looking back one more time, just in case he caught a glimpse of old Polden, who he was almost certain did exist and did live there; but the mountain was deserted, just himself and Grandfather. Never mind, he thought, I know you're here, I can feel you; and you'll always be here when I need you, all I'll have to do is come back here and there you'll be. And then he happened to look down, and caught sight of a little pool of the nasty yellow water, and saw his reflection in it.