“You did that on purpose, you terrorist,” Skylark screamed. “You pushed me out.”
“No I didn’t,” Arnie answered. He was standing, trying to unclip the parachute. He was in a self-congratulatory mood: he had managed to land the parachute smack dead centre of the sandy spit at the bend of the river. He unzipped his suit. He turned to Skylark and freed her of the harness.
Was she grateful? She rounded on him, made an almighty swing, and socked him one in the mouth.
“And what’s worse,” Skylark screamed, “you enjoyed every minute of it, didn’t you. You enjoyed humiliating me and having me close up and personal. Don’t try to say you didn’t. Well that’s as close as you’ll ever get, mister, so wipe that smirk off your face.”
Skylark was trying to stamp her feet out of the suit. She fell in a tangle. “Well, don’t just stand there, you ape! Make yourself useful and get me untangled.”
Nursing his jaw, Arnie played the gentleman. Skylark was still yelling at him and, when she was freed, stomped off down to the river’s edge to splash some water on her face.
“Skylark, we’re here,” Arnie said. “It was the only way to get here. You can scream all you like, but on a scale of one to ten you don’t even register on my radar.” He was already thinking ahead. He took the binoculars out of their pouch and swept the surrounding landscape. On their side of the river, everything was okay. But on the other? He swept the opposite terrain and saw the flash of the sun on something metallic. He focused. Coming down through the bush were the two rangers Wayne had mentioned.
By Arnie’s calculations, the rangers were ten minutes away from crossing the river — so he and Skylark were ten minutes ahead. Not much of a margin.
Arnie gave the binoculars to Skylark so that she could take a look. “We’d better get moving,” Arnie said.
It wasn’t all that difficult to find a way up the escarpment. Despite Skylark’s gloomy assumption that she would be pulling herself hand and foot up a steep cliff and hanging from a rope like in Vertical Limit, the opposite proved to be the case. Arnie scouted the area and found a path leading from the sandy spit up the face of the escarpment.
“The path is probably the original track to the cave,” he said. “Lottie’s Maori forebears must have used it when the land was owned by them. Then, when DOC took the land, this —” Arnie indicated the sandy spit — “was probably where they helicoptered in personnel and equipment. It’s the closest you can get to the cave. See? They’ve made an effort to widen the path.”
Skylark got over her temper tantrum. She followed Arnie as he led the way. The track ascended through scrubby bush. The river fell away to the left. Then the path made an abrupt turn up a spur, taking them at right angles away from the river. Five minutes later, the scenery transformed itself: breathtaking native forest shafted by dazzling sun surrounded them in an emerald world entirely made up of ferns. Tree ferns formed the canopy overhead. Smaller ferns were interlaced below them, glowing soft green. The grass beneath their feet was moss of the most delicate texture. Truly a lost world, a world that dreams were made of.
And there were birds everywhere. Piping in the ferns. Flitting through the sunlit interior. Singing, always singing.
Ke-eet, ke-eet. Kraak kraak kraak. Stit stit stit. Tweep, tw-eep, tw-eep, too too too! And who are you, too too too!
The path ascended to a ridge. When Skylark and Arnie reached the top, they took their bearings. Arnie noted that the land slipped away in a natural gradient towards a V-shaped trap below.
When it rained, Skylark remembered, the water must have washed all the bones of the birds down there.
Arnie was already descending into the trap. “We should strike the entrance of the cave soon,” he said.
Ye-es, too too too. Not far, not far. Hurry, hurry hurry twee twee twee.
Sure enough, five minutes later, Skylark and Arnie came across a barrier on the path: entrance prohibited. authorised personnel only beyond this point. Arnie stepped over the barrier. Skylark followed him. They came to another sign: don’t even think of going any further. They ignored it and rounded a bend.
“There it is,” Arnie said.
For a moment, Skylark didn’t know what to think. The entrance was to the left of the path. One slab of rock was cantilevered on top of another. The entrance was the gap between.
“Ah well,” Arnie said. “Here goes.” Before Skylark could stop him, he was on his back, edging his way into the gap, and letting out an ear-splitting scream.
“Arnie. Arnie!” Skylark yelled.
She scrabbled after him, pressing herself through the gap. Arnie was lying motionless on the floor of the cave.
“Oh, Arnie! Wake up. Please.”
Then Arnie began to shake. At first, Skylark thought he was in some sort of delirium. But Arnie couldn’t contain his laughter. “That was a dirty trick,” Skylark seethed.
“You must admit it worked. If I hadn’t done it, you’d still be outside deciding whether or not to follow me.”
Arnie dusted himself off, switched on his torch, and indicated to Skylark that she should switch on hers. Steps led down into the underground. “Let’s get going on our journey to the centre of the earth,” he said.
Arnie led the way down into the underworld. “I think we’re in the main channel,” he said. He had expected complete darkness. Instead, the entire descent was bathed in a bluish light. “Can you see, Skylark? Smaller channels are draining down into the channel from all sides. They must lead to potholes on the surface. The light is coming from them.”
“There’s glow worms down here too,” Skylark whispered, pointing to where the darkness was dotted with light like sparkling diamonds.
They continued the descent deep into the earth. Ahead, Skylark could see more light. But how could that be? Where would light come from at this depth? It was so powerful that Arnie’s profile was lit by it. Then Skylark felt a draught on her face, and knew that something wonderful was about to happen.
Arnie was caught in the same emotion. He grinned at her, and she grinned back. They took two more steps forward. Ahead, the channel opened up on both sides of them like a curtain. A rock jutted out.
“There it is, Skylark,” Arnie said, his voice hushed with awe. “The Cathedral of the Birds.”
Nani Deedee described it to me once, Lottie had said. The light shim-mering on all those millions of fragile bones. She thought she was in some holy place —
Skylark was overcome by what she saw before her. She and Arnie were in a huge underground amphitheatre that in darkness seemed to stretch on forever and ever. Right in the middle of it was a slender glittering tower. The tower was made entirely of delicate bones which, at the ceiling, twisted, curled, interlocked and splayed across the dome like thousands of angel wings. Each wing had begun its formation from one of the thousands of potholes feeding into the dome. The light, coming through the holes in the ceiling, glowed on the bones. Where the bones were moist with water seepage they sparkled, sending glittering flashes from bone to bone in a fascinating and ever-changing interplay of beauty.
That wasn’t all. Around the tower were smaller sculptures of extraordinary and unearthly beauty. They had been constructed from other bones that had either fallen from the central tower or, perhaps, from other potholes in the ceiling. Some seemed to be kneeling angels in prayer in that place. Others seemed to be flying figures reaching up to the light.