Part 7 (1/2)

I cannot remember when Merlin first found me here, but it is not so strange, given our birthing together so long ago. He has studied humanity with greater care than I, and used his power with much more caution.

There! I have left his spell behind with my drowned past, and now we shall bargain in earnest. He will give me back my human shape, he says, in return for the sword. He knows it is an offer I cannot refuse. What is the sword to me, compared to the warmth of the sun on my soft skin, the colors that my eyes will see anew, the cool wind that will caress my face?

I will give him the sword. It will bring Arthur triumph but also sorrow, as it has always done, for his victories will never be his own. The scabbard too, will save him and doom him, for a man who cannot be wounded is not a man whom a woman can choose to love.

Merlin is clever. He will not touch the sword himself, but will tell me when I must give it up to Arthur. Only then will I receive my side of the bargain. It is curious to feel expectation again, and something that I must define as hope.

Even the brightness seems less wearing on my eyes, or perhaps it is Merlin who has chosen to be kind. Yes, now he talks of the Grail, and asks me to give it up. Merlin does not understand its nature, I think, or he would not be trying to get it for himself.

The Grail will wait, I tell him. Go and fetch your king, your Arthur. I will give him the sword, the scabbard too, and may he use them well.

Merlin knows when to wait. He has always been good at waiting. He leaps upward in a flurry of light and I slide back into my cave, to coil around the hollow that contains my treasures. The Grail was there yesterday, but not now. If I thought Merlin had stolen it, I would be angry. Perhaps I would pursue him, up into the warmer, lighter waters, to see if his power is as great as what remains of mine.

But I will not, for I know the Grail has left me without Merlin's tricks or thievery, as it has left a thousand times before. I have always followed it in the past, seeking the relief it gave. Now I think time has served that same purpose, if not so well. Time and cold and depth. It slows thought, and dulls memory. Only Merlin's coming has briefly woken me at all, I realise, and there lies the irony of our exchange.

I will give the sword to Arthur, but without the Grail I do not think I will long remain in human shape. The Grail taught me guilt, but it also drank it up. Without it, I shall have to think too much and remember too much. I will have to live with a light that blinds me, until at last I have used up all the lives of Lyonnesse that lie within my gut.

No. The Grail has gone. When Excalibur is likewise gone, I shall return to the darkness and the cold, to this place where a dull serpent can sleep without dreaming. Till once again I must obey the call of strength and sorrow, of love and longing, of justice and of peace. All these things of human magic, that I never knew till I made the sword and scabbard, and never understood until I made the Grail.

CHARLIE RABBIT.

INTRODUCTION TO CHARLIE RABBIT.

' CHARLIE R RABBIT' WAS WRITTEN WHILE the (second) Iraq war was brewing but before it had begun, specifically for the War Child charity anthology the (second) Iraq war was brewing but before it had begun, specifically for the War Child charity anthology Kids' Night In Kids' Night In. War Child (municate a snapshot of some small children caught up in a war. A nonspecific war, because the children suffer no matter what the war is about, or where it is, or who is fighting it. Often children in a war have little or no idea of what is really going on. They simply suffer the consequences.

I've thought a lot about war and conflict and read a lot about it, from military history to personal accounts. I served in the Australian Army Reserve for four years (a part-time force like the American National Guard), so I have a little understanding of what it means to be a peacetime soldier. Back then, there were a lot of Vietnam veterans still serving, and I listened to them, and I thought about what might happen if I had to go to war, too, and I have thought about it since.

But until I sat down to work out what I was going to write for the War Child anthology, I had never considered the particular horror of being a child in a country at war: totally powerless, totally vulnerable, and totally innocent.

'Charlie Rabbit' is my attempt to help other people think about the actual children who are affected by war, even if they survive. Children just like your own, or the kids next door, or the children at the school across the road.

Children who would like to have two parents, peaceful lives, and a Charlie Rabbit.

CHARLIE RABBIT.

ABBAS WOKE TO THE SCREAM OF SIRENS . Half asleep, he tumbled out of the upper bunk and shook his brother, who was asleep below. . Half asleep, he tumbled out of the upper bunk and shook his brother, who was asleep below.

'Joshua! Get up!'

Joshua opened one eye, but he didn't move any other muscle. He was six, and unruly. Abbas, who was eleven, felt practically grown up by comparison.

'I don't want to go down the hole,' complained Joshua. He still hadn't opened his other eye.

Abbas pulled the bedclothes back and dragged Joshua onto the floor. Charlie Rabbit, who had been under the blankets, fell out too. His long floppy ears sprawled across Abbas's bare feet, till Joshua grabbed his constant companion and hugged him to his chest.

'It's a cellar, not a hole, and we have to go now!'

Joshua lay on the floor and shut both eyes. Abbas hauled him up into a sitting position, but Joshua was as floppy as Charlie Rabbit's ears. As soon as Abbas let go, Joshua slumped down again.

'Mum!' shouted Abbas, a touch of panic in his voice. He could feel a rapid, regular vibration through the walls and floor, and could hear something like distant thunder beneath the shrieking sirens. But it wasn't thunder. The cruise missiles were hitting the south side. The next wave would strike much closer to home. He had to get Joshua to the shelter.

'Mum!'

There was no answer. Abbas, still half asleep, felt a sudden pain of memory. Their mother had been wounded in a daylight air raid that afternoon, and had been taken away. To a hospital, Abbas desperately hoped, if there was one left. His grandparents were supposed to come over, but they hadn't arrived by nightfall. Abbas had put Joshua to bed and then, much later, had fallen into an exhausted sleep himself.

He tried not to think about what might have happened to Grandpa and Gramma, in the same way he tried not to think about his father, who had been drafted eighteen months before. The single postcard they had gotten from him was still pinned to the wall of their room, its edges curled, the ink fading.

No one could help him, Abbas realised. He had to look after Joshua by himself.

'You stay, then!' Abbas shouted. He s.n.a.t.c.hed Charlie Rabbit from Joshua and ran to the door. 'Charlie Rabbit will come with me.'

'Wait!' squealed Joshua. He jumped up and reached for his rabbit. But Abbas held it above his head and ran for the stairs. Joshua followed, pleading and clutching at his brother's pyjamas to make him stop. Somehow they made it down the stairs together, without Abbas losing his pyjamas or his temper.

The cellar was entered through a trapdoor in the kitchen that led to a long, narrow ladder. As Abbas flung the trapdoor open, there was a terrible booming crash outside. The whole house shook, and a storm of dust and pieces of plaster rained down from the ceiling. The light near the stove sparked and went out, leaving them in darkness. Joshua lost his balance and fell over, almost rolling into the trapdoor. Purely by luck, Abbas got in the way, and they lay tangled together on the floor.

'Down the ladder!' shouted Abbas as Joshua started to howl. He wrestled the little boy around and lowered him down by feel.

'Charleeee! Charleeee!' screamed Joshua. He hung on to the ladder with one hand while he clawed at Abbas with the other, trying to grab Charlie Rabbit.

'Charlie's coming too! Climb down! Down!'

Another missile hit nearby. Abbas felt the impact through his whole body. It took a moment for him to realise that it had knocked him senseless for a few seconds. He was still on the kitchen floor, but he couldn't feel the trapdoor-or Joshua. He couldn't hear anything either, because it felt as if a school bell was going off deep inside his ears.

Blinded and deafened, he was so disoriented it took several seconds of panicked reaching around before he realised he was backed up against the fridge. That meant the trapdoor should be over to the right. He crawled in that direction and felt his probing fingers drop into the open trapdoor. But where was Joshua?

There was an electric lantern at the foot of the ladder. Abbas realized he had to get it before he could look for Joshua. He lowered himself through the trapdoor as another missile hit nearby. This time Abbas saw the flash, which meant the blackout curtains over the windows were gone. Or perhaps the whole wall had fallen over. Hastily he stepped down, dragging the trapdoor shut behind him, though it did little to m.u.f.fle the sound of explosions.

Abbas's hearing started to come back before he reached the foot of the ladder. A distant, piercing voice penetrated his aching ears. Joshua's voice.

'It's dark! Where's Charlie? Charlie!'

'Stay still!' instructed Abbas, far too loudly, over the ringing in his ears. 'I'll find Charlie after I get the light.'

He felt around behind the ladder. The emergency box was there, and the large electric lantern they used to take camping. Years ago, when there were still holidays and you could leave the city without a special pa.s.s.

Abbas switched the lantern on. Nothing happened, and a sob began to rise in the boy's throat. They had saved those batteries especially, kept them for exactly this sort of emergency. They couldn't have gone dead . . .

A faint glow appeared before the sob could leave Abbas's mouth, and slowly grew till it became a bright, white light. Abbas turned the sob into a cough and looked around. Joshua was already picking up Charlie Rabbit. The little boy was dirty but otherwise seemed unhurt, though he must have fallen halfway down the ladder.

'Nothing hurts?' asked Abbas.

Joshua shook his head and hid his face in Charlie Rabbit's ears.

Abbas looked around. The 'hole' had been an ice cellar, long ago, and was really only a cave dug into the thick clay below the house. Where the ice blocks had once been stacked, there was now a makes.h.i.+ft shelter, an A-frame made from two heavy tabletops with the legs cut off, bolted together at the top and sandbagged at the bottom and each end.

Another missile exploded close by, the ground s.h.i.+vering from the impact. More dust fell from the ceiling.