Chamly's Quest Read online

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank the following people for their encouragement and help in the production of this book. Liz Davidson, Al Robertson, Meg Livingstone, Monica Scott, Filip Leu, Mary Hynes, Steven Weekes and Garrett Bonner.

  In the bleak and inhospitable borders of northwest China, lightening etched the night sky. Above the Ta’anchi Mountains, electrical discharges crackled and forked their way through the billowing storm clouds that rolled across the snow-capped mountains below. Suddenly, a bolt of lightening pierced the earth. Echoing through the explosion of thunder that accompanied it was the high-pitched scream of a baby.

  Chapter 1

  TWELVE YEARS LATER

  Over the screams and sirens penetrating the window, Chamly heard his mother calling him. Tantalized by the smell of food, he dragged himself away from the scenes below, which had both fascinated and horrified him for the past two nights. He’d never seen anything like it. He lived at the top of an apartment block in the middle of the city and had a bird’s eye view of the rioters and looters rampaging through the streets below.

  As he sat down at the table, his mother’s radio was informing listeners that scientists were predicting that if governments did not resolve their differences on combating pollution, the Polar ice caps would soon melt completely. The rising seas would cause wars, starvation and misery as entire populations migrated to lands not yet flooded. After a short pause the newsreader continued with the rest of the days news. ‘It is believed four hundred people were killed in Iraq when a bomb exploded in..…’

  ‘We don’t want to listen to that stuff while we’re eating,’ his mother said switching the radio off. She instantly regretted the silence as a bomb exploded somewhere in the city and rattled the windows. Sighing, she placed two bowls of noodles on the table and sat down beside her son. ‘If you eat all your dinner, you can turn on the television and watch “The Simpsons”.’

  Chamly was amazed at his mother’s normality when below the whole city had erupted into violence. Twirling some noodles around his chopsticks he asked, ‘Mum, what’s the real reason for all those people below going crazy on the streets?’

  ‘Starvation, Chamly. All our cities seem to be full of starving refugees from the countryside. You’ve seen them huddled in the doorways scavenging for food like rats with barely a shirt between them. They’ve become so desperate, that they’re now killing anyone who appears to have food, as we do. That’s the reason I haven’t let you out of the flat for the past two days.’

  ‘Why isn’t the government helping them?’ Chamly asked curiously.

  ‘What with? Most of the crops in China have been ruined by the weather this year. It’s lucky I had the foresight to buy an extra sack of dried noodles and rice last month or we might have been starving ourselves by now. Be grateful for what we have and eat up. I have a surprise for you, but I want every noodle eaten before I tell you.’

  He was going to be twelve the next day and his mum was really good at surprises.

  It was not long before he had an empty bowl in front of him. Pushing it away, he looked up at his mother in anticipation. She grinned and ruffled his hair. ‘How would you like a holiday at your aunts for your birthday?’

  Chamly was overjoyed. His aunt lived in the Ta’anchi Mountains, north of the city. He had read recently that the mountains were over seven thousand metres high and were considered by the Chinese to be “The Roof of the World”. He had been born in these cool mountains, but had spent most of his life in the city of Ürümqi where temperatures could reach 50º Centigrade during the day and plummet to freezing at night.

  Before he nodded off to sleep, he overheard his mother talking quietly to his aunt on the telephone. ‘Yes, some of the buses are still running. Don’t worry, Tainsu, we’ll be careful. We’ll see you tomorrow.’

  It was still dark when his mother shook him awake and wished him a happy birthday. After a quick breakfast of rice, they made their way down the stairs each holding a suitcase that his mother had packed the night before. Outside, the cold night air nipped their faces as they made their way down the dimly lit street. Suddenly his mother pulled him off the pavement and lifted a finger to her mouth to silence him.

  Chamly felt her fear and was confused. All he could see ahead was a pile of rubbish with a layer of vapour hanging over it like a blanket. Suddenly there was a cry and the pile of rubbish heaved. From beneath, hands pushed away the layer of rags and cardboard. The vapour was now revealed as the frozen breath of thirty or more skeletal figures who rising as one from beneath their night-time shelter now moved menacingly towards them. Moments later, Chamly and his mother were running for their lives.

  Chapter 2

  THE BUS JOURNEY

  Chamly and his mother ran all the way to the bus station where troops were guarding the entrance. The soldiers refused to let them in until his mother produced the bus tickets she had bought a week earlier. Just as the hungry crowd was almost upon them, the guards opened the gate and let them through. His mother collapsed to the ground and sobbed with relief as the gate was bolted behind them. The frenzied crowd tried to break the gate down, but dispersed quickly when the soldiers fired bullets into the air.

  ‘Why were they chasing us, mum?’ Chamly asked as he helped his mother to her feet.

  ‘Desperation I suppose. But that crowd were intending to kill us whether we had food in our bags or not.’

  In the bus station, hundreds of people desperate not to miss the last buses out of the city, milled about.

  The empty buses arrived from the depot accompanied by a military escort.

  Hurrying to their bus, Chamly and his mother joined the queue and clambered aboard. All the seats were taken except for two at the back. To get to their seats, they had to clamber over crates of scrawny chickens that had been stacked on top of one another and hidden from view by an old blanket. Clearly the chickens did not appreciate their mode of transport as from beneath the blanket came the sounds of squawking as they pecked and clawed at each other for space, little knowing that this discomfort was nothing compared with that awaiting them at their final destination, the cooking pots of Ta’anchi.

  Before the passengers had time to settle in their seats, the bus driver crunched his over-worked clutch into gear and pulled away from the curb. Under the protection of armed guards, the bus spluttered and coughed its way out of the bus station and slowly made its way past angry crowds and burnt out buildings to the outskirts of the city.

  .Waving good-bye to the military escort, the driver put his foot hard on the accelerator and the bus roared down the desert road towards the Ta’anchi Mountains. The bus was going so fast that grit and sand sprayed from its wheels through the glassless windows, smothering the passengers inside. Coughing and spluttering, they pleaded with the driver to slow down. Ignoring their complaints the driver drove on. His job was to get the bus to Ta’anchi in four hours and the comfort of his passengers was not a priority.

  The passengers were relieved when at last they left the desert road behind them and began the long climb into the mountains.

  Their relief was short lived. Instead of slowing down, the driver kept his foot firmly on the accelerator making the bus screech and veer round the twisting bends. The passengers clung to their seats in fear as steep cliffs loomed upwards on one side and only the wind whistled on the other. The bus driver’s concentration began to waver as he contemplated the large profit he’d make from the chickens stashed in the back, so it came as something of a shock when he rounded a bend to see that the road had split in two.

  Whilst the driver was looking into his grave, Chamly was being violently sick. As the sickness rose, he clung to the window frame and leant out.

  Without warning, the bus s
kidded and the worst happened. Chamly lost his grip on the frame and his little body took flight. Landing hard on the gritty road, he rolled to a stop. Stunned and bruised, he moaned and looked up. Horrified, Chamly saw his mother clutching the window frame as the bus teetered over the edge of a deep crevasse that had cut the road in two. She cried out his name and then she was gone. His ears were tormented by screams and the agonizing sounds of tearing metal as the bus scraped, banged and somersaulted its way to the bottom of the abyss.

  Raising his bruised and aching body, Chamly crawled to the edge and looked down. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could just make out the bus far below. It was upside down and crushed flat by the impact of the fall.

  ‘No! No! Mum!’ Chamly sobbed as flames licked the sides of the bus.

  The engine exploded and Chamly was thrown backwards with the blast. As thick black smoke and feathers billowed up from the abyss below, Chamly was forced to crawl further away. He could not believe it. His mother was dead. Cries of deep anguish rose within his chest and he sagged to the ground.

  Hours later, as the sun dipped behind the mountains and vultures circled above his motionless body, Chamly heard the sound of hooves trotting up the road. As he raised his tearstreaked face in anticipation that help had arrived, a lone donkey trotted into view.

  Chapter 3

  THE DONKEY

  Now the last thing this donkey wanted was an obstacle in the path of his newfound freedom. Only the night before, he had escaped from his paddock and silently made his way past the farmhouse expecting any minute to see his master running out of the door, whip in hand. On reaching the main road safely, he had stopped to sniff the air. His left nostril smelt the leftover heat of sun on a parched desert. His right smelt fresh mountain air. He had chosen to follow his right nostril and had trotted up the mountain road. What he did not need was the end of the road and a boy who clearly needed his help.

  Snorting in frustration, he trotted over. He could see grit stuck to the boy’s cheek where he had lain in a puddle of tears. Lifting his nose to the breeze, the donkey smelt acrid smoke. Stepping to the edge of the crevasse, he saw far below, wisps of smoke swirling around jagged pieces of metal. Vultures had already settled on the wreckage. An attack of vertigo overcame him and he stepped quickly back. He turned and looked at the boy. Time was short and he had no idea how to proceed. Perhaps he and the boy could help each other. He nudged the boy with his nose.

  Chamly didn’t want to move, but the donkey continued nudging him until he was forced to get up. Once up, aching bones and dizziness caused him to moan and cling to the donkey’s neck. When the dizziness passed, Chamly wobbled to the edge of the broken road and looked down again. All that was left of the bus was shards of metal poking up like sentinels through the hot ashes. His shoulders sagged and tears fell again as he remembered his mothers last moments. He would have fallen over the edge with grief had the donkey not grabbed his sleeve with his teeth and pulled him back.

  Still weeping, Chamly climbed on to the donkey intending to go back down the mountain for help but the donkey stubbornly refused to take that route.

  Frustrated, Chamly thought of his aunt. If the donkey was refusing to go down, maybe he would be willing to go up the mountain road to Ta’anchi. He could see that where the crevasse met the solid rock of the mountain, a narrow ledge clung to the rock face. Sliding off the donkey’s back, he made his way across the ledge hoping the donkey would follow. Unfortunately, the donkey had not moved.

  The donkey delayed as he wondered if his cruel master was the better option than the narrow ledge.

  ‘Are you coming or not?’ Chamly shouted impatiently across the divide. When he saw that the donkey looked unlikely to follow him, he began to walk away.

  The donkey could not believe the boy was leaving. For the second time in twenty-four hours he was going to have to be brave. There was nothing for it but to put his chin up, his best foot forward and to forget that he was almost certainly going to fall to his death in the next few seconds. Tentatively, he made his way along the narrow ledge to join the boy. Just as his back hooves felt the road again, the ledge crumbled and fell away from the mountain.

  ‘Happier now?’ Chamly asked as the donkey trotted up to him.

  The donkey snorted in response. He was alive wasn’t he! Plus his owner couldn’t possibly catch him now. He waited for the boy to climb on his back. He was glad to have the company of a boy who didn’t seem to have to think about being brave.

  As sunset dusted the harsh desert below, they made their way up the mountain road.

  Chapter 4

  THE ORCHARD

  Later, as the moon washed the land in its white glow, the donkey’s legs came to a standstill. Chamly was rudely awakened from his doze when he landed in a heap on the ground.

  ‘Are you alright?’ a girl’s voice asked.

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Chamly looked up to see a beautiful girl standing before him. She could have been part of the moon itself with her long pale hair and floating gown caught in the white light of a moonbeam.

  Chamly thought he was seeing things and rubbed his eyes again. She was still there. He stood up and looked beyond her and behind him. There was no one else about.

  ‘Your donkey looks tired,’ the girl said gently. ‘I know of a place close by where you can both shelter for the night. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away.

  Chamly was irritated that her concern was more for the donkey than for him and as they followed her, he called out miserably, ‘I’ve had rather an awful day myself, what with seeing my mother being killed and nearly dying myself.’

  She did not turn and offer him any sympathy but continued walking.

  The light from the moon seemed to follow her, making it easy for Chamly to keep up. It wasn’t long before a high crumbling wall loomed out of the darkness. The girl indicated to Chamly to follow her through a gap where the door was off its hinges and leaning at an odd angle across the opening. The girl clambered over, leaving him to clear a pathway for the donkey. Grunting with the effort, he halflifted, half-pushed the door until it crashed to one side. From within, an owl hooted in surprise.

  Chamly led the donkey into an overgrown courtyard where shafts of moonlight silhouetted old and gnarled fruit trees. The trees looked like dancers caught and frozen in a grotesque pose for all eternity causing Chamly to shiver in the eerie light.

  The girl was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Hello,’ he called out several times, but she never replied.

  He could hear the sound of trickling water coming from the other side of the orchard and hurriedly led the donkey under the trees towards it.

  Above them, perched the rudely awakened owl, her white head moving snakelike from side to side as she considered the intruders making their way beneath her.

  The source of the water was a sculpted horse’s head protruding from a wall. The head was made from polished white stone and looked very real in the moonlight. Its ears were pinned back and its eyes looked terrified and wild. Its lips were drawn back from teeth ready to bite. Over these teeth, crystal clear water trickled into a trough below. Ignoring the fine sculpture, Chamly and the donkey quenched their thirst. Afterwards, the donkey wandered off to graze on the thick carpet of juicy weeds below the trees, whilst Chamly searched the ground for fallen fruit. Failing to find anything in the darkness he gave up and went to sleep beside the trough.

  Above him, the owl’s big yellow eyes never wavered.

  Years ago, she had been commanded by the Head Owl to watch over the orchard until ‘something strange’ occurred. She presumed this to be the ‘something strange’ and, after one more look at the sleeping boy, flew out of the orchard.

  She desperately wanted a different life. Life in the orchard had not suited her at all and she had found it terribly boring. Now that the ‘something strange’ had occurred, she hoped the Head Owl would give her, her freedom. Unfortunately, when she arrived at the Head
Owl’s Tree with the good news, she was told in no uncertain terms that her job was not finished. ‘You werechosen at birth by the Great Head Owl, to live in the cursed orchard and to await any strange occurrence. If this has indeed occurred, then there should be a ripe peach in the orchard waiting to be picked. Is there?’ the Head Owl demanded.

  What a strange question the owl thought to herself. ‘There is one ripe peach growing in the orchard. I was waiting for it to finish ripening before I ate it.’

  The Head Owl fluffed out his feathers in irritation and looked down at her in horror. ‘It is definitely not destined to be your dinner! That peach only comes once every three thousand years and has the Stone of Peace inside it. The boy has to pick it and deliver it without blemish or bruise to the Mother of the Western Skies who will be waiting for its arrival at the Celestial Lake. You are to be the boys guide and lead him to her.’ Raising himself to his full height, the Head Owl glared down at her sulking form. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  The owl cringed under his glare and muttered that she did. As she flew away from the Head Owl’s tree, she at first grumbled to herself about the lack-lustre life she’d led so far and then saw the bright side of her future. Her spirits soared at the thought of being free of the orchard at last.

  As dawn approached, she flew back into the orchard and found the intruder still fast asleep with the donkey snoring beside him.

  Perching on a branch above, she began twiddling her claws in boredom and then, bored with that, flew to her usual branch and looked critically at herself in a piece of broken mirror. With no one to talk to over the years, this mirror had become her friend. Her reflection never bored her. Noticing that a couple of feathers were out of place she began preening herself in anticipation of departure from the orchard and the admiring looks she was going to get from the rest of the world.