That day we gathered more food than we needed. It took all day, and we only just made it back to the alcove as the sun was setting. At the bottom of the gorge, Mad Boy was looking weaker than ever. “Now?” I asked Grandad. “Soon. You know that.” And I did. Soon. When the sun set the gorge was plunged into darkness. Mad Boy’s fire had died, and he didn’t seem to have the energy to find wood. Spotlights. That’s what I thought at first. Some crazy ’roo shooter who’d got lost. The wild, bright, golden light filling the gorge. It was him again. The smiling man. The man in black. But changed again. Changed completely. No more disguises. Shining, blazing with light. Wings spread from his back and every feather like a beacon light. He was beautiful. So incredibly beautiful. And so incredibly cold. “Up,” he whispered to Mad Boy. “Get up! I have things to show you. Offers to make.” Mad Boy moaned and rolled away from him, blinded. But the shining man lifted him by his collar and, with a single flap of those magnificent wings, soared into the air. He stopped by our alcove, hovering. “Want to watch heaven fall?” he asked. He asked us. Grandad wouldn’t look at him, refused to even acknowledge he was there. I couldn’t resist. “Good lad,” he laughed, grabbing me in his other hand, as if I was a child’s doll. We flew upwards, through the clouds and so high I could see the towns of the plains, and the rivers glistening in the starlight. Up, higher than any mountain. Through the atmosphere, until we could see the curve of the world and the lights of a million cities. I’ll never forget it. A whole world of people, lights in the darkness, a sense that it could all be ripped apart, a sense that it could all come together. A sense that it would all come down to one choice. 32
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