Alison and Matthew were left alone in a house that somehow vibrated with all the trouble that swirled about it. In the back garden, beneath the frog, the spaceship’s communicator was working furiously, sending out signals to the house. Ormingat does not readily give up on its people.
There was even an Ormingat search going on for Nesta, but the girl was impossible to find. There was nothing there to hold on to, no way of reaching out and talking to her. Matthew and Alison knew that only too well. Nesta was truly a child of the Earth, unschooled in any lore of Ormingat.
Upstairs in the Gwynn house, the clock radio grated out the words, Come-to-the-source. Take-heed-of-time. Beware-of-ending. This went on for best part of an hour until the equipment paused for breath. It was a makeshift line of communication, not designed for such a use.
Downstairs, the Gwynns never heard it. But they felt a pull towards the rear of the house that they resisted with all their might. They intended to remain on Earth for the sake of their daughter, but they knew that their real place at that moment was in the ship and they were fighting not only against the outside force, but against feelings inside themselves. We are of Ormingat and not of Earth. Without the ship, that will be our loss for ever.
The clock on the mantelpiece beat time loudly.
At midnight, Matthew said, ‘Best if we go to bed. I know we won’t sleep, but at least it is the natural place to be at this hour. We can lie in the darkness and wait for the time to pass.’
‘But what will happen when the spaceship leaves? How will it leave? Will it not be seen shooting up into the sky?’
‘Too small,’ said Matthew. ‘It will travel like a spark out into the darkness never to be seen again.’
One thing they had forgotten was the frog. The bulky stone frog was squatting on top of the spaceship’s flight path. It was only when they were lying in bed that Alison thought of the problem.
‘What about the frog?’ she said. ‘Even though we ourselves are not leaving, maybe we should have emptied the pond and moved the frog. It was empty when we first arrived. We had to figure out what to do with the frog that was lying on the lawn. We even had to find the valve to fill the pond.’
‘Stop worrying, Allie,’ said Matthew, yawning. ‘The power of Ormingat is strong enough to pass through anything, even stone. Departure is much simpler than arrival. They are masters of illusion, remember. Their science is way in advance of anything on this Earth. Atoms will split for them, split and rejoin. They know what they are doing.’
‘You give them too much credit,’ said Alison bitterly. ‘They could not find our daughter. We don’t really know what they can or cannot do.’
‘Perhaps they didn’t want to find her,’ said Matthew. ‘It could be that they are somehow inhibited by her wish not to be found.’
To that, Alison could find no answer.
At one o’clock in the morning, the radio, which had fallen silent some time before the Gwynns came to their room, suddenly began to buzz again. Matthew started up. Alison grasped his arm. They listened.
Time-is-gone. The radio’s grating sound was huskier, almost as if filled with emotion. The-door-is-closed. You-are-lost-to-us-for-all-time.
Then came a sound as of muffled weeping.
Closed-door. Time-gone. You-lost. The radio spoke more tersely, sounding unutterably sad.
The accent had changed, slightly but perceptibly. The machine – that was after all just a machine – was suddenly conveying a deep emotion. It was as if their parents and their grandparents were sending one last message out to them.
Matthew and Alison heard it and were filled with grief and guilt and doubt. Are we losing too much for a child who might already be lost? They shared the thought and sighed deeply, still watching the clock radio as its digits ticked off the minutes.
No-more-can-we-do. We-love-you. We-always-love-you.
Then the voice went dead and the digits on the clock blanked out. Time was passing. To the absolute limit of Ormingat ability, the strange farewell had been said.
‘We have lost them . . . or they have lost us,’ said Matthew. There had been no last-minute reprieve. If, at that moment, the chance had offered, he might even have returned to Ormingat alone.
Alison sighed, feeling more for him than with him. Yes, undeniably yes, the loss was great, but for her there was an emotion even more important that weakened the impact of the mournful voice. My child means more than a myriad of ancestors.
‘I need Nesta,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow, oh tomorrow, when she returns to us, we’ll learn to cope with our other loss. Nothing matters more to me than the return of our daughter.’
Matthew could not speak.
Now that the clock was dead, he needed to look at his watch to see the time. Just as he switched on the bedside lamp and saw that the fatal hour of two was almost there, a gigantic explosion shook the house.
Windows rattled.
Plaster cracked inside the walls.
The sound of a high-pitched whistle invaded their ears.
‘What on earth can that be?’ cried Alison.
‘The ship!’ said Matthew, grabbing his dressing gown and dashing to the bedroom door. ‘The spaceship has had to burst out of its confinement. We should have moved the frog.’
But from the back bedroom window, he could see nothing. The garden was in deep darkness. He and Alison ran downstairs and out into the night. They rushed up to the pond. The grass around it was wet. The basin was empty of water, but spattered with bits of masonry, leaves broken off from the lily pad.
The frog was nowhere in sight.