The Homeward Bounders by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

I’d gone very far.”
    â€œIsn’t that just like Them !” I said. “Why aren’t you hating Them ? I do.”
    He even laughed then. “Oh I did,” he said. “I hated Them for aeons, make no mistake. But it wore out. You’ll find that. Things wear out, specially feelings.” He didn’t seem sad about it at all. He acted as if it was a relief, not hating Them any more.
    Somehow that made me hate Them all the worse. “See here,” I said, reaching up with the tenth handful or so of water, “isn’t there any way I can get you out of this? Can’t I find an adamant saw somewhere? Or do the chains unlock anywhere?”
    He stopped before he drank and looked at me, really laughing, but trying not to, to spare my feelings. “You’re very generous,” he said. “But They don’t do things like that. If there’s any key at all to these chains, it’s over there.” And he nodded over at the anchor before he bent to drink.
    â€œThat anchor?” I said. “When it’s rusted away, you mean?”
    â€œThat will be at the ends of the worlds,” he said.
    I saw he was trying to tell me kindly not to be a fool. I felt very dejected as I shuffled off for the next handful of water. What could I do ? I wanted to do something, on my own account as well as his. I wanted to break up his chains and tear the worlds apart. Then I wanted to get my hands on a few of Their throats. But I was simply a helpless discard, and only a boy at that.
    â€œOne thing I can do,” I said when I came climbing back, “is to stay and keep you company and bring you water and things.”
    â€œI don’t advise that,” he said. “ They can control you still, to some extent, and there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
    He had had enough to drink by then. He said I should go. But I sat down defiantly on the wet rock, shivering. Both of us shivered. The fog was blowing round us like the cold breath of giants. I looked up at him. He had his head leaned back again and that look on his face that was like peace but nearer death.
    â€œTell me the rules,” I said. “You must know every rule there is, if you found out about them.”
    At that, his head came up and he looked almost angry. “There are no rules,” he said. “Only principles and natural laws. The rules were made by Them. They are caught inside Their own rules now, but there’s no need for you to be caught too. Stay outside. If you’re lucky, you might catch Them up in Their own rules.”
    â€œBut there is that rule that nobody can interfere with a Homeward Bounder,” I said. I was thinking about the boy and the wagon. It still made me feel bad.
    â€œYes,” he said. “There is, isn’t there?”
    Then neither of us said anything much for quite a long while. That’s the trouble with misery, or cold. It absorbs you. I still wonder how he could manage to be so human under it. Except, I think, he wasn’t human. Eventually, I put my shivering face up and asked if he’d like another drink.
    He was looking off into the fog, rather intently, and shook his head slightly. “Not now, thank you. I think it’s time for the vulture to come.”
    I don’t know why, but I got the point at once. I suppose I had been wondering, deep down, what made that new-looking wound of his. I found I was standing up, looking from the wound to his face and feeling ill. “Can’t I beat it off for you?”
    â€œNo,” he said, quite severely. “You can’t do things like that against Them , and you mustn’t try. Why don’t you go?”
    I wanted to say that I’d stay—stay and hold his hand as it were—but I felt weak with horror. I couldn’t say a thing.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you. But do go. It’s nearly here.”
    I looked