Ashes Under Uricon (The Change Book 1) (20 page)

I followed the Teacher into the trees, taking what I thought was the same route as he had done. I walked for a long time without seeing him, or hearing him. I had almost decided that I had lost him and that it would be better for me to return to Ty’r Brodyr rather than lose myself completely. The path I had been following had become steeper and steeper and I was tiring quickly. Still weak from the days we had gone without proper food, I was about to give up when suddenly I stepped clear of the trees. I was back on the empty moor we had crossed when we came here, although the route I had taken was much longer than the way down.

Far in the distance a small figure stood outlined against the sky. Hoping that this was the teacher, not some other likely to attack me, I hurried after him, forcing my stiffening legs onward. As I approached the figure it grew larger until I realised that he was standing still. I drew nearer. He was facing away from me, staring off into the distance. As I came alongside him, without looking at me he said, “You are slowing me down, woman.”

Slightly out of breath, I said, “You walk like a man. Too fast for me.”

“You walk like a woman. This must change.”

I was about to reply but all I managed was a splutter. He had set off again at his usual pace, the distance rapidly growing between us. Still carrying my book I stumbled after him. For mile after mile he strode forward across the bleak moorland. The fatigue in my legs somehow seemed to dwindle as I walked as quickly as I could in his wake. After some hours he stopped. “There,” he said, pointing into the distance, “there is our destination. We must reach it before night falls.”

For the first time since we left the house he turned to look at me. I was trying to catch my breath, my hands on my knees, the book on the ground beside me. “Why did you bring that?” he said, waving at it.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It seemed a good idea when I left the house. I wish I hadn’t bothered now.”

“What is the book?”

For a man who had just told me that before a rapidly approaching night we had to reach a destination that seemed impossibly far off, why was he so willing to pause while he asked me questions about the book?

“It’s called ‘Y Gododdin’,” I replied, picking it up.

“You read this?”

“Some of it,” I lied. “I would need help to read it all.” I would probably need help to read more than the first word of the title.

“What does it teach you?” He reached out and took the book from me. In his hand it seemed much smaller. He clearly had no idea how to hold it.

“Nothing,” I said. “So far.”

“Then it is useless.” He drew his arm back as if to throw the book.

“No,” I shouted. “You can’t do that. I’ve carried it this far. I don’t mind carrying it. Please?”

He let the book fall from his grasp, his hand still high in the air. “Foolishness,” he said, turning away from me and walking off.

The book had fallen on open pages. As I picked it up, my finger caught in these. Without real thought I glanced at the page as I went to close the book. My eyes fell on the first words on the page. Unconsciously, I read them, though they meant nothing to me. I heard the strange words in my head. Then I heard them spoken again. In the Teacher’s voice. I closed the book and looked up. He was striding off into the distance, too far away already to speak to me.

I opened the book again at the same page. I read the words aloud. They were the words he had recited as he stood outside the house. I saw him plainly, his head thrown back, his arms raised above his head. And there, printed in the book I had taken from the house, were his words: ‘
Gwyr a aeth gatraeth oedd fraeth eu llu …
’. He had claimed never to have read a book. When he took this book from me it was obvious that he had no idea what to do with it.

And yet. And yet. Of all the books I had read. All the books that were in Ty’r Brodyr. The one I had been drawn to, the one I had for some reason decided to bring with me. This book contained the words that this man claimed to have learned from his ‘masters’.

I closed the book and dashed after him.

We did not reach the edge of the moor before night came down around us. The darkness was total, no moon, no stars. The Teacher plunged into the trees that had appeared and I was forced to stumble after him, afraid of losing him. Another hour at least of slamming into unseen trees followed, as I staggered on and on and on. Until, without warning, the trees ended. Before us, I could just make out what looked like a wooden bridge. His boots rang as he raced across. A hollow, echoing sound. I looked over the edge of the bridge but could see nothing. On the other side, a huge door loomed out of the darkness.

The Teacher put his shoulder to the door and it slowly opened, screeching and wailing as it did so. He passed inside once it was open enough. Fearful, I followed him. We were in a small courtyard, barely lit by a single lamp that hung high above the inside of the door. Without pausing, he crossed this and entered a much smaller doorway opposite, inside which a flight of stone steps led upwards. When we reached what must have been the first floor of this building, he turned into a room that opened directly off the stairway.

A small fire was burning in the depths of a huge fireplace on the other side of the room. There were no flames, just a red glow that left most of the room in shadow. He strode across to this, ripping off his gloves and throwing them aside. I stood under the archway where we had entered. The thought did pass through my mind that I should run. Leave this place, whatever it was, and head off into the night again. But by now I was too cold and tired to do anything.

“Come,” I heard him say. He was sitting on a kind of bench beside the fire, holding his hands over it. “You need to be warm. Come. Sit.”

I crossed the room, slowly. As I reached the fireplace, he pointed to a bench on the other side of the fire. “Sit. There. Warm yourself.” I did as I was told. After the cold wind on the moor, and the even colder passage through the trees, I was surprised by the heat coming from what looked like only a small fire. I held out my hands. Before long my fingers began to tingle. I looked across at him.

“What is this place?” I said.

“The home of my father. And his father before him.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Some call it the Red Castle.”

“The red what?”

“Castle, woman. Castle. The foolishness of books leaves you ignorant.”

I shrugged. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, the glow from the fire began to reveal more of the room we were in. The ceiling or roof, if there was one, was so high that it was not visible. The walls on the long sides were made of bare stones, rising into the darkness. The wall that contained the archway through which we had come in seemed to be painted – as far as I could make out it was smooth and coloured. The fireplace in which we were sitting was built of a yellow stone. It took up most of the remaining wall. A massive blackened chimney soared up into the darkness. The floor of the room was paved with large grey stones. There was no furniture, no carpets or rugs, no wall hangings or pictures.

“You live here?” I said, as I took in all of this.

“From time to time,” he said. “When I need it.”

“Does someone else live here?”

“No. What makes you say that?”

“The fire. The lamp in the courtyard.”

“I lit those. Long ago.”

I stared at him. At the same moment, I became aware that the fire, which seemed to be small when we arrived, had not burned away as I would have expected. It remained the same, giving off the same heat and the same light. I realised that I was no longer feeling cold. When I touched my hands to my face it was glowing.

“You live here alone?” I said this more to convince myself than as a question.

“Since the death of my father. Long ago, now.”

It dawned on me that he must be like Eluned. His timescale was different to mine. ‘Long ago’ for him probably meant hundreds of years for me.

He stood up, undoing the fastenings on his leather coat. “There has not been a woman in this place since my mother was sent away. You will not find many womanly things here.”

I smiled. What did he mean by ‘womanly things’ I wondered? I wanted to ask why his mother had been sent away, but it did not seem right, somehow. “If you mean furniture,” I said, looking around the empty room, “that doesn’t bother me.”

“No stitching and sewing. No spinning and weaving.”

This time I laughed. “I know nothing of these things. I am a woman of the Change.”

He stared at me. Then he turned and hung his coat on a peg that had been crudely hammered into the side of the fireplace. “We will eat,” he said, turning back, “then sleep.” Without further warning, he crossed the room and went back down the steps. I jumped up and ran after him.

As I came out from the stairway, he was just entering another doorway to the side. Glancing around, I could see there were three or four of these doorways. I heard his boots clatter up another set of stone steps and went after him. Another room, very similar to the one we had left, opened off this stairway. At the far end a large metal pot hung over a similar fire. He walked across, picked up a wooden bowl and spoon and ladled out some of the contents of the pot. I copied him. Whatever was in the pot, it was delicious and filling.

As soon as he had finished his bowl, he threw it back on the shelf and headed for the doorway. He paused before turning down the steps. Pointing to a corner of the room he said, “There is a mattress. Sleep now. Tomorrow we begin.”

The next morning I woke to hear the clatter of the Teacher’s boots on the steps leading to the room I was in. I had slept surprisingly well, given the circumstances, and felt refreshed. He came in without a word, marching straight to the fireplace and filling a bowl. I threw off the blanket and joined him.

“I have no clothes. Where do I wash?” I said, between mouthfuls of the delicious food.

“Wash at the well,” he said, without looking up. “In my mother’s room you will find clothes enough.”

I started to ask, “Where...” but stopped. I had to learn to fend for myself.

He tossed his bowl back on the shelf. “We begin. Mornings for learning the words of my fathers. Afternoons for making you strong. Wash, change clothes if you wish, since this is woman’s ways. Join me in the courtyard after half an hour has passed.” He left the room.

I finished my bowl of broth. Where would I find the well and his mother’s room? It seemed best to start in the courtyard. Sure enough, one of the doorways out of this led to a small room. In the centre was a circular opening at the bottom of which I could just make out water. A bucket, fixed to a rope that ran over a beam above, sat on one side of this. I dropped the bucket into the well and pulled it up full of clear water. As best as I could I used this to wash.

There was one other doorway left. I ran up the steps inside. At the same level as before an archway opened onto a room that was empty except for a mattress. This time the steps carried on upwards. I ran up again. In the second room there was nothing but a large wooden chest. When I lifted the lid it revealed a number of brown and green dresses. Similar to my shifts, these were a little more elaborately finished. I chose one and swapped it for my shift. It fitted perfectly.

“Time!” The Teacher’s voice boomed out from the courtyard. I ran down to join him.

“There is much to learn. We will begin slowly.” Having said this, he began to walk deliberately around the courtyard, at the same time chanting the words I had heard him say before.

“
Gwyr a aeth gatraeth oedd fraeth eu llu,

Glasfed eu hancwyn a gwenwyn fu.

Trychant trwy beiriant en cattau
Ag wedi elwch tawelwch fu.”

Each syllable was deliberately spoken at the same time as he took a pace. This meant that he completed two circuits of the courtyard before he stopped.

He moved to the centre. “Now you.”

“Me?” I spluttered.

He looked around. “There is no other,” he said. “Begin.”

“What? Say those words? But I ...”

“Silence, woman. We have no time to waste. Begin.”

“Could you say them one more time, please? I didn’t realise you expected me to copy you.”

His face reddened. “There are many words. How long will this take if I have to repeat them?”

“Please?” I said, my head down.

He growled, then set off on two more circuits of the courtyard, again chanting the same words. When he returned to the centre I took his place, desperately trying to remember what he had said. I managed a garbled version of the first three words before my memory failed. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I can’t be expected to remember what you said. I don’t understand what you are saying. My Welsh is not good enough. You will have to take it more slowly.”

“More slowly?” His voice echoed off the walls surrounding the courtyard. “More slowly? We do not have a lifetime, woman. There is no time for your ‘slowly’. You must be ready before the summer ends.”

“Ready? Ready for what?” My voice echoed this time.

“When I know you are ready, I will tell you. Until then, you learn.”

“How long do I have?” I had no idea when the summer he had mentioned was to be.

“Winter is ending. Spring will come. Summer will come. Before it ends you must be ready. Enough of your womanish questions. Begin.”

“Can’t you break up the words? I can’t remember all that you said after hearing it once.”

He sighed. He set off on a circuit, but stopped about a quarter of the way through. He gestured for me to take up position opposite him. “Begin.”

I struggled through what I thought he had said. While I was speaking I stood rooted to the spot. It was enough to remember the words, let alone walk at the same time.

“No, no, no,” he yelled. The ‘no’s echoed around the walls. Again he repeated the same words, pacing them out.

This went on all morning. Slowly, very slowly, I began to learn these alien words. By the time he called a halt, I was just able to repeat about a half of the total, and had managed to say them while walking at the same time, though I was not able to keep the pace as he did. In the end, he threw up his hands and said, “Enough.” He then strode off to the ‘kitchen’, where I followed him and shovelled down a bowl of broth.