Moon Song (34 page)

Tristan sang the song. The moon-hare-girl heard, listened, allowed it to flow through her spirit, along the threads of light that made her body and out into the land around her, through the plants, through the soil, into the animals and insects and birds, all the creatures. All was connected, no creature, not even human, was alone, disconnected. All were a part of the whole. And she, the moon, spun the threads, sang the song, helped the dancing that made the web of life.

Tristan held the final note forever, allowing it to fade and disappear into the dawn light. The song was over. The sun was rising over the tops of the trees, putting stars and moon to flight. In the circle now, the hare-girl stood, shimmering, hare-girl no longer but the lady of the moon. Gideon stood beside her.

‘Not you to make my body this time, but a human man,’ she said to him.

Gideon smiled down to her. ‘You are lady of the moonpath,’ he told her, ‘of the white track, of the silver ley lines that connect everything to everything. You are Olwen here on Earth.’

‘So I am. And I have a body in this world that makes sense of
that, so I can work with the plants and with everything that lives and moves and has its being here on Earth.’

Olwen went over to Tristan. He looked exhausted but triumphant.

‘Thank you, master,’ she told him. ‘The songs can go out now, the Moon Song is here, holding them all together.’

‘I’m glad, lady.’ Tristan went to take her hand, she gave it to him, he raised it to his lips. ‘And I’m sorry that I left before it was all finished.’

Olwen smiled, a rueful, twisted thing. ‘We need Isoldé too,’ she said. ‘Somehow your soul knew this, your body too. Without knowing, you made it possible, imperative even, that she come here, work with us. Not all that looks awry is necessarily so.’

‘Now, I must go back,’ Tristan said.

‘Yes …and Isoldé must lead you back. You have not the strength to do it on your own, you have given me all your strength, in the song.’

This was true, Tristan was sagging where he sat on the headstone, he had put the harp on the grass at his feet, there was no spare energy left in him.

‘I’ll take him,’ Isoldé said, coming up to them. ‘I’ll take him tonight.’

‘I think not,’ Olwen said.

They all stared at her.

‘Tonight is the eclipse,’ she said. ‘My face will be covered, it is the night of the blood moon.’

The faces of the humans fell. Gideon smiled again, a harsh thing.

‘How long has Tristan got?’ Isoldé asked. ‘When must he go back by?’

‘Before the sun rises again,’ Gideon said.

‘And I cannot make the path while my face is covered,’ Olwen said.

‘It’s not covered all night,’ Mark said. ‘Only at the high point.
You will shine again before you set.’

‘And how long will that be?’ Isoldé asked.

‘Not long,’ said Olwen. ‘Not long.’

The vision shuddered into blood-stained monochrome. Isoldé stood in darkness watching the moon’s face gradually disappear as the Earth crept across it. This was not an ordinary full moon. Tonight was the eclipse, the sun’s light, which usually lit the moon, cut off by the Earth, the only light that reached her now came through the Earth’s atmosphere. The sky was clear, every star was out and brighter than ever. But the moon’s face was filled with blood.

How was she to work with no moonpath? Tristan would not be able to return to the Isles, he would have to stay here, remain an uncertain ghost, never to go home. And he couldn’t go without her. Now he had written the song, sung it, recorded it, he was an empty shell. Oh yes, he still lived, still loved her, but they were no good to each other in the world of everyday. She knew she needed to take him home, but how?

The Earth-shadow crept forward. Only a tiny sliver of bright silver light showed like a crescent in the sky, like a waning moon. Soon even that would be gone and Isoldé would have no path across the sea. True, she knew it would come back, but could he last that long, or would he become a shrieking wraith with no home in either land? That was her fear. The blood moon drained all will from out of him and, seemingly, out of her too.

She stared out of the window at the growing darkness. There was no point in taking Tristan to the cliff top, not yet. Maybe there never would be. She went back down to the library, Tristan was sat there in the armchair, Embar in his lap. He looked up as she came into the room, watching her face. Seeing no hope in it he dropped his gaze back to stare into the fire. He was a cold ghost, they had lit a fire for him.

I can’t use the moonpath, Isoldé thought, there is no
moonpath, not while the moon’s face is hidden by the Earth. But I must get him back.

A picture of the head-stone grove formed in her mind. It was there in both worlds, in this world and in Otherworld. She recalled saying this to Rhiannon before, and how Rhiannon had said that she could travel directly from the one to the other …if she were good enough.

Now was not the time to think about that. She had to be good enough. She had done so much in the past days, was that not enough? She didn’t have time to ask anyone and she didn’t dare to, they might say no and she couldn’t bear that. Tristan here, in the house, in their lives, neither alive nor dead, would drain all the life out of herself and Mark. Mark already looked grey and worn, despite being unfailingly kind both to Tristan and herself, and that was worse than anything. ‘Come on,’ she said abruptly to Tristan. ‘It’s time. We must go.’

Tristan put Embar down and stood, looking confused. ‘There’s no moonpath,’ he said.

‘There’s another way. I can get you home.’

‘But can you get back?’

‘Yes,’ she said confidently although she was far from feeling it. ‘I can.’

Embar stared at her. Tristan followed her out of the room. Embar followed him.

‘Come on,’ Isoldé ordered Tristan out of the truck and pointed him to the path to the grove. ‘Go!’ He did as she bid him.

Embar leapt out of the back of the truck and stood at Isoldé’s feet, glaring up at her.

‘I must,’ she told him.

‘Ask …’ The word formed in her mind like a shout.

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘What if they say no?’

The cat continued to glare for a moment then turned and followed Tristan down the path.

The light in the grove was a red monochrome from the bloody reflection of the eclipsed moon.

Isoldé wondered what she must do to walk between the worlds from one grove to the other. She stood by the head-stone, then crouched beside it. It really was a face, a head. There was the mouth as a mossy crack in the rock. The nose, slightly bulbous, stood out as a bulge of stone. And the eye. The eye was carved, a circle with an equal-armed cross inside it, the astrological symbol for the Earth. The carving was over four thousand years old but those who had done it knew what they were doing. The head itself stood out of the grass as though the rest of the giant figure was still buried in the ground. Perhaps it was, noone had ever dug here to find out, Tristan had never allowed it and neither would Mark.

Isoldé could feel a presence in the eye, as though it watched her back. ‘I want to walk between the worlds,’ she told the presence in the head-stone. ‘I want to take Tristan back across the worlds to your counterpart in the grove in the Isles of the Dead, the Isles of the Blest, where he belongs. Will you help me?’

From somewhere impossible, a shadow blinked across the eye. A sense of “Yes” came inside Isoldé’s head.

‘What must I do?’

‘Blood,’ came the reply.

‘My blood?’

‘Your blood.’ It felt as if there was a chuckle came with the words. ‘It is the night of the blood moon after all.’

‘All right,’ Isoldé agreed, trying not to think about what she might have agreed to.

The chuckle came again.

She delved in the bag she’d brought, what was there she could prick her finger with to draw blood? Her fingers felt something long and thin, she took it out, it was a long needle. ‘What do I do?’ she asked.

‘Draw blood,’ came the reply. ‘Smear some on Tristan’s
forehead and your own, then onto my eye. Then take Tristan’s hand and look directly into my eye.’

Isoldé took the needle and stabbed her finger. Blood welled up immediately. She smeared a little on her forehead then stood to do the same for Tristan. She squeezed her finger again and put the bloody tip to the centre of the eye in the stone head. As she finished she felt Embar twine about her legs. She bent at once and rubbed the last of the blood between his eyes, then, taking Tristan’s hand she pulled him down beside her looked straight into the stone eye. Embar jumped into her lap and also stared at the stone.

Isoldé felt herself shooting forwards, into the eye, like rushing down a dark tunnel. She could sense the man and the cat were with her but there was no feeling at all, it was as though she didn’t have a body, just a knowing, completely bodiless. Suddenly the sensation stopped. She had no idea how long it had gone on for. She felt dizzy and sick as she jolted to an apparent stop to find herself crouched on grass, along with Tristan and Embar, all of them facing the head-stone.

It was different. The blood-red colour of the light was gone, replaced by a white-gold along with monochrome stone and the grass. It had worked. She was in Otherworld and she’d brought Tristan home. She turned to him.

He stood up, pulling her with him. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But you must go. Now. You cannot stay. You must go home.’

Isoldé turned back to the stone, stared into its eye. There was a chuckle in response. ‘It only works one way,’ the stone-voice said inside her head.

‘Oh …! You didn’t tell me that!’

‘You didn’t ask,’ said the stone. ‘I only tell you what you ask. If you don’t ask it, I don’t tell.’

Isoldé sagged. She was a fool. She should have known that, after everything that had happened recently, all she’d learned. She’d behaved like a foolish child …and got the appropriate
response. What was she to do? She must get home.

‘The moonpath,’ Tristan said. ‘Hurry!’

Embar’s claw slashed at her trouser leg, he yowled imperatively.

‘OK!’ She caught Tristan quickly to her and kissed his cheek, then turned and ran after Embar down the meadow path towards the shingle beach.

The shingle skidded and clattered under her running feet so she nearly slipped. Holding herself together she raced for the shore. The moonpath was there, just. The moon was low on the horizon, about to sink into the sea. Without thinking at all she leapt onto the silver path, not worrying if it was solid, and raced along it following the streaking black cat. It swayed under her feet but she no longer cared. The light was going, the path fading into nothingness. With all her last strength Isoldé leapt for the rocky steps she could just see ahead of her.

Mark sat on the top of the three steps on the headland. The moonpath stretched out in front of him. Looking out across the sea he saw the Lost Land, far away, at the other end of the path. It would be very easy to get up and step onto the path, walk to the cloud land and stay there.

It had been three months now since the night he had recorded Tristan, since the night of the blood moon, since Isoldé had disappeared, run away with Tristan and Embar. It was three months now that he’d been alone.