Night of the Fifth Moon (23 page)

Goll applauded, laughing.

Only Lorccán stood still, his face drained of colour.

‘I'm sorry, Lorccán,' murmured Ket.

Lorccán flung up his head. ‘I don't need your pity!' But in the firelight Ket could see that his eyes glistened with tears.

There was a peal of golden bells and everyone turned. Faelán laid a hand on Ket's shoulder.

‘Ket, the ogham rod has led us to you. It has chosen someone of power and strength.' He looked around the circle of intent, watching faces. ‘When Ket was merely a lad at his mother's knee, he resisted the magic words I used to foment his father's downfall. He cannot be influenced by the enchantment of my harp. He bends the Shadow Ones to his will. He has even . . .' the druid's face crinkled in a smile ‘withstood my own persuasive powers. Above all . . .' His voice grew solemn. Ket tried to swallow but his throat was rigid. ‘Above all, Ket is keen, observant and thoughtful of others. Ket is a true anruth.'

INITIATION

The white bones were still scattered on the floor. The silver horn lay beside them, tarnished once more, and covered with dust. Ket raised the candle higher. Soft, wavering light played over the shredded hangings on the walls, and jewels winked at him out of the gloom.

Ket could see the three chambers Faelán had described, opening off the main tomb. They were small and shadowy, too low to stand in. Ket moved towards them, treading so carefully in his bare feet that even the dust was not disturbed. On the floor of the first chamber he could see the huge stone dish carved with strange swirls. One day, he would learn the meaning of those swirls, but now his task was to place the honey cake on the dish.

As he leant forward, hot candle-fat dripped on his fingers. He let out a yelp and dropped the candle. The flame snuffed out and blackness wrapped around him. He stood a moment, sucking his burnt fingers, then eased closer till his shins pressed against the stone. Stooping he set down the cake, still warm and sticky from the fire. It was a gift for the Shadow Ones.

He paused, listening, but there was no sound bar the
thud thudding
of his own heart. Only a short time since, he would have been too terrified to spend a night in a grave with the dead, but now he knew the Shadow Ones would not harm him.

Groping on the floor beside the stone, as Faelán had instructed, his fingers closed on something small and hard. His breath caught. It was a branch of bells. The new branch with the silver bells. The branch of an anruth.

As he lifted it in his hand, it sent out a musical tinkle, and he felt a shock of pride. The sound was different from the bronze bells he'd carried before. Growing accustomed to the gloom now, he could see the shimmer of their silver. He turned his eyes and made out the faint, curving shapes of the walls. Slowly, carefully, he worked his way to the next chamber. It was so small, he had to crawl inside, the skirt of his new, long robe tangling around his legs. He wriggled around to face the way he'd come, propped his back against the stone wall and peered into the darkness.

This vigil in the tomb was the final step in his initiation. When the anruth had woken him before the dawn, they'd been carrying burning branches of juniper. They had chanted and circled around him till the air was saturated with aromatic, purifying fumes. They had cut off his long, tangled locks, taken away his old clothes, and cast them into the fire. With his eyes smarting from the smoke, Ket had watched his old life smoulder away.

The anruth had lifted him then, bearing him on their shoulders to the Sacred Spring. Ket had bathed in the icy waters, clinging tight to Goll's hand so he would not be sucked down into the Underworld. And finally, he had dressed in the grey robe that Maura had dyed for him with bearberry leaves.

Ket closed his eyes now, remembering his reflection in the Sacred Spring – just like all the other anruth, with a long grey robe, and a silver fillet bound round his hair. He imagined how Nessa would shriek with excitement when she saw him come strutting up in his new garb. He was not sure he could believe it himself! Only a few hours ago, he'd still been wearing his old léine and trews. He grinned, and opened his eyes.

A speck of gold was glinting in the darkness. He jerked upright. The next moment, the first ray of the rising sun shone through the entrance of the tomb, a single finger of light stretching across the floor. It reached to the walls curving around him, and then poured over his knees, bathing him with sunlight.

The long wait was over. Ket's first day as an anruth had begun.

In the world of Viking Magic
a mark scratched in stone can take away pain
a cloak can save you from drowning
a boy can turn into a lynx

But what if the magic is back-to-front?

Runestone
, and its companion novels,
Wolfspell
and
Stormriders
, are stories of magic, mystery and
excitement set in the world of the Vikings.