Winter Wood (46 page)

Tadgemole, always so confident in his manner, now looked completely taken aback. And when he spoke there was suspicion in his voice.

‘
Give
it to me? And not ask for the Stone in return?'

‘I'm become more seasoned of late, Tadgemole, and perhaps a little wiser with season's turning. I have consulted with the Stone many times, and see that here lies a power beyond my own. My heart has altered. I believe that Elysse exists – our true home – and that we might return there if we could only see our path. I believe that the Touchstone would guide us if we had knowledge to put it to such purpose. But I have no such knowledge, and I be willing to step aside for any that do. Keep the Stone, then, and be Keeper of it, and take the Orbis also if 'ee can show 'tis rightfully yourn. I be ready to follow, if thee truly knows the way.' And again Maglin offered the Orbis, holding it out across the shallow waters to Tadgemole.

But Tadgemole made no move to take it. He looked down at the Stone, cradled in his pale hands, and then up again at Maglin.

‘Your heart is altered indeed then,' he said, ‘if you are ready to give all over to me. And I've no ready words in answer. As with you, so it is with me: I've wished only to bring this day about and have given little thought beyond it. But . . . you say that you have
consulted
with the Stone? What do you mean? You have already learned how it might be used?'

‘Aye, but in part only. I cannot say how the Stone and Orbis should work together, or what might betide if they be joined.'

‘No more can I.'

‘So? But 'tis your kind that've always held a faith in these things, Tadgemole, not mine. I be come
to this only lately, and in the sun-wane o' my days.'

‘My people do hold faith, Maglin, and I hope we ever shall. Yet faith may not be knowledge. We've no word of such things in our almanacs. We know only that the travelling tribes came from Elysse to the lands of the Gorji, guided by the Touchstone. And that when the Touchstone was split, so we became trapped here. We believed that if Stone and Orbis were brought together again, then on such a day we might return to our home. But now that the day has come . . .'

Tadgemole paused and shook his head. ‘No. If you've already worked the Stone, Maglin, then you've more knowledge than I. Perhaps 'tis for the Ickri after all to lead us from this place . . .'

Another moment of hesitation and Tadgemole held out the Touchstone, offering it to Maglin across the quietly trickling stream.

Midge stared at the two of them in wonderment – and with a growing feeling of exasperation. After all the trouble and fuss and danger that she'd been through in order to bring the Orbis to the forest, and now nobody could
give
the thing away! What was the matter with them?

‘Why don't you just put it all together and see what happens?' The words simply tumbled out, and everybody turned to look at her. Midge felt stupid then. ‘Sorry,' she said. ‘I only meant that . . . well . . . it might be an idea, that's all.' She decided to shut up.

Maglin glared at her a little longer before speaking. ‘We be thankful to 'ee, maid, for all that thee've done. Aye, more thankful than we could say. But we s'd be
more thankful yet if thee'd hold silent till
we've
done. Now, then . . .' He turned to face Tadgemole once more. ‘'Tis plain to me, Tadgemole, that neither of us see clear ahead, and that each could gain from another's aid. What do 'ee say, then – shall we call ourselves Elders, thee and I, and try to act together in this? I find that there be few Elders around me that I've any faith in – and we be both more of an age for keeping counsel than for cracking heads.'

‘Hmf.' Tadgemole gave a grim little snort. ‘I'm all for counsel, Maglin, and I'll gladly join with you in that. But whilst I'm still able to crack any head that needs it, then I'll not give up the right.'

‘Ha. So be it, then. Until any wiser head comes along, we must put our two together and hope to keep 'em from breaking one on t'other . . .'

But then the two heads in question turned to face upstream, moving simultaneously, as if drawn by some signal. Midge was still coming to terms with the sudden reconciliation of this extraordinary pair, and it took a moment longer for her to catch up. She followed the direction of their gaze.

Something was happening among the Wisp. The fisher tribe, which had been spread out across the shallows, were now stumbling to either side, parting the way. In order to let someone through? Midge peered at the mill of little figures, trying to discover what was going on.

White . . . she caught flashes of white amongst the dividing crowd . . . white hair and wings. It was Pegs! She could see him, picking his way along the centre
of the stony stream. He'd not come to any great harm, then. But her relief quickly turned to puzzlement. Because there was something else . . . someone else . . .

Midge rose unsteadily to her feet, aware of the ache in her legs as she looked over the heads of the crowd. Pegs was being ridden. Yes, there was someone on his back – a girl? A figure at any rate, dressed in white. Long silvery hair. Very pale.

The tribespeople had pulled right back. They stood away from the banks of the stream and looked on in silence as the winged horse and his strange rider passed between them, the click of hooves audible on the wet stones. And there was another sound, soft and musical. The chink of bells. Pegs was wearing a bridle, and Midge gave a little gasp as she recognized it. Yes, she'd looked at that bridle so many times that it was like an old friend to her.

But the figure in white was a complete stranger. Who could she be? The eyes of the girl were looking straight at her . . . so dark, they were, for such a pale face . . . and Midge felt self-conscious, a clumsy giant amongst those all around. Her legs didn't seem to want to hold her upright after all. She sank dizzily to her knees again, grateful to be able to rest her fingertips on solid earth.

Was
it a girl, though? As Pegs drew closer, Midge wasn't so sure. The figure perched sideways on his back was perhaps not as young as she had first seemed. Her skin was clear and unlined, perfect. But there was something in that perfection that didn't seem very
girlish somehow. A kind of tautness that gave away the years. And though her build was slight, it wasn't teenage-skinny. She was too graceful for that, too composed.

The awed silence held as horse and rider approached the flat rock that sat in the middle of the stream.

‘Yes, here.'

Only two words, but the low huskiness in the voice told of one who had travelled far beyond childhood. Pegs stepped up onto the rock and turned about, the clink of the bridle bells and the skitter and scrape of his hooves echoing above the constant babble of water. Midge saw for the first time that his strange companion was winged. An Ickri.

‘You are safely here then, child. And unharmed. I am glad.'

Midge realized that she was being spoken to, but had to shield her eyes in order to see properly. The winter sun was already low among the trees, dazzling her, so that the face of the Ickri rider was shadowed against wheeling rays of light.

‘Er . . . yes. I'm fine.' Midge ducked a little lower. She could see the dark eyes looking at her, extraordinarily intense amid the fiery strands of hair. Who
was
this person? She thought she caught the trace of a smile as the head turned away.

They stood in profile now, Pegs and his rider, to face the crowds on either side of the stream. Midge stole a glance at Maglin, and then at Tadgemole. They seemed as mystified as everyone else there.

‘Come. Draw closer and look upon me.' The rider had one arm raised, her sleeve falling back to reveal skin paler than that of any cave-dweller.

‘Closer. Stand before me. There is nothing to fear.'

She had an air of authority about her, a quiet hypnotic power that seemed to draw the crowd towards her. By ones and twos at first, and then in a general shuffle of movement, the Various tribespeople rearranged themselves, mingling together to form a deep semi-circle around the flat rock, some remaining on dry land, some wading into the shallows. Midge found herself neighboured by Naiad and Ickri alike, all whispering together, and noticed that Maglin and Tadgemole were two of those who stood in the stream, taking up a position side by side and directly in front of the rock platform.

Gradually the muttering subsided and all were quiet once more.

‘I hear the whispers, but have not yet heard the sound of my name. Are there none among you that know it?' The husky voice fell upon dead silence.

‘Then I will tell you. I am Una, daughter of Avlon.'

More silence. Midge looked about her in order to see what effect this announcement might have, but the expressions on the upturned faces of the little people remained blank. Only Maglin, she noticed, seemed to react. His grey eyebrows met in a frown, and he gave a slight shake of his head.

‘Has it been so long then, that all have forgotten me?' The Ickri maiden spoke again. ‘And have all forgotten Avlon, my father, King of the Ickri? And how
he was slain by Corben, his own brother? Do none know this tale? Come . . . Maglin. You at least have heard of this.'

‘How do 'ee know my name?' Maglin growled. ‘And where do 'ee come from with this nonsense? Aye, the tale be known well enough among the Ickri.' He raised his voice so that all about could hear. ‘Avlon were he who first led our tribe down from the northlands. He were killed by his brother Corben, who would be King in his stead. And 'tis true, so I've heard, that he had a daughter named Una. But this ain't she! Una were killed also when she were a child. And even if she'd lived she'd be older than I or any Elder here. Now I don't know who you be, maidy, but you ain't seasoned enough be any daughter of Avlon.'

‘Ha. Perhaps I am older than I seem. What do you say, Tadgemole? Or you, Glim? Zelma . . . Aken . . . Zophia? What does Spindra say, or Fletcher Marten? I know every one of you. Do none of you know me?'

‘Where do 'ee
come
from, wi' this tricksy talk? We don't know thee!'

Maglin placed the butt of his spear onto the rock, and heaved himself up, so that Pegs had to step aside in order to make way for him. ‘But I knows one that might! Find Maven!' he roared. ‘Bring Maven to me, and then perhaps we s'll see who this storyteller be!'

‘Maven?' The Ickri rider looked down at him. ‘Old Maven-the-Green? I doubt she'd have aught to tell you, Maglin, even if you could find her. Maven is dead.'

‘
DEAD?
' MAGLIN STAGGERED
backwards as though he'd been struck. His mouth sagged open in disbelief.

‘Aye, dead and gone. She was shot by an Ickri arrow. I saw it happen.' There was a tinge of sorrow in the low voice of the horsewoman. ‘And it should never have been. Maven was a friend to me.'

Maglin seemed lost. He stood with his hand to his brow, staring wide-eyed into the stream below. But then gradually the lines of his mouth hardened, and when at last he spoke his voice broke with anger.

‘Who? Who did this? And when did it happen?'

‘I never learned who, Maglin, though I always believed it was one called Tuz. An Ickri archer. But it was long ago. Longseasons ago. Before you were born.'

‘
What?
What . . .
blether
do 'ee talk now? I were speaking wi' Maven this very day!'

‘Were you? It heartens me, Maglin, to see you take her death so hard. She would have been glad to know you thought so well of her. Didst truly love her, then?'

‘What? Thee durst come here from . . . from
nowhere . . . to make a mock o'
me
?' Maglin lunged forward and grabbed hold of Pegs' bridle. It looked as though he would have dragged the Ickri rider from her perch there and then, but she deftly slid down the horse's opposite flank so that Pegs stood as a barrier between the two of them.

‘Do 'ee not know me, maister? Thee be blind as a new-born mole, then! But thee surely ain't deaf as well?' The cackle and croak that arose from the other side of the winged horse stopped Maglin in his tracks. His eyes seemed likely to pop – along with all others that were watching.

‘What's this?
Maven?
'

‘Ssssss . . .'

The figure in white came creeping beneath the horse's neck, her body hunched and twisted, long silver hair hanging over her face. She put a hand into the sleeve of her garment and drew out a strange object – unfamiliar to Midge, at least. It looked like a pipe or a peashooter.

‘Do 'ee recognize 'un, maister? Thee should do, then, for it've done 'ee service enough afore this day. Maglin – and all of 'ee here – look upon the poor hag that've walked among 'ee since thee were weans. Do 'ee know me
now
?' The fantastic crouching figure raised the blowpipe to her mouth and started forward, threatening the crowd before her in one sweeping movement. Maven! Those at the front retreated in horror against those behind, so that all were thrown into a bundle of confusion. Maglin dodged sideways, just managing to keep his balance as he stepped back
down from the rock and into the shallows once more.