Читать книгу Alan Garner Classic Collection - Alan Garner, Alan Garner - Страница 32

The sun had risen, but the mara were far beyond its reach as they reclined upon the floor under the lion’s head in the Cave of the Svartmoot. Arthog and Slinkveal and other svarts were present, too, and there must have been fifty of the morthbrood ranged along its walls. In one corner what looked like a mound of rags, parchment-covered sticks, and old boots writhed and twitched. On top of the head stood Shape-shifter and Grimnir, and the cave was lit by the red glow of the firedrake held in the lap of the aged, piebald svart, in his seat below the lion’s jaws. Selina Place was speaking in the Common Tongue.

“… and a coven of our sisters killed by elves, and yet you saw nothing! Mossock and the children reach the far end of Radnor, yet you saw nothing! They must have passed you! Such incompetence, brother Galleytrot, could see us all in Ragnarok ere midnight.”

“But they didn’t pass me!” blustered James Henry Hodgkins. “I’d have seen them!”

“But they did, and you did not. One more error, dear brother, and you will be svart-meat.

“And while Ragnorak is on our lips, let us speak plainly to you all. Nastrond has no word of us, but he will hear, and when that time comes all your lives will be forfeit if we cannot wield the stone. Lest any of you have not our faith in success, you must know that the boundary is sealed. Any who try to cross will be slain: so let no one think to find favour with Nastrond through betrayal.

“Now to our plans. We do not believe the humans have survived the night. All dwellings and outhouses were watched, so they must have stayed in the open. Dwarfs are hardier, but we doubt if they can endure such cold, therefore we expect to hear news quickly. The search is to continue until the stone is found, for if it has passed to the elves all your efforts will be needed.

“Today the skies will be clear. This cannot be helped, since it will take till sunset to bring more cloud. By night we shall have enough to give unbroken cover for as long as we wish, though, so that you may follow tracks more easily, there will be no further snow. Thus the mara and the svart-alfar will be able to hunt throughout the day, if needs be.

“The lyblacs and the morthbrood will now go to relieve their fellows, and will pass on our instructions. Remember, the sky is full of our eyes; cowards and traitors will not run far. That is all.”

The heap of rags spilled over, and broke into a number of tattered forms, which rose jerkily to their feet like scarecrow marionettes, and slunk, spindly and stooping, out of the cave.

“It is not what you say Nastrond has learnt from his spies that we fear, so much as his own mind,” said Shape-shifter to Grimnir, closing the door of the broom cupboard after her. “We have felt it probing our thoughts often within the last month. There is no telling when he will act. And the svarts are not to be trusted if they fear us less: an example must be made of one or two without delay – that has always been the best encouragement. We shall have to ‘unmask’ a ‘traitor’ at the next moot.”

With the first light, the island had grounded close to a stream on the opposite side of Redesmere from where the mara had lost the trail.

Clothed in the featureless snow, the countryside seemed vast; limitless as a desert, and as silent as a mine, the land offered no cover. Any movement against that background would be seen for miles, a line of footprints could not be missed, and in the brittle air any sound would carry undiminished to distant ears.

Durathror suggested, and the others reluctantly agreed, that their best course was to walk along the actual bed of the stream, but as close to the bank as possible. And so it was that, with the extra hardship of legs frozen from the knee down, they took up the pattern of the previous day’s travel. Happily, the muspel cloaks had the property of sliding round obstacles without catching or tearing, and, worn with the lining on the outside, and the hood up, were good camouflage.

Ten minutes after sunrise, the first birds swept overhead.

The morning wore on, monotonously, though not uneventfully. Half a dozen scarecrows were by-passed, and two pairs of hikers came near to achieving their purpose, and a swift death. But these moments, and an occasional set of footprints, were all that distracted attention from the task of wading upstream.

By noon they had advanced a little over a mile; then Gowther stopped.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “If we follow this brook much longer we’ll be turning north, and pushing up into Henbury, and we shanner be so very far from wheer we started. Now just over yonder is Pyethorne wood, and that borders on Thornycroft pools, and, if I remember, we’ll find a stream as will take us in the reet direction from theer. Shall we have a look?”

Unfortunately, though, to gain the wood they had to skirt the edge of a field, cross a lane near to the lodge of Thornycroft hall, and make their way over two hundred and fifty yards of exposed parkland.

They managed to reach the lane undetected, but as they lay under the hedge, the remaining stages looked to be by far the worst check they had yet encountered.

“I see no way,” said Durathror, creasing his eyes against the glare of the sunlit snow. “And to await night here would be madness.”

“But do we have to go through there?” said Colin. “Can’t we work round to somewhere else?”

“Ay, I’ve been thinking about yon, too,” said Gowther, “but I doubt we shanner do better elsewheer. Sithee: if we go north we’ll be moving back on Alderley, and we’ll have to put Macclesfield between us and wheer we want to get to. If we take our road round by the south, we’ll have to pass through Gawsworth, unless we go quite a step out of our way; and if you’ll be guided by me, we’ll steer clear of Gawsworth, matters being as they are. Some mighty queer things happen theer at the best of times, without all this. No, Pyethorne wood’s the place: it’s our nearest water, and we should go no closer to Gawsworth than Dark Lane and Sugarwell, which is all to the good.”

“I think we must choose your way,” said Fenodyree after some argument. “But how are we to gain the wood?”

“We’ll have to chance it,” said Gowther. “And if we meet onybody, let’s hope they know nowt about us. No, I hanner forgotten the birds, neither. But theer’s been enough folks gone along this lane, and down the drive, for our tracks not to stond out a mile – especially if we watch wheer we tread. Now, if we flop down in a heap at the side of the drive every time the birds come over, and make sure as we’ve no bits and pieces sticking out from under our cloaks, we should be all reet. Now listen: you follow the drive till it binds reet almost at the hall. (I’ll go first, so as I con come back and tell you if theer’s ony snags.) Then you’ll see two paths, one going left, and the other pretty near straight on to the wood. I just hope as how we shanner be the first to have used it today. Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll meet you theer.”

“Farmer Mossock,” said Fenodyree. “I see we have a new leader! Your shrewdness will take us to Shuttlingslow better than my slow wits!”

“No,” said Gowther, “it’s just that I like to be doing: so long!”

The sky was clear; he stepped into the road, and walked through the drive gateway, and past the lodge.

Twenty minutes later Susan and Durathror followed, and ten minutes after, Colin and Fenodyree.

“The lodge was bad,” said Susan, “but after the strain of that drive I nearly collapsed when we had to walk out in full view of the big house and all those staring windows.”

“We had to drop flat twice in front of the house!” said Colin. “If anyone was watching, they must have thought we were mad.”

“Ay, it was a bit strenuous,” said Gowther. “How do you think we fared?”

“The birds missed us, I think,” said Fenodyree, “and I saw no one in the rooms. How was it with you, cousin?”

“I saw no one, and heard naught: we have done well.”

But garrulous old Jim Trafford was a small man, and it was his afternoon off. By half past two he was in his accustomed corner in the Harrington Arms, and monopolising the conversation of four of his acquaintances.

“I reckon it’s twice as cowd as it were eleven year back,” he said. “I’ve see nowt like it; it’s enough fer t’send you mazed. Eh, and I think it’s takken one or two like that round ’ere this morning. No, listen! It were nobbut a couple of hours since, nawther. I were up at th’all, going round seeing as they were orreet for coal afore I come away, and one o’ th’fires were low, like, so I gets down fer t’give it a poke. Well, I’m straightening up again, and I ’appens fer t’look out o’ th’winder, and what does I see? I’ll tell yer. Theer was two little fellers, about so ’igh, gooing past th’ ’ouse towards Pyethorne. No, listen! They wore white caps wi’ ’oods as come over their faces, and they kept peering round, and up, and down, and walking ’alf back’ards. I’ll swear as one ’em ’ad a beard – a yeller un it were. It’s th’ gospel truth!

“Well, I shakes me ’ead, and carries me bucket into th’ next room. Fire’s orreet theer, but scuttle wants a lump or two. On me way out I looks through th’ winder, and theer they are again! And this time I sees a good bit o’ beard, but now it’s black!

“Round and round they scowls, then they drops flat on their faces, and pull their ’eads and legs in like tortoises. It’s a fact! You conner ’ardly see ’em agen th’ snow. Well, after a minute two, they gets up, and off they trots, back to back now, if you please! Then smack on their faces again! I tell yer, I couldner ’ardly credit it. I watches them while they’re near to th’ wood, then they puts down their ’eads, and runs! It’s this ’ere frost what’s be’ind it, and no error. Theer’ll be a few like them, I’ll tell thee, if we ’ave much more o’ this … Eh, Fred! What’s to do? Art feeling ill? What’s th’ ’urry?”

The door slammed.

“Eh, what’s up wi’ ’im? Eh, you lot, come over ’ere! See at Fred! ’E’s gooing up th’ avenue as though ’is breeches was on fire!

“I tell yer, it’s this weather!”

Pyethorne wood is not large. Much of it is little more than a neck of land dividing the two lakes of Thornycroft hall, and it was in this part of the wood that Gowther waited for the others to join him. Together again, they decided to rest for an hour or so before exploring the far end of the lake to the east of the hall.

“We must keep guard by turns,” said Fenodyree. “Durathror and I shall divide the night between us, and, until we reach the forest, one of you will watch over the midday halt. Is it agreed?”

They curled up in their muspel cloaks, and forgot the snow. Even their ice-bound feet grew warm, and after such a morning, sleep was not long in coming.

Colin had offered to take the first turn. He sat upon a tree stump, and looked about him, seeing the beauty of the day for the first time. The air was still; and although the sun shone in a cloudless sky, there was not enough warmth in its rays to melt the thin blades of snow that stood inches high even to the tips of the slenderest twigs on every tree. Pyethorne was a wood of lace that day. There had been floes on Redesmere at dawn, but now the ice here was unbroken, thick, and blue as steel.

Out across the ice was an island, so overgrown with trees that it was as though they sprouted straight out of the lake; and at first that was all Colin could see; but as the minutes went by something began to take shape within the trees. The impression was strongest when he did not look directly at the island, but, even so, for long enough he could not be certain that there was anything there. And then, like a hidden figure in a picture puzzle, it came unexpectedly into focus, and Colin gasped. It was a square tower, old, ruinous, so hemmed in by trees that if Colin had had anything other to do than sit and look about him for an hour and a half, he would never have noticed it.

I must see how long it takes the others to find that, he thought, laughing at his own blindness, and he continued his watch.

Then, oddly, the tower began to grow on Colin’s nerves. He felt that it was staring at him with its expressionless eyes. He sat with his back to it, but that made matters worse, and he had to turn round. Imagination, he told himself. A tower could not help but look sinister in that condition; obviously no one lived there. But Colin could not settle unless he was facing the tower.

He began to range his eyes from left to right, across the lake and back again, but never once did he look directly at the island. And, of course, the urge to do so grew stronger. Worse, he thought how unpleasant it would be if he turned his head, and saw – something. Then, in his imagination, he pictured these “somethings”, and from that it was a simple step to believing they really were there. Colin drew a deep breath. Having allowed himself to be worked into such a state, there was only one thing to do. He looked full at the tower.

His yelp of fright brought the dwarfs bounding to their feet. There, not forty yards away, among the outer trees of the island, was a man dressed all in black, and seated on a black horse, and his eyes were fixed on Colin.

“What is wrong?” whispered Fenodyree, but Colin could only point. At this the rider began to walk his horse towards them across the ice. In silence they watched him come.

He was tall, and sparely built, though little of him could be seen under his full cloak. Black riding-boots, silver spurred, came to his knees; on his head was a wide-brimmed hat. His hair, green as a raven’s wing, curled on his shoulders, framing a lean, brown face. Small gold rings pierced his ears; and his eyes were blue – a fierce blue, burning with an intensity to rival the heart of Firefrost.

When he was still some yards away he reined in his horse.

“I have been looking for you,” he said in a deep voice. Yet it was not only deep, but soft also, with a lilt in it that was not Scots, or Irish, or Welsh, but could have been all three. Some of the apprehension that had been gripping Gowther and the children left them.

“Welcome, Gaberlunzie,” said Fenodyree. “Yesterday we saw you from afar, but could not be sure. Will you not come among the trees? The Morrigan and her brood harry us, and the spies are out.”

The stranger looked at the sky.

“I thought they were no birds,” he said.

He dismounted, and brought his horse under the trees.

Fenodyree quickly told their story, and the man called Gaberlunzie heard him in silence.

“And therefore we must be on Shuttlingslow at Friday’s dawn to meet Cadellin Silverbrow, or the world we know may not endure. Will you stay with us, and help us?”

The blue eyes stared into space; then Gaberlunzie gave his answer.

“I shall not bide. Listen to my say. Beyond Minith Bannawg there is trouble breeding greater than this – or so we fear. The lios-alfar of the north are not enough to act alone. So I have come to gather to their aid kinsmen and allies. I have wandered through Dyfed’s plundered land, along the shores of Talebolion, many a weary month to Sinadon. And I am needed in Prydein within the week.

“I stopped by Fundindelve to ask for help, but there was no answer, only the morthbrood. The storm caught me before I could reach Angharad Goldenhand, and when darkness came I heard the mara and sought this island without delay. It was a cold swim, and the sun rose before I dared to sleep.

“I must turn northwards this day: my duty lies there. But what help there is in me you shall have before I go. If I leave you at the forest by nightfall, will that serve you well?”

“That would almost end our labours,” said Fenodyree. “But alas, we dare not move openly: by day the skies are watchful, and by night the mara walk. We crawl on our bellies to our noble end!”

“But now you will ride!” laughed Gaberlunzie. “No, I do not trifle with you.”

“Look!” cried Susan, her voice hoarse with alarm.

So intent had they been that they had not noticed the wall of mist come creeping over the snow. Like a white smoke it curled among the trees, and eclipsed the far end of the lake even as Susan spoke.

“Grimnir!” said Durathror.

“Whist now!” said Gaberlunzie, who was the only one undisturbed. “Sit you all down again. It is nothing of the sort. It is what I have been expecting. Cloudless skies, snow, such frost as this, and darkness not two hours away – what more natural than a good, white mist to blind the morthbrood and speed us on our road? Now on to my horse, and away!”

The fog was about them, absolute.

“You hold on a minute!” said Gowther. “Before we try to fit six on one horse, I’d like to know how you think we’re going to find our way in this lot. It’s about as much as I can do to see my feet.”

“Do not worry, friend: my eyes are not your eyes, and my horse is not of earthly stock: we shall not stumble. But come! Are we to argue here until the day of doom? Mount!”

And they did mount. Durathror and Fenodyree bunched together in front of Gaberlunzie; behind him sat the children, and behind them Gowther, his arms on either side of Colin and Susan, holding Gaberlunzie’s cloak in his fists.

Gowther expected to come off within a minute of starting – that is, if the horse could start. But a flick of the rein, and they were away like the wind; no horse ever sped so smoothly. Fields, hedges, ditches, flowed under its hoofs. The snow muffled all noise of their passage as they plunged full tilt through the mist. The air whipped about them, and their hands grew black, and cold grasped their heads as if with pincers.

After a while they left hedges behind, the land became broken and uneven, but they did not falter. Wide trenches opened under them, one after another, dangerously deep; and ghostly, broken walls, gaping like the ruins of an ancient citadel, lowered on either side. It was as though they were rising out of their own time back to a barbaric age, yet they were running only by the peat stacks of Danes Moss, a great tract of bogland that lay at the foot of the hills.

Trench after trench they crossed, and each a check to the morthbrood, should they follow after; for Gaberlunzie was of a cunning race. And so they came into the hills, and down to a lonely road in a valley.

“We are in the forest now,” said Gaberlunzie.

He swung his horse off the road, and in one sailing leap they were among the trees. A broad path cut upwards through the close-set ranks, and here Gaberlunzie slowed to a walk.

“I shall not stop; you must leave as best you may, so that my trail will be unbroken. Do not stop to cover your own, but look for a place of shelter. Later you will see foxes: do not harm them.”

“But what of yourself?” said Fenodyree. “It will not do to be abroad after sunset.”

“The morthbrood are welcome to the chase! For I shall go by Shining Tor, and Cat’s Tor, and the Windgather Rocks, and the sun will rise for me out of the three peaks of Eildon. I do not think the morthbrood will be then so keen.”

Five minutes later they said their goodbyes, and tumbled into the snow.

“Do as I have said,” called Gaberlunzie, “and you will come to no harm here; and when you meet Cadellin, say I wish him well.”

Durathror was the last to leave, and as he picked himself up, the form of Gaberlunzie, one hand raised in farewell, blended into the mist, and passed out of his sight for ever.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving all these tracks,” said Colin.

“There is little else we can do,” said Fenodyree. “And I feel that Gaberlunzie knows what he is about. Our task is to hide, and this is the place. Take care lest you shake the snow from the branches!”

The trees grew only a few feet apart, and the sweeping branches came close to the ground, so close that even the dwarfs had to crawl, while Gowther had to pull himself along on his stomach.

They went downhill from the path a good way before Fenodyree stopped.

“Here will be as safe as anywhere. Even without the mist you can see no more than a few yards. Let us make ourselves as comfortable as we can, for we shall not stir again until we go to greet Cadellin.”

Down the path through the forest two dim shadows moved. Coming to the trampled snow, and the trail leading under the branches, they stopped, and sniffed. And then they began to roll and frolic all around: two foxes sporting on a winter hillside. When every trace of human feet was obliterated, they set off down the trail, throwing the snow into confusion as they fought.

The sound of their approach reached the dwarfs’ ears, and they waited, sword in hand, for whatever was drawing near. Then the foxes tumbled into sight, and landed on their haunches, side by side, flecked with snow, their red tongues lolling, and their sharp eyes narrowing, in a wicked, panting grin.

For a while they sat there, and Durathror was about to speak, but they flung up their tails, and streaked away downhill.

“Thank you,” said Fenodyree.

“Why?” said Colin. “What were they doing?”

“Covering our tracks rather well, I reckon,” said Gowther. “Now yon’s what I call clever.”

“And the scent of a fox is stronger than that of either men or dwarfs,” said Durathror, smiling.

He smiled again, alone to himself in the night while the others slept, when he heard the baying of hounds pass over the hill, and fade into the far distance.