Читать книгу Diana Wynne Jones’s Fantastical Journeys Collection - Diana Wynne Jones - Страница 19

Gallis is very beautiful. The blue peaks and sunlit rifts full of trees assured us of this, but, when the ferry swung into a glassy bay under the nearest blue peak, none of us could really attend to the scenery. Or perhaps Aunt Beck could, jolted this way and that as she sat in the cart we all tugged and pushed. Moe did not want to get off the boat. It was exasperating.

“Typical donkey,” Ivar growled. “Shall I twist her tail?”

“No!” Ogo and I said together.

“She’s a Bernica donkey,” I said. “She knows Gallis is a foreign country.”

“Well, if you two want to be soft, slushy idiots, I’m not helping you any more,” Ivar said, and he went marching away down the gangplank. We could see him striding ahead up the rocky way that curved around the great mountain. Ogo and I exchanged looks. Both of us were hot and angry by then.

“Peace!” said Finn – which irritated me almost as much. “Let Green Greet guide Moe.”

He shoved the bird off Moe’s back quite unceremoniously. Green Greet, after an indignant squawk, flapped up ahead of Moe. He left a green feather which Ogo picked up and put in his belt for luck. And Moe took off after Green Greet in a rush. Aunt Beck swayed about in the cart as it rattled down the gangplank, and we trotted after.

There was no real jetty, just a shelf of rock with a couple of bollards on it that the ferry tied up to. Everyone had gone streaming up the rocky path, so we followed, uphill and around the mountain. It reminded me of Skarr. Most of our bays are like this, except where the towns are. The difference was that Gallis was almost violently beautiful. The path led through a mighty gorge overhung with splendid trees, where a great white waterfall dashed down the cliffs to the left. On a ledge beside the waterfall we saw the distant figure of a man in blue clothes.

“What’s he doing up there? It’s not safe!” Aunt Beck said.

“He’s playing the harp, Auntie,” I said. “I think he’s singing too.”

You could just hear the music through the sound of the waterfall. And it was the strangest thing. As the song went on, the sun came out and made the trees green-gold. The falls shone silver-white with rainbows around the water, and the rocks glowed with colours.

“Have I got this right?” Ogo asked. “Is he singing the place more beautiful?”

“I think he is,” Finn said, puffing rather. The path was steep. “I have heard many wonders of the bards of Gallis.”

I had heard wonders too. People in Skarr always said that there was no magic like the magic of the bards of Gallis. They could sing anything to happen, they said – though I remembered my father laughing when I asked him about it and saying that he wished it was true. Some of it must have been, I thought, as we toiled around another corner and lost sight of the gorge and the bard.

“He is a bard,” I said. “They always wear blue.”

As I spoke, we came to a stone building and a gate across the path. Green Greet gave another squawk and landed on the gate, which seemed to alarm the man guarding it, who put up one thick arm to shield his face.

Ivar was standing angrily on our side of the gate. “He won’t let me through!” he said to me. “He says I’m a foreigner. Make him see sense, Aileen.”

“And he had no reason to insult me!” the guard said, backing away from Green Greet, but holding the gate shut as he went. He was a tall man and thickset with it. He wore official-looking grey clothes and a sword. “I’m only doing my duty. I could see at once the young gentleman was not a native of Gallis, wearing plaids and all, as he is—”

“I told you. I’m a prince from Skarr,” Ivar said. He was a little mollified by being called a young gentleman, but still angry.

“—and it is as much as my place here is worth to let him through – to let any of you through – before Owen the priest has examined you,” the guard said, as if Ivar had not spoken. “I can see you’re all foreigners. I have rung the bell and Owen will no doubt be out presently. He’s busy blessing the other travellers from the ferry.”

“So we wait, do we?” Ivar snarled.

“In patience,” the guard agreed. “Will one of you please remove the bird? I am not sure it is godly.”

“Godly!” exclaimed Finn. “Nothing could be more godly than Green Greet! I begin to see that Moe was quite right not to wish to come to Gallis!”

“And which of you is Moe?” asked the guard.

“The donkey,” Finn explained. “This donkey protested every yard of the voyage—”

“Are you trying to insult me too?” the guard said, glowering.

“No, no!” Finn protested hastily. “I am a monk and a man of peace.”

“Then move the bird,” said the guard.

I found my spirits sinking steadily. I had forgotten the other thing my father always said of Gallis. I remember him praising the beauty of Gallis and its lovely climate often and often, until I asked him why, if Gallis was that wonderful, he had chosen to come away to Skarr. His reply was always, “Because, Aileen, a person can do nothing in Gallis without the permission of a priest.” I began to fear that our journey had come to a stop.

I watched Finn coax Green Greet on to his shoulder and we waited for the priest.

Eventually, the Holy Owen strode pompously up to the gate in a swirl of grey robes. I could see he was worse than the Priest of Kilcannon. He had rather a fat face decorated with a moustache even larger than the guard’s. It must have got in the way when he ate. He folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe and leant on the gate.

“Well, well,” he said. “What have we here? Five foreigners and their livestock.”

Livestock! I thought. At that moment, I felt Plug-Ugly press invisibly against my legs. It made me feel much better.

“Green Greet,” Finn said, as indignant as I had ever known him, “is not livestock, holy sir. He is the Great Bird of—”

“And you are?” Holy Owen said, cutting across him contemptuously.

“I am Finn,” Finn said, “a monk of the Order of the Goddess from Bernica and we are on a holy mission—”

“And you, madam?” Holy Owen said, cutting across poor Finn again. He looked up at Aunt Beck, sitting in the cart. “Are you in charge of this holy mission?”

Aunt Beck simply sat and said nothing.

Holy Owen waited for her to speak and when she did not even look at him he narrowed his eyes at her. “Dumb, eh?” he said. “Then who is in charge?”

“I am,” I said, before Ivar could open his mouth.

Holy Owen looked at me incredulously. I wished I was not so small. “Indeed?” he said. “And who may you be?”

I said, “My name is Aileen and I am a Wise Woman of Skarr.”

Holy Owen began to look downright derisive. “She is!” Finn and Ogo said together, and Finn went on, “The Great Lady herself declared Aileen to be fully initiate.”

“Hm,” said Holy Owen. He went quickly on to Ivar. “And you?”

Ivar, not unnaturally, began proudly, “I am a prince of Skarr. My father—”

“Another foreigner,” Holy Owen said dismissively. “You, great tall lad. Are you from Skarr or Bernica?”

“Neither,” Ogo said, almost as proudly as Ivar. “I’m from Logra.”

“Logra!” exclaimed Holy Owen. “How did you get here?”

“I was left behind on Skarr when the barrier was raised,” Ogo explained.

Holy Owen frowned at Ogo disbelievingly.

“It’s true,” I said. “He was quite small then.”

Ivar said, “Yes, it’s true. He’s here as my servant.”

“Fitting,” Holy Owen said and pulled at his huge moustache, considering us. “And the lady in the cart?”

“She is my Aunt Beck,” I said, “and she is also a Wise Woman of Skarr.” I had a moment when I seriously wondered whether to say that Aunt Beck was in a holy trance, but thought better of it. Instead, I said, “She suffered a stroke in Bernica. We were told that a holy healer of Gallis might be able to help her.”

Holy Owen went “Hm” again and continued to stare up at Aunt Beck and pull his moustache. “Miracles have been granted,” he said. “But there is a problem. You are all five foreigners to Gallis.”

Ivar, Ogo and Finn all spoke at once. “But this is ridiculous! People come from Bernica to be healed all the time. What are your healers for?”

And Green Greet echoed them. “Healers. Ridiculous.”

I felt Plug-Ugly push against my legs. I said loudly, “Excuse me, holy sir, but this is not so. My father was born in Gallis. He is a bard.”

Holy Owen let go of his moustache and looked sharply at me. “A small man, I suppose. What is his name?”

“Gareth,” I said. I know I spoke as proudly as Ivar. “I remember him as quite tall.”

“Gareth,” Holy Owen said. “Him. He is well-known here for going against all the advice of all the priests. It is also well-known that he was snatched away with Prince Alasdair and taken to Logra.”

“I know,” I said. “I hope to find him some day. But you cannot deny that I am half a citizen of Gallis, and I lead this expedition. I think you must let us all through, holy sir, and bless us on our way.”

There was a long silence. We all looked tensely at Holy Owen, who did nothing but stare at the gate and pull his moustache. Moe began to flick her ears and stir impatiently. At length, Holy Owen went “Hm, hm” – twice for a change. “There is still a problem,” he said. “If you were all from Bernica, I might solve it myself by sacrificing this donkey. But with people from both Skarr and Logra, I— Yes, I must seek advice from Holy High Priest Gronn. We are lucky. He is presently in this area adjudging the The Singing. I will send a messenger to him. Meanwhile, I must ask you all to stay inside the gatehouse until word comes back.”

And this is what happened. We all protested. We argued. Ivar drew his sword. But more guards came out of the stone building before he could use the sword and that was that. I grew angrier and angrier. I could see just why my father had left Gallis and come to Skarr. By the time we had been surrounded and urged into the courtyard inside the gatehouse, I was so angry that I felt a kind of power in me.

“Stop that!” I shouted to the guards who were unhitching Moe from the cart.

They stopped. They stared at me and then at Holy Owen. “And why should they stop?” Holy Owen asked me.

“Because I don’t know what you’re going to do with my donkey,” I said.

“Nothing, only take it to the stables,” Holy Owen said.

“How can I be sure of that?” I said. “When only five minutes ago you were talking of sacrificing her! I insist on going to the stables with her and making sure they look after her properly!”

Holy Owen sighed. “You Wise Women must be quite a pest to the kings of Skarr. No wonder they turned you both out. Very well.” He turned and beckoned to another, younger priest. “Go with her to the stables and make sure she behaves herself. You, guards, take the rest of them inside.”

“I’m coming to the stables too,” Ogo said.

I was very grateful. I felt myself beaming at Ogo as I said to Ivar, “Can you take care of Aunt Beck then? Find her somewhere to sit.”

Ivar scowled at me. But he nodded and took hold of my aunt’s arm.

Aunt Beck said, “Let go of me, boy! I can walk on my own.” And she went stalking ahead of Ivar to the dark doorway of the building.

“Queer sort of stroke,” the young priest said as I led Moe off to the stables at the side. He was all dark hair and long nose with a drip on the end. I didn’t like him. His name was Lew-Laws, it seemed. I was glad Ogo was there.

By the end, I was very glad Ogo was there. The guard who was supposed to see to Moe obviously had no idea how to treat a donkey. I was forced to push him aside and look after Moe myself. Lew-Laws did nothing but lean against the side of the stall as if the whole matter was beneath him. Ogo loomed over the guard. This was the first time that I realised that Ogo had become very big indeed while we travelled, and very useful that was. Ogo loomed at the guard to fetch clean water. Then he loomed again to make sure he got Moe a decent amount of food, while I brushed her down and oiled the places where the harness rubbed her.

“Her hooves need trimming,” Lew-Laws remarked unpleasantly. “Aren’t you going to see to those too?”

Ogo, in the friendliest way, came and leant against the wall next to Lew-Laws and loomed over him too. “I tried to do that in Bernica,” Ogo said. “She doesn’t like it. She kicks, but do find a file and try if you want.”

Lew-Laws eyed Moe’s hind hooves and moved away along the wall. “Not important,” he said.

We left Moe pretty comfortable and let Lew-Laws take us into the house to a small room where Holy Owen sat at a table writing. Someone rushed in with a chair for Aunt Beck as we arrived.

“Good,” Ivar said. “At last. I kept asking.”

Aunt Beck sat down in the blank way that was now usual with her. I was disappointed. For a moment, I had thought she was back to herself again. But no.

I went and put both hands on Owen’s table. “How long will your message to Holy High Priest Gronn take?” I asked him.

“Hush,” he said. “I am just now writing it. The messenger will be with him before midnight. I should have his reply by morning.”

“You mean you’re going to force us to spend the night here?” I exclaimed.

“Of course,” he said. “Now tell me, this bird. Your monk calls him Green Greet. Why is that?”

“Because that’s his name,” I said.

Holy Owen shrugged and wrote. “I always heard,” he muttered as he wrote, “that Green Greet was the great spirit of Bernica. Lord of the West. It’s as bad as people calling their lizards Dragonlady, if you ask me.”

He blotted the letter, folded it and gave it to one of the guards.

“Make the best time you can,” he said, “and be sure to explain that we need an answer by the morning.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Looking back on it, I see they did not treat us too badly. It was just that I disliked Holy Owen and, before long, I disliked Lew-Laws even more. Holy Owen went away after he had given the guard the message and we did not see him again. But Lew-Laws stayed with us all the time. He had obviously been told to keep an eye on us and he kept sighing about it as if it were a real burden.

“What do they think we’re likely to do?” Ivar whispered angrily to me. “Make off with their valuables?”

“What valuables?” I said, looking around the bare stone room. We never knew the answer to that one, but, as I said, we were not badly treated. Supper was delivered to the room and it was a truly delicious fish stew. There were tastes in it that I had never met before.

While I was bullying Aunt Beck to eat it, Ogo said to Lew-Laws, “What are these lovely flavours? I remember something like this from Logra.”

Lew-Laws sighed. “Herbs,” he said. “I hate them. They grow the things down south where they grow the vines and the olives and things. I wish they’d never been invented.”

Lew-Laws was like that all the time. A wet week. Nothing pleased him. By bedtime, I was truly depressed. I could not see our mission succeeding. I could not see any way Aunt Beck could be cured. “Take your stockings off, Beck!” I shouted at her, and I saw myself shouting at her like this for the rest of both our lives.

It was like that again in the morning. I shouted my aunt into her clothes and we went back to the bare stone room to find Lew-Laws making faces as he drank some kind of hot herb tea that went with the bread for breakfast. When Ivar and Ogo had come yawning in, Lew-Laws sighed and said, “High Holy Gronn needs to see you. The gods alone know why. I am to take you to The Singing as soon as you have eaten. For my sins.”

“Are you very sinful?” Ogo asked, mock innocently. Ivar tried not to laugh.

Before Lew-Laws could answer, Aunt Beck said, “Where’s my porridge? I can’t start the day with bread.”

“Ah,” Lew-Laws said. “If I knew where to find porridge in Gallis, I would be a happy man, my good woman.”

“No, really? A happy man?” Ivar said.

Lew-Laws pretended not to hear. “Bread,” he said, “is what we eat here, woman. It’s stale of course, but that is what there is.”

“Eat it, Beck,” I said. “You’ll be hungry if you don’t.”

“Then I need butter,” my aunt said. “And honey.”

Finn came in at this point with Green Greet on his shoulder. “Green Greet will eat the bread for you,” he said. “They’ve no seeds of any kind for him in the kitchen. No nuts either. And did you know,” he asked Lew-Laws, “that some great beast got into the kitchen in the night and ate all the fish stew in the cauldron?”

Plug-Ugly, I thought. Oh dear.

Lew-Laws sighed. “It is not my place,” he said, “to criticise the gods, if they choose to deny us fish for breakfast—”

“Where’s my butter?” said Aunt Beck.

“Did the beast eat all the butter too?” Ogo asked.

“Butter is always scarce,” Lew-Laws began dismally. “I haven’t had butter since—” He was interrupted by a cross-looking serving man arriving with a bowl of oil – olive oil, he told me – to dip the bread in. This was just as well. Ivar choked trying not to laugh at Lew-Laws incessant moaning and Ogo had to hammer him on the back. I would have been quite as bad, except that I was busy dipping bread for Aunt Beck and trying to persuade her that it was quite as good as porridge. She did eat some. What she left, Green Greet pecked up with enthusiasm.

Half an hour later, we were on the road. Moe seemed none the worse for her night in the gatehouse and trotted along with a will. Ivar drove. Lew-Laws sat behind him, leaning over his shoulder to tell him the way. Aunt Beck sat upright behind Lew-Laws and the rest of us walked. It was a lovely, warm, sunlit day and we went by a route where waterfalls sparkled down beneath stately trees. I felt almost cheerful, despite the fact that we were going to meet someone who was obviously an important priest.

After a while, we came out beside a long valley with a blue lake winding through it. There were islands in the lake, each one with its own little forest. As we looked, a shower of rain drifted across the end of the lake like the white ghost of a cloud. It was so beautiful that I started listening. And, sure enough, the thread of song came distantly from somewhere.

“Do they really need a bard to make this place more beautiful?” Ogo said.

“Of course they do,” Lew-Laws answered him. “There is mining at that end of the lake, and quarrying. Most unsightly.”

“And we can’t have that,” Ivar said.

“Necessary evils,” Lew-Laws said, not realising Ivar was mocking him. “Gallis is an ugly place. All mountains. Almost nowhere is flat. Take this right turn of the road now.”

That turn led us around the skirts of a mountain and then out above another valley. This one was wide and flat and green with a long white building in the mid-distance, where people in bardic blue were flocking about.

“This place is flat,” Ivar said. “Does that please you better?”

Lew-Laws sighed. “Not really. The ground is nothing but marsh in winter. The wind cuts through like a knife.”

“But it’s dry now,” Ivar said, “and there’s only a breeze.”

“A man can catch his death, standing out there in the rain,” Lew-Laws answered glumly. “They sing in all weathers. Draw the cart on to the grass here. We have to wait, no doubt for hours.”

“Man of Ballykerry,” Green Greet said suddenly.

Finn chuckled as the cart went bumping across the turf. “The man of Ballykerry,” he said to Ogo and me, “was said never to be happy unless he was miserable and even then he was not content.”

Ogo laughed. I tried to, but I was suddenly struggling with strong homesickness. There were high gorse bushes growing all around and the smell of their flowers seemed to hit me to the heart. I longed so to be on Skarr and smell the gorse there that I could have cried. Lew-Laws directed Ivar to put the cart beside a big clump of several gorse bushes. For the next hour or so the smell seemed to fill my mind until I could think of almost nothing else.

Meanwhile, below in the valley a bell rang out from the white building. There were three silvery clangs and then, as the sound went shimmering away into silence, people came swarming out from the white building. Some formed up into groups, large and small. About half were in bardic blue. Others wore a pale blue-green. Others again wore clothes of all colours and they quietly spread themselves out along the edges of the green space as spectators. When everyone was in place, priests in grey came out of the building in a solemn procession. They stopped by the first group. One of the priests waved and that group burst into song.

They sounded quite beautiful, fifty or so voices in harmony, but, when the priests moved on to the next group and this lot sang the same song, I began to lose interest. By the fourth group, I was trying not to yawn.

“Tell those people to stop that noise,” Aunt Beck said. “They’re giving me a headache.”

Moe must have felt the same. As the fifth group began the song, she threw up her head and gave a mighty “Hee-squeak-haw!”

The song stopped. Everyone down in the field turned to look at us.

“Hee-scream-haw!” Moe went, louder than ever.

“For the love of the gods, stop her!” Lew-Laws said. “Oh, I knew you were going to embarrass me. Such ungodly noises!”

Ogo leapt to the cart, seized Moe’s nosebag and crammed it on her face. That stopped her. The group began the song again, but it was not very good. There were wobbly sounds as though some of the singers were struggling not to laugh. The priests moved on to the next group, looking dour.

There were eight more groups. Moe ate and kept quiet for these, but Aunt Beck did not. She put her hands over her ears and said, “Will you go and get them to stop,” over and over.

Lew-Laws kept saying, “Woman, will you hush now!” until I wanted to hit them both.

Then it appeared that the next part of the programme was to be singers on their own. A man in bardic blue stepped forward with a small harp on his arm. He sang long and sweetly and at the end the spectators all applauded. It seemed they were allowed to do that now. After him came a girl in the pale green-blue who sang even longer, but not so sweetly, and she was applauded too.

“What do they think they’re pleased about?” Aunt Beck said loudly. “She sounds like a rusty door hinge.”

“Oh, hush,” Lew-Laws implored her. “This is torment to me, woman.”

Moe began to show signs of restlessness again. We managed to keep her quiet for the next four singers, but it was the applause that bothered her really. When the seventh singer stepped forward, I looked around for Green Greet. Rather to my surprise, he was perched on Ogo’s shoulder and bending around to make little crooning noises at Ogo’s face.

“Green Greet,” I said, “could you be kind enough to keep Moe quiet?”

Green Greet bent himself around the other way to give me one of his wise, wrinkled looks. “Can do,” he said. He sailed over to land on Moe’s back, leaving a long green feather in Ogo’s hair. Moe jumped at the feel of the bird on her back and tossed her head. “Silence,” Green Greet said to her. “Eat your dinner, eat your dinner.” And Moe did, to my relief, just as the seventh singer began her song.

It took only seconds for even Aunt Beck to realise that this lady was in a class by herself. The song soared, as clear as the notes of the silver bell, and sank, and mounted again as the words required, like the flight of the most glorious bird one could imagine.

“Much nicer,” Aunt Beck said loudly. “I can even hear the words.”

“Shush!” we all said, Green Greet included.

The song went on. I felt more than a little envious. I have never, ever been able to hold a tune. Ivar laughs at me when I try. To make it worse, the singer was young and fair-haired and slender and – as far as I could see at that distance – decidedly beautiful. I sighed.

Finally, the song ended. When it did, there was a moment of utter silence, as if the audience were too rapt to react. Then the applause was thunderous. People shouted and stamped as well as clapping. Aunt Beck actually clapped too.

And Moe somehow got her head out of the nosebag and joined in with a bray. But by then it didn’t matter. The chief priest, who I assumed must be Holy Gronn, advanced on the girl, still clapping, and then stopped clapping in order to pin a shining brooch of some kind on the front of her green-blue tunic.

When the applause began to die away, another priest announced in a huge rolling voice, “The winner of The Singing is Riannan at the Pandy.” And the applause began again and went on until my hands were quite sore.

Holy Gronn suddenly appeared beside the cart. I suppose he must have hurried across while the applause was going on, but I was not sure. There was so much magic in Gallis. “Lew-Laws,” he said, “did you have to bring a noisy donkey as well as a noisy woman?” and he laughed. Close to, Gronn turned out to be a small tubby man with a round merry face.

This is the muddling way things turn out sometimes. I had been full of suspicion about the priests of Gallis and prepared to fight them every inch of our way, but I looked at Holy Gronn and thought, Why, he’s nice! It was quite confusing.

Lew-Laws of course went into an ecstasy of dismal respect. He wrung his hands and he writhed. “Oh, Holy High one,” he protested, “I do apologise! They are the most ungodly crew. The woman is dotty and her donkey is insane. I am not sure which of them is worse!”

“Then I relieve you of them all,” Holy Gronn said with a broad smile. “Your trials are over and you can go straight back to the gatehouse.”

Lew-Laws was utterly surprised. “What, now?” he said. “Without lunch?”

“You may pass by the caterers,” Gronn said, “and ask them for a meat roll to eat on your way. Tell them I sent you. Go now.” He watched Lew-Laws go sulkily off and shook his head. “That man,” he said to us, “always reminds me of the man of Ballykerry in Bernica. Never happy. No matter. We always put the misfits to guard the gatehouses. And now—”

He looked us over one by one, not excluding Moe and Green Greet on her back. The only one of us he didn’t see was Plug-Ugly, who chose that moment to press himself invisibly against my legs. I was glad of the feel, because Gronn’s look was so very shrewd. His wide, wrinkling blue eyes seemed to sum us all up exactly. I supposed he could not have become Holy High Priest without being exceedingly clever, but it was unnerving all the same.

His eyes finally went back to Finn. “You, sir,” he said. “Come aside with me and tell me, as one holy man to another, precisely how and why you are all here in Gallis.” He held out an arm and cheerfully ushered Finn some way off beyond the gorse bushes.

Finn is such a humble person. I could see he was surprised and dismayed to be singled out at first. But, as soon as Gronn had led him out of earshot, and smiled at him, I could see Finn begin to loosen up. Before long, he was talking and gesturing as if he and Gronn had been friends for years. More Gallis magic, I thought, and I hoped Finn was telling it right.

“He should have chosen me,” Ivar said. “I’m the prince here.”

“He was probably going by age,” I said, to soothe him. But I suspected that Gronn had chosen Finn because he saw Finn was simple and honest.

They talked for some time. Long before they finished, Ivar and Ogo had been scanning the field to see where the caterers were and wondering if they would be allowed to have a meat roll like Lew-Laws. They made me feel peckish too.

“I could eat a pickled herring,” Aunt Beck was announcing, just as Gronn and Finn came back.

“Now there you have me, lady,” Gronn said to her. “We have fresh crab and jellied eels, but the herring deserted Gallis waters after the barrier went up. Did you not know?”

Aunt Beck just stared at him. I could see Gronn looking at her carefully to see exactly what her state was before he turned to me. “That,” he said, “is not a simple stroke, is it, Aileen? What made you tell Holy Owen it was?”

I felt my face turning red. “It – it was easier to explain,” I said. “Not many people are going to believe that she was nearly turned into a donkey, are they?”

“By the Red Woman of Bernica?” Gronn said. I nodded. Finn had told it right, it seemed. “You see,” Gronn explained, “I need to know that before I decide who to send her to. An ordinary healer would be no good to her. But I’m working on it. Meanwhile, the rest of you are Ivar, son of King Kenig from Skarr, Ogo from Logra and Skarr, and Green Greet of Bernica. Have I got that right?”

And Plug-Ugly, I thought, feeling him against my legs.

Then Ogo would have to say “And there’s Plug-Ugly from what’s left of Lone, sir.” When Gronn stared at him, he turned redder than I was and stammered, “Bu-but – he’s mostly invisible – honestly.” I glowered at him.

Plug-Ugly made a small growl that could have been “Oh well” and slowly, grudgingly turned visible beside my legs. Gronn stared at him and then looked over at Green Greet, who was now back on Finn’s shoulder. He seemed impressed.

“And you are all on your way to raise the barrier around Logra?” Gronn went on. “In that I wish you well, although I have no idea how you would do it.” He turned to Finn, as the one most likely to understand. “There must be people dying on Logra because we cannot help them.” Finn nodded sadly. Then Gronn turned to me. “And you, Aileen, besides being a Wise Woman of Skarr, are the daughter of my old friend Gareth, I gather?”

“Yes,” I said. “Was he really your friend?”

“Oh yes,” said Gronn. “You would not believe the times we spent arguing about our system here in Gallis. But he was abducted along with Prince Alasdair, wasn’t he? Is he still alive?”

“I don’t know. I hope so,” I said. “I want to find him.”

“Well, it’s possible. Impossible but possible,” Gronn said. “And that puts all sorts of things into my head. Did you know you have cousins here?”

“I do? Here in Gallis?” I said. I was very surprised. My father had never talked much about his family – though I remembered he did once tell me a story about how he and his brother were chased by a bull on a neighbour’s farm.

“Not only here in Gallis,” Gronn said, beaming at the look on my face. “Here in this very spot. Two of your cousins came for The Singing. Though I think Rees came to support Riannan. Not much of a singer, Rees. Wait a moment and I’ll have them fetched over.”