Celandine (37 page)

As a parting thought Corben said, ‘Seek for Maven – if she still be with us. Find Maven, and the chi’ will not be far from her. Kill them both, if needs must. I care only that ’ee bring me the Stone.’

A clear still night, and an archer’s moon. Well and good. No leaf would shiver upon the bough unseen, no crackling twig would go unheard. The sharpened ears and eyes of the hunters were aware of every little flicker of movement, every tiny tick of sound as they moved slowly through the moonlit woods.

Faro and Berin took to the high trees, swooping expertly from branch to branch, silent as owls. Dunch and Tuz crept among the shadows of the forest floor below, arrows notched to their bows, ready to shoot in an instant. The four of them were well spread out, able to cover a good deal of ground between them.

Back and forth they moved, and from side to side, holding their line, sweeping the acres of woodland with that grim patience that is at the heart of the hunter. They were the Ickri, and this was their game. They had played it many times, and they had seldom lost. So long as there was prey to be found, then found it would be, and no creature that remained above ground could escape them. Through the woods and up towards the ravine they slowly worked their way.

It was Tuz, the youngest and the least experienced of the group, who yet had the sharpest eye. And it was he who caught the flash of moonlight, reflected through the leaves up by the ravine. He stopped dead and stared at the scrubby patch of brambles ahead of him. What had he seen? He was aware that Dunch, far
away
to one side, had also stopped and was looking his way. He risked a quick glance at his companion and gestured briefly towards the bushes. Dunch remained motionless, ready to cover any escape. Of Faro and Berin there was no sign, but Tuz was sure that they too would be watching and waiting for his lead.

There! Again, a brief sparkle of reflected light through the low tangle of brambles. Something, or someone, was standing at the edge of the ravine, hidden from view by the dark clump of foliage. Tuz peered closer, straining his eyes to see what it was.

Then, like a rising planet, a shiny orb appeared above the brambles, an eerie vision in the soft moon-glow – raised high by a slender arm, silhouetted black against a purple sky. Slowly the orb revolved, turned by the hand that grasped it, one way then the other, as though it were being held up to the light and examined.

It was the Touchstone. And the hand that bore it aloft was surely Una’s. They had found her at last.

Tuz silently drew back his bow, waiting a few moments longer until he was certain. Through the brambles he could just make out the broken shadow of the figure beyond, the hunched shape of the wings, the slim torso. Then he heard a voice.

‘Mine to hold, then. And now that my father is gone, the Orbis shall come to me also.’

The words were barely audible, but the voice was familiar enough. It was Una, the witchi child, muttering to her mad self, gloating over her spoils. Tuz was sure, now. He aimed for the body, breathed slowly out and loosed the arrow.

There was a single cry, shrill in its agony, and a flurry of movement. The figure disappeared – a moment of silence – then a brief confusion of distant muffled sound . . . and no more.

Tuz calmly drew another arrow from his quiver and waited as Dunch scurried towards him. Together they stood, staring at the bramble patch, until Faro and Berin swept down from the nearby trees. Then the four of them advanced cautiously, their bows at the ready. They reached the clump of brambles and split into pairs, two to one side, two to the other, silently creeping around the tangle of leaves and thorns until they met on the opposite side. Nothing.

The bramble patch was at the very edge of the ravine, and now the hunters stepped warily forward and peered down into the darkness. They could see a hint of reflected moonlight on the black waters of the pools below, but no movement.

Dunch whispered, ‘Faro, come wi’ I. T’others bide here and keep a watch, till we whistle ’ee down.’

It was too steep and rocky to descend into the ravine at this point, and it took Dunch and Faro a little while to find an alternative route. At last they were able to slide and scrabble their way downwards until they stood among the rocks and shale beside the silent pools at the foot of the ravine. There was nothing to be seen. Nobody. Dunch lifted his head and whistled briefly, then began to cast about for some evidence of their prey.

Berin and Tuz soon joined them, and once again it was Tuz whose eyes proved the sharpest. He stooped and lifted something from the mud and rocks at the edge of the largest pool.

‘Hsst!’

The others looked toward him. Tuz had found the Touchstone. He wiped it on the front of his rabbitskin jerkin and the hunters gathered round to examine it. As far as they could see it was undamaged by its fall.

‘We s’ll be King’s Guard for exchange o’ this,’ said Berin. ‘Good on ’ee, Tuz.’

A further discovery secured their promotion; a piece of material, just visible, floating a little way out upon the surface of the same pool. Faro found a long broken branch and waded a few steps into the waters. The ground shelved away steeply and he had some difficulty in keeping his balance, but he managed to hook the bough onto the material. The object sank beneath the weight of the branch as he pulled it toward him and he had to dip his bared arm into the dark water in order to retrieve it. As he bent forward he gave a sudden cry of alarm. In reaching for the
material,
his fingers had brushed against something else – the unmistakable touch of another hand, cold and lifeless beneath the murky swirl of the waters.

‘Acchh!’ Faro splashed backwards in horror, dragging the sodden lump of cloth with him. He couldn’t get back to the shore quickly enough, and fairly ran through the shallows, lifting his knees high and dropping the object that he had retrieved at the water’s edge. He clambered up onto the rocks, and hopped about with his fists tucked beneath his armpits. ‘Ach! She’m down there! Ugh!’

‘Did ’ee see her then?’

‘Aye.’ Faro shuddered. ‘Touched her, anywise. Ugh!’

‘’Tis all to the good, then. For now we’m sure.’

Berin and Tuz wrung out the piece of material that Faro had brought ashore – and now they could be certain of their coming rise in fortune. They recognized the object plainly enough. It was Una’s shoulder-wrap.

Once again there was sorrow and respect in Corben’s voice as he addressed the Elders. ‘This be a sad ending for one so young. ’Tis plain that my brother’s child have drowned herself for shame, and it should never have been. But,’ he sighed, ‘’Tis done. She lies beneath the very waters that took the life of her father, and now have taken hers. So be it, then. We must put our sorrows aside, and journey on. Our way ahead be clear, and the Stone safe. When once those that ail have recovered we shall set forth. ’Tis not far to go.’

‘And now ’tis thee that we follow,’ said Haima. ‘Ye must take up the Touchstone, Corben, and lead us as King.’

‘Aye.’ Corben gave another sad sigh. ‘That I must. Come sun-wane, then, I shall choose my Guard.’

He looked about at the gathered company, their faces solemn in the early morning sunshine. They would follow him, and do his bidding. He noticed the stooped and ivy-wreathed figure of Maven-the-Green lurking among the undergrowth at the fringes of the gathering. The mad hag. Something about her was different – a malevolence in her gaze, perhaps, that had not been there before. She had been friend to the witchi child, and might now be his enemy. No matter. He would deal with her as he chose.

Chapter Sixteen

ALL THE LITTLE
details of her surroundings were thrown sharply into focus by the bright sunshine, yet to Celandine this somehow had the effect of making the world seem more dreamlike than ever.

She looked at the ragged shoulders of Fin’s jerkin, roughly hemmed now with the green fishing line that she herself had supplied, and shook her head for the thousandth time at the marvel of him. She saw the rabbit that he stood on tiptoe to reach, a lifeless body, surprisingly long, dangling from its snare at the end of a springy bough. In the distance she could see the grey-brown Naiad horses, ungainly creatures, whisking at the summer flies with their tufted tails. And there was Pato talking to one of the Wisp – a young fisher they called Moz, who proudly showed off the string of eels that he had caught. The skin of the eels had already become dry and leathery in the sunshine. All the everyday sights and routines of the forest Celandine watched, the ordered comings and goings of the Various, as unremarkable as those of the farmworkers in the outside world, and yet she still
sometimes
felt that she would suddenly wake up with a start, wide-eyed and wondering, in her bed at home.

Well, today she
would
have to wake up, if she was to accomplish all that she planned. It was time, Celandine had decided, to pay a visit to Mill Farm. She wanted books and clothes, and any number of other essentials, and she could delay no longer.

Many times she had rehearsed the late night foray in her mind, and always she hit the same stumbling block. Farm life was hard and sleep was precious, so there was little fear that any human head would be stirring in the dark hour when she intended to arrive. She believed that she could slip in and out easily enough – undiscovered by her family or their employees. No, it was not the weary inhabitants of the farm that worried her. It was the dogs.

Cribb and Jude were loosed every night, and were not fed until morning. The fearsome lurchers prowled the yard from midnight till dawn, their hunger keeping them sharp, free to deal with any intruder upon their territory. Cribb would not hurt her, she felt certain, although he might well raise an alarm, but Jude she was less sure of. Jude had never been known to bark, but his silence made him all the more terrifying. There was something mad in the eye of Jude, a cold splinter of iron in that look of his, so that it made you shiver just to walk past him, no matter how innocent your purpose. And if ever he attacked, nothing would stop him. Celandine remembered the foxhound, a stray from the local meet that had once made the mistake of trotting through the stableyard,
following
some scent of his own imagining. Jude had gone for him – no warning, no sound – and none of the stablehands could pull him off until the job was done.

Erstcourt had shrugged at the rueful expression of the huntsman who came to collect the torn and bloodied carcass of the hound.

‘It’s no more than his duty,’ her father had said. ‘They’re all foxes to Jude, whether they’ve four legs or two.’

It was an exaggeration – Jude had yet to attack a human – but Celandine wanted to take as few chances as possible.

Hence the rabbits. Fin managed to unsnare the one that dangled from its sapling and handed it to her. Now she had two. She intended to use them as bait, or a bribe, if she should meet with the night-watchmen of the stableyard. ‘Good lad!
Gooood
lad!’ She whispered softly to herself, already picturing such an encounter. Fin grinned up at her, thinking that her words were for him.

She carried her empty canvas bag in one hand and the rabbits in the other as she made her way down the dark hillside. It would have been easier to transport the furry corpses in the bag, but she wanted them instantly available. She had decided that her first purpose must be to actively seek out the dogs and be friendly to them, reassure them that she meant no harm. Better that than try to avoid them and so risk a surprise attack. She hoped that they remembered who she was.

The noises of the night made her nervous and she glanced behind her once or twice, thinking that something was following her. No, nothing there. The scrubby hillside was bare in the moonlight.

It had been difficult to make Fin understand that she would soon return. He had been content enough to escort her through the dark wicker tunnel, but had become agitated once he grasped her intent of going further – without him.

‘
Noooo!
’ His earnest eyes flashed up at her in the darkness, and he tugged at her pinafore. ‘Is
Gorji
there! Is
get
you!’

‘Don’t
worry
, Fin,’ she had whispered in return. ‘I’ll be back soon. Yes, and I’ll bring you some cake. Yes, I will. Some cake!’

‘
Cake-cake-cake
 . . .’ The thought of it appeared to mollify him, and he remained by the brambles at the entrance of the tunnel, looking wonderingly up at the night sky and murmuring to himself, his attention already drifting elsewhere.

She didn’t really suppose that there would be time to search for cake, but the ploy had served its purpose.

Now she crossed the thistly paddock and crept up to the big gate that led into the stable-yard. Her heart was beating fast, thudding in her chest, and she stood still for a few moments, trying to regain control of her breathing. So long it had been, since she was last here. Weeks. All was peaceful, no sign of movement among the cluster of dark buildings.

Celandine quietly removed her heavy shoes as she
had
planned, placing them next to the gatepost. It would be impossible to walk soundlessly through the farmhouse with them on.