The Weirdstone of Brisingamen Page 12

  The side of the ravine was scored with holes and ledges, and children and dwarfs almost fell over each other as they swarmed up the last monotony of stone, out of the eternal, stagnant silences, into light, and life, and wide horizons. Then there was grass beneath them, and a wind upon their cheeks.

  CHAPTER 15

  A STROMKARL SINGS

  Beyond the ravine wound the elf-road, and the dwarfs lost no time in hustling Colin and Susan on to it, but once there they permitted themselves to relax, for as long as they remained on the road, said Durathror, they would be hidden from searching eyes.

  They made a bizarre picture in their all-over coats of red mud, encrusted with yellow sand that spared only their more pliable features, and these were daubed with red, as if they were in warpaint. But none of that mattered now as they stepped out for Fundindelve, and their aching limbs only sweetened the prospect of rest. After all they had undergone in the barren caves, this scene of beauty, the waning light among the scented pines, was almost unreal.

  “It’s like a dream,” said Susan: “just like a dream. I can even imagine there’s music all around us!”

  “So can I!” said Colin. “It’s like a harp. What can it be?”

  “A harp,” said Fenodyree, smiling. “See, on Goldenstone, a stromkarl plays.”

  They had come to a junction in the path, and to their right stood a boulder, with nothing golden about it that the children could see: it was like any outcrop of weathered, grey sandstone, except that it had been crudely worked to an oblong shape by men long dead, and few now can tell its purpose.

  On top of the stone sat a young man, plucking the strings of a harp. He was less than three feet high; his skin lustrous as a pearl; his hair rippling to his waist in green sea-waves. And the sad melody ran beneath his fingers like water over pebbles.

  When summer in winter shall come

  Then shall be danger of war.

  A crow shall sit at the top of a headless cross,

  And drink of the noble’s gentle blood so free.

  Between nine and thirteen all sorrow shall be done.

  A wolf from the east shall right eagerly come

  To a hill within the forest height.

  Beside a headless cross of stone,

  There shall the eagle die.

  “Why do you sing the old prophecies?” said Durathror. “Are they now to be fulfilled?”

  “Who knows? I do but sing of the summer that has come in winter. Does your road lead to Fundindelve?”

  All the while the stromkarl was speaking, his hands plucked the silver strings, and the tone of his bell-like voice against the background of music was a song. He looked at neither the children nor the dwarfs once the whole time, but concentrated on his harp, or gazed out towards the hills.

  “It does indeed,” said Fenodyree, “and we take with us the weirdstone of Brisingamen!”

  “I am glad,” said the stromkarl. “But you will not go to Fundindelve.”

  “What do you say? How shall we not?”

  “The hooded one sits by Holywell, and the Shape-shifter watches the gates: and to them are gathering the morthbrood. The svart-alfar will be there at sunset, and with the night are coming others. No birds will fly, save the eyes of the Morrigan. It will be dark within the hour; see to it that you are not under the sky at that time.”

  “Our swords will be ever at your command for this!” said Durathror. “You have done more than guard our lives.”

  The stromkarl lowered his head.

  “My people will aid you where they may: fare you well!”

  And he jumped down on the other side of Goldenstone, and they did not see him again.

  “It never crossed my mind that this would be their course,” said Fenodyree, “obvious though it was. Oh, I am not wise in judgement as a dwarf should be!”

  “Nay,” said Durathror, “your wits have served us nobly this day. But what is there for us now?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Can we get to the farm before dark?” said Colin.

  “This is a good plan!” Fenodyree smote his hands together. “With luck, the morthbrood will not hear of your part in this until the svart-alfar come, and they may be late if they are still searching for us in West Mine. We should reach the farm, but whether it will be shelter for the night I cannot be certain.”

  “What of the stone?” said Durathror.

  “We must find Cadellin,” said Fenodyree. “In his hands it will be secure, and he can wield its might for our safekeeping.”

  “Why, then, give me the stone! He shall have it ere you can reach the farm!”

  “Do you see those?” said Fenodyree, pointing across the fields.

  “I see; but what of it? Rooks flock homeward daily at this hour, and in greater numbers than are flying there.”

  “Did you not hear the stromkarl say that no bird flies this day? Those are not rooks: you would be torn asunder within the minute. They know where Cadellin is as well as I, and that we must find him.”

  “Then how shall we do this?”

  “We must go stealthily, on foot, and seek him in the hills.”

  Colin looked at the rolling mass of the Pennines, out of which the first shadows of night were creeping.

  “But how do we find him up there, and how can we move without being seen? It’s nearly all open moorland.”

  “We move by day, when their eyes are weakest, and if there is scant cover for us, there is more chance that we shall see the morthbrood from afar. As for Cadellin, I am to meet him on the summit of Shuttlingslow yonder at dawn on the morning of the fourth day from this. There is little hope of finding him sooner. Our greatest task will be to avoid the morthbrood for so long.”

  They headed for the farm with all speed, keeping under cover wherever possible, though the lanes were almost deserted at that time of day. Only the occasional farm-labourer cycling home disturbed their progress, for the dwarfs insisted on hiding at any sign of life. “The morthbrood travel in many guises,” said Durathror.

  They came over the Riddings as the first stars were shining, and they saw Gowther’s solid figure, Scamp at his heels, going the round of the shippons and stables to fasten up for the night. The individual, isolated sounds of twilight, the clink of a chain, the rattle of a door, the ring of boots on cobbles, carried far on the evening air.

  Gowther was crossing to the house as the weary party entered the farmyard.

  “Hallo!” he said, eyeing them up and down. “What have we got here? You look as if you’ve been through every marlpit between here and Wornish Nook! Hey, and wheer are your bikes?”

  “It is a good story, farmer Mossock,” said Fenodyree, “but I would fain have a roof over my head for the telling of it.”

  “What?” said Gowther. He peered hard at the dwarf. “Here, wait a minute: I know thee! You’re the feller as threatened me some months back, anner you? Well, I’ve got a bone or two to pick with thee; and I’d like to know what mischief you’ve been getting these childer into!”

  He loomed over the dwarf, and made to grab hold of him, but Widowmaker came from her scabbard like lightning, and the broad blade’s point rested against Gowther’s cask of a chest.

  “I am he: and much sorrow has come of your words that day, though it is not of my doing.

  “I mean you no harm, farmer Mossock, and I crave your help; but every moment we stand here exposed to watching eyes adds to our peril. Let us right our grievances behind locked doors.”

  “You’ve got to trust him, Gowther!”

  “You must!” cried Susan. “He’s saved our lives more than once today!”

  “And it is dangerous to be out here!”

  “You’ll understand when we tell you!”

  Gowther looked at the anguished faces of the children, then down at the steady blade.

  “All reet,” he said slowly. “You can come in. But you dunner move a step towards the door while you’ve got that thing in your hond. And think on, I want an expl
anation; and it had best be good!”

  Fenodyree sheathed his sword, and smiled.

  “It will be interesting, farmer Mossock.”

  “Well! This is the rummest do I’ve come across! It is that! What about thee, Bess?”

  Bess was ironing Fenodyree’s rapidly washed tunic, and she pointed with her flat-iron at the two dwarfs, who were squatting on either side of the hearth wrapped in blankets.

  “Theer’s little use in saying pigs conner fly, when you see them catching swallows! But I dunner like the sound of it at all.

  “And you say as you’ve to get our Bridestone to the top of Shuttlingslow by Friday morning? Well, that wunner be difficult. You two con stay here, if you’ve a mind to, and catch a bus from Macclesfield to Wildboarclough, and then all you’ll have to do is climb up the hill and meet your wizard.”

  “We must take no chances,” said Fenodyree. “That would be a dangerous course; we shall go on foot.”

  “Well, I don’t see it, myself,” sniffed Bess.

  “When do we start?” asked Susan.

  “At dawn tomorrow. We dare not stay long in any place.”

  “‘We’?” said Bess. “Oh, no! If you think you’re dragging these two childer off on your madcap errands you con think again!”

  “Oh, but Bess …!!”

  “Ay, it’s all very well saying ‘but Bess’! What would your mother do if she knew of these goings on? She’s enough to worry about as it is. And look at the state you were in this evening! You conner run risks like that and get away with it every time.”

  “Mistress Mossock,” said Durathror, “the Stonemaiden and her brother are children, but they have warriors’ hearts: they deserve well of this quest.”

  “That’s as may be. But what should we say to their parents if they went out of here in the morning, and never came back? We’re responsible for them, tha knows.”

  “If Colin and Susan do not see this through to the end in the company of those best fitted to help them,” said Fenodyree, “their chances of ever setting eyes on parents or home again will be less than little. They have thwarted evil this day, and it will be a pledge of honour for witch and svart alike to make good that wrong. It would be madness to leave them unprotected here.”

  “Ay, I follow your meaning – if all we’ve heard is true,” said Gowther. “Yon’s a good point. But we’re still responsible, choose how you look at it.” He stood up to knock his pipe out against the bars of the grate. “I’ll be coming with you in the morning.”

  As soon as the dwarfs were dressed, they wrapped themselves in their blankets and said they would sleep for a couple of hours, but they were to be woken immediately at the least hint of trouble. They had already seen to it that everybody’s bedding had been brought down into the kitchen, for they insisted that they should all stay in the one room that night, with ample supplies of food, light, and fuel.

  At nine o’clock Durathror awoke and said he was going outside to see how the land lay.

  He stole across the farmyard and up the hill to the top of the Riddings. The light north-easter that had been blowing for many days had veered to the north, and was much stronger. The full moon was rising in a clear sky; clear, except for the north. There, banks of cloud were piling on the horizon, and Durathror frowned. He sniffed the air, and looked warily all about him.

  “Wind’s getting up a bit, inner it?” said Gowther when the dwarf returned.

  “Ay: it is not a good wind: I have doubts.”

  Colin and Susan had dropped off to sleep very early, and by eleven o’clock Gowther and Bess were nodding in their chairs.

  Shortly before midnight Scamp began to growl. It started as a distant rumble deep in his chest, and grew to a hard-throated snarl. His lips curled and his hackles rose. Durathror and Fenodyree quietly drew their swords and took up stations either side of the door. Scamp barked, but Gowther hushed him and sent him under the table; yet still he whined, and growled, and rolled his eyes. All ears were straining to catch the least sound, but no sound came.

  “Happen it’s a fox,” whispered Gowther.

  Fenodyree shook his head.

  “Something is coming: I can feel it.”

  “Mossock!” said a voice just outside the door. “Mossock, are you there?”

  “It is the Place woman,” whispered Durathror to Gowther.

  “Ay, I’m here. What do you want?”

  “You know what we want. Hand over to us the children, the dwarfs – and the stone, and you shall go unharmed.”

  “And supposing I tell thee to go and jump in the Boffin, what then?”

  “Do not play the fool with us, Mossock. You have a minute in which to open this door before we break it, and you. Your house will fall, and weeds will grow on this land for a hundred years. Hurry! We are not usually so indulgent. Do not ask for trouble.”

  “Pay no heed: she is bluffing,” said Fenodyree. “They cannot pass over a threshold unasked. It is an old binding spell stronger than any they can weave.”

  “Oh? Reet! Did you hear that, Mrs Place? Well, to make it quite clear how we stond, here it is, straight and simple. You conner come in!”

  There was a moment’s silence before the Morrigan spoke again, and now her voice was soft, and more menacing than before.

  “We did not expect it to be so easy. But do not deceive yourselves by thinking that, because we cannot enter, you are safe. Wherever you are, and whatever you do, there is no escape, for we have called those to whom such spells are meaningless, and tomorrow night they will come to you. Listen, dwarfs! Can you not hear them? The mara are stirring. Soon they will be awake!”

  CHAPTER 16

  THE WOOD OF RADNOR

  Along the crest of the Riddings the morthbrood watched Shape-shifter climb laboriously up from the farm. Grimnir sat a little apart from the brood, while over the top of the hill, in an old quarry, were mustered the svart-alfar.

  “They are all there,” said the Morrigan. “And they will not be drawn, though we think the threat of the mara will bring them out once the night is gone. On the move, we shall have them; but we must raise the fimbulwinter at daybreak.

  “Is Slinkveal here? Good. The svart-alfar will remain in the quarry until dawn. You will not be needed, but then again, you may.

  “The watchers have been chosen, and know their duties. Grimnir will accompany us to resume our work.”

  Durathror and Fenodyree kept watch by turns throughout the night, and at six o’clock they woke the others: by seven all were ready to go. Day was near, and there was a hard frost.

  Colin, Susan, and Gowther were taking with them a change of clothing, food for the whole party, and groundsheets. Fenodyree had made himself a cloak out of an old blanket.

  They were about to shoulder their packs when there came a gentle knock at the door.

  “Ay, who is it?” said Gowther.

  “It’s me, maister Mossock. Is owt up?”

  “Oh, wait on a minute, Sam: I’ll be reet with thee.”

  Gowther waited until the dwarfs had hidden in the next room before he drew the bolts and unlocked the door.

  “Theer! Come in, lad. I was hoping you’d be here before I went.”

  “I saw the curtains were pulled to,” said Sam Harlbutt, “and the shippons were fast, so I thowt as how happen summat was wrong.”

  “Oh no, theer’s nowt wrong; but – er – I’ve been called away – er sudden like, and young Colin and Susan are coming with me. We should be back by Saturday. Con you manage by yourself? I’ll get John Carter to give thee a hond, if you like.”

  “Oh no, maister Mossock, I’ll be all reet.”

  He showed not the least surprise.

  “But I’d best get on with the milking pretty sharpish, hadn’t I? Dick Thornicroft’ll be here with his wagon in half an hour.”

  “Oh ay! Er – ay, you’d best do that now.”

  Gowther felt Sam’s unspoken criticism, but could think of no explanation to give him. It was their pra
ctice to share the milking, Gowther taking the morning, and Sam the evening. The cows ought to have been milked an hour ago, but Fenodyree would not let Gowther put his foot over the doorstep while it was still dark.

  “Er – Sam, if Dick comes before you’ve finished, ask him to call when he’s been to Barber’s.”

  “Right-ho, maister Mossock.”

  “And Sam!”

  “Ay?”

  “When you’ve done milking, I’d like you to take Bess in the cart to her sister’s at Big Tidnock: she’ll be stopping theer while we come back. The dog’ll be going, too.”

  “Oh, right-ho, maister Mossock.”

  Sam Harlbutt was as imperturbable as only a Cheshire man can be.

  They waited until Sam was well into the milking before they slipped quietly out into the lane.

  “Which way?” said Gowther.

  “Let us first follow the road to the back of this hill,” said Durathror. “From there we may see much to interest us.”

  The lane ran past the mouth of the quarry behind the Riddings, and Gowther was rather perplexed when Durathror suggested beginning their journey with a scramble about inside.

  “It’s nobbut an owd sond-hole. We shanner get far running round here!”

  “We shall not be long,” said the dwarf. “I want … ah! As I thought! Svarts were here in the night, but I do not think there was much else with them. Come with me now to the hilltop.”

  He ran backwards and forwards along the Riddings like a hound beating for a scent.