Green Mantle

by Gail Merritt

  ‘I see pain, too much pain for such a pretty face. I see a great burden and an even greater power. I see something missing, here in your heart. A part of you is somewhere else and you mourn it. I see someone that…’ He turned his attention to pebble in his hand. ‘I see someone that I might fall in love with.’

  Out in the river, a fish surfaced, a sliver of silver scales caught in the moonlight, then a splash as it returned to the water. I looked at the curls that framed his face and felt my throat sink into the bottom of my stomach.

  ‘Of course,’ he went on with the same tone, ‘that would be when we were both considerably older and had run out of other, more interesting things to do.’ His face was serious for a second longer before the fairy grin reappeared. ‘Perhaps in another ten years or so!’

  The moment had passed. I wailed with indignation. ‘Must I wait that long before I’m to have a lover?’

  ‘Oh, of course not!’ He waved an arm expansively. ‘You’ll take lovers all over the place. There won’t be a man safe in the whole of the Five Kingdoms.’

  I gasped with mock horror at his insinuation and would have given him a friendly cuff with my hand, but he was already off down the towpath, laughing. I fumbled for my shoes and followed, threatening all manner of dire punishments when I caught up with him. By the time we arrived back at the red wagon, we were both exhausted and mellow, and might have slept where we dropped but the smell of frying bacon enticed us to Mari’s camp fire. We ate breakfast in high spirits and then slept for the remainder of the day. I woke inside the red wagon, on Mari’s precious patchwork quilt. Outside, the fairyland of the horse fair had been dismantled for another year and the Roms were on the move.

  Later in my little tent, I remembered what Sandor had said. He had turned it into a jest, perhaps because he was uncertain of his own feelings or because he was afraid of frightening me. Whatever the reason, he had saved us both. I had felt physically drawn to him, but I could reason it away in the mood of the night. Hadn’t we seen lovers and been stirred by their embraces? I knew I liked him, a lot. Our friendship had grown quickly and with it trust and a delight to be in his company, but I had felt those things before, only to discover that what I felt was not reciprocated. I knew that I should not allow myself to make another mistake like Ardin. Yet, Sandor had already found a place in my affections. I enjoyed his company and trusted him completely. I told myself that our friendship was strong and that was all that mattered. He had sensed so much of what was inside me.

  Part of me was elsewhere. The Brown Mantle was still free. Part of me died when Llewid died. Part of me died when Silver Mantle turned the stone statue into a beautiful princess for King Ardin to marry. Part of me still remained in the Talarin, the Citadel of the Mantles. I grinned to lighten my own mood. With so much of me missing, it was amazing that what was left was able to function as a whole person.

  We left Taegel, following the towpath as far as it went on public land. After that, we took the road eastward to the rolling hills of Camlan and the fortress town of Wyke. This was an ancient landscape, full of memories of a distant, forgotten past. From the road I saw strange barrows, burial mounds of nameless princes who trod this land before it had a name. Monoliths of stone stood guard on a flat-topped hill and in a cornfield beside the Listi fallen columns of marble marked a place of ritual. Mari shuddered as we passed but the memories locked in the weathered stone were joyous ones. The ancient guardians of the land rested peacefully there.

  The dark battlements of the walled town also clung to their past. Wyke had been the principal town of Camlan, during the time of the Gathering, the time of Queen Katherine, who might have been my ancestor. Camlan had been part of a rebellious uprising and the fortress walls had suffered many breaches, some of which remained, as a long period of peace had followed her reign and the good citizens of Wyke spent their energy in commerce and acquiring wealth.

  A hill stands close to the town, marked by a stone circle, and from that place I felt the cries of long-dead warriors. A terrible battle had been fought there and many had died. Some sort of evil was destroyed on that hillside and a great leader or prince had been mortally wounded. Wyke held many secrets and I was about to discover that not all were as noble as this long-dead hero.

  5. - Wyke

  Many of the Rom had left Taegel and travelled down the same road, so it was no surprise to see some of them setting up camp in an open field beyond the town.

  ‘This field belongs to the farm over yonder.’ Deni, Mari’s brother-in-law was all smiles as the red wagon drew alongside their own. ‘We work for the farmer at harvest time and he’s not a bad sort of gedje. He lets us use this field whenever we’re passing. It’s better than parking on the roadside hereabouts. They’re a strange lot in Wyke, as you well know Matt.’

  Matt shrugged and began to unharness the shires.

  ‘What did Deni mean about the people of Wyke being strange?’ I asked Sandor as we gathered fuel for Mari’s fire. Ralph was trying to help too, carrying small twigs in his beak and flying back to the camp with them. Wykemen have long memories.’ Sandor started to bind our bundle to make it easier to carry. ‘Wyke was a town long before Vellin was built. That was before Magra was a kingdom. Camlan was already an old place even then. Wykemen can trace their ancestors back to those times and they don’t like strangers. Roms have travelled down the Listi to the sea for centuries but we’ve always had a cool reception in Wyke.’ He looked down at his bundle. ‘One of my family was burnt as a witch here.’ He laughed as my eyes widened. ‘It was a very long time ago.’

  ‘So how do you know so much about Wyke?’ I walked beside him as he carried the bundle back to his mother, who then told us to be off and out of her hair.

  ‘It’s history!’ We sauntered to the edge of the field and he helped me climb over a stile. ‘Didn’t your father make you learn your history?’

  ‘My father didn’t even make me wear shoes,’ I confessed. ‘As long as I could read and write and manage servants, he took little interest in me. I suppose he thought that when I grew he would simply marry me off to one of our neighbours. No, Sandor, the only history I know is about the rise of the Five Kingdoms and the establishment of the Talarin. I didn’t even know that I might be descended from Queen Katherine until I was told by a member of the Souran. Everything else is from the memories of the Green Mantles.’

  We sat down in the meadow and Sandor pointed back towards the town. ‘Long before Queen Katherine, long before Magra, there was a great city here at Wyke. No one remembers its name. Everywhere north of here was wild and lawless.’ He gazed up at the clouds as if he gathered the threads of his story from there. I had noticed that Matt did the same thing when he was retelling a tale.

  ‘The city was the largest one for miles around and they traded peacefully with their neighbours, but rivalries grew and eventually things reached a crisis when invaders from across the sea landed in Rush Bay. The Lord of Wyke sent his army to stop them. While his forces were away, the wild tribes to the north took the opportunity to attack the city. The King and his small company went out to meet them and were slaughtered in a great battle. The women and children inside the walls were spared and the northerners returned to their homes with treasure.’

  ‘What happened to the rest of the King’s army?’ I asked. ‘The ones who went to Rush Bay?’

  ‘By the time they returned, all they could do was bury the King and try to restore Wyke.’ Sandor pointed to the rounded hill above the town. ‘They say that under that hill lie the King and his men.’ He stood and stretched. ‘Wyke has a sad history. Come on, I want to show you something.’

  A path led us towards the river, through a wood of beech and ash. When the path divided we took the narrow fork, dipping deeper into the wood, passing ancient oaks and a bank of dainty goat willows. The path appeared rarely travelled and we lost sight of it several times, but Sandor knew the way well. At our side the trees rose up a steep bank, which became a wall of rock, cr
isscrossed by the roots of many trees above it. The way was overgrown, and we scrambled through tall clumps of nightshade and in the sunnier spots, rosebay willow herb. Sandor took my hand and pulled me along until he stopped abruptly at the mouth of a cave. The entrance was a little taller than a man and as wide as three. I followed him inside and was shaken by the heavy darkness, even close to the entrance, it seemed to seep through the very walls like a dark fog. I sent out thought to ward off bats but there was nothing living within that cave, no small rodent, insect, nor tiny crawling beast.

  Sandor turned to me, only his face lit by the entrance. ‘Do you feel anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wait’ He knew this place well. On an earlier visit he had left a torch fashioned from broom sedge and he lit it with his tinderbox. He led the way down a steep ramp. There was a chill dampness in the air, but it was not unpleasant. In the torch light the walls appeared to be a light brown stone and above that compacted earth. Here and there tree roots had found their way down to dangle from the ceiling but as we descended into the true cave, all sign of tree roots disappeared. The torch showed a level space at the foot of the ramp beyond which was another dark opening, leading into a further grotto. Here was a second torch that we lit from the first. Now there was enough light to see that where we had been was a tidy place, cleared and stripped of loose rock, with an unnaturally even floor, and in places there was evidence of human excavation. Sandor was still beaming as I followed him into the second chamber.

  ‘What is this place?’ I gasped at the sparkle of polished surfaces that greeted me. Everywhere, the smooth face of crystal reflected the torchlight. Stalagmites and stalactites glistened. It was a white cavern, hung with pastel crystals of all hues, a fairy place.

  ‘What do you feel?’ Sandor whispered, his eyes sparkling.

  ‘This is silly,’ I laughed. ‘I suddenly feel stupidly happy. I want to laugh.’

  ‘That’s how it makes me feel!’ He moved carefully about the chamber, touching the walls. As I watched him, somewhere in my head stranger things were happening.

  ‘Can you hear that?’ I ran my hand down a sliver of crystal. ‘Words, just out of reach, voices, laughter, tinkling bells?’

  He blinked at me, speaking softly, ‘I hear nothing.’

  ‘It’s wonderful, surely you hear it.’ By now I was euphoric, so delightful were the sounds, and the light dazzled my eyes. I slipped my arm in his. ‘What is this place?’

  ‘They say a great prince was buried here. He’s stone, now. Come and see.’ He took hold of my hand, but I hesitated.

  ‘That’s awful, I don’t want to see.’

  Sandor rolled his eyes. ‘He’s not real!’ He pulled me after him. ‘It’s just a stone. The cave gets bigger. You have to see.’ I was reluctant to leave the white grotto with its singing walls but followed him into a great cavern. Here the rocks sparkled with crystalline rainbows. It was a place of breathtaking beauty and as I stepped over the threshold, I felt the deep power within the place. Ahead, a single monolith of black stone reflected the light of the crystals on its smooth surface. It was just a black rock. No prince was entombed here.

  ‘He waits here to be released by magic. It was magic that locked him in here.’ Sandor placed his hand on the stone. ‘Could you set him free?’

  ‘Is that why you brought me here?’ I asked putting my hand next to his on the cold rock.

  ‘I know you have strong powers. I thought perhaps you could do this if anyone could.’ I saw the hope in his eyes, and I wished that I could perform that magic.

  ‘This is not for me.’ I shook my head. ‘I feel no prince, no living creature is inside this rock.’ I looked about the strange gallery. To be sure, it was not a common cavern. There was no prince, but it was the seat of deep magic, deep earth magic, and I did know about that. There was something lurking here, a presence of such antiquity and potency that it revealed only a glimmer of its true nature to me. It welcomed me; although it cared nothing for the puny power of the Mantles, it recognised me as a student of magic. It wished me to return. It was more than a request, more like a command, for it could impart much knowledge to me, if I had a mind to share my time. I smiled and I knew it smiled too. Of course, I would return.

  ‘Do you feel the soul of this place? It seems to have a soul, doesn’t it?’ Sandor was disappointed that there was no entombed prince, but his instincts told him there was something here.

  ‘I feel it. Yes, there is something here.’ The presence was amused. It had enjoyed his visits and it was entertained by his story of the prince.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked aloud. ‘What are you? At least tell me that!’

  The reply startled me. ‘The last of the Old Ones!’ The voice was like the wind tumbling over dry leaves. It repeated the invitation. It would teach me everything that it knew, at least everything that I could understand for there were some things that I could not, should not know. This was not a benign entity. It followed its own whims as to those it favoured. If I returned, I would have to be mindful of that too. I needed to feel the sunlight again and headed towards the crystal cave.

  ‘You have found a prince, haven’t you?’ Sandor had been silent since we left the monolith and made our way through the cavern to the sunlight.

  ‘No,’ I stopped. I wanted to share my discovery with him but felt uncertain and cautious about what to say. ‘You were right in guessing that the cave was not just any cave, and that something strange and powerful remains there, something more powerful than a prince.’ He felt vindicated, his thoughts easy to read in his face.

  ‘Have you ever heard of the Old Ones?’ He shook his head. It had been during my evening walks with Black Mantle and the special lessons he gave me that were never given to other novices that he had told me all he knew of the ancient magi. Now I would pass on a little of what I knew to Sandor. ‘They were magicians of great power. Some were treated like gods and worshipped. They ruled the Five Kingdoms long before there were Five Kingdoms, long before there was Wyke, or even the raiders from the Green Islands. No one has heard or seen anything of them since the time of the Gathering and even then, it was only legends. Most of those who do know about them don’t really believe that they ever existed.

  ‘And one of them lives in our cave?’ Sandor rested against the stump of an old tree.

  ‘I’m not sure I would call it living as we know it but the Old One spoke to me in my mind in the cave. I doubt if anyone imprisoned it there. Perhaps it is the cave. I wish I had asked more questions about them.’ Sandor followed me, full of questions, pleading for explanations. How could it be the cave? Was it a giant? How could we go inside it? Did I see its face? How could I hear it? He was still spluttering out his questions when we arrived back at the red wagon. We could tell that something was wrong. The Roms stood in a close huddle, speaking softly, anxious looks on all their faces.

  ‘It’s little Vinny Cable, he’s gone missing.’ Beryl tilted her head towards the Cable’s wagon. From inside there was the sound of someone crying. ‘His mother is frantic, poor lamb, Mari’s with her.’

  This was a time for Mantle magic. I used my power to search for the little child, but I found nothing. I started asking the creatures, the birds and the hedgerow dwellers. Pigeons remembered seeing him playing at the gate but then they had found crumbs of discarded bread and lost interest in anything else. A wood rat recalled a man speaking to the boy, but it was a toad who had witnessed the man taking the child away with him.

  ‘What is it?’ Tamora must have seen the colour drain from my face as I turned away from the toad. It had advised me to ask for more information further down the road, although it feared for the child as the boy had been carried rather than gone on his own two legs. I followed the toad’s directions and behind me came a stream of Roms, ashen-faced and silent. A farm dog and a cockerel gave me directions and the birds spread a message to the pigeons of the town. Ralph took to the air to search for himself, using his keen hunter’s e
yes, and a pair of sparrows offered to guide me through the streets. Sandor and Deni followed but Matt suggested that everyone else return to the field and wait for news. Wyke would not appreciate a mob of gypsies surging through the streets at sunset. I pondered what the long-dead king would think of his subjects now.

  The way took us through twisting streets towards the knoll. My thoughts went to the dead of that silent place but only silence replied. Ralph met us in company with a pair of bemused kestrels. They had never been enlisted by an owl to serve Green Mantle and despite their lack of interest in human affairs, they had seen the child, but their news was not good. The man had met others and together they were carrying young Deni towards the level ground halfway up the knoll, where a crowd was gathering in the circles of standing stones. By the time we approached the spot, twilight had descended, and the assembly held torches that spat and spluttered in the breeze. They had donned robes to hide their clothes and they chanted in some ancient tongue.

  ‘Who are they?’ Sandor whispered over my shoulder. We crouched behind some of the outer boulders.

  ‘They worship the ancient powers.’ Deni was breathing heavily at my side. ‘I’d heard about it but never seen the proof of it for myself. There are so many stories about these Wykemen. They used to sacrifice children to their old gods. Oh, no, that can’t be this, can it?’ He inhaled a sharp breath at the thought of what he’d said.

  ‘The Old One?’ Sandor looked at me. ‘Is this a task for the Old One?’

  I sent my mind to the silent knoll and begged the ancient dead to rise but I felt nothing. I sent my thoughts down the river to the cave, to plead for help but the Old One could not or would not leave that place, so I turned my mind to using my own power. I hoped that the crowd would be too busy in their circle to notice me as I began to gather the clouds. Long afternoons with Blue Mantle had sharpened my skills and the wind grew quickly at my command. The torches fluttered and some went out. The gathering muttered and some began to look about them. The ones closest to me stood open-mouthed as they saw me with arms outstretched.