‘If we can wake them, the others will cease to exist,’ whispered Brendan.
Neol rushed forward at once and knelt beside his sister. But Brendan put his hand upon his shoulder to restrain him. ‘Not so soon,’ he cautioned. ‘The shock of waking before she is ready may kill her.’
Neol drew back alarmed.
‘We have to penetrate their trance somehow,’ the abbot mused. ‘We have to guide them with our thoughts. We have to lead them so that they wake themselves.’
Neol’s instinct was to pick her up, cocoon of web and all, and rush her back home and force her to wake . . . But Brendan was looking at him so sternly he hesitated. Kicva was already squatting on the left side of Elined, while Brendan was standing on the right. The monk indicated that Neol should take up his position at her head. Unwillingly he complied. ‘I’ll give them a few moments,’ he thought, ‘but if it doesn’t work soon I’ll wake her my way and damn the consequences.’
Brendan had said that they must guide her with their thought, and Kicva and he seemed already deep in meditation. Neol was uncomfortable. The rock wall behind him was damp and cold, his legs were cramped, and yet he felt he dare not rearrange himself lest he disturb the concentration of the others. What was he to think? He thought about Elined. He thought about how much he loved her and how he had taught her to ride when she was a very little girl. He remembered how full of life and mischief she was, how prettily she sang and danced. He remembered her once garlanding his armour with daisy-chains before he set off to battle. She had always been so full of tricks – and he had often known her bend the truth when one of her pranks misfired and trouble loomed. He thought about his fury against Cai, though the man’s friends so firmly denied that he had raped her. Had she been playing one of her tricks again? This time a dangerous and cruel one.
* * * *
It seemed to Elined that she was in a room, whose walls consisted almost entirely of glass doors. She was held in a cocoon of web and she was struggling to free herself from it. As she struggled filaments of the web broke loose, some to float away from her, dissolving in the air; others dropping to the floor at her feet. At last she could move freely and release herself from the constricting fibres. Leaping up she ran to a door and gripped the bolt that held it fast. Outside she could see the familiar hills and valleys surrounding her home. Yet she hesitated and drew back her hand.
‘Not this one,’ she thought. ‘Not this.’
She was suddenly afraid. It seemed to her that this door would not lead her where she wanted to be.
She stood before another – but again stayed her hand. She feared to take the step that might change her life.
She started to race about the room from door to door, ever more frantically, like a trapped bird smashing itself needlessly against the glass when all the time there is one window open.
A voice began to whisper in her ear . . . then grew louder . . . sounding strangely hollow as though it came from the end of a long corridor . . .
‘Elined, child, listen to me. Open the door . . . any of the doors. You cannot stay here.’
But she could not bring herself to trust, and she returned to the centre of the room, pulling the scattered threads of the web around her again with trembling hands.
‘Go away,’ she sobbed. ‘Go away. You are trying to mislead me. I’m going to stay here . . . safely . . .’
‘You will miss so much! Open a door and walk out.’
She curled up like a foetus in the womb.
‘No . . . no . . . no!’
She did not trust any of the doors. She did not trust the voice . . . Brendan‘s voice.
‘Only you can release yourself,’ he insisted. ‘The doors are locked from the inside.’
‘But I am in terrible danger if I open the wrong door.’
‘Not if all the doors lead to the same place.’
‘How do I know that?’ she cried. ‘How can I know that?’
‘You have eyes to see. Use them. At the top of each door is a name. Read each of them.’
Slowly she uncurled, hesitantly took a step . . . then another.
And, indeed, on the glass at the top of every door was a word, so elaborately, so decoratively engraved that she could scarcely decipher it.
‘Look at the word behind all the embellishment,’ Brendan’s voice urged. ‘Look at the word behind the word. Do not be fooled by all the trappings and the trimmings.’
She stood on tiptoe and peered. She strained to see, among all the elaborate curls and lines that twisted and turned around each other, the shape of the real word. Slowly she went from door to door – and gradually, painfully, she deciphered every one.
‘And what do they say?’ Brendan asked quietly.
‘They are . . .’ She paused, hardly able to accept even now what she had seen. ‘They are all different versions . . .’ Her voice sank so low that it was less than a whisper. ‘They are all different versions of the Name of God.’
As she said it, all the doors seemed to open by themselves – and she found herself walking through the nearest, unafraid.
* * * *
The others, watching, saw Elined stir and stretch, her eyelids flutter. Brendan leant forward to tug at the web that still held her. Neol instantly went to his aid and together they broke her free.
She gave a great sigh and opened her eyes, looking with pleased surprise into the eyes of her brother. He raised her in his arms and hugged her, and she hugged him back vigorously. Then she turned to look round for Cai, giving a little exclamation of dismay when she saw him. She drew away from Neol at once and stumbled over to Cai’s side.
‘Is he dead?’ she cried in anguish.
‘No, but he will be soon – if you don’t help us,’ Brendan said, and he quietly explained what he wanted her to do.
‘Can’t you rouse him yourself?’ said Neol impatiently. ‘My sister has suffered a great deal. I must take her home.’
‘I’m not leaving Cai,’ Elined said quickly, and the look she gave her brother was the look of a woman who loves, and not of a child who is infatuated.
He stared into her eyes for a long, long moment. Hers did not waver.
‘Tell me, my sister,’ he said quietly. ‘I need to know the truth and I will ask you this once and then never again. Did this man really rape you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It was not like that.’
He stood very still and bit his lip, remembering the men who had died for this lie of hers. He might forgive her because he loved her – but he needed time and he needed air. He turned on his heel and left the dank, dark cave, coming out into the sunlight within sight of the hill. The forms of Rheged and Cai were still at work, but there was now no sign of Elined.
He sat on a rock and watched the scene before him . . . no longer thinking about it, or puzzling about it – just watching.
* * * *
It seemed to Cai that he was in a hall of many-faceted mirrors, and in every facet he saw the reflection of himself and Elined. Eagerly he turned to take her in his arms, but found to his dismay that there was no one there. Puzzled, he looked back to the mirror. Her reflection still smiled and lifted its arms to him. Again he turned. Again he found he was alone. There were a thousand images of her – yet not one of flesh and blood.
At last he stopped responding to the images and retreated to the centre of the hall, as far from the misleading mirrors as he could go. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he buried his face in his hands.
‘Elined,’ he whispered. ‘Elined!’ He believed his heart would break.
It was then she came to him, sinking down beside him in her rustling silken dress. She clasped him in her arms and kissed his eyelids. Joyfully he lifted his head and in that moment he saw her as she truly was – and not as an image in a mirror.
* * * *
As Noel watched, suddenly the figures of Cai seemed to stumble, and dissolve into fine dust, which hung in the air for just a moment and then dispersed.
&nbs
p; Only Rheged toiled now.
* * * *
It seemed to Rheged that the rest of the world had ceased to exist and that he alone was toiling in the heat of a summer’s day, to lift block after block of stone. He strained, he sweated, he groaned – each movement an agony – and all for a prodigious labour to which he saw no end. Why he laboured thus, he had no idea. It was toil without meaning; toil without reward; toil without reason. The eyes looking out of his skull saw only another block to lift. He lifted, he carried, he set down – until, suddenly, he noticed that he was building a dark tower . . . and in that moment he decided not to do it . . .
* * * *
As the last image dissolved, the monstrous black winged creatures milled around in great confusion. The tower was only half built, and their slaves were gone. For a while they were at a loss what to do, but then they gathered force and swooped down the hill towards the cave.
As he saw them coming, Neol jumped to his feet and yelled a command. At last he understood what had to be done.
Riders came pouring out from under the trees, arrows and spears flying, swords brandishing . . .
The creatures wheeled and tried to flee . . .
Arrow and wing . . . blood green and red . . . all mingled in a fearful slaughter – but Elined and the others rode away at last – unharmed.
* * * *
On the way back Brendan made a point of riding beside Kicva. He had been impressed with the strength of the concentration and consequent power of her thought-energy. If what he had heard about her was correct, it was sad that this had been so often mis-channelled. He knew that she was popularly consulted as a dispenser of love potions and vengeance spells. But she was a natural healer and could be a great force for good. He wondered what held her back, what diverted her from her true vocation. He would have liked her to join his community, and add her psychic strength to theirs in sending out the light to combat the dark forces of the world. But if she couldn’t bring herself to become a Christian, he wished she would at least take what was good and positive in her own faith and make something of it.
As though made uneasy by his attention, Kicva broke away and rode ahead of the others. She was disturbed by the pleasure she had experienced in working with Brendan in the cave, and the questions she was now beginning to ask herself.
They reached a little stone bridge spanning a stream, and passed over it in single file. A huge old hawthorn tree grew at the water’s edge, its branches pressing against the stone arch. Elined remembered that in spring this tree was a rich cloud of blossom and she had been there once long ago as a child, and, with a friend, had tied a ribbon to it, wishing for a fine and handsome husband. She looked at Cai and smiled secretly. Then she slipped away from the party and slithered down the slope beside the bridge to the banks of the stream. There she gazed up into the branches of the hawthorn to see if she could find her ribbon. Hanging from the branches of the tree, hidden from the riders on the bridge by the summer green, a dozen or more little strips of rag fluttered: some silk, some homespun; all representing a hope, a longing, or a fear.
Elined searched among them and found her ribbon, once blue, now faded almost to white, ragged from the winter storms that had shaken the old tree since she had put it there. Cai clattered down the slope to join her. He said nothing, but smiled as she pointed it out to him, guessing its significance.
‘We should give thanks,’ Elined whispered. He nodded. For a moment they tried to think of an appropriate way, then Cai drew a ring from his little finger, a ring he had had for as many years as that ribbon had hung upon the tree and which he had almost outgrown. He kissed it, touched it to her lips, and then threw it into the stream that flowed past the tree. For a moment it caught in a root that projected into the water, and then broke free and disappeared behind a tiny island of flowering sedges, emerged again, flowing with the stream, and was lost finally in a flurry of white and silver bubbles.
Neol’s shout jolted them out of the precious moment.
They looked up to see that the party had halted and dozens of eyes were staring curiously down on them. Neol was waving impatiently.
When they were on the move again Brendan told Neol he would not be returning to Huandaw’s house with them, but going direct to the community.
‘A pity, sir,’ Neol said. ‘I know my father would want to thank you for what you’ve done for Elined.’
‘I need no thanks,’ Brendan smiled. He looked back over his shoulder at Elined riding with Cai, and at Rheged beside them. ‘But I think those two young knights deserve an apology.’
‘That they’ll have,’ replied Neol. ‘Never fear – they’ll be honoured guests.’ And then he looked at his sister and his lips tightened.
‘And your sister needs forgiveness,’ Brendan prompted quietly. But Neol looked as though he was still undecided about that. ‘She’s learned a lot,’ Brendan continued softly. ‘We all make mistakes.’
‘Even you, Father?’ Neol asked with a slight edge to his voice.
Brendan laughed and nodded. ‘And even you!’ he said with a twinkle.
Neol frowned for a moment, and then grinned. ‘Ay, even I!’ he muttered ruefully.
Chapter 13
The quest
But where to start to look for an emerald that was not an emerald?
Father Brendan had left them and gone off in search of their friends, Cai and Rheged, and Viviane knew it was now up to her to make the decisions. The decision she did make was that they should join in a calling-spell to entreat the help of the Green Lady who had such a special interest in the jewel they must find. This instantly agreed, the five of them prepared to form a circle.
Olwen noticed how Caradawc shuddered as he took one of Idoc’s icy hands, and was glad that it was Viviane, and not she, who must take the other. Gerin stood close beside her and for a time she could not concentrate on the ritual for the racing of her heart. Gradually, however, she began to lose ‘self’ and became conscious only of the energy of the circle as a whole. That energy, it seemed to her, was fluctuating alarmingly now between Idoc’s dark despair and Viviane’s shining hope. One moment Olwen would feel as though she were being dragged down by an unbearably heavy weight. Then she longed to break the circle, yet dared not in case her timidity should cause their quest to fail. At another moment it would seem as though a tremendous force were driving through the circle, and she could feel its vibrations pulse through the arms of Gerin and Caradawc on either side of her. Then she wondered if they felt the same terror she felt. ‘This is not good,’ she thought. ‘This is not a good force!’
She opened her eyes to look across at the princess.
It seemed as though Viviane were being shaken by a giant, invisible hand. Her mouth was formed to utter a scream – though no sound was emitted.
Idoc, beside her, had flared up into a monstrous dark shadow.
Terrified, Olwen tried desperately to break the circle, but found she could not free herself from the grip of the two men on either side. She tried then to cry out a warning to them all, but like Viviane, she could utter no sound. Frantically she prayed that the power that held them would be broken . . . and it seemed that her prayer was soon answered, for the fearful current passing through the circle was wavering and weakening.
Suddenly Viviane opened her eyes and looked around her. Her face lit up with recognition of someone not in the circle – someone beyond them – someone not visible to Olwen.
Earth Lady . . . Lady of the sacred groves . . .
Lady of oak and ash and thorn . . .
speak in the language of the river,
sing with the wren’s song.
I am listening with my stone ears . . .
but I am hearing with my spirit-heart.
Olwen could clearly hear the words, though Viviane did not seem to open her mouth. Her face remained transfigured with light. Olwen no longer felt dragged down. Now she was feather light . . . floating. Her arms and the arms of all the others were drift
ing upwards. Idoc was now standing straight and tall – handsome as the statue of a young god.
Look into the eye of the dawn,
child of the emerald quest.
See the fire that burns all darkness
the lake that slakes all thirst.
‘Lady!’ cried Viviane aloud as she saw her protectress fading from sight.
But the woman of leaves and flowers, clad in the shimmering cloak of forest-green, with the silver moon-sickle brooch at her shoulder, was no longer with them.
Olwen felt Gerin withdraw his hand from hers, and looked round to see the circle breaking up. For the first time she noticed that they had been encircling the mosaic image of the Fish. She wondered if Viviane had chosen that place deliberately, knowing they would need the potency of the symbol as protection during their invocation.
Viviane was looking so dazed and faint that Caradawc gathered her in his arms.
‘I almost gave up . . .’ she shuddered. ‘But then, just at the darkest moment, things seemed to change.’
‘I felt it,’ said Caradawc.
Olwen leant forward eagerly. ‘You saw her?’
Viviane nodded.
‘The Green Lady?’ Gerin asked in awe mixed with disbelief.
Viviane nodded again, her eyes shining with the memory.
‘She was there,’ Olwen affirmed. ‘I didn’t see her, but I heard her speak – or rather I thought I heard her speak.’
Viviane hesitated. It was plain she would rather keep her own counsel about the whole matter.
‘I saw her . . .’ she said at last, hesitantly, ‘and yet I can’t describe her. I heard her voice and yet I can’t tell you what she said. I know only that we should set off towards the sunrise point on the horizon – the point where the light comes back to us after the night. There I’m sure we’ll find way-guides . . .’
‘There was indication of a lake,’ Idoc broke in suddenly, his voice strong and clear. They looked at him in astonishment. For the first time Olwen understood why Viviane would not easily abandon him. There had been nobility there once – and it could return. They all could sense the new resolve in him, the determination to make a fresh start. Viviane took his hands.
The Tower and the Emerald Page 20