But he would not tell her.
‘You will see.’
At last he paused on the ridge of a small hill and looked ahead of him in a way that made Fern realize that they had arrived. She looked to see what it could be.
What she saw was a beautiful little glen, trees of pure gold beside a stream, hills covered with bracken and heather dipping down to join it, huge grey rocks covered with an exquisite patterning of lichen in orange and grey-green, making a natural and almost circular sun trap just above the tree line.
‘There,’ said Karne in triumph, pointing to the flat grassy patch of earth surrounded by the rocks, ‘is the natural place for our home!’
She gasped, her face a study of conflicting emotions.
It was truly beautiful. It was truly home!
But . . .
Karne was not looking at her. He saw only the future.
‘We can use the rocks as part of the house,’ he said. ‘We can build onto them in some way. The garden can spill out through the gaps and run down to the stream. These are still your woods but on the other side . . . the fire did not come this far . . .’
‘Karne . . .’ she said at last, and there was something in her voice that made him look at her in surprise.
She was not smiling with joy and excitement as he had expected her to be. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes dark. A sudden chill came to his heart. Surely she would not refuse to live here with him and be his wife. Surely there could be no doubt . . .
‘Fern?’
She held up her hand as though to keep him from touching her. She shook her head sadly.
‘Oh, Karne, you should have spoken to me before you started to think such things.’
‘But we love each other!’ he cried.
She shook her head miserably.
‘We love each other!’ he repeated with force, seizing her arms and looking desperately into her eyes.
Her eyes were full of pain, but they did not deny what he was saying.
‘It is not as simple as that,’ she said.
‘It is as simple as that,’ he insisted.
‘Let me go, Karne, there are things you do not know . . .’
‘What things?’ he demanded angrily, still not releasing her.
‘Let me go.’
He dropped his hands from her arms, but his eyes were burning into hers.
She was silent for a long time, her heartbeat almost stifling her, but she could not hold back forever.
‘I carry Wardyke’s child,’ she said at last, simply and flatly. Unable to say more.
He recoiled.
She dropped her eyes and could not look at him. She did not dare imagine what was going through his mind. She could feel his presence on the hill, feel the natural things around poised and waiting, the very air strained and tense.
And then the tension snapped. He moved.
She looked up but he was already gone.
She longed to explain, to tell him that she loved him, but the feelings that were conflicting in her heart were too strong and too complex.
She could not even call his name aloud, although in her heart it was called a hundred times.
She watched him as he strode away, and he did not look back.
* * * *
Hours later Fern returned to the village.
Kyra met her with a bright and eager face and a question on her lips, but when she saw Fern’s face the light went out of her own.
‘You told him?’ she said.
Fern nodded and walked past her to the house.
Kyra did not ask any more questions.
Fern spoke quietly but firmly to Kyra’s mother, thanking her for the refuge in her home but saying that she must now return to her own.
‘But you have no home!’ Kyra’s mother cried.
‘I must be with my garden. I have been too long away. I am ashamed I left it when it needed me most. I should have been working there all this time trying to comfort it and to help it grow again.’
Kyra stopped her mother’s protests.
‘Let her go, mother. It is important for her.’
The woman responded to the sudden authority in her daughter’s voice and let Fern go, but she insisted on giving her many things to help her start her life again.
When the kindly villagers who had helped Fern carry all their gifts back to the remnants of her home had left, the evening star was already out.
Fern sat in the midst of the ruined wood and tried to communicate with it. They needed each other. Both in pain and darkness. She laid her suffering close to the charred branches and asked for help as she now offered it. Small voices came to her. Sad voices, lonely. Tears fell from her eyes.
‘I am sorry,’ she whispered.
And then she heard the voice of her little stream calling softly, and went to it. On the banks some tiny shoots of green were beginning to push up defiantly through the blackened earth. They had not even waited for the Spring.
She dried her eyes.
In the morning she would start work on the garden again.
* * * *
For two nights Karne did not return home.
Kyra began to worry about him, and on the second day she set off to visit Fern hoping she could find out what had happened to him. Her mother was convinced he was visiting Fern, but Kyra was not so sure.
She came upon her friend trimming back the dead wood of the berry bushes they had enjoyed so much in the summer. She had worked hard since she had returned, and the concentration on the needs of her plants had helped her to forget her own longings and uncertainties.
She was overjoyed to see Kyra and fairly flung herself at her, but her pleasure was soon snuffed out when she heard that Karne had not been seen since he had left her.
She recalled the whole scene for Kyra and they agreed that from the direction in which he had been seen striding off he had probably gone to the hills where Maal used to go to think.
There was a line of anxiety between Kyra’s eyes. It had been a cold night with frost upon the ground and Karne had not been dressed particularly warmly.
Fern thought of this too and her heart’s pain returned.
‘Will you come with me?’
Fern nodded.
The two girls packed away Fern’s gardening tools and set off to look for Karne.
They searched the hills until they were exhausted but could find no sign of him. They called and called, but no sound other than the cry of birds disturbed from their nesting places returned to them. Hill beyond hill stretched into the blue, enigmatically holding to themselves any secret that they might have.
‘These hills feel empty,’ Fern said sadly at last, and Kyra had to agree with her.
They plodded back to the village, too tired and dispirited to think where else to look. The evening mists were already beginning to gather in the marshy places of the valley, and the sun, although still far from setting, was staining the sky red and turning the hills from blue to purple. They could see the little group of houses, each with its plume of smoke, settled comfortably and pleasantly at the foot of the hill of Sacred Stones. Cattle and sheep were coming in from the pastures. Everything seemed to be drawing inwards to a centre, except for the birds that were flying outwards towards the forests and the hills that lay distantly encircling the little community.
One lone sea bird flew above their heads, crying forlornly for all the world like a child in pain, winging inland as though it had lost its way. But when the sound of it had died down the two girls realized that what sounded like an echo of its lonely cry was something else, a thin and haunting thread of sound coming from the village itself – the horn that called the villagers together at the Meeting Rock.
Kyra and Fern looked at each other and then started to run. It was downhill all the way and they were not far behind the last of the villagers to reach the place.
Expecting to see Wardyke upon the platform rock, everyone was astonished to see Karne, holding the horn to his lips de
fiantly and blowing again and again, the sound resonating through bodies and minds to generate a kind of wild feeling of apprehension and excitement.
As he blew the last note Wardyke came striding towards the platform, his face dark and angry.
The villagers drew back to let him pass.
Karne stood straight and proud, watching him come. A thrill of admiration passed through the villagers. For the first time they had hope that someone was going to be strong enough to stand up to Wardyke.
Wardyke reached the platform, but before he took the steps up to it Karne raised his hand imperiously.
‘No, Wardyke,’ he said, and the villagers noted that he gave him no titles of respect. ‘This meeting is of the people. You are not welcome here.’
Wardyke’s face was a study. He could not believe this slim, fair lad was daring to speak to him like this.
‘Boy,’ he spoke with clipped and disciplined bitterness. ‘Step down or it will be the worse for you.’
‘No, Wardyke,’ Karne held his ground. ‘You step down!’
The people gasped.
A few of Wardyke’s strangers moved forward threateningly, but something in the situation, perhaps the very confidence with which Karne held himself, confused them and they were not quite sure what to do.
The villagers pressed closer to watch what was happening and the strangers could feel the growing strength within them. If Wardyke did not strike soon it might be too late. Everything hung on the knife-edge of tension between Karne and Wardyke.
The air was fraught, silent, the villagers scarcely breathing as they watched to see what would happen.
Kyra and Fern at the back of the crowd clutched each other for comfort.
Wardyke took another step forward.
Karne, eyes blazing with a light of anger and determination that no one had ever seen in them before, took a step forward and made one of Wardyke’s own gestures towards him, thrusting his pointing finger dramatically at him.
‘You will not step upon this stone! You are not fit to be our priest!’
His voice and his sense of command were impressive. He seemed to be a man much taller than his normal self.
By keeping Wardyke from reaching the platform, he was insuring that he was above him and therefore appeared taller. If Wardyke, who was much greater in bulk and height, and who cunningly wore robes and headdresses to accentuate this advantage, once stepped on to the rock Karne would lose visual precedence immediately.
Wardyke tried to take another step, but strangely the passion in Karne was so strong, fed by the resentment and hatred of the villagers supporting him, that he found himself hesitating. This hesitation was his undoing. Kyra helped her brother in every way she knew, clutching the white crystal stone she had found on Maal’s tomb. She used the powers she had to project into Wardyke’s consciousness the image of the boy being stoned, but altered it so that Wardyke would feel he was the boy and everything that had happened to the boy seemed to be happening to him. As the image came pressing in on him, as Karne’s accusing finger powerfully drove into his mind, he tried to fight with all his skill to regain control.
Kyra’s head seemed to be cracking with the pain of concentration. Karne’s will was stretched beyond anything he had ever thought he was capable of. As he out-stared Wardyke, his vision seemed to split and shatter into flying angular shapes of black and scarlet. He could scarcely see the man before him, but he drove his will to concentrate and overthrow straight to the central point of the flying, splintering images. The three began to tremble with the strain, but not one of them would falter. There was no movement, no sound from the waiting crowd. Even Wardyke’s strangers were waiting for the outcome and did not think to touch their weapons.
Wardyke had been called, and on the outcome of this encounter his future and the future of the community hung.
Suddenly Fern moved. She ran lightly and swiftly to the platform and leapt upon it. She joined her strength to Karne’s and in that moment, unnerved by seeing the hate and disdain in the eyes of the woman he desired, feeling the pain in the burning of her trees, Wardyke momentarily faltered and Kyra managed to break through his defences.
The crowd saw him suddenly stumble, his eyes showing fear. He raised his arms to protect his face as though something was attacking him, and in that moment they realized they had won. It was possible to outface Wardyke, the magician.
With a roar they moved forward and Wardyke was lost.
Some of the villagers seized the strangers and fights broke out among them, but the majority moved in on Wardyke. They might have torn him apart had not Karne, who was completely in command, managed to stop them in time.
‘Hold him,’ he cried, ‘but harm him not. There are things we have to do, but killing is not one of them!’
Kyra moved back out of the seething crowd and sat down on the grass, holding her head in her hands. The pain in it was almost blinding her but at least she could relax now. Nothing more was expected of her for a while.
Karne was issuing orders as though he had done it all his life. His face was flushed with excitement and his eyes were very bright. It was not an easy victory he had just won and he was conscious of it, but he was also aware of the necessity to follow it up with action that would not allow Wardyke to regain his power. He had thought the whole thing through by himself in the hills and knew every move he should make.
When Wardyke and his strangers were disarmed, he ordered an election of new Elders to be held there and then, without the long ceremonies of the past, but at least with the justice of fair choice open to the villagers.
Names were put forward and the villagers stamped their feet to indicate approval. The seven who roused the most passionate stamping would be elected, among them some of the original village Elders, and some new ones to replace people like Thorn. Karne’s father was one of the new ones chosen. Karne himself could not be elected as he was not a family man. Thorn’s name was put forward by one voice, but the silence with which it was greeted gave clear indication of what the villagers thought of him.
When they reached the last name to be called, Karne held up his hand for silence and suggested that one of the strangers should be proposed. A murmur of dissent went through the community.
‘These people are living among us whether we like it or not. Most of them have behaved badly but some have not. I do not see that those who wish to live the way we live and work with our community should be penalized because of the viciousness of the others. Choose one among them and let your feelings be known.’
There was silence for a few moments as everyone looked around and thought about it. At first they could see nothing but evil in the strangers and then one or two of them remembered things about some of their new neighbours that were not so bad.
Ji tugged at his father’s arm and when he leant down to hear what he had to say, the boy whispered the name of one of the strangers. He had become friendly with the family and a boy of his own age had often come fishing with him and was helping him to make the sled to haul Fern’s wood.
Karne’s father proposed the father of this boy. There was silence for a moment and then gradually the stamping began, led by Karne. The man was brought forward looking awkward and embarrassed and installed as the seventh Elder. It was in his favour that he had not been noticeably one of Wardyke’s men. His wife burst into tears of joy and one of the villagers’ wives put her arm around her.
Kyra noted this and was pleased.
Fern meanwhile had left the platform almost as soon as she had played her part. She knew she must not distract Karne from his work. Everything depended on swiftness of action while the wave of self-confidence still lasted. Karne had become like a kind of god to them and could do no wrong.
She joined Kyra and the two watched with amazement and admiration how Karne handled the crowd, keeping its baser passions in check, drawing from it commitment to worthwhile action.
The Elders chosen with extraordinary efficiency were instal
led upon the platform almost immediately, in the positions corresponding to the standing stones. Faro, being the eldest, and the one who had served longest as an Elder under Maal, naturally became the leader. But Fern and Kyra noticed how he turned to Karne for guidance on what was to be done next.
‘Wardyke has usurped the place of our true priest,’ the boy said, ‘and we will have to make our own decisions until the gods send us a new one. The first decision to be made is what to do with Wardyke.’
With this Karne left the platform and took his place among the villagers. As he moved among the people, many turned to him and smiled with gratitude and admiration. But he had only one thought in mind now. He had done half of what he had decided to do, but the other half remained.
Torches were being lit and placed round the platform stone as the darkness gathered close around them. Karne could barely make out faces in the dim light, but he had noted where Fern and Kyra were and was quick to seek out the place.
Wood was fetched and an enormous fire was lit to give warmth and light to what was now to be the trial of Wardyke. The villagers who were not taking part directly huddled round it for warmth. The Elders knew whatever decision was made must be made swiftly before Wardyke had a chance to gather his strength again.
He was bound with leather ropes and pushed forward to face the Elders on the platform. With stooping shoulders, his back half bent by the position of the ropes, his arms unable to make those deadly gestures they feared so much, he was reduced in every way. Even his eyes, usually his deadliest weapon, were veiled with fear. He was not used to failing, and failure came hard to him.
His crimes were listed and considered, and while this was happening his one-time supporters crept away one by one, many of them to flee the valley without waiting to pack their belongings.
Some who could have left stayed and added their voices to the accusations against their one-time Lord.
Karne found Fern, firelight flickering on her long copper hair and on her tired but lovely face. He emerged from the crowd and stood before her, his own face a shadow. She could not see his eyes but she knew they were upon her and she felt them almost like a touch upon her body.
The Tall Stones Page 22