Land of the Silver Dragon

by Alys Clare

  ‘Skuli and his men tried to attack my parents’ home last night,’ I began, ‘and—’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ Hrype interrupted. ‘Sibert came to tell us.’

  ‘Oh.’ I was temporarily silenced. Then I rallied. ‘He was threatening to hurt the little ones, Leir and Ailsi,’ I plunged on, ‘to force me to tell him where this magical shining stone is hidden, but it would all have been for nothing, because I don’t know.’ I paused, the dreadful memories of last night returning in force. ‘I thought he was going to kill me,’ I whispered. ‘Out there on the track, when Hrype was wounded and Skuli’s men surrounded us, he made me kneel and I watched him draw his knife to cut my throat.’ A shudder went through me. ‘I told him I couldn’t find his stone!’ I burst out. ‘I was on my way back from the only place I’d thought of where it might be, but I was wrong. I really have no idea. And why?’ I went on, all but shouting now. ‘What’s it all for? All these threats, to the little ones, to me? Maiming, killing? What is this stone, that Skuli was prepared to do such terrible things in order to possess it?’

  The echo of my hot, angry words died away, and there was silence in the little room. I was staring into the fire, but then an almost imperceptible movement caught my eye: Edild, shaking her head at Hrype’s look of enquiry.

  ‘What?’ I stared from one to the other. ‘What?’

  Hrype’s eyes were still fixed on my aunt. ‘Tell her,’ he said softly. Again, she shook her head. ‘Edild, it’s time,’ he said more firmly. ‘After all Lassair has been through, don’t you think she deserves to know what lies at the heart of all this?’

  Edild was staring intently at me, her eyes boring right into me. Slowly she shook her head. ‘It was not to be until she was older,’ she muttered. ‘She cannot surely have sufficient strength yet, and I would not put this upon her before she is fit to bear it.’

  What was she talking about? What was this secret that I might or might not be strong enough to be told? I opened my mouth, about to protest that, whatever it was, what I’d just endured had toughened me up as if I’d fought a war, but Edild and Hrype had eyes only for each other. I might not have even been in the room.

  ‘Edild, how will you know when she is fit?’ Hrype was softly asking. ‘What specific test must she pass, and has she not already shown she is equal to far more than we have any right to expect her to be?’

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I had impressed Hrype! He had just said as much! Before the surge of joy that this knowledge gave me could stop my ears to anything else, I put it aside and made myself concentrate.

  ‘But what if I judge wrong? What if—?’ As if suddenly recalling my presence, Edild stopped. She turned to look at me, on her face an expression I had never seen before.

  It was ... could it be ... respect?

  No. It couldn’t. My aunt was my teacher, cool-headed, efficient, demanding of me all that I could give and grudging in her praise. Of course it wasn’t respect.

  With a grunt of pain, Hrype reached for her hand. ‘Edild, it is time,’ he said, all but inaudibly. ‘You know it is.’

  Briefly Edild closed her eyes, her face full of anguish. Then she squeezed Hrype’s hand, gave him a swift smile and, disengaging herself, got to her feet.

  She looked down at Hrype, and I thought that some unspoken question passed from her to him. He shook his head. Then, turning to me, she said, ‘Wrap up warmly in your shawl, Lassair. Despite the season, it is growing chilly outside.’

  She picked up a lantern, then gathered up her own shawl, tied it briskly around her and headed for the door. I went outside after her, and followed her down the path away from the house.

  I had no idea where we could be going. In the distance, the glow of fire and lamp light came from several of the village dwellings, but Edild’s house is on the edge of the settlement, and we did not pass close by any of our neighbours. We were not heading for the village: when we reached the track, Edild turned left, towards the church and, further away, Lord Gilbert’s manor of Lakehall.

  Were we going to see him? Whatever could this matter have to do with the lord of our manor? Had he ...?

  Even before we reached the church, abruptly Edild left the track, turning to the right, out across the open fen and the water beyond.

  The darkness seemed to settle around us. I told myself I wasn’t afraid, but I could not quite believe it.

  I stumbled along, keeping the dark, upright figure of my aunt in view. I did not want to lose sight of her. I was beset by the unreasonable fear that, if I did, she would judge that made me unfit for whatever secret she was about to tell me.

  We drew close to the water. I could hear gentle little waves plopping softly on the marsh edge. I reckoned I knew where we were heading.

  It was quite a lot warmer than when I had last made the crossing, but nevertheless the water struck icy-chill as we waded over to the island. I clambered up the bank after my aunt, trying to wring out the hem of my skirt where I had let it drag in the water.

  Edild stopped, so suddenly that I bumped into her. She took out her flint, and, striking a spark, lit the wick inside her lantern. Then she strode off across the island.

  I thought at first that we were going to the grave of one of the mighty ancestors. Perhaps the secret was connected with Vigge, who died defending King Edmund of the East Angles from the Vikings. Perhaps a sword with magical powers lay buried with him, which Edild was going to give to Hrype in case Skuli came back, so that he could face Skuli on equal terms. I pictured Skuli and his giants, alongside them Hrype’s slender strength. It would have to be a wonder weapon indeed, for him to stand any chance.

  Or maybe our goal was the grave of Ceadda, Keeper of Swans. His very name was magic to my kin, and it was said that he possessed extraordinary powers.

  But Edild had not gone as far as the humps that marked the old graves of the distant ancestors. Already she had stopped and now, as I watched her, she was dropping down on to the grass. She put down the lantern and knelt beside the most recent grave: my Granny Cordeilla’s.

  I shook my head, not even beginning to understand. I knew what was in the grave, beside my grandmother’s tiny body in its shroud. I knew, because I’d seen her there. We had sent her on to the afterlife with the possessions she had treasured in life. The fine bone comb; some loom weights; the tiny earthenware cup with a flower painted on it. Small, everyday objects, not one of them of any value except to the woman who had handled them and loved them. Not one of them any good against the foe who had so ruthlessly threatened our family.

  Edild beckoned to me, and I hurried to help her shift the large, heavy slab that covered the grave. A generous layer of earth now covered it, and I heard the sound of grass stems and roots tearing.

  The open grave yawned beneath us.

  Edild knelt for a moment, lips moving in prayer. I guessed she would add an apology to Granny Cordeilla for the disturbance. I didn’t want to look down; I had a fair idea what would be in the grave, and, as far as I was concerned, it was just the bodily remains; what was left of the flesh and bone that had housed Granny in her life. The real Granny Cordeilla – the big, generous heart, the love, the humour, the spirit – had long fled the earth. Not that I didn’t still feel her close – I did, I do, and very often I even get a brief glimpse of her.

  I sensed movement. I turned my head, and saw that Edild was lying flat on the ground, reaching with one hand down into the grave.

  I waited.

  A quick smile of satisfaction crossed her anxious face. She straightened up, then turned back to the grave and murmured more incantations. Once again, she nodded to me, and together we replaced the slab.

  She straightened up, and for a long moment stood with bowed head and closed eyes. I had no idea what was happening, but we had just been in Granny’s presence, and the sense of her was strong. I too closed my eyes and, in the privacy of my own head, spoke to her.

  I felt Edild’s touch on my arm. Opening my eyes, I saw her
incline her head, and she stepped a few paces away from Granny’s grave. I followed her.

  She turned to me, and I saw her draw in a breath and square her shoulders, as if in preparation for some difficult task that would take all her strength. She held the lantern up high, in her left hand, and I saw that in the palm of her other hand lay an object, perhaps the size of her two closed fists, maybe a little smaller, wrapped in a length of worn sacking.

  ‘That wasn’t in Granny’s grave!’ I said. A stupid remark, quite evidently wrong since Granny’s grave was precisely the place from where Edild had just extracted whatever it was.

  ‘Not when you last saw inside; no, it wasn’t,’ Edild agreed. Then, watching me intently, she said, ‘Lassair, do you recall the sequence of events, that morning you came back after Cordeilla’s funeral rites?’

  I did. It would be virtually impossible to forget, since I’d found the slab askew and, widening the gap, discovered there was another body down there beside Granny1. I’d raced back to fetch Edild, and we managed to get the other body out of the grave. Then Edild had sent me to the village for help, leaving her alone beside the grave.

  Had the slab been back in place when I returned? I thought it had, although I couldn’t now be sure.

  And had Edild used the time of my absence to slip whatever it was she now held into the grave? Where it was hidden in a secret place known only to her?

  I stared into her eyes. Slowly she nodded. ‘Yes, I did. I put it in there with her that morning, while you were running to the village.’

  ‘But ... but how did you know you’d get that opportunity?’ I demanded.

  ‘I didn’t – of course I didn’t,’ she said impatiently. ‘I was going to hide it later that day, probably at dusk when I was unlikely to be seen. In the meantime, I kept it in a leather bag, attached to my belt under my over gown. And it’s quite heavy,’ she added, glancing at the sacking-wrapped object.

  ‘Why did you have to hide it so carefully?’ I asked.

  She looked straight into my eyes. ‘Because at all costs you weren’t to find it.’

  ‘Me?’ It came out as a squeak.

  ‘I had been left clear instructions. This is for Lassair, when she is old enough and wise enough to know how to use it, and to treat it with the respect and the awe it demands. In the meantime, I was to hide it so well that nobody would be able to find it.’

  ‘So you put it in with Granny,’ I whispered. In a flash like a sudden shaft of light, something occurred to me. ‘That was why you were so worried, that day when I told you I’d been out to the island to check that Granny’s grave hadn’t been disturbed!’ I cried, my voice rising with excitement. ‘When I found those signs that someone had been digging the recent graves in the churchyard, remember? You went so white I thought you were going to faint, and I thought it was because you were worried for my safety! You weren’t – you were suddenly terrified I’d report that someone had robbed Granny’s grave, and it was that – that thing you’re clutching – that you were so worried about!’

  ‘Hush,’ Edild said warningly. ‘Yes. I was afraid you’d given away the hiding place,’ she admitted. ‘I’m sorry, Lassair. Of course I was concerned for you too, but I confess that, in the first moment, you weren’t the most important aspect.’

  I grunted a grudging acceptance of the apology.

  Then I recalled what she’d just said: This is for Lassair, when she is old enough and wise enough.

  I stared at her. ‘Am I old and wise enough, Edild?’

  I fervently hoped so. I’d been through so much over the past few weeks, enduring abduction, fear, pain, homesickness, sorrow, and, worst of all, the very recent memory of Skuli’s terrible threat hanging over me unless I did the impossible and found his shining stone for him.

  I felt I deserved some reward, and, you never knew, this mystery object might turn into something I might find useful. From what Edild had said, it sounded as if it had power ...

  A trickle of excitement ran up my spine, swiftly followed by another, much stronger one.

  I was in the presence of some unknown, potent force.

  Edild met my eyes. ‘It is time,’ she whispered.

  Slowly she extended her right hand, and I held out both of mine. Slowly, reverently, she put the sacking-wrapped object into my hands, gently closing my fingers over it. ‘And so it comes to pass,’ she intoned, ‘as it was foretold, that this is transferred from he who gave it away, into the hands of she who, it was believed, would one day be the right one to receive it.’

  To my utter amazement, she gave me a low bow. Then she stepped back.

  Beyond the village behind us, the moon was just rising above the horizon. It was almost full, and its light shone brightly in the indigo, star-studded sky. There was no more need of lantern light: the spirits had provided all the illumination necessary. In the first brilliance of the night, I unwrapped the sacking and gazed at what I held.

  It was a heavy glass ball, dense, black, and it might have been made to fit my hands. My fingers met around its circumference, their tips forming a neat, supportive, interlinked pattern, almost like a cage of bone, sinew and flesh. My flesh.

  I knew just exactly how it liked to be held: I swear I did. It was as if I had performed the action many, many times.

  I stared down into its dark depths and noticed a sudden flash of green. Then, almost instantaneously, the moon’s rays caught a different area of the perfectly smooth surface, and a dazzling gold light shone out at me.

  I had barely finished admiring its wonderful beauty when, as if it had been waiting, its power burst out and hit me square in the chest.

  Edild helped me to sit, then, my knees still trembling, to stand. My backside was sore; I had not let go of the stone, and as a consequence I had gone straight down, not breaking my fall with my hands.

  ‘It’s safe,’ I said quickly to Edild. ‘I held it firmly.’

  Her mouth twisted. ‘It looks after itself,’ she murmured.

  I felt a stab of alarm. To take my mind off it, I examined the shining stone again. I sensed its power, just there beneath its black, gleaming surface, but it was veiled. For now.

  Presently I looked up at Edild. ‘Why me?’

  Edild understood. ‘Because Granny said so. You were the one. You were the natural inheritor, she said.’

  ‘But why was I? Why not you? Or one of my siblings? And how did she know?’

  ‘She understood what the stone was,’ Edild replied. ‘Also, she guessed – no, she knew – what you would become. You weren’t ready then, when she died, so she told me to hide it and give it to you when the time came.’

  ‘And that time is now? Really and truly?’ It was a thrilling thought.

  Edild smiled grimly. ‘I would have said not, but events have overtaken us.’ She studied me, frowning. ‘You are ready, Lassair.’ She muttered something else which sounded like, ‘You’ll have to be.’

  My mind was galloping, busy with how and why. How did Granny come to have the stone? She must have known Thorfinn’s little healer, whoever she was, but why had the woman given the precious thing to Granny?

  Edild reached down a hand and helped me up. ‘How did the stone ...?’ I began, but she shook her head.

  ‘I know what you’re going to ask,’ she said, ‘but it’s no use, because I do not know.’ She sighed. ‘My task was simply to conceal it and give it to you when the time came. That I have done.’

  She spun round, away from me, and I could not see her face. I did not need to, for I had heard the hurt in her voice. My Granny Cordeilla – Edild’s own mother – had entrusted her with an important task, yes. But she had not seen fit to explain everything to her daughter; to reveal to her the full story.

  Which, of course, meant that I wasn’t going to know it either.

  Frustration seethed in me. As if the stone picked up my mood (surely not!) I felt a sudden heat in it. In my mind I heard Thorfinn’s deep voice: If a man believes himself up to the challenge
, the stone will bring him face to face with himself.

  Was that what had just happened? Had the stone picked up my hot irritation and flashed it back at me?

  It was a frightening thought.

  Edild was walking away, back towards the water and, beyond it, the further shore. We would have to make that cold crossing once more. With a sigh, I wrapped the shining stone in its sacking and went after her.

  We were on our way back to the village. We had not gone far when I saw someone standing quite still, waiting for us.

  Straight away I saw, with huge relief, that the figure was not big or burly enough to be Skuli. My heartbeat slowed down.

  Then I realized who it was.

  Edild, perhaps with the eyes of love, had recognized him before I did, and was already running up to him, catching hold of his hands, muttering that he should not be out here in the cold when he had lately been so sorely injured. Gently but firmly he took her anxious hands away, and I heard him say, ‘Do not worry, sweet. I will take no harm.’

  ‘Come home!’ Edild urged. Her face was taut with worry.

  But Hrype shook his head. ‘Not yet, Edild.’ He glanced at me, then back at Edild. ‘Go on back,’ he said to her gently. ‘Build up the fire, prepare a restorative. We will not be long.’

  ‘You propose to stay out here? But ...’

  He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her so that she faced the village and gave her a small push. ‘Go, Edild,’ he repeated. ‘I must speak to Lassair.’

  She resisted for a long moment. Then she seemed to slump. Shaking her head, she began to walk away, her pace quickening so that soon she was almost running.

  I stared after her. I felt very, very sorry for her.

  But then, with renewed alarm, I heard again what Hrype had just said. What could he have to say to me, and why could Edild not stay to hear it?

  Hrype and I stood out there on the marsh in the moonlight, and, hardly daring to breathe, I waited for him to speak.

  ‘There was a secret, in the keeping of a dying woman,’ he said, right in my ear. Without my noticing, he had silently come to stand right beside me. ‘The secret had two distinct elements, which were passed to two different people, neither permitted to know the element entrusted to the other. I did not know until this night where Edild had hidden the stone, and, even now, I am only guessing.’ He paused, and I saw that his eyes were fixed on the sacking-wrapped object in my hands. ‘The other part of the secret – the reason for the stone’s destiny – was placed solely in my care.’