Winter Wood

by Steve Augarde

  ‘Maglin!’ Little-Marten somehow found the courage to call out. ‘Have ’ee . . . have ’ee spoken yet?’

  ‘Spoken?’ Maglin turned to scowl up at him, shading his eyes against the bright light. His thinning hair looked greyer than ever in the winter sunshine, the creases on his face deeper and more numerous. ‘Spoken o’ what?’

  ‘To Tadgemole. About . . . Henty.’

  ‘Ah. The Tinkler maid. You’ve still a mind to wed, then? I said that I’d ask for ’ee, didn’t I, come the turn of the season, and if Tadgemole were still against it. As I take it he be.’

  ‘Aye. He’ll have none o’ me.’

  ‘Hm. And what of your own father? What does Fletcher Marten say?’

  ‘He’ll not stand in our way.’

  ‘Oh? And be those his words or your own?’

  Little-Marten said nothing.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell ’ee this, Woodpecker. The day that an Ickri weds a Tinkler, then both’ll be wedded to trouble, that’s certain. Such a thing have never happened yet, and there’s good reason for it; the two don’t mix. Now there’s my say. But now that I be Steward ’tis also my say to grant leave or no. And if Tadgemole will agree to it, then I shall also. Though I think ’ee a pair o’ young fools, I can’t see it’ll bring hurt to any but yourselves. I’ve to speak with Tadgemole directly on other matters, and I’ll put in a word for ’ee. Now that’s all I can promise. To your work, then.’

  ‘Aye. And . . . and thank ’ee, Maglin.’

  ‘Hmf.’

  Maglin left Royal Clearing and followed the narrow woodland pathway that led down towards the caves. The dry rattle of the woodpecker sounded among the treetops, Little-Marten drumming out Queen’s Herald for the final time. The lad was too thin, thought Maglin, his wrists no thicker than the clavensticks that he wielded. Ah, but they were all too thin nowadays, lads and maids and stewards alike.

  What a cuckoo’s errand this was. He was astonished at himself for agreeing to do it. Still, there it was. He had been flattered that Little-Marten and the Tinkler maid had come to him and begged him to plead their cause, and obviously thought him so powerful and wise that he could successfully do so. He found that he had a soft spot for the Woodpecker, honest little fool that he was, and the maid seemed properly respectful. But to wed! An Ickri and a Tinkler! Such a thing was unheard of, and he was not surprised that the idea had been turned down. Yet what did these things matter, when all tribes were likely to perish?

  Maglin climbed awkwardly up the bank of loose shale that fronted the main cave. He waited for a moment until he had caught his breath, and then shouted, ‘Ho there! Are any of ’ee about?’

  He peered into the gloom. Now that he was here he felt foolish, and was in half a mind to turn on his heel without waiting for a response. The cave-dwellers were no friends of his – less so now than they had ever been – and he began to wonder what business he had being here at all. But then he saw movement at the back of the cave. A figure crept forward, some old Troggle-dame, bearing an armful of sticks by the seem of it.

  ‘What do ’ee want?’

  ‘I’ve come to talk with Tadgemole. Tell him that Maglin is here for him.’

  ‘Maglin?’ The scraggy creature shuffled a little closer, squinting into the light. ‘Be you a heathen?’

  ‘A heathen? I’ll give ’ee . . . just you get back there and bring Tadgemole to me.’

  ‘Goppo!’ The old dame turned and faded back into the darkness. ‘Gop! Shift thee bones, and goo and find Tadgemole. Tell ’un there be one o’ they heathens at the wind-’ole. Come to see ’un.’

  Maglin took a deep breath, but held his tongue. This was becoming ever more ridiculous.

  Eventually, just when Maglin felt that his patience was being made mockery of, Tadgemole appeared. The leader of the cave-dwellers was dressed in grey, as always, and, again as always, he carried that air about him of one who thinks himself a little above all others.

  ‘Maglin.’ His greeting was cool, suspicious even.

  ‘Tadgemole. I find you hale and well, then?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Only I thought perhaps to see thee abroad today. For the Queen’s passing.’

  ‘She was not my Queen, Maglin.’

  ‘’Twould have been a respect, though. Did she bring thee any harm?’

  ‘No. Nor any good.’

  It was a poor beginning. Maglin understood that he was not to be invited further into the cave, for Tadgemole took a step forward and stood at the entrance with his arms folded. It was almost as though he were barring the way. Maglin could see others of the cave-dwellers now, a little knot of them gathering in the far shadows. He thought he recognized Henty among them.

  ‘Yet you came to the muster of the tribes, Tadgemole, this summer last when Pegs were missing. And you allowed two of your own to join in searching for him.’

  ‘I thought that a matter of importance. A matter that might affect the safety of us all.’

  Maglin let it drop. He was here to talk about the future of the tribes, not to argue. But first he would tackle that other business.

  ‘You’ve a daughter,’ he said, glancing over Tadgemole’s shoulder. ‘Henty. ’Tis her wish to be joined to Little-Marten, of the Ickri tribe. And he to her.’

  ‘Ah. And you are here to forbid it. Now that you are King, you think to have a say in these affairs, whether they concern you or not. I wonder that you bring word in person over such a trifle, Maglin. A lowling might have served as well.’

  ‘I am Steward, not King, and I am here to grant leave, not to forbid it.’

  ‘Steward or King, Maglin, you seek to rule – and to be one that may grant leave or not, at your whim. Well in this, at least, I have some say. And I do not grant such leave. Whilst I breathe, my daughter shall not be given to an Ickri heathen.’

  ‘Tread warily, Tadgemole.’ Maglin felt his temper rising. ‘I’ll not be ridden far by one of your kind.’

  ‘One of my kind? You come to this dwelling with a spear in your fist, granting leave that the highest of mine may be gifted to the lowest of yours – and you think it a fair match?’

  ‘Aye – I think it a fair match!’ Maglin’s blood was up now. ‘The Woodpecker may never make an archer, nor even a fletcher like his father, but he’ve a position and a skill.’

  ‘I know full well what his position is, Maglin, and where his skill lies. His position was to come crawling to us upon his knees, as a seeker of refuge in our dwelling when his own were like to hunt him down. His skill was to entwine himself about my daughter, when my eyes were elsewhere. I was fool enough to take him in, and my daughter was fool enough to listen to his wiles. As to being an archer – he could be ruler of the Ickri, for all I’d care, and my answer would be the same. He would still be an Ickri. And I’ll tell you this, Steward: if I see that young squab lurking about this place again, I’ll not answer for his skin.’

  ‘You think to threaten one o’ mine?’ Maglin shook his spear in Tadgemole’s face. ‘An Ickri? Then why any Ickri should want aught to do with a Tinkler’s spalpeen is beyond my grasping. ’Tis Little-Marten that’s the fool – and I a bigger one for hearing him out. And a bigger one yet to think of mixing our blood with yourn! Look out for your own, then – and to your own skins. We s’ll do the same and reckon ourselves the better for it! I came here to talk o’ more important things, Tadgemole, but I s’ll waste no more time on ’ee. You’ll not see me here again, nor the Woodpecker neither.’

  Maglin turned and began to slither down the bank of shale. He very nearly lost his footing, and had to spread his wings in order to save himself. As he reached the bottom of the bank he turned again and looked upwards, thinking to hurl a last remark at Tadgemole. But the grey figure had already gone, and this incensed Maglin more than ever. Pah! He strode through the darkening woods, lashing out with his spear at any stalk or tendril that dared stray across his path. So much for his power and his wisdom. So much for his weak notions on intermingling the tr
ibes. What had he achieved? Nothing. He hadn’t even got as far as mentioning the main reason for his visit – to persuade Tadgemole that the time had come to leave. Well, let them be, then. The cave-dwellers could roast on a Gorji spit for all he cared.

  A flash of white caught his eye – something lurking amid the clump of trees ahead of him. Maglin slowed his furious pace, hesitated, then deliberately changed his direction. He’d recognized the pale form of Pegs, and was in no mood for any passing conversation with that witchi creature. He’d had enough foolish talk for one day.

  The following evening Maglin called a Counsel of the Elders. He had dallied for long enough. Now that the old Queen had passed to another life it was time to talk properly of the future of the Various.

  Together they sat in the cramped and creaky interior of Counsel Pod – Maglin and the three Elders: Crozer of the Ickri, Ardel of the Naiad, and Damsk of the Wisp. Their grizzled faces were lit only by the glow of the earthenware charcoal burner that hung from the wicker roof, suspended low on its long rusty chain. They each spread their palms towards its smoky warmth.

  ‘Our time grows ever shorter,’ said Maglin. ‘And these woods ever more dangerous. Now that there are those who know we are here, the day must come when all will learn of it and fall upon us. We must decide: to move on whilst we can and hope to chance upon some safer refuge, or to hold until the last. Let each have his say, then. Ardel – what from you? Speak for the Naiad.’

  Ardel cleared his throat. He seemed embarrassed, uncomfortable. ‘The Naiad will stay,’ he said. ‘And the Wisp also. Damsk and I have already spoken together of this.’

  ‘What? Spoken together?’ Maglin looked from one to the other, first in surprise, then in anger. ‘And you have made such decision without me?’

  ‘We have – and long since. There is naught to be gained in forsaking the forest, Maglin. Not for us. The Wisp already tread by night upon the heelmarks that the Gorji leave by day. They would be no safer elsewhere. And the Naiad neither hunt nor fish. We are crop-growers, travellers no more. Without our plantations we should not survive long. We shall advise our tribes to stay and meet with whatever comes.’

  Maglin threw a furious glance at Crozer. Had the Ickri Elder known of this decision?

  Crozer shrugged and said, ‘There be other reasons to stay, Maglin. What if the Orbis should ever return? Should we not be here to take it?’

  ‘Pah! Orbis! I’ve no time for such blether, and have heard too much of the like from Pegs wi’ his witchi talk of Elysse and our “other lives”. ’Tis this life I’ve to think of, and how we may act today.’ Maglin leaned forward and jabbed his forefinger against Ardel’s knee. ‘You’d do well to keep beneath the wings of the strongest – and that’s we, the Ickri. My own thinking is to quit this place whilst we may.’

  ‘Then you think like a fool.’ The reedy voice of Damsk was raised for the first time.

  ‘What’s this, you old wosbird? You name me Steward and then dare call me fool?’

  ‘Aye. You be Steward by right, Maglin, but not by our choice. What good would it do to leave our homes? Where should we go, and how should we travel? There be those here that can scarce cross Royal Clearing, let alone cross Gorji lands to who knows where.’

  ‘Then all should perish here for the sake of the few that be too idle to move?’ cried Maglin. ‘I’ve more skins than yours to save! What do your old bag o’ bones matter when there be young ’uns that go starving? If I say the Ickri leave, then leave we shall! Aye, and along with any that will join us—’

  ‘Maglin, Maglin . . .’ Crozer intervened, raising his withered arms for peace. ‘’Tis no good to shout. If the tribes are to be divided in this, then so be it. But let us try to think—’

  ‘Traitors!’ Maglin was not yet calm.

  ‘. . . to think of what may come, and act each for the best. Of what may come, I say – for we cannot know for sure. Do the Gorji childer keep our secret still? We have seen naught of them. Is it certain that they will bring us harm? And if the giants come, shall we not have warning? The Ickri archers are in the treetops by day, and the Wisp are abroad by night. ’Twould not be so easy to take us unawares – and the briars would keep the Gorji at bay for a half-day at the least. We might escape by whatever tunnel was furthest from ’em, if ever we truly needed to.’

  ‘Aye, we might escape.’ Maglin struggled to his feet, the wicker pod swaying a little as he pushed himself upright. ‘But how far should we get? The giants’d be close enough on our heels to have us all skewered by first nightfall. Fools! ’Tis better we go from here before they come than wait till we’re driven out. Now there’s my say on it, and you’ll either take heed or you won’t. Crozer, you may stay with your fellows to argue some sense into their mazy heads if you wish, but I’ve had enough o’ them – as they have o’ me, it seems. Well, then, let them choose their own path. I’m away.’

  Maglin swept aside the entrance cloth of Counsel Pod, spread his wings, and jumped down to the ground. He landed heavily, and was forced to make use of his spear for some temporary support. As he hopped and hobbled his way across Royal Clearing, Maglin spotted the humpty-backed little figure of Maven-the-Green scurrying away through the trees. She glanced over her shoulder at him, before melting into the deepening shadows. By Elysse, but that one could move quickly when she wanted to. The old hag quite put him to shame. Maglin winced as he continued with his own far slower progress home.

  Ribbons of grey mist hung about the entrance of the dark cave as Massie hobbled from lamp to lamp, the lighted taper unsteady in her shivering hand. The old Troggle-dame muttered to herself as she coaxed the oily wicks, one by one, into catching the flame.

  ‘Come on with ’ee then . . . old Massie don’t have all night. Brr! I be all of a shake. Eh? What’s that?’ She paused, and looked about her in confusion. ‘What did ’ee say? Who’s there?’

  Again she caught it – a soft voice that echoed in her head – yet the words came not in sound but in colours . . . bursts of blue and green and grey.

  Dame, do you not hear? Bring Tadgemole to me. I must meet with him.

  Massie peered fearfully into the mist that came drifting over the lip of the cave. A pale and unearthly creature was standing there, half illuminated by the flicker of the lavender lamps. It was looking at her. Some heathen thing . . . with silvery mane and tail . . . and wings. A horse!

  The guttering taper dropped from Massie’s hand as she backed away. She would have to give up her post as lamplighter if such outlandish beings were to keep appearing at the wind-hole.

  Henty shrank back into the shadows, trying to make sure that her father didn’t see her. He would be angrier than ever with her if he knew that she was spying on him, but she was curious to learn why this astonishing creature had come to the caves – the winged horse. And now that she had heard what he had to say, she could not leave.

  She watched as Tadgemole drew his heavy cloak about his shoulders and spoke again to Pegs.

  ‘How did you learn of this?’ he said. ‘And why should I heed the word of one such as you?’

  I speak the truth, Tadgemole, and I learn as you do – from that which I see and hear. You will be deserted. All that dwell in the forest fear the coming of the Gorji, and now Maglin makes plans to leave. Not this day, perhaps, nor the morrow, but within a moon he is like to go, and all his tribe with him, to seek for safer lands. Many others of the Wisp and Naiad may follow him also in the end, I fear.

  Tadgemole turned from Pegs and stared at the ground. When at last he raised his head again, his expression had changed. The deep lines around his jaw had hardened, and his voice cracked with anger.

  ‘So. Maglin would run. We come to this then – aye, and as I always knew in my heart that we should. The heathen Ickri would desert us all to save their own skins. They were ever thus – faithless cowards, for all their braggardly talk. And Maglin has shown himself to be the worst of them. So now they plan to steal shameless into the night. Fools.’ Tadgem
ole took a deep breath. ‘Like scavenging foxes they came here, and like foxes they run. Well, away with them, then. Why should I care? I’ll not be sorry to see their tails.’

  You should not wish to see them go, Tadgemole. Without the Ickri archers to guard the tunnels and keep watch from the treetops this will be a more dangerous place. There will be no warning if the giants should come. And remember this: if the Ickri leave, then the Stone will leave with them also. Though Maglin has no belief in such things, yet he is Keeper of the Stone by right, and he will take it with him.

  Tadgemole looked at Pegs once more. ‘Ah yes. The Touchstone. And what of you, horse? Where is your purpose in this? I cannot recall that you have ever shown a care towards my people before. Why do you come to warn us now? What do you seek to gain?’

  My purpose is common to yours, Tadgemole, and becomes ever clearer to me as the seasons pass. I seek only what you seek, and hope but to gain what you would gain – the return of the Orbis, and the pathway to Elysse.

  ‘The Orbis? Now there is a word I rarely hear, and I wonder to hear it now from so strange a one as you. The Orbis was lost to us longseasons ago, my friend – taken from here for safekeeping when the thieving Ickri first returned from the northlands. What would a Naiad horse know of such things?’

  I am not of the Naiad – nor alike to any animal of their breeding. I know that the Orbis was carried to safety by a Gorji maid, lest Corben, false King of the Ickri, should steal it from the cave-dwellers. The maid was named Celandine, and a friend she was to your kind. You sing of her still.

  ‘Aye, we do.’ Tadgemole put his head to one side and studied the winged beast before him. ‘I have given thought to you many times,’ he said, ‘and often wondered at your being. I know your name – Pegs – but I never saw nor heard the like of you before. Nor ever read of such a creature in our almanacs. What are you?’

  I am a traveller. A wayfarer. I am one who began a journey long ago, yet failed to reach its end. I was upon this earth before, Tadgemole, though never in this place. We live and die and are born to live again. And across the reach of time we live still, in so many other lives that truly we are all but one. One life in many forms. I am here to finish the journey that I once began, and to that same early purpose: to bring my fellow travellers home.