Winter Wood

by Steve Augarde

  There. That altered the superior expression on Ictor’s bearded face.

  ‘The Gorji maid?’ Ictor’s pale grey eyes narrowed, and Little-Marten felt powerful in the knowledge that he carried. Maglin would be equally impressed at this news, and would surely forgive him for deserting his Perch.

  ‘Aye.’ Little-Marten pulled himself upright. ‘She comes to the forest this very day, she and another. They’m bringing the Orbis, and Maglin shall hear of it directly. I’m away to his pod.’

  ‘No!’ Ictor held out an arm, barring Little-Marten’s passage, and for a moment it seemed a threatening gesture. But then he said, ‘Thee’ll not find Maglin in his pod.’ His voice grew gentler. ‘I were talking with him not a moment since. He be . . . walking the bounds.’ Ictor withdrew his arm and pointed away to his left. ‘Follow on around. Thee s’ll overtake him soon enough.’

  ‘That way?’

  ‘Aye. That way – and thee’ve no need to fear. If the maid arrives, I s’ll keep her safe till Maglin comes. But what did ’ee say, Woodpecker – that she were coming with another?’

  ‘’Tis another Gorji chi’. A lad that be kin to her, I reckon. He means us no harm.’

  ‘So there be two of ’em?’

  Little-Marten shrugged his shoulders. ‘Aye.’

  Ictor scowled, but said, ‘So be it, then. I s’ll take care o’ both.’

  Little-Marten felt vaguely hesitant as he and Henty began to move away, but then Ictor said, ‘And thee’ve done well – the pair of ’ee. But mark ’ee, Woodpecker’ – Little-Marten turned – ‘’twould be best if thee spoke of this to none but Maglin. He’d be angered not to learn of it first. Send him here alone, when thee finds him.’

  ‘Aye.’ Little-Marten and Henty set off along the trodden path that bounded the East Wood. When they were out of earshot, Henty whispered, ‘I thought that one were a captain. What does he do standing tunnel-go?’

  ‘Casn’t say,’ said Little-Marten. ‘Perhaps he’ve fallen wrong side o’ Maglin. He were high captain of the old Queen’s Guard. Ictor, he be called, and he were brother . . . to Scurl.’

  Little-Marten came to a halt. Brother to Scurl . . .

  ‘What?’ said Henty. ‘What’ll he do then, if he learns that Scurl have died? What if that Gorji maid should tell him?’

  Little-Marten shook his head. ‘Dunno. All here reckoned Scurl to be dead already. Maybe it wouldn’t make no difference to ’un one way or t’other.’

  ‘And maybe it would,’ said Henty. ‘I didn’t like his look, I know that. We’d best hurry.’

  They quickened their pace, following the path that bordered East Wood, but saw no sign of Maglin. Little-Marten was still soaked through and shivering with the cold.

  ‘I reckon we’ve missed him,’ he said. ‘P’raps he’ve gone back up to the clearing.’

  ‘Ho – Woodpecker!’ A shout from above.

  They looked up to see a group of Naiad foragers – four or five youngsters – working the high banks above them. Sorrel-picking, by the seem of it. Grinning faces took in Little-Marten’s dishevelled state.

  ‘Didst have to swim home, then, Woodpecker? Have ’ee been chasing arter eels?’

  ‘Heh. An eel have been chasing he, by the look of ’un.’

  Little-Marten ignored their chaff. ‘We’m trying to catch up wi’ Maglin,’ he shouted up. ‘Did he come this way?’

  ‘Naw. He’ve not come by here.’ One of the lads popped a sorrel leaf in his mouth and chewed on it. ‘We should ha’ seen ’un.’

  Another said, ‘I saw ’un, though, in Royal Clearing, just afore we come down. He were climbing ladder to Counsel Pod. You be on the wrong path, Woodpecker.’

  Little-Marten looked at Henty. It was clear that Ictor had misled them. Now they really were worried.

  ‘We’d best give this up and get to Counsel Pod,’ muttered Little-Marten. ‘And quick as we might. I don’t know what Ictor be at, but he don’t mean any good by it that I can see. And I don’t like the thought o’ Midge meeting up with ’un.’

  They left the path and began to make their way up through the woods, taking as direct a route as was possible towards the high clearings. It was a hard climb, and in their weakened state they were soon out of breath. Little-Marten’s clothing felt clammy, the heavy damp material chafing against his skin. He was exhausted. As they gained the narrow pathway that opened onto Royal Clearing, he said, ‘Hold up. I be about done.’ He rested his forearm against a birch sapling, and lowered his head for a moment, to ease the dizziness that overtook him. Henty put her hand on the back of his neck, and the touch of her palm was cool and comforting. ‘I s’ll be right,’ he mumbled. ‘And soon as we tells Maglin about the Orbis I’m away to my rest, maid or no maid.’ But then he felt Henty’s fingers squeeze tighter, as if in fear – or warning. Little-Marten looked up to see a blurry figure emerging from the bushes. He shook his head and blinked. It was the mad hag, Maven-the-Green, appearing before them like some creature from a haunty-dream.

  ‘Orbis?’ Her voice was thin and creaky, old as the woods themselves. ‘What do ’ee say of the Orbis?’ She moved a step towards them, her ivy-wreathed head cocked to one side as though the better to hear.

  Little-Marten felt Henty grip his arm tighter yet as she shrank close to him. He had seen enough of Maven to at least be familiar with her wild appearance, but for Henty this was clearly more of a shock.

  ‘N-naught.’ Little-Marten tried to keep his voice under control. ‘We said naught.’

  ‘Come.’ Maven’s blackened teeth showed as her mouth opened into a hideous smile. ‘Thee knows I, Woodpecker.’ She reached into the folds of her trailing green rags as though to draw something from within, but kept her hand hidden for the moment. ‘And thee knows enough to answer I straight. Now then. The Orbis. Tell me what ’ee’ve heard o’ it. Bist safe, then? And do it come to the forest?’

  Little-Marten remained silent. He kept his attention on Maven’s hand, knowing full well what that hand was reaching for, and what it might bring down upon them.

  ‘Aye,’ said Henty. Yet again she had taken the situation into her own control. ‘It comes to the forest this day – with the Gorji maid. We’re away to tell Maglin.’

  Little-Marten was shocked that Henty would speak so freely. As he turned towards her his eye caught movement in the nearby hazel thickets, a glimpse of something white. Something there, and then fading away. Gone.

  But then Maven was speaking again. ‘Thee’ve seen the Gorji child – talked wi’ her?’ Her fierce eyes gazed upon Little-Marten. ‘Let me hear it from thee, Woodpecker.’

  ‘’Tis so,’ Little-Marten mumbled. ‘She’ve found the Orbis and shall bring it to East Wood tunnel. She’m not far behind us, I s’d reckon. We’ve to bring word to Maglin – or to Tadgemole. Don’t matter which, so the maid said. Either or t’other to meet her there.’

  ‘Either or t’other . . .’ Maven’s voice was a croaky whisper. ‘Then Maglin shall hear of this d’rectly – but ’tis I that shall tell ’un, not thee. Away then, the pair of ’ee. And leave Maglin to me.’

  ‘But . . .’ Little-Marten was lost. ‘’Tis for we to tell this news . . .’

  ‘And now thee’ve told it.’ Maven began to bring her hand from the depths of her ragged gown.

  ‘Then what should us do?’

  ‘I reckons thee should fly whilst thee still can, Woodpecker, and take this maid to her home. Tell thee tales to the Tinklers instead.’

  Little-Marten glanced beyond Maven to where the clearing began to open out. He could see the distant heads of Glim and Raim, standing guard at Maglin’s pod – close enough to hear him if he shouted perhaps, but too far away to be of any aid.

  ‘Fly, pretty birds . . . fly away home . . .’ Maven drew the blowpipe from her gown, and brought it slowly to her grinning mouth. ‘Ssssssss . . .’ She was hissing like a snake, her hunched and twisted body weaving from side to side. Henty seemed frozen, unable to move, and Little-Marten had to dr
ag her away. He hauled on her arm as he stumbled backwards along the pathway.

  ‘Henty! Move theeself!’ At last she seemed to come to life, and the two of them scurried off in the direction that they had come. They turned from the path at the first opportunity, wove themselves deep into the thickets and then looked fearfully back towards the clearing. There was nothing to see. Maven had gone.

  Little-Marten wiped his muddy brow. ‘She’m mazy as a toad, that ’un. And I thought I were going to have to carry thee to get ’ee to move.’

  ‘She’d have done us no harm, though.’ Henty was craning her neck, still trying to see through the thickets.

  ‘Done us no harm? She’d kill ’ee soon as look at ’ee, Henty! And’ve done such a thing more’n once. Tulgi . . . Benzo . . .’

  ‘No. She meant us no harm – I could tell it. What’ll she do, dost think?’

  ‘Hemmed if I cares. ’Tis what we shall do that I be wondering. Casn’t get to Maglin . . . nor the Elders . . .’

  ‘We must go to the caves.’ Henty sounded as if she’d already made up her mind. ‘And quick as we can. Come on.’

  ‘Together?’ said Little-Marten. ‘And me all stinking o’ mud and river-weed? I hoped to be a sight more spracked up, afore I spoke to Tadgemole.’

  ‘There be more important things to think of,’ said Henty. ‘And I should’ve brought news to my father straight away. The Orbis belonged to the cave-dwellers, and he’ve a right to know of its coming, but ’tis that maid I be thinking of. I be feared for her.’ She took his hand and together they began to scramble down the wooded hillside in the direction of the caves.

  Maglin watched the faces of the Elders as they sat together in Counsel Pod, each warming their hands at the charcoal burner, their staffs propped upright against the daubed wicker walls.

  ‘What’s the matter with ’ee?’ Maglin tried again. ‘Have ’ee lost thee tongues? We need strategies, plans against such a day as the Orbis might return, and all I get from thee be shrugs and mumbles. Am I to act alone, without the aid of Counsel? If so, then I’ll waste my time here no longer. I’ve more to look into than your ugly faces.’

  ‘Counsel?’ Crozer was stung to anger at last. ‘When did you ever seek counsel from we? ’Tis the hag that gives ’ee counsel now, and ’tis with she that you waste your time. You be chasing the wind, Maglin, as addlepated as the old crone herself. And what strategies do ’ee bring? Naught but empty talk. Your arm has grown weak, aye, and your thinking with it.’ Crozer jabbed a bony finger in Maglin’s direction. ‘Away with ’ee then, and look to yourself! And we s’ll see whose ugly face is still among us come next season . . .’

  ‘Crozer . . . Crozer . . .’ Ardel reached forward to grab at Crozer’s sleeve.

  ‘Come next season? Do ’ee think to threaten me, you old wazzock?’ Maglin began to rise from his seat, pushing his fists against the wool-sacked floor.

  But then some commotion became audible from outside – loud voices in argument – and a judder of movement shook the pod. Someone was climbing the willow ladder.

  ‘Maglin! Bist in there? Get back, dammee . . .’

  Maglin, already halfway to his feet, glared at Crozer a moment longer then lunged for the oilskin cloth that covered the entranceway. He swept the stiff material aside, narrowing his eyes against the brightness of the daylight. Here was Glim, halfway up the ladder, and Raim at the bottom. Both had left their guard posts to come across to Counsel Pod, and both were now struggling to keep a hold on Maven-the-Green.

  ‘She says she’ve to see thee,’ Raim gasped. His spear was lying some distance away, in the wet grass, and Maglin could guess how it had got there. Glim too was unarmed.

  ‘Let her be,’ said Maglin. ‘Glim, jump down and give her passage. Let her be, I said!’

  Glim balanced on the rungs of the ladder, spread his wings and hopped to the ground. Raim released his hold on Maven, and seemed glad enough to do so, coughing a little as he caught his breath. ‘Have her, then,’ he spluttered. ‘And welcome.’

  Maven clutched at her dishevelled rags. She waited until the guards had stepped well away from her, then came forward to rest her skinny green hands on the ladder. ‘I must speak with ’ee, Maglin.’ She peered up at him from beneath twisted hanks of hair. Maglin regarded her, trying to judge her mood and likely actions. ‘Thee’d best come up, then.’ He held the oilcloth aside, and turned to look into the darkness of the pod. Three pairs of startled eyes gazed back at him, like owls in a byre. ‘’Tis Maven-the-Green,’ he said, and the eyes all blinked at the same time.

  Up the ladder came Maven, her humped back swaying from side to side. She grasped the rim of the entranceway and paused for a moment. ‘The day we’ve looked for be upon us,’ she said to Maglin, ‘and this be your time.’ She stepped inside.

  Maglin glanced down at the guards. ‘Pick up your spears and wait here,’ he muttered. His gaze swept the clearing, and as he allowed the curtain to fall back into place he saw a pale shadow, disappearing amongst the trees on the far side of the open space. It was barely a glimpse, a brief impression before the wintry world was shut out, but Maglin was sure of what he’d seen: the winged horse . . . threading his way among the hawthorns, carrying something . . .

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘The Orbis, Maglin. I’ve word of it.’ The dry croak of Maven’s voice sounded muffled. Maglin turned from the entranceway, and as his sight grew re-accustomed to the smoky darkness he saw that Maven had her back to him.

  ‘The Orbis? What do ’ee know? Tell me.’ Maglin moved into the dim glow cast by the charcoal burner.

  ‘To your hand I said the Orbis would come, and so it now shall, if your hand be quick enough to take it. If not, then ’twill go to another – as maybe it should. Be you its rightful keeper, dost reckon? Then thee’d best get to East Tunnel, maister, and hope to meet that maid before someone else do – for I reckon the Tinklers shall know of this afore long. Now there be a warning for ’ee.’

  Maglin waited to hear no more. He swept aside the oilcloth and jumped to the ground.

  ‘Glim! Give me your spear. Go to West Wood and collect any archers you can find – you and Raim both. Bring all to the East Tunnel.’

  Glim handed over his spear, but looked doubtful, ‘I don’t reckon we s’d find any archers in West Wood, Maglin.’ He pointed away from Royal Clearing, to where distant sycamores rose above the southerly plantations of the Naiad. ‘I spoke wi’ Aken at sun-high. His company had poor hunting, and were thinking to try for better luck in South Wood. We’d do better to seek there.’

  ‘Go where thee will, then,’ said Maglin. ‘But be quick about it. Maven!’ He turned back towards Counsel Pod. ‘Thee’d best follow I on down to . . .’

  Maglin realized that he was talking to himself. Curling wisps of charcoal smoke hung about the entrance to the pod, and the heads of the three Elders peered out at him, but of Maven-the-Green there was no sign.

  To the tunnel then, and hope to get there before the Orbis should fall into the hands of the cave-dwellers. Who was on guard there? Ictor. He’d know nothing of such things, nor care.

  Ictor . . .

  Maglin felt the hair tingle at the back of his neck. Ictor was at the tunnel. Ictor, who loathed him, but more importantly was known to loathe the Gorji child who was on her way to the forest . . . who might already be here . . .

  What a fool he’d been to place one so dangerous and untrustworthy in the very place where the Orbis was most likely to arrive – and in the path of the child who carried it!

  Maglin charged through the trees at the edge of the clearing. As the ground began to drop steeply away he spread his wings, and launched himself into the air.

  Little-Marten was horribly aware of his own wretched appearance. He knew that he reeked of river-ooze, and could feel the clag of half-dried mud upon his fingers as he pushed back his hair. Nevertheless he tried to bear himself upright before Tadgemole, and to prepare himself for what would come.

&nbs
p; ‘I wonder you set foot in here.’ Tadgemole’s look was one of cold contempt, the grim lines of his face set hard and unforgiving in the candle-lit shadows. ‘Or dare show yourself to me. Is this what you bring my daughter to, you little ditch-rat? Look at her!’ His voice echoed around the stone walls of the inner caves, and down the deserted passageways. ‘When did she last eat, or sleep in aught but her own rags? ’Tis plain that you’ve nothing to offer her but the life of a heathen scare-a-crow. Aye, one of your own. And so I was right. Right to keep you from her, and right to—’

  ‘Father, we’ve no time for this.’ Henty drew herself closer to Little-Marten. ‘We’ve not come to argue, but to bring news of—’

  ‘And as for you . . .’ Tadgemole reached out and laid a hand on Henty’s shoulder. ‘Do you not think, child, of the pain you cause me? Nor care? Why do you find me awake, dost reckon, whilst all here about me are sleeping? Because I can take no rest. By night and by day I worry, knowing that you are out there amongst the Gorji. And not knowing whether you be dead or alive. Is this what I deserve?’

  ‘But you don’t listen. I bring news – important news – but you won’t listen to me. You never do.’

  Tadgemole took his hand from Henty’s shoulder, and glanced up. Some slight sound drifted through the tunnels, a distant tap-tap. But then it was gone.

  ‘Come, then. Let me hear you out. What could be so important as to bring you back to me, when my own heartache was not enough?’

  ‘The Gorji child . . .’ Henty began to speak. ‘She’s found—’

  But then the tapping sound could be heard again, closer now. Henty and Little-Marten turned their heads to listen. Along the dark passages it echoed, coming from the direction of the main cave. Tap-tap-tap-tap. A steady rhythm . . . faltering for a moment . . . then steady once more . . .

  A tall shadow appeared, thrown along the dimly lit tunnel walls that led to the cavern entrance. Its shape was at first confusing, but then became recognizable. And the sound was now recognizable also – tap-tap-tap-tap – delicate hooves upon the hard stone floor. Pegs.