The awed silence held as horse and rider approached the flat rock that sat in the middle of the stream.
‘Yes, here.’
Only two words, but the low huskiness in the voice told of one who had travelled far beyond childhood. Pegs stepped up onto the rock and turned about, the clink of the bridle bells and the skitter and scrape of his hooves echoing above the constant babble of water. Midge saw for the first time that his strange companion was winged. An Ickri.
‘You are safely here then, child. And unharmed. I am glad.’
Midge realized that she was being spoken to, but had to shield her eyes in order to see properly. The winter sun was already low among the trees, dazzling her, so that the face of the Ickri rider was shadowed against wheeling rays of light.
‘Er . . . yes. I’m fine.’ Midge ducked a little lower. She could see the dark eyes looking at her, extraordinarily intense amid the fiery strands of hair. Who was this person? She thought she caught the trace of a smile as the head turned away.
They stood in profile now, Pegs and his rider, to face the crowds on either side of the stream. Midge stole a glance at Maglin, and then at Tadgemole. They seemed as mystified as everyone else there.
‘Come. Draw closer and look upon me.’ The rider had one arm raised, her sleeve falling back to reveal skin paler than that of any cave-dweller.
‘Closer. Stand before me. There is nothing to fear.’
She had an air of authority about her, a quiet hypnotic power that seemed to draw the crowd towards her. By ones and twos at first, and then in a general shuffle of movement, the Various tribespeople rearranged themselves, mingling together to form a deep semi-circle around the flat rock, some remaining on dry land, some wading into the shallows. Midge found herself neighboured by Naiad and Ickri alike, all whispering together, and noticed that Maglin and Tadgemole were two of those who stood in the stream, taking up a position side by side and directly in front of the rock platform.
Gradually the muttering subsided and all were quiet once more.
‘I hear the whispers, but have not yet heard the sound of my name. Are there none among you that know it?’ The husky voice fell upon dead silence.
‘Then I will tell you. I am Una, daughter of Avlon.’
More silence. Midge looked about her in order to see what effect this announcement might have, but the expressions on the upturned faces of the little people remained blank. Only Maglin, she noticed, seemed to react. His grey eyebrows met in a frown, and he gave a slight shake of his head.
‘Has it been so long then, that all have forgotten me?’ The Ickri maiden spoke again. ‘And have all forgotten Avlon, my father, King of the Ickri? And how he was slain by Corben, his own brother? Do none know this tale? Come . . . Maglin. You at least have heard of this.’
‘How do ’ee know my name?’ Maglin growled. ‘And where do ’ee come from with this nonsense? Aye, the tale be known well enough among the Ickri.’ He raised his voice so that all about could hear. ‘Avlon were he who first led our tribe down from the northlands. He were killed by his brother Corben, who would be King in his stead. And ’tis true, so I’ve heard, that he had a daughter named Una. But this ain’t she! Una were killed also when she were a child. And even if she’d lived she’d be older than I or any Elder here. Now I don’t know who you be, maidy, but you ain’t seasoned enough be any daughter of Avlon.’
‘Ha. Perhaps I am older than I seem. What do you say, Tadgemole? Or you, Glim? Zelma . . . Aken . . . Zophia? What does Spindra say, or Fletcher Marten? I know every one of you. Do none of you know me?’
‘Where do ’ee come from, wi’ this tricksy talk? We don’t know thee!’
Maglin placed the butt of his spear onto the rock, and heaved himself up, so that Pegs had to step aside in order to make way for him. ‘But I knows one that might! Find Maven!’ he roared. ‘Bring Maven to me, and then perhaps we s’ll see who this storyteller be!’
‘Maven?’ The Ickri rider looked down at him. ‘Old Maven-the-Green? I doubt she’d have aught to tell you, Maglin, even if you could find her. Maven is dead.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘DEAD?’ MAGLIN STAGGERED backwards as though he’d been struck. His mouth sagged open in disbelief.
‘Aye, dead and gone. She was shot by an Ickri arrow. I saw it happen.’ There was a tinge of sorrow in the low voice of the horsewoman. ‘And it should never have been. Maven was a friend to me.’
Maglin seemed lost. He stood with his hand to his brow, staring wide-eyed into the stream below. But then gradually the lines of his mouth hardened, and when at last he spoke his voice broke with anger.
‘Who? Who did this? And when did it happen?’
‘I never learned who, Maglin, though I always believed it was one called Tuz. An Ickri archer. But it was long ago. Longseasons ago. Before you were born.’
‘What? What . . . blether do ’ee talk now? I were speaking wi’ Maven this very day!’
‘Were you? It heartens me, Maglin, to see you take her death so hard. She would have been glad to know you thought so well of her. Didst truly love her, then?’
‘What? Thee durst come here from . . . from nowhere . . . to make a mock o’ me?’ Maglin lunged forward and grabbed hold of Pegs’ bridle. It looked as though he would have dragged the Ickri rider from her perch there and then, but she deftly slid down the horse’s opposite flank so that Pegs stood as a barrier between the two of them.
‘Do ’ee not know me, maister? Thee be blind as a new-born mole, then! But thee surely ain’t deaf as well?’ The cackle and croak that arose from the other side of the winged horse stopped Maglin in his tracks. His eyes seemed likely to pop – along with all others that were watching.
‘What’s this? Maven?’
‘Ssssss . . .’
The figure in white came creeping beneath the horse’s neck, her body hunched and twisted, long silver hair hanging over her face. She put a hand into the sleeve of her garment and drew out a strange object – unfamiliar to Midge, at least. It looked like a pipe or a peashooter.
‘Do ’ee recognize ’un, maister? Thee should do, then, for it’ve done ’ee service enough afore this day. Maglin – and all of ’ee here – look upon the poor hag that’ve walked among ’ee since thee were weans. Do ’ee know me now?’ The fantastic crouching figure raised the blowpipe to her mouth and started forward, threatening the crowd before her in one sweeping movement. Maven! Those at the front retreated in horror against those behind, so that all were thrown into a bundle of confusion. Maglin dodged sideways, just managing to keep his balance as he stepped back down from the rock and into the shallows once more.
‘Aye! And there’ve been more than one who’ve come to know the vengeance of Maven-the-Green!’ The stooping figure straightened up and swept back her hair to reveal her pale and perfect face once more. ‘But . . . I am not Maven, nor ever was. And I shall need this no more.’ She tossed the blowpipe away from her. It fell into the stream, tumbling through the stony shallows to be swept from sight. ‘I am Una, daughter of Avlon, and rightful Queen of the Ickri. Come. Maglin . . . Tadgemole . . . all. Gather yourselves and listen. Draw closer and hear me out.’
Again she seemed able to exert the power of her will on those before her. The startled crowd, half fearful, half fascinated, recovered some of their dignity and cautiously inched forward. Maglin moved around the rock to stand next to Tadgemole once more, the two of them exchanging a dubious glance, and a shake of their heads.
‘Hear my words, and you shall know the truth.’ The white-robed figure raised one slim hand, palm outwards, and waited for silence before she began. ‘I was a child – no older than this Gorji child here among us – when Maven died. I was there and saw it happen. Such dark and treacherous times. Corben poisoned his own brother, my father, Avlon, and persuaded all that it was I who had done this thing. He and the Ickri Elders sent archers by moonlight to find me and kill me. The archers did find me – or they reckoned to have done – and fi
red into the darkness. Aye, and when they heard the cry of pain they knew they had hit their mark. But it was Maven who took the arrow that was meant for me, and it was she who died. She fell into a deep pool, and when they later touched her drowned hand they believed it to be mine—’
‘What pool?’ Maglin interrupted. ‘There be no such pools here.’
‘It happened in the Far Woods, Maglin, whilst we were still journeying to this place. I could take you there now if you wished, and show you the spot. I’m unlikely to forget it.’
‘Hmf. Any of us may tell a tale . . .’
‘Then let me tell mine.’
Maglin muttered something to himself, but made no further argument.
‘So I was alone, a child with nowhere to go and one who would be hunted down if any knew that I lived. I dared not be seen, yet I could not leave. Nor would I, whilst both my friend and my father lay dead and unavenged. It was then that I took the green mantle of Maven upon myself, and became she.’
‘You dressed in her clothes – as a child? And all around believed you were an old crone?’ This time it was Tadgemole who spoke, and he too sounded disbelieving.
‘It was not so hard, Tadgemole. Maven-the-Green lived alone and was little seen. She was a wise and true spirit of the woods, one who had knowledge of all things, but she was not loved. There were many who feared her witchi ways, and so kept far away from her if they could. Yet my father Avlon took counsel from her, against the counsel of others, and she became a friend to me. She saw that I was like she, one who had the Touch, and she took me into her secrets. From her I learned the calls and cries of beast and bird – aye, and could imitate all. From her also I learned the use of every plant, for good or ill. And from her I learned the history of the Stone, its power and its purpose. Our journey from the north was long. By the time we came to these wetlands I knew all that Maven knew, and when I mantled myself in her rags I was mantled in her spirit also. Her voice stayed in my ear and came easily to my tongue. My wings beneath her robe were very like her own humped back. And when my skin was daubed in green clay, then none saw past it. I was she. Who else would they think me, those that fled at the sight of me and the very sound of my name?’
The pale figure paused and looked closely at Maglin.
‘I see into your heart, Steward. And I know that you at least begin to believe me. But what of you, Tadgemole, and all others here? Does my tale not have the strangeness of truth to it?’
Tadgemole thought for a moment, and then cleared his throat. ‘When the Ickri first came to these woods,’ he said, ‘I was but new-born. If your tale is true, then you are even older than I. And yet you appear but a little more seasoned than my own daughter. How can this be?’
‘You were new-born, Tadgemole. I remember you, aye, and your brother Loren. And you, Gorji child . . . I met with your kin, Celandine. It was I who helped her to escape the wrath of Corben. I am as old as she. What say you – do I speak the truth?’
Midge was in a complete daze, and the question took her by surprise.
‘Um . . . yes. I suppose so.’ She answered without really thinking and her words sounded hopelessly weak. But what else could she say? She had seen Maven just once, down in the gully on the other side of the brambles, standing like a statue at the water’s edge. They had looked at one another. But there was no similarity between that weird and fantastic old creature and the beautiful person she was looking at now. Could they really be one and the same?
‘We saw each other once before, you and I.’ The Ickri woman spoke again, and Midge had the curious feeling that those dark eyes were able to read her thoughts as clearly as if they had been written across the sky. ‘’Twas beyond the tunnel. You picked a flower, and showed it to me. Do you remember what it was?’
‘Yes . . .’ Midge whispered. ‘A celandine.’
A celandine. She’d forgotten.
The eyes turned away from her.
‘I have lived here among you for all of your lives, and for most of mine. And if I look younger than I am, then I say this: there are many ways of holding the seasons at bay. Some work from without and some from within. The green clays and potions that daubed me have had effect other than disguise. No sun or wind or rain has touched my skin since I was a child. From within also I am protected, by the arts that I learned from Maven. She was far older than any could tell, or would ever believe. As old as the trees, they said, and they spoke truer than they knew, for it was from the very trees that she took her sustenance – leaf and sap and root. From her I gained my knowledge and preserved myself against this day, which I believed would surely come. Speak, Maglin. Ask me now why I waited so long. Is that not the question in your heart?’
‘Aye,’ said Maglin. ‘It is. For once Corben were gone, where was the danger? Why did thee not show theeself?’
‘When Corben died his daughter Ba-betts was made Queen. I might have returned then, as Una, to try and claim my right. But I was still reckoned to be evil – one who had poisoned her own father to gain the queenship. What would have awaited me? Death. None that lived then would have given me claim over Ba-betts. No, it was better that I remained as Maven, to sow the truth of what had happened, seed by seed. But I also had a greater purpose – to see the Orbis returned, and to find a rightful end to our journey. Better I work alone to bring that day about, to protect those who deserved protection, and to avenge myself on those who deserved no mercy. And there were other reasons . . . but these must wait a little longer. Come, Maglin, raise the Orbis. Show what has come to your hand this day.’
Maglin fumbled in his cloak for the Orbis, and lifted it in his right hand.
‘And you, Tadgemole. Raise the Stone, and let all see what you have gained.’
Tadgemole followed Maglin’s example, straightening his right arm so that the Stone was held high. The two of them had obeyed as though under a spell.
‘Maglin. Who am I?’ The husky voice fell almost to a whisper. ‘Tell me what you know in your heart.’
‘Una.’ Maglin answered without hesitation now. ‘I believe you be Una, the lost child of Avlon, and rightful Queen of the Ickri.’ He bowed his head.
‘Then you are with me. And Tadgemole. What say you? Who am I?’
‘I also believe you to be who you say you are – Una, daughter of Avlon.’ Tadgemole sounded as convinced as Maglin, but perhaps less overawed. At any rate he kept his head up, and added, ‘Though as to who should be Queen, King, or Steward of the Ickri, I can’t say. Never having had much opinion of any of ’em till now.’
‘Ha. A plain answer. Perhaps you will have a better opinion of me than of those that came before.’ Una raised her voice to the gathering. ‘And so I ask all here now: are there any who still doubt my story? I have lived among you as Maven-the-Green, but truly I am Una, child of Avlon. I, who was once wronged, have returned to claim my right. Do you say that right should be mine?’
‘Aye!’
‘Aye – she speaks the truth!’
‘Make her Queen!’
The crowd were obviously won over, and all lifted their bows, spears, caps or children – whatever they carried – and shouted out their approval. Midge found herself wanting to join in, but wasn’t sure how that would be received. Had she earned the right to be anything but a bystander? She began to raise her own hand in support just as Una raised hers for quiet.
‘So be it, then. And so it shall be. But . . . there are more important questions to be answered yet.’ Una lowered her arms and turned to Tadgemole. ‘Would you, Tadgemole, see the Stone and Orbis united and in the hand of one who understands their purpose?’
‘I would.’
‘Then understand this. The Touchstone is yours. It has come to you as was promised, and none shall try to take it from you. But if you will give it over to me freely, then freedom shall be yours in its stead, and I will show you its true power. What do you say? Can you agree to that?’
‘Aye, agreed.’
‘And you, Maglin. The Orbis
has come to you, as was promised, and is yours to keep if you so wish. But if instead you give it freely to me, then I can show you what you would truly wish for. Do you agree likewise to that?’
‘Aye. And glad to give it.’
‘Come, then, both of you.’
Una stood at the edge of the rock platform. She stretched out her white hands and waited as Maglin and Tadgemole placed the Orbis and Stone one in each palm. Then she raised the two objects high.
‘At last we are brought together . . . tribe and tribe . . . hand and hand . . . Stone and Orbis. Without that Maglin and Tadgemole reach agreement, this could never be so. They have made their peace, and it was a peace that needs be made of its own accord. This is why I have waited. I am Ickri, and could never hope to hold Stone and Orbis together whilst other tribes laid claim to either and were so divided. We are divided no more, and at last we may travel on. To Tadgemole and Maglin, then, we must give our thanks. To the Gorji maid also, we give our thanks and praise. Without her courage and her wits we would be lost yet, and I would say more to her on this. But there is one other, to whom I give the most thanks of all. One who watches over me, and aids me in all that I do. One who was sent to me from Elysse itself, and who carries me upon his shoulder as the spirit of one who carried me long ago. Pegs . . . come . . . speak to us.’
The sun had sunk lower yet among the trees, and as Pegs stepped forward he was silhouetted against the light, his mane and tail glowing orange in the late afternoon rays.
All that Una has said is true . . . and now at last the day that we have waited for so long is here.
As the word-colours filled her head, Midge had to take a deep breath. She could never ever get used to this sensation. For all that she tried to tell herself that these were just people, like anyone else, whenever she looked upon Pegs she knew that it wasn’t so. Pegs was beyond this earth, and beyond anything else that she had ever seen. He was magical.
Winter Wood Page 33