The Weirdstone of Brisingamen

by Alan Garner

  It was too much for Susan. Her nerve failed her. All that mattered was to escape from this chill cloud and what it must contain. She ran blindly, stumbled a score of paces, then tripped, and fell full length upon the grass.

  She was not hurt, but the jolt brought her to her senses; the jolt – and something else.

  In falling, she had thrown her arms out to protect herself, and as her head cleared she realised that there was no earth beneath her fingers, only emptiness. She lay there, not daring to move.

  “Sue, where are you?” It was Colin’s voice, calling softly. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m here. Be careful. I think I’m on the edge of a cliff, but I can’t see.”

  “Keep still, then; I’ll feel my way to you.”

  He crawled in the direction of Susan’s voice, but even in that short distance he partly lost his bearing, and it was several minutes before he found his sister, and having done so, he wriggled cautiously alongside her.

  The turf ended under his nose, and all beyond was a sea of grey. Colin felt around for a pebble and dropped it over the edge. Three seconds passed before he heard it land.

  “Good job you tripped, Sue! It’s a long way down. This must be the old quarry. Now keep quiet a minute, and listen.”

  They strained their ears to catch the slightest sound, but there was nothing to be heard. They might have been the only living creatures on earth.

  “We must go back to the path, Sue. And we’ve got to make as little noise as possible, because whatever it is that made this fog will be listening for us. If we don’t find the path we may easily walk round in circles until nightfall, even supposing we’re left alone as long as that.

  “Let’s get away from this quarry, for a start: there’s no point in asking for trouble.”

  They stood up, and holding each other’s hand, walked slowly back towards the path.

  As the minutes went by, Susan grew more and more uneasy.

  “Colin,” she said at last, “I hadn’t run more than a dozen steps, I’m sure, when I tripped, and we’ve been walking for a good five minutes. Do you think we’re going the right way?”

  “No, I don’t. And I don’t know which is the right way, so we’ll have to hope for the best. We’ll try to walk in a straight line, and perhaps we’ll leave this fog behind.”

  But they did not. Either the mist had spread out over a wide area, or, as the children began to suspect, it was moving with them. They made very slow progress; every few paces they would stop and listen, but there was only the silence of the mist, and that was as unnerving as the sound of something moving would have been. Also, it was impossible to see for more than a couple of yards in any direction, and they were frightened of falling into a hidden shaft, or even the quarry, for they had lost all sense of direction by now.

  The path seemed to have vanished; but, in fact, they had crossed it some minutes earlier without knowing. As they approached, the mist had gathered thickly about their feet, hiding the ground until the path was behind them.

  After a quarter of an hour Colin and Susan were shivering uncontrollably as the dampness ate into their bones. Every so often the trunk of a pine tree would loom out of the mist, so that it seemed as though they were walking through a pillared hall that had no beginning, and no end.

  “We must be moving in circles, Colin. Let’s change direction instead of trying to keep in a straight line.”

  “We couldn’t be more lost than we are at present, so we may as well try it.”

  They could not believe their luck. Within half a minute they came upon an oak, and beyond that another. The fog was as dense as ever, but they knew that they were breaking fresh ground, and that was encouraging.

  “Oh, I wish Cadellin would come,” said Susan.

  “That’s an idea! Let’s shout for help: he may hear us.”

  “But we’ll give our position away.”

  “I don’t think that matters any more. Let’s try, anyway.”

  “All right.”

  “One, two, three. Ca-dell-in! Help! Ca-dell-in!!”

  It was like shouting in a padded cell. Their voices, flat and dead, soaked into the grey blanket.

  “That can’t have carried far,” said Colin disgustedly. “Try again. One, two, three. Help! Ca-dell-in! Help!!!”

  “It’s no use,” said Susan; “he’ll never hear us. We’ll have to find our own way out.”

  “And we’ll do that if we keep going at our own pace,” said Colin. “If whatever caused this had intended to attack us it would have done so by now, wouldn’t it? No, it wants to frighten us into rushing over a precipice or something like that. As long as we carry on slowly we’ll be safe enough.”

  He was wrong, but they had no other plan.

  For the next few minutes the children made their way in silence, Susan concentrating on the ground immediately in front, Colin alert for any sight or sound of danger.

  All at once Susan halted.

  “Hallo, what’s this?”

  At their feet lay two rough-hewn boulders and beyond them, on either side, could be seen the faint outline of others of a like size.

  “What can they be? They look as though they’ve been put there deliberately, don’t they?”

  “Never mind,” said Colin; “we mustn’t waste time in standing around.”

  And they passed between the stones, only to stop short a couple of paces later, with despair in their hearts, cold as the east wind.

  Susan’s question was answered. They were in the middle of a ring of stones, and the surrounding low, dim shapes rose on the limit of vision as though marking the boundary of the world.

  Facing the children were two stones, far bigger than the rest, and on one of the stones sat a figure, and the sight of it would have daunted a brave man.

  For three fatal seconds the children stared, unable to think or move. And as they faltered, the jaws of the trap closed about them; for, like a myriad snakes, the grass within the circle, alive with the magic of the place, writhed about their feet, shackling them in a net of blade and root, tight as a vice.

  As if in some dark dream, Colin and Susan strained to tear themselves free, but they were held like wasps in honey.

  Slowly the figure rose from its seat and came towards them. Of human shape it was, though like no mortal man, for it stood near eight feet high, and was covered from head to foot in a loose habit, dank and green, and ill concealing the terrible thinness and spider strength of the body beneath. A deep cowl hid the face, skin mittens were on the wasted hands, and the air was laden with the reek of foul waters.

  The creature stopped in front of Susan and held out a hand; not a word was spoken.

  “No!” gasped Susan. “You shan’t have it!” And she put her arm behind her back.

  “Leave her alone!” yelled Colin. “If you touch her Cadellin will kill you!”

  The shrouded head turned slowly towards him, and he gazed into the cavern of the hood; courage melted from him, and his knees were water.

  Then, suddenly, the figure stretched out its arms and seized both the children by the shoulder.

  They had no chance to struggle or to defend themselves. With a speed that choked the cry of anguish in their throats, an icy numbness swept down from the grip of those hands into their bodies, and the children stood paralysed, unable to move a finger.

  In a moment the bracelet was unfastened from Susan’s wrist, and the grim shape turned on its heel and strode into the mist. And the mist gathered round it and formed a swirling cloud that moved swiftly away among the trees, and was lost to sight.

  The sun shone upon the stone circle, and upon the figures standing motionless in the centre. The warm rays poured life and feeling into those wooden bodies, and they began to move. First an arm stirred jerkily, doll-like, then a head turned, a leg moved, and slowly the numbness drained from their limbs, the grass released its hold, and the children crumpled forward on to their hands and knees, shivering and gasping, the blood in their
heads pounding like triphammers.

  “Out – circle!” wheezed Colin.

  They staggered sideways and almost fell down a small bank on to a path.

  “Find Cadellin: perhaps … he … can stop it. I think that may be … Stormy Point ahead.”

  Their legs were stiff, and every bone ached, but they hurried along as best they could, and a few minutes later they cried out with relief, for the path did indeed come out on Stormy Point.

  Across the waste of stones they ran, and down to the iron gates; and when they came to the rock they flung themselves against it, beating with their fists, and calling the wizard’s name. But bruised knuckles were all they achieved: no gates appeared, no cavern opened.

  Colin was in a frenzy of desperation. He prised a stone out of the ground, almost as big as his head, and, using both hands, began to pound the silent wall, shouting, “Open up! Open up! Open up! Open up! Open up!!!”

  “Now that is no way to come a-visiting wizards,” said a voice above them.

  CHAPTER 7

  FENODYREE

  Colin and Susan looked up, not knowing what to expect: the voice sounded friendly, but was that any guide now?

  Over the top of the rock dangled a pair of feet, and between these were two eyes, black as sloes, set in a leathery face, bearded and bushy-browed.

  “Rocks are old, stubborn souls; they were here before we came, and they will be here when we are gone. They have all the time there is, and will not be hurried.”

  With this, the face disappeared, the legs swung out of sight, there was a slithering noise, a bump, and from behind the rock stepped a man four feet high. He wore a belted tunic of grey, patterned with green spirals along the hem, pointed boots, and breeches bound tight with leather thongs. His black hair reached to his shoulders, and on his brow was a circlet of gold.

  “Are – are you a dwarf?” said Susan.

  “That am I.” He bowed low. “By name, Fenodyree; Wineskin, or Squabnose, to disrespectful friends. Take your pick.”

  He straightened up and looked keenly from one to the other of the children. His face had the same qualities of wisdom, of age without weakness, that they had seen in Cadellin, but here there was more of merriment, and a lighter heart.

  “Oh please,” said Susan, “take us to the wizard, if you can. Something dreadful has happened, and he must be told at once, in case it’s not too late.”

  “In case what is not too late?” said Fenodyree. “Oh, but there I go, wanting gossip, when all around is turmoil and urgent deeds! Let us find Cadellin.”

  He ran his hand down the rough stone, like a man stroking the flanks of a favourite horse. The rock stirred ponderously and clove in two, and there were the iron gates, and the blue light of Fundindelve.

  “Now the gates,” said Fenodyree briskly. “My father made them, and so they hear me, though I have not the power of wizards.”

  He laid his hand upon the metal, and the gates opened.

  “Stay close, lest you lose the way,” called Fenodyree over his shoulder.

  He set off at a jog-trot down the swift-sloping tunnel. Colin and Susan hurried after him, the rock and iron closed behind them, and they were again far from the world of men.

  Down they went into the edge, and came at last, by many zigzag paths, to the cave where they had rested after their meeting with Cadellin. And there they found him; he had been reading at the table, but had risen at the sound of their approach.

  “The day’s greeting to you, Cadellin Silverbrow,” said Fenodyree.

  “And to you, Wineskin. Now what bad news do you bring me, children? I have been expecting it, though I know not what it may be.”

  “Cadellin,” cried Susan, “my Tear must be Firefrost, and it’s just been stolen!”

  “What – tear is this?”

  “My Tear! The one my mother gave me. She had it from Bess Mossock.”

  And out poured the whole story in a tumble of words.

  The wizard grew older before their eyes. He sank down upon his chair, his face lined and grey.

  “It is the stone. It is the stone. No other has that heart of fire. And it was by me, and I did not hear it call.”

  He sat, his eyes clouded, a tired, world-weary, old man.

  Then wrath kindled in him, and spread like flame. He sprang from his chair with all the vigour of youth, and he seemed to grow in stature, and his presence filled the cave.

  “Grimnir!” he cried. “Are you to be my ruin at the end? Quick! We must take him in the open before he gains the lake! I shall slay him, if I must.”

  “Nay, Cadellin,” said Fenodyree. “Hot blood has banished cool thought! It is near an hour since the hooded one strode swampwards; he will be far from the light by now, and even you dare not follow there. He would sit and mock you. Would you want that, old friend?”

  “Mock me! Why did he leave these children unharmed, if not for that? It is not his way to show mercy for mercy’s sake! And how else could despair have been brought to me so quickly? I am savouring his triumph now, as he meant me to.

  “But what you say is reason: for good or ill the stone is with him. All we can do is guard, and wait, though I fear it will be to no good purpose.”

  He looked at the children, who were standing dejectedly in the middle of the cave.

  “Colin, Susan; you have witnessed the writing of a dark chapter in the book of the world, and what deeds it will bring no man can tell; but you must in no way blame yourselves for what has happened. The elf-road would have been but short refuge from him who came against you this day – Grimnir the hooded one.”

  “But what is he?” said Susan, pale with the memory of their meeting.

  “He is, or was, a man. Once he studied under the wisest of the wise, and became a great lore-master; but in his lust for knowledge he practised the forbidden arts, and the black magic ravaged his heart, and made a monster of him. He left the paths of day, and went to live, like Grendel of old, beneath the waters of Llyn-dhu, the Black Lake, growing mighty in evil, second only to the ancient creatures of night that attend their lord in Ragnarok. And it is he, arch-enemy of mine, who came against you this day.”

  “No one in memory has seen his face or heard his voice,” added Fenodyree. “Dwarf-legend speaks of a great shame that he bears therein: a gadfly of remorse, reminding him of what he is, and of what he might have been. But then that is only an old tale we learnt at our mother’s knee, and not one for this sad hour.”

  “Nor have we time for folk-talk,” said Cadellin. “We must do what we can, and that quickly. Now tell me, who can have seen the stone and recognised it?”

  “Well, nobody …” said Colin.

  “Selina Place!” cried Susan. “Selina Place! My Tear went all misty! Don’t you remember, Colin? She must have seen my Tear and stopped to make certain.”

  “Ha!” laughed Fenodyree bitterly. “Old Shape-shifter up to her tricks! We might have guessed the weight of the matter had we but known she was behind it!”

  “Oh, why did you not tell us this when we first met?” the wizard shouted.

  “I forgot all about it,” said Colin: “it didn’t seem important. I thought she was queer in the head.”

  “Important? Queer? Hear him! Why, Selina Place, as she is known to you, is the chief witch of the morthbrood! Worse, she is the Morrigan, the Third Bane of Logris!”

  For a moment it seemed as though he would erupt in anger, but instead, he sighed, and shook his head.

  “No matter. It is done.”

  Susan was almost in tears. She could not bear to see the old man so distraught, especially when she felt responsible for his plight.

  “Is there nothing we can do?”

  The wizard looked up at her, and a tired smile came to his lips.

  “Do? My dear, I think there is little any of us can do now. Certainly, there will be no place for children in the struggle to come. It will be hard for you, I know, but you must go from here and forget all you have seen and done. Now
that the stone is out of your care you will be safe.”

  “But,” cried Colin, “but you can’t mean that! We want to help you!”

  “I know you do. But you have no further part in this. High Magic and low cunning will be the weapons of the fray, and the valour of children would be lost in the struggle. You can help me best by freeing me from worry on your behalf.”

  And, without giving the children further chance to argue, he took them by the hand, and out of the cave. They went in misery, and shortly stood above the swamp on the spot where they had first met the wizard, three nights ago.

  “Must we really not see you again?” said Colin. He had never felt so wretched.

  “Believe me, it must be so. It hurts me, too, to part from friends, and I can guess what it is to have the door of wonder and enchantment closed to you when you have glimpsed what lies beyond. But it is also a world of danger and shadows, as you have seen, and ere long I fear I must pass into these shadows. I will not take you with me.

  “Go back to your own world: you will be safer there. If we should fail, you will suffer no harm, for not in your time will Nastrond come.

  “Now go. Fenodyree will keep with you to the road.”

  So saying, he entered the tunnel. The rock echoed: he was gone.

  Colin and Susan stared at the wall. They were very near to tears, and Fenodyree, weighed down with his own troubles, felt pity for them in their despondency.

  “Do not think him curt or cruel,” he said gently. “He has suffered a defeat that would have crushed a lesser man. He is going now to prepare himself to face death, and worse than death, for the stone’s sake; and I and others shall stand by him, though I think we are for the dark. He has said farewell because he knows there may be no more meetings for him this side of Ragnarok.”

  “But it was all our fault!” said Colin desperately. “We must help him!”

  “You will help him best by keeping out of danger, as he said; and that means staying well away from us and all we do.”

  “Is that really the best way?” said Susan.