But what of Scillow’s sheep? I know what you’re asking. They were lost on the hillside, no matter how long he searched. On he trudged and on with dog Callum running before him as he called each one by name. Scillow’s eyes were weary, but still he kept calling, until at last he saw them, way off on another hillside. So on he walked and on again until he came close up to them. And then he saw was not his sheep at all but only wisps of cloud blowing ghostly across the heather. Then Callum howled a wretched howl from deep inside his belly and ran on headlong towards the cloud while Scillow followed after. As he drew close and closer still he saw it was not clouds at all but his brothers three who were lost up on the mountain when the cold winds came wailing. Now they were walking towards him, their faces wreathed in smiles of greeting. Scillow flung his arms out wide as he was about to embrace them and Callum barked and shook his tail and chased on all around them. But then the mist swirled and Scillow blinked and was just cloud again. Only cloud, not even sheep – and he lay down weary in a hollow on the hilltop and there he fell to sleep.
In the morning he was woken early by something soft and warm licking around his face. He opened up his eyes full wide and there stood dog Callum panting above him, whimpering and calling, running this way and that. Scillow sat up and watched where his dog was fetching. He followed him, stumbling on through mountain dew, up a track and down a track until he heard what Callum had heard right from the morning’s dawning – the call of his sheep all lost and bedraggled, clustered about in the shelter of a gully.
And then he ran and then he sang and called them all by name. He flung his arms about them, buried his nose in the wet smell of their fleeces – then ran his frozen fingers through their greasy matted coats in the cold biting wind. The sheep stuck close by him all the next day as their shadows grew short then lengthened again. They clustered around him through the frets of pale mist, then trailed his sure steps through sunshine and rain.
So that when another day and another day on, Scillow found himself all down by the track, then his sheep were gathered with him and dog Callum too. But in the distance Scillow saw a girlen in a green dress all picked out in silver, walking towards him. Scillow scratched his head, for he thought this girl had gone, but now here she was come back again and stepping towards him down the dust of the track, picking bright-eyed buttercups as she tripped this way and that.
Scillow approached her with a spring in his step, knowing that now he had spoken once with this girl, why then he had the courage to speak with her again.
“Good day!” he cried. “How do you fare?”
He stepped up to greet her, leaving his sheep by the side of the road, though dog Callum was with him, close at his heels.
Aylsa, for of course it was her – Aylsa looked startled and turned her head away, but Scillow just laughed as if she played a game.
“Come, you remember me,” he said. “Are you footsore and weary and come back again?”
He danced around her, but the girl turned away and Callum began barking. Scillow reached out and touched Aylsa on the hand.
“Soft,” he chided, comforting. “I did not mean no harm. But sing me again those songs you sang before… ‘Coddle Me, Coddle Me’, ‘Tie me a ribbon’ and ‘Tom Tattifer’ – the one that I liked best of all.”
Aylsa looked puzzled.
“I know only one song,” she said. “And I know that you know it too – for I see you listening every afternoon.”
“Then sing it to me now,” Scillow begged her, and Aylsa began:
“Spin me a song,
Oh sister dear –
Spin me a sister’s song.
The willows hang dark
And the willows hang low
Down by the bank
Where the tall rushes grow –
Oh spin me a sister’s song.”
As Aylsa’s voice soared higher, Scillow took her by the hand and they walked away from the river and the bridge, up the winding path that led them to the hills, where Aylsa could gather all the wool that she liked, just as her sister had done before, while dog Callum and his flock of sheep followed on close behind.
But soon as they had gone so far up into the hills that they were only specks as small as flowers up among the lowering cloud, then beneath the echo of the bridge came a ripple in the water – and out stepped the figure of a woman who had been swimming there, her dark hair plastered wet all down around her shoulders. And so she walked away, singing sweet and long:
“Spin me a song,
Oh sister dear –
Spin me a sister’s song…”
And all around the corner, who there did she meet but three brothers lost, come down from the mountain where the cold winds blew – and they sang there together till the sun began to set:
“The willows hang dark
And the willows hang low
Down by the bank
Where the tall rushes grow…”
The House of the Sea
Let me tell you… Let me tell you… Ravenhair’s shoes were broken and worn with walking all the way from Brunt Boggart. She pulled them off and set them down on the grass beside her. There to her surprise, she saw another pair under a stone. They were covered all over with gold brocade and laced with crimson flowers. She looked around, but there was no-one else in sight. Not even a house, nor a cottage, nor a farm anywhere that she could see – only the strong copper beech trees and a carpet of moss that lay soft and neat.
Ravenhair wriggled her toes and rubbed the soles of her aching feet – then she slipped her old shoes under the stone and looked around again. There was still nobody else in sight and so she slid the golden shoes with the crimson flowers onto her own weary feet. The shoes were soft, the shoes were light, not like any shoes she’d ever seen before. Ravenhair stood up and straight away her feet were walking on air. She felt as if she had no cares as she took a step and a trip and a skip and found herself dancing around and around, prancing so lightly she scarce touched the ground.
As the shoes danced, Ravenhair danced with them. They took her this way, they took her that, leading her along a winding track through the trees to where the grass was a cushion of tussocks, soft beneath her feet. The shoes skipped and turned as if they tripped to a music whirling round them in the wind. Ravenhair clapped her hands, keeping time to the rhythm.
When she opened her eyes again, she was standing at the door of a house, but not a house at all, more like the hulk of a huge rotting boat, thrown here miles from the sea. Ravenhair looked up. Where the chimney might be rose a mast and rigging. Her legs were weary and she wanted to rest, but the golden shoes kept on dancing, right there at the door. She grasped at the knocker and lifted it up, then brought it down like a hammer upon an anvil.
There was a clatter of birds from the rigging above as they scattered off into the trees. As Ravenhair looked down, her feet danced on and she could feel a trembling in her knees. She grasped the knocker again and brought it down once more. On her third stroke there was a creaking, and the door opened just a crack. Ravenhair reached out to grip the wall, but the shoes danced faster and faster still as the door swung open and there before her stood a tall stooped man. His eyes stared out before him, but he seemed to gaze beyond Ravenhair, as if he was searching the sky.
“Who is there?” he asked. His voice was as dark as the waters where the House of the Sea must have sailed. As he turned to reach towards her, his hand brushed against her hair.
“Your tangled tresses are longer now. Are you come back again?”
Ravenhair hesitated.
“Come to me,” he commanded, in a voice both kind and strong. “You know me true – I am Karroc. I am here always, I am always here. This is my ship though I sail no more. This is my cradle, my house, my shroud. Dance with me and tell me your dreams.”
Karroc held her, softly, gently. He stilled the rhythm of her frantic feet, till she could feel the pulse of the ocean as they danced like birds who skim the water, barely touching
as they wheeled and turned. They swirled and they whirled all outside the door and in. Into the shadows, into the belly of the ship which was heavy with mould and rust. Ravenhair clung dizzily as Karroc danced, her head spinning as they swung waist-to-waist, hip-to-hip.
And then they stopped. Karroc led her step by step and Ravenhair walked close by his side as the shoes had finished their dancing. Inside, the walls were moss-covered planks, lined with pitch but dark and damp. From hooks and nails hung robes and shawls, woven with pictures of cities and deserts such as Ravenhair had never seen. On shelves and cabinets stood treasures and trinkets all corked up in bottles. Karroc reached to touch one.
“Tell me what you see,” he instructed.
Ravenhair took the bottle. “I see a mountain with a tongue of fire. I see a tree whose fruit burns bright as lanterns. I see flowers dancing in hidden caverns, their petals twined tight with desire.”
Karroc was thrilled and held Ravenhair closer.
“I need your eyes,” he said. “Today you see more clearly than ever.” He shook his head, as if suddenly not certain who Ravenhair was after all. “It is as though you had never seen these treasures before, these relics I brought from far-off lands when I sailed out from Arleccra.”
“How far to Arleccra?” Ravenhair asked.
Karroc pointed vaguely.
“Arleccra is beyond and beyond, and then beyond again. From there I have sailed for a hundred days and a hundred days more, through storm and wind and hail, until I came to a shore where creatures sported such as no man had ever seen before. Their eyes glowed bright as burning coals, their backs were hard as polished horn, yet their bellies were smooth as babies’ milk and their long tongues licked soft as a mother’s breast.
“I have been to where the bear was born who dances now on Arleccra’s quay – to caves to the north of the west wind’s mouth, in a land of ice and blood, where pale birds circle the sullen sky as they sing with voices pure as snow.
“I have danced with girls in forests dark who were not girls at all but the daughters of sinuous serpents, writhing to the rhythm of the sea. This is the dance which they taught me – hold closer and follow my steps.”
And so Ravenhair held close and they danced again – but this time it was Karroc’s lead she followed, and not the golden shoes. They danced through a chamber of wind and rain that came from a far-off land. They danced through a chamber of scorching sun that beat down onto burning sand. And then they stood in a room of blue light which was filled with a lapping sound and the call of wheeling gulls. Karroc reached out and touched a finger to Ravenhair’s lips, and then he kissed her, sweet as cinnamon, gentle as jasmine and wild as wine. She could feel the dark fingers of the ocean knotting and unknotting inside her and then she crumpled down onto an embroidered cushion and fell into a long deep sleep.
As she slept, the shoes danced on, all the way across hill and stream until she came to Arleccra. And there she saw the market stalls with silken scarves and hand-sewn shawls. There she saw the dancing bear and pale-faced girls slipping through the shadows of the alley ways. She flitted quick from stall to stall, touching, tasting, trying. And following her all the way was Karroc, indulging her in dresses and ear-rings, shifts and skirts and a purple scarf all edged with silver to wrap around her hair. Whatever she asked for, he would buy, even though she knew that he could see none of them. But each time she reached up to kiss him, to show her gratitude, then Karroc turned away. And yet whatever she wanted, he bought her – and still she asked for more, until she had so much she could not carry it all. She looked around for Karroc then, to beg him to help her to bear all his gifts, but he was nowhere to be seen. Ravenhair dropped the pile of treasures in a useless heap between the stalls. Where had Karroc gone? She chased his shadow through the throng, but none of them seemed to see her as she ran, as she stumbled, as she fell…
…as she woke in the room of blue light, lying on the cushion where Karroc had left her. She looked around eagerly, knowing that he must be here. But no, though she searched through every room, Karroc had gone. She felt the shoes of gold brocade tugging at her feet again. Ravenhair let them lead her, just as they had before, hoping they would help her to find the man who had bought her so many gifts, and yet no gifts at all.
She danced and danced from the House of the Sea out into a shadowy garden, dark as the ocean and darker still. There she circled, step and toe, around black roses with silvered thorns, across the tide of a moonlit lawn. Ravenhair caught her breath as she whirled, as she twirled. She could hear a voice singing, soft and low.
“If I am you and you are me,
Where is the man that makes us three?”
The sound came from far away. Where was the girl who sang so sweet? Ravenhair peered all around. Was she behind the apple tree whose fruit glistened pale in the darkness?
“If you are me and I am you,
Where is the man that makes us two?”
As Ravenhair grew closer, the voice flitted off, deep into the bushes of blood-red berries.
“If yours is the voice that is singing my song,
Where is the man that makes us one?”
Ravenhair dragged the brambles aside, expecting to find a girl. But no-one was there, the singing had gone – then it returned, closer than ever before, as if the voice was singing inside her head. Her tongue moved without bidding, carrying the tune, extending the melody, searching out new harmonies. Ravenhair stopped, and the song stopped too, but then came again and this time the other girl stepped out into the moonlight from under a yew tree’s brooding shadow. Ravenhair gasped and gazed at her ragged dress, her pale bare feet all twisted and blistered.
“Who are you?” Ravenhair asked, but the girl gave no reply, save to sing the song again:
“If I am you and you are me,
Where is the man that makes us three?
If you are me and I am you,
Where is the man that makes us two?
If yours is the voice that is singing my song,
Where is the man that makes us one?”
Ravenhair tried to join in, but no sound would come from her own lips all the while the girl was singing. When the song was done, the two girls stood facing each other. But the other girl said nothing, only stared at her, and began her song again. And as she sang, the golden shoes on Ravenhair’s feet shuffled and span, dancing once more in twisting spirals, closer to the girl and closer still, all around her and around as she sang on and on. They danced so close their hair was twined and their arms were wrapped around each other as they whirled faster and faster still, until in a swirling blur they flew – and far below was the garden which spread dark around the House of the Sea. And there on the step stood Karroc. He was peering blindly up towards the stars through the eye of a tarnished brass telescope, as if he might be watching the girls as they flew away and away.
They flew beyond the trees and back along the path which led to the Pedlar Man’s Track. As they drifted down slowly, Ravenhair felt the girl’s body shivering and cold. They landed soft beside the stone where Ravenhair had found the shoes.
She wrapped her coat around the girl’s shoulders. The girl met her eyes, then looked away – and there she saw, beneath the stone, the shoes which Ravenhair had discarded. Ravenhair bent down and let her long dark tresses spill around the girl’s twisted blistered feet. She smoothed and rubbed and caressed, as if she was washing them in a darkness of milk. The girl stood up and smiled, then suddenly grabbed at the old shoes which were still lying there, seeming pleased of anything to wear. Ravenhair felt glad to have made a gift to this stranger, but then the gold brocade slippers on her feet started to quiver and twitch.
“Stop!” she cried to the girl, who had begun to walk away. “Are these your shoes?”
The girl turned around.
“Those shoes you are wearing are mine,” Ravenhair explained. “Broken as they might be, they have brought me here, all the way from Brunt Boggart.”
Ravenhair pull
ed off the gold slippers before they could start to dance again.
“These shoes are soft and beautiful, but they will take me nowhere at all – except dancing away from the Track. I must walk to Arleccra in my own old shoes, every step of the way.”
She unlaced the slippers of crimson and gold and held them out to the girl.
“These are the shoes that will take you home – back to the House of the Sea.”
Ravenhair tugged on her own worn-out shoes while the girl tucked her feet into the slippers of gold brocade, which started dancing right away. She waved to Ravenhair as she twirled to the bend in the track that led all the way back to the House. But as she did, her tattered dress turned to sinuous snakeskin as she writhed to the rhythm of the sea. And there by her side stood Karroc, with his telescope under his arm. He seemed younger now than he had before, and fixed Ravenhair with a curious stare as he danced away with the girl.
The Blue Crow
Let me tell you… let me tell you how Crossdogs heard the sound of a baby crying as he walked on down the lane. He turned the corner and another corner and there he saw a girlen walking towards him, pushing a hand-cart cluttered with baubles and gaudied all over with painted flowers.
Crossdogs came closer and peered at the mother who bent down to coo and to fuss at the bundle in the cart who kept crying louder than ever. The girlen smiled at Crossdogs, her face all flustered – and he stepped in to look close at the child to see what the crying was for. He was about to tell the mother how fine her baby looked, for he knew that the girlen liked that all back in Brunt Boggart – but as he leant in, to his surprise twas not a child at all but a sharp-beaked crow, its feathers a rich shade of blue.
Crossdogs stepped back, not sure what to say. The mother, whose name was Downfeathers, stared straight at him in a most puzzlesome way. But then before either of them could speak, the blue crow flapped its wings with a clatter and flew clean away. Downfeathers wept and wailed for her child, who sat squat on the branch of a tree, stropping its beak and cawing raucously.
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