Darkling Fields of Arvon

by James G Anderson

"Time to check our song map again, Gwyn," Kal said as his fingers sought the little harp. He plucked the strings in steady rhythm as he walked, and, again, words and melody sprang to his lips.

  "A solitary elm stands o'er this vale,

  Vale Mengoleth, as hight by men of old.

  Upon its crown, a crown—no gem, no gold—

  But stone, and stony flies the raven, black,

  Above the way, which drops to quarry track.

  Its broad'ning flight, rough hewn, descends, until

  Alighting by a cool wellspring; 'twill fill

  Its cold and stony bed unto the brim . . ."

  "Down there!" Kal cried and scrabbled down a bank of wiry grass rooted in loose gravel to a large boulder, its top lying flat to view. On it was painted a black raven, faded by the weather of years but too obvious to miss. Just below it, a trackway cut across the hillside. Kal and Gwyn followed this. It plunged into a deep, broad pit with high sides of chiselled rock, then emerged only to drop again into a further depression, a small spring-fed pond at its centre.

  "Now bends the way to overslip the rim

  And rising fall. But mark, by ancient craft,

  The song-sung path runs true, an arrow shaft

  Unto its point hard-set upon the spine.

  Here 'bout, the rod is fletched in feath'ry pine,

  And at its balance crosses with the bow,

  Where bear and buck and boar are wont to go.

  Then flies the bolt o'er fen and face and field,

  Until beneath the black escarpment yield

  To plummet to the ground by ancient track

  And enter there the Tircoil forest black.

  And thence four easy furlongs to the Heath,

  Sequestered peace and from the depths relief.

  Beyond this glade, there lies a goodly cot . . ."

  The track continued, well trodden, through a stand of towering pines and onto a narrow grassy plain. They recognized the orienting landmarks, following always the ruins of a tall watchtower that sat directly before them on a distant dark-faced ridge, tapering like a stiff finger pointing to the sky. Once, traversing a long curve of rolling hills, they startled a bear, sending it shambling out of their path into the forest. On the crest of the hill, Kal looked back towards the heights. He scanned the way they had come for signs of pursuit, but saw none.

  They pressed on in an unswerving line across terrain at times flat and easily travelled, and at times rugged, steep, and treacherous. Now and then a trail would angle into the way they trod and follow it for a time before veering away in the face of some obstacle or rough ground to follow a less difficult route. The Holdsmen, however, held their course without deviation, ever keeping the watchtower before them, until it loomed over them, perched atop black cliffs. From the base of the cliffs, they descended.

  They came to stand on the ancient thoroughfare of Hoël's Dyke, its broad flagged surface in disrepair and mostly overgrown but still proof against the vast forest that encroached the ditch on its western edge.

  "A well-built roadway this, to have broken the tide of the Woods of Tircoil for so many centuries." Kal stooped and ran a finger along the seam of age-worn paving stones perfectly cut and jointed, yet remained careful not to disturb the lichen, moss, and forest debris that covered most of the surface of the road and that might show sign of their passage.

  There was no telling how far behind them the Black Scorpions and Southwoldsmen might be, or what other foemen might chance upon their trail. They had sidestepped the threat of Kenulf, only to raise the alarm farther along their way. The intensity of the chase earlier that day had left little doubt that he and Gwyn had not been mistaken for unwary woodsmen gathering faggots for the hearth. No doubt, the woodland and countryside of all of South Wold, and, indeed, of every one of the highland clanholdings west of the Radolans, were under the rule of Ferabek's troops, and every man, woman, and child would have been accounted for. Any travelling stranger would be a wanted man. But maybe this was to their benefit. Perhaps their having been discovered might provide the distraction necessary to divert attention away from the Holdsfolk and help their passage go undetected.

  Kal stood and looked into the ancient forest beside the old road. Great boled trees stood spaciously apart, their branches interwoven in a high dense canopy of green, its shade too deep to permit undergrowth on the forest floor that receded, gently rolling, into the cool depths. The forest's darkness was broken only by the occasional thin shaft of sunlight that pierced the deep shadow far back among the trees, each illuminating a small patch of woodland grass or flower. It seemed hardly likely that such an apparently pleasant place should harbour anything as dire as the terror that was supposed to be the waldscathes. Such a place would surely be inhospitable to such a sinister reality.

  "The dread Woods of Tircoil. This is them. It doesn't look so bad."

  Gwyn, his wrist cocked over the hilt of his shortsword, gave him a look askance.

  "What? Waldscathes? I'd chalk that up as an old wives' tale. Does that fireside story still scare you, lad?"

  Gwyn didn't change his expression, but looked again into the Woods.

  "Aye, well, I'm not entirely settled on that matter yet myself." Kal knit his brows in thought, then squinted into the sky overhead. The sun shone warm with a drowsy summer's heat.

  "We've the better portion of the day left to us, Gwyn, and a fair hike yet to reach Ruah's Well. Down Hoël's Dyke to the songline of Melderenys, and from there we strike a distance into the Woods. What say we take a rest?"

  Gwyn looked alarmed. He gestured back the way they had come, grimacing.

  "Not here. I don't mean here. Let's follow Carric-thona a little bit more. Just four easy furlongs—but half a mile—to a quiet glade, as in the journey song."

  Gwyn's look of alarm didn't lessen.

  "We've nothing for it. We have to enter the Woods sooner than later. Why not here? Along the songline? We'll ease our limbs at the glade without fear of capture. If the Southwoldsmen are anywhere about, they won't dare come into the Woods of Tircoil."

  Gwyn still frowned, and now shook his head slowly.

  "We'll keep to the songline, Gwyn. You've seen its power. No need to worry about waldscathes, not on Carric-thona, not in broad daylight. Besides, it's only a short distance, and it'll give us a chance to shake off possible pursuit."

  Gwyn sighed and shrugged, slid his bow from his shoulder and checked how its string sat in the grooves of first one tip and then the other. He bounced the bow in his hand at the grip, reached over to the quiver on his back, drew forth an arrow, and nocked it to the string. Holding his weapon, he moved towards the far side of the causeway.

  Kal stepped behind the younger Holdsman and paused to strum the pios. He smiled in approval, the notes hanging sweet in the sun-charged air. They were still on the songline.

  "Go on. I'm right behind you."

  Gwyn stepped down the breastwork of the Dyke to an even stretch of forest tenanted by enormous oak trees, gnarled and wizened, like old men with unkempt mossy beards. Not a few dozen paces into the Wood, they were surprised to discover that the line they walked had become a clear and heavily travelled game path. Animals of all kinds had left their tracks in the soft soil. Kal chuckled; Galli would have been beside himself at the wealth and variety of spoor.

  The Holdsmen walked in silence for several minutes. Kal savoured the cool stillness of the Woods, particularly after the early start that morning and the terror that followed. A rest would be welcome, but they could not stay their journey for long. Thoughts of his father haunted him. They would rest—they needed rest—and then they would seek out the Well.

  Deeper into the Woods, the path widened and descended to skirt a large pond lying blue under a break in the forest's roof. The pond's banks were grass-covered and fringed by large clumps of lily and violet. On a branch overhanging the placid water, there perched a kingfisher. It rattled out a greeting to them as it waited for a telling ripple or stir t
o dive for its meal. Across the water, maples in flower scented the air with sweetness.

  Beyond the pond, the ground lifted and sunlight filled a large opening in the forest. A fawn frisked and gambolled atop a low earthen bank, then bolted when it sensed the approach of the two Holdsmen. Kal and Gwyn entered a lush meadow that rose gently to a facing hillock, its tall grasses furrowed by the continuing path.

  "The Heath," Kal said, low-voiced. He hardly dared break the spell woven by the lazy drone of bees high among the pale flowers of a great lime tree at the edge of the grass.

  "There is no danger here." Sighing with relief, Kal lowered himself onto the soft cushion of grass growing thick beside the path. He lay on his side, propping his head on his hand. Gwyn joined him. They lounged and savoured the warm sunlight that flooded over them. Kal lay back and closed his eyes. Several minutes had passed before Kal sat up and rummaged through his codynnos for a tharf cake that Broq had given him, half of which he handed to Gwyn.

  "Well, we've lingered long enough. Long enough, I hope, for the Southwoldsmen to have given up the chase, if, by chance, they even got as far as Hoël's Dyke. Whatever the case, we've got to get back on the road, back to the Dyke, and then to the Melderenys songline." Kal pushed himself to his feet. For a moment he regarded the facing hill, so low that it was scarcely more than a mound.

  "I wonder what lies farther down this songline."

  Giving way to the impulse of curiosity, his hand strayed to the pios. His voice rang clear in the summer air, swelling in common measure with the lines sung earlier in the day. He recognized the words he sang, and yet they seemed unfamiliar, somehow new to him.

  "And from the sleepy languor of the Heath,

  This way will wend unto sequestered peace.

  Beyond this glade, there lies a goodly cot,

  Its keep and keeper by the world forgot.

  'Tis Mousehold hav'n, quickset by laurel 'round.

  And yew, and privet, morning glory crowned . . ."

  The sound of another voice drifted to his ear, so subtle that Kal hardly noticed it at first, blending with his song and the chorus of insect and bird. It had taken up the words and melody of the song, even as Kal sang them. He glanced at Gwyn. No . . . Impossible . . . The mute Holdsman returned Kal's look of shocked puzzlement.

  " . . . Enclose bejewelled beds of lily, rose,

  Shy violet, and columbine. Here grows

  Lace maidenhair . . .

  Kal had stopped singing, but the song continued. He recognized the voice as that of a woman, rough, almost gravelly, but not unmelodious. It carried a strange suggestive power. She had taken up the burden of the turusoran. Her voice came from up ahead, where the path that they had been treading disappeared beyond the gentle rise in the near distance.

  " . . . and marigold, 'mid pale

  and purest banks of lily-of-the-vale.

  'Forget-me-not,' the graceful bluebell rings,

  'Nor me,' the sorrel wood-sage mother sings."

  Already Gwyn was running, overleaping the little stream that purled across the field. Kal followed, no less drawn to whoever it was that was singing Carric-thona.

  Kal topped the rise, stopping beside his companion, and gazed down into a small clearing ringed around by a low greenwood hedge. In the middle of it was set a charming, half-timbered cottage, roofed with thatch and overflown by myriad twittering swallows. The singing had stopped. Before the cottage was the tilled soil of a small wicker-fenced kitchen garden surrounded by banks of well-tended flower beds. There, hoe in hand, stood a white-haired woman, wiping a hand on her apron. She was evidently not that old, for she had a straightness of posture that belied age.

  "Come." She beckoned to the Holdsmen, smiling.

  They descended the short slope and stepped through a gap in the waist-high hedge. The woman was of average height, of solid frame but not stout, dressed in a plain brown kirtle of braided wool that reached down to her ankles and was drawn tight at the waist by a light beige hip girdle under a garden-stained apron. Her hair, like silvered drifts of snow, was strangely at odds with the unwrinkled softness of her cheeks and brow. Falling down to her waist, her hair was held in place by a floral circlet of honeysuckle. With its high cheekbones and smooth forehead, her face was striking, not quite beautiful by normal reckoning but possessed of a chiselled perfection that spoke wisdom as well as a deep sadness that seeped like tears from her bright grey almond-shaped eyes.

  "I . . . We . . ." Kal fumbled in his attempt to establish cordial terms. He remembered Galli's pledge with Broq. "Peace, Mother of the Wood . . . ," he ventured.

  The woman smiled again and said, "And peace to you, little son. What brings you to Mousehold?"

  "Wise Mother," Kal said, "we seek Ruah's Well."

  The woman leaned her hoe against the woven willow twigs of the garden fence and looked again at Kal.

  "Ah . . . ," Kal continued, "for the healing water. For my father . . . . He was poisoned by an arrow dipped in sumokhan. He's very ill and like to die without it."

  The woman remained silent for a moment, then looked at Gwyn.

  "You are mute in voice, but not in heart . . . nor in deed. It is good. Guard him well." Gwyn bowed his head and, unbidden, drew aside as the woman stepped forward and took Kal's hands in her own. As she held them, she looked into his eyes and glanced down at the pios.

  "You are a bard," she said.

  "I am."

  "A bard, yes, yes." She held his hands fast, looking into his eyes. "That, yes, but much more." She paused, closed her eyes, then lifted Kal's hands, pressing them to her lips, kissing them softly.

  Kal stood in stunned silence. "But how . . . What . . . Who are you?"

  "What I am is of small account. Who I am you shall learn soon enough. You have come to Mousehold"—now at last she released Kal's hands—"on the songline Carric-thona, and I know that Nuath's men search for you. I know that, if you are to save your father's life, you cannot linger here."

  "Which way is best from here to Ruah's Well, Wise Mother?" Kal asked.

  "Retrace your steps to Hoël's Dyke, and from there travel south to Melderenys. Once on the songline, you'll find Ruah's Well sure enough. You'll find that the way is clear of the enemy. You'll have no problems." The mysterious woman had confirmed their original plan. Her tone of reassurance brought warmth and peace to Kal's heart.

  "Wait here and I'll send you on your way with fresh provisions," she said and hurried into her cottage. Kal looked at Gwyn and shook his head in amazement, then let his gaze roam over their surroundings. On the right side of the cottage there grew a stand of birch, beyond which loomed the ruins of what, at one time, must have been a glence, the stones of its dome collapsed, flanked by a tower in similar disrepair. A score of questions thronged Kal's mind as he waited.

  The woman returned. "You have many thoughts. Stay your curiosity until there is time, which now there is not," she said as she approached them again. She carried a platter of oatcakes, which she offered them, and which they stowed in their night pouches. "Content yourself to know that I am not unknown to Aelward."

  "A friend?"

  "Indeed a friend, Myghternos Anadem." She took his hand once more in hers, an earnest sparkle rekindling in her eyes. "A friend in your need. Now, may Ruah guide your steps."

  Twelve

  "I'd say we've walked a full three leagues," Kal said, adjusting Rhodangalas at his hip, as he lowered himself to sit on a stone by the edge of the track. He slipped the codynnos from his shoulder and, placing it on his lap, drew a sleeve across his sweaty brow. "It can't be much farther." He gazed down the road that lay ahead of them to the south, where it took a gentle dip and made a sweeping turn. It lay peaceful in the afternoon sun.

  So far, the journey had been uneventful. They had travelled quickly, hugging what cover was afforded by the shoulders of Hoël's Dyke. As they walked, the raised wagon track had broken occasionally from its otherwise uniform span, broadening for a space. Many of these places
were little more than a slight widening of the flagged surface, enough to allow carts of old to pass one another, their wheel hubs narrowly clearing. Other places, often shaded by the spreading branches of some ancient tree, had obviously been intended as rest stops for the travellers of centuries past. By the wayside at one of these spots, there had been the remains of an old stone byre. Gwyn had scrambled about the building's wreckage, exploring, while Kal studied the map yet again. In another place, there stood the crumbling remains of a stone and mortar water trough that at one time had been filled by a spring, now long dry. What was left of the trough was filled with tall grasses and overflowing creepers.

  Kal looked up from the road ahead to the verdant roof of interwoven branches above him. Here, where they had stopped, four immense ivy-clad oaks stood evenly placed, two on either side of a generous expanse of flagstone. Beneath the overarching limbs, Hoël's Dyke lay in deep shade at four times its normal breadth, wider by far than any other place they had encountered along the forgotten road that afternoon.

  Kal pulled the map from his codynnos, unfolded it, and scrutinized it. After a moment, he tapped its surface and glanced up to where Gwyn nosed about between the huge oaks on the west side of the road.

  "Melderenys, the songline. I figure that it can't be far off," Kal said and returned his attention to the water-stained parchment. "It can't be far now."

  Gently, Kal refolded the map and restored it to his codynnos. In its stead, he pulled out the pios. He turned the tiny harp in his hand, contemplating its golden surface, its curves and lines. He had unclasped the pios from his cloak when they had left the old woman's cottage. It had seemed prudent to keep the brooch hidden. No telling who they might encounter on the road, and in open sight the thing was a dead giveaway. At the foot of one of the trees, Gwyn had drawn his hunting knife and was cutting away creepers with determined effort.