"What's that, Gwyn? What have you got there?"
Kal snatched up the satchel from his lap as he stood and strode across the track. The ground between the trees was solid, flagged like Hoël's Dyke, except more crusted with debris and age, and uneven, hardly visible as a roadway. Here and there, tree roots had heaved the surface of the ancient trackway, the jagged edges of broken flagstone cutting the bed of moss and leaf mould.
Kal came up behind Gwyn, who knelt, tearing at the vines with his hands, clearing the surface of a stout slab of black marble, which had been pushed off true and cradled in the time-swollen roots of a tree. Incised into the slab, though still partly obscured by lichen, was a series of interlaced squiggles in a row across the black face of the stone. This was surmounted by a graceful double curve ending in a swirl, clearly suggesting the arch and stoop of a deer's back, neck, and head.
"Water . . ." Kal ran a finger over the etched waves and flicked a patch of lichen away. "And the deer . . . Ruah's Well. It must point the way. The songline—we're on Melderenys!"
Already, Gwyn had descended out of the shade of the oaks and onto a scrubby patch of ground. Kal turned to follow him. The way was thickly overgrown with briars and brambles that tore at their legs, but remained paved and solid underfoot, leading straight away from Hoël's Dyke into the Woods of Tircoil.
"There was a road here, Gwyn, a road that people took to reach the Well," Kal said, catching up to his companion on the ancient path now overshadowed by the Woods. "It should lead us right there. No need for the pios to check our way." Kal gripped the brooch hard in his fist for a moment then refastened it to his cloak.
The forest appeared as it had before; broad expanses of deeply shaded woodland spread beneath a heavy-pillared sylvan roof. Straight along the path they continued, and, while at times an aged tree would lean heavily over it, never did the path have to stray from its course to avoid one. Gradually, the great trees thinned, and the land grew more wild, coarse with scrub. Here and there, a sarsen stone stood tall by the way, like a dark and silent sentinel.
The path descended to the edge of a vast swamp fetid with gas that bubbled pungently from an ooze of stagnant water. Dead trees thrust their broken limbs into the sky like bony, white-robed dancers frozen midstep. Here the path mounted a raised bed and continued unswerving across the centre of the bog until it rose again into woodland still shaggy and unkempt, and gained height, rising towards a ridge among blue wooded hills.
From the crest of the ridge, the land fell away before them into the narrow end of a long valley walled by the thick-wooded Tircoilian hills. They stood high above the valley floor, which undulated gently down its length over low hummocks that in the distance shouldered their way back under the mantle of forest stretching towards the coastal plain. Far away, the valley's steep sides lessened in height and eventually fell into the forested hills that lay hazy and purple on the narrow horizon.
Below them, the path dropped into the valley. Except for the occasional coppice, the woods had retreated, leaving the roadway clearly visible, a ribbon in an emerald sea of grass. A stream snaked its way back and forth among the low hills, twice cutting across the path, which then rose onto a knoll crowned by a group of standing stones. Kal pointed west, down into the rift, where the molten light of the afternoon sun was held as in a long vessel.
"There, that's it. That's Ruah's Well!"
Their pace quickening, the Holdsmen descended the road, now cleanly flagged, no longer a mouldering ruin. Here and there, in the broad expanse of sloping downland, stood spinneys of white birch that overshadowed narrow defiles and brooks, most scarcely more than rills, which tumbled like liquid silver from ledge to ledge down the sides of the valley, sometimes spilling into pools overhung by wildflower and grasses.
Silverweed now crowded the trackway, its yellow flowers scenting the air, as the path bottomed the valley and mounted an arched stone footbridge that overstepped the clear stream. The flagged path continued through lush flatland, bridged the stream again, and mounted the hill upon which stood the stones.
The view from a distance had been deceptive. The hill was high. Upon it rose stones of a massive size, standing in an open area that must have been nearly a hundred paces across, thick with low-growing sod grasses and offering a lordly view of the valley behind them. The stones were smoothly hewn, all of them roughly the same size. A rank of stones stood in a straight line across the edge of the hilltop. Both ends of the row cornered and ran to a closing rank, forming a great square. Within the square, a ring of the tall stones stood in a circle of the same width as the square.
Kal and Gwyn followed the track and entered the structure in the middle of the line of stones, where the sides of both circle and square met, through a portal comprised of two immense pillar stones surmounted by a shorter lintel stone. Directly ahead of them loomed another portal, constructed in like manner of two pillars and a lintel. Again, to their left and right, where circle met square, were lintelled openings in the otherwise unbroken lines of free-standing megaliths that towered, solemn and immovable, like giant guardsmen posted to keep watch on an outlying battlement.
Kal stepped farther into the structure. His eyes widened with realization. The openings were not aligned to the cardinal directions but rather lay along the songline of Melderenys and at right angles to it. This structure, this ancient portal to Ruah's Well, was built something like any glence in Ahn Norvys was supposed to be—according to a glence mark—oriented to the Great Glence itself. Wilum had taught him that once. Kal remembered the old Hordanu bemoaning the fact that, in recent centuries, glences had been erected that lay, as only the Great Glence should, along the cardinal directions dictated by the pole star and the rise and fall of the sun rather than according to a glence mark for which the Great Glence itself was the focus and anchor. Yet another indication of the waning of order in the twilight of the Harmonic Age, Wilum was wont to say.
Of course, every songline would naturally form a glence mark, except that this structure would have been built in the mists of time, by the echobards themselves, before ever there was any glence mark or songline—before the Great Glence was conceived in thought. Kal considered the fathomless mystery of the place.
In a stupor, he gazed about the squared ring of stones as he and Gwyn wandered into the structure. The floor of the edifice was flawlessly cobbled, and at its centre was inlaid the same pattern of hind and water that they had noted earlier on the stone marker. Here, however, the pattern was formed in brilliantly coloured stones—glistening azures, indigoes, and violets set among snowy whites and silvers.
Kal stood in the very centre of the inner ring of stones and turned in a slow circle. His hand strayed to the pios at his throat, and he delicately plucked the strings. As before, a resonant chord sprang from the tiny harp. Syllables swelled in the young Hordanu's throat, then burst from his mouth—syllables he didn't recognize, forming words he didn't recognize, in a language he didn't recognize—save for one word. One word, repeated and becoming the only word ringing among the stones: "Ruah . . . Ruah . . . Ruah . . . Ruah . . ."
The tones resounded and faded as Kal stopped singing. Beside him, Gwyn spun around, then stood stock-still, his gaze riveted on the western wall of the edifice. Out of the corner of his eye, Kal caught a hint of movement, the suggestion of a ghostly white shape gliding indistinct behind the stones and slipping out of view over the lip of the knoll.
Kal and Gwyn rushed through the portal before them, passing through it onto a terrace bounded by an ivy-veiled low stone wall. They found themselves standing atop an escarpment, the knoll falling sharply to a grove of mountain ash that crowded a pool. The overhanging trees obscured all but the surface of the pool. In the pool, Kal saw reflected a spectral image that stooped to drink, then lifted its head to look up at the two Holdsmen before disappearing beneath the trees. A feeling played delicately along the nape of Kal's neck and spread down his spine, a strange tingle of hopeful expectation. In the space of
a heartbeat it was gone.
"Ruah . . . ," Kal breathed.
To their left, through a break in the low wall, was a set of stone stairs that led to a landing, then broke to the right, falling across the face of the escarpment.
"This way, Gwyn," Kal said in little more than a whisper.
The grey slate steps were encrusted with moss and lichen. On either side of them ran intricately worked iron railings, rusted but still sound and solidly fixed into a series of flanking stone pillars. Each pillar was carved square and smooth, the inner face of each displaying the same weathered representation of hind and water.
Down the stairs they descended until they reached another landing. Here the stairs doubled back and continued to the left until ending in a small meadow nestled in a hollow made snug on three sides by wooded slopes bathed in late afternoon sunlight. Before them lay the pool bordered by mountain ash, its surface a shimmering sheet of gold, disturbed only by a lone swan that glided stately on the water.
"Gwyn. This is it. This is Ruah's Well," Kal said with hushed voice, regarding the pool. The Well was contained by a low curb of mortared stone covered by a smooth capstone of slate. Kal leaned over the wall. The water of the Well had the aspect of crystal and receded into a depth of blackness. Farther away from him a stony bottom appeared, sloping sharply upwards as the pool shallowed. A good part of the Well lay hidden from view, enclosed by a cavernous grotto in the bowels of the very same hillside upon which they had stood among the standing stones. He moved to the right, away from the steps, following the curve of the wall. The cave's opening was framed in purplish-blue and white by a densely woven checkerwork of columbine that filled every crack and ledge that could hold soil and root.
The two Holdsmen walked beside the pool on a broad walkway of pebbled stone that led into the hillside. Now they stepped from sunlight into the gloom of the cavern. Rather than a murky dankness, however, the two were met by a bracing splash of running water that freshened the air of the broad cavern, while a soft watery light seemed to cast a glow over the place. Gwyn leaned over the low stone wall and touched the surface of the water.
The light seemed to emanate inexplicably from the Well itself, not from the outside. Stranger still, in this sunless cavern grew a startling profusion of columbines, decking rocks, over which a little rill of water splashed and gurgled into the pool from a broad shelf set in the back of the grotto. There on the shelf, standing rampant in the gentle flow of water, was the life-size figure of a hind sculpted in softly phosphorescent white marble, her moist nostrils flared and her head lifted. Kal pressed past Gwyn and clambered over worn rocks to the statue. It was an exquisitely fashioned piece of work, so clean-limbed and majestically supple, so filled with glowing gentleness, that she appeared poised to spring into movement and life. The light in the cavern seemed to flow from the statue itself, and yet, when he stretched out his hand and brought it to rest on the figure, the cold white stone changed hue and darkened, as if his hand cast its shadow upon the marble surface, blocking the light. As he removed his hand, the stone appeared to glow again.
There was a splash behind him. Gwyn had shed his cloak, weapons and codynnos, thrown aside his tunic, and leaped into the pool. He lay in the water, rolling in it, sucking it up through pursed lips, swishing it in his mouth, as if it were a fine vintage. Finally, he sat up in it, washing his lame foot.
Kal smiled and returned his attention to the white stone figure and the ledge upon which it stood. Behind the statue, he could see a deeper depression funnelling to a hole beneath the water's surface. Over it, the water stretched and swelled with movement as a spring bubbled up from unknown depths below. This was the very source of Ruah's Well, forever replenishing its healing flow. Behind the spring, at the very back of the grotto, was a further shallow overhang of rock, worn smooth from the coming and going of countless people over the centuries. Here the path ended. Kal stepped onto the smooth stone and knelt, cupping his hands to scoop up the Well's water. Kal sipped at the clear, cold liquid as it dropped from his fingers in a cascade of crystal droplets. Stooping down farther on hands and knees, he immersed his face in the pool and drank deep draughts of the water. It had an icy sweetness, more savoury and refreshing than any water he had ever sampled before, even water from the clear mountain springs of the Stoneholding. It was as if he was drinking the very essence of water, water so pure that it spilled forth light much as the white marble form of Ruah in this grotto seemed to do.
Having had his fill, he unfastened the two waterskins he had brought and began to fill them, dipping them in the water one at a time. After he had stoppered them and reattached them to his belt, he sat back on his heels, kneeling, and closed his eyes. He let the peace of the Well engulf him. It felt like a spring flooding him from within. For measureless moments, his spirit stepped beyond the portals of time and space, and he saw himself on the crest of a lofty promontory amid a wide blue expanse of ocean, his eyes trained on a hill in the distance, atop which stood a milk-white hind. She bowed. Blazoned in the sky over them were a glinting golden harp and a beautifully crafted sword.
He became aware of strong guttural noises. They mixed oddly with the vision. Kal frowned, and the vision faded. He opened his eyes and turned his head back to see Gwyn, who stood dripping wet, knee-deep in the pool, his face twisted with effort as he tried to frame sounds with his broken voice and misshapen tongue, trying to find the words that had failed him since birth.
Kal rose to his feet and walked down to his friend. With wet hands, Gwyn wiped tears from his face. He pointed first at his lame foot and then his lips. In a slow, poignant gesture, he held out his palms and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Gwyn. I'm sorry. It doesn't always happen that way. Ruah's water always heals, but not always as we would hope and wish it to."
Gwyn's gaze fell despondently.
"Gwyn, look at me." Slowly the mute Holdsman lifted his head again. Kal looked deeply into his eyes, holding them fixed. "Listen to me. You must listen to me. You have gifts." Kal nodded to him gravely, their eyes still locked. "Extraordinary gifts. Gifts not given to most other men. As I am Lord Myghternos Hordanu, you must believe me. It is truth." A tranquil calm descended on Kal, even as the pain faded from Gwyn's eyes. "There is a depth of peace and wisdom in you. And even more so now are the peace and wisdom of Ruah with you."
Gwyn's face brightened as he turned his gaze to the soft form of the hind and nodded in turn.
"Healing of the body may not have been your lot. Trust that it is for the good and serves Wuldor's intent. And know, Gwyn, that while you may not have been strengthened in limb and voice, you have been strengthened nonetheless, and in ways vastly more important. Now, let's get out into the sun before you catch your death of cold."
Kal helped Gwyn step over the pool's wall. The mute Holdsman picked up his tunic and pulled it over his head. Then, having retrieved his cloak, codynnos, and weapons, he led Kal into the daylight.
In the open area before the cavern, Kal was surprised to discover that it was now late afternoon, for the sinking sun had begun to overhang the treetops on the western slope of the hollow. Shadows would soon spread over the pool and the foot of the stairs. It was time to return to the Holdsfolk, time to find his father.
Having drunk of Ruah's water, Kal felt a powerful surge of energy and alertness. He fairly bounded up the stairs to where the standing stones towered over the escarpment.
"You're not chilled?" Kal asked when they reached the terraced landing before the western portal. Gwyn shook his head. His clothes were quickly drying in the late spring breeze.
"Good. We'll double back on Melderenys to Hoël's Dyke. If we travel quickly, we can make it to Mousehold before the light is gone. We can spend the night with the wise woman there. It's not at all far off our way. We can set out for Kingshead Cove at first light."
They paused for a moment among the stones fixed above Ruah's Well, then turned and hurried out along the flagged trackway down across the bottom
land and up the valley's sloping end. At the top of the ridge from which they had first beheld the site of Ruah's Well, they paused again to catch their breath. With a last look down towards the Well, they resumed their journey back to Hoël's Dyke and entered the Woods once more. Before long, they came to the bog over which the path crossed on its raised bed. The Dyke now lay little more than half a league away.
"Did you hear that?" Kal held up his hand and stopped in midstride. They stood halfway across the bog. Gwyn looked at him and threw his head back, raising a loose-fisted hand to his mouth.
"Aye, Gwyn. Hard to make out, but I think you're right. A huntsman's horn." Kal cocked his head and listened, but heard nothing more.
"We'd best tread carefully."
They walked on for a bit, all but clearing the swamp, when to their ears came the sound again of the huntsman's horn, one long winding, now much more distinct and from the direction of the Dyke.
"That way." Kal's features grew sombre, thoughtful. "Somewhere up along Hoël's Dyke." After a moment he shook his head decisively. "You know, Gwyn? I think we'd be foolish to continue this way to Kingshead." Kal glanced up at the sky. "The day's wearing on. Darkness will fall fast in the Woods. And it would be difficult to hide from pursuers in the dark along Hoël's Dyke. By day, too, for that matter. I think we should return to Ruah's Well. We ought to be safe there for the night. The Southwoldsmen won't venture this side of Hoël's Dyke. They wouldn't enter the Woods of Tircoil, not even in the light of day. I've an idea we'd do better to strike across country tomorrow, at first light, through the Woods to Mousehold—"
Even as they heard the winding of the horn again in the distance, another more ominous sound fell on their ears. A long note rose, hollow and sustained, closer to hand in the Woods, from somewhere up the songline's path directly in front of them. It took Kal but a moment to place the feral cry, and, as he did, he turned to Gwyn. There, in the young Holdsman's face, he saw reflected his own white fear. The howl subsided, only to be taken up afresh by a second creature, farther away and to the north. Its cry was echoed by two others to the south of the path.
Darkling Fields of Arvon Page 17