When at last it seemed to Tey as though there were no more spice pouches; no more small shelves; the chest empty of all its treasure; the spice seller reached her bony arm into the depths and pulled out a worn leather pouch secreted in the furthest corner of the box. She put her nose to it and, with a look akin to worship, took a slow deep breath and closed her eyes as if in prayer.
Tey shuffled his feet. Will she ever hurry up? At this rate he wouldn’t get back home to the forest before dark. With an impatient sigh, he pulled his gaze away, drifting over the empty plate and around the quiet flickering room. He stopped in surprise; the room was as still and dark as ever, but nestled in between the shadows he could see a pair of small, bold-eyed beings. One yawned and looked away as though unconcerned, while the other seeing him watching, dived into the fire, its serpentine body flaring amongst the flames. Tey grinned, and without thinking lifted his hand in greeting. The being emerged from the fire and gazed at him, its face glowing in response.
‘They come to you, do they, the hidden ones?’ The spice seller’s voice was curious. ‘That talent is not so valued by you Eagle people. I wonder what your mother makes of you?’
Tey said nothing, but the old woman was watching him closely as though waiting for an answer.
‘She thinks I’m nothing, just a silly dreamer.’ He said at last and then looked away, his throat caught by the familiar, searing hurt.
‘Ha, she would, wouldn’t she? She spends so much time up in the clouds herself that she doesn’t care for the talents of others. Pride, that’s what will get her in the end if she doesn’t learn her lessons.’
The spice seller handed Tey a single small pouch tied securely with a leather thong. ‘Here, take what you came for. But I wouldn’t take it myself.’ She cackled loudly, her eyes shining in a face lined and spotted with age. ‘Endless life, what a curse that would be, just imagine.’
She stared at the young boy sombrely. ‘Tell your mother, she can try and cheat Death, but she will never succeed. Death will be ever watchful, biting His nails, biding His time, just waiting to take what is rightfully His. And when He does, you can be sure it won’t be pleasant.’
The spice seller sniffed and chewed her protruding lower lip thoughtfully, then slapped Tey hard on his shoulder with her bony hand.
‘And don’t forget to remind her of her duties! Just because she’s fooling around with her young lover in the forest, the Gods and Goddesses must be served!’
Abruptly, Tey found himself pushed out of the house and back into the alley outside.
✽✽✽
The sun was low by the time Tey reached the crossroads on the edge of the forest. His body shook with exhaustion, but nothing could dampen his soaring spirits. He had done it. The precious spice was safely tucked under his tunic, and amazingly he’d made it back before dark without mishap.
The long valley stretched out before him, lit with a glowing, burnished bronze and bordered by densely wooded hills. In the distance on the surrounding strips of freshly ploughed fields, Tey could make out a team of oxen plodding along the rutted road toward a farmhouse, through a low curl of smoke obscuring the far off walls of the town.
His belly gave a loud rumble. Back home his mother would be preparing the evening meal around the fire, stirring the pot full of thick stew flavoured with herbs from the forest. He smiled, imagining her crying out in happiness as he returned bearing the leather pouch filled with spice.
A loud, squelching pop rudely interrupted his daydream and a shower of leaves fell with a splodge onto his head, and ran oozing down his cheek. Tey wheeled around in search of the culprit. Another splat landed with an insolent slop on his legs. It was like a signal, as all at once a hail of forest debris and lumps of mud flew at him from all directions. He dodged and dived but it was no use; within moments Tey was covered top to toe in smelly muck.
‘All right, stop!’ He dropped to his knees, flinging his hands up in surrender. Above his head, the last bundle of sodden leaves wavered for a moment before drooping and falling to the ground. Tey grinned, ‘I’m sorry for being such an idiot!’ The air quivered, seeming all at once full of wide-open ears.
Without warning, Tey jumped to his feet and lunged for the wet pile of leaves, throwing them hard at a spot that seemed particularly thick. There was a satisfying splat and Gimbal materialised, dripping goo from the top of his bald head to the end of his large bulbous nose, and his wide grin showed that all was forgiven.
Tey felt a shiver of cold as a pair of thin stick-like arms wrapped themselves around his legs. A small faery had crept closer and stood hugging them tightly, its huge eyes closed. Grabbing the little being with both hands, Tey reeled it high in the air and it shrieked, its nutbrown face shining with glee. Faster and faster, Tey and the little faery whirled, careening off the crossroads and into the wide shadowy forest. The world spun, a wild blur of sun-glinting land, swirling green, and spindly legs.
Tey let out a peel of laughter. The air rushed past, clean and cold, scattered with leaves and twigs whipped up by their wild spinning dance. Flapping his long feet hard against the ground, Gimbal joined them, whirling Tey and the little faery even faster, around and around under the trees.
High above in the canopy, faces gazed out from behind spindly branches. Leaf-like forms peering, captivated by the spontaneous laughter rippling through the forest. Further into the shadows, deep within the trees themselves, the eyes of ancient wizened beings watched. After a moment, using their elongated twig-like fingers, they carefully pushed back the rough bark to reveal bodies as brown and as textured as the wood itself. Satisfied all was safe, the huge oak faeries prised themselves free in angular, creaking movements and ran in great jerks to the dance.
All at once, the leaf folk released their grip. Delicate and pale green, with hair as fine as a spider web and fine dots patterning their skin, they abandoned themselves to the spinning, dancing updrafts. And others came. Rising up from the earth and tumbling down from the hills, emerged great beings of rock and pebbles, as different as the myriad of stones they inhabited. The very air seemed to shake with each mighty footfall, and they all responded - some joining the wild chaotic dance; others standing quietly with their great faces raised in homage to the glow in the west.
For it was sunset, the very edge of the day when beings of magic and spirit met to farewell the fading energy of the light. It was the time when, at home, Tey would rush to finish his chores before hurrying deep into the forest, following the song of the birds as they roosted in the trees. As the birds rested, the faeries gathered either quiet and still, or swooping and wheeling in the air.
TEN
Galloping alongside the forest on his way back to the town, the rider cursed the infernal setting of the sun. What a fool he was. He bellowed his frustration out loud to the sky, but the sound was lost behind him in the swirling dust of the road. With his rich brown travelling cloak and golden hair flowing behind, the knight urged his great horse on faster, muttering a quick and heartfelt prayer. It would take a miracle to make it back to safety before the town gates were shut for the night.
He grimaced and dug in his spurs; his warhorse lunged forward its neck slick with sweat, its breath laboured, but the rider showed no mercy. This was not the kind of land one would wish to spend the night, no matter how strong the mount or well sharpened the blade. He’d heard enough tales warning of the demons and ghouls that haunted the forest, stealing souls and driving strong men mad.
The crossroad between the town and the forest lay some way ahead; if he narrowed his eyes he could just about make out the marking in the distance. Clenching his knees, the knight leant across the horse’s muscular neck, whispering words of encouragement. They must pass this place before the sun dipped below the horizon. All Christian folk knew that crossroads at sunset were no place for God-fearing folk.
Ulrick cursed himself again for being such a fool. Dazzled by hearsay, he had ridden to the secluded hills searching for an old hermit.
This holy man was rumoured to be so pure of spirit that he had been blessed with visitations from the very angels themselves. But to see him, his old tutor had said, that very afternoon, one had to be pure and worthy of God’s grace.
He had failed. After hours of searching he had found no sign of habitation, no secluded chapel or even an abandoned wooden hovel. He had found nothing but empty trees and a sighing wind. What a fool.
By the time the knight reached the crossroads, the sun had vanished beneath the horizon and darkness bit at his heels. Ulrick wavered, then pulled the horse to a stop. Surely just a moment’s rest, even here would do no harm.
Reaching for his water flagon, he unstopped it and took a long, slow swallow before closing his eyes. A small bird twittered as it flew overhead towards the trees, and he could hear the great forest sighing in the cooling wind. Ulrick patted his horse’s shoulder. It was steaming hot and slick with sweat; they had to stop, even if only to let his mount ease its trembling. Ulrick felt a chill run up his back and he shivered. The wind was rising with no light remaining to warm it.
Gathering his cloak, he gazed upwards while the horse grazed; the greying sky was riven with wisps of gold and orange cloud arcing across the heavens. All was quiet save for the rhythmic munching of his steed.
Suddenly Ulrick blinked and jerked up in his saddle, as there on the breeze a strange tone was rising and falling in the silent air. The knight whipped around, his skin prickling, but the rock-strewn road behind was empty, shimmering pale in the shadowy light. An owl hooted, and after a moment a dark shape flew low across the road. Ulrick laughed out loud. ‘You’re getting soft from spending too much time in the town, jumping at the sounds of the hunting night,’ he muttered to himself in disgust.
A sigh and the air beside him stirred. His horse quivered and lifted its head, pricking its ears forward. Rising from the darkness of the forest ahead came a soft sweet music, its harmonies intertwined with the low sighing of the wind. The tune was simple, a lilting, calling phrase soft with longing, the last note hanging before it was whipped away by the breeze. The young knight held his breath and waited, gazing across at the great dark trees.
A trick, he wondered … it could be a trick, sent perhaps by the Hound of Darkness – the Devil himself, determined to lure him, a newly sanctified Knight of the Cross, off the safety of the road. Ulrick sat taller in the saddle, listening intently as the wind picked up and ruffled the soft fabric of his cloak. The music came again, fainter this time but heartbreakingly sweet.
Ulrick hesitated, his heart torn, but the desire to follow overwhelmed his senses and drowned out any half-remembered warnings. He stared mutely, his eyes tracing the narrow line of the forest path. Perhaps the holy man was here, bringing the gift of the Creator’s light into the endless darkness of the forest.
‘But if it is the work of the Evil One’, he whispered, gripping his sword as valour rose in his veins, ‘I will not shy away. I will rid my father’s land of its malignancy and bring honour to my house.’
With his mouth set tight and grey eyes hard, the young knight kicked his heels and the horse responded with a defiant snort, charging away from the crossroad and into the trees.
Great gnarled trunks soared overhead, huge and cloaked in shadow. Ulrick slowed the horse to a walk, its hooves muffled by the thick layer of leaves covering stretches of the rocky road. The air was calmer here, protected from the cold wind gusting outside by the surrounding trees. Through them and louder now, lilting through the stillness, Ulrick could hear a series of rippling notes so pure and sweet, he felt as though his very heart would weep. He urged his horse on as the road ahead slipped through the trees and disappeared around a sharp bend.
Muttering a quick prayer, the knight cantered into a stand of bushes, their sharp thorns snatching at the wool of his cloak. Pulling his up mount, Ulrick saw a sight so astounding that his heart leapt. In a small clearing under the vast dark trees, a figure stood, small, his arms outstretched, his face bathed in light and glory. Surrounding him was the most wondrous of miracles.
Angels, they must be angels, countless shining angels of all sizes - from the smallest blessed with luminous, transparent wings, to towering seraphs. They encircled the clearing, moving and swaying or standing in complete stillness in silent homage.
In the centre, the figure brought a small wooden instrument to his lips. The smallest angels grasped hands as a breath of expectation quivered through the gathering, and a lilting poem of praise rose up quietly through the trees. Gradually it built in strength, drawing power until the clear notes soared above the circle. A beauty without peer, eclipsed only by the shining majesty of the angels sweeping up on the sound into the heavens.
With a cry, Ulrick slid off his horse and sank to his knees on the forest floor. It was the hermit - the hermit he’d searched for these last hours. Never before had he heard music so blessed, nor witnessed a man so holy. The radiance from the angels bathed the old hermit’s face in light. His eyes were closed and, like a miracle, his skin was smooth, fair and entirely without blemish.
Reverently, Ulrick inched himself forward, desiring only to be closer to this beloved of the Divine. As he crept across the undergrowth, the figure breathed out unadorned series of notes. Low and sweet, they undulated around the surrounding trees and floated away into the darkness. Ulrick stopped, his breath caught in wonder. He leant forward, his gaze intent, but his expression soon turned to horror as his knee slipped on a mossy branch and he fell, snapping the wood with a crack that reverberated throughout the forest.
In an instant the angels vanished, leaving empty branches and scattered leaves fluttering mutely to the ground.
The music trilled then stopped. Where did everybody go? Tey gazed about him in incomprehension. The air fell thin and empty, with not a blur of movement or the company of teasing devilish grins. There was a sudden crunch of leaves and he turned as an agonised moan rose out from beneath the underbrush. Tey recoiled in fright as a stranger rose awkwardly to his knees, his head down and long golden hair obscuring his face.
‘Please, please, forgive me, my Lord,’ he wept. ‘I am a fool, such a fool. I had no idea - my foot slipped…’
He fell silent, hanging his head lower as his shoulders slumped. Tey stared, wondering who he was. The man’s cloak was dark and smeared with mud and leaves, so it told him nothing, but he had a horse that stood tall and unafraid under the trees. The boy’s heart began to pound. The animal was huge and dark, and what he could see of its saddle was well worked and too fine to be that of an ordinary traveller caught after dark in the forest.
The man spoke again, his voice subdued and trembling, though its well-rounded accent rang clear enough in the stillness of the night. ‘My Lord,’ he repeated with his head still low, ‘please forgive my intrusion, I beg of you, I only seek your blessing.’
A twig snapped as Tey backed further away and fear rose to his throat, almost making him gag. What was one of the highborn doing in the forest and at this hour, he almost moaned out loud. What should he do? The boy whirled around to the trees. I could just slip away, he thought. Even if this stranger was hurt, he spoke far too well for safety. He could one of the highborn, or even worse, he could be in their employ.
At the sharp sound of a snapped twig, Ulrick swallowed his fear and glanced up, fully expecting to see the wrathful face of the old hermit. Instead he beheld the frightened face of a young boy, simply dressed in a grey tunic belted over saggy leggings. The knight jumped to his feet at once, as the humiliation of being seen prostrate by a mere child surged through his veins. ‘Where is the holy man?’ He demanded, his voice abruptly harsh and unforgiving.
Tey’s legs buckled at the sudden change in the stranger’s demeanour. Mute with fright, he stared up at the great towering stature of the golden-haired man.
‘I demand you answer me, where is he?’ Ulrick strode towards him with his fist raised in a clench, his earlier shame and remorse discarded.
‘What holy
man?’ cried Tey.
‘Don’t lie to me,’ Ulrick growled, grabbing the boy’s narrow shoulder. He shook him hard. ‘The holy man, here, communing with angels, where is he?’
Gasping in pain, Tey struggled hopelessly in the man’s iron grip. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he cried, through a sudden blur of tears. ‘There’s no one, only me.’
Ulrick glared in silence, his hold never slackening. Tey moaned, his gaze never leaving the man’s vengeful face surrounded by a halo of golden hair. The boy’s heart thudded; he knew that face anywhere. Horrified. He struggled hard against the young knight’s rock hard grip, but he was too late.
Ulrick’s eyes widened, ‘I know you,’ he cried. ‘You are the idiot boy by the market.’ He paused, his voice tightening with suspicion. ‘What are you doing here on my Lord father’s lands?’
Tey struggled, but the knight gripped his shoulder harshly. ‘What is going on? First you accost me in the town. Then I find you here in the forest, where no one, other that than those my father permits, are to tread.’
Looking desperately down at his feet, Tey wondered what he could say that would satisfy the furious noble. ‘I-I-I was just resting,’ he stammered at last, ‘playing my flute.’
The grey eyes above him hardened in contempt. ‘Don’t lie to me. How could one such as you play music such as that?’
Tey stared mutely up at the harsh, angry face. Silence filled the clearing, broken only by the sound of the tallest branches above knocking in the wind. The boy gulped, his heart pounding in terror. Slowly he lifted his rough wooden pipe and, without taking his eyes off the knight, placed it slowly to his lips. With as much care as he could, Tey breathed out a simple series of notes. They were quiet and so delicate that the air itself seemed to wait, then closing his eyes the young boy poured out his fear and longing into a single melody. The harmony rose and fell echoing through the forest before dying away in a heartbreak of loneliness. The boy stopped playing, and dropped his head as tears welled and dripped one by one down his nose.
Soul Flyer Page 8