by Gail Merritt
‘Did your father object?’ she asked. The question surprised me.
‘I don’t know. I can’t remember. If he did, he never spoke about it in my presence. I suppose I was too excited about going to Vellin to think much about that. Channa cried.’
‘Ah yes, Channa, your old nurse!’
‘Forgive me for being rude, Lady but you seem to know so much about me while I don’t even know your name.’ I grew uneasy, wondering if I had been too enthralled by her dazzling island to question her motives. What did she want from me?
‘You may call me Gwythin,’ she said casually, as she offered me figs. I knew instinctively that this was not her only name, but it was better than nothing. ‘And, to answer some of the questions you have in your head but have not asked yet, I am not at the Talarin because they would never invite me and, in any case, I would not accept their invitation. I did spend some time there, as a novice like you, and just like you I found their rules too hard to follow. You have already seen that I use my powers freely when I feel they are needed, and I revel in their use. So, you see, I would make a poor Mantle. I could never bow to their restrictions.’
‘Then you knew Silver Mantle?’ I took a second fig. They were sweet, moist and delicious.
‘Oh yes, I knew Olemia well.’ There was a sadness in her smile. ‘Once we were very close but when we parted there was much anger between us. It was never resolved but that was a long time ago and hopefully we have both mellowed with age. Hopefully we are both wiser now. I know your good friend Black Mantle too.’
‘I miss him terribly,’ I confessed.
‘He watches over you. His powers are greater than many of us realise, but he uses them with stealth. If he favours you, then you are indeed fortunate. If he does not favour you, then he has the strength to destroy you.’ Gwythin paused, looking across at the mainland, her mind closed to me, her thoughts hidden. Then she brightened. ‘But enough of that. The Talarin is miles away and you are here with me. Do you like my island?’
How could I not like it? It was fashioned to charm a Green Mantle and for a fleeting second I wondered if she was an enchantress who used this ploy to divert Green Mantles from their purpose. The idea amused us both and I realised, to my alarm, that we shared the same depth of thought-exchange that I had once known between myself and Silver Mantle.
‘You miss her too, don’t you?’ She conjured water to fill my glass and I knew she was aware of my mixed emotions when it came to her old friend Olemia.
‘Why am I here?’ The question spun in the air between us. She had evaded it so far, but the answer had to be given.
‘To learn of course.’ Her arm waved to encompass the island.
‘At what price?’
‘Cautious Megwin! Yet, it is good to question such a gift and of course there is always a price. You became a Mantle and the price was your freedom. You became Silver Mantle’s chosen one, perhaps even her successor, and the price was Prince Ardin. Now you must consider the payment I will demand.’ She tilted her head, her face without emotion. ‘What do you suppose that would be? The life of the gypsy, perhaps? Or might it be the gift of your beloved fox? What would be too great a price for the knowledge I could give you? The fox would make I fine addition to my menagerie.’
‘Games!’ I jumped to my feet. ‘If you know me at all, you would know that I would never bargain a life for what you could teach me, and your island creatures have already told me that they all came here of their own free will. If you wish to invite the fox, then that would be between you and the fox. I do not own him, and he makes his own choices.’ I clenched my fists. ‘I have nothing of worldly value that I can give you, and you already know that, if you were once a novice. I have no need to share your impressive power. I do the best I can with what I have. Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Gwythin but I shall be leaving now.’
‘Rashly spoken, Megwin!’ She rose slowly to stand beside me. ‘But I see you have as much spirit as I did when I faced the tyranny of the Souran, and I applaud you for that.’ Her face softened. ‘My dear beautiful child, you have not heard my terms. Stay long enough for that, at least.’ She placed her hands on my upper arms and lowered her face towards me.
‘I wish no sacrifice and I do not intend to burden you with long hours of instruction. That is the way of the Mantles, not mine. There are other ways to impart knowledge. All I demand from you is an open mind. Accept that there are other ways, other powers and other paths than those who gather at the Talarin. Oh, they are all very fine, in their own way! The Five Kingdoms would be in a sorry
state without them, but they are also limited.’
‘Think hard why I have chosen you. It has very little to do with that robe you drape about yourself like amour. Be assured that if all I sought was a disciple, then it would be easy to find some innocent but talented child. Why, I might even have chosen your darling gypsy boy for he has depths which I could draw out and mold into talent. Instead I have turned to you, with all your willfulness and impetuous spirit.’ With a wave of her hand I found myself back on the shore at Ransom. She was beside me, the breeze lifting the curls of her honey-coloured hair.
‘Think about what I have said. Send your thoughts to Black Mantle. Ask him about me. When you are ready to meet me again, I will know… Dear Megwin,’ she touched my arm and again I felt that deep warmth of long familiarity. ‘I wish you only good. My friendship will cost you nothing except for your open heart and mind.’
In a flurry of breeze-blown sand, she was gone, taking the warmth of the day with her. I was alone on the shore and I felt the steely eyes of the goblins at my back. I faced them and the memory of our last encounter drove them yelping back to their dark corners of Ransom. I set of to walk back to The Green sail, taking deep breaths of salt air, but I had only gone a few steps when a familiar pain seared through my temples.
‘So, who was that then?’ The fox was sitting on a flat rock, washing his paws.
‘You’re back!’ I restrained my enthusiasm. The fox never appreciated open displays of affection.
‘And not a moment too soon!’ He fixed me with his superior glare. ‘You’ve left a trail of chaos all the way down the Listi. I only left you for a few short weeks and now I find you in that disgusting place back there, surrounded by vile half-lives and in the company of that exquisite creature.’
‘Exquisite?’
‘She has great power. That was clear from the way you both arrived on the shore and she left again.’ He sniffed. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me how I’ve been?’
‘I was just about to when…’
‘I have been busy, thank you.’ He looked behind himself, to the tangle of weed and shrubs that might once have been a hedgerow once and raised his voice. ‘You can come out now!’ From a mass of ragwort and nightshade came a vixen and her three cubs. This was what the fox had been doing.
‘You brought them with you!’ I knelt and let them inspect me. One of the cubs seemed intent on climbing up my arm.
‘What else could I do with them?’ He looked fondly at the vixen. ‘She was concerned that you were moving towards Dereculd without me but then we heard that the Old One had befriended you.’
‘You know about the Old One in the cave at Wyke?’
‘Of course.’ The fox was a constant source of amazement to me. ‘But this one, this Nature Witch, is unknown to me.’
She could be the Lady Gwythin.’ The vixen spoke hesitantly, shyly. It was a relief to find that unlike the fox, her words caused no pain in my head.
‘She is. What do you know of her?’ I asked.
The vixen was alarmed that I had asked her a question directly and I am sure that if she could have blushed I’m sure she would have. ‘Nothing much, really,’ she apologised. ‘I heard tell that she lives on a beautiful island in the bay but not one of the islands we can see. I even heard she can make the island move and when it is close to shore, she invites beasts to join her.’ I followed her eyes to the two islands on the
horizon, Tron and Lanti, but neither resembled Gwythin’s island.
‘Thank you. I don’t suppose you have a name that I can call you.’
Like her mate, the vixen dad not have a name, or at least one that she wanted to share with me. We made our way slowly back to the bridge by The Green Sail, me carrying the ever wriggling cubs with their parents trotting at my side, then on to the fishermen’s cottages. Deric, we discovered, had already returned, shamefaced and apologetic. I introduced them all to each other, including the humans, and found a place for the fox and his family. They selected a small cupboard under the stairs which had access to the inside and a small vent to the outside, which Sandor removed to give them a back door. Mari had prepared a ‘throw-together’ and that evening we celebrated the return of both Deric and the fox with Beryl, Deni and Tamora.
Later that night, the fox sprawled across my bed while I sat at the window combing my hair. In the lamplight his coat appeared redder than ever. ‘He’s a fine looking fellow,’ he yawned, which was just what I was thinking about him.
‘Who do you mean?’ Of course, he wasn’t referring to himself.
‘Sandor.’ He started to clean his claws, tugging at them like a cat to remove the broken edges. ‘He’s very pleasant and he has an affinity with beasts.’
‘I like him.’
We were silent for a time and then the fox asked, ‘He’s a good friend?’
‘He is.’ I put down my brush and went to sit beside him. ‘I like him very much, but he can’t replace you.’ I put my hand lightly on his back and whispered, ‘You’ll always be very special.’ I kissed his head and rolled into bed. He waited for me to snuggle down beneath the covers before he was off to join his family.
My mind immediately went back to Gwythin and her island. I think our minds touched but I could not be sure. Perhaps it was just a dream, but I think she bent to kiss me goodnight. No one had done that since Channa, her face wet and puffy with tears, the night before I left for Vellin.
9. - Marsh
The following morning, I took a walk along the path to the marshes. I needed to be alone to talk to Black Mantle. It had been many days since we shared thoughts and I knew he would begin by chastising me for my neglect. As soon as I had endured enough I asked him about Gwythin.
There was silence and I wondered if he had been distracted by something back in the Talarin. Eventually he asked, ‘You have met her?’ Was it alarm or something else that I could detect in his next question? ‘What did she tell you?’
‘Nothing much,’ I confessed. Black Mantle was too astute to be tricked into telling me anything. If I was to find out about Gwythin, I would have to be honest with my answers and rely on his honesty back to me. If he chose to keep his knowledge to himself, there was nothing in my power to change his mind.
‘She was once a novice of the Mantles,’ he began. ‘I welcomed her as I welcomed you.’
‘But she angered you didn’t she?’ I detected sadness in his mind and remembered Gwythin’s comments about Black Mantle, that if he did not like someone he had the power to destroy them. Had he tried to destroy her?
‘She was the most infuriating creature,’ he agreed with a hint of mirth. ‘She was even worse than you! If there was trouble, she would not be far away. But for all her meddling and conniving, she was able to wind me about her little finger. I would summon her to discipline her for some misdemeanour and by the time she had worked her magic, I was congratulating her.’
‘So, you were fond of her?’
‘I remain fond of her.’ Quite unexpectedly. he began to tell me about her time in the Talarin. Like me, she had found it hard to comply with the discipline, and like me, she had used her powers openly, with relish, against the advice of the Souran. Unlike me, she had continued to do so until the Souran took disciplinary action by attempting to remove her power. Gwythin retaliated and for that she was banished from the Five Kingdoms. They marooned her on an island further south, where no one would find her, but that would sustain her life, but Gwythin was so resourceful that, as soon as she could, she caused her rocky prison to float and travelled widely, flaunting her skills.
‘So that is why there are bad feelings between her and Silver Mantle?’ Things were beginning to make more sense.
‘They were the best of friends,’ Black Mantle went on. ‘This was before Olemia became Silver Mantle.’ I was beginning to understand. Gwythin challenged Mantle law while Olemia was eager to comply. All of this helped me to discover more about who she had been and her relationship with the Talarin, but it did nothing to explain her interest in me. Black Mantle could not or would not say anything about that and in his avoidance, I perceived that he already knew her reasons.
‘She wants to help me, to teach me.’ I confessed. Perhaps I could wrestle more information from him if he believed that by divulging what he knew it might keep me from her grasp.
‘Take care!’ he cautioned. ‘Gwythin is a free spirit and her methods are not those of the Souran. Mantles must remain true to their oath. I should insist that you have no further contact with her, but…’ he hesitated, ‘there are many reasons why my conscience prohibits me from doing that. You could learn a great deal from her, and her friendship is far better than her animosity.’
He would speak no further on the subject but went on to tell me all the news from Vellin. Ardin and his queen were touring the Kingdom, meeting their subjects. Blue Mantle had taken a sudden interest in the rumours of a fearful monster in the Gaheil Caves and had raced off to investigate. Red Mantle had been taken ill with a fever but was recovering slowly. During his illness, an apprentice was chosen, who was showing himself to be a capable, if sometimes naive, successor. To my delight, it was my old friend Hodin. We had been novices together. Black Mantle was called away to deal with some minor problem with the novices and I was left alone on the marsh.
We had shared thoughts for so long that when I looked about me I was surprised that I had wandered further than I intended, so far that all landmarks had vanished. To my back, where I thought the roofs of the fishermen’s cottages would be, there was nothing but marshland. I scanned the horizon but saw nothing except a landscape of rough peat, reeds and bogs. Close by, something broke the surface of a black pool with a plop. I searched for a creature to ask for directions, but the place was deserted. Not even a seabird broke the monotony of grey sky, so I sent out my thoughts. Even when no creatures stirred I could usually find a molusk or spider to help me, but on that dank landscape nothing moved except the course grass as the wind disturbed it. What life there was, and there had to be life, however small and unable to communicate, was keeping itself well hidden. The fine hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle. I was being watched.
I searched for signs of the sun, but the clouds hid everything. Had I walked in a straight line from the cottages, I could have retraced my path, but I had meandered, avoiding the peat bogs and small streams, as my thoughts travelled to the Talarin. I had no idea which way was north and rued my own inattention during my study when our master Silius Kahnis had taught us how to navigate by prevailing winds and the moss coatings of trees. I thought about calling out to my unseen observer but, whatever it was, it was not human, nor was it living, as beasts are living. I decided to leave it in peace and began to walk purposefully in the direction that I hoped was more-or-less right. I reasoned as I went that, two directions were bound to produce some sort of result, either the Listi and eventually the cottages, or the sea itself. Providing the weather was fine, sooner or later I would come to a landmark and, if I didn’t, then even with cloud cover I would see the sun set. The idea of being out on the marshes after sunset appalled me but at least I would then know which direction was west.
I had not been walking long before the mist began to rise. It crept up from the hollows gradually, like the realisation that the watcher was still with me. Panic and the dampness of the air seeped into my bones. I willed myself not to run. Matt had told me enough stories about t
ravelers who panicked and fell into sucking quick-sands. I tried to breathe steadily and carefully, filling my lungs and letting the breath out gradually, even counting the seconds. It occupied my mind but did little to quell the rising fear. Maintaining my speed, I pressed on but found it increasingly difficult because the mist was beginning to shroud the land with a thick carpet of white. Eventually, I needed to pause to breathe normally. I looked back to where I had come from but recognised none of it.
Then I noticed the pole. Fishermen and beach-combers often used stout poles to mark channels in the shifting sands of the estuary. This one was laid across my path, no longer in use. It was scorched black at one end, as if someone had been poking a fire with it. I thought about using it to test for solid ground if the mist continued to thicken, but since the mist had grown no worse during my flight, I decided to use the pole as a point of reference. I sank it into the bare peat and strode on again. The pole gave me confidence and I counted my steps in between my glances back I took comfort from the fact that it was receding, so I quickened my pace. My spirit rose further when I discovered another pole, again lying on the ground, not far from my path. With this aligned to the first pole, I was able to set a straight course, although I had no idea where I was going. The very fact that I was on a set course was enough to cheer me. Even the constant and unpleasant notion that my unseen companion was still with me did not ruin my optimism. I was in control of the situation and had not resorted to magic of any kind. When I lost sight of the first pole, I congratulated myself on covering such a distance.
Moments later, the true horror of the marsh was upon me. I had looked back to check my second pole and almost walked into a new pole. It was stuck in the ground, across my path. I was amazed that I had not seen it before, but then I realised that I had. The scorch mark at its tip was quite distinctive. It was my first pole. I ran my hand down its shaft in disbelief. I had been driven in a circle, or had someone removed the pole and replanted it to frighten me? Whatever the explanation, the appearance of this pole had the inevitable effect on me, and I found it too hard to fight the tears.
