Seventh Child

by Peter R. Ellis

  Mother smiled at her.

  “Everything done, love?”

  September sighed; another of Mother’s rituals. Homework and getting qualifications was a top priority.

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “No problems today?” She didn’t say more, didn’t need to. They both knew that hardly a day went by without a bit of name-calling or worse. There was always a knot of fear in September’s chest when she was out of the house, a nervous apprehension of what other girls and boys may do or say when they saw her. Snowy! Fatty! Or they ridiculed her stupid name. Teachers were hardly better, always assuming she was an idiot as she blushed and stumbled over answers. But today had been bearable and she was trying to be grown up and not run to Mother every time something went wrong.

  “No, it was alright.”

  “Well, sleep well darling,” Mother paused looking out of the window, “Do you want the curtains drawn?”

  “No thanks. It’s a full Moon and I love the moonlight in my room.”

  “Ah, yes, the Moon.” Mother seemed wistful for a moment but then recovered, “Shall I turn your light off, love?” There was a lamp on the desk beside the bed but the switch for the main light was by the door.

  “Yes, please.”

  “’Night, love. God bless.” The head withdrew and the light went off as the door was pulled closed.

  “Night, Mum.” September rested her head on her pillow, and lay in the dark absentmindedly rubbing the slightly raised birth mark on her right hip while listening as the steps padded along the landing. There was the muffled sound of another exchange at Gus’ door but Mother had been persuaded not to burst in on her son as he prepared for bed. Heaven knows what went on in a teenage boy’s bedroom. He might have been two years older than September but maturity didn’t correlate with years. Then there was the sound of Mum and Dad’s bedroom door closing. Her other three sisters lived in their own homes.

  September slipped from under the duvet and gently lowered herself from the bunk. She picked the pebble from her pencil case and caressed it in her hand. She had found it while rummaging for a paper clip in a drawer in the living room. It seemed more like the stone had found her because she had never seen it before and she must have looked in that same drawer hundreds of times. It was so distinctive it would have caught her attention if it had been anywhere in the house. Resting on her hand, just visible in the pale moonlight, it still looked dull and opaque.

  She glanced out of the window. The Moon looked so big against the roofs, much bigger than it usually looked when it was higher in the sky. The stars around it had been rendered invisible by the greater light, but now the whole sky elsewhere was filled with starlight. She lifted the pebble up and lined it up with her eye and the Moon. The cloud seemed to swirl as before but this time the mists started to clear. They formed a whirlpool that spun and faded as if falling down a plughole. September stared in wonder. What strange trick of the light was this? The glass cleared and just for a moment she saw an image of the Moon surrounded by brilliant stars clearer than seen through the window.

  The light came like a breaking wave, silver-blue like the moon and starlight but much brighter. It burst through the stone like a tsunami through a port-hole, forcing September to turn her head, squint and hold her hand up to shield her eyes. The surf of light broke over her; a deluge of blue-white luminosity engulfed her and she was immersed in dancing beams and droplets of light. The room disappeared in the dazzling illumination. September staggered; her sense of balance shaken. Up and down lost meaning. Her head spun. She reached out to steady herself on the desk but her hand found nothing. She fell to her knees.

  3

  Her hand touched damp grass. She flinched and drew it back but then was toppling forward. She reached out to break her fall and rested her hand on the turf. She was crouching. Her eyelids were squeezed shut waiting for the jumping spots of light in her eyes to fade. Dizziness filled her head. It took a few moments before she felt confident about opening her eyes again. When she did, when the orange flashes on her eyelids had faded, she found it was dark again, but she was not in her bedroom. Her bare feet and hands rested on cool, damp grass. Her heart hammered in her chest. What had happened to her? Was she dreaming or was this some sort of mental attack?

  Slowly she straightened her legs and stood up, gazing around in wonder. Although it was night the full Moon provided ample light for her to examine her surroundings. She was standing on a low ridge. In front of her, a meadow sloped gently down to a broad, tree-lined river that gleamed like mercury in the light of the Moon. Beyond the river there seemed to be cultivated fields among woodland and a dark shadow speckled by starlight, a lake. Turning her head she saw behind her that the grassy hillside fell away steeply to the edge of another wood which receded into darkness. September looked to her right. The ridge reached up to the brow of the hill where there was a small stand of tall, broadleaved trees.

  She knew this place. It appeared in her dreams; dreams which had been recurring frequently of late. But now September was sure she was not dreaming. In her dreams there had been a hazy quality to the view. Now it was crystal clear. Previously she had been unaware of her other senses but now she felt the ground beneath her feet, the smell of grass filled her nose and the light, warm breeze ruffled her gown and hair. Her gown and hair? She looked down and saw that the long T-shirt she wore to bed no longer covered her, but instead she was clothed in an ankle length white linen robe with long loose sleeves. Her hair had changed too. Long waves, rippling over her shoulders like Mother’s, had replaced her short bob. Now that she examined herself she felt different. She had been aware of the changes in her body since her periods had started, had despaired of getting rid of what Father called her puppy-fat, but now her body seemed harder, tuned, more mature; even her breasts felt larger – what did it mean? She barely had folds of flab but these were really rounded and firm. She must be dreaming to have acquired the body she desired.

  The glass pebble was still gripped in her left hand. She looked at it. It too had changed. It was no longer dull and opaque but clear and it sparkled with its own internal lights like tiny stars. It was warm too, a warmth that seemed to come from within it.

  What has happened to me? Am I really here, wherever here is? September had no answer to her questions but she knew where she had to go. She turned to face right and began walking up the ridge towards the copse at the top of the hill. In her dreams, that was where ‘they’ had been, although she had no idea who ‘they’ were or whether they could help her.

  She was not used to walking outdoors in bare feet but her feet seemed accustomed to it. The moon provided sufficient light for her to feel confident of finding her steps. It was quite a walk to the brow of the hill. She knew that she would soon be puffing and sweating if she had done this walk normally even on a typical early Autumn night. Here the air was comfortably cool and although she felt the climb in her leg muscles her lungs barely felt the strain. She felt fit, not a feeling she was accustomed to. Was that a sign that this was still a dream?

  As she neared the stand of trees at the summit she caught glimpses of movement between the trunks, flickers of white-garbed figures processing. As she approached she noticed that the trees were not arranged randomly as in a wild wood but in concentric circles as close together as their outstretched branches would allow. When she reached the outer ring she saw that there was an avenue leading to the centre of the copse. Not far away she could see light, a fire burning and flashes of white robes and shadows as the figures circled the flames. September ventured towards the light. As the canopy of leaves closed over her she felt vaguely scared at losing the moonlight. Within the circle of trees there was no light except that which beckoned her forward.

  The sound of soft tuneful humming broke the night-time silence. The figures hummed in unison as they walked. September reached the inner ring of trees and paused. The sight before her almost made her giggle it seemed so corny: a bunch of druids carrying out some arcane
ritual, or a coven of witches and wizards rehearsing their magic spells. A huge, circular stone altar with a fire burning in the middle of it formed the centre of the circle. The humming figures, each dressed in a white robe like hers with hoods pulled over their heads, shuffled slowly around it. Facing her, standing beside the altar, his hands raised to the sky, was a man, dressed the same except that his head was uncovered. He was tall and his hair and his short, neat beard shone gold in the yellow firelight. He saw her standing there and immediately he lowered his arms and beckoned to her. The congregation stopped moving and ceased their chant. Each turned their hooded heads to gaze at September.

  “Come, join us, do not be afraid,” the chief druid, as September thought of him, said in a warm, kindly voice. She stood still, nervous of making a move. She had glimpsed this scene in her dreams but never been part of it. “We have been awaiting you and praying for your safe arrival.” Waiting for her? Praying? What did they mean? Why was she special? The man’s voice was, however, welcoming and kindly. September took one step forward, and another.

  The circle of druids parted to allow September to approach the altar. The man took her right hand and guided her to his side.

  “You were expecting me tonight?” September asked.

  “Last night, tomorrow night. We knew you would respond to our summons at some time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are the Cludydd o Maengolauseren.”

  “The what?”

  “Ah, you do not yet understand the old tongue. You are the bearer of the starstone.”

  September held up the glass jewel which glistened and sparkled in the flames of the fire. The people gasped.

  “You mean this?”

  The man stared at the pebble and nodded.

  “But it’s just a piece of glass,” September said, knowing as she spoke that it was not true.

  “I do not know of a material that you call ‘glass’,” the man said gently, “it is a piece of the hardest substance known in the world, retrieved from the deepest mine at the dawn of history and fashioned by the power of light to give the Cludydd great power.”

  “The hardest substance?” September recalled that phrase. Chemistry wasn’t her best subject, she wasn’t sure what was, but that phrase brought forth a memory of something she had heard in lessons, “You mean, it’s a diamond. It must have been shaped by a laser to make it this smooth. Is that what you mean by the power of light?”

  The man looked confused.

  “I do not understand the terms of which you speak. No stones like yours are found today, just tiny grains, and none have the fabled power of the stone that you bear. You hold the Carregmam, the mother stone, the oldest and largest and most powerful. For centuries it has been hidden within but beyond this world, but now that we have need of its power it has been recalled and its bearer with it.”

  “Me?” September felt weak. The man nodded. “Why is it needed? And who are you?” She was filled with questions which overwhelmed the nervousness that she had felt.

  The man smiled at her.

  “There are a lot of things to tell you, but I apologise. You have come from afar and we have not welcomed you as we should. Come and sit. Eat and drink and I will begin to tell you what you should know.”

  The congregation, which had been watching and listening, now broke up. They threw back their hoods revealing themselves as men and women, young and old, fair and dark. They dispersed as if each knew what they had to do. Some ran to the edge of the clearing where smaller fires burned and returned with bowls and cups filled with steaming liquid. Others ran to bring cushions to lay at the foot of the altar for everyone to sit on. September sank gratefully onto the cushion offered to her, feeling very tired. A cup was placed in her hand. She took a sip and found it to be cool, clear water. Suddenly she was thirsty and she drained the cup. A bowl was offered to her. For a moment she hesitated, wondering what to do with the starstone still gripped in her hand but decided to just drop it into her lap. The young woman proffering the bowl gazed at the stone with something like awe on her face. September took the spoon and bowl which contained some sort of soup. She thanked the woman who nodded her head and backed away still looking at the stone.

  September scooped up the thick liquid and touched it to her lips. She wasn’t used to eating in the middle of the night but the aroma of the soup made her feel hungry. It tasted wonderfully of cheese and a variety of vegetables which she couldn’t quite identify. The man wrapped his robe around himself and sat down cross-legged next to her. He smiled at her as she ate and began to speak.

  “I am the Mordeyrn. It is my honour and duty to guide these people, to help them live in peace and to sustain them.” His modesty impressed September. It was strange having an older man give her this sort of attention but she felt comfortable sitting alongside him amongst the crowd and was surprised that she felt at ease. What is happening to me? she thought. Have I gone barmy, thinking that my dreams have become real? But the warmth and the flavour of the soup certainly seemed real as did the hardness of the stone behind her back. Surely I can’t be imagining all these people slurping from their spoons?

  “I’m September,” she said.

  “Ah, yes,” the Mordeyrn nodded.

  “Who are these men and women and where are we?” September inquired between mouthfuls of soup.

  “We are the People and we live in Gwlad, which in the old speech means our Land,”

  “Doesn’t it have a name?”

  “Why should it? There is nowhere else which we inhabit.”

  “But what about this place? It seems pretty special with its rings of trees and this stone altar thing. Do you live here?”

  “No, we live in the valley at Amaethaderyn. This is our Cysegr. How should I say it? Our refuge, our shrine.”

  “Refuge? Are you being attacked?”

  The Mordeyrn frowned. September sensed a great sadness in him.

  “Not seriously, but the forces of darkness are growing in strength and soon they will threaten us.” September giggled a little. Mother, in her religious moods, talked of hell and the forces of evil and September knew about the plots of fantasy stories from the way that Gus went on about them. She must be dreaming and drawing together the images she had seen in Gus’ books and magazines and the films he watched on their one TV.

  “I suppose there is a Dark Lord out to enslave you,” September said cynically. The Mordeyrn looked confused again.

  “There is no Dark Lord. Evil has no leader, no organisation. It is Chaos, Disintegration, the breakdown of order. Nevertheless the Adwyth would destroy us all.”

  “The ad-oo-eeth?” September struggled with the word.

  “The evil that threatens us or the Malevolence as it is commonly called.”

  “Oh,” September felt as though she had been silly, “What can you do to stop it then?”

  “We are not without power,” the Mordeyrn said rising to his feet. He clapped his hands. All the people got up and began to organise themselves. Some collected the cushions, dishes and cups. Others went to the edge of the clearing while the remainder arranged themselves into curved rows facing the altar. September rose to her feet too, grasping the starstone in her right hand.

  The Mordeyrn spoke directly to September but in a voice that all could hear.

  “We have the Maengolauseren, the starstone, which is the most powerful guardian of the Land and its people, but we have other gifts won from the rock beneath the Mynydd Tywyll, the dark mountains. Look.” He pointed to a procession of people who approached the altar. Each was carrying an object. The first was a young woman with large eyes and shiny black hair, who walked up to the Mordeyrn and handed him a wooden cup with a small dip of her head as a sign of ritual. The Mordeyrn turned to place the cup on the altar in front of September. The polished cup was filled with a silvery liquid which moved languorously and didn’t wet the sides.

  “It looks like a metal but it’s liquid,” September said, strugglin
g to make her brain work, “What is it called?” it was there in her memory she was sure. Suddenly, the answer was there, “ I know, it’s mercury,”

  “That is one name for it; Arianbyw has been its name since the dawn of time; quicksilver is another. It has no shape of its own but has the power to shape others, even things made from other metals that are themselves hard and rigid. Those that are expert in its properties can use it to change their form or the form of other things or beings.”

  The Mordeyrn’s words meant little to September. She was confused. Was he describing the properties of the liquid metal or the young woman that carried it to the altar? There wasn’t time to say anything because the girl bowed again and moved away. Her place was taken by a grey haired man who carried a dull grey slab the size of a tile. He too nodded and lifted the object up for the Mordeyrn to take. It was obviously heavy because the Mordeyrn’s hands sank as he took it with an answering nod. He placed it on the altar.

  “Plwm,” he said, “soft and malleable but so dense that it can absorb energies that attack it. The bearer can shape it to defend himself and his companions from danger.”

  “Um, lead, I think,” September recalled seeing the metal in a school lesson but again the description of its properties was beyond her.

  A third person, a young man with a jolly smile on his round face arrived carrying a roll of silver coloured foil. Once again the Mordeyrn took it solemnly and placed it on view.

  “Alcam,” he said.

  “It’s the foil we use in the kitchen, uh, aluminium,” September said, pleased that she had recognised something. She reached out to lift the lump of metal but found it heavier than she expected. Her confidence was dashed, “No, it can’t be, it’s too heavy. I don’t know what it can be.” She found herself struggling to remember all the metals that she had learned about at school.