The Language of Stones

by Robert Carter

  Will looked around, half expecting Gwydion’s enemy to appear, but no movement broke the stillness.

  ‘Death and destruction has lately been wrought here. Even so, Willand, let me show you a reason for hope.’ Gwydion tossed a tiny pebble into the water and Will watched it plop and saw the rings spread out from it. ‘Do you see how those ripples reach out to touch all parts of the surface? And do you see how, in a very short time, the ripples die away? Fate is like that.’

  The wizard rooted up a much bigger stone. It was as big as Will’s head. With a whisper he launched it into an arc high over the water. Will stared as the stone lurched up to the top of its path then miraculously slowed and stopped.

  ‘How do you do that?’ Will said, in awe.

  ‘It takes a great deal of effort. But it is worth it. Watch!’

  Will saw the rock falling slowly towards the water now, turning as it fell. He watched it fall as few others before him had ever watched a rock fall. He saw it push its way down into the clear water and throw the surface up in a great glistening crown. Then the crown broke up into shimmering drops that also fell back. Now, where the rock had fallen there was a great hole in the water and Will could still see the top of the rock until it sank and the water gradually closed over it. For a moment everything stopped again, but then it quickened until all was as it should be.

  The surface of the pond was covered in little waves and water swilled in the black mud at its edge, but eventually, just as Gwydion said, the waves died away and stillness returned so the pond was much as it had always been.

  ‘Do you see how the water heals itself?’ Gwydion said. ‘In the same way the fate of the world closes up after a violent blow. It finds its own level again in time. Things return to the true path, to what was always meant to be, so that everything that men do – be they selfless acts of charity or repugnant crimes – all is eventually swallowed up by time and forgotten.’

  Will stared at the water. ‘But I thought you were going to tell me a reason for hope.’

  Gwydion smiled and leaned on his staff. ‘Now you see how Maskull can say, “What does anything matter that men do? Men live and men die, and all they do becomes in time dust before the wind.” But perhaps you also see that he is wrong, for who would say that flowers do not last and therefore do not matter? And who would say that since the end be known, the journey does not matter? In great wisdom there may lie great sorrow, and in the end, for some, there must be madness.’

  Will gasped, for a huge thought had struck him. ‘What if Maskull in his madness could find a stone so large that the pond couldn’t heal itself?’

  ‘Oh, you are wise beyond your years, Willand,’ Gwydion turned to him and his eyes flashed. ‘The boulder that Maskull wishes to throw into the pond of the world is so big that we will be thrown forever from the true path. If Maskull wins, the world will never be the same again.’

  As Will contemplated the dark surface of the pond the waters began to foam and boil and he drew back in fear, thinking that Gwydion’s rock had awakened some writhing thing that lurked in the blackness under the waters.

  ‘It’s a marish hag!’ he shouted, fear crawling over him.

  But Gwydion merely spread his arms and whispered subtle words. His eyes closed and a weird light came from him. The water in the pond began to cloud. Reeds sprang up and green weed appeared. A shoal of tiny fish turned as one in the shallows and damsel flies fluttered above, chased now by a wagtail. Then Will saw a smiling frog at his feet. It was as green as grass with two fine black stripes along its sides and big yellow eyes that closed and opened again as it swallowed. The frog leapt into the water and swam away, and when it had gone Gwydion stepped back from the water’s edge and bowed long and low to the pond which he had restored to life.

  Will felt a great bubble of joy well up inside him and lodge in his throat. ‘Oh, that’s beautiful,’ he whispered.

  ‘So it is.’ Gwydion put his hand on Will’s shoulder. ‘Come along, bag-carrier! It is time you tried to forget about the marish hag. Remember what I said about doing away with painful memories – what’s done and cannot be undone must not become heavy baggage for tomorrow.’

  They tracked eastward, walking up hill and down dale, and Will learned much about the earth as he watched the leaves begin to yellow on the trees. All was fine and the season was just as an autumn in the Realm should be, yet Gwydion paused at every crossroads they came to and sniffed about like an old dog. Whenever they topped a hill or emerged from a wooded break Will felt threat simmering in the air. And when next he caught Gwydion peering narrow-eyed into a clear blue sky he said, ‘What is it you’re searching for?’

  But the wizard said only, ‘Eyes of a hawk, ears of a hare!’ And after a moment he added, ‘Did you know that hawks have no liking for the autumn? It is their least favourite season and makes them bad-tempered.’

  ‘Hawks, Master Gwydion?’

  ‘Think about it! Hawks earn their meat not so much by the sharpness of their beaks and talons, but by the sharpness of their eyes. And a bird who spends his time watching for small movements in the grass – now what would annoy him more than countless brown leaves blowing across the land?’

  Will ignored the wizard’s whimsy, knowing it was aimed at forestalling his fears and his endless questions. ‘If we’re not going to Clarendon again are you taking me to another secret place like the Wychwoode? Somewhere to be put for my own protection? If you are, can I go to a place where there are many people? We say in the Vale that the best place to hide a tree is in a forest.’

  ‘You may have something there. But I believe it may be best to hide you by not hiding you at all.’

  Will sighed. ‘When will we get there?’

  ‘I have told you once that we are going to find the City of Light. Be patient, for there is much for you to learn on the way.’ Gwydion put hands on his shoulders and turned him about to look northward. ‘See that? We say that land has “good aspect”.’

  ‘Good aspect – isn’t that what you told the Hogshead about once?’

  ‘Indeed I did. I had forgotten that you were eavesdropping. So, good aspect, plain to see.’

  Will looked at the cabbage field and nodded. ‘Good aspect, Master Gwydion.’

  Then the wizard directed him to face east. ‘Whereas that meadow over there has bad aspect. Can you feel it? Can you feel the sluggishness in the earth?’

  ‘No, Master Gwydion,’ he said in a monotone.

  ‘But it’s as plain as a pikestaff, lad!’

  ‘That field has cabbages in it, and that one has rabbits,’ he said helpfully. ‘Is that it?’

  The wizard sighed heavily. ‘Sometimes, Willand, I am driven to doubt that you could possibly be the one I have taken you to be.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Master Gwydion. But I am trying.’

  ‘I know. And that is what worries me.’ The wizard pointed out a furrowed field. ‘There is a reason why the crops do not do well down there. All farmers know that plants grow by the moon. Always sow on a waxing moon, they say, for plants of all kinds love the moon!’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he said flatly. ‘Do you think we could pull up a few of those moon plants and make a salad of them?’

  ‘Hungry again?’ Gwydion gave him a hard look. ‘Very well, we shall rest in a little while. Choose a spot you like.’

  But it was not until they had passed by Leirburh that Will said he wanted to sit down.

  ‘Here?’ the wizard asked, looking carefully at him.

  ‘No. Over there. It looks like a nicer place to eat.’

  ‘Then let your feet lead us to it.’

  Will steered them towards a small knoll by the side of the track. It was not far from a crossroads, and Gwydion hunted about there and found a string of leaves. It was just that – a string onto which a hundred twigs and leaves had been threaded. Beside it was a feathery wreath twisted together expertly from the heads and stems of wild barley. Gwydion examined both objects carefully then broke them up
and scattered them.

  ‘What were they?’ Will asked, recalling an earlier time when he had seen Gwydion make a similar wreath and leave it by the roadside.

  The wizard sounded unusually thoughtful. ‘One was a letter, the other a signature. Eat your fill quickly. We must go on.’

  ‘But I want to rest here on this little knoll.’

  Gwydion’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why have you brought us to the Tump, I wonder?’

  The wizard seemed to sink into melancholy, as if he was wrestling with difficult news. Will picked a hatful of blackberries and took out a little of the cheese he still had in his bundle. Then he chewed the last of the small, wrinkled apples that Gwydion had got for the boat. They had been getting sweeter each time he ate one, and he had been saving the last. It was so deliciously sour that it made his mouth go dry, but as he sat back on the grassy rise he fondly remembered the surprise visit of Pangur Ban in the Blessed Isle, and he lay back to enjoy the sudden blaze of late sunshine.

  He thought of Willow then, and brought to mind the Midsummer song she had sung for him about the prince and his three apple trees. He wished she was here now, and wondered how long it would be before he returned to the Wychwoode. One day I’ll go back there and find her, he thought. One day. Whether Gwydion likes it or not, and that’s a promise!

  The wizard was still nosing around anxiously. He could not settle, and all the while his hawk eyes were scouring the far hills, looking for signs of danger. Will tried to ignore the prickling he felt in his own skin. He spat out three pips and planted them each a finger’s depth in the soil of the knoll. When Gwydion saw him do it he danced down from the barrow and began to grovel on hands and knees until the earth itself trembled.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Will called to him in alarm.

  ‘Quickly! Get down off the Tump!’

  Will needed no second telling. He dashed down off the little knoll and panic-fear flooded him as he saw Gwydion raise his staff and begin to shriek out in the true tongue. But though the ground had trembled, no great upheaval followed.

  ‘Master Gwydion, what’s amiss? Did I do wrong?’

  For a moment Gwydion gave no answer, then he cried, ‘Maskull! Are you here? Show yourself!’

  Will stared around, bristling, but again seeing nothing. Then Gwydion went down on his knees again. ‘Aggggh!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Wrong?’ Gwydion’s eyes were swimming and rimmed red. A rapture seemed to be upon him, but then he steadied. ‘Nothing is wrong. That was a fine gift you made to a great king. To have made it in kindness, an offering made upon a tomb! You are the one! You must be, else how could you have known what to do?’

  Will pulled at his arm. ‘Master Gwydion, get up.’

  The wizard jumped to his feet. ‘How did you unlock the tomb? Hmmm? Tell me!’

  ‘I didn’t do anything…I was just putting apple seeds into the ground and then—’

  ‘Apple seeds! The fruit of Avalon! And behold the consequence!’

  Will spun round. His mouth opened as he saw the little knoll begin to shimmer like heat over a dusty summer road. He looked to where his feet had stood just moments before. The knoll seemed suddenly to turn to vapour so that now he could see to its very centre.

  It was a tomb! Inside there was a chamber, but it seemed to be empty. As Will approached the shimmering began again and a glitter of brightness flashed through the empty chamber.

  ‘Arh twydion iy dionor, Semias-baigh!’ Gwydion shouted. He danced aggressively forward as if in challenge to Death himself. But then the wizard gave out a great yell of triumph. ‘This is no sorcery! The tomb is truly undisturbed! Can it be that there is no more than one simple spell upon it? The one cast by Semias so long ago?’

  ‘What have we come to?’ Will asked, following uncertainly.

  ‘Oh, gaze in awe, Willand, for this surely is the tomb of King Leir of old!’

  ‘A king?’

  ‘Great Leir! Do you really know nothing of that illustrious name? He was eleventh king of the Realm. Leir, who reigned for sixty years! So great a warrior was he that he lived to be an old man, and few warriors do that! Come with me, Willand. See old Leir, who at the leaving of his life was so much troubled in his mind by his three daughters.’

  They went deep into the barrow, which was now filled with an eerie blue-white glow that came from a point that hung in thin air. Gwydion reached out to it and threw back a shroud of white feathers. It was a mantle that had been laid upon the king, and the moment it was taken away his skeleton was revealed. He was dressed in battle gear, and surrounded by an array of weapons the like of which Will had never seen before. He thought he heard warrior shouts, the gigging of shields, the gnash and gnaw of horses all fleet and frisk for battle. When he looked again he saw the chamber was filled with similar treasures, glittering darkly and in an unearthly manner. Terrified, he bent over the skull that lay grey and loose within a helm of bronze. Its toothless grin accused him and he recoiled.

  ‘Show respect, Willand! Your clever feet have brought us to a place that has long been hidden from the world, though many have wanted to find it.’

  Will stared at the great shield with its boss of bronze, at the spears and swords that surrounded the bones, at gold and jewels that were enough to bemuse the eye.

  ‘I…I wouldn’t bring us to a place like this, Master Gwydion,’ he stammered.

  ‘But you did! Though you asked me a hundred times where I was taking you, it was your own feet that were leading us.’ The wizard took the shining sword from beside the king and stooped to kneel before Will. ‘Take this kingly blade in your hand! Wield it! It is yours!’

  Will backed away. ‘I don’t want to take it.’

  ‘But you must!’ the wizard urged.

  ‘No!’ He turned again to look at the other treasures, but he would not touch any of them. ‘Master Gwydion. If I’ve brought us here, then oughtn’t I be the one to decide what’s right to do here? You may take what you will, but I don’t want to touch anything, for as I see it it belongs to Leir and I’d let him keep it all.’

  But the wizard’s eyes were already hungrily examining the cloak of swan’s feathers and now such a note of awe came into his voice that Will turned to him. ‘Never in this world…’

  ‘What now, Master Gwydion?’

  ‘If I am not deceived, this very cloak was brought out of the Realm Below long ages ago by a king far greater than Leir. Whomsoever wears his mantle shall remain unseen by mortal eye… Now I understand how Semias could have hidden King Leir so easily. Look at the jewel that secures his shroud! Oh! This bauble I have long wished to gaze upon!’

  Will saw the clasp of intricately wrought gold and silver, and the great blue-white diamond that decorated it. Gwydion took out his knife of star-iron and whispered subtle words, then he broke the stone free from its setting. He admired the colour for a moment, then replaced the cloak over the king’s body. Will gasped as the bones and the array of treasures vanished away once more.

  They fled from the tomb as the earth of the Tump reappeared and the barrow became a grassy knoll once more. Will rubbed at his eyes as if he was waking from a dream.

  ‘Come, Willand!’ Gwydion said, striding away. ‘Little do you know what you have done this day, for it could be that you have delivered us from the one who would destroy us!’

  On they went to north and east for many days, crossing now into the Middle Shires, heading ever towards the wellordered Earldom of Warrewyk, yet tacking back and forth, it seemed, to no great purpose, while Gwydion became ever more urgent and excited. At Tollton they found a bridge over the Stoore, but the purple-faced bridgeman stopped them. He wore a faded red coat and a tattered badge – the chained bear, which was, Gwydion explained, the family device of the Earl of Warrewyk, Captain of Callas port and the richest man in the Realm.

  ‘Now, then. It’s a penny each, or the long way around for you beggars,’ the bridgeman said.

  ‘Since when has the Earl
Warrewyk’s men stopped honest folk at this crossing?’ Gwydion asked, looking at the man’s badge. ‘Why does he seek to take money from them?’

  ‘War’s coming. It’ll be paid for by the likes of you,’ the bridgeman said, and Will grew aware of other figures in Warrewyk colours coming out from the shed behind them. There were six men, armed with clubs and ready for business.

  ‘Trouble?’ one of them said.

  ‘No trouble at all,’ the bridgeman replied, and without warning the nearest man swung his club at Will’s head.

  He was only just able to duck a braining, but the next moment he was thrown down by a crunching blow to his back. Then everything boiled up inside him and his senses became a blur as he and his assailant rolled over along the egde of a roadside ditch. The clubs flew fast and furious about Will’s head, and he knew that soon a murderous blow must break his skull and he would be done for. But he grappled the man close to him as best he could and tried to use him as a shield until he could tear away. Feet scuffled all around him, a blow landed on his back and he yelped. The man’s grip was rough and his strength overpowering, but just as Will thought he had been pinned, to his astonishment the man’s grip on his jerkin failed.

  As Will broke free he saw Gwydion standing apart from the fighting, quietly watching it all happen with his arms half raised.