She stood now as straight as she could, looking him boldly in the eye, but feeling around her the plant and bird world anxiously poised, watching and waiting. His eyes were black and fathomless, his granite face in shadow. She could not tell what he was thinking, but she could feel malevolence in the air.
‘You are welcome, Lord Priest,’ she said at last with quiet dignity. No one would have been able to tell her inner disquiet from the steadiness of her voice. ‘Did you wish to talk with me or is it refreshment you seek on such a warm afternoon? You have strayed far from the village.’
He continued to gaze in silence for a moment and then seemed to relax slightly under the influence of her calm voice.
‘Refreshment would be good,’ he said. ‘I hear the waters of your spring are sweeter than those from any other in the district.’
She bowed slightly. The water was good and fresh to drink at all times, and on certain days of the year she knew it had healing properties. She herself drank from it daily and was never ill.
‘If you will follow me I will show you where it is, my lord,’ she said politely and led him to the spring. It was quite a way into the wood and she hated bringing him among her much-loved trees. Somehow his presence felt wrong and she could sense the growing things resented it too. The spring from which a small and lively stream sprang started as a filigree fall of water over moss and stone in an alcove deep with fern. Even when she was not thirsty she spent many an hour in this shady place listening to the silver voice of the water over the rocks, and tracing with her eyes the satisfying and exquisite robes of moss and fern and lichen that clothed everything in the area.
In leading him to the water she was leading him away from the tomb they had built for Maal. It was finished and ready now and skilfully hidden, but Wardyke was no ordinary man and she did not want to risk his finding it. The spring would distract his attention and take him further away.
He stooped to drink at once, using the small hollowed stone cup that had always been beside the spring since the days of her grandfather.
She stood very straight and stiff beside him as he drank, wondering if he was sensitive to the influences and vibrations that came from people and things. If he was, he must surely be aware that there was not a living thing around him that was not fearing and resenting him.
If he was aware he showed no sign.
When he had drunk, he smiled. His eyes stayed shadowy but the rest of his face smiled at her.
‘What I have heard is truly an understatement. It is the sweetest water I have ever tasted.’
She bowed gravely again in acknowledgement, and then turned to lead the man away.
‘No, stay,’ he said, raising his hand. ‘This is a most peaceful and delightful place. I would rest awhile here. The sun is hot on the long walk from the village.’
She stood still, her head slightly bowed for a moment, and then moved as though to leave him.
‘No,’ he said again. ‘Stay.’
She stopped, but did not look at him. Her whole being was crying out with dismay that this alien, malevolent creature was sharing her peaceful grove.
‘Sharing? No,’ she thought. ‘He is here and I am here, but we are sharing nothing.’
In a sense, so different were the waves of feeling that came to each from the surroundings, they might well have been in totally different parts of the world. If each were to describe the place, an impartial judge might not recognize that it was the same scene being described.
‘Are you not lonely, girl, living so far from the village?’
‘No, my lord,’ she said in a low voice, thinking of the time Karne had asked her the same thing.
‘Do you have many visitors?’
‘No, my lord,’ she repeated.
‘But you have one, many times,’ he said slyly, pacing about on the soft mossy ground restlessly, looking at her closely.
‘My lord?’ She looked up enquiringly and with some alarm.
‘I have been told that the old priest has been seen coming here often.’
So that was it! That was why he had come. She was even more afraid now and the fear from the living things around her seemed to increase as well.
‘You do not answer? You know you cannot lie to me.’
‘I did not know, my lord,’ she said at last as calmly as she could, ‘that there was any reason a priest could not visit one of his community.’
‘Maal is no longer priest here,’ Wardyke said with sudden harshness, standing still.
‘But he has been our priest for many years. He helped my mother when I was born. Has he done something, my lord,’ she asked with exaggerated innocence, ‘that is against the laws of the gods and so is banished from our company?’
Wardyke drew in his breath sharply and resumed his pacing.
‘He has no longer the role of a priest. He should not practise still as one.’
‘He does not, my lord. He visits only as an old man, a friend.’
‘What do you speak of when he visits?’ His voice was sharp and he was standing before her in an attitude of interrogation.
‘Why, many things.’
‘What things?’
‘Mostly about plants, my lord. My garden is well known in the village and my lord Maal is interested in the methods I use.’
Wardyke studied her face, but could not see further than the smooth sun-ripened skin, the long lashes and brown, deep eyes flecked with yellow. He noticed that she was very beautiful, young and firm and lithe, standing like a young doe ready to take off at the slightest scent of danger.
The harshness of his expression faded and he walked round her, studying her. It was as though he had entirely forgotten what they had been saying.
‘My lord!’ She spoke with alarm.
He smiled, but continued to circle her, looking at every part of her. In spite of her dress of soft brown bark cloth she felt naked. She drew herself back, muscles tense, ready to dart away as soon as she could seize an opportunity. She had seen this look in men’s eyes from time to time, indeed had encouraged it in Karne’s . . . but this time . . .? This time it was not welcome.
‘How old are you, girl?’ he asked, still prowling, still stalking his prey.
‘Seventeen,’ she replied but so low she had to repeat it as he thrust his face close to hers the better to hear what she said.
‘Seventeen?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Why is it you are not wed?’
‘I have not wished to be, my lord.’
‘Everyone should be wed, girl.’
She was silent, her heart beating very loud.
‘Only priests should not be wed.’
‘Why is that so, my lord?’ Her voice was trembling slightly. She was not thinking of what she was saying. She was thinking only of how she could escape. She knew there was no one who could come to her rescue. The only possibility was that Karne might come visiting, but although she longed for this with the frightened part of her heart, she knew she would rather he did not. It would mean nothing but trouble for him and would probably mean they would never be able to be free of Wardyke. Maal would die and the Lords of the Sun would never know of their trouble.
‘Priests must be free to serve the gods,’ Wardyke murmured, but it was obvious he too was not thinking about what he was saying. ‘Women are a distraction . . . they weaken one’s resolution . . .’
‘Then they are best left alone,’ Fern said, summoning up the courage to speak loudly, hoping that the sound of her voice would snap the web that he was weaving around them. But it was too late. Her voice broke the web, but it was the web that was holding him back. He suddenly seized her, flung her on the ground and, roughly and with great harshness, forced himself upon her.
When he was done he looked so dishevelled, off guard and tired, that it was easy to forget he was a priest-magician.
She pulled herself away from him easily now and rose swiftly to her feet. Her eyes were blazing.
‘Wardyke,’ she said bitterly, and there w
as no trace of fear in the way she said it, ‘you will be cursed for this day’s work. When you taste water it will be bitter. When you taste sleep it will be full of dread!’
She turned and walked away with great dignity.
If she had paused to look back at him she would have seen him still half lying, half crouching where she had left him, his face dark and twisted, his eyes like charcoal.
Chapter 12
The night of the rising star
Maal arranged with Kyra in the days that followed that they would make their bid to contact the Lords of the Sun on the night of a particular rising star. He claimed that during this night the powers of the circle were at their greatest. At the rising of the star called Magus from the sea horizon, directly over the stone of the star, their particular circle was in closer contact than at any other time with the forces of the unseen world. At a certain point in the night when the whole star pattern had wheeled silently over their dark fields and hills to lie in a particular configuration, Maal would best be able to manipulate his powers in conjunction with the powers of the spirit world and travel greater distances and with greater surety than at any other time.
‘Is it a better time than even the night of the full moon?’ Kyra asked with interest.
‘It is better,’ Maal said. ‘Different forces are at work. Deeper forces, more secret and hidden. The moon’s influence is strong but it is more on the surface of things. Have you noticed how the sea answers to the moon’s call, the animals grow restless? Even people who are not particularly sensitive can feel the influence of the moon.’
‘But if this night is so important,’ Karne said, ‘Wardyke himself will surely be in the Sacred Circle?’
‘That is so,’ Maal said calmly.
Kyra was surprised that he seemed to be showing so little concern for this problem.
‘The whole village will be there for the ceremony of the rising star!’ she cried.
‘Not all night,’ Maal said.
‘But surely for the important time, the actual rising?’
‘The rising of the Magus star is but a signal. In itself it is nothing. The priest will be alone when the moment of the right configuration comes,’ Maal explained.
‘But how are we going to manage if Wardyke is there?’ pleaded Kyra, her forehead creased with worry.
Even Karne was beginning to feel the whole thing was impossible. But Maal was smiling a little secret smile.
‘What is it?’ Karne demanded. ‘You are keeping something from us.’
‘Yes, I am afraid so,’ said Maal cheerfully.
‘That is not fair!’ cried Kyra indignantly.
Maal laughed and then, seeing that she was genuinely upset, and knowing that he indeed was being unfair, he said, ‘But Wardyke has the wrong configuration.’
Kyra gasped.
‘What do you mean?’ Karne demanded.
‘It is the duty of the departing priest of every Sacred Circle,’ Maal explained carefully, ‘to pass on the secret of the configuration of the night of the rising star to his successor. It is a secret knowledge kept very close within the priesthood of a particular community, as it is the key to great powers and, in the wrong hands, the key to great dangers.’
‘How do you mean?’ Kyra said in alarm.
He put his hand soothingly on her arm.
‘You know, my child, I have explained many times, nothing is good or evil in itself. It is the way it is used that makes it good or evil. Wardyke and I have great powers that we have worked long years to obtain. They are the same powers. It is to what use we put them that decides whether they are good or evil. It is in us, in the inner drive we call the will, in the key to action we call motive.
‘The powers of the spirit world could be called upon and, if the motive and the will of he who calls is strong enough for evil, the spirit action will be evil.’
‘You mean you could call up evil spirits to help you?’ Kyra asked, not quite understanding. ‘Even if you are good?’
‘I am not good, nor evil. I am Maal.’
‘But could you call up evil spirits?’ Kyra insisted.
‘It is not as simple as that. Spirits are not necessarily good or evil either!’
‘It is so complicated,’ complained Kyra.
‘That is why the ordinary person is usually content to pursue his own life, accepting a few simple precepts to follow and leaving the complexities for the priest or the Elders to bother about.’
‘I think that is wrong,’ Karne said firmly.
Maal looked at him with interest.
‘I think we should think about these things. There should not be one life for the priest and another for the ordinary person. I feel the urge to know as strongly as any priest. I want to understand! I want to make choices and know what the possibilities are! I want to know myself so that I do not deceive myself by thinking I am doing a good deed when the motive for doing it makes it bad. I want to be responsible for myself! Even if I make mistakes, I would rather do that than be a kind of straw doll played with by someone else . . . even if the someone else is a spirit!’ he added defiantly, looking upwards at the bland blue sky.
Maal smiled and Kyra could see that he was pleased with what Karne said.
‘I think I agree,’ she said, ‘even though it seems so difficult at times. I would not like to go back to the time when I did not think about these things. It was so boring.’
‘You will not go back,’ Maal said to her. ‘Nor,’ he added, turning to Karne, ‘will you ever be the slightest bit like a straw doll!’
‘If I were a priest,’ Kyra said, her eyes blazing with inspiration, ‘I would set about changing the old ways. Teach people the things you have been teaching us, let them expand and grow and flower!’
Maal smiled, partly in sympathy with her enthusiasm and agreement with her ideas, and partly also with amusement that she did not realize how difficult this would be to carry out. But he said nothing to discourage her. If what she spoke of could be brought about, it would be a great achievement.
‘And what,’ he asked gently, ‘would you teach them about good and evil?’
‘I would teach them . . .’ she started, and then hesitated.
‘Why do you hesitate?’
‘I do not know if I want to teach,’ she said, frowning. ‘It sounds a bit like the old ways where people were told what to think.’
‘If by “teaching” you mean “telling” then you are right not to teach,’ Maal agreed.
‘I want them to think for themselves. Perhaps I should guide them a bit at first . . . point out things for them to watch out for . . . things I had noticed when I was struggling at first . . .’
‘What would be the first thing that you would want to point out?’
‘That everything is not always as it seems when you first look at it. That everything that happens has its roots in something else and the unseen roots are usually more important than that which you can actually see.’
Karne and Kyra were thoughtful for a while.
‘It is not easy to understand things . . .’ Kyra said at last.
‘It is not only the understanding that I find so difficult,’ Karne said ruefully, ‘it is the explaining.’
Maal smiled.
‘As long as you try to understand,’ he said, ‘try to explain, even if it is only to yourself. Always keep your mind open and ready for exploration, ready to consider any new ideas, any new explanations. The very act of trying helps you to grow. You will surprise yourself one day with how much your understanding has grown while you had thought you were making no progress.’
At this point they had to break off as they heard someone coming. As Karne and Kyra slipped away, Kyra said, ‘He never did tell us what he meant by Wardyke having the wrong configuration.’
‘It is obvious,’ Karne said impatiently. ‘It was his duty to pass on the configuration to Wardyke and because he had his suspicions that Wardyke was not our rightful priest he took the precaution of giv
ing him a false one, still keeping the real one a secret.’
‘So when our real priest comes . . . after we have consulted with the Lords of the Sun . . . he will be given the real one and then Maal can concentrate on dying.’
‘And this will mean that Wardyke will be in the circle on the night of the rising star but will have left it when the time comes for the real configuration of power. You and Maal can then slip in and . . .’
‘Oh no!’ Kyra stopped short and her voice was indignant. ‘Not in! You promised I would not have to go in the circle . . .’
‘A slip of the tongue, little sister,’ laughed Karne. ‘I meant, of course, Maal could slip into the circle with your help.’
‘From outside,’ she insisted.
‘From outside,’ he agreed.
* * * *
Fern had not been with them during this discussion so at the first opportunity Karne went to visit her. Some days had passed since he had seen her last and, impatient to make up for this, he ran most of the way to her house. He slowed down just before he reached the curve in the path from which her garden suddenly became visible, and because of this he came upon her quite silently as she was stooping over a flower. He stopped and watched her for a moment, thinking how graceful she looked, feeling a sort of warm glow of pleasure welling up from inside himself as though the sunshine was coming from within his very inmost being this lovely golden day.
But the peacefulness of the scene did not last for long. Fern must have sensed his presence because she suddenly straightened up and spun round, her face momentarily quite distorted with fear and dislike. He was startled. He had never seen such emotions on Fern’s face before. She had always seemed so calm and poised on an inner centre of happiness.
‘Fern!’ he gasped, ‘What is the matter?’
The Tall Stones Page 12
