The Tall Stones

by Moyra Caldecott

  She heard no voices, thought no thoughts that were not her own, and at last, defeated and depressed, she opened her eyes.

  Before her in the sky, veil upon veil of shining light fell from the uttermost height of the heavens almost to the earth, in folds finer than the finest drapery she had ever imagined. Stunned, she gazed as it changed through every possible shade and finally faded.

  ‘Look in the sky and you will see a sign that is confirmation of our help,’ they had said, and now as she called to them for help the sky was transformed beyond belief.

  * * * *

  That night every person in the community, including Wardyke’s strangers, had dreams that kept them tossing and turning, groaning and sighing. Mia’s death and the stoning of the boy was played out in every detail, grotesque and horrible, within the minds of every sleeping person. If they awoke they would fall asleep soon afterwards and within seconds the ghastly scene would be enacted yet again in the arena of their minds.

  Wardyke woke in sudden terror in his own house and cried out, fighting off imaginary stones and sticks as they came flailing at him. Around him, eyes wild with hate and accusation were closing in on him, and for a moment such fear took him over that he was powerless to withstand them.

  He woke, sweating and trembling. He rose, lit torches and strode about his rooms the rest of the night. In the morning he looked haggard and tired, and Kyra was not slow to point this out to the villagers.

  That day when Wardyke walked amongst the community there were many who dared look him boldly in the eye and there were many who looked and felt as though they had a secret knowledge that gave them strength against him.

  For the first time he was uneasy. Something was going on over which he had no control. He tried questioning some of the villagers, but they pretended not to know what he was talking about. They became instantly humble, but in such a way that he was not sure it was real.

  He alerted the strangers to look out for any kind of disaffection and report it to him. If the villagers were beginning to turn against him, there must be a ring-leader. And that man he must have before it was too late.

  In the afternoon he went again to Fern’s house and surprised her sweeping the fallen leaves away from the entrance to her small home. She jumped slightly when he appeared and then gripped the branch she was using until her knuckles showed white. Her eyes were blazing and defiant.

  He approached her, his own eyes like whirlpools of darkness.

  ‘No!’ she cried.

  ‘I need you,’ he said, and his voice was filled with a strange kind of pain.

  ‘No!’ she cried again and lifted the branch to strike him if he took a step nearer her.

  His mouth twisted slightly, and with a swift movement he knocked the branch out of her hand with one of his giant hands and struck her across the face with the other.

  ‘I need you!’ he repeated, his voice strained and menacing.

  She reeled back with the force of the blow, but when she had regained her balance her expression was as defiant as ever. Indeed, her face mocked him now, as though she despised him for having resorted to petty violence.

  An ugly red flush began to creep across his face.

  His hands began to rise and with a leap of fear in her heart she remembered Mia.

  ‘Help me!’ she cried deep inside her to all the forces of nature that she loved so much.

  As though in answer to her prayer a sudden violent wind sprang up and Wardyke, who was standing near the door post of her house which was covered with creeper, was lashed in the face by its long and thorny tendrils.

  With a scream he sprang back, covering his eyes as the thorns ripped and scratched at them. Leaves swirled everywhere and dust choked him.

  ‘I cannot see! I cannot see!’ he screamed, staggering and almost falling.

  She stood looking at him, the wind swirling her long red hair like flame around her. Her eyes blazed with triumph as she remembered she was not alone.

  ‘Go, Wardyke!’ she cried with tremendous and surprising authority. ‘And never come to this wood again!’

  A whirlwind pushed and buffeted him, he choked and spluttered with the dust, staggered and almost fell. He could feel blood on his hands and on his face. His eyes were stinging and painful, his chest aching with the effort of coughing.

  He turned and half ran along the path, a fallen branch that he could have sworn had not been there when he arrived tripped him up and he crashed to the ground like a felled tree.

  As suddenly as it had started, the wind ceased. There was absolute silence as Wardyke picked himself up. He looked around at the bushes and the trees of the wood and he could feel the animosity, but he could see nothing.

  He looked back at Fern and she had a strange grandeur. This was her kingdom, and he was banished.

  He left, mopping the blood from his cheeks and thinking bitterly of the experience. He was shaken, but by no means defeated. He would be back.

  * * * *

  That night Fern woke to a feeling of great unease. She sat up and looked around her, every sense alert, like a small animal. Something was wrong. Something did not feel right. As she listened she seemed to hear thousands of minute voices raised in pain and fear, clamouring for her help. Appalled, she leapt up and left the house, still not knowing what the trouble was. As she stood in the entrance an overwhelming smell of wood smoke met her nostrils, and her ears were filled with the cruel crackle of flames in dry twigs.

  Fire! Her wood was on fire!

  She could see it now, leaping scarlet from branch to branch, tearing at the dry leaves, devouring the delicate fronds of bracken.

  ‘Wardyke!’ she cried. Wardyke’s revenge. She might have known he would not give in so easily.

  Torn with pain to see her beautiful and living wood so tortured and destroyed, she could not see what she could do to rescue it. There was no way. The wind that had helped her before was now helping Wardyke. The flames were driven before it to wilder and wilder excesses and if she were not careful the fire would have her too. Weeping with pity for the trees, she ran as fast as she could. Other creatures joined her and the ground was full of leaping frogs, deer, squirrels and hares. The luckier birds were screeching in the sky.

  She called and called for help, but who was there to hear her?

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, in the village Kyra was having an uneasy dream in which the villagers had all been put in a deep pit by Wardyke and set on fire. She woke as the flame licked her own flesh and she could feel the pain. Once awake she lay puzzled. The feeling of fire on her arm had been so vivid and yet here she was, perfectly safe, in her sleeping rug. She was just turning over to sleep again when Karne tapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  ‘I am not sure. But I feel something is happening that should be stopped.’

  She sat up.

  ‘Wardyke?’

  ‘It must be. I am going outside to prowl around a bit to see if I can discover anything.’

  ‘I will come too,’ Kyra said, wide awake.

  She pulled on her dress and her warm cape and slipped out into the night after her brother. The village was dead quiet and dark. Nothing was stirring but themselves.

  ‘What is that?’

  Karne pointed in the direction of Fern’s home. There was a faint glow.

  They both stared at it for a moment puzzled, and then the same conclusion hit them simultaneously.

  ‘Fire!’ gasped Karne, and was off like a startled wild animal towards the red and ugly stain, Kyra close behind him.

  If only Fern were unharmed!

  The woods were dry at this time of year and would burn easily, and there was a wind blowing.

  ‘Oh no!’ thought Kyra, ‘all those beautiful trees and plants!’

  But her main concern was Fern.

  Karne covered the ground as though he had wings. He had reached the outskirts of Fern’s valley before Kyra was within sight of it. He saw at o
nce the smouldering devastation, the blackened husks of trees and beyond them the fire still raging, still tearing at the living wood. Scarcely noticing the pain in his feet he ran across the still smoking earth towards Fern’s house, to stand appalled in sight of the pile of embers that marked the place where it had stood.

  He knew now how a wolf must feel when it lifts its anguished head and howls in the deep hollow of the night. His heart was howling too.

  He heard Kyra shouting, and looked back. She was on the rise just where the fire had begun. She was shouting and pointing but he could not hear what she was saying. He followed the line of her hand. She kept pointing and shouting, more and more desperate as he did not understand. At last she started to run in the direction she had been pointing, her feet less tough than his hurting against the hot earth.

  ‘Go back!’ he shouted, and ran towards her.

  Within earshot at last he heard her cry, ‘Fern! Fern!’ and look beyond at the woods still burning.

  He did not stay to question further but ran towards the place.

  On the way he came upon the stream and followed its merciful length for as long as he could. Before he left it he plunged himself into the water and made himself as wet as he could.

  Through the flames and smoke suddenly he could see Fern. She was beating at the fire with branches, weeping and choking at the same time.

  ‘Fern!’ he shouted and without another thought plunged straight through a barrier of flame.

  Startled, she saw him emerge from the fire as though he were the manifestation of some demon. She shrieked and fainted, the whole experience too fraught to bear another second.

  Before she touched the ground she was in his arms and he was back through the wall of fire, smothering the sparks on her with his damp clothes. Staggering under her weight, he managed to get back to the stream and out on to the bare hillside where the stubble was almost burnt out.

  Kyra was waiting for him and wept with joy to see them both safe, and from there they limped home on feet that were burnt and painful.

  Kyra woke their sleeping family and within minutes they were being looked after. Karne’s horrified mother rushed to put soothing animal fat upon the burns on her son’s feet, and on Fern’s arms and back. Kyra herself secretly rubbed some on her own soles. She was not blistered like Karne and Fern and did not want a fuss made of her, but her feet were tender and sore.

  The dawn found Karne, Kyra and Fern fast asleep. The mother insisted the family should be quiet and leave them to rest as long as they could, so one by one they crept out and went about the day’s business.

  Most of the villagers went to see the fire, which by now was almost burnt out. They looked with sorrow at the blackened scar that had once been a lovely, leafy forest.

  Wardyke came to survey the scene. Of course there was no proof that he had caused it, but more than one villager noted an expression of satisfaction on his face.

  Chapter 17

  The Second Challenge

  After the fire Fern stayed on with Karne and Kyra’s family, but she did not recover as quickly as they expected. Karne’s burns healed fast and although he probably would always have scars on his feet to remind him of that terrible night, he was soon back to normal. Fern’s wounds took longer to heal and even when the skin was whole, she was so listless and pale that Kyra’s mother insisted she rested most of the day. Fern, who was usually so full of energy that she rarely did nothing, sat now day after day beside the hearth or in the sun beside the wood pile, content to be inactive.

  Everyone was anxious about her, but no one knew what to do. Karne particularly hovered over her and worried.

  ‘What is the matter with her,’ he asked Kyra desperately. ‘The burns healed ages ago. She cannot still be in pain.’

  ‘It is something inside,’ Kyra said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps she is mourning for her woods and her garden. They were like people to her.’

  Karne nodded and took Fern a present of some particularly beautiful autumn leaves and berries he found on the hill.

  Fern accepted them in silence and lowered her head so that he would not see the tears that gathered in her eyes. But she was not quick enough. He stooped down and kissed the top of her head. With the touch of his lips she broke down completely and sobbed and sobbed. He gathered her to him and held her, not knowing what to say or do. But she did not need words or deeds. She needed him.

  At last she had cried herself out and was still.

  He sat down beside her and held her hand, she leant her head against his shoulder and, saying nothing to each other, they sat for a long time.

  After that she began to take a small interest in things again and started to busy herself helping Kyra’s family.

  ‘In the spring the plants will all grow again,’ Kyra said to her one day. ‘You will see, your garden and your wood will be beautiful once more.’

  Fern nodded, but her smile was still sad.

  ‘Shall we help you build your house again?’ Kyra’s little brothers Ji and Okan asked. They loved making things. They used the boat sometimes for fishing, but somehow it was not quite so much fun as the actual building of it had been, and it was such a long walk to the sea, carrying the boat the whole way, that they tended not to do it as often as they had planned.

  Fern looked as though she were thinking about their proposal, and at last she made a decision.

  ‘That is very kind of you. But we have to get the wood from somewhere else. All my wood is burnt.’

  ‘Wood is no problem,’ said Okan joyfully.

  ‘We know where we can get plenty!’ said Ji.

  ‘And we can make a sled to haul it on.’

  ‘I do not want living trees chopped down heartlessly,’ Fern said warningly.

  ‘Oh no,’ they said. ‘These were blown down in a storm. They have been lying all summer waiting to be used.’

  Fern smiled.

  ‘I will show you how I want my house and, when you are ready, where there is more wood that itself is ready to be used,’ she said.

  ‘Can we start making the sled now?’

  ‘Of course.’

  They rushed off excitedly, delighted to have something else to make.

  Kyra smiled at Fern.

  ‘That is better,’ she said gently, ‘you are beginning to come alive again.’

  ‘I am sorry I gave up like that . . . it was just that . . .’

  She hesitated.

  ‘What is the matter?’

  Kyra could see there was something still worrying Fern.

  ‘Are you afraid to go back? Would you rather stay with us?’

  Fern shook her head, but still could not bring herself to speak.

  ‘Stay with us!’ Kyra pleaded, suddenly sure this was the root of the difficulty. ‘We would all love to have you – particularly Karne!’ she added with a mischievous smile.

  At this Fern looked more miserable than ever.

  ‘It is Karne!’ Kyra cried in amazement.

  ‘No,’ said Fern quickly.

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Oh, Kyra,’ said Fern in despair. ‘I am with child.’

  Kyra looked stunned.

  ‘Karne?’

  ‘No. Wardyke.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Kyra was horrified. She took both of Fern’s hands in hers and held them very tightly.

  The relief of having told someone sympathetic was wonderful for Fern. She told Kyra everything, the visit she had had from Wardyke on the afternoon before the fire and the horror with which she had realized that he had burnt her precious trees in revenge for her rejection of him.

  ‘I hate him, Kyra,’ she cried. ‘I cannot help it. I hate him and I fear him!’

  Kyra did not know what to say. They both knew hatred and fear were self-destructive emotions and caused nothing but more evil to come from any situation, but she could not blame Fern for hating and fearing Wardyke.

  ‘And what are we to do about Karne?’ Kyra said thoughtfully.

  Both she a
nd Fern were loth to let him know the situation, and yet they also knew they should not keep it from him much longer.

  Dumbly Fern shook her head. Hopelessly she shrugged her shoulders.

  * * * *

  It was some days later that events forced an answer to this question.

  Karne came briskly to Fern as she was helping Kyra shake out the sleeping rugs. It was a clear and shining day and before the long wet winter set upon them Kyra’s mother liked to clear out all the dust and dirt of summer.

  ‘Come,’ he said commandingly to her, his face the face of someone who has a happy secret he is longing to share, but is determined to make the most of it before he does.

  She looked a question.

  ‘I want to show you something special.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I cannot. Kyra and I must do these rugs.’

  ‘They can be done another time!’

  ‘Oh no, they cannot!’

  He was tugging at her now and she was laughingly resisting.

  ‘Oh, go on Fern,’ Kyra said. ‘Find out what it is. I can do these by myself.’

  ‘Of course you cannot! It is heavy work for one,’ Fern said indignantly, still holding back.

  ‘Well, Karne will help us and it will be done more quickly.’

  ‘Oh, will he!’ mocked Karne.

  ‘I am not coming with you until it is done,’ warned Fern.

  He shrugged.

  ‘Women!’ he exclaimed, but he was not unwilling to help them. He could spin out the delight of anticipation that much longer.

  The work went faster with his help, but not fast enough for the two girls, who were by now much intrigued by Karne’s secret.

  At last they were through and Karne took Fern’s hand. Kyra watched with tenderness and affection as the two people closest to her walked away.

  But there was still the shadow of Wardyke lying between them.

  * * * *

  Karne took Fern a long way from the village, somewhat in the direction of her former home, but carefully choosing the route so that the gloomy sight of the burnt wood did not intrude upon their mood.

  He led her north, around the far side of her wood, but out of sight of it.

  ‘What is it?’ she kept asking.