by Alan Garner
“If you would live,” whispered Albanac, “stay by me!”
The pyramid was now some three feet high. Near the top glowed two red eyes: near the base was what could have been a shadowy mouth, or a shallow beak. Then the thing began to grow. It grew in all directions, like a balloon, and it grew in spasms, with moments of rest in between.
Albanac raised his sword, and spoke in a hard, clear voice.
“Power of wind have I over thee.
“Power of wrath have I over thee.
“Power of fire have I over thee.
“Power of thunder have I over thee.
“Power of lightning have I over thee.”
The pyramid now filled the house: it was no longer a pyramid: it was everything – a universal darkness in which there were two flat discs, the colour of blood, and a ribbon of blue fire that was Albanac’s sword.
“Power of storms have I over thee.
“Power of moon have I over thee.
“Power of sun have I over thee.
“Power of stars have I over thee.”
The blank eyes swam closer, now as big as plates, and the darkness began to pulse, and Colin gripped Albanac’s cloak like a drowning man; for the pulse was the rhythm of his heartbeats, and he could not tell where he ended and the darkness began.
“Power of the – heavens – and – of the worlds – have I – over – thee.
“Power – power – I cannot hold it!”
Albanac lifted his sword above his head with both hands, and drove it down into the blackness between the eyes.
“Eson! Eson! Emaris!”
There was a glare of light, and a tearing crash. The house quivered, the door burst inwards, a wind shrieked through the room, and all was quiet. Albanac and Colin slowly raised their heads from the floor, and pulled themselves upright against the doorposts.
The room was smashed and the furniture scattered, the window frame had splintered from the wall. Albanac’s sword was in pieces. Only Susan was undisturbed: she lay quietly, breathing deeply, fast asleep. Colin went to the bed and looked down at her.
“Sue. It is – Sue?”
Albanac nodded.
There were voices outside in the yard, then heavy footsteps on the stairs, and Gowther stood in the doorway.
“What—?”
Bess appeared behind him.
“Who—? Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
“Howd thy noise, lass,” said Gowther. He looked at Albanac. “Now, maister, what’s all this about?”
“That, farmer Mossock, was the Brollachan.”
“The what?”
“Ay, and there is work to be done, and swiftly – though I doubt if we shall pick up the trail. I must go to Fundindelve, but I shall be back. Let Susan sleep, and see to it that the bracelet stays on her wrist, then she will be safe.”
“I was just on my way for the doctor,” said Gowther.
“No!” Albanac turned to Gowther. “You must not do that. Let Cadellin see her first.”
“But—”
“Believe me! You may do harm. This is no business for men.”
“No? Happen you’re reet – and happen you’re not. She’s looking better. I’ll grant you. All reet: we’ll wait on a bit: but you’d best be sharp.”
“Thank you, farmer Mossock.”
Albanac ran from the house, and they watched him till he crossed over the Riddings, and not a word was spoken.
Words were spoken later. Bess and Gowther listened to Colin’s story, and they accepted it. They had to. The wrecked bedroom was too compelling a witness.
They had spent several hours repairing what they could and patching up the rest. Through it all Susan had slept without a break: for Bess it was the one consolation of the day. It was a restful sleep, not the dead, withdrawn, near-coma that had troubled Bess more than she would admit. Susan was still pale, but it was a healthy paleness compared with what had gone before.
The tap at the door was so light that if they had not been sitting quietly at the table over a late tea they would not have heard it.
“Was that someone knocking?” said Gowther.
“I think it was,” said Bess. “But I might be wrong.”
“Hallo,” said Gowther. “Who is it?”
“Albanac.”
“Oh!” Gowther crossed to the door. “Er – ay, come in.”
Albanac entered the kitchen, followed by Uthecar and Cadellin. The wizard stooped under the beams: when he stood upright his head could not be seen.
“Er – take a seat, will you?” said Gowther
“Thank you,” said Cadellin. “How is Susan?”
“Oh, she’s still asleep; and we’ve not tried to wake her, seeing how Albanac here said we should leave her be, but she’s looking much better – else we’d have had the doctor to help her by now, I’ll tell thee.”
“Still sleeping?” said Cadellin.
“You have not taken the bracelet from her wrist?” said Albanac sharply.
“No.”
“I think we must see her,” said Cadellin.
“What’s wrong?” said Colin. “Why are you all looking so grim?”
“I hope there is nothing wrong,” said the wizard. “Albanac came in time, and it is well he did. The Brollachan does not willingly leave a body until it is beyond repair. Susan has escaped – I hope without injury – but it would be wise for us to see her.”
“Look,” said Bess, who had been sitting agape since the moment she saw the wizard. “I dunner pretend to follow this here, but if Susan needs attention, the doctor’s the mon to do it. I’ve said so all along.”
“Ay,” said Gowther; “you con go and have a look at her, if you wish, but that’s all. After what she seems to have been through, the less mumbo-jumbo theer is about her the better. We’re having the doctor in tomorrow to give her a good over-hauling, and then we’ll see.”
“Hm,” said Cadellin.
They went upstairs. Susan was still asleep. Cadellin looked at her.
“It is safe to wake her, farmer Mossock. Her body is not hurt, and she is rested.”
Bess leant over the bed and shook Susan gently. “Susan. Come on, love: it’s time to wake up.” Susan did not move. Bess shook her harder. “Come on, lass. Wake up.” But Susan gave no sign of waking, no matter how Bess tried.
“Mistress Mossock,” said Cadellin softly, “let me try.”
Bess stepped back, and the wizard took hold of Susan’s wrist and felt her pulse, then he lifted her eyelid. “Hm.” He put his left hand on her brow, and closed his eyes. The room was silent. A minute, two minutes passed.
“Is she all right?” said Colin. The wizard did not reply. He seemed to be scarcely breathing. “Cadellin!”
“Here! What’s going on?” said Gowther, and made to grab Cadellin’s arm. But Albanac stepped in front of him.
“No, farmer Mossock: do not interfere.”
As he spoke, Cadellin opened his eyes. “She is not here. She is lost to us.”
“What?” cried Colin. “What do you mean? She’s not dead. She can’t be! Look! She’s only asleep!”
“Her body sleeps,” said Cadellin. “Let us leave her now: there is something you must know.”
CHAPTER 7
OLD MAGIC
“T he Brollachan,” said Albanac, “has no shape. It must take that of others. But no mortal frame can bear it for long: it is too fierce a tenant. Soon the body stretches, warps, becomes the wrong shape, then it dwindles, crumbles, is a husk, and the Brollachan sloughs it as a snake its skin and takes another. We came in time with Susan: had we not, she would have withered like the white lily in the black frost. Now she is safe: if we can find her.”
“But are you sure it’s Sue upstairs?” said Colin. “When I touched her hand last night it felt – different – not a hand at all.”
“Do not worry,” said Cadellin. “That would be a memory from an earlier shape: such things linger with the Brollachan: its mind is slow to change. D
o not men who have lost a limb often feel pain in hand or foot that is not there?”
“But wheer’s all this getting us?” said Gowther. “Susan’s lying up theer, and we conner wake her. Summat’ll have to be done.”
The wizard sighed. “I do not know the answer, farmer Mossock. The Brollachan drove her from her body, and where she is now I cannot see. She is beyond my magic: we shall call on other powers to find her, and until she is found she must lie here, and the bracelet of Angharad Goldenhand must never leave her wrist.”
“I wish it never had,” said Albanac. “I brought it to her the moment Atlendor gave it back to me, but that was not soon enough.”
“Now see here,” said Gowther, “how long is this caper to go on for?”
“It will not be a short business,” said the wizard. “Weeks – months – let us hope not years. She is far away.”
“Then it’s the doctor for her, reet here and now,” said Gowther. “I’ve had enough messing about.”
“Farmer Mossock, you would pour water on burning oil!” cried the wizard. “Is it not clear to you yet? This is no matter for mortal skills. What would happen? She would be taken from us. Our task would grow five-fold.”
“Ay, but hospital’s the place for her if she’s going to stay like this: she’ll need special feeding, for one thing.”
“No. We shall take care of her. She will be safe with us. Farmer Mossock, the worst you could do is what you plan to do. Susan’s danger, our danger, will increase if you do not go our way in this.”
Gowther looked searchingly at the wizard. “Well – I dunner like this at all – but I’ve seen enough of you to tell that you know what’s what in these goings on. So we’ll compromise. I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Unless Susan takes a turn for the worse, I’ll do nowt about it for the next three days.”
“Three days!” said Cadellin. “There is little can be done in three days.”
“Ay, well, I wouldner know,” said Gowther. “But that’s the way it is.”
“Then we must accept it, and hope for second thoughts.” The wizard rose from his chair. “Colin, will you be at Goldenstone at noon tomorrow? There is something that Susan will need.”
Colin turned off the road on to the track that ran along the wood side. On his left were pine and oak, on his right the fields and hills.
He came to the grey block of sandstone that stood at the border of the path and was called the Goldenstone. It was so crudely shaped that few people would notice that it carried the mark of tools, and was not one of the many outcrops on the Edge, but had been placed there at some time of the world for a forgotten purpose. Uthecar and Albanac were sitting with their backs against it.
“Sit you here, Colin,” said Albanac. “It is as dry as anywhere. How is Susan?”
“She’s no different. Have you found anything that’ll help?”
“We have not,” said Uthecar. “Though rest has been far from our heads and sleep from our eyes since we left you.”
“Cadellin uses all his power,” said Albanac, “but not even he can see where she is. But take good heart to you: we shall not give up, and others help us. We have come now from Redesmere: the Lady of the Lake sends you this – there will be no need of other food.” He handed Colin a leather bottle. “Wine from the table of Angharad Goldenhand has many virtues.”
“Thank you,” said Colin. “But you are going to find Sue, aren’t you? It is just a question of time? And in what sort of a place is she? How can she be somewhere else when she’s lying in bed?”
“I will not lie to you,” said Albanac. “The Susan that sleeps is Length and Breadth and Height: but the real Susan is none of this. The two you have always known as one, but the Brollachan split them like a new-whetted blade in kindling.”
“I am thinking,” said Uthecar. “I am thinking that Cadellin will not find her.”
“He must, and will,” said Albanac. “I had not thought to see you so quickly cowed.”
“Nay, you take me wrong. I am thinking that the High Magic is too keen for the task.”
“I do not understand.”
“You try too hard. Be not so nimble-witted!” said Uthecar. “Consider: it is said that the sword that lies by the Sleeper in Fundindelve would cleave a hair on water, draw blood from the wind. But would you use its temper to fell this oak? So here: the Brollachan is of the Old Evil – it does not move on such airy planes as Cadellin knows. For the Old Evil the Old Magic is best. Against any army a thousand strong give me the king’s sword, but for this oak I would be having the cottar’s axe.”
“I had not thought that way,” said Albanac. “You may be right. And we must leave no hope untried. But what Old Magic is there now? It sleeps, and should not be woken.”
“Alas, I have no head for such things,” said Uthecar. “I was asking the lios-alfar, but they would never look so low.”
“But what shall we do?” cried Albanac. Uthecar’s words seemed to have put new life into him. Even Colin, though bewildered, caught some of the fire.
“If I were thinking, not knowing much of lore, of what would be the strongest charm for all ill times,” said Uthecar, “I should say the Mothan. But where it may grow in this flat southern land, I could not be telling.”
“The Mothan!” said Albanac. “I have heard of it! But it is a magic plant, not easy to be found, and we have three days.”
“Tell me about it,” said Colin. “I’ll find it.”
Uthecar looked at him. “Ay. It would take such purpose as I see in you.
“It is a fickle plant: it grows only on the heights of the old, straight track, and flowers only in the full of the moon.”
“It’s full moon tomorrow night!” cried Colin. “Where is this track?”
Both he and Albanac were on their feet, but Uthecar stayed where he was.
“There are many tracks. All are lost. I know of two beyond Minith Bannawg, but not even an elf could be there in time. There may be others here. If you stand on the old, straight track when the full moon will rise along it, then you will see it: it is hidden at all other times.”
“Are there any here?” said Colin wildly, turning to Albanac.
“I do not know. Again, I have heard of them: but they were made at a time before dwarfs, and before wizards. And they are part of the Old Magic, though we do not know their purpose, and dead things stir when it moves.”
“Look! I’ve got to find this track! There must be a way. Why did you tell me about it if you knew it was no use?”
“I was wondering if the track is known here,” said Uthecar. “Alas, it is not. But catch courage! It is the Old Magic, simple, warm. Faith and resolution can touch its heart. If the Mothan is to be found, you will find it, though I know not where it may be.”
“But how shall I start to look for it?” said Colin.
“Believe that help will come: search: try: think of Susan: never lose heart. Be here tomorrow at this time, and we may have better news.”
Colin walked back to Highmost Redmanhey unaware of his surroundings. The old, straight track: the old, straight track. It was all so vague. The old, straight track. Yet he knew that somewhere he had heard of it before Uthecar had mentioned it, which was ridiculous, since how could he know about something magical that was little more than hearsay to those who lived with magic? But the harder he tried, the further memory receded, and the more certain he became that he could answer the question if he could remember.
Back at the farm Colin ate a dismal meal. He had given up the search for the old, straight track, and was preoccupied with thoughts of Susan. The Mossocks ate in silence, their faces drawn with worry.
Then, as often happens when the mind has left a problem, the picture that had been eluding him rose through Colin’s thoughts.
“Got it!”
He leapt from his chair and raced upstairs to his room. He dived across the bed, and hauled Gowther’s suede-covered ledger from its shelf. Somewhere in these four hundred and fif
ty pages was a reference to the old, straight track: he knew he had seen it: now the entry stood out in his mind: it was opposite a page of heraldic notes: there was a drawing of a coat of arms – a chevron between three boars’ heads. But even so, Colin was in such a state that he had to thumb through the book twice before he found it, and then, as he read, the dry scholarship of the rector’s notes seemed so removed from the excitement of magic that he began to doubt.
“To-day I walked the line of an old, straight trackway, made by our rude forbears, I am forced to believe, prior to the coming of the antique Roman to these shores.
I have followed this road from Mobberley to the Edge. It was engineered, if that be the term, at so remote an era that all record of it is lost, save the frequent mounds and stones erected to indicate the way. Of these, the Beacon and the Goldenstone are the most remarkable on the Edge, and from the latter, where I terminated my excursion, it seemed that the trackway was aligned with the peak of Shining Tor, which stands distant nine miles towards Buxton.
One cannot cease to marvel at the felicity of these unknown architects, who, ignorant of all the arts of science—”
Colin shut the book. The elation had gone. But what else was there to hang on to except this? He had to try.
“Are you all reet, lad?” said Bess when he went downstairs. “You look as if you’ve lost a shilling and found sixpence.”
“No: it’s all right,” said Colin. “I’m sorry about that. It was something I’d remembered in the old book. Do you know where the Beacon is on the Edge?”
“Ay,” said Gowther. “It’s the highest part of the Edge. You know when you go along the top path from Castle Rock to Stormy Point? Well, just before you bear left, it’s the round hill above you on your right. You conner miss it: theer used to be a stone hut on the top, and you con still see the foundations.”
“Do you mind if I go and look at it this afternoon?” said Colin.
“Nay, of course not,” said Bess. “It’ll give you summat to do, and theer’s nowt like being active to take your mind off things.”
“Thanks; I shan’t be long.”
Gowther was right. There was no mistaking the Beacon. It was a smooth-skinned mound, obviously artificial, and it stood clear of the trees on the highest point of the Edge. It looked like a tumulus.
