The Moon of Gomrath

by Alan Garner

  Of the blooming of shields in the cry of the sword,

  The bite of the blue-headed spear in the flesh,

  The thirst of the deep-drinking arrows of wrath,

  And ravens red with the warring?

  And away among the trees appeared the figure of a man. He came loping to the Beacon along the old, straight track, and the light played on the muscles of his body in rippling patterns of black and red. He was huge and powerful, yet with the grace of an animal; at least seven feet tall, and he ran effortlessly. His face was long and thin, his nose pointed, and nostrils flared; his eyes night-browed, up-sweeping, dark as rubies; his hair red curls; and among the curls grew the antlers of a stag.

  The horseman answered him:

  Swift the hoof, and free the wind!

  Wakeful are we to the flame of the Goloring!

  From heat of the sun, and cold of the moon,

  Hail, Garanhir! Gorlassar! Lord of the Herlathing!

  Then he backed slowly from the fire, and when the runner came to the circle and sprang in a stride to the top of the mound, all the horses knelt, and the riders lifted their arms in silence.

  Susan looked at him and was not afraid. Her mind could not accept him, but something deeper could. She knew what made the horses kneel. Here was the heart of all wild things. Here were thunder, lightning, storm; the slow beat of tides and seasons, birth and death, the need to kill and the need to make. His eyes were on her, yet she could not be afraid.

  He stood alone and still in the cold flames, and they flowed round him and took his shape, so that he was outlined in blood, and scarlet tongues streamed upwards from the points of his antlers. He seemed to draw the light of the fire to himself; it dwindled, and the flames sank as though they were being pulled down through his flesh, and he grew, not in size, but in power, until the only light was that of the moon, and he stood black against it.

  Then he spoke. “It is long since wendfire kindled the Goloring. What men have remembered the Eve of Gomrath?”

  The two riders carrying the children moved forward.

  Colin felt deep eyes sweep through him, and an exhilaration, breathless as fear, lifted the pain from his body.

  “It is good to wake when the moon stands on the hill.”

  Something close to laughter stirred in his voice, and he bent down and set Colin upright astride the horse’s neck. Then he turned to Susan, and was about to speak, when the rider lifted Susan’s arm and showed the Mark of Fohla white on her wrist. It glowed with more than reflected silver, and the black characters engraved on it trembled as though they had life.

  Lightly and briefly and without a word, the dark majesty dropped on one knee and Susan’s hand was taken and laid upon a cold brow. Then he rose and lifted Colin and Susan from the horses, and put them down at the top of the mound, and turned away.

  “Ride, Einheriar of the Herlathing!”

  “We ride! We ride!”

  Turf spattered the children, and for an instant the night was a tumult of rushing darkness, and then the children were alone.

  They sank down on the stones, and looked at each other. “That’s – that’s what I saw in the farmyard,” said Colin. “That’s what followed me.”

  “They didn’t care what happened to us,” said Susan blankly. “They weren’t interested in us at all.”

  “He followed me right back to the farm.”

  “But perhaps it’s just as well,” said Susan: “I wouldn’t hope for much if they thought we were in the way.”

  “Now was that bravely done?”

  Colin and Susan jumped as the voice broke in on them. They peered in the direction from which it had come, and saw a dwarf standing under the trees.

  “Uthecar!” shouted Colin, and they ran down the hill to meet him. “Uthecar?”

  “Who are you?” said Susan.

  The dwarf looked at them. “How shall we undo all this?” he said.

  He was dressed in black, and there was a gold-hilted sword at his waist. His hair and beard were cleanly cut, and he carried himself proudly, and his voice was firm, so that the authority of his bearing removed all ill-nature from his words.

  “I’m – sorry,” said Colin. “What have we done wrong? Was all that our fault?”

  “How was it not? None but fools would bring fire to the mound at any time; but to do so on this night of all nights of the year, and to burn wendwood! What is Cadellin thinking to let you from his sight? But come, we must see what your friends will do: it may not be too late to put them back in the mounds.”

  “But we’ll never find them!” cried Susan. “They galloped off like the wind.”

  “I think they have not gone far,” said the dwarf. “Let us see.” He strode away, and the children ran to keep up with him.

  “But what’s it all about?” said Colin. “Who were they? And who was – he?”

  “The Wild Hunt. The Herlathing. That is what you have sent out on us. It was enough to rouse the Hunter; he alone would have taken some laying. But now that the Einheriar ride after him we shall have to act quickly, or wide numbers will go to sleep with light in their eyes, and only the raven will find profit! But quiet now: I think we are on them.”

  They had come to a cliff-top over a valley. The dwarf crawled to the edge and looked down. Colin and Susan joined him, but although they could hear movement at the foot of the cliff they could see nothing, for the rock overhung the ground below. They crawled along to where the cliff fell away to a sloping bank, and from this bank they could see clearly.

  They were at the Holywell, and the second gate of Fundindelve. Along the path that ran past the well the Einheriar were drawn in line, and at the well, his antlers nearly level with the children’s faces, was Garanhir, the Hunter. He held a cup of some white metal, and the riders took it one after the other and drank deeply, then lifted it and poured the last drops over their heads, and moved on.

  For each rider Garanhir stooped and filled the cup from the well, and the water gleamed as the old, straight track had done at the touch of the spear, and all the marsh below shone red.

  The dwarf worked back from the edge, and beckoned the children to follow him. He took them round the head of the valley and along the opposite ridge to where they could watch the silhouettes of the Einheriar against the dim glow.

  “We are too late,” said the dwarf. “Now that they have drunk at the well this is wizard’s work. Beard of the Dagda! Are we to talk until all that ever slept is woken? Which may happen yet, for once the Old Magic moves, it moves deeply – even without the help of wendfires!

  “Listen: do you see where we are now? Over the ridge behind us are the iron gates; have you the opening of them?”

  “Yes – I think so,” said Susan.

  “Then go to Cadellin: tell him that the Einheriar ride. We shall keep watch here.

  “All right.”

  Susan disappeared, and a few minutes later the ground quivered under their feet, and the skyline of the ridge was tinged with blue. Colin turned back to look at the Holywell. Although the light was not good, he could tell that the riders were milling together, and he could hear hoofs stamping restlessly.

  “I think they’re going,” said Colin. “What shall we do?”

  A dry scrape of metal answered him. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the moon pale on the gold-hilted sword as it came from its sheath, and pale in the eyes behind the sword.

  “We shall walk,” said the dwarf.

  As she entered the tunnel, Susan thought she heard Colin shout, but the noise of the rock and clang of the gates drowned his voice, if it was his voice, and when the echoes had died there was only silence thudding in her ears. Susan hesitated: her hand reached out to the gates; then she told herself that if anything had begun to happen there was even more need to find Cadellin quickly, so she turned and ran down the tunnel.

  This was the long approach to the wizard’s cave: the whole labyrinth of Fundindelve lay between, and soon she realised that she d
id not know the way. In the tunnels her footsteps and breathing enclosed her in waves, but unnerving as this was, the blue-hazed infinity of the caverns was worse.

  At last she was forced to rest, and while she leant, trembling, against a cave wall, her reason overcame her urgency, and from that moment she started to use her eyes. Even so, an hour had passed since she had left Colin before Susan found a tunnel that she knew, and it was another ten minutes before she reached the cave.

  Uthecar and Albanac were with the wizard.

  “What is it, Susan?” said Albanac, jumping to his feet.

  “Einheriar! – Einheriar! – the Hunter!”

  “The Einheriar?” said Cadellin. “How do you know—?” He whirled round, and began to run up the short tunnel that led to the Holywell.

  “Wait!” called Susan. “They’re just outside!”

  The wizard took no notice of her, and after him raced Albanac, a stride ahead of Uthecar. By the time Susan reached the well they were all standing on the path, the dwarf studying the ground, and Cadellin looking out over the plain. The light had gone from the water, and the woods were silent. But then Uthecar said:

  “They were here, and it was so.”

  “And they have drunk of the well,” said Albanac.

  “We must find them,” said Cadellin, “though I doubt if they will be compelled to the mounds. It is bad.”

  “It is worse,” said Uthecar. “I am thinking that this is the Eve of Gomrath – and I smell wendfire.”

  “It cannot be!” cried the wizard.

  “I – I’m afraid we did it,” said Susan. “We lit a fire on top of the Beacon. That’s what started it all. They came out of the fire.”

  “Why should you light a fire there?” said Cadellin in a voice that made Susan want to run.

  “We were waiting for the moon to rise – and – we were – cold.”

  The wizard shook his head. “It is my fault,” he said to Albanac. “I should have been stronger in my purpose. Come: we lose time. We must find their track.”

  “Colin will know which way they went,” said Susan. “They were keeping watch on here from across the valley.”

  “They?” said the wizard.

  “Yes,” said Susan. “He and the dwarf: they’re just this side of the iron gates.”

  “What dwarf?” said Uthecar. “There are no others here.”

  “Yes there is,” said Susan. “He’s dressed in black, and—“

  “Take us,” broke in Uthecar. “And waste no breath.”

  Susan felt a coldness in her heart. She set off along the path, and did not speak until she reached the spot where she had left Colin.

  “Where are they?” She knew it was a useless question. “What’s happened?”

  “Dressed in black, was he?” said Uthecar. “And was there a golden hilt to his sword?”

  “Yes: and his belt, and the straps below his knee were gold, too.”

  “Do you know him?” said Cadellin.

  “Know him? Ha! Know yon viper? I know him! But what has brought him south from Bannawg I will not guess, save that it is no good thing. For I tell you this: though you looked, you would not find from sea to sea a worse dwarf than Pelis the False.”

  CHAPTER 11

  THE DALE OF GOYT

  “T here is a mind at work against these children,” said Cadellin. “So much is certain.”

  They had returned to the wizard’s cave, and were sitting at the long table. Atlendor had joined them.

  “But what can we do?” said Susan.

  “Think, and hope,” said Cadellin.

  “I would rather seek and find,” said Uthecar. “Work your magic, Cadellin Silverbrow, but there may be more use of eyes and blades. Pelis is not here, and where he is, there I would be; for I am thinking the death of him is in my sword.”

  “Then go,” said Cadellin. “But take care in the night.”

  The dwarf rose from the table, and was about to enter the tunnel when Atlendor spoke. “Uthecar Hornskin, you will not go alone. It is on me to go with you.”

  “As you wish,” said Uthecar shortly, and dwarf and elf left the cave together.

  “Their swords will be about their own ears,” said Cadellin, “if danger does not unite them.

  “Now Susan, rest here. I must leave you for a while: but Albanac will stay.”

  “But I couldn’t!” said Susan. “I must do something to find Colin.”

  “If Atlendor and Uthecar cannot find him,” said the wizard, “then you will not, and all that is left is magic.”

  “I can’t stay here and do nothing!”

  “Susan! There is danger for you outside Fundindelve. You must stay here.”

  “But Bess’ll be nearly out of her mind!”

  “I am glad you think of her,” said Cadellin. “Do you see the pain you cause by meddling in our world? I must speak to farmer Mossock now and tell him that you will not go home until this matter is settled. I cannot hope that he will be persuaded, but you have left me no other choice.”

  And though Susan argued, Cadellin remained firm, and both were angry when the wizard left the cave.

  “I can’t stay cooped up here!” said Susan. “I’ve got to get out and find Colin!”

  Albanac passed his hand over his face. He looked exhausted.

  “There is nothing we can do now, Susan. We may need all our strength later, so try to sleep. I know that I am spent.”

  “But I’ve got to get out!”

  “And how long is it since you were eating your heart away to get in?” said Albanac. “If you cannot sleep, then sit here, and talk.”

  Susan flung herself on to the bed of skins, and for some minutes was too choked with frustration to talk. But there were so many questions in her mind that this could not last.

  “Albanac, who is the Hunter? And what did we do?”

  “He is part of the Old Magic,” said Albanac. “And though Cadellin may not agree, I think that what you did was not brought about by chance. The Old Magic has been woken, and it has moved in you, and I think it led you to the Beacon.

  “In the time before the Old Magic was made to sleep, it was strongest on this night, the Eve of Gomrath, one of the four nights of the year when Time and Forever mingle. And wendfire was lit at the Goloring, which is now the Beacon, to bring the Einheriar from the mounds and the Hunter from Shining Tor. For the Old Magic is moon magic and sun magic, and it is blood magic, also, and there lie the Hunter’s power and his need. He is from a cruel day of the world. Men have changed since they honoured him.”

  “You keep saying the Old Magic has been woken,” said Susan, “but if it’s as strong as this, how did it ever come to die out?”

  “That is the work of Cadellin,” said Albanac. “To wizards, and their High Magic of thoughts and spells, the Old Magic was a hindrance, a power without shape or order: so they tried to destroy it. But it would not be destroyed: it would only sleep. And at this season called Gomrath, which lasts for seven nights, it sleeps but lightly.”

  “So there’s nothing bad about it at all,” said Susan. “It just got in the way.”

  “Yes. You may even say the wizards acted without right. But then, as ages pass, the world changes; so it is true that the Old Magic is wrong for these times. It does not fit the present scale of good and ill.”

  “But it’s more natural than all these spells,” said Susan. “I think I understand it better than anything here.”

  Albanac looked up. “You would say that. For it is woman’s magic, too, and the more I see, the more I know that the Mark of Fohla is part of it.”

  “What does the Hunter do? What’s he for?”

  “Do? He is, Susan: that is enough. There you see the difference between the Old and the High. The High Magic was made with a reason; the Old Magic is a part of things. It is not for any purpose.”

  Susan could feel the truth of what Albanac had said, although she could not understand it. She thought again of Colin. If only she had stopped
when she heard him shout. Pelis the False.

  “Albanac?”

  “Mm?”

  She rolled over to look. Albanac was sitting with his head resting on his arms.

  “Nothing; it’s all right.”

  Susan listened as Albanac’s breathing grew deeper. He was asleep.

  And there’s nobody else here, she thought. That tunnel goes straight to the Holywell. What was it? Emalagra?

  She moved quietly round the table, and tested every step until she reached the wall behind the well. She laid her hand on the long crack in the rock, and spoke the word of power.

  The grinding of the rock echoed down the tunnel, and Susan forced herself through the opening as soon as it was wide enough to take her shoulder. Then she ran.

  Uthecar and Atlendor sat in the moonlight on the wooden bench on Castle Rock, an outcrop that stood from the trees high above the plain.

  “He is not in the wood,” said Uthecar. “And from here the world is wide.”

  “If he is not in the wood,” said Atlendor, “think you he may be under it?”

  “Is it that the lios-alfar have cunning?” said Uthecar. “For that is just what Pelis the False would be about! He knows we shall search, and far. Where better to hide than where he was last seen? There are places close on Saddlebole beyond the iron gates; quickly!”

  They sped through the woods, past the Holywell, past the spot where Colin and the dwarf had vanished, past the iron gates, to a hollow above a dark slope of beeches. Here there were many recesses, and caves, and cramped tunnels into the rock. Atlendor drew his sword, and approached one of the tunnels. It was so blocked at the entrance that even he would have to worm his way in.

  “Nay,” said Uthecar, “you have not the eyes for it! If he is here, cold death is your destiny.”

  “But I have the nose for it,” said Atlendor. “The cave that holds a dwarf is not to be mistaken.”

  “To it, then,” said Uthecar.

  He stood back, his eye glinting savagely, and watched the elf’s hips slide into the opening.

  “It goes some way into the hill,” called Atlendor, “and there is not space to wield a sword. The air is foul, certain, but I doubt that he is here.”