The Moon of Gomrath

by Alan Garner

  “Remember: only – if – all – else – is – lost –”

  “I – shall – “ said Susan.

  The magic was ending. The island swung away from her into sleep. Angharad’s last words came out of a distance, and echoed in her head: she could not stay awake: her mind sank into darkness beyond the reach of dreams…

  Susan listened to the water for a long time before she opened her eyes. Its sound brought her gently awake, and then she turned on to her back, and looked at the stars. She was on the bank of a river, which ran along the bottom of the valley among high and barren hills. Yet close by her was a stone gateway, and beyond it a drive led into a coomb of trees.

  There was a road by the water, but Susan was drawn to the coomb. Road, valley, and sky were lifeless, but the gate was odd beyond the fact of its being there at all. She examined it closely: it was of iron, chained, and padlocked, and all were sharp with rust.

  Susan climbed over the gate, and began to walk up the drive. On her left a stream went down to the river, and after a few yards rhododendron bushes closed in. The drive was straight, and had once been broad, but the rhododendrons had run wild in neglect, and the drive was now a thread of sand that picked up faintly the yellow of the lopsided moon.

  The water gurgled behind the bushes, and was the only sound, and that deepened as the pathway rose above the trench that the stream had cut through the rock; and everywhere the rhododendrons suffocated the valley. Their mass hung over Susan like a threat: she felt that all those millions of leaves, each acrid, leathery, breathing, alive, were piled into one green-celled body, that together they had an awareness that was animal. This may have been only imagination, but the effect on her was that every sense became sharpened, and she moved as delicately as a wild creature, avoiding twigs and loose stones almost unconsciously, never doubting that she was near to Colin.

  Twice the path crossed the stream, and here there were stone bridges with crumbling parapets. The second of these bridges was almost half a mile up the drive from the gate, and by this time Susan had reached a fine pitch of awareness. Her eyes used every mote of light, and she could see all that was on the path, and as much of the borders as the rhododendrons allowed. The second bridge stood at a fork in the valley: in the fork was a bush-covered hill, and the stream and a tributary flowed on either side of it, becoming one at the bridge. The path continued up the left-hand arm of the valley, and standing close to the bridge, in the shadow of the rhododendrons, unmoving, was what looked like a man.

  He held a spear and a small, round shield. The light caught the dome of his head, and touched his chest and shoulders, but the rest of him was in shadow: and he was so still that Susan could not be sure that he was not a piece of eccentric statuary.

  Susan watched him, or it, for several minutes, and not once was there a tremor of life to help her make up her mind. There was no question of turning back: she knew that she must go on at all cost, and that the risk was too great to chance walking past the figure at the bridge.

  There was no point in trying to force a way through the bushes: the only alternative was the stream, which at this spot was not far below the path. Susan moved back until she was out of sight of the bridge, and then she lowered herself down the bank and into the water.

  The stream was quite shallow, but very rocky, and sometimes there were pools into which Susan fell waist-deep. She could not walk silently, but the rattle of the water over the boulders covered any noise Susan made, and she kept close against the bank, where the shadows were thick. The bridge itself was the worst part. It was low, and the air stank of slime, and Susan fell against things that moved away from her in the darkness.

  Once clear of the bridge, she found that the banks grew higher and steeper, but she continued for another hundred yards or so before daring to leave the water. The bank here was nearly vertical, and consisted of wet leaf-mould and earth. Eight or nine times Susan clawed her way up to within feet of the broken terrace-work that supported the path, only to fall back in the wake of a land-slide. But at last she got her shoulders on to the path, and managed to pull herself up.

  The drive was now its original width, and a few yards further on, a branch curled away to the right. Susan paused, wondering whether to continue uphill, but she decided to explore the branch at least as far as the bend.

  She moved as quietly as ever, but all her wariness could not stop the gasp that came from her when she saw what was beyond the turn of the bend.

  The path bordered a terraced lawn, approached by steps, and on the lawn was a mansion of stone, built in the heavy Italian style of the last century. All the windows glowed with a light that was stronger than the moon, but of the same quality, and lifeless.

  Susan knew that this was what she was meant to find. This was the heart of the evil. The Morrigan was here – and so was Colin. Susan started towards the house, and then halted. No, she thought. I don’t know where to look, or what to do. She’ll probably have us both. I’ve got to let Cadellin know she’s here: he’ll be able to deal with her.

  Above the door of the house was a square tower, and as if to confirm Susan’s thoughts, a figure appeared in one of the arched windows of the tower. It was the Morrigan. She stared down at the lawn, and although Susan was in shadow she felt as if a strong light was on her, and it took all her control to stand quite still while the Morrigan looked out at the night. When she moved away from the window, Susan crept back along the drive.

  The house had frightened her. Why me? she thought. Why couldn’t Angharad tell Cadellin? She must have known. “On your shoulders it may all lie,” that’s what she said. Well, she might have told me more about it. I don’t know any magic, and those that do are scared of the Morrigan, so I’d not be much use in there by myself. I’ve got to find Cadellin.

  Susan had reached the junction of the paths. She could turn left, down the valley, or continue climbing to the right. She did not want to negotiate the bridge again, for now she was certain that whatever was guarding it was not ornamental sculpture. But then where was she? And in which direction was Alderley? She found her bearings with the help of the Plough: the uphill path ran nearly due west. Which is the right way if I’m in the Pennines, she thought, but not much good if this is Wales. But if it is Wales, I’m forty miles from Alderley, so it’d better be the Pennines. She set off up the hill.

  The path continued as before, but not for long. The rhododendron tangle ended, and in front of Susan was an empty gateway in a stone wall, and beyond this, open ground fell gently for a distance, and then reared to a whale-backed ridge of mountain that dwarfed the world. It made Susan’s knees weak and her head spin to look at it. But beyond the ridge, she hoped, was the plain, and Alderley: and at least there were no rhododendrons.

  Susan stepped through the gateway, and as she did, someone rose out of the shadow of the wall. In the open light she could see him clearly now, whether he was the same that had guarded the bridge or another guarding the wall. He was not quite as tall as Susan. His head was bald and smooth, and his ears were pointed, the eyes almond-shaped, glowing, and the nose was hooked and thin. His spear was like a leaf, and his body was covered with flat locks of hair, dense as scales.

  Susan stood rooted with shock, and could not move even when the man reached out and gripped her by the arm. But the cry that broke from the wide mouth then, released her muscles. For as he touched her, the Mark had shone fire, and a white flame had streaked up her arm and cut at the hand like a whiplash. The man dropped against the wall, and did not move again.

  Susan ran from the gate down to the open moor, but she was hardly at the foot of the mountain when there was a shout, and, looking round, she saw another armed man leap over the wall in pursuit.

  But was he a man? There was something wrong in the way of his running. He was quick and lizard-dry over the grass: his legs raked forward in pecking strides, and the knee joint seemed to be reversed, while below the knee the leg was thin, and the feet were taloned.

/>   Susan had a fifty-yard lead, but she was climbing while the other was still on the downward slope. She scrambled upwards, trying to keep some energy in reserve, but she was driven by the need for escape.

  A spear sighed over her shoulder, and stood out of the ground. This pursuer was not going to risk closer contact. Susan thought to pluck up the spear and use it against its owner, but she could not bring herself to face him, nor to use it, nor even to touch it. So again and again she ran on, renewing her lead while the spear was retrieved, and watching for the next throw.

  She came to a group of dead trees that stood gnarled on the hillside, and she lurched through them from trunk to trunk, grateful for their slight protection. But she was so spent that when she stumbled she could not get up. She twisted herself round, her back against a tree, instinctively facing the danger.

  The creature was on the fringe of the trees, running with the spear held high. He wavered a moment, searching in the poorer light, then came on. And as he passed the first tree, part of the crooked bole seemed to detach itself and rise up before him, and there was a long gleam of light that shortened and disappeared under his ribs. He screamed, and fell.

  “So it is bodachs we have now!” said a disgusted voice. “Is there no end to the garbage of Bannawg?”

  CHAPTER 14

  THE WILD HUNT

  U thecar turned to Susan. “Before this night, Cadellin thought you dead; I am doubting if you would prove him wrong.”

  “Uthecar!” cried Susan. “How have you got here?”

  “Is it not enough that I am here?” said the dwarf. He pulled Susan to her feet. “For the bodach loves steep ground more than a hare of the mountain. The iron-death would have been yours by now – and that may be yet: a bodach dead, and not quietly. It would have seen wiser to take his head, but your bodach is swift in thrusting the spear, and it is a long sweep that must open his throat, for it is hard as a bull’s hide.”

  Uthecar and Susan began to climb the hill together. They walked, since Uthecar knew that there was nearly a thousand feet of moor above them, and if they were going to be followed, running would not save them.

  They could not see the house from the moor, and as they climbed, the valley of rhododendrons shrank to a dark line, and then fell below the curve of the hill.

  Uthecar made Susan tell him what she had seen before he would give any explanation of his presence among the dead trees.

  “But how did you find out where the Morrigan is?” said Susan. “You’ve been very quick.”

  “Not as quick as you are thinking,” said Uthecar. “It was last night that Colin was taken.”

  “But it can’t have been!” said Susan. “Everything’s happened so fast! It was only about four or five hours ago!”

  “It was not,” said Uthecar. “You have been under enchantment on the island of Angharad Goldenhand. Earth-time is not there: years could have passed: it is the magic of the Lady that made it but a day and a night.

  “As for me, that is simple. After moonrise Pelis the False came to Fundindelve, and spoke before the gates, saying that if you were not ready to go with him tomorrow, and your bracelet in his care, he would send Colin back to us, a little at a time.

  “At first I thought to spill his pride in dark waves upon the ground, but that will come: first let us hurt his advantage. So Albanac kept him in talk, and I went out by the Holywell, and when he left I followed him here. But that valley is thick with dread, and much of it will not be answered with the sword. So we shall bring Cadellin, and while he traffics with the Morrigan I shall test the nature of Pelis the False, though I tread through a sea of bodachs to his heart.”

  They were high on the mountain: the world was empty. Susan and Uthecar moved over the heather, specks in the tarnished light.

  “What are these – bodachs?” said Susan.

  “The sweepings of Bannawg,” said Uthecar. “They are kin to goblins, but they have more heart – I will not say courage. The scream of blades is their only love, and if they are thick about the Morrigan we shall not win Colin easily. Will you be climbing faster?”

  An edge came into his voice at this question.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” said Susan.

  “Look behind you,” said the dwarf.

  But Susan saw nothing except the hill’s back, and the opposite moorland across the Dale of Goyt, like the belly of a weir, monstrously still.

  “No. Where?”

  “There, and there, and there, and there, in the heather.”

  She saw them – tongues of movement darting over the ground, backwards and forwards, in and out, lower down the hill, green-eyed.

  “Scouts,” said Uthecar. “It is not the palug-cat we have to fear, but the bodach that follows. I would be putting a deal of wind between us and them.”

  Susan and Uthecar increased their pace, not yet running, and the cats poured after them openly, now that they had been seen, and they began to call to each other in relays down the mountain with voices that were like an ache and a desolation of the soul.

  Their numbers frightened Uthecar. He had not reckoned on so many. They would swamp him in a minute, and might even smother the bracelet long enough for Susan to be killed – if that was the purpose.

  But the palugs did not attack, and Susan and Uthecar came to the top of the ridge. A stone wall ran along its spine, which sloped gently upwards to their left, and fell on their right to a saddle, rising to a peak beyond. In front was a valley, and more hills, but on the other side of these was the plain. They were nine miles from Alderley.

  They climbed over the wall, and were about to start down the valley, when they saw a line of bodachs cross the bottom of the saddle into the valley to cut them off. The only way now was uphill to the left. They kept by the wall, where the ground was smoother with sheep tracks, and the palugs drove them on, those beyond the wall moving a little ahead.

  The slope was too gentle for Susan and Uthecar not to run, but every stride was weighted. So they staggered into the trap. For they were soon on top of the hill, and the relief at the level ground was cut short by the cliff that dropped under them. And as they turned back they saw that the palugs that had been running ahead were over the wall, and had made a half-circle with those that followed. The cliff was not an impossible height, but the ground at its foot was only a little less steep, and it was thick with boulders. Far below a road wound through the hills.

  “Do not think to jump,” said Uthecar. “You would smash your bones. Here at least neither palug nor bodach will be on our necks. Though I fear it will help us little: see.”

  Twenty or more bodachs were now in sight; and a group of three were at the top, almost a quarter of a mile ahead of the others. They stopped at the edge of the half-circle of palugs and leant on their spears, gloating, and deciding which should have the pleasure of the kill, since there was little to fear in a girl, and a one-eyed dwarf armed with a sword.

  “Behind me, and crouch low,” whispered Uthecar. “I have a thought for these three. If it should fail, then jump quickly, and trust in the Lady.”

  “I’ve got this horn,” said Susan. “Shall I blow it?”

  “It was meant for worse than this, I fear,” said Uthecar.

  But before he could say more, one of the bodachs came through the palugs’ ranks in two thudding strides, his shield high, and spear poised. And as he landed between Uthecar and the palugs, Uthecar threw his sword in an underhand arc. It caught the bodach in the stomach, and sent him writhing to the ground. With the impetus of his throw, Uthecar went after the sword, and he reached the bodach before he hit the turf. In the same movement he tore the shield from the bodach’s arm, and went down on one knee behind it as the spears of the other two bodachs slashed towards him. They bit through the shield, and stood out on the other side, but they did no harm. Uthecar grabbed his sword and the spear of the dying bodach, and flung himself backwards to the cliff before the palugs had time to gather themselves to spring. Then it was too late for
their courage. Each palug saw its own death in that sword, and their minds were not quick enough to catch the dwarf’s strategy.

  Uthecar pushed the bristling shield and the spear into Susan’s arms, and sprang back through the cats on the rebound. He was over them, untouched, in four strides, and on top of the defenceless bodachs. The sword flashed twice, and Uthecar was among the cats with two shields on his arm. But the cats were more ready for him this time. He seemed to be wading through black glue that draped him to the waist: bodies rattled against the shields about his head, and his sword was a spark of lightning round his feet. But he plodded clear, and joined Susan at the cliff’s edge.

  When the main force of the bodachs reached the top of the hill, they found a girl and a dwarf, armed, and standing on a projecting tongue of rock, so that they could be attacked only from the front, and singly.

  It was no fight. For a while the bodachs strutted about the hill-top, trying to find a point of vantage, then, frustrated, they began to throw their spears, but when they saw that these were more likely to be used later against themselves, or lost over the cliff, than to hit a mark, they tried to rush the dwarf. However, five quick deaths halted them, and they stood back, shaking their heads in rage.

  The palugs were unhelpful. Their way was to hunt as a pack: individual contests were not looked for, and there were several skirmishes involving blood when an attempt was made to drive them against Uthecar’s sword.

  So, after the first minutes, a stalemate appeared to have been reached.

  “If we could last till dawn, we should win clear,” Uthecar said. “Since neither the bodach nor the palug loves the sun. But what word has reached the Morrigan by now? If she should come, well then, good night indeed.”

  Uthecar had seen palugs head back towards the Dale of Goyt: he knew what that meant. And all the time both cats and goblins were coming out of the valley, and were thick on the hill-top.

  “We shall not see the sun rise if we stay here,” he said. “Yet what else is there for us?”