by Carol Browne
But the chance for discussion never arose. There was a sudden commotion beyond the trees. Howling and yapping rang through the forest as the pack swarmed into the glade. Their tails were thrashing with excitement, and they chased each other about.
Elgiva smiled at the celebration. “Blacktail has returned.”
At that moment, an elderly wolf trotted proudly into their midst, followed by a rabble of youngsters. He pranced towards Elgiva, nuzzling his kin aside, and sat before her. His snout was raked by old scars, and his left eyelid sank into an empty socket.
Seeing the animal’s battle scars, Godwin found himself reminded of Cerdic.
Elgiva inclined her head towards Blacktail, and he greeted her with throaty growling.
“What’s he saying?” Godwin asked.
Elgiva listened to the animal for a while. At length, she turned back to Godwin. “He said if I am Elgiva of Elindel, he has a message for me, from a woman he calls a friend to all the woodland folk. A stag brought her news from an elf, a great elf who is in peril. This elf’s plans have been ruined, whatever that means, but he spoke of me and told the woman to find and help me. She must tell me things he would have told me in person, but he can’t search for me himself, although sometimes he can venture out in spirit.”
“What?”
“That’s what Blacktail said. He also told me I can trust this woman because her house is under elf-ward. I suppose that means it is protected by magic, so she is an elf-friend. We have to prepare to leave and follow Blacktail. He’s just gone to tell Queen Whitefoot where he’s going. If this woman can be trusted, as Blacktail maintains, then perhaps I’ve found shelter at last. I dare say the great elf he spoke of is Bellic. There’s no one else who would bother to help me. I’d hoped I wasn’t forgotten.”
“But Blacktail said your friend was in trouble. How can he help you?” protested Godwin. “Perhaps he needs you to help him.”
Elgiva’s smile vanished and she narrowed her eyes, anxiety etched on her face. To Godwin, she looked like a child chased by ghouls with nowhere left to run. His protective instincts rose to the fore, and his cowardice cringed in their shadow. She was his vulnerable friend again and she needed his support.
“Perhaps Bellic intends this woman to shelter you, but there’s definitely something wrong,” he said. “If he’s as powerful as you say, then why is he in trouble? Instead of finding a place of safety, you could be walking into danger. Might the elf you met outside Joskin’s cave—”
“No!” she cried. “Don’t speak of it. I’ve no idea what’s going on, but if it’s Bellic who summons me, then I have no choice. And if I can help him, I will. At least I must find out what’s wrong.”
“We must both find out. I really need to get back to my family, but if this woman will shelter you, then you’ll be safe. I can leave you there, knowing you’ll be cared for, and she might be able to tell me how to get home.”
She stared at him with fear-widened eyes, and he thought she was going to object, but she said nothing. He suspected facing danger all alone was something she couldn’t bear, that secretly she desired his company but was far too proud to admit it. Her fear reassured him. It made him feel wanted and useful. When she was distant and strange, he was lost, but now she was in need, and this need made him strong. It was something he understood and could fight. Weakness and fear were well within the scope of his mundane powers.
When she finally spoke, they were words he had not expected.
“You seem different, somehow,” she said. “More like your old self. I believe the enchantment has lifted completely.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “I don’t know about that, but I do know we should leave now and find out what’s going on,” he told her. “If Bellic’s in trouble, then perhaps his purpose in sending this message is to make sure you, at least, are safe. Maybe he can get himself out of the mess he’s in, and when he does, he’ll know where to find you. No point in looking on the black side just yet.” He began to collect their few belongings together.
“Godwin, there’s something else, and it may be of interest to you. Blacktail has been exploring for several days, and when he saw you, it reminded him that he’d come upon a tribe of people who look like you.”
Godwin spun to face her. “Britons?”
“I think so, and they’re in the general direction we’ll be travelling, though Blacktail can’t be more specific than that.”
Godwin digested this information, and then he frowned. “But they’re so near. Othere told me the Britons had all been chased far to the west and north.”
Elgiva touched his arm gently. “If we do meet this tribe, they might have news of your other family.”
Godwin had no idea how to respond. For some reason, his heart beat faster and he needed to move. He shouldered the sack of provisions and offered her his hand. “Blacktail is here, Elgiva. Let’s get going.”
***
During the morning of their second day of travel it began to snow, leaving the air fresh and clean, but so sharp that it burned their lungs and drew water from their eyes. As Elgiva and Godwin plodded on wearily through a snow-draped wood, a cheery voice greeted them, jolting them out of their gloomy thoughts.
On a branch a few yards above them sat a young male blackbird, his dark eyes twinkling.
“Hail, travellers, and well met,” he cried. “Hail from the leader of the dawn chorus! I am Aderyn. If you are Elgiva of Elindel, I come to bid you welcome in the name of my mistress!”
“Hail, Aderyn,” called Elgiva. “I am who you say and I’m honoured to be so greeted by the fairest songster of the woods.”
The clear, pure notes of the blackbird’s voice trilled like laughter from his throat, and he swooped low over their heads, alighting on a tree stump beside them. “Across these fields before you and over that rise yonder, you will come to a plain that slopes down to a wood. There dwells my mistress in her little house. Before dusk, you will reach it. Tarry not. Supper awaits. I must go and tell her you are come.”
With that, the blackbird twitched his tail and soared into the air.
“Aderyn, wait!” Elgiva cried.
“I go,” whooped the bird. “I fly. Follow me!”
And he was gone, winging his way over the fields before them, his dark body swooping and climbing with ease.
Elgiva turned to Godwin and told him what the bird had said. She hesitated, chewing her lip.
Blacktail stepped forward, studying her for a moment with his one good eye, and then nuzzled her hand with his dry, scarred nose. “The bird speaks truly. Follow his directions, and you will not go astray. As for me, I must go home. You have no further need of my guidance. Farewell, my friends. I hope we shall meet again.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The small house stood with its back to the frozen woods. Its coarse brown thatch was hoary with snow, and grey smoke drifted above it. The door of the house opened, and an elderly woman appeared on the threshold, waving her hand. Elgiva stopped walking and looked at Godwin.
“That must be her,” she said.
The woman called to them and waved again, and they pushed on through the snow. As they approached, the old woman hurried out and threw her arms around Elgiva.
“My dear, how good it is to see you after all these years,” she exclaimed in the Celtic tongue. “And how you’ve grown, and so pretty, too!”
Startled, Elgiva pulled away. “We’d rather you spoke Saxon,” she said, “if you can.”
The woman raised her eyebrows at this, but she shrugged and nodded. She asked for no explanation, but Elgiva seemed to regret her earlier curtness of manner and offered one.
“My friend was brought up by Saxons.”
“My dear, I will speak any language you wish,” said the woman, “for you are as dear to me as if you were my very own child.”
“I’ve never met you before in my life,” retorted Elgiva.
The old woman laughed. “Well, how could you remember, indeed
?” She looked them up and down. “By the stars, a fine pair of scarecrows you look, poor chits! Yet never fear, there’s room inside my little house for all of us and a nice, warm fire and a good, spiced caudle to warm the blood. There’s water to wash and clean clothes, too. Come inside, my dears, please, and let us thaw you out!”
She gestured towards the door, but the travellers waited and looked at each other.
“Come,” she beckoned with a good-natured smile, while tugging at their sleeves.
They both regarded her with blank stares.
“Who are you?” asked Elgiva.
“Why, I’m Kendra. Has Bellic never mentioned me? By the stars, he’s not ashamed of me, I hope.” Kendra laughed, but the jest meant nothing to Elgiva.
“You clearly know who I am. This is my friend, Godwin.”
“A fine-looking lad. A Briton, in sooth! They have such wonderful eyes.” Godwin looked embarrassed, and Kendra chuckled. “Forgive me, my dears. No doubt you’re wondering what kind of creature I am? My parentage perhaps makes me somewhat strange in manner. My mother was a Briton, but my father, on the other hand . . . my father was an elf.”
Kendra put her hand on Godwin’s arm. “Young man, I think you to be an honest wight, but be aware if you have evil in your heart, for my home is under elf-ward and none who seeks to do me harm may cross this threshold scatheless.”
Godwin gaped at this and looked to Elgiva, clearly needing her guidance, but she wasn’t able to give any and all she could do was shrug.
***
Godwin drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped inside the house.
Nothing happened except for a strange sensation, as though he had walked through a membrane of gossamer, but almost immediately, he became aware of the cosy warmth, the flickering of candlelight, and the smell of the gruel wafting from a pot over the fire. His stomach also noticed and began to growl. Smaze from the cooking curled up towards the rafters, where dried herbs hung in bunches.
When her guests were both inside the house, Kendra closed the door and moved towards the hearth. She indicated three stools beside the fire. Elgiva and Godwin glanced at each other before they took their seats.
“Did you feel nothing?” asked Kendra, reaching over to stir the gruel.
Unsure of her meaning, Godwin shook his head.
“Ah, that is odd. You can’t feel the Earth-magic? You sensed it, Elgiva, when you stepped through the door? A shivering sensation, at least? I’m surprised that your friend is so unattuned. The Britons well know the feeling of magic. They have an affinity with the Earth, you see.”
“As I said,” Elgiva reminded her, “Godwin was brought up by Saxons.”
“I confess I know nothing of Saxons,” said Kendra, “but perhaps they think more of war and the getting of gold than they do of mystical matters.”
“That’s not true,” put in Godwin, and then he faltered, not knowing how to continue or why he felt so defensive.
Kendra smiled. “No matter.” She ladled the gruel into two wooden bowls and handed them to her guests. “I like to think of my den as a sanctuary. I never turn away any creature that needs a bit of help. That’s why we’re here, to help each other, and by the looks of you two poor waifs, you arrived just in time.”
Once Kendra had cut some slices from a round loaf of bread and offered them to Elgiva and Godwin, she took her place by the fire.
Godwin sniffed at the contents of the bowl, hoping she wouldn’t notice, but her eyes missed nothing and her peals of laughter filled the room. It was so infectious that Elgiva joined in.
“Trust me, lad,” chuckled Kendra. “I’ll not poison thee, for you’re Elgiva’s friend and there’s too little good in this world. I’d poison bad folk, I suppose, and think no more about it, but they poison themselves as it is, I think, and don’t need my assistance.”
Godwin flushed with embarrassment and started to eat the gruel.
It was while he was mopping up the last of it with a chunk of bread that Kendra tapped him on the arm.
“That’s a fine sword you have there, Godwin,” she said. “Do you think I could take a look?”
“What? Oh, yes. I suppose you can.”
He drew the weapon from his belt and handed it over without a second thought. Any ideas of mistrust had been overcome by the fire and the meal. She studied the blade with interest.
“From whence does it come?” she asked. “Who made it?”
Busy with chewing, he merely shrugged.
“’Tis a fine thing indeed,” she said, nodding. “But indeed, by the stars, this is odd. Know you the meaning of these patterns here?”
Godwin swallowed. “Er . . . no.”
She nodded to herself. “Most odd.”
By now, Elgiva had also stopped eating, and she and Godwin stared at the old woman.
“A rare gift,” murmured Kendra. “Has it always been yours?”
“Why, yes,” said Godwin. “I’ve had it since I was a child.”
“I see.”
“Is there something wrong?” he asked.
“Wrong? Ah, no. No wrong in this,” said Kendra. She looked at her guests for a moment and then smiled. “No matter, my dears. I should say no more.”
She returned the sword to him, and Godwin was puzzled by how reverently she handled it.
After a pause, Kendra went on. “I must ask you one thing, my dears. Are you travelling on together?”
Elgiva ventured a reply. “Godwin was planning to see me settled somewhere before returning to his home. From the message you sent with Blacktail, I’d hoped that you—”
“I would gladly welcome you if I could, but you are not meant to stay here,” said Kendra, interrupting her. “And if you were to part from your friend, I think that would be unwise. I feel, somehow, that your destinies are linked.”
Godwin looked at Elgiva, but it seemed neither of them knew how to respond to Kendra’s statement.
On the hearth lay a long iron poker, its tip blackened by years of use. Kendra leaned forwards, picked it up, and began to poke at the fire. Her eyes had a dreamy look, and she seemed quite content with the silence, but Elgiva had questions she needed to ask.
“Kendra,” she ventured, “are you going to tell me why I’m here? Blacktail said you had things to tell me.”
Kendra replaced the fire-iron and then reached across to her left. Lifting a leather-bound book from the floor, she placed it on her lap.
“Yes, my dear, you have been very patient, but now it is time, I think. Do you know what this is?”
Mystified, Elgiva shrugged her shoulders. “A book, I suppose.”
Kendra laughed. “A book, indeed! But a most important book. Elgiva, ’tis the Ninth Book ofThe Chronicles of the Eldrakin.”
Elgiva frowned dismissively. “There are only eight,” she said.
Kendra gave her an arch look.
“Aren’t there?”
“So it was believed for many generations, my dear. Ah, me, I have so many matters to relate. Where to begin? Forgive me if my talk grows wearisome and confusing. ’Tis a complicated story.”
Kendra looked at them both in turn and then cleared her throat and opened the book on her knee.
“You know, Elgiva, that the chronicler, Silvanuil, left eight manuscripts in which he had written the history and lore of Faine and the Eldrakin. Bellic taught you all this, I think, when you were just a child. But some time ago, another manuscript came to light, and this is it, the Ninth Book, the Book of Prediction. Can you guess who found it?”
Elgiva looked at her askance. “Lord Bellic, I suppose?”
“The very same! His wanderings have resulted in this gift, though he was not the very first to find it. Well, before I tell you my story, let me show you this.” She turned several pages and indicated that Elgiva should look. “This is a copy, one of only two that exist. The original is in Misterell.”
“Lord Bellic went to Misterell?”
“Yes, and he has the other cop
y. The original has decayed, and parts are missing, but see you this?” She pointed at a passage in the book. “Read.”
Elgiva leaned forwards and began to recite:
“The Stone’s Discoverer,
“Orphan and slave,
“Shall unlock the door . . . ”
She stopped and frowned at Kendra. “What does it mean? What stone?”
“One thing at a time, my dear,” said Kendra. “As I said, the original was decayed and the rest of the verse has been lost, but it says in the passage before this that the stone will be found in the thirty-ninth generation of Elindel—you see, it mentions Elindel specifically—and you, my dear, are the beginning of that generation. The contents of this book of prediction were given to Silvanuil by Zallic, prophet of Faine, First-Father. The stone is the Lorestone, left by Lord Faine to redeem his people at a time of future peril. It was his parting gift to Elvendom. And perhaps the time of peril is upon us, but more of that anon.
“Many years ago, Bellic chanced to find the legendary land of Misterell, and he met and befriended the king, Eldruin. They shared a common interest in histories and lore, and some years later, on a subsequent visit, Eldruin told Bellic of a remarkable discovery.
“Misterell was the home of Lord Faine, the very first kingdom of the Eldrakin and the seat of the Founder’s power. It was during repairs to the royal hall there that an ironbound box was unearthed. Within it were the remnants of the Book of Prediction. Eldruin gave a copy to Bellic in the name of friendship. Though like all Misterellians, he preferred isolation from the rest of the Eldrakin—they bethink themselves rather special, I ween—he was a good elf and not averse to sharing knowledge for the good of all. I do not think it meant a great deal to him, but Bellic read the manuscript, and in it, he saw many things of importance.
“Well, there are gaps in the text, and we must interpret what’s left as well as we’re able. In the deciphering of this book, I trust Bellic, as I trust him in all things, and this Lorestone is, he believes, to be found by you, Elgiva. This legacy is to be used now, by you, to save Elvendom from the evil that threatens it.”
