The Shadow of Malabron

by Thomas Wharton

  Will walked across the rush-strewn floor of the tent to the opening, where he stopped abruptly, struck by a sudden realization. This woman seemed to know the whole story of what had happened to them. She had called Shade the Companion, and she knew who the Angel was. Had the loremaster told her everything…? Before he could turn back to her with these new questions, he spotted Pendrake, Finn and Freya through the open flap of the tent, standing together in conversation with a tall, silver-haired man in a long grey cloak. Will slipped eagerly outside.

  The tent, he saw now, was pitched on a wide grassy lawn, in the midst of a forest of young, slender trees with bright leaves. His friends turned at his call. Finn’s arm was bound in a sling, and the old man had a cut down the side of his face, but they greeted Will with embraces and laughter. In the toymaker’s eyes Will saw both sadness and joy mingled.

  “You should have been back at home by now,” Freya said, regarding him with a wide smile. “And so should I.”

  The tall man in grey bowed to Will, then left them and strode away through the trees.

  “Welcome back, Will,” Pendrake said. “I know you hoped to be safely home by now, but if it wasn’t for you, Rowen might not be with us.”

  “It was Moth who saved us both,” Will said. “And these people, whoever they are. If they hadn’t been near by…”

  Through the trees Will caught a glimpse of other tents, and other figures in grey and green moving about, tending fires or leading horses.

  “We’ve all been invited to the evening meal,” Pendrake said. “There we will say a final farewell to Moth.”

  “I don’t know how he found me,” Will said. “Or how he got out of the caves…”

  “Moth joined us at the stone and helped us defeat the fetches,” said Freya. “He told us what had happened.”

  “Lotan came up the tunnel with the fetches,” Finn said. “He wove a spell of darkness that swept over the wisps and doused their sparks. Then he fled, taking his dead army down through another tunnel that led to the hidden vale. Moth followed, and when we had dealt with the fetches, he went on to find you.”

  “I wonder how he got down the Rampart,” Finn mused.

  “I suspect,” Pendrake said, stroking his beard, “that over the years he learned something of flight from his sister.”

  “Is Morrigan here?” Will asked, startled. He had thought she was dead, too.

  “She came close to death from the touch of the gaal blade. But she was brought back by the arts that healed you, too, Will. She is resting now, in another of the tents, with her friends and kin beside her.”

  “Her kin…” Will said slowly. “You mean there are other Hidden Folk here?”

  He looked around eagerly, until Pendrake’s soft laughter brought his gaze back to his friends. They were smiling at him.

  “Who do you think met you in the forest last night?” Freya said, grinning. “And brought us to you?”

  “And just invited us all to dinner,” Pendrake added.

  Like a ray of sunlight through clouds the truth broke upon Will.

  “But their tents and clothing…” he began. “They’re just like us.”

  “Or we are just like them,” the old man said, and laughed. “When we’re at our best. I believe we see them as they wish to be seen. That is one way they remain hidden from their enemies. And from those who’ve slept too long and need to clear the cobwebs out of their heads.”

  “But why are they here?” Will asked. “How did they find us?”

  “Did they?” Pendrake replied. “Maybe you found them. But perhaps the Lady can enlighten us on that point at dinner.”

  The Lady, Will thought. He was really going to meet her, at last. And with that thought came another that took a weight from his heart. There was no longer anything pursuing him. He had not brought danger and disaster to the Green Court. And maybe, at last, he could go home.

  The companions talked quietly about their hosts for a while, and then they heard a sound and turned. Rowen and Shade were coming out of the tent towards them. The wolf was limping badly, but his tail started to wag when he saw Will. Then he seemed to become conscious of his canine eagerness, and his tail went still. Will ran to Shade and threw his arms round the wolf’s neck.

  “I am very glad to see you, too, Will Lightfoot,” the wolf said huskily.

  Will stood, and he and Rowen looked at one another without speaking. There was so much to say, Will thought, and he knew Rowen felt the same.

  “You found me,” Rowen said at last. “You saved my life. But you didn’t get home.”

  “You’re here,” Will said. “That’s what matters.”

  In her face he saw something he had never seen there before, a shadow of lingering pain. She smiled at him, and he saw the effort it took. She was further away from him now, in some way he didn’t understand. How could he know what was happening to her? All he felt was sadness, and worry for her.

  Then he remembered what the Angel had said to him about Rowen, and he wondered if she knew. He would have to speak with her about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.

  As the sun went down behind the treetops, two young men of the Hidden Folk came to bring the companions to the evening meal.

  They were led through the trees and down a slope to the bank of a swiftly flowing river. Here many of the Hidden Folk were gathered, sitting on colourful silk cloths spread upon the grass. Will and his friends were welcomed with smiles and kind words, and sat among them.

  Morrigan was there, dressed in dark green now, like the others. Her face was pale and weary-looking, but in her eyes Will caught the same quick gleam of fire he had seen in her brother’s. He wanted to tell her how much he admired Moth, how grateful he was, but the words caught in his throat. If it hadn’t been for him, Moth would still be with them. He looked away, ashamed, and then she spoke.

  “Do not blame yourself, Will,” she said, and smiled at him. “My brother and I chose our road a long time ago.”

  Food and drink was now passed around – bread and cheese and fruit on simple wooden platters, with cool water to wash it down. It was plain food, but just what they needed.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, a young woman stood and sang a slow, mournful song in the language of the Hidden Folk. Will knew somehow that she was singing of the vanished city of Eleel, and he also knew when the song changed and became a lament for Moth the Nightwanderer, who had at last come home to his people. As the singer fell silent, the Hidden Folk bowed their heads and many wept. Will and his friends shed tears with them.

  Master Pendrake stood then and recounted the story of how he had first met Moth, and how they had become good friends, and all that the archer had done for Will and his companions on the journey. After him others told stories about their friend. Some remembered him as a child, mischievous and full of laughter. Others remembered him at his forge in the time of war, and spoke of his bravery in the dark days that followed, before he and Morrigan went their own way.

  As these tales came to an end, Will caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked towards the river and there was a long white boat, low in the water like a barge, gliding to the bank, with two Shee in gleaming white armour standing at the bow and another at the stern. Everyone rose, and as the boat came to rest Will saw that Moth was lying in it, his arms folded on his breast. There was a silver jewel on his brow.

  Morrigan turned to Will and his friends and bowed. She walked down to the river’s edge, climbed into the boat and sat beside her brother. The boat slid away from the bank and glided slowly away over the water.

  “He will travel down the River Bel to the sea,” a voice said from somewhere near Will. “He will rest in one of our blessed places.”

  Will turned, and there was the woman he had met when he awoke in the tent. In the sunset her dark hair was fringed with gold, and her blue robe, Will now saw, was richly embroidered with tiny stars that glowed like warm embers in the fading light. He still
could not say that she was young or old, but now, he thought, he could see her very well, and at last he knew who she was. At her side stood the tall silver-haired man Will had met earlier.

  “I didn’t get to thank him,” Will said of Moth. “He saved my life. I wish … I wish none of this had happened.”

  “He would wish you to live your life well,” the Lady said. “With courage and joy. That is how each of us can thank him.”

  Her words brought him both pain and comfort, and his eyes filled with tears.

  Will had no idea how long they sat and talked with the Hidden Folk. It seemed hours, but when the company rose at last, the sun was no lower in the west, as far as he could tell, than when they had first sat down.

  “Rest here tonight in peace and safety,” the Lady said at last to Will and his friends. “Those that hunted you are gone. For a short time at least the shadows will withdraw from these lands.”

  She turned to Pendrake.

  “Loremaster, your road home will be long and dangerous. We must part now, but in the morning a company of our folk will go with you, and see you safely to the borders of your own country.”

  Pendrake thanked her, and then she turned to Rowen.

  “You have travelled far, Rowen of Blue Hill,” she said. “But this is only the beginning of a longer and more difficult journey. It will take all that you are, but I see much strength in you, and the light of the First Ones. Do not despair.”

  As Rowen bowed her head, Will saw both fear and resolve in her eyes.

  To Freya and to Finn she gave each a breastpin in the shape of the small white flower they had found growing by the pool on the bower island.

  “The Bourne, Skald, and the Shee will have need of each other now more than ever,” she said, fixing the pins to their cloaks. “Our stories are being woven together. We may meet again.”

  “The swords of the Errantry are at your service,” Finn said solemnly, and bowed.

  “And the hammers of Skald,” Freya added.

  “Do not forget your tales and songs, as well,” the Lady said to them. “They will prove as needed as weapons in the great struggle that is upon us. We have a brief time now to breathe, and heal. But everywhere the enemy’s forces are rising, like a dark tide across the storylands. If we hope not to be swept under, we must remember who we are.”

  The Lady turned to Shade and smiled.

  “You have been a faithful friend of the Realm since the rivers first sang. We would be honoured if you would join our Court and travel with us.”

  Shade lowered his shaggy head.

  “I am the one who is honoured, Lady of the Starlight,” he said. “But I still have a promise to keep.”

  “I understand,” the Lady said, and she turned to Will and he knew that she saw the hope he had been trying to hide. “I know what you would ask of me, Will Lightfoot, but I am not the one who can open this door.”

  “If you can’t do it,” Will said, abashed, “who can?”

  “You have been seeking the gateless gate,” the Lady said. “That is where you will find the way.”

  “But it’s gone now. The Angel closed it.”

  “He closed one gate, yes. There are many others. And one of them has never been far away.”

  “But how can I find it?” Will asked, and then he noticed that the Lady held a bright object in her hand. A small triangular piece of glass on a slender silver chain.

  “When the city of Eleel fell,” the Lady said, “the most pure mirror, Samaya, was shattered and taken. Now some of its fragments are back in our keeping. They have been cleansed of deception, and once more reflect only what is true.”

  The Lady handed Will the shard. He hesitated for a moment, then looked at his reflection. The face he saw was his own, as he was now, but his hair was longer and wilder than it had been when he first came to the Perilous Realm. His skin was darkly tanned, his mouth set and determined. This was the face of a Will Lightfoot who had seen a little more of the world, who had passed through dangers and beheld wonders. This was someone who had kept on the path he had chosen, a Will Lightfoot who had run far enough to see the way back.

  “There is the gateless gate,” the Lady said. “There it has always been.”

  Will slipped the chain round his neck and, bowing his head, thanked the Lady for her gift. He remembered the talk he’d had with Pendrake before they set out from Fable, how baffled and angry he’d been at the old man’s advice to set out without knowing where he was going. What had Pendrake said? Let the way find you. He hadn’t understood then. He wasn’t sure that he understood now, but on an impulse he held the mirror shard out before him once more, this time turning it away from his face.

  In the shard he saw reflected the trees and the river and the deepening blue of the sky, and they were not new or strange. The mirror changed nothing. In disappointment he turned the shard to his own face, and it was not there. He was not in the mirror. He had vanished. But after a moment this no longer frightened him. The mirror showed the trees and the river and the sky as if to themselves, as they were, without his hopes and fears showing him only what he wished to see. This was the woven world itself. And he was part of it, he always had been. Now he understood the Lady’s words. He was not lost. The way home was not out there somewhere, waiting to be found. He had been on the way all along. He was the way. He was the gateless gate.

  “Keep the shard close to you,” said the Lord of the Shee. “The eyes of the Lady have looked into it, and it will ward you from harm.”

  The Lady smiled at him, and with the Lord of the Shee she took her farewell. Will and his friends watched as the Hidden Folk began to move away slowly through the trees. As their graceful forms melted into the shadows of evening, they seemed to be taking the light with them. Through the curtain of leaves Will now saw that the faded, patched tents he had glimpsed in daylight had become tall, splendid pavilions of white and green, with fluttering banners at their crests.

  He watched with the others until the light of the Hidden Folk dimmed and the vision faded.

  Will took a deep breath and looked away. He knew that other farewells were before him, and these would be much harder.

  “It’s getting dark,” said Rowen. “You should stay with us for the night, and go in the morning.”

  “I think he’s ready to go now, Rowen,” Pendrake said. “Though none of us wishes it.”

  Will turned to the loremaster.

  “I didn’t trust you,” he said. “I was wrong.”

  Pendrake waved a hand.

  “I told you we would take this journey together, Will,” he said. “We both had to learn to trust each other, and ourselves.”

  Will nodded and embraced the old man. Then he turned to Rowen. It was time to tell her what he knew.

  “When the Angel took you,” Will said to her, “he told me I wasn’t the one he was really after. It was you. It was you all along. He was trying to find you, through me. He said you were the new thread in the weave.”

  “I know,” Rowen said, and a shadow crossed her face. “He didn’t say anything, but I knew. He … looked into me, with his master’s eyes.”

  “If I hadn’t come here, none of this would have happened. You’d still be safe at home.”

  “We have never been safe,” said Pendrake “no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise. I was even foolish enough not to see why the mirror shards were set so near Fable. By stumbling into the trap meant for Rowen, Will, you didn’t cause all of this. The truth is you prevented disaster. You showed us the danger before it was too late, and bought us precious time. Now Rowen and I have much to speak of, and new paths to walk together.”

  “Look at it this way, Will,” Rowen said, smiling. “You didn’t want this to be your story, and now you know it isn’t.”

  Will shook his head.

  “It is,” he said. “It still is.” As he said the words he thought of what the Lady had told him, and he knew that it was true. This had become his story. His fr
iends were still in danger, and there would be a part for him to play, though he didn’t know what it would be.

  With a lump in his throat Will thanked everyone. Freya stood at a distance with an unusually shy smile, until Will went up to her and held out his hand. She took it solemnly, then laughed, and wrapped him in a tight embrace. To his surprise, Finn handed him the small leather-bound book he always carried. Will turned it in his hand. The Book of Errantry was printed on the cover in gold lettering.

  “You may find it useful some day,” Finn said.

  “Thank you,” Will said, stunned. He put the book in his pocket and shook Finn’s hand.

  “Will you be punished when you get back to Appleyard?” he asked. “You were supposed to be back a long time ago.”

  “Finn will have my report to add to his own,” said Pendrake. “The Marshal will hear the tale of one who truly upheld the oath of a knight-errant.”

  As Will turned to Rowen she threw her arms round him.

  “Goodbye, Will,” she whispered. “Don’t forget us.”

  Will looked into Rowen’s eyes.

  “I couldn’t forget you,” he said to her. “I will come back. I will find you.”

  At last, with a heavy heart, he turned to Shade.

  “I’ll walk with you, Will Lightfoot,” the wolf said. “My task is not quite done.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  They turned away then from their friends and from the shining river and walked on through the forest, their way lit by a sky full of stars. Soon they saw a clearing ahead, and when they came to its edge they halted. Neither spoke for a long time.

  “Is this the place?” Shade finally asked. Will looked around. He couldn’t answer, and for now that was all right.

  “I wish you could come with me, Shade,” he said at last, his voice breaking. He struggled for words, and then smiled ruefully. “Where I’m going, I’m in a lot of trouble.”

  “As much as you were here?”

  Will laughed. “Not quite.”

  “I think you will be all right now, Will Lightfoot.”