"Have patience, Peter. You weren't brought to Stonehenge merely to figure out how to get down and how to find Bart without any means of transport."
Well, there was no way he could make himself comfortable up here. With this thought, he returned the spell on the Orb, wrapped the cloak as closely around himself as possible and stretched out on his back again. At least he would be less conspicuous should one of the Enemy's spies chance to come along.
He realized later he must have fallen asleep again, for when he next opened his eyes the moon had moved a considerable distance.
"Was that lightning?” he said in alarm as he struggled into a sitting position. The thought of being caught in a thunderstorm was alarming to say the least.
He blinked up at the sky. It was so clear he felt he could almost pick out each individual star in the Milky Way. Then the flash appeared again, and he realized it came from the north.
"It's the aurora borealis! How come it's visible so far south?"
Even as he whispered the question, Peter knew the answer. He rose to his feet and spread his arms out to the kaleidoscopic flashes of light just as he had to the Southlight six months previously. The power of the Northlight poured itself into his head and chest as had the Southlight. The cold vanished and warmth enveloped him.
It seemed to Peter, as he stood spread-eagled, that he grew and grew until the majesty of Stonehenge was reduced to toy-like proportions. He felt as though he could crush the monument with a stamp of his foot—or knock it down with a mere sweep of his arm. He felt he could set the world—no, the universe—on fire with one blast of power from his fingertips.
Somewhere in the distance, through the corner of his eye, he saw a streak of silver. It seemed to be earth-bound rather than coming from the sky; but with its appearance came a thundering as though a great herd of beasts crossed the plain. The sound reached to the heavens to become one with the kaleidoscopic display.
When the last flash faded from the sky Peter found himself inside the horseshoe of trilithons. He looked up at the one on which he had lain, with no idea how he managed to climb down. And, though the light was gone forever, the thundering of hooves at his back continued. He turned in the direction of the sound, only to find himself looking straight at the central bluestone of the inner horseshoe of smaller stones. Quietly, heart pounding, he stepped past the stone. He could still see nothing. He walked to the center of the monument. With dry throat, he made his way to the outer circle of sarsen stones. From behind one he peered towards the Avenue. The sound definitely came from that direction.
Then he caught his breath. The silvery form hurtling down the avenue towards him looked unearthly in the moonlight. It appeared to have no more substance than a ghost. As Peter realized the horse was riderless, he stepped outside the circle of stones and ran. The animal gave a sudden whinny as it passed the encircling ditch and galloped towards him.
"Argent!” he cried soundlessly.
The pony skidded to a halt and Peter threw his arms around her neck. But the sound of hooves didn't stop. Someone else was coming! Argent was still saddled and bridled. Peter leapt onto her back and rode back to the shelter of the stone circle.
His mind whirled; his heart thumped madly with a mixture of fear and hope. He last saw his pony in the tunnels leading to the Great Halls of Draining Light. Was she still with Bart and Jamie? Carefully Peter sent his mind probing out into the night, throwing a shield around himself that only those of the Earthlight could penetrate. Relief overwhelmed him on recognizing his friends.
"Bart! Jamie!” he cried in mind-speech.
"Shush! We're followed."
Even as Bart's fierce warning reached him, Peter's mind-probe found the seven pursuers. He could identify only two. At the same time one of them detected his presence. From the folds of the Blue Lord's enveloping hood, his eyes glittered with fanatical hatred, reaching out to Peter. His mind sought Peter's but found itself denied access. Peter felt as though something cold and slimy crawled along his spine.
Then Bart and Jamie were galloping under the lintel surmounting the outer ring of sarsen stones. Argent turned and joined them without any direction from Peter. The three horses raced between the stones. Effortlessly they jumped the ditch. Within seconds the monument receded into the distance.
"Where's John?"
Peter started as Jamie's voice—sharp with anxiety—spoke into his mind. His attention had been almost entirely on one of their pursuers. The malevolence of the Lord in Blue—directed solely at Peter in an almost personal vendetta—was all but tangible. He could feel the full force of the Lord's considerable power striving towards him—the Lord's frustration and fury at his apparent inability to harm Peter through the image made by Morgause.
Reluctantly Peter tore his mind from his enemy long enough to answer Jamie's question. “John's safe in the keeping of the Lady and Merlin."
Peter caught Jamie's intensely relieved sigh even through the pounding of the horses’ hooves on the frost-bound grass. Then he reached back to the Lord in Blue. He heard again Morgause's voice whispering over the crystal ball, “I would see my enemy before I grind his face into the dust.” Like Morgause, he, too, felt the overwhelming need to know the name of his Enemy. Something within him insisted that only by knowing the identity of the Lord in Blue would he be able to fulfill his role in the quest for Earthlight.
Hastily Peter delved into his knowledge from the Book of Obsidian. He used the most powerful spell of protection he could find. Then, boldly, he reached out to the mind of the Lord in Blue. “Who are you? You're not just a Lord of Corruption—a servant of the Evil One. Who are you?"
The Lord in Blue replied with the mental equivalent of a vicious bolt of blue lightning. For one moment it seemed to freeze the very core of Peter's mind, all but destroying the protection he'd so carefully erected. Through the pain in his head he heard the grating voice of the Lord in Blue. “There is only One Power that can do this to you. By it you shall know Who I am."
Peter found himself receiving a strange conflict of emotions from the Lord in Blue—emotions the Lord appeared to be trying to hide. It seemed to Peter the Lord in Blue strongly desired to tell Peter straight out who he was while at the same time was very anxious for him not to know. The only sense Peter could make from the Lord's reply to his question was that the Lord in Blue considered himself to be the Evil One.
The pain gradually subsided and Peter could think straight again. How can two people be the Evil One? I've seen them both together. They can't possibly be the same being—not both at the same time. At the last battle the Evil One was angry with the Lord in Blue because he took the wax image before even thinking about the Obsidian Orb. If they were the same being, the Lord in Blue would have known the Obsidian Orb was more important
Absorbed in his thoughts, Peter failed to notice the horses now galloped uphill. The sudden disappearance of the moon, and the consequent blanket of darkness, jolted him out of his reverie. Instinctively he tried pulling Argent up as he realized they were about to enter a woodland at full gallop. The pony came to a halt right on the edge of the wood. From there, ears pricked forward, she turned to face the way they had come.
Peter frantically tried to get her to follow the other horses. “What's the matter, girl?"
Then he heard what Argent's more sensitive ears picked up first: a long blood-curdling howl. At first in the far distance, it rolled over the plains and swept towards them, swelling in volume as it came closer. A chorus from thousands of throats immediately answered it. Every hair on Peter's body seemed to stand on end.
"Wolves,” Bart said tersely, turning Crystalline and bringing her to a halt beside Argent.
They stood on the edge of the wood, eyes straining over the plain. For the space of a heartbeat there was nothing to see.
Peter pointed with a finger that trembled despite himself. “Look!"
They had seen nothing approaching, but Stonehenge seemed to be surrounded. Even as they watched
the dark menacing forms moving in towards the monument, the howling changed to snapping and snarling. Then a great scream of fury and frustration rent the air. In a blaze of blue light something rose from the center of Stonehenge. The blue light, shaped like a cloaked rider on a horse, streaked across the sky. The scream faded to silence in its wake.
The menacing shapes, now silent, swarmed into the heart of Stonehenge. Peter heard the cries of terrified men—the stampede and whinnies of frightened horses. Then the sound of hooves receded and the wolves gradually vanished into the stone circle. The Earthlight trio, although they could see very little, were aware of the wolves’ emergence on the other side—except for one, which came streaking across the plain towards them. For a creature of flesh and blood it moved with incredible speed.
"It's Dreyfus!” Peter dismounted and raced down the hill before the others could stop him.
Dreyfus's coat was matted and dirty. Otherwise he appeared unharmed.
"Poo! You don't smell very nice!” Peter wrinkled his nose, trying to subdue the dog's welcome. He stood up abruptly as the reason for Dreyfus's condition returned to his mind. “Come on, Dreyfus, we've got to get going."
Peter raced back up the hill and mounted his pony. Dreyfus followed at a slower pace. The exhaustion of battle was finally catching up with him. Argent immediately set off into the woods as though she knew exactly where she was going. The other three animals followed with complete trust.
The carpet of half-rotted leaves muffled the sound of the horses’ hooves as they made their way between the oak trees. But the sound still seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the wood. The moon had now moved from behind the clouds. The light filtering through the naked boughs created eerie patterns on the woodland floor.
Peter sat with the reins slack in his hands. Argent seemed to know he was leaving everything to her; whenever she was forced to walk under low-hanging branches she paused to allow Peter time to duck.
Peter probed with his eyes and mind into the depths of the woods. Nothing moved in the stillness of the frosty night and he couldn't detect any alien presence. So why was his heart beating so fast? Was it just the spellbound silence of the night, the presence of Stonehenge behind them, the strange magic of the cold moonlight through the black tracery of boughs and twigs? Was the enchantment coming, perhaps, from the trees themselves?
Either there was nothing there and he'd just imagined it, he decided, or there was a presence, one very clever at masking its identity, its intent and even its location.
Peter said nothing to Bart and Jamie about his premonition of a power inhabiting the woodland. Instead, he rode on silently, his eyes darting all over the place. On his left a sudden flash of light at the edge of his vision jerked his eyes back in that direction. “What was that? Lightning?"
"I didn't see any lightning,” Bart said calmly.
"Me neither."
Peter gazed steadfastly at the spot where he thought he saw the flash of light. “There it is again.” This time he knew it for the light of a candle or lantern.
"Where?” Bart and Jamie spoke together.
Peter pointed with a shaky finger into the thinning trees ahead. Argent quickened her step, heading straight for the light. This now resolved itself into an upright oblong shape—an open door. The light obviously came from some type of dwelling in a small clearing. Peter wasted no time in wondering why Bart and Jamie couldn't see it. He flicked Argent's reins and she broke into a fast trot.
"No! Wait!” Bart cried as the presence of an unseen power finally hit him.
Suddenly both he and Jamie could see the light. And something passed in front of it—a dark, indistinct figure. It moved towards the door. As it came through the opening it blocked most of the light from them. Then it stood outside and they saw it clearly silhouetted against the light—a tall man with broad shoulders, covered from head to foot in a dark hooded cloak. He stepped straight into Argent's path, bringing the pony to an abrupt halt.
Chapter 12
Forest of Nightmares
PETER'S EYES tried vainly to pierce the gloom to identify the figure blocking his pony's path. Then the newcomer spoke. Peter's heart, beating high with hope and eagerness, plummeted at the sound of an unknown voice—a voice sounding rusty with lack of use. “Welcome, eminent travelers. Enter. Rest and accept the hospitality of this humble woodland shrine."
With this strange greeting, he indicated the little wattle-and-daub hut behind him. Its thatched roof, recently repaired, reached well below his head, forcing him to stoop in coming out to greet them.
Suddenly realizing how tired he was, Peter slid off Argent's back. Bart and Jamie also dismounted. Their host turned back to the hut and picked up the lantern inside the door. He closed the door and held the light towards them. “There's stabling for the horses back here."
With this, he led them behind the hut, where they found, to their surprise, plenty of room for their horses, although there was already an animal stabled there, covered in a heavy blanket. The hermit—for such he seemed to be—helped them settle the horses, giving them water and feed and a blanket each, before leading the way back to the front of the hut and ushering them inside. He closed the door and placed the lamp back on the table.
It was a cheerless place. A crude altar stood at one end with a small red oil lamp burning at its center. There had once been an image of some unknown god on the wall above, but this had been either destroyed or stolen. The small table near the door and one rough chair were the only pieces of furniture in the room. A large pile of boxed-in hay in one corner heaped with blankets and skins served as a bed. As they entered, the coverings on the bed moved. A tousled head of brown hair appeared. Its owner squinted blearily into the lamplight, shading his eyes with one hand.
"Merlin?” From the voice, husky with sleep and sharp with alarm, Peter had difficulty discovering anything about the speaker.
They all looked from the form on the bed, now struggling upright at the sight of intruders, to the man turning away from the lamp to face them again. He had thrown back his hood and the light caught his sharp profile.
"Merlin!” Peter cried, and wondered how come he hadn't known straight away who the “hermit” was.
He turned his gaze back to the figure now standing by the bed. It's Arthur! But he's older than when I saw him last. I'll probably look like that in a year or so. Arthur blinked dazedly at him, looking extremely puzzled. Probably wondering if he's dreaming. Meeting yourself as you looked last year must be pretty unnerving.
Merlin's voice gently broke into Peter's thoughts. “Best get back to sleep, Arthur. We've a long day ahead of us. Maybe you can move over to make room for the others."
Arthur mumbled a drowsy assent—Peter wondered briefly if Merlin had drugged him—and instantly climbed back onto the bed and huddled himself against the wall. Peter motioned Jamie to take the central position and made himself as comfortable as he could on the outer edge. Bits of hay prickled his skin in spite of the sheepskins spread over it. Merlin tucked their cloaks, the blankets and skins around them and briefly touched their eyes. Peter fought to stay awake but drifted immediately off to sleep. The last thing he was aware of was Dreyfus landing on his feet and curling up there.
* * * *
IT WAS DARK and stifling. He seemed to be moving very fast. He knew he wasn't riding Argent, for there were no hoof beats pounding in his ears, no saddle between his legs. He couldn't find out what moved him along. The strangely grayed dimness might just as well have been totally dark. The only thing of which he could be certain was that his feet weren't on the ground. He reached out right round himself but could feel nothing except the wind of his own going.
Since his normal senses could tell him nothing, Peter sent his mind out probing. A buzzing reached his ears, like a voice distorted by distance and a bad telephone connection. He thought he caught his own name and strove to hear what the speaker said. Somehow he knew it was important—that he needed to know the speaker
's story. However, the speaker finished without Peter being able to catch more than his own name.
Another voice spoke, and it was so clear it might almost have been at Peter's elbow. “Shouldn't the boy know the truth—all of it?” Peter recognized the voice as belonging to Bart. He sounded very distressed. So, Peter reasoned, the voice he couldn't hear must be Merlin's. Then he realized, with shock, that Merlin was answering, and he could now hear every word.
"He'll know when the time is right, and anyway it's not within my authority to tell him. It certainly isn't the right time now.” At the last sentence bitterness crept into the sorcerer's voice.
"Are you sure he can't hear us?” Bart's voice, although dropped to a whisper, was sharp. “In this last quest for Earthlight he's already developed uncanny powers."
Although Merlin also lowered his voice to answer, it seemed to Peter that it moved even closer. Merlin seemed almost to be bending towards his ear.
"The lad's well on his way and you and Jamie had best be following. He still has another long journey and he needs the message you received for him from the Great Oak. Maybe he can hear us now, but I know he didn't hear what I told you. Just to be sure, I put a spell around my voice.” The last thing Peter heard was a deep, humorless chuckle of affection. His mind reached out to it, trying to draw it into himself. His heavy heart, burdened with the responsibility of his impossible role, craved Merlin's approval. As the affectionate chuckle faded, Peter found himself reaching out with both hands....
...and he felt something being placed between them.
He opened his eyes with a start, to find himself staring at something that gave off a pale greenish glow. It was the rocklight. And he knew immediately he was back on the slab of obsidian in the Great Halls of Draining Light. He sat up and held the rocklight up. He seemed to be on his own.
He swung his legs over the side of the slab and slid down. The noise of his landing echoed loudly around him. Something moved on the edge of his vision, making his heart jump violently. He started walking in the direction of the movement, holding the rocklight high.
The Third Age of Obsidian [Quest for Earthlight Trilogy Book Three] Page 13
