The young man was silent. His thoughts swam close to the hermit’s as though both were fish in a small pool. He understood, but could not have given the understanding voice.
‘When I was your age,’ Collen was speaking again. ‘I made some terrible mistakes that almost cost me everything I had. I had not yet learned that when you raise yourself by inner prayer to a level of receptivity where angels can speak to you, you may open yourself to negative and evil influences at the same time, unless you fill the Silence, that shining, potent, waiting, centre within you, with the love of God and love of all that is good and positive.
‘Now, when I go “into the Silence” I visualize my Lord Christ beside me and I walk step by step keeping within the circle of light that shines around him. Before I learned to do this I went too far, taking no counsellor, no precautions, following each hint of new experience without question. Ignoring a gentle intuitive warning I forced myself beyond what I now know to have been my natural limit of understanding, and found myself not in that realm of incredible, beautiful stillness, but in a frightening, nightmarish place, full of jostling, half-seen figures, and noisy with strident voices. The worst thoughts of my undisciplined nature came back at me from the creatures: my pride in having come thus far while my companions were still saying the liturgies and apparently getting nowhere; my arrogant belief that I knew everything and could change the lives of everyone around me with this new source of power.
‘It was when I suddenly realized the voices and the figures were not only part of my own imagination, but also outside me subtly leading me into their thrall, that I called a halt. I began to realize I would not have more power if I followed them, but less. The nature of God’s grace is freedom to follow a guiding light; the nature of the Enemy’s grace is slavery and a chain.
‘It was a long time before I tried to go into the Silence again. And when I did, I was more aware of what I was doing.’
Lukas thought about the times in the apple orchard when ‘the Silence’ was very close. He had never had the courage to enter it completely. Did the Holy Spirit, the Counsellor, really live within his heart, present at all times, waiting to be listened to, his own inattention being the only reason he missed crucial guidance and help? If he listened, would he have the courage to follow? Would he have the wisdom to distinguish the true voice from the false?
There were many things he wanted to ask Collen — but the hermit had suddenly changed mood and sent him off to fetch firewood from the forest.
* * * *
Later when Lukas returned to the hut Collen was standing at the entrance looking for him.
‘What is it?’ Lukas asked, standing with the bundle of twigs still upon his shoulder, sensing something wrong.
Collen rubbed his bearded chin and looked hard at him.
‘What is it?’ Lukas repeated.
‘I am afraid we have a patient to care for,’ he said, and his voice had a rough edge to it.
‘A patient? Who is it?’
Collen indicated that Lukas should look for himself.
A premonition of danger held Lukas’ heart as though in the grip of an icy hand, but within that hand, as though it were a butterfly trapped there and fluttering to get out, he could feel his heart stirring with curiosity and excitement.
He put the wood down and hurried to the hut, the hermit standing aside to let him pass, watching him closely as he walked towards the straw pallet. Light fell from the doorway onto the figure and Lukas felt sick to see the blistered and blackened face.
At first he did not recognize him, but as he watched him he groaned and moved, and as he did so, Lukas caught the lean hawk look beneath the broken skin.
He jumped back with horror.
Collen was close behind him and put his hand upon his shoulder.
‘Softly. He is badly burned. We must help him.’
‘Help this man?’ Lukas thought rebelliously.
Collen caught the look in his eyes and gave his shoulder a kindly but authoritative squeeze. He nodded to the door.
‘Fetch water,’ he said.
‘What happened?’
Brother Collen shrugged. ‘He must have slipped and fallen into his cooking fire,’ he said unconvincingly.
Lukas was too shocked by the appearance of the man to question further, and Collen was relieved that he did not. He did not want to tell him that he had found the man on the top of the Tor and that there was no sign of anything else, not even a blade of grass, having been burned.
Quietly he went to his rickety shelf and pulled out his box of healing salve. Together they washed him as best they could and dressed his burns. Once Lukas jumped as he caught the dark gleam of his eye through his half closed eyelid — but the man showed no sign of recognition.
‘He probably did not see me,’ thought Lukas remembering how Cerdic often slept with his eyes partially open in the dormitory. At first it had terrified the rest of them until they discovered by cautious testing that he in fact could not see what was going on while he was asleep, no matter how unnerving the glint of his eyes might be.
‘Are you going to heal him the way you healed Matthew?’ asked Lukas. Collen pursed his lips, but did not reply.
‘Are you?’ persisted Lukas.
‘We shall see,’ Collen said, not committing himself.
Perhaps, thought Lukas, remembering what Matthew told him, perhaps the healing needed the co-operation of the patient and with the man unconscious it was not possible to do it. Or was it that the man was such a powerful sorcerer it would not be safe in some way? Certainly Collen seemed very reluctant to kneel by his bedside and pray as he had done for Matthew. It even crossed Lukas’ mind that Collen did not want to heal the man. If he was such a force for evil as Collen seemed to believe, and Lukas felt, perhaps the hermit was considering leaving him ‘pinned down’ as it were, incapacitated, so that he could do no more harm. Perhaps he was even hoping that he would die.
As night drew nearer Lukas helped Collen prepare a third pallet of straw for the tiny hut, so that the man could lie undisturbed on Collen’s bed.
When at last Lukas lay down he found he could not sleep, and spent most of the night anxiously watching the dark figure, half expecting him to rise up and cast some evil spell upon them. But the night passed and nothing happened.
By morning the patient was conscious and his eyes were as full of pain as those of an animal caught in a trap. Lukas offered him a drink of water.
The man looked from him to the cup and Lukas saw his tongue for a moment, feeling the blistered skin of his lips. He nodded almost imperceptibly. Lukas had to steel himself to put one arm behind his head and raise it slightly while he held the cup to his lips.
The man sipped thirstily, all the while seeking to look into his eyes. Lukas tried to concentrate on the cup and was determined he was not going to meet that gaze. Where was Collen? he thought desperately. How could he leave him alone at such a time?
‘What are you thinking?’ the man asked as he finished drinking, his voice hoarse with pain.
‘I am thinking, sir,’ Lukas said, drawing back, ‘that if you are such a great magician as people say, could you not heal yourself?’
The cracked lips moved painfully.
‘Is that what people say of me . . . that I am a great magician?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you believe them?’
Lukas hesitated. ‘You can do some magic tricks,’ he said scornfully, moving further back towards the door. The man’s eyes flashed with anger, but he said nothing. Lukas went hastily out of the door and was relieved to find Collen outside, sitting on a stone, deep in thought.
‘Why did you leave me alone with him?’ Lukas demanded.
‘I was here.’
‘But I didn’t know you were. I thought I was alone.’
‘And yet you mocked him?’
‘Did you hear?’
Collen laughed, and then looked sober. ‘You should not mock him. He will not always b
e so ill.’
‘Do we have to make him better?’
‘Aye,’ Brother Collen said. ‘We do not always choose what is to be done.’
‘Will he take long to mend?’
‘Not long.’
‘I’ve never seen anyone so badly burned.’
‘Nor I. But he will mend.’ Brother Collen frowned. ‘You asked me yesterday if I was going to heal him as I healed Matthew?’
Lukas nodded.
‘Everything is more complicated than it seems, my friend. Nothing can be looked at in isolation. I don’t know if I can give you an explanation that will satisfy you.’
‘Try,’ Lukas said.
‘Just as every human soul is unique in God’s kingdom, so the way each one responds to what is given or to what happens is unique to itself. What worked for Matthew might well not work for you . . . or for our friend here.’
‘But when you’ve decided what to do in this case — you will do it?’ Lukas persisted.
‘Yes — but to make that decision is not easy. Something held me back yesterday. Partly my own reluctance I admit — but partly something else — caution . . . a feeling that this time there was something more required than mere physical healing . . . some way of making the healing reach much deeper into the soul perhaps. For this I was not sure that I was adequate . . .’
‘And now?’
‘And now I know it is not I but the Lord through me who will work the miracle. But even for this, poor vessel than I am, I need help. I think I see what I must do, but it will mean that I have to leave you for a while. Do you think that you can look after our patient while I’m away?’
Lukas looked alarmed.
‘It won’t be for long.’
‘How long?’ asked Lukas suspiciously.
‘Not long,’ Collen replied. ‘I must trust you to do nothing for him but give him water if he asks. Obey no commands.’
‘But . . .’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Lukas sighed and shrugged. ‘I will do my best,’ he said.
Brother Collen clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good,’ he said and with no more than that, he left.
* * * *
As Lukas stood in the clearing in front of the hut, he had never felt so alone. He kept looking fearfully at the door and wishing that he had not taunted the sick man. If only he would sleep and Collen would come back before he woke! He sat down nervously on the flat stone the hermit had just vacated and thought hard about sleep, hoping that his thoughts would influence the patient, remembering how concentrating on finding the cavern had led him to it.
The hut was silent for so long he began to relax. After all, he thought, what could happen? The man was helpless.
And then he thought he heard a sound.
He held his breath, listening.
There it was again. This time he heard it more clearly and he knew that it was his own name being called. He went to the door and looked in. The man’s eyes like dying coals glowed in the dim light within the hut. His own eyes were dazzled and half blind from the bright sunlight outside.
‘Lukas,’ the man said, and again, ‘Lukas.’
Lukas moved to his side, unwillingly, but finding it difficult to hold back. He wondered if the sorcerer knew that Collen had gone off and that they were alone together.
‘I want you to do something for me,’ the man whispered hoarsely.
‘I cannot,’ Lukas said quickly, his heart pounding. ‘I may not.’
‘Cannot? May not?’
‘I mean . . . I may give you water . . . but that is all.’
‘You are alone?’
‘No,’ he said hastily. ‘Brother Collen is outside, but he is busy.’
The man’s tongue moved across his lips.
‘Do you want water?’ Lukas asked. He fancied the patient’s dark head nodded faintly.
He brought him the cup and held his head again so that he could reach it. But this time the man did not drink. When Lukas leant over him his bandaged hand rose from his side and he seized Lukas’s wrist and held it with a grip that almost broke the bone.
‘You will do something for me.’
‘No.’
‘You will.’
‘No!’
‘If you do not I have tricks to make you dumb or blind. Which will it be?’
Lukas tugged as hard as he could to free his wrist, but it was held firm.
‘You have no power. You are ill,’ he said through clenched teeth, wishing that he believed it.
‘Speak now,’ the man said, and his eyes were terrible and cold.
Lukas shuddered. ‘Let me go!’ he tried to say, but he found that no sound came from his mouth. It was as though his tongue was as soft and formless as sheep’s wool caught on a thorn bush.
The King of Shadows smiled as he saw the terror in his companion’s eyes. ‘Help me,’ he said, ‘and I will release your tongue.’
‘Never!’ Lukas tried to say defiantly, but once again only his lips moved and no sound came from them. ‘Please!’ his eyes spoke for him, but the sorcerer took no pity.
‘Must I demonstrate my power further?’ he asked coldly.
Lukas shook his head.
‘Will you help me now?’
Lukas shook his head again.
‘You asked me if I could heal myself and I can — but there is something I must have in order to do it.’ He winced with the effort of speaking, the shadow of pain deepening in his eyes. Lukas began to feel sorry for him. Perhaps . . .
‘All I want you to do is to fetch me something from my house,’ the man whispered. ‘Something that will make me better faster than any of the herbs and ointments that your friend may use.’
This sounded harmless enough. Surely Collen would be relieved to return to find his unwelcome patient had recovered and left? Lukas forgot that the holy man wanted to heal more than the sorcerer’s blistered flesh and had gone off on some mysterious errand precisely so that he would be able to do this.
Lukas nodded.
‘Good. Now follow instructions carefully and no harm will come to you. In my house, on the second shelf of the cupboard that faces you when you enter, you will find a small crane-skin pouch fastened with gold thread. Bring me that. Touch nothing else. Do you understand?’
Lukas could not leave his presence fast enough, and as he hurried through the forest he sang to celebrate the return of his voice.
* * * *
In less time than he expected, he came to the clearing and the neatly built wooden house that he had once thought was so great and beautiful an edifice. He feared at first to enter, but reminded himself that he was doing the wizard a favour and surely no harm would come to him.
He stepped warily inside and found that it was not as grand as it had been the first time he had visited. He found the cupboard easily and on the second shelf he found a small crane-skin pouch tied with a gold thread. He took it in his hands and would have left at once with it, had not curiosity got the better of him. He had to see what was in the pouch.
He looked around quickly to make sure that he was alone, and then carefully undid the knot that bound it and gently teased it open. He peered in, but could not at first see what was inside.
Trembling slightly with the excitement of doing something that was forbidden, he put his fingers in and pulled the contents out. He was amazed. In his hand he held a lump of amber, as bright as sunlight. He turned it over and over, gazing into the depths of light within it, losing himself in the beauty of it, the mystery of it. And as he did so he began to feel, faintly at first and then more strongly, that this beautiful object was familiar to him. He had seen it before, and yet not in this life, not as Lukas.
‘Where?’ he whispered. ‘When?’ He turned it over and over, trying to remember. Faintly, like the dark smudges of trees in fog, shadowy memories began to loom in his head.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. What was he remembering? A girl . . . eyes as blue as the sky. looking i
nto his . . . the amber on a leather thong around her neck . . . and he knowing that he had put it there, he, the chosen of the Sun . . . the sun’s power contained in it . . . the sun’s love warming her heart and sustaining her with its strength wherever she went.
With a sudden startling flash of knowledge he knew this talisman belonged to the girl in the cavern . . . it had been stolen and must be returned.
Triumphantly he returned it to its pouch, determined not to go back to the sorcerer, but to go directly to the other entrance to the tunnel in the apple orchard and take the girl’s possession back to her.
He turned to shut the cupboard door and as he did so his eye fell on a pile of jewels that lay near the place where the pouch had lain, and which now suddenly flashed with light from the doorway.
He could not help but look at them before he shut the door. He had never seen such colour, such brilliance, such cold yet dazzling light.
A closer look. Closer.
He looked over his shoulder. He was alone. No one would know if he tried on the rings. His hand hovered over a ruby as big as his thumb nail set in gold. He slipped it on the middle finger of his right hand. He turned it from side to side, the light flashing and playing upon it. For a moment it looked as though there was something trapped deep inside it . . . a figure . . . but when he looked closer he saw that he’d been mistaken.
He was sorely tempted to keep it, but he knew that that would be foolish. He gripped it with his left hand to pull it off but it was a surprisingly tight fit.
He gave another tug . . . and another. With dawning horror he realized that he could not pull it off.
The Green Lady and the King of Shadows Page 8
