Moon Song (23 page)

Something silent and large, like the spirit of the place she was in, agreed with her. There were no words, just a knowing inside her, an undeniable rightness. She was journeying.

She turned slowly around. There was no definition in the place, dark colours swirled, sometimes she thought they were trees, at others it looked like curtains of water, then they cycled into slick sheets of rock, only to shift into shimmering air. She made up her mind.

‘Hello …? Is anyone there?’ she called out. ‘I’m here …waiting. Will somebody please tell me where I am, what’s going on?’

The light shuddered, held, began to solidify. She stood on the edge of a cliff, looking out at the endless ocean and the curve of the Earth through a window of rock. It was the Lady’s Window.

Isoldé went cautiously towards the person-sized hole in the tall tooth of granite, standing up like a spike out of the edge of the cliff; she climbed up to peer through. As she did so the view changed, she was no longer looking out to sea but into a circular grove, like the grove with the head-stone at the end of the path from Tristan’s cottage. Perched on the stone in the centre of the grove was Tristan himself, staring down at his feet.

Isoldé pulled back, afraid that he would see her. She could still see him through the window. His head came up as though he had noticed something, he looked about the grove.

‘Isoldé? Is that you? Are you here?’

Her throat tightened, she couldn’t answer.

‘Isoldé …?’

Tristan stood up now, turned, looking all round. Isoldé backed
further away from the stone. What was going on? Was she supposed to meet him here, now, in the dream?

‘Watch!’ the large presence inside her head told her.

She watched. Tristan stood looking around the grove then he shrugged and sat down again on the head-stone. She saw now that his harp stood at his feet. He picked it up, began to play, a tentative thing, just beginnings. He tried the tune several times but it obviously wasn’t going right. He put the harp down on the ground again, sat looking disconsolate.

‘Isoldé …if you can hear me …I need you. I can’t do this without you. This song just won’t come to me. It can only come through you.’ He paused, waited, at first looking hopeful then a resigned expression came over his face again. ‘Isoldé, if you can hear me, I need you but I can’t come to you, not properly. Please come to me. If you come to the Lady’s Window there’ll be someone who will help you, you can come through the window. I’ll be here. I know now, we have to make the song, the Moon Song, together.’

Isoldé woke with a start. She was in bed, in Caergollo, Embar curled into her side and just woken with her, his green eyes staring into hers.

‘I dreamed …’ she told him, ‘of Tristan and the Lady’s Window. Do you know why that is? Am I to go there?’

Embar chirruped, jumped off the bed and headed for the door, he ran down the stairs and made for the kitchen, Isoldé following. The grandfather clock in the hall said it was near six o’clock, rather than going back to bed she followed the cat into the kitchen and brewed some coffee, made toast. Embar sat on the kitchen table, watching.

Sat with him, munching toast, Isoldé said, ‘I’m to go there?’

Embar put a paw very deliberately on her hand and purred loudly.

‘You want to come?’ she asked the cat.

Embar jumped down and stalked off to his usual sleeping
perch at the back of the Raeburn and curled up, turning his back on her.

‘That,’ Isoldé said, chuckling, ‘is definitely a no!’

She went back upstairs, took a quick shower, pulled on jeans and sweater. It was spring but still parky of a morning and the wind was from the west, from the ocean. It would be fresh and breezy out on the cliffs.

Isoldé parked the truck half in the ditch at the end of the lane by Forrabury Church so any early morning traffic, like tractors and such, could get by. She climbed out and took the path up through the churchyard to the gate that led onto the rough moors of the headland and the Stitches. An ancient ruin of a bothy stood just to the left of the gate, a shepherd’s hut perhaps, maybe even someone had lived there once. She climbed over the gate and went to look. There had been a loft, still was a bit of it left, with some fresh hay stacked up there and a new-looking ladder leaning by the wall. It was dry and sweet smelling inside, a metal hay rack on one wall with half an oak manger still useable below it. Someone still used the hut for food for the beasts but not to live in.

A soft, low whicker startled Isoldé. She jumped and turned. A small black pony stood in the doorway, tossing her head and watching Isoldé.

‘Phew! You made me jump!’ Isoldé told her, turning to fully face the pony, the hairs on the back of her neck all standing up. She fumbled in her pocket to see if she had anything the mare might like. This was not just an ordinary pony, she was sure it was one of the woodfolk, shifted into pony-shape.

The pony stamped a foot and tossed her head again then stood looking at Isoldé, barring the way out of the bothy. Isoldé stood looking back at the pony, wondering what she should do.

‘I need to go there,’ Isoldé said after a moment, pointing towards the headland and remembering the troll-bridge and how
you should always ask permission to cross. ‘I have to go to the Lady’s Window. May I pass?’

The mare snorted and tossed her head again, then backed out of the doorway. Isoldé followed her. Outside, the mare stood beside the path leading down to the cliff edge. She whickered again, tossing her head towards the path.

‘Yes, I’m going down there …you want to come with me?’ she asked the mare.

A soft whicker answered her and the mare fell in beside her. Tentatively Isoldé reached out to touch the long, silky, black mane. The mare leaned towards her, Isoldé put her arm over the mare’s neck and they went towards the cliff edge together. The path went down into a slight dip then up again, as they topped the rise there was the tooth, straight ahead of them.

Isoldé stopped still. The mare stopped beside her, let her be still for a moment then blew softly through her nose. Isoldé shivered. The mare nuzzled her. Isoldé began walking again. She couldn’t explain what she’d felt and, remembering Gideon’s advice, didn’t try to. It was enough just to feel. Her skin was tingling, the hair on the back of her neck stood up again. She took a handful of the silky mane in her hand, the mare didn’t object and it seemed to help. There was nothing to see, to be scared of, the sky was bright blue, no clouds, a soft wind rustled the soft grasses and heather, the scent of gorse was on the air. But Isoldé was scared.

As she watched, the grass rippled at her feet sending a pathway of silvery light ahead of them. The mare began to walk forward, pulling Isoldé as she went. Isoldé stumbled, got her feet together and managed to keep up. The silvery grass led them towards the tooth.

In one way it took ages to get there. In another it felt like only a couple of steps. An impossible shadow stretched backwards from the tooth towards Isoldé and the mare, yet the sun was behind them both, rising as always in the east. They faced west,
yet the shadow of the tooth stretched back towards them as though there was a sun in the west to cast it. Isoldé stopped, staring. It was cold.

The mare stood beside her, both of them covered in the shadow then she nudged Isoldé making her walk forward again.

The hole itself was too high up the stone for her to see through. At her feet were the steps, cut roughly into the stone and leading up to the hole. The mare shook her head, loosing Isoldé’s hand from her mane and butted her gently towards the steps.

‘Are you sure?’ Isoldé turned back to the mare.

A rough snort answered her and the nose pushed her again.

Isoldé put a foot on the first step. It felt strange, as though she wasn’t altogether in the everyday world any more. As she mounted the last one she could see through the window …or could she? It wasn’t the sea as she had expected, although it did look like water and ocean. The colour was different, turquoise green with a slivery sheen, sky and sea merging into each other. The light itself came from behind the sea, from behind the shadowy land on the horizon, a kind of glow hung above it. Was it this that threw the tooth-shadow eastward back across the land?

The names came into Isoldé’s mind …the Isles of the Dead, Isles of the Blest, West-Over-the-Sea …that was where she was going, as Gideon had said she would.

She looked at the stone under her hand. It seemed different to how it had appeared while she was still standing on the ground, now it looked silvery too, slick, almost like it was damp but it didn’t feel wet. In fact it felt warm under her hand. She looked back …and could see nothing. The black mare, the grass and heather on the cliff and the cliff itself were all gone. It was as if she was suspended between a grey mist and an endless ocean. Out of that ocean something dark moved towards her. It grew, became a figure, a person, a woman in a long dark robe like the midnight sky, her long, silky black hair flew out behind her. In a
moment she was beside Isoldé.

‘Come,’ she said, holding out her hand.

Isoldé took the hand and stepped down out of the hole in the stone onto the sea. Immediately she felt herself being carried along, like on a moving walkway but this one was completely smooth, effortless. The next instant they were somewhere. She couldn’t tell what sort of a place, the light was fractal, shimmering, never staying still long enough for Isoldé to make out shapes. The dark woman led her forward. The light strobed, flickered, then steadied up. They were in a grove just like the one near the cottage, even down to the head-shaped rock.

‘Yes,’ said the dark woman, ‘it’s the same.’

‘So why am I here?’

The woman said nothing but something, someone, was coming through the twisted pine trees towards them.

The man was tall, skinny, rangy, his grey-blonde hair fell in a long forelock over his face, the long fingered hands swung at his sides against the flapping grey flannel bags. His shirt, open at the neck showed some bare pale skin, a paisley bandana was loosely tied around his neck. He looked up as he entered the grove, stopped short on seeing Isoldé and the dark woman.

‘Rhiannon!’ he said, softly. Then he looked towards Isoldé, pushed the hair back from his face.

The dark woman, Rhiannon, stood still on the edge of the grove. Isoldé could feel Rhiannon wanting her to go on. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

‘Tristan …?’ she began as she came towards him.

‘Isoldé …?’ Tristan whispered. ‘I wanted …I hoped …I need you to help me finish it …’

He stopped, looked around then folded himself up to sit cross-legged on the grass beside the stone, he patted a spot beside him. Isoldé came over and joined him. All the charisma was still there, her body reached out, she wanted him. Looking into his eyes she could see he wanted her. She looked away
quickly. This was ridiculous! He was a ghost, wasn’t he? Or was she? If this was Otherworld then she must be the ghost, it would be his reality. How could a ghost and a reality make love?

Tristan’s hand was on her shoulder, his arm slid round her. ‘What’s the matter?’ he turned her to face him.

Electricity shot through her, her whole body on fire. She leaned towards him, found his lips with her own, parted them with her tongue and kissed him deeply. After an instant of surprise he kissed her back, long and hard then they were on the ground, pulling at each other’s clothes. In moments they were naked, his hands stroking her, opening her flesh. He licked slowly down her body, opening her. She parted her legs then reached down pulling his head back up to her. He slid up her body, between her legs and deep within her.

She moaned softly. They moved together as one being full of ecstasy. After forever the climax came, softly at first, rushing upwards, filling them until they knew nothing else. For a long, bright darkness they held still, not breathing, then consciousness fumbled its way between them. His hand was no longer her hand, his eyes looked into hers, they knew each other again.

Tristan slid sideways so his head rested beside her. She turned to face him. For long moments, years, neither said a word.

They were still naked, still glued together with the sweat of their passion, the slick joy that had bonded them in their lovemaking. Softly, Isoldé pulled herself away from him, looking down their bodies as they slipped apart. His fingers traced down her flesh. She shuddered, her body flicking back against his then sinking back to lie on the grass. He took his shirt and gently wiped down her body then lifted her, helping her back into her own clothes. Slowly still, they dressed each other then sat together with their backs to the headstone.

‘I’ll help you,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll help you find the song.

‘As a shaman, you can cross between the worlds and bring back the goods.’

‘Am I shaman?’

‘I think you are.’

Isoldé was silent.

‘That’s what shamans do, isn’t it? Isoldé said at last. ‘Be conscious in both places at once. What you sang about in Thomas the Rhymer, about walking between worlds.’

‘Yes …yes it is.’

Isoldé climbed back through the Lady’s Window, down the steps, onto the grass. There was a different feel as her feet touched down on middle earth again, she felt more solid and, at the same time, cut off from the world she had been in with Tristan.

The black mare nuzzled her. She stopped, took the long horsehead in her hands, no longer afraid. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she asked the mare. ‘You
are
Rhiannon too.’ The mare’s head nodded in her hands, the dark, liquid eyes held hers.

The lovemaking came back to her again. It had been perhaps the most passionate lovemaking of her life. She loved Mark. The episode with Tristan had been passion, ecstasy, but not of this world. Although her body was on fire again as soon as she thought of him, she was not at all sure she wanted a repeat performance. ‘Oh ye gods! What am I to do? Do I tell Mark?’

The mare poked her in the ribs gently. Isoldé came back out of her head into the world around her and began walking back to the truck. The mare accompanied her. At the stable-bothy, the mare stopped. Isoldé paused, watching the mare, waiting.