Moon Song (25 page)

She remembered what the demon had shown her. He had drawn a silvery vertical line then two horizontal lines crossing it making a six-armed cross. More lines had grown, threading themselves together into more six-armed crosses, making a web of silvery lines. The edges of the pattern had reached out into the grass, disappearing under it.

Isoldé looked at Gideon, he’d been following her thoughts. ‘I
get it …I think …’ she said softly. ‘The web of life? Ley lines, the wyrd. It connects everything to everything.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And the demon told me about the Moon, directing the flow. Tristan must get the song that enchants, that sings it all to life, back to Earth.’ She stopped, staring off into nothing. ‘So, I’m made up of hundreds …thousands …maybe millions of those six-pointed stars?’

‘Yes,’ Gideon replied. ‘Just like everything, including me. Including the little demon you spoke with that night. And including Tristan.’

‘Every plant, animal, insect, bird, atom, molecule, mineral, everything.’ Isoldé told them over aloud. ‘And the planet herself,’ she added.

‘That’s right.’ Gideon said.

Isoldé was sat on the cliff again by the Lady’s Window, on top of the steps that began the moonpath. Tonight was full moon, the sea green-grey, only the slightest breeze rippling it with silver, the scent of grasses and the spring flowers was strong in the air. Isoldé was alone, no Mark, and no black ponies nor black cats either. She wanted it that way.

The Moon …the Moon …? She’d brought the notebook, the drawings she’d made about the moon, the lines, the six-armed cross, the plants, all the things she’d thought about the moon. Would they help?

It was the half-light of evening. She’d left the truck by the church and walked down over the Stitches. Wrapped up in warm clothes with a waterproof rug and a lantern, a thermos of coffee and a packet of sandwiches, she was prepared to stay all night if necessary. What should she do? She felt strongly she should do some sort of ritual, ask the moon herself for help, but she’d never done this on her own and had no real idea what was required. She pulled the notebook to her, opened a new page and began to write.

‘Yikes!’ she muttered, ‘and I need to know if I can do it. No bloody use if it’s something I can’t do. I know Gideon wants me to cross over the moonpath. And come back.’ She frowned. ‘So what do I want?’

‘And if I can’t …?’ Isoldé went on talking to herself.

‘Then you gotta find a way you can do it,’ an earthy-soft voice answered her.

Isoldé turned. There, on the other side of the rug sat the woodfolk; the hare-girl she’d seen when she walked down Rocky Valley the first weekend she’d come to Caergollo and, beside her, was the root-mother Isoldé half remembered from the dream where she’d been gifted with the hag-stone. The three of them sat and stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

‘Uh …err …h-hello …?’ Isoldé began.

‘Ullo …’ the root-mother replied. After another moment she went on. ‘This be the moon-child, the hare-girl. Her’s none too good with words, not yet she ain’t. She be needing you fer that. You be needing her too. She’m real good at crossing the moonpath, her can help you.’

‘Err …err …yes …’ Isoldé could think of nothing to say. She sat staring at her two companions. These were woodfolk. They were real. They were fascinating. The flower-like folds of the root-mother’s face caught her eye like Leonardo’s drawings, lovely, strange, like a plant, a flower. She had hands and feet, a humanoid body, but her hair was more plant-like and the fingers were long, twisted and root-like, so were her feet.

The hare-girl was much younger looking and still half animal, the paws were definitely paws, not hands …long, soft-furred ears stood up out of her fine hair …her nose was half human and half animal, trailing into the upper lip. But she, too, was beautiful. She sat silent now, watching Isoldé intently. Both women’s eyes were large, deep and strange, like the eyes of deer.

Suddenly, on impulse, Isoldé reached out her hand towards the girl. The girl shivered slightly, then her paw came towards Isoldé. They touched.

Electricity sparked through them both. They let go, jumped back slightly, sat staring.

‘Go ‘orn, then,’ the root-mother whispered to them both.

She pushed the hare-girl gently towards Isoldé. Isoldé reached out again, just letting one finger touch the soft fur of the paw. The hare-girl twitched but didn’t withdraw this time.

Had she already given birth? Isoldé turned the idea over in her mind, looked up to see the root-mother grinning at her.

‘You’m made it possible for her an’ you to be together in the same world, like you is now.’

‘But I saw her before, in Rocky Valley, when I first came here.’

‘You did?’

The hare-girl nodded, confirming.

‘Twas you,’ the root-mother whispered. ‘You must’ve known, somehow.’

Isoldé thought about that. ‘I knew something,’ she said. ‘Even if I didn’t know what I knew, or even if I knew it. Was that enough?’

The two woodfolk nodded. ‘Soul-knowing …’ the root-mother said. ‘Now you gotta do it, make it body-knowing, make it real.’

Isoldé nodded. It sort of made sense, although she wasn’t sure how, it had that same sort of rightness she’d felt before.

‘Do I need to call the moon?’ Isoldé returned to her thoughts before the woodfolk had arrived.

The root-mother and hare-girl looked at each other, they looked back at Isoldé. ‘Aye …aye …we need to call the Lady.’

‘The Lady …? I thought that was the goddess of the land.’

‘So tis …so tis …but tis also the way we speak of the MoonLady.’

‘How do I do it?’

The two woodfolk stood up, they went and stood beside the stone steps. Isoldé got up and followed them. They took her hands so they all stood in a circle, the two woodfolk began to hum, the root-mother low and ground-shaking, the hare-girl higher sounding, like a flute. Isoldé found herself joining in, her voice somewhere between the two.

It had grown dark. A soft light spun around them, coming
from nowhere. Did it come out of the sound they made together, Isoldé wondered? The light grew as the humming grew.

Isoldé stood facing the steps. As she watched, a brightness grew on the horizon, it got brighter, dazzling, she screwed up her eyes in an attempt to continue watching. Suddenly it flashed as a pathway rolled out across the sea. She shut her eyes tight. When she opened them again a figure stood on the top step.

The humming stopped. Isoldé and the woodfolk were silent. The figure too was silent, slowly it came down the steps, stood beside them. It was a female figure, not young but not old either, tall, beautiful, golden hair falling down her back almost to her feet. Her robe was silver, like a fall of water and it rippled.

‘A–are you the moon?’ Isoldé asked. It felt a stupid question but she had to know.

The figure turned to Isoldé, a half smile flickering across her face. ‘I am …’

‘I have to bring your song to life …’ Isoldé said. ‘I don’t know how to do it …I know, now, the hare-girl is part of it. She’s the child …have I somehow given birth to her already?’

‘She was born when Tristan began the songs, conceived in the idea of the song. It was too early, she was not fully formed. And then he abandoned her, left her unformed and she cannot shift as the others can, cannot be all in one piece at one time,’ the MoonLady indicated the hare-girl’s paws and ears, ‘or speak, or sing. The seven songs he wrote were the beginning, they seeded her birth but she’s not complete, not whole, she can’t be whole until Tristan has sung her. You must bring him.’

Same old story! Isoldé thought sourly.

The Moon-Lady nodded agreement.

‘And that means crossing the moonpath …and coming back,’ Isoldé said.

‘With Tristan,’ added the Moon-Lady.

‘With Tristan,’ Isoldé agreed. ‘So …how do I do that?’

The Moon-Lady pointed up behind Isoldé. Looking, she saw
the full moon had risen. Turning back she saw it had begun to spread the pathway across the sea. This was very different to the firework display that had heralded the moon goddess’ arrival.

‘I will take you across, with the hare-girl. She will bring you back. You must learn the way before you try to bring Tristan. He will not be so easy.’

Experience so far made Isoldé nod sourly, she could well believe it. Memories of another of Tristan’s songs came to her. ‘Who are you?’ she asked again.

‘I think you already have a name for me,’ the Moon-Lady replied.

‘I was thinking of Tristan’s song, Olwen of the White Track, would that be you?’

The Moon-Lady smiled. ‘The name fits,’ she said, ‘as you will see.’

The moon rose higher behind her now. The silvery pathway shone ahead of her across the sea to the bank of cloud on the horizon. The Moon-Lady, Olwen, stood beside her.

Isoldé knew she had to step out onto that pathway. It came right to the edge of the cliff, touching the top step where she stood. It seemed solid, she could only faintly see the waves through it, but she couldn’t move. Now she wished for Mark, he would have helped her, encouraged her. No good, another part of her mind told her, this you must do on your own.

Beside her Olwen touched her arm. ‘You must learn to do this of your own will,’ she said. ‘It requires work, focus, concentration.’

‘Help me …’ Isoldé whispered. ‘Help me. I want to learn to cross.’

The pathway changed, became more solid, strewn with white flowers. Isoldé bent, picked one up. ‘The white track …’ she muttered. The story, song, told of Olwen, daughter of the giant who was keeper of the world, being courted by the young hero
Culhwch; wherever Olwen walked white flowers grew in her track.

‘That’s right,’ Olwen said. ‘That is one of the stories about me. Take the flower, keep it, use it to help you cross.’

Beside them now was the hare-girl. She hopped out onto the path, following the flower track, stopping every now and then to sniff at the white blossoms. Isoldé put her foot on the path.

An owl swooped over her head, landed in the path before her, slivery white with a hint of gold. The heart-shaped face stared up at her. She stood gazing into its eyes. It began to melt, flowing, transforming, becoming the Moon-Lady who, a moment before, had been standing beside Isoldé on the step. She took Isoldé’s hand. The touch was cool, almost liquid.

‘Like touching feathers,’ Isoldé thought. ‘Softness that makes you unsure if you’re actually touching anything.’ Looking down, she could see her own fingers through Olwen’s almost transparent ones. The hand tugged at her, pulling her onwards. Isoldé resisted.

‘It’s all very well for you,’ she said. ‘You’re transparent, made of the same stuff as the path. I’m solid, human. I’m afraid of falling through.’

Olwen laughed. ‘If that is what you believe, that is what will happen. Is that what you want?’

‘N–no.’

The hand stopped pulling at Isoldé. A sense of warmth began to flow from it into her. ‘Better?’

It did feel better, Isoldé felt some courage inside, she stepped forward again. The moonpath held, felt steady under her. She let her weight go into that foot and lifted the other one, stepped forward again. Somehow, she’d been expecting it to sway, like being in a hammock, but it didn’t. It felt solid, even though she could still see through it to some extent. She was walking, not floating, as she’d half expected. This was as real as being in the everyday world. She gave a tiny snort-chuckle, magic was real, it
was the everyday, it wasn’t just something you read about in stories.

‘Don’t look down, not yet,’ Olwen warned her as she began to look about her, excited by the new experience. ‘Later, when you’re used to it, then you can enjoy looking through it.’

‘It still feels a bit weird,’ Isoldé said. ‘It’s OK for you, you’re sort of made of the same stuff, you can walk it easily.’

Olwen laughed. ‘I don’t need to walk it,’ she said. ‘This is a human path. If I wish to go to the Isle of the Dead my wish alone will take me there. You can’t do that, not yet. Nor can most of your species. You need the moonpath.’

Isoldé hadn’t ever thought of it like that. Her knowledge was still very much of the fairy story variety, believing the faer folk needed devices to carry them across worlds. Olwen’s words gave her to think.

‘You must keep walking,’ Olwen told her. ‘Don’t stop. Don’t doubt. Energy follows thought and what you believe will happen, will happen. Beware of that, be very careful what you believe.’

There was movement in the shadow at the end of the bridge of light. A form progressed along the way, its edges shivered in the moonlight. As it came closer it shifted into a tall woman with long black hair that floated out around her as if in a breeze. It was the same horse-woman, Rhiannon, Isoldé had met at the Lady’s Window. She came to a stop in front of Isoldé, a faint smile playing on her lips.

‘Issssolde!’ The voice whispered to her. ‘Come! You must find your way to the grove. That is where Tristan will be when you come for him.’

‘He’s not there now?’ Isoldé almost paused. It would be too much to see him now.

‘No, he’s not there. You must find your way, know where you are going. Come!’

With a goddess on each side of her, Isoldé continued along the path. The feelings of joy returned. What she was doing was incredible and yet she completely believed it.

Olwen smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re truly realising that we are real, aren’t you?’

Insight struck Isoldé. ‘Tristan always knew it, didn’t he?’

‘And so does Mark,’ Olwen answered her. ‘And now you do too, don’t you?’

‘I do so.’

The path ended. Isoldé found herself on white shingle, she could both feel it and hear it crunch as she stepped on it. They walked up a slight rise and onto a path through a meadow. Tall, daisy-like flowers stood up out of the feathery grasses. There were white-stemmed trees ahead. Everything was monochrome. They passed among the trees, still following the path, and shortly came to the grove. It was the same again as the headstone grove up by the cottage, where the well was. Isoldé stopped at the edge.