Moon Song (26 page)

‘This place is between the worlds, isn’t it?’ she asked her companions. ‘It exists in many places at once. If I knew how, I could get here from there, from the grove by the cottage, couldn’t I?’

‘Yes, you could,’ Olwen replied, her eyebrows going up, a slight smile on her lips.

‘Gideon said she was a quick study,’ Rhiannon added, chuckling. ‘This is where you must call Tristan,’ she went on. ‘You come here, stand here, and call him. He’ll come to you. Then you must bring him back across the bridge and get him to sing the song.’

‘And you must record it,’ Olwen chimed in. ‘It must be part of the Ellyon cycle, with the other songs. They all go together.’

‘I’ve sort of got that,’ Isoldé said, ‘even if I don’t altogether know how it works.’

‘I don’t suppose any human knows that, nor will for a good
while yet,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Tis enough that they do it, let the songs move them, that’s what enchantment is …en-chant-ment, to sing into life. That will work the magic. You don’t need to know everything to do it.’

‘And knowing comes better by doing than it does by booklearning,’ Olwen added. ‘Tis in the body then and not all mussed up with too much thinking in the brain.’

‘But will Tristan come with me?’ Isoldé went back to the reason they were here. She could foresee problems already.

‘He will …if you’re clever.’

‘And quick …’

The two goddesses stood looking at her, a bit old fashioned.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’re right,’ Olwen sighed. ‘He will want you. Likely you’ll want him too. And he’ll want to stay here, keep you here with him.’

‘I don’t want that!’ Isoldé exploded. ‘I want to be with Mark, in the world. It’s not my time to go to the Isles of the Dead.’

‘No, it isn’t. And anyway, the song is no good here. We know what it says, I am what it does,’ Olwen said. ‘It must be in the Middleworld.’

‘So …how do I get Tristan back across the bridge?’

‘With cunning and art,’ Rhiannon told her. ‘Now, you learn to cross the bridge without us. The hare-girl will help you. You have the art to lure Tristan across the bridge and do all the necessary to record the song, with Mark’s help.’

‘OK …’ Isoldé sighed.

‘Gideon is much in your world, he will help you too. And look out for help in unexpected places, Isoldé. Always be aware, notice everything, for everything speaks to you, you need to learn to listen, to hear. And to ask. You’re quite good for a human. You do notice and you do learn. But you don’t ask enough. Be aware. Every blade of grass speaks to you, child, but you won’t hear if you’re too busy in your own head to notice.’

At first, Isoldé almost began to bridle at what appeared to be a telling-off, then she stopped, thought about it. It was true. Most people didn’t even believe anything not human could communicate with them, didn’t even believe non-human creatures did much communicating between themselves, while as for plants and rocks, they were inanimate non-communicating “things” to most people. Uncle Brian had never allowed her to get that bad but she had to admit she could get well wrapped up in herself and forget that other things might have a want or a say.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said to the two goddesses. ‘You’re right, I do need to be more aware.’ She smiled wryly. ‘We’re an arrogant species,’ she said. ‘I’m surprised you put up with us.’

‘Humans have their part to play and will be able to do that once they realise they are a part of everything and not the boss of everything.’ Rhiannon smiled back to her.

‘We had great hopes of the Gaia Principle,’ Olwen said. ‘And it has made a difference. But modern people know little about how the Sixties were, how people thought then. They think everyone was off their heads on drugs and know nothing about the real experiences many had. And nowadays there is so much dependence on muddled, cheap science that the real stuff rarely gets heard.’

‘Head-stuff!’ Isoldé snorted. ‘Know what you mean. I wasn’t there but my uncle and aunt who brought me up are from the Sixties. They know about you, about Gaia.’

‘It shows in you,’ Olwen told her. ‘It’s why we can work with you.’

‘Now …you must take yourself home,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Come, hare-child. You have a job to do.’

The little woodfolk girl came to Rhiannon’s skirts and stroked them with a paw, looking up into the goddess’ face. Rhiannon crouched down so her eyes were on a level with the hare-girl.

‘Take her home,’ she said, caressing the silky ears. ‘Take Isoldé home. Let her lead when she can but make sure she gets
back safely and knows her way.’

‘Now …home!’ Rhiannon lifted her arms, the sleeves of her dark dress came out like wings. A wind started up in the glade and the silver-stemmed trees all bent together towards Isoldé. She felt herself almost lifted off her feet. The hare-girl clutched at her, Isoldé held her hand. The wind came stronger, blowing them out of the grove and onto the path to the sea.

Together, she and the hare-girl ran hand in hand down the path through the meadow. The grasses immediately to either side were bending and tossing in the wind but Isoldé could see that just a foot or so further out the grasses were still. This wind was intent on herself and the hare-girl only.

They scurried down the path, suddenly the pebbles crunched under their feet, they’d made it to the beach. The wind let up a little, blowing Isoldé’s hair and the child’s fur but no longer trying to sweep them off their feet. There, just across the shingle, was the beginning of the moonpath.

Isoldé looked up. The moon was still high but it was on its downward arc now, going to set. They must cross the bridge before it did …or there would be no bridge. She took a firm grip on the little paw and hurried across the beach to the end of the moonpath.

The path stood just above the shingle, not actually touching it. Now they were here something gripped Isoldé’s stomach, it was difficult to take that first step onto the bridge.

‘Must!’ the hare-girl told her, pulling at her hand. ‘Must! Come! Quick!’

Isoldé shut her eyes and jumped onto the bridge. This time it wobbled slightly.

‘Eyes open!’ the hare girl told her. ‘Must look. Watch. See. No see, no real.’

‘Ye gods!’ Isoldé muttered. ‘Does the damn thing depend on me seeing it?’

No time to bother about that, she followed the hare-girl who
was pulling her along the path so fast she was running. They seemed to run forever, time spinning out, almost feeling like slow-motion, there was only running, only this loping rhythm pulsing out on two main notes, other notes harmonising in like cords. She was running a tune, she realised. A tune that spun out of the strands of the bridge.

‘I must remember! I must remember!’ she told herself.

She was concentrating so hard she never saw they had arrived at the end of the bridge. She went tumbling down the steps to land in a heap, clutching the hare-girl to her.

The plane landed and Mark was through baggage and out into the main concourse in record time. There was Isoldé, his heart lifted at the sight of her.

Isoldé had got there early, stopped for coffee once she’d found the plane was on time. Now, here he was. It was a weird feeling, part of her lit up at the sight of him. Another part hung heavy, wondering how much to tell him of the crazy adventures she’d had over the past couple of weeks.

He was here, arms outstretched. She went straight into them, hugging him and bursting into tears.

‘Hey …hey …what’s up?’ Mark held her close then gently pulled half away so he could see into her face. ‘It’s me, OK? What’s up, sweetheart?’

Isoldé gulped and swallowed, her sobs slowing down. Mark steered them both towards the coffee, sat her down and got two large Lattes. By the time he came back with them the crying had stopped and she was mopping her face. He gave her the coffee and sat close, his hand lightly holding hers, not asking for any explanations yet.

Isoldé pushed the second soggy tissue into her jacket pocket and took hold of the coffee, sat sipping at it. Gradually her colour came back to normal, she was able to look at him even if her mouth quivered a bit. ‘Not sure what came over me,’ she said, very quietly. ‘I missed you …’

‘I missed you too …but I think it’s more than that, isn’t it? You want to talk about it here?’

She shook her head. How did you begin to talk about all that stuff, especially the Tristan stuff, in a crowded café?

‘Shall I drive?’ Mark asked.

‘Please …’ Isoldé squeezed his fingers.

They headed out, got into the truck and Mark took the Dartmoor road. Isoldé gasped but didn’t say anything.

‘Not this way?’ Mark went round the roundabout twice so she could change her mind.

‘No …no …it’s OK. Let’s go the way you want.’

Mark frowned, took the Moretonhampstead exit and continued driving, not talking.

‘Tristan had recorded the first seven songs,’ she told him. ‘I found the CD – well, Embar pointed me at it really, hidden in a cupboard up at the cottage. Well, not hidden exactly but put away.’ She plugged her iPod into the radio, it began the Ellyon cycle.

Mark caught his breath, this felt big.

‘I’ve got all the songs sorted,’ Isoldé went on. ‘The manuscripts, notes, all the heaps of stuff at the cottage,’ she said after a moment. ‘It’s all there. But there’s no notes, not even a bar of music for the Moon Song.’

Mark grunted. He wasn’t altogether surprised but it was frustrating.

‘Why not?’ he began. ‘Why are there no notes? Especially since he’d recorded all the rest. And left the CD for you to find. Didn’t he see anything, no visions? He always saw things, talked with the woodfolk, visited the kieve, spent ages at the cottage. He did all that all the way through the making of the cycle. Why isn’t there anything on the last song, the Moon Song?’

‘I don’t know …’ Isoldé began to answer him, then she thought about how Tristan was, not just the time they had made love but the time she’d found him on the edge of the lawn. He’d been doolally, not with it, no help nor use. And she recalled what Gideon had said about Tristan going too soon and how this had affected him.

‘Mark,’ she began. ‘You know Tristan went too early, shouldn’t have walked the moonpath then, he should have stayed and finished the song. I’ve been talking with Gideon, he thinks, says, that going too early did something to him, to Tristan. Sort of scrambled his brains. What if that was going on
before he went? Would he have been able to have his visions, talk to the woodfolk? I don’t know. It feels like he separated himself from them, from his source, before he went. Else how could he have crossed the moonpath?’

‘Hmm! Never thought of that …’ he carried on driving for a bit, they were heading onto the moor now. ‘So …suicide’s not an option?’

‘Gideon didn’t say that,’ Isoldé replied. ‘It seems to depend on how knowing you are. If you’re just a beginner it’s not so important but if you know things, like Tristan, then it can be. Tristan knew about asking but, when it came to deciding about his death he didn’t, he just went on and did it without consulting anyone. Gideon said that for Tristan it was more like …I don’t know …like glory, like knowing you’d got it right, or thinking you had, and that was right out of kilter.’

‘That would make sense. Like I said, Tristan always had his visions and would chat with the Woodfolk all the time, ask them about his work, about what was going on, what was needed. If he took his own decision, without talking to them, about his own death then he went against his own principles. He didn’t ask them. I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘But he was in terrible pain, wasn’t he?’ Isoldé put in.

‘Yes, but that doesn’t matter,’ Mark replied. ‘Well it does but it doesn’t make it OK for him not to ask. In fact, he should have asked. He could have taken the whole thing to them, told them how he felt, how the pain was taking his music away or whatever …and I think that’s what he felt was happening. If he’d taken it to them they could have helped him.’

‘But couldn’t they see? Wouldn’t they know anyway?’

‘Of course they can see but there comes a time on the path when you have to take responsibility for how you are and for what help you get. You have to ask for help before they can give it. When you’re a baby, just starting out on the path, Otherworld looks after you. When you get to being a shaman, as Tristan was,
then it’s up to you when you get help and you have to ask for it. Tristan didn’t ask. He thought he knew best and just went his own way.’

‘Shi-it!’ Isoldé had a wry smile on her face. ‘I didn’t know how much you knew about all this stuff. That’s like my Uncle Brian would say.’

‘I didn’t live with Tristan all those years and some of it not rub off.’ Mark was chuckling. ‘I’m not anything like as good as he was and I don’t use it all the time like he did but I do know that much, that you have to ask.’

‘And Tristan didn’t ask …’ Isoldé paused. ‘I see …that makes sense …he took it all on himself, no sharing, no asking as he always had. So he goes over the moonpath in a state, like a personal state …maybe he gets stuck in that state.’ Isoldé stopped, frowning. ‘And that sounds like a sort of soul-loss …’

‘Which would call for a soul-retrieval …’ Mark said.

Standing on the cliff-edge beside the steps, Isoldé found herself looking down the dark midnight-blue tunnel again. This time she was alone, no woodfolk, no Olwen, no Rhiannon, no Mark, even though he’d tried to insist on coming. She’d let him drive her out here, they’d left the car by Forrabury Church and he’d walked her out across the Stitches to the Lady’s Window, then she’d made him stay there at the bottom of the steps to wait for her.

‘But I want to come with you,’ he’d insisted.

‘But I don’t want you to,’ she had replied. ‘You’ve never done it. I’ll have enough trouble with Tristan without you having problems with the moonpath or something. Please, Mark, don’t be a nuisance. This is hard enough without you being difficult too.’

It had almost come to a row. He was afraid for her and he wanted to be there, to help her with Tristan. She was afraid that if he was there, with her, but not able to cope, she’d lose the plot. And she was also wondering just what each of them would do when Tristan and Mark actually met again. After all that had happened there was a certain frisson there, an odd feeling. She’d never before been one to fancy more than one man at a time. Now she knew that there was a part of her that wanted both of them, both Mark and Tristan. Eventually Mark had given in, kissed her, sat down on the bottom step and let her go.