Tales From The Wyrd Museum 2: The Raven's Knot (23 page)

Taking hold of the policeman's hand, Aidan shook it desperately then whisked around the sped over the cinders to plunge into the trees beyond.

‘The destiny of the Fates themselves is in your keeping now,’ the chief inspector whispered hoarsely. ‘From the darkness which awaits us—I pray we will all be spared.’

Reaching Wellhouse Lane, where the outlets for the two springs came washing down the tarmac to gurgle into the grids, Miss Veronica rested upon her walking cane and drew a hand over her eyes, smudging the lashes painted upon her lids. 'Oh, dear,’ she panted. ‘What a long road that was. Celandine could have danced its entire length—I wish I had her stamina. It's so very tiring being away from the museum, so very, very tiring.’

At the old woman's side, Edie Dorkins was watching the rust-coloured water of the red spring mingle with the clear of the white.

Laughing, she jumped from the pavement and capered to the centre of the sloping lane where she kicked and splashed in the shallow channel, stomping to the other side where she spun around upon the tips of her toes.

‘This the way up the hill?’ she asked, pointing to the track which lay behind her.

Miss Veronica peered at the tree-lined path and carefully picked her way through the swashing spring water, drenching the dirty white satin of her gold embroidered slippers.

‘It does appear to be the only route,’ she agreed. ‘Edith dear, hold my hand—I do believe I'm trembling with nerves.’

The girl took the shrivelled, shaking hand and wondered how long it would take the old woman's feeble legs to stagger up the Tor. Together, they walked across a cattle grid and stepped upon the narrow path.

Hemmed in upon both sides by tangled briar and tall hawthorn trees, twilight had come early to the trackway. Through this shadowy murk, Edie and Miss Veronica doggedly plodded as the path curved around and upwards, but already the strain of even this simple climb was beginning to take its toll upon Miss Veronica.

Presently the bordering trees and hedges came to an abrupt stop at a metal gateway and the inspiring spectacle of the Tor was unveiled before them.

At once Edie ran to the railed barrier and poked her head through the bars. From here on the ground rose more sharply than before and she could hear the breath wheezing in Miss Veronica's throat.

Ignoring the imposing view for the moment, she studied the old woman and pouted truculently.

With one hand upon her cane and the other pressed against her breast, the youngest of the Websters looked as though she might collapse. Under her overcoat, her frail form was shivering with exhaustion and her haggard face was pinched with crippling fatigue.

‘You park yourself down for a bit,’ Edie told her, patting one of the two upright stones which formed an unconventional, graveyard-like stile at one end of the gate. ‘There ain't no way you can get up there without a breather.’

Miss Veronica shook her head and gazed at the child with a curious gleam in her milky eyes.

‘No,’ she said, gasping for breath. ‘There can be no delay. Soon the sun will be setting.’

‘But you won't make it!’ Edie sternly told her, folding her arms and jutting out her chin.

A secretive smile flickered over Miss Veronica's white-powdered face. ‘Oh, Edith,’ she uttered with amusement, ‘did you really think I could ever allow my Captain to see me as I am now—a hunch-backed, decrepit old hag? No, my dear, I am not as mad as all that. I know that it is Verdandi he wishes to meet, not this raddled, liver-spotted, painted cadaver.’

The child didn't understand what the old woman meant, but Miss Veronica leaned against the gate and, taking the walking cane in both bony hands, lifted the pearl handle to her crabbed, vermilion-smeared lips.

‘Awaken,’ she crooned softly. ‘Verdandi summons you—oh, rod of life and doom. Though you are far from the seat of your power, listen to my command and do my bidding.’

Holding it out in front of her she waited. Then, as Edie watched, faint filaments of glimmering light began to rise within the woodgrain just as it had done in the Websters’ poky apartment in the museum.

Up around the stick the light spiralled, until it pulsed and sparked with a livid glow that dispelled the gathering shadows and poured a verdant brilliance upon the old woman's infirm figure.

‘Hear me now,’ Miss Veronica's cracked voice ordered, ‘you who was made from sacred timber torn from the mighty Ash. With your aid I did tally and measure the span of all who dwelt outside the circling mists and know too well the extent of your strength. Grant this then, bestow upon Verdandi one final service. Count back through the score of my years—give me back a day. Let me be as He remembers, for a little while.’

The cane crackled in her hands and the glare blazed upon her withered features as she closed her bag-ringed eyes. Above her, the knotted branches of the hawthorns flashed in and out of the settling dark and the wondrous radiance flooded over the pathway bejewelling the stones and dappling the weeds with a lustrous splendour.

Bathed in the dazzling beams, Miss Veronica bowed her head. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

Edie held her breath in anticipation as the flickering rays danced in her wide eyes, but Miss Veronica was now ready to continue.

Squeezing her brittle bones through the gate, she set foot upon the open, grassy slopes of the Tor. The magical light began to waver and dwindle, until only occasional flecks of cold green flame lapped about her walking cane.

‘Hurry child,’ she said anxiously. ‘See how the night gathers in the distance—I must not be late.’

Edie scampered after her.

The late afternoon sky had darkened and the summit of the great hill was already shrouded in shade as they started to climb, yet from the moment she caught up with Miss Veronica, Edie was aware that something remarkable was taking place.

Wherever the old woman's slippered feet trod, the scrubby, winter grass writhed and flourished, becoming rich and luxuriant, and the lush footmarks shone as though basking in the light of a bright summer morning.

Wheeling about to gawp at this glorious, shimmering trail, Edie squealed in delight, for the thick grass was spreading to form a wide, sunlit path that stretched ever outward, flowing in all directions until it reached the railed gateway and the hedges beyond.

Suddenly, the naked trees burst into bud and the new leaves gleamed in the unnatural sunshine, even though the sky above was just as dark as before.

Gambolling across the sweet-smelling grass, Edie gulped great lungfuls of the now warm, deliciously perfumed air.

‘Don't dawdle,’ Miss Veronica called to her. ‘Stay by me or time will rumble over you and you will be lost.’

Feeling the invisible sun of a fair June day that had ended long ago upon her upturned face, Edie stared at her companion amazed.

With every step she took, the old woman was changing. Her strides were becoming increasingly vigorous and even as Edie watched, her bent spine clicked and groaned until it was straight and strong.

Like melting ice, the ages were dissolving from Miss Veronica. The chalky powder crumbled from her face and the crudely daubed lipstick faded as her mottled, scraggy flesh was drawn tightly over her cheekbones.

Beneath the fine eyebrows, which only a moment ago had been charcoal arcs drawn too high upon her forehead, Miss Veronica's eyes sparkled a beautiful cornflower blue and her long, jet black hair flowed behind her lithe figure like a river of shadow.

Gone was the weary, shambling crone who had wasted with the innumerable centuries and in her place walked a lovely, statuesque woman in the first flush of youth.

Halting for an instant, she removed her drab, cumbersome overcoat and cast it upon the ground, as the dirty silk robe which Miss Veronica always wore now rippled and shone like a searing white flame.

As a goddess she appeared, so pure and enchanting was her beauty. Her countenance was one which mortals would worship and die for—gladly perishing for the least token that she had noticed them.

Verdandi, of the royal house of Askar, was the fairest creature ever to have blessed the earth with her presence and, no longer in need of a prop to support her, she carried the walking cane lightly, whilst extending her other elegant hand towards the dumbfounded child nearby.

‘Do not fear, Edith,’ her fluting voice said. ‘Verdandi is returned as she was in the spring of her days, before the frost of age blighted her. Behold, it is a day filled with hope and wonder.’

As she spoke, Verdandi raised the rod and the lowering sky peeled away. From the remote horizon, across the glowing landscape, the gathering shades of evening were torn aside and scattered to uncover a brilliant canopy of sapphire blue.

A perfect summer day unfurled about them and, without uttering another word, the lovely young woman clasped Edie's hand and marched up the Tor.

Edie cast her eyes around them. The town of Glastonbury had completely vanished. Not a house, not a road, not a lamp post, not even a garden remained and only a vast stretch of uninhabited marshland extended towards the encompassing hills.

In shedding the years from Miss Veronica, the measuring rod of the Nornir had taken them both back to a time in her youth and Edie's face was split by a huge, exhilarated grin.

Higher they ascended, the terraces which banded the Tor much more prominent in this ancient age, and Edie noted that even the solitary tower had disappeared. Yet the crest of the Tor was not deserted, for a single, tall figure was standing up there waiting for them.

‘Do you see?’ Verdandi exclaimed, catching her breath. ‘He is there—my Captain.’

Silhouetted against the brilliant, azure sky, a great sable cloak billowing about his shoulders, was the outline of a man and, circling above his helm-crowned head, flew a large black raven.

Verdandi's pace quickened as they approached and Edie studied the Captain with great interest.

Drawing closer, she could see that he was dressed for battle. Beneath the black cloak he wore a corselet of burnished mail which winked and scintillated in the sunlight when he raised his hand in greeting.

Within a gem encrusted scabbard, a long sword hung at his side and upon his feet were great spurred boots, but Edie could see no sign of a horse anywhere.

He, like Verdandi, was young. Long flaxen hair curled past his shoulders and a forked beard covered his chin, whilst in the shade of his silver helm, a pair of dark eyes glittered. It was a proud, rugged face in which the lust for victory in combat could easily be read.

Yet there was also an air of unease about him which Edie could not understand, he seemed restless and uncomfortable. After everything Miss Veronica and the others had said about him, the child had expected someone bold and heroic who would throw back his head with a fierce, terrible laugh or hurl his sword into the air in greeting, then catch it again in his teeth. To her surprise, Edie found that the Gallows God was something of a disappointment.

*

‘Woden!’ Verdandi cried, releasing Edie's hand to run the remaining short distance and throw her slender arms about him.

Edie pulled a wry, disgusted face whilst the couple embraced, then looked up at the familiar black bird lazily flapping its sleek wings, remembering that she had some nips and scratches to repay.

‘Too many years have divided us!’ Verdandi said, resting her head upon the Captain's armoured chest. ‘Why did you not return sooner?’

The man looked down upon the dark tresses of her hair which streamed like fine smoke in the breeze, but he appeared troubled and did not reach out to hold her.

Even through his armour, Verdandi could feel him tense and she drew away in confusion.

‘What is wrong?’ she murmured, glancing at her hands to ensure they were still young and beautiful.

‘I... I can't,’ Woden stammered.

At once the raven fluttered down to land upon his cloaked shoulder and bowed his head to the striking woman.

‘Hail, Princess,’ he rasped. ‘My Master knew thou wouldst not break thy vow. Behold, my Lord, is she not as fair as ever?’

The Captain could only stare at her with a dazed expression upon his noble face and Verdandi's fine brows twitched with uncertainty.

‘Do you still blame me for Urdr's actions?’ she entreated. ‘When Thought came to me, I was led to believe...’

‘Verily!’ the raven interrupted with a coarse squawk. ‘Thou must forgive my Master's tangled tongue, Princess. He is smitten by thy loveliness. That is all.’

‘Is this true, Woden?’ she asked. ‘Have you remembered at last the promises we made upon this very hill?’

The man opened his mouth to answer and Thought shook his wings, scraping his feathers across the Captain's neck, as a gentle but intimidating reminder.

‘I could never forget them,’ Woden uttered.

‘How I have cursed Urdr for making me ride with her to Nirinel,’ she said, her voice racked with regret. ‘I would have stayed by your side in the battle, you know that. We ought to have died together upon that field of slaughter, yet even that was denied me. If you had not listened to my sister, we could have both found peace long ago.’