Winter Wood (47 page)

‘Aye! And there've been more than one who've come to know the vengeance of Maven-the-Green!' The stooping figure straightened up and swept back her hair to reveal her pale and perfect face once more. ‘But . . . I am not Maven, nor ever was. And I shall need this no more.' She tossed the blowpipe away from her. It fell into the stream, tumbling through the stony shallows to be swept from sight. ‘I am Una, daughter of Avlon, and rightful Queen of the Ickri. Come. Maglin . . . Tadgemole . . . all. Gather yourselves and listen. Draw closer and hear me out.'

Again she seemed able to exert the power of her will on those before her. The startled crowd, half fearful, half fascinated, recovered some of their dignity and cautiously inched forward. Maglin moved around the rock to stand next to Tadgemole once more, the two of them exchanging a dubious glance, and a shake of their heads.

‘Hear my words, and you shall know the truth.' The white-robed figure raised one slim hand, palm outwards, and waited for silence before she began. ‘I was a child – no older than this Gorji child here among us – when Maven died. I was there and saw it happen. Such dark and treacherous times. Corben poisoned his own brother, my father, Avlon, and persuaded all that it was I who had done this thing. He and the Ickri Elders sent archers by moonlight to find me and kill me. The archers did find me – or they reckoned to have done – and fired into the darkness. Aye, and when they heard the cry of pain they knew they had
hit their mark. But it was Maven who took the arrow that was meant for me, and it was she who died. She fell into a deep pool, and when they later touched her drowned hand they believed it to be mine—'

‘What pool?' Maglin interrupted. ‘There be no such pools here.'

‘It happened in the Far Woods, Maglin, whilst we were still journeying to this place. I could take you there now if you wished, and show you the spot. I'm unlikely to forget it.'

‘Hmf. Any of us may tell a tale . . .'

‘Then let me tell mine.'

Maglin muttered something to himself, but made no further argument.

‘So I was alone, a child with nowhere to go and one who would be hunted down if any knew that I lived. I dared not be seen, yet I could not leave. Nor would I, whilst both my friend and my father lay dead and unavenged. It was then that I took the green mantle of Maven upon myself, and became she.'

‘You dressed in her clothes – as a child? And all around believed you were an old crone?' This time it was Tadgemole who spoke, and he too sounded disbelieving.

‘It was not so hard, Tadgemole. Maven-the-Green lived alone and was little seen. She was a wise and true spirit of the woods, one who had knowledge of all things, but she was not loved. There were many who feared her witchi ways, and so kept far away from her if they could. Yet my father Avlon took counsel from her, against the counsel of others, and she became a
friend to me. She saw that I was like she, one who had the Touch, and she took me into her secrets. From her I learned the calls and cries of beast and bird – aye, and could imitate all. From her also I learned the use of every plant, for good or ill. And from her I learned the history of the Stone, its power and its purpose. Our journey from the north was long. By the time we came to these wetlands I knew all that Maven knew, and when I mantled myself in her rags I was mantled in her spirit also. Her voice stayed in my ear and came easily to my tongue. My wings beneath her robe were very like her own humped back. And when my skin was daubed in green clay, then none saw past it. I was she. Who else would they think me, those that fled at the sight of me and the very sound of my name?'

The pale figure paused and looked closely at Maglin.

‘I see into your heart, Steward. And I know that you at least begin to believe me. But what of you, Tadgemole, and all others here? Does my tale not have the strangeness of truth to it?'

Tadgemole thought for a moment, and then cleared his throat. ‘When the Ickri first came to these woods,' he said, ‘I was but new-born. If your tale is true, then you are even older than I. And yet you appear but a little more seasoned than my own daughter. How can this be?'

‘You were new-born, Tadgemole. I remember you, aye, and your brother Loren. And you, Gorji child . . . I met with your kin, Celandine. It was I who helped her to escape the wrath of Corben. I am as old as she. What say you – do I speak the truth?'

Midge was in a complete daze, and the question took her by surprise.

‘Um . . . yes. I suppose so.' She answered without really thinking and her words sounded hopelessly weak. But what else could she say? She had seen Maven just once, down in the gully on the other side of the brambles, standing like a statue at the water's edge. They had looked at one another. But there was no similarity between that weird and fantastic old creature and the beautiful person she was looking at now. Could they really be one and the same?

‘We saw each other once before, you and I.' The Ickri woman spoke again, and Midge had the curious feeling that those dark eyes were able to read her thoughts as clearly as if they had been written across the sky. ‘'Twas beyond the tunnel. You picked a flower, and showed it to me. Do you remember what it was?'

‘Yes . . .' Midge whispered. ‘A celandine.'

A celandine. She'd forgotten.

The eyes turned away from her.

‘I have lived here among you for all of your lives, and for most of mine. And if I look younger than I am, then I say this: there are many ways of holding the seasons at bay. Some work from without and some from within. The green clays and potions that daubed me have had effect other than disguise. No sun or wind or rain has touched my skin since I was a child. From within also I am protected, by the arts that I learned from Maven. She was far older than any could tell, or would ever believe. As old as the trees, they said, and they spoke truer than they knew, for it was
from the very trees that she took her sustenance – leaf and sap and root. From her I gained my knowledge and preserved myself against this day, which I believed would surely come. Speak, Maglin. Ask me now why I waited so long. Is that not the question in your heart?'

‘Aye,' said Maglin. ‘It is. For once Corben were gone, where was the danger? Why did thee not show theeself?'

‘When Corben died his daughter Ba-betts was made Queen. I might have returned then, as Una, to try and claim my right. But I was still reckoned to be evil – one who had poisoned her own father to gain the queenship. What would have awaited me? Death. None that lived then would have given me claim over Ba-betts. No, it was better that I remained as Maven, to sow the truth of what had happened, seed by seed. But I also had a greater purpose – to see the Orbis returned, and to find a rightful end to our journey. Better I work alone to bring that day about, to protect those who deserved protection, and to avenge myself on those who deserved no mercy. And there were other reasons . . . but these must wait a little longer. Come, Maglin, raise the Orbis. Show what has come to your hand this day.'

Maglin fumbled in his cloak for the Orbis, and lifted it in his right hand.

‘And you, Tadgemole. Raise the Stone, and let all see what you have gained.'

Tadgemole followed Maglin's example, straightening his right arm so that the Stone was held high. The two of them had obeyed as though under a spell.

‘Maglin. Who am I?' The husky voice fell almost to a whisper. ‘Tell me what you know in your heart.'

‘Una.' Maglin answered without hesitation now. ‘I believe you be Una, the lost child of Avlon, and rightful Queen of the Ickri.' He bowed his head.

‘Then you are with me. And Tadgemole. What say you? Who am I?'

‘I also believe you to be who you say you are – Una, daughter of Avlon.' Tadgemole sounded as convinced as Maglin, but perhaps less overawed. At any rate he kept his head up, and added, ‘Though as to who should be Queen, King, or Steward of the Ickri, I can't say. Never having had much opinion of any of 'em till now.'

‘Ha. A plain answer. Perhaps you will have a better opinion of me than of those that came before.' Una raised her voice to the gathering. ‘And so I ask all here now: are there any who still doubt my story? I have lived among you as Maven-the-Green, but truly I am Una, child of Avlon. I, who was once wronged, have returned to claim my right. Do you say that right should be mine?'

‘Aye!'

‘Aye – she speaks the truth!'

‘Make her Queen!'

The crowd were obviously won over, and all lifted their bows, spears, caps or children – whatever they carried – and shouted out their approval. Midge found herself wanting to join in, but wasn't sure how that would be received. Had she earned the right to be anything but a bystander? She began to raise her
own hand in support just as Una raised hers for quiet.

‘So be it, then. And so it shall be. But . . . there are more important questions to be answered yet.' Una lowered her arms and turned to Tadgemole. ‘Would you, Tadgemole, see the Stone and Orbis united and in the hand of one who understands their purpose?'

‘I would.'

‘Then understand this. The Touchstone is yours. It has come to you as was promised, and none shall try to take it from you. But if you will give it over to me freely, then freedom shall be yours in its stead, and I will show you its true power. What do you say? Can you agree to that?'

‘Aye, agreed.'

‘And you, Maglin. The Orbis has come to you, as was promised, and is yours to keep if you so wish. But if instead you give it freely to me, then I can show you what you would
truly
wish for. Do you agree likewise to that?'

‘Aye. And glad to give it.'

‘Come, then, both of you.'

Una stood at the edge of the rock platform. She stretched out her white hands and waited as Maglin and Tadgemole placed the Orbis and Stone one in each palm. Then she raised the two objects high.

‘At last we are brought together . . . tribe and tribe . . . hand and hand . . . Stone and Orbis. Without that Maglin and Tadgemole reach agreement, this could never be so. They have made their peace, and it was a peace that needs be made of its own accord. This is why I have waited. I am Ickri, and could never hope to
hold Stone and Orbis together whilst other tribes laid claim to either and were so divided. We are divided no more, and at last we may travel on. To Tadgemole and Maglin, then, we must give our thanks. To the Gorji maid also, we give our thanks and praise. Without her courage and her wits we would be lost yet, and I would say more to her on this. But there is one other, to whom I give the most thanks of all. One who watches over me, and aids me in all that I do. One who was sent to me from Elysse itself, and who carries me upon his shoulder as the spirit of one who carried me long ago. Pegs . . . come . . . speak to us.'

The sun had sunk lower yet among the trees, and as Pegs stepped forward he was silhouetted against the light, his mane and tail glowing orange in the late afternoon rays.

All that Una has said is true . . . and now at last the day that we have waited for so long is here.

As the word-colours filled her head, Midge had to take a deep breath. She could never ever get used to this sensation. For all that she tried to tell herself that these were just people, like anyone else, whenever she looked upon Pegs she knew that it wasn't so. Pegs was beyond this earth, and beyond anything else that she had ever seen. He was magical.

When I was first born, to Spindra's herd, I knew that I had walked this world before, but could not say how or when. I knew that I was here to a purpose, but could not tell what that purpose might be.

And when first I saw Una, though she was guised as a crone, I believed that we had met before but could not say where.

The bells on the red leather bridle gave a little jingle as Pegs shook out his mane.

But then when I learned the story of the Touchstone I knew that this too I had heard and seen before. Then I understood my own being and the task that I had been sent to complete.

I am as you see me, a traveller and messenger of Elysse. I am not Avlon, but in me the spirit of Avlon lives again. I must finish the journey that he began, and help his child to bring his people home. In this I have guided Una, but it is she who must bear the Touchstone. And it is she who will lead us from here. Listen to her, then, and do her bidding.

As Pegs stepped back, Midge had to lower her head for a few moments. She wanted to listen, wanted to hear, but the colour-sounds of Pegs' words got jumbled up with her vision and it was hard to focus. And it was too much . . . too much to know . . . too much to try and understand. She blinked and squinted up into the low sunlight as Una spoke once more.

‘We are not of this place. Yet we have been here so
long that many have forgotten from whence we came, and what we once were. We were travellers, the great travelling tribes of Elysse, and such were our powers that we could move among the spheres and in and out of our many lives, each life and sphere but a hair's-breadth from the next. For guides we carried Touchstones, the stones of memory, mined and fashioned from the red jasper that seeks always to return from whence it came – Elysse. From there we journeyed, the homelands of our kind, and came to Lys-Gorji, this vale of giants. And here we thought to stay a while before moving on. But then the Touchstone was divided in argument between the Ickri and Naiad, and the tribes parted. The Naiad remained here on the Gorji wetlands and divided into further tribes – cave-dwellers and fishers. It was the cave-dwellers who kept the Orbis, and the memory of our history. The Ickri travelled into the northlands, with the Stone, and longseasons passed. Kings and Elders came and went, and the story of the Touchstone was near forgotten. It was my father, Avlon, who learned what he could of it, and thought to join it with the Orbis once more – if the Orbis could still be found. Avlon brought our tribe south again, and the Stone with him, though it was I as a child who carried it. Now I hold it in my hand again, this same Stone. And in the other I hold the Orbis. Tonight the two shall be joined. Tonight . . .'