The Giants’ Dance. Robert Goldthwaite Carter
how to use such magic, but curiosity is a powerful urge in some of the Sisters of the Wise. This time it has saved her life, though we shall soon see if it was worth the saving.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The spell was ill-wrought. It has touched her mind with madness. That is, I hope, the only reason she tried to fall upon me as she did.’
Will examined the blade critically. ‘I didn’t know it was the practice of Sisters to go abroad with their athamen upon them.’
‘Ordinarily, they do not. Take care to keep that one from her, Will. I recognize it for what it is, and I believe that unless you keep it away from her she will try to kill herself with it when she wakes.’
Gwydion slowly unwound the strands of magic that had afflicted the woman. Will marvelled at the wizard’s calm composure as he laid her down inside the circle and danced the harm from her. He laid charms upon her head, made signs above her body with his staff, and finally he drew a glistening adder from her mouth. He laid it down to vanish into the night.
Afterwards Will found himself drawn to watch the simmering lights. The corner of his lip tingled, and a lump had started to come up where the witch’s flailing fist had marked him.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.
‘Do?’ Gwydion stirred. ‘Perhaps you should decide what’s best.’
‘You’re the wizard.’
‘But it was you who summoned me.’
‘Yes, well I thought you ought to know about…that. It seemed to me to be Maskull’s doing.’
‘You are right. It is.’
Will was about to ask the wizard how he could be so sure, but then he remembered how seldom Gwydion was wholly open with the truth, and how closely he shepherded his wisdom. Of course a wizard needed to, for he was a guardian and therefore must be adept at manipulation. It was the entire purpose of the Ogdoad to steer fate in order to keep the world going along on the true path, and so many times during the long history of the Realm members of the wizardly council had intervened at crucial moments. Gwydion knew about cause and effect and the motivation of folk, and he had lived for such a time that long consequences were plain to his eyes. Will understood very well that there were some things Gwydion could afford to divulge and others that he must certainly not, but it did not hurt any the less to think that certain of the wizard’s secrets probably concerned his own origins.
He felt discomfort run through him while the Wise Woman twitched and muttered in dream at their backs and all three waited for the dawn to come. At last, the east grew grey with filtered light.
‘She’ll be worried,’ he said, meaning Willow. ‘I’ll bet she hasn’t slept a wink.’
Gwydion stared at him for a moment and then broke off the look. ‘Why not wait until the sun is truly up?’ he said. ‘You will find it easier to decide by the full light of day. The spell that cloaks the Vale is of necessity a powerful one. It is unlikely that even you would succeed in finding your way home in this half light.’
‘Decide? About what?’
‘About what you should do.’
Will sighed. He had heard Gwydion speak this way before, and he wondered where it was leading.
In the grey of that cold hour before sunrise the dew was penetrating. Thin mists rolled in the valleys that clefted the Tops, and as the stars went out one by one, he went over to the elder tree. He would not approach it too closely for fear that it might swallow him up again. Instead, he kicked his toes at the edge of the hole from which the battlestone had been taken. It was like the gap from which a rotten tooth had been pulled, but the pain and the stench had almost been washed from the ground.
‘Gwydion, where’s the stump gone?’
‘Stump?’
‘The big piece of battlestone that was left.’
‘I took it away.’
He inclined his head, surprised. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘I wanted to give it to my friend Cormac.’
‘It’s a strange gift for a friend.’
‘Strange, perhaps, but useful certainly. Cormac is Lord of the Clan MacCarthach. He is a lord of the Blessed Isle, and a great builder of castles. Once drained, the battlestones are changed from deadly to mildly benign. Once the harm is gone there remains a small residue of kindness that works much as a charm does. I believe the stone will sit well once it is mortared into the ramparts of Cormac’s castle of An Blarna.’
‘What power will it confer, there? Invulnerability?’
‘Ha! Not that. Cormac will have to look to his own security as ever he did. But now he will be able to defend himself with the gift of diplomacy, for it seems that this particular stump gives those who touch it a fine way with words.’
‘Then you yourself must have slept seven nights upon it, I’d say.’
Gwydion laughed. ‘Did I never tell you that mockery is a very childish skill? I will have you know that many is the night since last we met when I have wished myself upon a bed that was as soft as a castle parapet.’
‘I’m wishing myself abed at this very moment.’ Will stretched again and yawned. ‘As sorry as I am for your poor old spine, it’s time I rested mine. I really should be going home.’
At this Gwydion looked silently away, and Will knew the wizard had more to say for himself. They sat until the skylarks began singing, until the eastern sky had turned a fragile blue above the pale mists of a summer dawn. Long, low streamers of cloud hovered close by the eastern horizon, as pink as the boiled flesh of a salmon. They turned slowly to fiery gold as the sun rose to burn off night mists that still clung to the land.
‘Did you ever find the Black Book?’ Will asked, meaning the ancient scroll that Gwydion had often spoken about, the one that told of the history of the battlestones.
The wizard stiffened. ‘I did not, and perhaps I never will. But I have not been idle. I have learned something of what the Black Book might once have contained. There are here and there snippets to be found, lines taken from fragments, copies of copies, translations made from memory long after the Black Book was lost. My gleanings have been meagre; still they have given me some much-needed clues regarding how best to set about the perilous task of draining a battlestone.’
‘Surely you don’t think—’
‘My first attempt was foolhardy. I am aware of that now. But if I had been wiser sooner, then I should not have done as I did. And where would that have left us?’
Will grunted. ‘All decisions must be made on the basis of imperfect knowledge, I suppose.’
The wizard’s chin jutted. ‘I will say that now I believe I have almost learned enough to try again.’
There was a noise then, and Will turned. ‘Look! The Sister. She stirs.’
They went to attend the Wise Woman as she came out of sleep. First her eyes opened and rolled in her head, then she struggled weakly and spoke like one in a fever. Gwydion lifted her head and made her drink from a small leather bottle. Then he said firmly, ‘Where are you from, Sister?’
‘My home is at Fossewyke, Master,’ she said in the voice of a young girl.
‘That is by Little Slaughter, is it not?’
Her eyes roamed, but then she said, ‘Yes, Master. It is in the vale of the Eyne Brook.’
‘Well, get you home now without delay. Do not eat or drink