Avilion (Mythago Wood 7) (41 page)

Jack turned on his father, and Steven was shocked by the way his son had grabbed him by the arms, a blaze of fury in his eyes as he said, ‘No! Not without you! We rebuild together. All of us - you, Yssi, Rianna. We can find the way home.’

Steven disengaged himself carefully from the furious grip. ‘The Amurngoth have agreed to take your young friend back to his family, in exchange for the Iaelven child they left behind. Your friend will be safe, and you should go with them. How can I go back? What would I do there?’

Yssobel said quietly, ‘Take over from your father. Write books. Understand the way things began. Address the mystery from a place where a man can think without the intrusion of the need to survive.’

Jack became aware of Rianna, her arms folded, her pale, drawn face creased with a frown. She turned away and walked back into the Villa. Steven glanced round, as if the sudden breeze of her anger had caught his attention. Without looking back, he followed Rianna into the crumbling building.

Yssobel came up to her brother. ‘You must, you truly must! Take him with you.’

‘I think he and Rianna . . .’

She closed his mouth with her finger. ‘Don’t ask. Don’t think. Take him with you. He belongs where his father dreamed.’

‘And you?’

Yssobel drew a deep breath, then took Jack’s hand and walked with him to the gate; and through the gate to the head of the valley.

‘What do you see?’ she asked. There was a stiff wind blowing. Cloud shadow made the gorge indistinct; it was almost in darkness where it curved out of sight, where it began to drop towards the monolith to Peredur, and the track to the lake.

Without Haunter, Jack could see nothing but the land, the crags, the cliffs, the forested edges of the winding river, the silver thread that flowed in no particular direction, a life-force of its own existing at the edge of the conscious world.

‘She came from there, she has returned. What else can I say? Guiwenneth has made this path her own.’

‘And she will come back,’ Yssobel said, with a smile. ‘And I will be waiting for her.’

‘She will not come back. She exists in you!’

‘And you.’

‘No,’ Jack said, with a grim look at the distant shadows. ‘No longer with me.’

His sister caught his hand again. ‘She will come back. But Jack, you and I now live in different worlds. Please go home, and take Steven with you. Dear old dad. So lost now. And think of me fondly. And dream wonderful dreams.’

He had no words for a moment. Then he asked, ‘Yssi: what dream do you have? To wait for the return of a mother created out of bark, flower and cold earth? Is that all? What dream will sustain you until the woman comes back through Imarn Uklyss?’

But Yssobel had an answer for him. ‘Serpent Pass.’

Jack was instantly intrigued, half smiling as he remembered his sister’s encounters with Odysseus, in the Greek’s adolescent cave, in his place of preparation. ‘You’re going to find him again?’

‘Who?’

‘Odysseus.’

‘Absolutely not. Odysseus has embarked upon a journey far greater than mine. No: Serpent Pass is a place of mystery. It is endless, and I will never be bored, or short of a challenge. Nothing will decay in me as fast as the brick in our Villa, so long as I have a valley to explore.’

After a moment, Jack asked, ‘What do you expect to find there?’

‘Whatever is to be found.’

He laughed, looking back to where their father was still in a state of perplexed indecision. Yssobel queried his response. He explained about his father’s request for artefacts from Oak Lodge.

‘He wanted a story book. I found it in a pile of musty old volumes. It had his name written inside it. It was called The Time Machine.’

Yssobel shrugged with recognition. ‘He was always talking about it. Grandfather George had given it to him as a birthday present.’

Jack accepted the fact without acknowledging that he hadn’t known it. ‘I hadn’t realised until I found them - the books, that is - how compact they were, how . . .’ He tried to find the word. ‘How useful. They’re tiny! They would hardly make a fire. You can hold them in the palm of your hand! And yet they are a source of visions and adventure. I read the story on the way back from Oak Lodge, following the Iaelven.’

Yssobel asked about the nature of the tale, and Jack explained: it was about a man who had created a machine that could visit the future. ‘His journey was remarkable. I was overwhelmed by it.’

‘What did he find there? This man. According to the book.’

‘A form of life that was in fact death.’ Jack struggled to remember the events, written by a man called Wells. ‘Handsome people in the future, called Elwe, or something like that, but living for nothing but beauty. But living in an under-realm, there were dead creatures, Morloks, or Morlgoths, I can’t recall clearly. And they were very much alive and living for the kill. They had design in their lives. They fed on the Elwe, slaughtered them. He described a dead world where nothing had its true place. An end of life as we know it. An end of everything. Why did Steven want to keep this book, I wonder?’

‘Perhaps for the pure wonder of it?’ Yssobel murmured after a moment. ‘But it sounds miserable.’ She dragged her brother back to reality. ‘And I don’t know why dad wanted such a piece of misery. Unless something written in it addresses hope and a dream fulfilled.’

‘We’re back to dreams.’

She giggled. ‘And on that note, a song comes to me . . .’

‘Oh no.’

‘Oh yes.’

Yssobel found her singing voice, hoarse and harsh because of what had occurred recently, but the words were rendered with affection.

Jack groaned but couldn’t help but laugh. ‘The final verse? I sincerely hope so! It’s not even my birthday.’

‘The final verse,’ Yssobel agreed, with a kiss. ‘I’m finished with songs. And in a way: yes, this is your birthday.’

‘Good. Then there will be dancing until moonset! Will there?’

‘Hold me in the dance,’ sister said to brother. ‘What is it you said to me, long, long ago? What we remember is all the home we need.’

‘Here to there. There to here,’ Jack added.

The Time Machine

Steven: I am finished with this place. I hadn’t realised it until Yssobel talked to me. She’s quite right. There is a small future for me at the edge of the wood. I will emerge as a ghost. I will write in the scrawled fingerprints of my father. Perhaps something will occur to me that will illuminate my life. I shall kiss Yssi goodbye, and after that, she has her own path to follow.

And so I will travel with the Iaelven, and my half-son. And with the boy with no name, and with the ancient girl who glows by moonlight.

Rianna will stay. She has been strength and certainty in my life. She is the timeless mother, the caring friend, who always, like the Beloved One, is by your side; in passion, yes, or singing you to sleep. She is the archetype of love. I shall miss her too. She is the counter-side to Yssi; yet they form a whole. Young and old, they are the Villa; they are the home. At the head of the valley, they are the end of the walk from beginning to end. The valley exists because of them. It is not the place of resurrection. It is the place of return. And it is the place of death. It is the place of forming, shaping. It is the crossing place. They will define their world in ways that ordinary blood and flesh cannot conceive.

I am so proud of her, my Yssobel. Pride in my daughter will be strength to this ageing ‘Change’, this old man called Steven. And yes, I will write about her when I return to a place I once knew well.

All done now. The path is open. The crossing place is left behind. I will go with the ghost of my son. I will follow the shadow trail to the echo of my home.

 

One of the Iaelven was standing over him. He had noticed the stink, but was so familiar with the strong smells and scents of the world around the Villa that he had not noticed the quiet and careful arrival.

The Amurngoth, old and gaunt below its layers of skins and feathers, seemed strangely nervous.

Behind him, the shining face of Silver peered quickly to signal her presence. She was otherwise in darkness, wrapped tightly in a bearskin. Her eyes shimmered. She tugged back her hood. ‘Steven,’ she whispered.

‘Yes.’

‘We are ready to go. Where is Jack?’

‘Sleeping, I think.’

‘We must find him. Steven . . .’

‘Yes.’

‘The Iaelven will keep their promise. The boy will be returned safely. The Change that they left behind will come back and be nurtured. The Iaelven wish me to tell you something so that you will not be afraid.’

Where was Jack?

Steven hauled himself upright, facing the stern creature that waited to address him in this room, this private place in the Villa.

The only light came from the girl’s smile. She seemed glad of something. There was a sense of desire and hope in her face, as if she were waiting for a change in her own life.

Steven called for his son. Soon the shaking but increasingly more robust figure of his son, naked but for a loincloth, appeared in the room.

‘This is a representative of the Iaelven. He wants to speak to us.’

Amurngoth and young man exchanged a quick glance. Steven said, ‘Won’t Tell will go home safely. All they want in exchange is the life they left for him. Do you remember the life they left for him?’

‘I remember it very well.’

‘Will there be a problem?’

Jack caught the quick look that his father gave him and shook his head, not to indicate ‘no’ but to indicate ‘yes’.

Steven said, ‘Take silver. Hurthig fashioned a great deal of it before he disappeared. These creatures will die from silver, we know that.’ He looked at the shining girl. ‘Are you going to repeat what is being said?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m here only to tell you what the Iaelven want you to know. What you resolve at the edge of the wood is up to you. I am nothing more than an old woman, stolen and changed.’

The Amurngoth was suddenly restless and irritated. It turned on Silver and made a sign for her to be silent. Looking back at Steven, and at Jack, it began to click-whistle.

Silver spoke its words for it.

‘The Iaelven and your own kind never existed together. The Iaelven were always present. It is from their own magic that humankind came into existence. They were unprepared for the power of their nightmare. The beings they call by a name that means “violent children” consumed the world. The Iaelven were submerged beneath the flood of the life they had dreamed into existence. It is their desire to remain separate from that nightmare, but to understand and dream of their creation they must sometimes leave one of their own and take one of yours.’

The Amurngoth was almost agitated in its strange speaking, its mouth moving so fast that Silver was struggling to keep up with her interpretation.

‘They had never meant harm. They have always acknowledged that loss is necessary for understanding. They have always hoped that the changeling left would be welcomed by the human community. It often comes as a shock to them to find the way their offering has been treated.

‘They are, after all, the originators of all of life. That is what he says.’

Steven said to Jack, ‘Their offering is dead?’

‘Cut in half.’

‘There will be difficulty.’

‘I’ll be armed with silver. Keep this thing happy. We need to get to the edge first.’

‘I agree. Does this thing truly believe that his ancestors imagined the human race into existence?’

‘Don’t argue with it. Anything is possible in Ryhope Wood. There is no such thing as truth here. Whatever this monster believes is true, is its own truth, insofar as it’s true to itself. Right now, agree and smile.’

‘Just as soon as I’ve worked out what you just said.’

Steven for a moment was taken aback. His son’s humour was back. The human quality was surfacing at last. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘I know. Yssobel isn’t.’

‘I know.’

The Amurngoth had continued to speak, but now withdrew like a shadow from the dark, dank room that was Steven’s private place. Silver remained for a moment. ‘The Iaelven are not without intuition. This one is old and has detected that there is a problem. We must be on our guard. While you were talking he was explaining that he and his kind would like an acquaintance with their nightmare creation that might be more comfortable. They have kept themselves out of sight for many generations. Your species is not the only type of creature that they have brought into existence through their dreaming, but you are the most hostile to the Origin.’

Steven and Jack listened without comprehension. Both were thinking of the task at the end of the journey.

But Silver smiled. ‘Once at the edge, they are beyond their true territory. And I have a friend there. Don’t look so concerned. We leave shortly. Just enough time.’ She glanced at Jack appreciatively. ‘Enough time for you to find some clothes for the journey.’

She laughed, and with a final few words had vanished, scampering up the hill as the moon began to set.

‘Don’t forget the boy. I will find out his name! And he will find out mine.’

 

No goodbyes, daddy. No goodbyes. I will love you for ever. I will find wonder in the valley. Who knows, I may even find a way of sending you a message from the unknown! Just go. Take care of Jack. Compose birthday songs for him and take no notice of his moaning. And if you see either of my grandfathers, remind them to talk to me again. Ancestors are such delights.