Celandine (29 page)

The argument moved back and forth, with little new to be added. Avlon was not to be quickly swayed either way. He needed more time to consider.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘Enough for this day. I shall think on, but now we must take some ease.’

Moon followed moon, and still Avlon would not risk coming closer to the Gorji than was necessary. They continued as they had done, skirting around the Gorji settlements no matter how much extra effort it took.

Una was surprised to find that she had an ally in Corben. Her father’s younger brother had never shown any great liking for her – but she was grateful to receive whatever support was being offered. She felt strong in her belief that the Touchstone was not only their guide but also their protector, and that somehow the Ickri would come to no harm whilst they carried it towards its destination.

She tried again to explain this feeling to her father as they took in their surroundings one damp and drizzly evening. ‘Aye,’ said Avlon. ‘I also believe that we are treading the way laid down for us and that we are meant to reach our journey’s end unharmed. And we draw close – I feel it. But our survival yet hangs upon the right choice at every turn. Who is to make that choice, if not I?’

They were standing at the fringe of a high copse, father and daughter, looking down upon the Gorji
town
that now lay in their path. The evening sky was growing dark and already they could see lamplights in some of the windows of the distant stone dwellings. Soon it would be time for the tribe to move on.

A broad river ran through the middle of the settlement, and the Ickri would have to cross this somehow. In the town itself there would be bridges, but in the darkening countryside there were none visible. Much of the surrounding landscape was flooded and the thought of passing through this in the blackness of night was not a happy one.

Una drew the hood of her shoulder-wrap more tightly about her face and waited for her father to decide. In summer, she thought, with lighter clothing and nothing to carry, they might almost fly such a distance. They could perhaps launch themselves from the trees and glide over the town, to land safely on the other side. But in the last clinging embrace of winter, cold and wet, burdened with heavy cloaks and muddy bindle-wraps, they were as earthbound as the Gorji themselves. It was plain that they were never bred for such climes. They had adapted as best they could, but this was no world for the Ickri. They belonged in warm treetops, bare-skinned beneath the bright sun – not trudging among rain-soaked hedgerows and claggy fields. Spring was here, and yet the season refused to turn.

Avlon turned his draggled head, a faint look of surprise on his tired face.

‘Greetings, Maven,’ he said. ‘Do thee come to advise us?’

The crooked figure was standing a little way off, peering out over the landscape from beneath a ragged shawl. Una had not seen her arrive.

‘What would ’ee hear from I?’ said Maven. ‘What ’ee do already know? That ’tis a danger to come so close to the Gorji? The choice be already made, maister, as all choices be already made. And all shall be as ’twould ever be.’

Avlon wiped the droplets of water from his beard, and looked down at the Gorji settlement. The lamplights were becoming more numerous, now that the night was drawing in, and the surrounding countryside, flooded and treacherous, grew correspondingly darker. ‘Come, then,’ he said at last. ‘We shall take the risk – and the shorter way.’ He put his arm around Una’s shoulders and together they walked back to where the tribe was waiting, huddled in groups beneath the soaking trees.

By the time the lights from the Gorji settlement were extinguished, and it was judged that the giants must be sleeping, the drizzle had stopped. A chill breeze blew along the turnpike, and the moon appeared, high and hazy, among the ragged clouds. The Ickri crouched in silence beside a low wall at the edge of the town, nervously waiting for a signal from the scouts.

Peck and Rafe eventually appeared, hanging over the wall to whisper their report to Avlon. ‘All quiet.’ A general shuffle, and the entire tribe had clambered into the roadway. They were on Gorji territory, closer to the giants than most of them had ever been.

The scouts moved cautiously ahead, together with three of the King’s archers. Then came Avlon, and Una – who carried the Touchstone – accompanied by more of the guard. The rest of the tribe followed, with Corben and his own archers bringing up the rear.

There were too many of them. As the great stone dwellings began to loom above them, dark and solid against the watery moon, it seemed impossible that some pair of wakeful eyes would not catch sight of them, creeping in a straggly line through the rain-washed streets. Somewhere behind those threatening casements there must surely be an ogre who had chanced to observe them, and who might be rousing his comrades at this very moment . . .

Una felt sick now, sick with the thought that she had been the one to bring them to this. She wanted to turn around, to go back to the relative safety of the fields and spinneys. The smells of the Gorji, and all their world, was in her nostrils – the mingled odours of baking bread and stale fermentations that wafted up through metal gratings, the strange fruits that lay discarded and rotting beside the raised stone pathways, piles of horse manure, damp ashes. She could smell, too, the scent of her own fear, and the fear of those around her as they hurried past the long lines of black metal railings – cruelly tipped like spears – or hugged the slimy walls of dripping archways and sidestepped the iron-bound wooden doors that were set into the pavements and which spoke of echoing cavernous spaces below. The place was far bigger than it had seemed from their distant hilltop, and Una felt
foolish
to have imagined that they could ever have floated over it. It was huge.

Whenever they came to a halt, or a fork in the roadway, the leading party paused and turned to look at her, their anxious eyes searching for hers in the darkness. Which path should they take? And according to the pull of the Stone she would signal the direction, this way or that. The rear body of the party could not always be seen, and so it could only be hoped that nothing had happened to them. Una glanced up at her father and he smiled encouragement at her. She saw that his brow glistened damp in the moonlight, although the rain had stopped some time ago.

They found a long set of slippery steps that led them up onto a massive bridge, triple arched over a broad river, and here they gathered for a few moments, gazing through the stanchions at the roaring waters below as they waited for the rear guard to join them.

To either end of the bridge a lantern burned, throwing curved shadows across the long stretch of glistening cobbles, and the thought of crossing such a distance frightened them. Once out in the middle the entire tribe would be completely exposed, trapped if they were seen, and with no way of escaping but to throw themselves into the black torrent that rushed beneath them.

Yet this was the reason they had risked passing through the settlement – to cross the floods – and now was no time to turn back. One last look around and
Peck
and Rafe were away, scurrying low, keeping to whatever shadow they could find. There was no possibility of hearing a signal above the roar of the waters, and the main company could only wait until they judged that the scouts had safely reached the other side. Nervously they began to follow.

Halfway across the bridge Una dropped the Touchstone. A great clanging sound split the night, a single note bursting through the darkness, and in her fright she stumbled against her father. The orb slipped from her grasp, landed on the cobbles and began to roll towards the edge of the bridge. Una staggered forward, lunging for the Stone, but was knocked off balance completely as one of the archers ran into her. She fell and caught a last horrifying glimpse of the orb about to disappear between the stanchions. Her vision was blocked for a few moments, and by the time she had managed to disentangle herself from the fallen archer, the Touchstone had gone.

Gone! The clanging sound rang out once more, but now Una paid it little heed. She clambered to her feet and stared dumbly at the gap between the stanchions.

‘Come
on
, chi’! ’Tis but a Gorji thing – a tang – a bell.’ Her father’s whispered voice. He was gripping her upper arm, urgently drawing her away . . .

A hand miraculously reached out and placed the Touchstone in hers. It was still safe! The waters roared louder as Una allowed herself to be hurried onwards through the confusion. A tang. Yes, she had heard them sometimes, tolling across the distant landscape.
A
Gorji thing. She clasped the Touchstone to her chest. As they passed beneath the lantern on the far side of the bridge, Una recalled that the hand that returned the Stone to her had been streaked with green.

The road out of town now lay straight ahead, but it seemed to go on for ever. There were many distant buildings yet to pass, and the nerves of the travellers had been shaken. Could they not find some route other than the main highway? From their vantage point upon the bridge they could see a large area of moonlit parkland bordering the roadside. The parkland was bounded by ornate railings – and a long hedge. A hedge would at least give them shelter and a chance of safety. If they could enter this enclosure, they might make their way forward by keeping close to the line of foliage. There were even some trees in there, a group of tall elms that stood out in the open, some distance from the hedge. That was good – although a cluster of dark and mysterious shapes beneath the trees made them hesitate. Peck and Rafe would scout ahead.

They descended the steps at the side of the bridge, slipped between the railings by twos and threes, clambered through the hedge beyond, and were glad to find grass and earth beneath their feet once more. The ground was sodden by the heavy rain, but not flooded. This was better.

Once assembled beneath the shadow of the hedge the tribe felt safer. They began to creep forward, listening for the whistled signals of the scouts. It
gradually
became apparent that the dark objects beneath the trees were wagons of some sort, although not of the broad open type used by the Gorji fieldworkers. These were taller, for the most part, and covered. Some of them were simply draped over with cloth. Others were like the wagons that occasionally appeared in the woods – the travelling dwellings of those giants who called themselves Romni – that stayed for a few days and then disappeared, leaving only a patch of flattened earth and a pile of woodash to tell of their coming and going.

And yet there was something else here, something more dangerous than the mere presence of giants.

The entire company instinctively came to a halt, listening. There was some distance between the hedge and the group of silent wagons beneath the trees, but the long line of tribespeople were nervous of passing by. Why was there no signal from the scouts?

Una moved out into the field a little way, towards the wagons, gently breathing the damp night air through her nostrils. She heard her father’s whisper – ‘
Una!
’ – but she continued just a few steps further. The breeze was blowing away from her, and yet she caught a whiff of something. Horses? No . . . not horses. Animals, though. A little closer, and she might learn more . . .

There was a sharp crackle of breaking branches behind her, and she jumped forward in alarm, turning her head to look fearfully over her shoulder. The Ickri were disappearing like rabbits beneath the hedge, and something –
someone
– was coming over the top of it.

Gorji. Two of them. One was floundering on the ground, the other balancing on the railings. The second giant leaped forward – and crashed through the hedge. Una fled.

She scuttled over to the wagons and threw herself beneath the nearest one, crouching low behind one of the wheels. A strong animal smell surrounded her, heavy with musk, unfamiliar.

The giants were whispering to each other – ‘Shhhhh!’ – and softly giggling. They picked themselves up from the ground and clumsily attempted to brush the mud from their clothing. They were dressed in black and white. The moon sailed bright in a clearing sky now, and Una could see their every move. The figures began creeping towards the wagons – coming her way. She tried to stay calm. Breathe out . . . breathe in . . . breathe out . . . breathe in . . .

A soft creak from the wooden planking overhead startled her, and the wheel that she was hiding behind rocked slightly. Una risked a glance upwards. Something above her, something very heavy, had momentarily shifted position – an alarming thought, but there was more immediate danger from the approaching giants.

‘Which one, do you think?’ They were whispering again.

‘Can’t say, old man. Might have to try them all.’

‘Hallo, though. What’s this?’ One of the shadowy figures was stooping – picking something up from the ground.

Una put her hand to her mouth, and tried not to cry out. She could scarce believe it – had not realized what had happened until that moment. It was the Touchstone. Twice –
twice
– in one night, she had dropped it. In her panic she had failed to even notice. This time it was surely lost to her.

She was frantic. This could
not
be. One of the Gorji was holding the Stone up to the moon and staring at it. He was swaying slightly.

‘What is it – a co . . . a coc’nut ball?’

‘Bit heavy for that, I sh’think. Jolly little thing, though. Keep it for luck, eh? I’ll put it . . .’ The giant pulled at his clothing and nearly overbalanced. He let out a long breath, as if to steady himself, ‘ . . . in my . . . pocket. There.’

‘Very good. Now for the bear. Lesh try this one.’

‘Right you are, dear boy.’

They came staggering towards the very wagon where Una lay hidden. Now she could only see their legs and feet – close enough to touch, they were – and she shrank back behind the spokes of the wheel. Their footwear was very strange, black and shiny in the moonlight. What was she to do about the Touchstone? Breathe out . . . breathe in . . .