Power of Three (33 page)

“Yes,” said Gest. “All of them.”

The King dashed for the last path to freedom. “Even Otmound?” he said incredulously.

“Even Otmound,” answered Gest. “It'll be a pleasure. But we must agree to live and let live. You answer for your people, I'll answer for mine, and the People of the Earth will see that peace is kept.”

“But not if you're going to slaughter Gerald,” Mr. Masterfield said. “I might remind you that these halls are technically on my property and a number of my people would welcome the chance to explore them.”

“Very true,” said Mr. Claybury. “If you're still thinking of making this sacrifice, remember that if the Moor becomes a reservoir—though I only say
if
, mind you—I shall probably be obliged to make life pretty unpleasant for you and your people. I'm not making threats—I wouldn't dream of doing that—”

“Nor am I,” Mr. Masterfield said jovially. “But I do go out with a gun a good deal.”

That was it, Gair thought. The King had been driven to a corner from which he could not escape, because his own people would not let him. The Dorig wanted to live in those empty mounds. He was not surprised that Hathil looked so bitterly at the two Giants. “Spoken like true Giants,” he said. “You don't threaten. You only show your strength. You were the most fitting owners that collar could have had.”

“Hathil,” said Gest, “I'm not making threats. I could say I wouldn't open those mounds, but I shall say the words because your people need them. All I'm doing is asking you to let Gair go.”

Gair knew it was hopeless even before the King spoke or the Songmen looked his way. “I'm sorry,” said the King. “Those two are as good as dead already. You should have come before the Powers accepted the sacrifice. If I agree to peace and let them go, the Powers will double the curse and make nonsense of anything we agreed.”

Everyone looked at the collar lying in the star-shaped hole, black-edged and with such an air of corruption about it that Gair was not the only one who looked away. Mr. Claybury took his glasses off and polished them, so that he need not look. Hafny went ashy white and Gerald shivered. But Banot went on looking at it thoughtfully, long after everyone else had looked away.

“So we come back to our first head,” he said. “And I have three things to say. A curse obeys the same laws as everything else. It contains the seeds of its own decay. When I look at this collar, it seems to me that it might be working to its own destruction as fast as it works to destroy its possessors. It seems to me that it did work against itself when the stone was lifted from the Haunted Mound. Because the Old Power was appeased by that, wasn't it? Might not the other two be satisfied with less than a life apiece? Could you try if they would accept a drop of blood instead?”

All the Songmen shook their heads. The chief Songman said, “No, Banot. This was a very strong dying curse. Nobody dare fob the Powers off, not once it turned black like that.”

“When did it turn black?” asked Banot.

“About an hour after the hair was burned,” said the Songman.

“Then may I speak?” said Adara, and she came up beside the star-shaped hole. Gair felt proud at the way the Dorig looked at her, respectfully, because of her wisdom. “I've studied to learn about the Powers for many years,” she said. “And in the last few years, I have found out a little. You must stop me if I'm wrong, Songmen, but it seems to me now that, just as the Powers of the Moon, the Sun and the Earth lie behind the three people met here in these halls, so the Three Powers lie behind that again.” Adara looked to see if any of the Songmen thought she was wrong, but they said nothing, so she went on. “The Old Power lies behind the Moon and is the Power of death, darkness and secrets. To it belong sufferings and old wrongs, and for that reason the moving of the stone from an old grave of murdered men appeased it, though it was still joined in the curse. Had it been loosed from the curse entirely, the collar would have turned black a little as you see it now. By what you say, I am sure that it has now been loosed from the curse, but not by the burning of hair. I think Hafny loosed it, when he put himself in our hands and might have been killed with a hunting-spear.”

“Put himself in your hands?” said the King. “I thought Halla gave him to you.”

Adara looked at Hafny and gave a little chuckle. Hafny was very embarrassed and made gestures to her not to say any more. “No, why?” said Adara. “It was a very clever trick, and a brave one. What is it called—
morgery
?”

The King seemed unable to help laughing. “
Morgery?
Hafny—never!”

“Halla believed me,” Hafny said uncomfortably, but he was clearly glad his father was amused and not angry.

“Now the Middle Power,” said Adara, serious again, “lies behind the Sun, and so it is the Power I understand best. It is a fierce Power, of light and life and the Present time. And that is the Power which asks most for blood, as all living things need to feed. But it is not unappeasable. It is Life, and I do not think it asks for death. As to the New Power, which lies behind the Earth, that is the most mysterious. I know it is the Power of birth, growth and Future time, and I think the nature of the sacrifice it asks might be different from the others.”

“New things spring from the decay of life,” the chief Songman said. “It asks life.”

“Allow me, dear lady,” said Mr. Claybury, putting his glasses on again and seeming rather happier. “As a representative of the—the People of the Earth, I think I understand this so-called New Power a little. Believe me, Your Majesty, it may be a very vigorous Power, but it is also a gentler one than you might think. It could well ask for life renewed, as it were.”

Hathil looked from him to Adara. “The two of you are just twisting words,” he said. “I thought only Lymen did that.”

“Don't you understand?” asked Adara.

“I do!” Hathil said bitterly. So did Gair. It was truly the kill. The stag had been driven into a position from which it could not escape and now the huntsmen gathered round with spears. Gair was ashamed that Adara should be chief among them. For it was clear that the only thing they had left for Hathil to do was to take the curse upon himself—and through himself, on the rest of the Dorig. And that was neither fair nor right. The Dorig had injured his people, but the injuries had been on both sides. Now Gair knew why his Gift had been telling him so clearly that he would be a sacrifice. He knew he had to stop the hunt.

He did not give himself time to think how much pleasanter it would be to go on living. He suspected he would have endless seconds to do that anyway. He slipped free from the guards and went to the edge of the star-shaped hole. “If the Powers need a life,” he said to Hathil, “will you take mine?”

Gair tried not to look at Adara's face, nor to listen to the gasps and mutters around. But the gasps became a sort of groan. Gair looked into the hole at his feet and saw the collar blackening further, shriveling and crumbling. Under his eyes, the intricate patterns fell to earth, until only a thin gold line was left, where three words joined together two bright owls' heads. For a moment, Gair hoped that last hoop was going to crumble, too. But it did not, and he knew he would have to go through with it.

“Why did you do that?” the King said to him.

Gair looked up at him and wondered how he could express it. But it was too difficult. He shrugged, almost as if he were a Dorig, and made a horseshoe-shaped gesture to show the King that it had worked. The Middle Power was loose now. “My people are hunters,” he said lamely. “And I was sorry.”

He could see that Hathil understood. The King's brown eyes moved to Gerald, who was white as a sheet and had his hand pressed against his mouth again, and back to Gair standing awkwardly by the star-shaped hole. And for the first time, he looked truly sorry. “This is absurd!” he said. “The Powers can do what they like, but I'm not going to touch either of you!”

And, at his feet, the thin hoop of gold dissolved to earth again, too, writhing like a worm and crumbling away like dark ash. There was nothing left but a horseshoe-shape of darkness.

“That's what I meant,” said Mr. Claybury.

As he spoke, Gair felt a wave of happiness flood over him. Everyone felt it. The hall was suddenly full of people laughing, shaking hands and shouting greetings. The King smiled at Gair. Halla leaned from the gallery and waved. Banot and the Songmen raced together and began to talk music, and the other Garholt Chanters very soon joined in. Mr. Claybury kissed Adara's hand. Then he joined Gest and Mr. Masterfield round the King and helped the King stand, while Adara turned to talk to Brenda.

“You do grant wishes, don't you?” Brenda said.

Adara, overflowing as she was with happiness, did not want to disappoint Brenda. But she was forced to shake her head.

“Oh well,” said Brenda.

It did not take great gifts of divination to see what wish Brenda had wanted. “Tell me,” Adara said kindly. “What do your parents look like?”

“Thin as rakes, both of them,” said Brenda. “Why do you think I'm made so fat?”

Adara laughed. Everyone was so happy. “I can promise you, then,” she said, “that in a very few years, you'll be thin, too. And very pretty. Would you like me to ask Ayna?”

“No,” said Brenda happily. “I'll take your word.” And she went bouncing off like a jovial elephant to join Hafny, Gerald, Ceri and Gair. They were in an excited group, jostled by laughing Dorig on all sides. Soon after Brenda joined them, Gair got used to the idea that he was alive after all and began to wonder why this happiness went on and on so. He understood as soon as he looked at Ceri. Ceri's was the only sober face in the hall. Gair turned to him, outraged, to tell him what he thought of people who put Thoughts on their elder brothers. Ceri winked at him and shook his head warningly. And Gair said nothing. After all, it was a very good idea.

Some of the rest of this story was in the Giant newspapers. The Moor is not going to be flooded—or not yet. If you know where to look in Berkshire, you will find Mr. Claybury's pumps and pipes, though nobody but he suspects that they are pumping the water from the Halls of the Kings. Meanwhile, the empty mounds on the Moor are opened and more Dorig move into them daily. All the Chiefs agreed to it, except Orban. Orban could not abide Dorig near. And Kasta quacked so unendingly about Ondo growing up under their influence, that, in the end, Orban brought himself to move his entire people, sheep, gold and all, out of Otmound and away from the Moor altogether. It is called flitting, and it had not been done for centuries. As Adara said sourly—it was almost the sourest thing Gair ever heard her say—if Orban and Kasta could not become famous any other way, at least they were famous for going away.

Gair is famous. He is known throughout the Moor for his magnificent triple collar, of the finest Dorig work. The words in it are Wisdom, Sight and Courage. But Giants who visit the Moor are unlikely to see him, or Dorig either. And I do not advise anyone to try. Mr. Masterfield would warn you off for trespassing—it is part of his agreement with the Dorig—and if you did happen to stumble across Garholt, the bees would give you a very unpleasant time.

About the Author

D
IANA
W
YNNE
J
ONES
wrote more than forty award-winning books of fantasy for young readers. For her body of work, she was awarded the British Fantasy Society's Karl Edward Wagner Award for having made a significant impact on fantasy and the World Fantasy Society Lifetime Achievement Award.
www.dianawynnejones.com.

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