The Way of Wyrd (26 page)

The night sky was blanketed by fast-moving swirling grey cloud which blotted out the moon. As I watched the clouds forming I realized with an eerie sense of dread that the shine on the rocks was not moonlight but soft light chinking between the rocks, apparently coming from inside the mound. And what I had taken for the sound of wind through the rocks became voices, muffled and wailing. Mesmerized by the slits of light, I stood upright and crawled over rubble deeper into the rocky entrance. The light and noises stopped suddenly, though the wind howled around me and ghost-like storm clouds blanketed the moon completely. I peered through the cracks in the rock, but could now see nothing I pressed my ear against the entrance, but no sounds rose above the wind. Then the wind seemed to change direction and suddenly I heard all the noises of a weaving room; clanking thumping and bumping whirring and clacking I stooped and peered through a crack between the rocks blocking the opening. Then I saw a most astonishing sight; I was staring into a high vaulted chamber, well lit and stacked with flax-lines, spindles, reels, yarn-winders, stoddle, beams, press, comb, weft, wool comb, roller, cranks, shuttles, seam-pegs, shears, needles, beaters—in fact, everything that could be associated with looms and weaving I struggled to get a clearer view and then I saw them.

Three women were sitting at a large loom, busily weaving. All three had their backs to me, but I could see that they had longhair hanging loosely and were wearing white tunics or robes. I knew they were the Wyrd Sisters. They were weaving on upright looms, with clay loom-weights tightening warp threads and a weighted iron weaving sword for beating up the surface of woven material. But as I stared through the gap at the looms, things began to change. The strands of the loom glistened in the soft light and with a wave of revulsion I realized that they were human entrails. The clay loom-weights turned into men’s heads and the shuttle was a bloodstained arrow.

Suddenly, the sounds stopped. I looked at the women and my heart stopped too. All three were staring directly towards me.

With a shriek I scrambled away over the rocks and tried to climb quickly down the precipice, kicking wildly for footholds, gasping and rasping for breath. Half-way down, I fell. The drop seemed to last an age and then I crashed into shrubbery where I lay very still for a moment, hardly daring to move. The only sensation I had was as if someone was pulling on my stomach very hard. I eased myself up and slowly crawled out of the shrub. I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear it and it was then that I realized why my stomach felt strange: with a thrill of understanding I realized that I had fallen along a fibre and that was what had saved me.

The rain had almost ceased and lay in the air like a heavy mist. The sky began to clear. The moon eased into view and poured wet, twinkling light down through the mist. I looked into the shrubbery from which I had just crawled. The moonlight illuminated the leaves, glistening wetly, and as I watched, I suddenly saw that one of the shiny leaves had become detached and seemed to be shining directly at me. I stared at it in fascination. The bright spot began to grow in size and intensity and I had to squint to keep it from blinding me. Suddenly it disappeared and another equally bright spot replaced it, just a few inches to the right. Then, in an instant, I realized that I was looking at a hawk, a beautiful, powerful bird. It was perched on a branch, perhaps four feet from the ground, its eyes glittering as it turned its head to look at me. As I watched it, I began to tremble with excitement, until my body fluttered like a leaf in the wind.

The hawk glided silently from the branches and perched on the edge of the precipice. Slowly, I walked towards it, my heart hammering in my chest. Above the river, huge clouds rolled through the grey sky, twisting and turning watching my every movement. Then they eased away again from the moon and the river shimmered far below like a bejewelled belt of silver lying across the forest.

I stepped on to the rocky spur and stood next to the hawk which stood motionless, waiting for me. My guardian had arrived and I knew what I must do. I took ten steps backwards, shut my eyes tightly and looked into the darkness. Almost immediately I saw a fibre, arcing skywards high over the valley towards the horizon. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, launched myself towards the precipice and jumped.

I SOARED over the edge of the precipice, felt the ground drop away beneath me and then began to plummet out of the sky towards the river far below. Tumbling and spinning clutching at the air, glimpsing the river rushing up to meet me, I knew I would surely die. Suddenly my arms trembled violently and I stopped spinning. My arms trembled again and I soared through the air, the wind whistling and whining around me and I realized I was climbing into the sky. My body felt as light as a feather and every time I trembled my arms, the river valley dropped further into the distance. I had an exhilarating intoxicating sensation of speed and I pushed my head further forward to cut into the wind.

The moon seemed bright as the noon sun and far below in the river valley I could see movement everywhere, as sharply and clearly as if it were taking place on the back of my hand. Trees jerked around in the night wind, the river surged and poured down the valley like a living breathing creature and everywhere in the clear spaces in the forest small nocturnal creatures scurried about in the moonlight.

I stretched my arms and immediately soared higher on the wind, flying North towards Earth’s Rim like an arrow shooting through the sky with no earthly impediments to surmount. I followed the twisting line of the river, far below, until it broke up into tributaries and poured into the sea I headed out over sea lying black and deep far below, white foam-flecked waves sparkling in the moonlight. But as I sped through the sky the sea took on a deep green hue and I could see fish swimming below the surface, each shining brightly like a jewel.

Then my body shuddered and for an instant I seemed to meet some distant part of myself—a falling spinning Middle-Earth bound aspect of me. It felt like a pinprick of pain and immediately I lost height; then the wind caught my wings, I soared upward and the contact was gone.

Eventually I reached land again, a familiar landscape although I could not remember having been there before. Each landmark pulled at a chord of recognition as I swept over Grassy Inlet, climbed above Boundary Ridge, across Monster’s Pit, through the Ivy Grove, then flying high to clear Eagle Ridge, plummeting and skimming over the ford in the Wooded Hollow and the Lily Brook, soared again to clear Middle Ridge and dropped once more to pass above the Giant Crab Apple Tree. Every feature of the landscape seemed to connect with some deep, forgotten memory which did not quite return but signalled in my mind that it was there.

Then I sped towards some hills and each time I topped one hill, a taller one rose in the darkness and I had to beat my wings powerfully in order to climb higher and higher. Finally, looming ahead above the creeping mists of dawn was a mighty mountain, the top lost in clouds, its sides coated with heavy forest. When I reached the lower slopes I glided down to land lightly in the branches of an ancient oak I knew that I had journeyed into the spirit-world.

Looking up, I could see higher peaks covered with snow. In the other direction, down the mountainside, the distant forest lay blue in the light of early dawn. Directly below the oak tree, a narrow path led through the trees and up towards the top of a small rise. I decided to follow the path and trembled my wings, but nothing happened. Puzzled, I trembled them again, harder, but lost my balance, tumbled from the branches and landed sprawling in the grass, realizing without surprise or concern that I was back in my usual body. I crawled to my feet unhurt and began walking up the path. The trees looked silvery as they caught the first glimmers of dawn sun, and the path was slippery with dew.

Soon I crested the small hill. The track sloped down towards a valley, cutting through the trees straight as a furrow from a giant’s plough. I stopped and gazed down the path. A short bow-shot distance down the path a small cottage or hut nestled half-hidden in the trees, roof-thatch dipping low to the ground, smoke rising from the smoke-hole and curling away in the early morning breeze. The cottage fitted so perfectly with the surroundings that it slipped into invisibility, then back into sight with the tricks of the dawn light.

I strolled slowly down the hill towards the tiny building I did not feel afraid, but my heart raced with excitement. Ducking under a low porch, I knocked on a heavy oak-plank door. There was no reply and no sound of movement from within, so I cautiously lifted the latch and pushed open the door. Inside the light was soft, the smell of wood and straw inviting as I stepped onto the threshold. The walls were hung with domestic utensils: cauldron, kettle and ladle sat near the burning fire and in one comer a wooden, iron-ringed tub, a cheese vat and a small pile of punnets. At the back of the room, raised from the earth floor by a low shelf, were stacked bags, sieves, a flour basket, honey-bin and yeast boxes. Down a side-wall ran a raised platform with a mattress. The room was generously scattered with benches and stools and two fine, high-backed chairs were tucked neatly under a low table. Above the table a lantern hung from the central beam. It was all simple, basic and beautiful. I walked to the table and sat down in one of the chairs to wait.

Soon I heard footsteps. I sat very still and then in the open doorway a woman appeared, carrying a pail of water. She was the most enchanting woman I had ever seen; hair golden as harvest, part-braided but wind-blown under a leather headband, hazel eyes bright and sparkling as soon as she saw me she smiled broadly, her teeth white and prominent.

‘Hello, Brand.’

I was astonished to hear her speak my name and to hear her treat my presence as normal, expected, welcome. I knew now that I had seen her somewhere before, long ago, though I could not think where.

The woman swept into the room, took off a light, butter-coloured cloak and hung it on a wooden peg behind the door. Then she sat on the chair opposite me and arranged her long tunic over her knees. Her eyes were devastating and I could not take my gaze from her.

She smiled again, a little shyly, and I realized that I was staring I looked away quickly, blushing with embarrassment.

‘How did you come to know my name?’ I blustered clumsily.

‘Woden pointed you out to me on your first night in the forest,’ she replied pleasantly, her voice warm and slightly husky, her gaze direct. ‘Since then I have watched you. Habrok the Hawk, your guardian spirit, surveyed your progress each dawn and reported to me. The moon watched over you by night and the sun tracked you by day. At dusk and dawn I listened to your activities from the rivers and streams. I have been here far longer than you realize, Brand. Ever since Woden marked you out on your first night in the forest.’

I believed her. I knew that she spoke the truth.

‘Who are you?’ I asked, staring at her again.

‘Are you hungry?’ she said, raising her eyebrows.

I nodded eagerly. I was not at all hungry, but I was willing to do whatever was necessary to prolong my time with her. The woman rose from the table and spooned some hot oatmeal from a pan over the fire. I noticed that she wore fine shoes of kid buckled with silver, though her tunic was simple. She lifted a stone at the back of the room and from a space dug in the floor she brought out a pitcher. Placing the bowl of oatmeal on the table, she poured creamy goats milk from the pitcher.

I begin to spoon the oatmeal slowly, making a special effort to eat neatly.

The woman sat down again. ‘Brand, we must determine what it is you wish to know,’ she said gently, holding me with her eyes again.

I did not know what to answer. I did not know who she was or what she could tell me. Suddenly it struck me that she might be a spirit or even a goddess and I knew immediately what she meant.

‘I am here to learn about the ways of wyrd,’ I said, after carefully swallowing my mouthful.

She giggled suddenly, surprisingly. In contrast with her honey voice, her laugh was light and child-like and I loved the sound of it.

‘Wulf said it all started with the giants,’ I said awkwardly, desperate to establish the fact that I was not completely ignorant. The woman laughed again, lightly, her teeth shining. She unhooked a rabbit-skin bag from her belt and placed it on the table, then got up from her chair and went to an oak chest, opened the lid and took out a white linen cloth. I pushed my bowl to one side and watched her closely.

She opened the cloth and spread it over the table. I noticed that she wore rings on all the fingers of her left hand; plain gold bands, several on each linger. Her hands were exquisite.

The woman sat in her chair and produced from the rabbit-skin a collection of small wooden sticks. She laid them on the white cloth and I gasped when I saw them. They looked just like the rune-sticks I had cut my self, which Wulf had broken and buried in the ground days ago. I could see the crudely cut marks; they were definitely my sticks, though they all looked as if they had never been broken.

I looked back into the woman’s eyes.

‘Are you going to foretell my future?’ I asked eagerly.

She shook her head. ‘I know the fates of all men and women, for I can read their threads of wyrd,’ she said. ‘But I do not prophesy. Your future is for you to live, not for me to tell.’

She picked up the pile of rune-sticks and tossed them in the air. When they fluttered and bounced back on to the white cloth, nine of them landed face upwards; seven were face down. The woman began to pick up the rune-sticks that faced upwards, beginning with those in the middle of the cloth and working out towards the end. Reaching again into her rabbit-skin, she placed an empty rune-stave on the table, then slipped from a sheath at her belt a small, highly decorated knife with a thin, sharply pointed blade. With the knife she carved into the blank stave all the runes that had landed face upwards and as she carved, she spoke.