Shadowfell (29 page)

‘It could be longer.’ The old man folded his hands in his lap.

‘Was there something in the cave? What did the old stories say? Was Odd looking for anything in particular?’
A certain talent
, he’d said. Could that be the same talent as mine?

‘He might have been.’

‘Treasure? A creature of some kind? A portal?’

‘I could show you,’ the old man said, and when I looked at him, suddenly I saw a different person, a taller, more powerfully built figure whose eyes were not the white orbs of the blind but flickering puzzles of light and shade in which fiery red chased night-black one way then the other. My heart thudded. What was he? When the Good Folk were nearby, I felt their presence deep within me, as if they were part of me. This man had seemed quite ordinary. As indeed he was now, for from one breath to the next he was as he’d first appeared, blind eyes, wizened skin, stooped shoulders and all.

‘I could take you in,’ he said, smooth as honey.

‘Odd’s tale suggests that would not be very wise.’ I worked hard to keep my voice steady. ‘I’m here for shelter, nothing more.’ How long would it take me to bolt past him, out into the open, and run up to the concealment of the woods?

‘It might be very wise indeed,’ he said. ‘Not big on courage, are you? I see you’re keeping that little knife within reach of your hand.’

I felt a cold creeping sensation in my spine. ‘If you can see that,’ I said, ‘then you don’t need a wee dog to find your way for you.’

‘Ah,’ the old man said. ‘There’s seeing and seeing.’

‘As for going further into the cave, I exercise common sense. I can’t think of any good reason to go in there. I can think of quite a few reasons not to.’

‘Might be a while before I pass this way again. I could lead you in, and I could bring you out. Could be there’s something you badly need in Odd’s Hole. But if you won’t go down, you’ll never know.’

I bit back the retort that sprang to my lips, words that would have dismissed him and sent him on his way. The virtues. Maybe this was a chance to demonstrate one of the qualities required for a Caller, along the lines of the Giving Hand, but different. A test of courage, perhaps. What exactly did lie in the dark shadows of Odd’s Hole? ‘Would that something be by way of a . . . challenge?’ I asked.

The old man grinned, and there in his place was a boy of about twelve, white-faced, dark-clothed, with a flickering light falling across his features that was not made by my little fire. His hair stood up around his head in dark wild filaments. The eyes were as I had seen them before: black, red, black, red, drawing my gaze. ‘It might well be so,’ the boy said, lifting his brows and giving me an unsettling smile. ‘Down there,’ he motioned toward the back of the cave, ‘you will find a pool of water. They say Odd drowned in it, drawn deep by what he saw there. Too deep. But you would not drown. Not if I held your hand.’

Gods, what was this? A trap? Or a vital part of my journey toward becoming a Caller? What kind of being could hide his uncanny nature thus? He put me in mind of a trickster from ancient story, a being all twists and turns, whose favour could only be gained if one were able to pin down his likeness between one disguise and the next. A will-o’-the-wisp, a player of games, unreliable in every respect.

‘Speak plainly,’ I said, my fingers closing around the hilt of the knife, though I was beginning to think an ordinary weapon would be of no use at all in this situation. ‘Are you here to help me or to hinder me?’ I rose to my feet, taking a step toward the boy, though my instinct was to shrink away.

The dog growled deep. Too deep for such a little creature, surely. I risked taking my eyes off the boy to look at it, and my breath faltered. The dog had grown bigger. Its back was as high as my waist, and its slender body was now sturdy and muscular. Still growling, it drew back its upper lip to show me a set of purposeful teeth. The message was clear:
I can take a full-grown boar on my own. You? One bite
.

‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ the boy said, and became once more the ancient wood-gatherer. ‘As for what you might find in Odd’s Hole, you might find a test and you might find a map. You might see your whole journey set out in that. Of course, sometimes it doesn’t help to know what’s to come, which friends will die before their time, what grave errors you’ll make, who’ll betray your trust, whom you’ll destroy and whom you’ll offend. On the other hand, a map helps us know where we’re going. In your case, it’d be four maps.’

A test. A test down there in the darkness, in a deep pool. ‘I can’t swim,’ I said. My voice came out like that of a child, alone and scared. I gathered myself and spoke more strongly. ‘There’s no point in passing a test if I drown.’

The grin again, and a flickering series of changes, each so fast I had hardly the time to take it in before it was gone. Either this was a skilful practitioner of magic, or it was indeed one of the beings mentioned in the old tales. Could a canny human perfect shape-changing to such a degree? I doubted it. But if he was one of the Good Folk, why did he show no fear of the naked knife?

‘Trying to make sense of me?’ the man quipped, as if, despite the blind eyes, he knew how intensely I was scrutinising him. ‘You won’t. I’m the biggest puzzle in all Alban, and there’s no untangling me. One piece of advice, take it or leave it. Before you meet me again, and you surely will, you’d best develop a liking for games. Without that, your journey will surely end in tears. As for drowning, some do and some don’t. One thing’s sure: if you’re too scared to try, there’s no passing the test.’

‘I have a feeling that if I agree to this I will end up as Odd did, in the hole forever, stone dead.’

The man laughed, throwing back his head. The sound of it rang from the cave walls, setting the dog howling. ‘When Odd went down,’ he said, ‘he had no guide. You have the best and only guide, lassie. Show courage and I’ll keep you safe. Turn to a jelly and I might be tempted to let you fall. But in token of goodwill, I’ll give you a wee rhyme before we go, to put some fire in you. Ready now?’

I stood mute, waiting.

The old man’s voice rose in quavering song. As he sang, the words came back to me from long ago, so dear and familiar that I could not believe I had forgotten them. Beneath the man’s voice I heard my mother’s, singing to a tiny Neryn, barely two, as I sat on her knee, and before us in the water the seals danced their slow mysterious dance under a sunset sky purple as heather, grey as a dove’s wing, red as fire.

‘Canny Eyes and Strength of Stillness

Guide your path across the land

Open Heart and Steadfast Purpose

Flame of Courage, Giving Hand.’

He turned his filmy eyes in my direction. Whether he could see me, I did not know. ‘That’s six,’ he said. ‘You’ve got those out of the way already, or so I’ve been told. There’s some wee folk would argue all day long as to whether each requirement had been met, but I’d say that’s a waste of time. Now, will we get on with the next part of this or won’t we?’

Was it only my imagination or had the cave become unnaturally dark and the air unusually cold? I tried not to shiver. ‘You’re telling me I’ve demonstrated six out of seven virtues already?’ That was not possible, surely.

‘Don’t be too pleased with yourself, lassie,’ said the old man. ‘You’re not done yet. That rhyme’s got another whole verse to it.’

‘Tell me!’

‘Ah, not so fast.’ He raised his hands as if to ward me off. ‘Come down the Hole first, do what you have to do, and I’ll give you the rest when it’s all over.’

There was a story I recalled, in which a gullible young man goes down a well to fetch treasure for a mysterious old woman, with promise of a small reward, and then, when the treasure is duly brought to the surface, the crone snatches it and pushes the adventurer back down to his death. But the old man had spoken as if he knew we would meet again.
You’d best develop a liking for games
, he’d said. So perhaps I would not perish in the depths of Odd’s Hole. What would Flint expect me to do if he were here? He’d probably be standing guard over me with his weapons drawn and an Enforcer look on his face. But if he were to face this choice himself, I knew he would not refuse it. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it.’

My companion rose to his feet. For a moment I saw his profile silhouetted on the cave wall behind him. It was not the shadow of a bent old man, nor yet of a wild-haired boy. The features were proud and strong, those of a warrior, a leader. He turned his head and the image was gone. ‘Come, then,’ he said. ‘We don’t have all day.’

I drew a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m coming.’ I slipped the knife into my belt. I picked up a stick from the fire, wondering if there was any chance it would keep burning long enough to light our way there and back.

The dog went first, small again. The old man followed his creature with confident feet; either he had a different kind of sight, or he had done this so many times before that his feet found the way all by themselves. I came last, with my burning brand in one hand and my other hand free to grab the knife.
This place is called Neryn’s Folly
, I thought grimly.
She followed an old man and a dog down there one day and was never seen again
.

Soon enough the cavern narrowed to a tunnel, piercing the rock of Alban’s spine. A long tunnel. Here and there side passages opened off, or perhaps they were merely shallow caves. The air was cold and fresh, suggesting that somewhere, not so far away, there were openings to the outside. Yet that seemed unlikely, for I sensed we were deep underground.

We walked for a long time, long enough for my legs to start aching with weariness. I recalled that Flint and I had already walked for half a day before I found the cave. He might be back there by now, finding the place deserted, perhaps thinking I had gone on alone. What if he headed off toward Shadowfell looking for me, and when I emerged from here it was too late to go after him? I banished those thoughts and concentrated on moving forward.

Oddly, the torch I had brought did not burn away to nothing or wink out in the draught, but flamed steadily, lighting our way through the dark passage. The tunnel began to slope downward. First a gentle descent, then a steeper one. The place was damper here. The tunnel walls shone with moisture, and I felt a clammy chill on my skin.

Man and dog came to a sudden halt; with difficulty, I managed not to crash into them. I lifted my torch. Its wavering light revealed that the way had become a set of narrow, precipitous steps going downward. Something gleamed at their foot, pale as moonlight. Pool, well, mirror? Perhaps it was all three.

‘This is the place.’ The voice was not the old man’s, nor yet the boy’s. It was strong and authoritative, and when I glanced sideways I saw beside me a tall man whose profile matched that I had seen on the wall, cast by shadows. A person of kingly bearing, a being of power. ‘Go down,’ he commanded.

‘By myself?’ My tone matched the trembling of the torch. ‘Very well.’

‘Give me the brand.’ He held out an elegant, long-fingered hand on which dark rings gleamed, and I passed him the flaming stick. For a few moments his eyes met mine, and I saw in them the same dancing colours as before, crimson and sable flickering almost faster than I could follow. Shadows moved across his high-boned features. He lifted his brows. ‘Don’t wait too long,’ he said, ‘or you may lose the will to go on. Tread with care. Don’t slip.’

‘Wait a moment.’ Perhaps I was a fool to challenge him. In this form he not only puzzled me, he scared me. Before such power I was nothing. Why was he playing with me like this? But then, maybe I was nothing, but Shadowfell was something. Alban’s freedom was something. And if I could get this right, maybe I could play my part in winning that freedom. In my mind I heard Flint’s voice, soft as a breath, strong as stone.
If I see you defeated, then I think I will see Alban defeated, and if that happens none of us can go on. To guard you is to guard the heart of this land of ours.
‘Didn’t you say you would hold my hand?’ I asked.

‘There’s holding and holding,’ the flame-eyed man said. ‘We’ll watch from up here.’

Nothing for it, then, but to make my way down those steps. They were awkwardly spaced, and their surfaces were not only wet but grown over with some kind of creeping subterranean moss on which my shoes slipped and skidded. There was nothing to hold on to; the tunnel walls looked close enough to touch, but when I stretched out my arms the rock seemed to shrink away so it was just out of reach.

‘Make haste!’ the man called, and the dog gave a curt bark, like a warning.

Step by step I went down.
Canny Eyes. Strength of Stillness. Open Heart. Steadfast Purpose. Flame of Courage. Giving Hand.
And here I was on the lip of a round pool. In its depths was an eerie gleam, as if somewhere beneath the water a flame flickered and moved. An old, old place; a place of the Good Folk. It was alive with magic.

There was barely enough space here for my two feet. No ledge; no handy stone edging such as might be placed around a well to stop an incautious child or animal from falling in. Only this tiny level spot and the water, with sheer rock rising all around. I held myself still as the light moved and changed in the depths. Was it a scrying pool that offered visions of the future? A place of ancient ritual? What was I expected to do?

A sharp bark from the dog, and the rock walls to every side were suddenly alive with light and shadow. Shapes leapt and pranced and dived: here a flying owl; here a mounted warrior, axe raised; here a capering girl with hair like long strands of weed. It was as if a great fire burned behind me, throwing their images onto the stone. I looked over my shoulder, up the steps. The man had one arm outstretched, fingers pointing ahead. In the other hand he held the modest brand I had snatched from my little fire. A mage, then; or something more.

‘Keep your gaze straight ahead,’ he said. It was a command, and I obeyed. On the rocks before me a shadow man fought a desperate, one-sided battle. He was on foot, armed only with something that looked like a stick or crude staff. Against him were three mounted warriors. He turned and ducked and leapt; he swung his weapon high and low; he used trick after trick. I found myself willing him to survive; it looked so real.