The Various (29 page)

He had gone, and at the foot of the tree, carefully placed, were the clavensticks. On top of the clavensticks lay the brown Woodpecker’s cap, neatly rolled. The two old Ickri tribesmen gazed in sad wonder at the mournful little display. The Woodpecker had apparently deserted his post.

Maglin caught up with them and glanced down at the sticks and the cap. ‘Where is he?’ he said harshly. No reply. He grasped Petan by the shoulder. ‘Can you still beat?’ Petan looked startled, but nodded dumbly. ‘Then get your old backside
up
on to that Perch, and beat for
silence
, and
you
’ – he turned to old Marten – ‘bring that youth of yourn back here. I don’t care how, move.
Move
, before I use your witless old
heads
for clavensticks.’ Maglin was just getting into his second wind. He’d thrash that mob into order, if he had to take them on one at a time – and he rather hoped it might come to that, for he was in that kind of temper.

The Ickri General stormed back to the Whipping Stone at the centre of Counsel Clearing, furiously grabbing such of his archers as were within grabbing distance along the way. He stood by the stone and waited, breathing heavily.

Old Petan gained the lower branch of the Rowdy-Dow tree at the fourth attempt, spurred on by the
hoots
of those who were near enough to witness his efforts, and by thoughts of what Maglin might do to him if he failed. He climbed up to the Perch, pulled on the cap, and took the clavensticks – heavier now, they felt, than he had remembered. He began to beat for silence. The dry rattle sounded high and sharp across the clearing, and the crowd, reacting by force of habit, was momentarily hushed. Their emotions were high, and no doubt the power of the sticks alone would have had no more than a fleeting effect – but that brief pause was all the opportunity that Maglin required. He opened his mouth and roared.

‘
Silence!
SILENCE, YOU WITLESS FOOLS!’

The startled heads of the crowd turned dumbly in the direction of the Whipping Stone. Open-mouthed they gazed at Maglin – Maglin who was known to raise his voice when in a temper, but who had never raised it to anything like this volume before. It was a primary law of the forest that all business should be conducted as quietly as possible – shouting and yelling being dangerous pastimes – and so even extreme anger was usually conveyed in relatively muted tones. But now Maglin’s voice rang through the high treetops, and was likely audible in the valley below.

Having gripped their attention at last, Maglin tore into one and all. ‘Do I have your
ear
?’ he cried. ‘You? And
you
?’ He jabbed his thick forefinger this way and that. ‘And
you
? Do you
hear
me at last? Ha? Or must I nail each and all of ’ee up by the heels before you take notice? Ha? Speak up! Though, by
Elysse
, I’ll have the tongue of the first that dares!’

And, as if to demonstrate his meaning, Maglin left the Whipping Stone and strode towards the crowd, grasping his spear in both hands. ‘Hold your
ground
!’ he roared as the crowd began to back away from his storming advance. ‘Hold your ground till I give you leave to do otherwise! Aye, and let this be your watchword at all times – hold your
ground
. Hold till
I
say move. And when I
say
move, then move you will!’ Face to face with the terrified mob, Maglin now paced up and down the straggly line, alternately thrusting his razor-sharp spear and his snarling countenance towards all within reach. ‘
When
I say – and
if
I say –
then
you’ll do
as
I say! And not before.’ He paused when he came to the three Elders. ‘And
you
,’ he addressed them collectively, ‘who shall have the
final
say, think you?’

Ardel cleared his throat and began, tentatively, ‘Well, of course, Ba-betts, as queen . . . although our laws are above all . . . and er, naturally, we as Counsel . . .’

‘
Fool!
’ roared Maglin. ‘Be you
deaf
? I shall have the final say, from now on.
I
, Maglin! For ’tis clear to me that you’ve not a thing
worth
saying, nor listening to.
I
shall be the judge of all arguments,
I
shall decide what to do about the Gorji,
I
shall lead us away from here or command that we stay, as
I
see fit. Why? I’ll tell ’ee. ’Tis clear to me that there’s none other that
can
, that’s why. None other
can
. And if there’s a one of you who’ll say me nay – then step up now and we’ll have it out.’ No one seemed inclined to take up this challenge, and Maglin continued, ‘Very well, then.
I
say go back to
your
homes – all of you, and wait
there
. And wait there until
I
say otherwise.
Go!
’

The assembled woodlanders needed no further bidding. They went. For this was testament – this was fire. This was what it meant to hold power and sway – and if any had been in the slightest doubt as to whom they were answerable to, and why, Maglin had put them right. Maglin had put them right, and having been put right, they were very glad to depart, in a quiet and humbled manner, to their respective homes – there to begin piecing together the remains of their shattered wits. Maglin was the law, and whilst Maglin could still stand and see, that law would be obeyed. This, at least, they understood.

Little-Marten hesitated in his stumbling flight through the trees as he heard the rattle of the clavensticks – his clavensticks, the hard-won emblems of his position, now returned to the hands of his old master. He had relinquished his post, lately the source of all his pleasure and pride, and was now but a fugitive, running he knew not where, fleeing he knew not what.

He stopped for a moment to press his hands to his pounding temples and to try and think. He had done no wrong. Maglin had given an order – to lead the Gorji child to the tunnel – and he had obeyed. But Scurl would have killed the girl, caring nothing for Maglin’s wishes it seemed, and would now see him dead, as a witness to his actions. Scurl was beyond the law – that was what it came to. He could not remain in
the
forest and hope to live. ‘I’ll sithee dead.’ It was a promise, simply made, quietly spoken. There was no reasoning against it.

Panic clutched at his heart once more and he lurched forward, his head bursting with the effects of the sun and his fall from the Perch. He would . . . he would . . . Wild ideas of leaving the forest came to him as he slithered down the shaly banks of the lower East Wood. He would run – run like a deer through the Gorji wetlands and go and live in the Far Woods – better to take his chances among the renards and the brocks than to face Scurl again. He would give himself up to the giants and be roast upon a spit – rather that, than to wake in fright with a cold hand at his throat. He would find a haven. Somewhere.

Panting and sobbing he leaned against the trunk of a sapling as the fierce blue sky seemed to whirl above him. There was nowhere, nowhere for him to go. He wound his arms about the young tree and pressed his burning cheek against the cool green bark. Through half-closed eyes he looked across the steep slopes of shale to the mouth of a Tinkler cave. The Tinkler cave where he had first seen Henty . . .

Henty . . . He pushed himself away from the tree and staggered up the bank of loose shale, stumbling forward, his fingertips touching the hot smooth stones. Henty . . . His feet crashed and floundered on the treacherous slope, and it seemed that he lost a yard for every foot of progress that he made. Salty drops of perspiration ran down his temples and stung his eyes as he dragged himself, at last, out of the
burning
sun and into the dim mouth of the cave. He paused for breath. Henty . . . The pitted walls were cool and the air smelt faintly of . . . lavender. He began to crawl, hearing his own breathing, loud and echoing in the sheltered quiet of the dim cave. A little further, further into the darkness, just a little further – away from the forest he would crawl. He licked the salt from his lips. Just a little further, into the cool darkness, to Henty, and safety, and the sweet smell of . . . lavender.

Chapter Sixteen

MAGLIN’S VIOLENT TIRADE
had exhausted him. He felt old and spent, though none would have guessed it to look at him. He stood by the Whipping Stone, gaunt, upright and formidable, facing every last tribesperson down till all had left Counsel Clearing and gone to their homes as he had ordered. Only then did he allow himself to lay a weary forearm on the stone and bow his grizzled head. Ah, but he was too long in the tooth for this game. A few more seasons and he would begin to look a fool.

Maglin
.

It was the white horse. Appearing like a ghost from nowhere. Was there to be no respite?

‘Go back to your pastures, Pegs. Leave me.’

We must talk
.

‘Talk? You’ve said enough of late to keep me in talk till the leaves fall. Go.’

We must talk
.

Maglin took a deep breath. Were his words not clear? Must he begin
again
? He drew himself up angrily and turned to look at the winged creature. The
dark
brown eyes gazed steadily into his, and something in that wise expression checked the flow of curses rising within him. He breathed out again in exasperation.

‘Come then. I shall walk the bounds. Talk if you must.’ He strode away from the Whipping Stone at a furious rate, knowing that the injured animal would be hard put to keep up with him. But after a dozen paces he stopped and turned round. The horse hadn’t moved. Maglin sighed, and walked slowly back to the stone, beaten. He reached out and roughly tousled the horse’s mane, still half angry. ‘Ah, Pegs. Pegs-pegs-pegs. Hemmed if I know what this day shall come to. What are we to do?’

What would you?
They moved away from the centre of the clearing, and made their way across the rough turf towards the West Wood.

‘What would I? Set all the Gorji to a blaze and bide here content. Or find new lands. But all lands are Gorji lands.’

No. Not
all
lands
.

‘So?’ Maglin’s voice was bitter. ‘Do ’ee know of another?’

We are travellers, Maglin. And ever were. Travellers through the ages, our forefathers were, and so may we be again, though now we may seem to have lost our way. What do you know of the Touchstone?

Maglin was thrown. ‘The Queen’s bauble?’ he said guardedly. ‘ ’Tis but a . . . a lump of red rock. I know naught of it.’

And yet, I believe you do. I believe you to have seen a little of its art
.

Maglin was now deeply suspicious of this conversation. ‘What have I seen?’ he said. ‘And what is it to you? What do you know?’

I know many things. And the time has come for you to know a little more than you do. Know this, Maglin – I am here to a purpose. I was born to a purpose, which you may understand in time. But tell me – would you not save your people if it were in your gift? I say you would – for you have a true heart, and are a believer if you could but see it. I will be your guide – but you must follow me
.

Maglin was dumbfounded, and his voice rose once again. ‘
I
? Follow
you
? You will be
my
guide – a Naiad horse?’

I am Ickri
.

‘Ickri! You were born into Spindra’s herd.’

Yet I am Ickri. No matter – all tribes are one. The Various are one. Travellers we are, Maglin, and we shall travel from here – far from here – when the Touchstone is restored. For this is my purpose, Maglin – to restore that which is broken, the strength of the Touchstone, and to see it in the hands of its rightful inheritor
.

Maglin snorted. ‘What fey riddles are these? You talk like the mad hag. I am trapped by the Gorji – beset by troubles within and without the forest – and you,
horse
, come to me with ravings of witchi stones and strange travels? These be
myths
, Pegs, tales told by old fools to gulled childer. What
strength
, what magic
art
, does the bauble have? And who be the rightful owner? ’Tis the Queen’s.’

Not so. It is meant for one younger and fairer than she. As to its power – it is the lodestar of the Various, and in the
hands
of its inheritor it will take us where we would go. These are matters of truth, Maglin, not myth. Yet they are also matters of faith, and your faith in this I would crave. You have seen something of that power, a little – I know it to be so. Believe a little more, and be my ally now – I am bidden to beg you
.

‘You are
bidden
? What would ’ee have me do?’

Listen to my words
.

They had reached the edge of the clearing, and stood looking through the gaps in the foliage at the low flat expanses of the wetlands far below. Maglin felt out of his depth. He was ruler of the Various in all but name, and had laid about him with a strong hand as he saw fit. His way had served its purpose, and that the woodlanders still survived was due in part to his own strength. Now the Gorji were coming. If ever a strong hand and a clear mind were needed it was surely in this moment. Yet today he felt that he could offer neither. He had held the throng for the time being – bluffed them into submission – but doubted that he could do so for much longer. Panic and lawlessness would soon rise, and he feared that he would be helpless to prevent it. There had been two deaths since yesterday – how many more might there be come the morrow? And now here was the winged horse, come out of another age it would seem, with fey words and gimcrack notions, that he was bidden to put his faith in.