The Way of Wyrd (25 page)

He stretched out on the grass, lying flat on his back. ‘When the guardian spirits manifest themselves to you they could appear in any one of a hundred guises. It could be a worm or a bear, insect or wolf, a mighty oak, even a pebble. And although there will be one guardian spirit for you, it may not necessarily appear alone. You will have to be open to every conceivable possibility.’

My heart sank. Wulf had confirmed my worst fears and I was sure that I would commit a major error and seal my own fate.

After a short silence Wulf’s warm, infectious chuckle broke into my thoughts and he reached over to clap me playfully on the shoulder.

‘You will recognize your guardian spirit, have no doubt,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The guardians are like shadows: visible outside your body, but forming an inexorable link with you. The essence of your guardian spirit already resides with you; that is why you will instantly recognize it when it appears.’

‘The guardian spirit is inside me?’ I was surprised.

‘Everyone has the essence of their guardian spirits within them, but very few people know how to manifest their guardians and how to use them. The secret of the guardian spirits lies in the ability to extend the self beyond the boundaries of the physical body and to shoot along the lines of power into other worlds. The same ability applies to the guardians: if they can be projected into the world outside the body, they make available untold powers, they advise and protect you, they are with you whenever you need them.’

Wulf rolled on to his side, facing me, propped up on one elbow.

‘Your guardian spirit will guide you to the spirit-world and leave you in the correct place, a place where you may begin to seek your soul. But you will journey to the spirit-world using your own power. There will be no protective salves, spearwort drinks or wildfires, and no Wulf to watch over you, for I shall leave you alone on the hills to summon your guardian spirit. You must journey along your fibres of power, projecting your shadow-soul along them just as you jumped along the fibres over the wildfires. But if your guardian spirit arrives, it will help you by journeying with you, perhaps even lending you its physical form. Your guardian spirit is for you alone and it will be with you all of your life. In fact, if you should ever see your guardian spirit leaving you, then you will know that death is imminent.’

I had been hanging on Wulf’s every word, striving to ensure that I missed nothing that might help me succeed in this task; now I tried to question him further, but he placed a forefinger to his lips, then stood and stretched.

‘The time for talking has ended,’ he said, smiling ‘All your questions will be answered when you reach the spirit-world.’

* * *

It was late in the afternoon before Wulf led the way on to a narrow ridge which climbed out of the woods into the bracken-covered hills. Shadows raced up the hillside after us and the sinking sun warmed my back. We stopped at the top of a small rise and Wulf pointed towards the crest of the hill, far above us.

‘There, Brand, at the burial mound of the giants, we will seek your guardian spirit. It is a place of immense power. From within that burial mound, the Wyrd Sisters weave the webs of wyrd.’

I followed his pointing finger and saw for the first time the tip of an enormous burial mound squatting on top of the hill—its grass-covered bulk, high as a barn, dominating the skyline. Until now the mound had been invisible, hidden by the brow of the hill. I shivered involuntarily.

‘We are heading for that promontory,’ he added, moving his finger to indicate a flat ridge directly beneath the mouth of the mound.

To reach the ridge we had to climb hard, grabbing for foot- and hand-holds and scrambling up escarpments of crumbling chalk rock. When we finally reached the ridge, I crawled away from the edge and lay down to get my breath. Above and behind us loomed the mouth of the burial mound, facing into the valley. All around the small plateau, stiff, stubby fingers of rock-plants rustled in the breeze.

Wulf was crouching at the edge of the ridge, on a rocky spur projecting out from the hillside. He turned and silently gestured for me to join him. I moved cautiously towards him, sat several feet from the edge and inched my way forward onto the rock, settling into a slight depression in the ground which gave me some small sense of security.

The view was breathtaking. The distant hilltops shone with the soft glow of the setting sun and cast deep shadows over the forest stretching out below us. The sun hovered just above the lip of the world and as I looked towards it, the entire landscape shattered into shimmering streaks of light. The effect was exhilarating

‘Brand, when your guardian has arrived, this is the point at which you will leave for your journey to the spirit-world. With your guardian, you must jump off this precipice on a fibre and your shadow-soul will fly.’

Very slowly, I leaned forward and peered over the edge. Below, water seemed to gush from some hidden spring out of the hillside and tumbled, spun and cascaded down the almost sheer cliff to disappear into the gathering shadows of the river valley.

Suddenly I felt dizzy. In panic I gripped the rock with both hands and leaned back, away from the edge. Then I felt Wulf right behind me, holding my shoulders firmly.

‘Stay where you are,’ he whispered urgently. ‘This is a place of power. Feel the power with your body. Grip the rocks with your fibres.’

Wulf continued to hold me while I sat on the edge of the precipice. Gradually I became aware of a strange feeling. The crashing sound of the water became transformed into a bodily sensation, as if it were coming up through the hillside and setting up a vibration deep inside me.

The sun set very slowly, finally dipping below the distant stubble of treetops in a blaze of orange. The light faded and the moon appeared above us like a silver ghost. Wulf began to talk, softly.

‘When I leave you, Brand, you must sing for your guardian, singing your own song. That way the guardian spirit will find you.’

I looked at him, startled. I desperately wanted to do as he said, but I did not know how. I had no idea what to sing I started to protest, but Wulf interrupted.

‘Sing your own song, Brand. Do not worry about the words, just make the sounds that come to you. The spirits will understand.’ He gripped my arm ‘You must do it, Brand. You must! If you do not sing you will see only visions of death. You must sing to replace this bleak prospect with the ecstasy of the spirits. I cannot tell you what to sing or how to sing. It is your guardian spirit we are seeking. It must be your song.’

I felt cheated. Wulf had not even hinted that I might have to sing and because I did not have appropriate words or sounds already learned, I was thrown into confusion.

‘The songs you need are within you,’ Wulf insisted, in a mixture of exhortation and encouragement. ‘You will know the words when the time comes, for the essence of your guardian spirit is already within you. Float your word-hoard on the waves of wyrd; the power to release your guardian spirit lies within you alone.’

Suddenly Wulf laughed unexpectedly and the sound startled me.

‘Relax,’ he said. ‘You are tying yourself in knots with tension. Relax and your guardian spirit will cut through the fog of your life like a sunbeam.’

I looked at Wulf and tried to smile, but I was so nervous I could not control my face. I felt my cheeks quivering and trembling

Wulf chuckled merrily. ‘You look like an owl trying to devour its prey,’ he said. ‘I believe the owl spirit must have chosen you.’

I laughed nervously. It felt wonderful to laugh and tension drained from me. I began to think that perhaps I could do it. Perhaps the words would come to me when I needed them

Suddenly Wulf fell flat on his back and uttered a strange, long scream, ‘Haaayeeee...’ from deep within his throat. I stared at him through the soft dusk haze, paralysed by fear. I could not move.

Wulf had adopted a rigid posture on the ground, his feet tucked back far under his body, a gurgling sound coming from his throat. Then his whole body trembled, he seemed to force himself slowly into an upright sitting position, spat hard onto the ground and swung his face towards me. His eyes looked large and wild, watching me almost with bewilderment like a scared animal.

‘Your spirits will soon be here,’ he rasped, his jaws opening and shutting with a strange, snapping motion. ‘The spirits will soon be here, and I must leave you. Sing, Brand. Sing!’

He reached out and squeezed my arm, once, hard. Then he was gone. He disappeared so abruptly that I did not see him leave. I peered towards the shrubbery at the edge of the ridge, but the moon slipped behind clouds and I was looking at shifting shadows. I sat alone in the gathering darkness.

For a time I sat motionless. The hilltop was silent. I could hear not a sound, save for the gentle murmur of the breeze. Then, quite abruptly, the sky was lit again by pale moon-glow and at that instant I shivered violently as if I had suddenly grown cold. The air around me was mild, but my body was strangely chilled. I stood and began clapping my arms around me to beat some warmth into my body, then I began running in small circles and gradually I felt better. The movement felt very good, but whenever I stopped I became extremely agitated and my body itched and twitched uncontrollably. I jumped about in the moonlight for a long time, until the sweat dripped from my face and I could hear my breath coming in hoarse, rasping gasps. I became fascinated by the rhythmic sound of my breathing and then I began to grunt with each breath. The sound was comforting. Each time I breathed out, I added louder voice to the gasp and after a while the grunting sounds came very freely, like the monotonous barking of a dog. Spellbound by the sounds, I began to vary the sound-breathing out with a groan, a gasp, a shriek. The sounds seemed to take over from me, varying themselves, rising and falling in pitch, now louder, now quieter, echoing around the ridge as the night closed in.

Suddenly I stopped. I could hear a voice singing and turned around to look for Wulf, but the ridge was deserted. Alarmed, I dropped to a crouch and stared wildly into the darkness, the singing louder and closer now. With a sense of shock, I realized that my lips were moving. It was my voice I could hear—I was singing my song.

At first I did not know what I was singing. The words forced my mouth and lips into a rhythm, my tongue into a shape. The words sang through me. Sometimes the sounds I made frightened me and I would grip the ground with my fingers and wait for them to pass. Other times, the sounds were soft, sylph-like and melodic. Then after a time I heard words I understood, though their meaning was still a mystery.

Earth-cooler is the power
who covers the sun like a shield,
And allows the spirits protection
to travel here on the wind.
All-wise maiden who sits at Earth’s rim,
Knower of secrets, guardian of runes,
From you flows swift the shuttle.
In your hands the reel is turned
And the copper shafts clatter,
The silver comb resounds,
and the fibres of wyrd are woven.
Wind-weaver at Earth’s rim,
send the power of guardian spirits,
send the sleep-bringer and dream-spinner
to guide me to the land of spirits,
and show me the wonder of wyrd.

I sang softly for a longtime, well into the night. I had stopped singing long before I realized it and just sat in stunned silence. The singing had had a devastating effect on me, as if I had opened myself to the entire world and no longer had any secrets, any memories of which others knew nothing even any identity as a person. It seemed as if I had told every thing in my interminable song and there was nothing else of importance left in my life. I felt utterly exhausted. Then something much worse happened. Slowly, with the stealth of an assassin, the realization crept upon me that I had failed. I had sung my song and my guardian spirit had not come to me. The full realization hit me like a dagger in the heart and I crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Far into the night, alone on the ridge, I wept bitterly and prepared to die.

Eventually I stopped and rolled over on my back, all energies completely and utterly spent. My stomach ached and I rubbed it gently with my right palm. A warm, good feeling crept over me, or rather it emanated from my stomach and coursed through my body and along my limbs, making my fingers and toes tingle. I could hear my breathing slow and steady now, as if I were sleeping. But I knew that I was not sleeping for my mind was sharp and alert.

Suddenly the sky was split in two by a flash of lightning and the land rumbled with answering thunder. Rain begin to drizzle, then sleeted down, the wind blowing it directly into my face. Lightning flashed again across the sky and thunder growled menacingly. But this time it did not stop: the thunder kept rumbling rolling and groaning. The very air around me seemed to take on the scent of danger and I began to feel very afraid. Water poured down my face and ran in a thin stream off the end of my nose; I wiped my face with my wet sleeve and peered around the ridge for shelter but I could see nothing I was looking into a cloak of water. Then the long continuous painful rumble of thunder seemed to roll up the hill and I could feel the ground trembling beneath my feet. Absurdly I braced myself against the rocks, trying to stabilize the ground, breathing in panic-stricken gasps. Desperate for shelter, I remembered the burial mound above the ridge and squinted up at the rocky entrance squatting on top of the hill: it glared silently into space, hoarder of souls from ages past and now, according to Wulf, witness to the weaving of the Wyrd Sisters. I took a few steps towards the rear of the small plateau, beneath the mound, and it disappeared behind the brow of the hill. The thunder boomed again and without hesitation I began to climb the rocks towards the entrance to the burial mound. I was doomed already and had nothing to lose. I feared nothing. In the moonlight, footholds materialized and disappeared just as quickly; twice I almost fell and my fingers ran wet with blood from gripping sharp edges. I struggled on to the top of the hill and crept closer to the mound until I could make out the entrance. Moonlight glinted off a pile of flint rocks, their bases buried by grass, moss and ferns. I crawled in amongst the boulders which formed the entrance and crouched down for shelter. The wind moaned through the gaps between the rocks and I flattened myself back against them and waited for the storm to die down.