The Weirdstone of Brisingamen and The Moon of Gomrath

“In the next chamber to that of the Sleepers had been stored jewels and precious metals for the use of the king to help put right the ills of the world, if he should conquer Nastrond. This treasure, since it lay in Fundindelve, was safe as long as the spell remained unbroken; and although Nastrond had no thought for the treasure, he did desire most furiously to break the spell, for, if this were achieved, the Sleepers would wake and become normal men, who would grow old, and die, and pass away centuries before his return, since there would no longer be magic left upon the earth powerful to hold them once more ageless in Fundindelve.

“To this end he summoned the witches and warlocks of the morthbrood, and the lords of the svart-alfar, together with many of his own ministers, and put greed and a craving for riches in their hearts by telling them of the treasure that would be theirs if they could only reach it. And from that hour they have striven to find a way to break the spell. At first I had no need to fear, for the sorcery of the morthbrood, though powerful, and the hammers and shovels of svarts could have no effect where the art of Nastrond had failed. But then, on the day that I found the last white mare, disaster fell upon me.

“This light around us is the magic that guards all here, and its flames are torment to the followers of Nastrond: and the source of the magic, as I have said, rests in the stone Firefrost. While Firefrost remains, and there is light in Fundindelve, the Sleepers lie here in safety. Yet each day I dread that I shall see the flames tremble and give way to shadows, and hear the murmur of men roused from sleep, and the neigh of horses. For I have lost the weirdstone of Brisingamen!”

Cadellin’s voice trembled with rage and shame as he spoke, and he crashed the butt of his staff against the rock floor.

“Lost it?” cried Susan. “You can’t have done! I mean, if it’s a special stone it should be easy to find if it’s lying around somewhere in here … shouldn’t it?”

The wizard smiled grimly. “But it is not here. Of that, at least, I am certain. Come, and I shall show you proof of what I say.”

He beckoned the children towards an opening in the wall and into a short tunnel not more than thirty feet in length, and halfway down Cadellin stopped before a bowl-shaped recess about six inches high and a yard above the level of the floor.

“There is the throne of Firefrost,” he said, “and you will see that it is now vacant.”

They passed through into a cavern similar to the last, and Colin and Susan halted in awe.

Here lay the treasure, piled in banks of jewels, and gold, and silver, which stretched away into the distance like sand dunes in a desert.

“Oh,” gasped Susan, “how beautiful! Look at those colours!”

“You would not think them so beautiful,” said Cadellin, “if you had run through your fingers every diamond, pearl, sapphire, amethyst, opal, carbuncle, garnet, topaz, emerald, and ruby in the whole of this all too spacious cave, in search of a stone that is not there!

“I spent five years labouring in this cave, and as many weeks scouring every gallery and path in Fundindelve, but without success. I can only think that that knave of a farmer was a greedier and more cunning rogue than he appeared, and that, as he followed me from here, laden as he was with wealth, his eyes fell upon the stone, and he slyly took it without a word. Perhaps he thought it was merely a pretty bauble, or he may even have seen me replace it after I had tethered his horse with sleep while he crammed his pockets here.

“Seldom have I need to visit these quarters, and it was a hundred years before I next came this way and found that the stone had gone. First I searched here; then I went out into the world to seek the farmer or his family. But, of course, by this time he was dead, and I could not trace his descendants; and although my quest was discreet the morthbrood came to hear of it, and they were not long in guessing the truth. Throughout the region of the plain they coursed, and even to the bleak uplands of the east, towards Ragnarok, but neither they nor the ferreting svarts found what they sought. Nor, for that matter, did I.

“Should Firefrost come into Nastrond’s hand my danger would be great indeed; for although he is powerless against the magic it contains, if he could destroy the stone then the magic, too, would die away.

“Firefrost was an ancient spellstone of great strength before the present magic was sealed within, and it would not readily suffer destruction; so while the light shines here I know that somewhere the stone still lives, and there is hope.

“There you have the story of my troubles, and, I trust, the answer to your questions. Now you must return to your home, for the hour is late and your friends will be anxious – and they may have ample cause for worry if we cannot solve this evening’s problems soon!”

They went back into the Cave of the Sleepers, and from there climbed upwards by tunnels and vast caverns till the way was blocked by a pair of iron gates, behind which the tunnel ended in a sheer rock wall. The wizard touched the gates with his staff, and slowly they swung open.

“These were wrought by dwarfs to guard their treasures from the thievish burrowings of svarts, but without magic they would be of little use against what seeks to enter now.”

So saying, Cadellin laid his hand upon the wall, and a dark gap appeared in the blue rock, through which the night air flowed, cold and dew-laden.

It looked very black outside, and the memory of their recent fear made Colin and Susan unwilling to leave the light and safety of Fundindelve; but, keeping close to the wizard, they stepped through the gap, and stood once more beneath the trees on the hillside.

The gates and the opening closed behind them with a sound that made the earth shake, and as they grew used to the moonlight the children saw that they were standing before the tooth of rock that they had striven to reach as they floundered in the depths of the beech wood, with svart-claws grasping at their heels.

Away to the left they could make out the shape of the ridge above the dell.

“That’s where the svarts attacked us,” said Colin, pointing.

“You do not surprise me!” laughed the wizard. “Saddlebole was ever a svart-warren; a good place to watch the sun set, indeed!”

They walked up the path to Stormy Point. All was quiet: just the grey rocks, and the moonlight. When they passed the dark slit of the Devil’s Grave, Colin and Susan instinctively huddled closer to the wizard, but nothing stirred within the blackness of the cave.

“Do svarts live in all the mines?” asked Susan.

“They do. They have their own warrens, but when men dug here they followed, hoping that Fundindelve would be revealed; and when the men departed they swarmed freely. Therefore you must keep away from the mines now, at all cost.”

Cadellin took the children from Stormy Point along a broad track that cut straight through the wood as far as the open fields, where it turned sharply to twist along the meadow border skirting the woodland. This, the wizard said, was once an elf-road, and some of the old magic still lingered. Svarts would not set foot on it, and the morthbrood would do so only if hard pressed, and then they could not bear to walk there for long. He told the children to use this road if they had need to visit him, and not to stray from it: for parts of the wood were evil, and very dangerous. “But then,” he said, “you have already found that to be true!” It would be wiser, he thought, to stay away from the wood altogether, and on no account must they go out of doors once the sun had set.

The track came to an end by the side of The Wizard Inn, and they had gone barely a hundred yards from there when they heard the sound of hoofs, and round the corner ahead of them came the shape of a horse and cart, oil lamps flickering on either side.

“It’s Gowther!”

“Do not speak of me!” said Cadellin.

“Oh, but …” began Susan. “But …”

But they were alone.

“Wey back!” called Gowther to Prince. “Hallo theer! Dunner you think it’s a bit late to be looking for wizards? It’s gone eleven o’clock, tha knows.”

“Oh, we’re sorry, Gowther,” said Colin. “We didn’t mean to be late, but we were lost, and stuck in a bog, and it took us a long time to find the road again.”

He thought that this half-lie would be more readily accepted than the truth, and Cadellin obviously wanted to keep his existence a secret.

“Eh well, we’ll say no more about it then; but think on you’re more careful in future, for with all them mine holes lying around, Bess was for having police and fire brigade out to look for you.

“Now up you come: if you’ve been traipsing round in Holywell bog you’ll be wanting a bath, I reckon.”

On reaching the farm Colin and Susan wasted no time in dragging off their muddy clothes and climbing into a steaming bath-tub. From there they went straight to bed, and Bess, who had been fussing and clucking round like a hen with chicks, brought them bowls of hot, salted bread and milk.

The children were too tired to think, let alone talk, much about their experience, and as they drowsily snuggled down between the sheets all seemed to grow confused and vague: it was impossible to keep awake. Colin slid into a muddled world of express trains, and black birds, and bracken, and tunnels, and dead leaves, and horses.

“Oh gosh,” he yawned, “which is which? Are there wizards and goblins? Or are we still at home? Must ask Sue about … about … oh … knights … ask Mum … don’t believe in farmers … farm – no … witches … and … things … oh …”

He began, very quietly, to snore.

On the crest of the Riddings, staring down upon the farmhouse as it lay bathed in gossamer moonlight, was a dark figure, tall and gaunt; and on its shoulder crouched an ugly bird.

CHAPTER 5

MICHING MALLECHO

The next day was cool and showery. The children slept late, and it was turned nine o’clock when they came down for breakfast.

“I thought it best to let you have a lie in this morning,” said Bess. “You looked dead beat last neet; ay, and you’re a bit pale now. Happen you’d do better to take things easy today, and not go gallivanting over the Edge.”

“Oh, I think we’ve seen enough of the Edge for a day or two,” said Susan. “It was rather tiring.”

Breakfast was hardly over when a lorry arrived from Alderley station with the children’s bicycles and trunks, and Colin and Susan immediately set about the task of unpacking their belongings.

“What do you make of last night?” asked Susan when they were alone. “It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

“That’s what I was wondering in bed; but we can’t both have imagined it. The wizard is in a mess, isn’t he? I shouldn’t like to live by myself all the time and be on guard against things like those svarts.”

“He said things worse than svarts, remember! I shouldn’t have thought anything could be worse than those clammy hands and bulging eyes, and their flat feet splashing in the mud. If it’s so, then I’m glad I’m not a wizard!”

They did not discuss their pursuit and rescue. It was too recent for them to think about it without trembling and feeling sick. So they talked mainly about the wizard and his story, and it was late afternoon before they had finished unpacking and had found a place for everything.

Colin and Susan went down to tea. Gowther was already at the table, talking to Bess.

“And a couple of rum things happened after dinner, too. First, I go into the barn for some sacks, and, bless me, if the place inner full of owls! I counted nigh on two dozen snoozing among the rafters – big uns, too. They mun be thinking we’re sneyed out with mice, or summat. I’ve never seen owt like it.

“And then again, about an hour later, a feller comes up to me in Front Baguley, and he asks if I’ve a job for him. I didner like his looks at all. He was a midget, with long black hair and a beard, and skin like owd leather. He didner talk as if he came from round here, either – he was more Romany than owt else, to my way of thinking; and his clothes looked as though they’d been borrowed and slept in.

“Well, when I tell him I dunner need a mon, he looks fair put out, and he starts to tell me his hard luck story, and asks me to give him a break, but I give him his marching orders instead. He dunner argue: he just turns on his heel and stalks off, saying as I might regret treating him like this before long. He seemed in a fair owd paddy! All the same, I think Scamp had best have the run of the hen-pen for a neet or two, just in case.”

The wizard had told Colin and Susan to keep their windows closed, no matter how hot and stuffy their bedrooms might become, so the colder weather was not unwelcome, and they slept soundly enough that night.

Not so Gowther. The furious barking of Scamp woke him at three o’clock. It was the tone used for strangers, high-pitched and continuous, not the gruff outbursts that answered other dogs, birds, or the wind. Gowther scrambled into his clothes, seized his shot-gun and lantern, which he had put ready to hand, and made for the door.

“I knew it! I knew it! The little blighter’s after my chickens. I’ll give him chickens!”

“Watch thy step, lad,” said Bess. “You’re bigger than he is, and that’s all the more of thee for him to hit.”

“I’ll be all reet; but he wunner,” said Gowther, and he clumped down the stairs and out into the farm-yard.

Thick clouds hid the moon, there was little wind. The only sounds were the frantic clamour of the dog and the bumping of frightened, sleep-ridden hens.

Gowther shone his light into the pen. The wire netting was undamaged, and the gate locked. In the centre of the lamp’s beam stood Scamp. His hackles were up, in fact every hair along his spine seemed to be on end; his ears lay flat against his skull, and his eyes blazed yellow in the light. He was barking and snarling, almost screaming at times, and tearing the earth with stiff, jerky movements of his legs. Gowther unfastened the gate.

“Wheer is he, boy? Go fetch him!”

Scamp came haltingly out of the pen, his lips curled hideously. Gowther was puzzled: he had expected him to come out like a rocket.

“Come on, lad! He’ll be gone else!”

The dog ran backwards and forwards nervously, still barking, then he set off towards the field gate in the snarling glide, keeping his belly close to the ground, and disappeared into the darkness. A second later the snarl rose to a yelp, and he shot back into the light to stand at Gowther’s feet in a further welter of noise. He was trembling all over. His fury had been obvious all along, but now Gowther realised that, more than anything else, the dog was terrified.

“What’s up, lad? What’s frit thee, eh?” said Gowther gently as he knelt to calm the shivering animal. Then he stood up and went over towards the gate, his gun cocked, and shone the light into the field.

There was nothing wrong as far as he could see, but Scamp, though calmer, still foamed at his heels. Nothing wrong, yet there was something … wait!… he sniffed … was there?… yes!!! A cold, clammy air drifted against Gowther’s face, and with it a smell so strange, so unwholesome, and unexpected that a knot of instinctive fear tightened in his stomach. It was the smell of stagnant water and damp decay. It filled his nostrils and choked his lungs, and, for a moment, Gowther imagined that he was being sucked down into the depths of a black swamp, old and wicked in time. He swung round, gasping, wide-eyed, the hairs of his neck prickling erect. But on the instant the stench passed and was gone: he breathed pure night air once more.

“By gow, lad, theer’s summat rum afoot toneet! That was from nowt local, choose how the wind blows. Come on, let’s be having a scrat round.”

He went first to the stable, where he found Prince stamping nervously, and covered with sweat.

“Wey, lad,” said Gowther softly, and he ran his hands over the horse’s quivering flanks. “Theer’s no need to fret. Hush while I give thee a rub.”

Prince gradually quietened down as Gowther rubbed him with a piece of dry sacking, and Scamp, too, was in a happier frame of mind. He carried his head high, and his din was reduced to a growl, threatening rather than nervous – as though trying to prove that he had never felt anything but aggressive rage all night.

Ay, thought Gowther, and yon’s a dog as fears neither mon nor beast most days; I dunner like it one bit!

In the shippons he found the cows restless, but not as excited as Prince had been, for all their rolling eyes and snuffling nostrils.

“Well, theer’s nowt here, Scamp; let’s take a look at the barn.”

They went into the outhouses, and nowhere was there any hint of disturbance, nor did anything appear to have been tampered with.

“Ay, well everywheer seems reet enough now, onyroad,” said Gowther, “so we’ll have a quick peek around the house and mash a pot of tea, and then it’ll be time to start milking. Eh dear, theer’s no rest for the wicked!”

The sky was showing the first pale light of day as he crossed the farmyard: soon another morning would be here to drive away the fears of the night. Already Gowther was feeling a little ashamed of his moment of fear, and he was thankful that there had been no one else there to witness it. “Eh, it’s funny how your imagination plays …” He stopped dead in his tracks, while Scamp pressed, whining, close to his legs.

Out of the blackness, far above Gowther’s head, had come a single shriek, too harsh for human voice, yet more than animal.

For the second time that night Gowther’s blood froze. Then, taking a deep breath, he strode quickly and purposefully towards the house, looking neither to the right nor to the left, neither up nor down, with Scamp not an inch from his heels. In one movement, he lifted the latch, stepped across the threshold, closed the door, and shot the bolt home. Slowly he turned and looked down at Scamp.

“I dunner know about thee, lad, but I’m going to have a strong cup of tea.”

He lit the paraffin lamp and put the kettle on the stove, and while he waited for the water to boil he went from room to room to see that nothing was amiss here at least. All was quiet; though when he looked into Susan’s room a sleepy voice asked what the time was and why Scamp had been making such a noise. Gowther said that a fox had been after the hens, or so he thought, but Scamp had frightened him off. He told a similar story to Bess.

“… and he started barking at his own shadder, he was that excited.”

“Ay? Then what is it as has made thee sweat like a cheese?” said Bess suspiciously.

“Well,” said Gowther, confused, “I reckon it’s a bit early in the day to be running round, at my age. But I’m not past mashing a pot of tea – er – I’ll bring you one: kettle’s boiling!”

Gowther sought the kitchen. It was never easy to keep anything from Bess, she knew him too well. But what could he say? That he, a countryman, had been frightened by a smell and a night bird? He almost blushed to think of it.

By the time he had made the tea, washed, and finished dressing, it was light outside and near milking time. The sun was breaking through the cloud. Gowther felt much better now.

He was halfway across the yard when he noticed the long, black feathers that lay scattered upon the cobblestones.

CHAPTER 6

A RING OF STONES

Thursday at Highmost Redmanhey was always busy, for on top of the normal round of work Gowther had to make ready for the following day, when he would drive down to Alderley village to do the weekly shopping, and also to call on certain old friends and acquaintances whom he supplied with vegetables and eggs. So much of Thursday was taken up with selecting and cleaning the produce for Friday’s marketing.

When all was done, Colin and Susan rode with Gowther to the wheelwright in the nearby township of Mottram St Andrew to have a new spoke fitted to the cart. This occupied them until teatime, and afterwards Gowther asked the children if they would like to go with him down to Nether Alderley to see whether they could find their next meal in Radnor mere.

They set off across the fields, and shortly came to a wood. Here the undergrowth was denser than on most of the Edge, and contained quite a lot of bramble. High rhododendron bushes grew wild everywhere. The wood seemed full of birds. They sang in the trees, rustled in the thicket, and swam in the many quiet pools.

“I’ve just realised something,” said Colin: “I felt the Edge was unusual, and now I know why. It’s the …”

“Birds,” said Gowther. “There is none. Not worth speaking of, onyroad. Flies, yes; but birds no. It’s always been like that, to my knowledge, and I conner think why it should be. You’d think with all them trees and suchlike, you’d have as mony as you find here, but, considering the size of the place, theer’s hardly a throstle to be found from Squirrel’s Jump to Daniel Hill. Time’s been when I’ve wandered round theer half the day and seen nobbut a pair of jays, and that was in Clockhouse Wood. No, it’s very strange, when you come to weigh it up.”

Their way took them through a jungle of rhododendron. The ground was boggy and choked with dead wood, and they had to duck under low branches and climb over fallen trees: but, somehow, Gowther managed to carry his rod and line through it all without a snag, and he even seemed to know where he was going.

Susan thought how unpleasant it would be to have to move quickly through such country.

“Gowther,” she said, “are there any mines near here?”

“No, none at all, we’re almost on the plain now, and the mines are over the other side of the hill, behind us. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wondered.”

The rhododendrons came to an end at the border of a mere, about half a mile long and a quarter wide.

“This is it,” said Gowther, sitting down on a fallen trunk which stretched out over the water. “It’s a trifle marshy, but we’re not easy to reach here, as theer’s some as might term this poaching. Now if you’ll open yon basket and pass the tin with the bait in it, we can settle down and makes ourselves comfortable.”

After going out as far as he could along the tree to cast his rod, Gowther sat with his back against the roots and lit his pipe. Colin and Susan lay full length on the wrinkled bark and gazed into the mere.

Within two hours they had three perch between them, so they gathered in their tackle and headed for home, arriving well before dusk.

The following morning in Alderley village Susan went with Bess to the shops while Colin stayed to help Gowther with the vegetables. They all met again for a meal at noon, and afterwards climbed into the cart and went with Gowther on his round.

It was a hot day, and by four o’clock Colin and Susan were very thirsty, so Bess said that they ought to drop off for an ice-cream and a lemonade.

“We’ve to go down Moss Lane,” she said, “and we shanner be above half an hour; you stay and cool down a bit.”

The children were soon in the village café, with their drinks before them. Susan was toying with her bracelet, and idly trying to catch the light so that she could see the blue heart of her Tear.

“It’s always difficult to find,” she said. “I never know when it’s going to come right … ah … wait a minute … yes … got it! You know, it reminds me of the light in Fundin …”

She looked at Colin. He was staring at her, open mouthed. They both dropped their eyes to Susan’s wrist where the Tear gleamed so innocently.

“But it couldn’t be!” whispered Colin. “Could it?”

“I don’t … know. But how?”

But how?

“No, of course not!” said Colin. “The wizard would have recognised it as soon as he saw it, wouldn’t he?”

Susan flopped back in her chair, releasing her pent-up breath in a long sigh. But a second later she was bolt upright, inarticulate with excitement.