Tales From The Wyrd Museum 2: The Raven's Knot (24 page)

‘I... I am sorry.’

‘When I found and cut your tortured body from the Ash I knew I had lost you. What happened afterwards was not of my doing. From that moment you were the rightful one—it is you who should have been the Master of Destiny. The war was never of my making.’

Swivelling his beady eyes at the Captain, Thought coughed hastily. ‘Why dwell upon such days of woe?’ he crowed. “Tis the present thou must give heed to.’

The woman smiled in agreement. ‘As ever your messenger displays his wisdom,’ she said. ‘Let us bury what is behind us.’

‘I would like that,’ Woden told her.

‘Let it be as though the intervening ages never were. Tides and rank meant nothing here. In this special place we are just two ordinary people and the customs and edicts of the court are far, far away.’

Having sat down upon the grass, Edie groaned as Verdandi embraced him once more, but her silvery blue eyes were more interested in the antics of the raven. Thought appeared to be continually prompting the Captain, either with a muttered whisper from the corner of his beak or by a surreptitious dig with his claws.

To her shrewd scrutiny it didn't seem as though Woden relished Verdandi's attentions one tiny bit. If anything he looked anxious and afraid.

‘Something is the matter,’ Verdandi said, as she too observed Thought's continual goading.

Woden glanced at the raven and let out a guilt-ridden sigh.

‘I cannot do this,’ he declared, unable to meet her gaze and staring shamefully at the ground. ‘Listen, I must tell you the truth...’

‘The truth!’ Thought hastily interjected. ‘Wouldst thou burden this maiden's heart with such grave tidings?’

Verdandi stared at the Captain anxiously. ‘What news does Thought speak of?’ she asked in a wavering voice. ‘Tell me, my Love.’

‘Princess,’ the bird cawed, ‘permit me to speak for my Master. Thou knowest full well the tally of the ages that have passed since last thee met. Bitter it may have been for the three sisters, yet for Him the trial of enduring was too great.’

‘Woden!’ she cried. ‘Your messenger's words frighten me!’

The Captain shook his head in dejection.

‘My Master did not want to speak of it!’ Thought blustered. ‘To glimpse you once more was all He craved afore the end, yet too well doth thou know Him, witness how swiftly the deceit was uncovered.’

‘End?’ Verdandi repeated. ‘Now you talk in riddles.’

‘Nay,’ the raven muttered. ‘An end is indeed nigh for thy Captain and my Lord. Know this Princess, the Gallows God is soon to die.’

The woman stepped back, aghast and stared at the man in disbelief.

Chewing a blade of grass as she sat crossed-legged upon the ground, Edie was certain that Thought was not telling the complete truth. She didn't trust him at all and doubted everything that came out of his ugly black beak.

‘The carrion bird lies,’ Verdandi breathed. ‘You are hale, Woden—the power within you, the same spark which burns in both of us, cannot be extinguished. For such as we there can be no death.’

‘Assuredly to thine eyes my Master appears strong and as permanent as the stones,’ Thought said with a great show of sadness. ‘But ‘tis only an artful guise—a phantom reminder of what was. I am certain thou canst comprehend such a connivance, Lady. Yet ‘neath this vision dodders an old and ailing sack of bones. Of the enduring life bestowed upon him by Yggdrasill, little remains.’

‘Is it true?’ she whispered.

Woden frowned as though struggling to answer and Thought's eyes glinted warningly at him.

'It is,’ the man finally said.

Verdandi clutched his hands and pressed them to her cheek. ‘Then we can never be together,’ she wept. ‘This will be our very last meeting.’

‘Perhaps,’ the raven said archly, ‘and yet perhaps not. There might yet be a chance.’

The woman looked at him bewildered. ‘What chance?’

Thought moved from side to side and a cunning gleam shone in his eyes as he answered.

‘One slender hope doth my Master and His loyal servant foster. He can indeed be saved, yet by one rare and precious thing and that alone.’

‘Tell me.’

The bird jerked his head and pointed across the marsh-filled valley with his beak.

‘I speak of that which was brought thither from over the sundering waters and lies now upon the breast of a hermit, long dead below yonder ground.

‘From a desert land he came. In former times he was a merchant yet when he settled here, a missionary had he become and one great device did he have in his keeping. A golden prize imbued with such power it couldst lift the shadow which doth threaten thy Captain. If thou canst fetch the gilded treasure of Joseph, then naught wouldst e'er come ‘twixt the pair of thee.’

Verdandi spun around to scan the flat swamp at the foot of the Tor, and Edie was disturbed to see a frightening resolve ingrained upon her face.

‘Where is this grave?’ the woman asked. ‘I would plunder a thousand tombs to save Him.’

A low cackling grated in Thought's throat. ‘Only thou canst find it. Only one who has drunk of blessed water may open the earth and take this hallowed, costly device from the hermit's interment.’

The woman turned back to her Captain and kissed him tenderly.

‘Verdandi shall fetch this thing for you, my Love,’ she promised. ‘Rest here and save your strength. Soon we will be united forever.’

‘Wait,’ Woden blurted.

At that Thought gave an agitated cry and dragged his claws through the midnight fur of the sable cloak.

‘Master,’ he warned, ‘do not detain my Lady, the grains of thy life are near run out. Forget not the glorious outcome once this most trifling of deeds is accomplished. Think long on that and consider well thy next words.’

Woden heard the unmistakable edge in the raven's voice and knew what was meant.

Turning to Verdandi, he smiled weakly. ‘Go then, do as Thought suggests, bring it to me.’

Lifting her cane, Verdandi faced the wide, reed-crowded marsh and in a desperate, forceful voice cried, ‘Reveal to me, Verdandi of the royal house of Askar, show unto her the resting place of he who came from over the seas.’

Edie rose to her feet, glancing suspiciously at Woden and the raven, then gazed out at the sprawling, overgrown bogs and brackish pools in which the sunlight glittered and danced.

‘Yield your secret,’ Verdandi asserted. ‘The might of Doom and Destiny commands it.’

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a tremendous silence descended across the valley. The warm air became still and charged with expectance.

In the midst of the treacherous tracts of mud, where islands of firmer terrain encroached into the dun realm of pond and ditch, Edie saw that the ground was beginning to move.

Slowly at first, the earth bulged and heaved, causing every plant to tremble and quiver until, suddenly, a piece of the land fell away. Down into a gaping hole it dropped and from the darkness below there shot a brilliant, silver-green flame.

Into the sky the dazzling beacon soared and the raven shrieked with triumph.

‘The entrance!’ he screeched. ‘Behold, it is uncovered! Go, my Lady—save my Master. Bring to Him that which wilt heal His hurt.’

With a last look at her Captain, Verdandi began to hurry down the Tor.

‘Oi!’ Edie yelled, scrambling after her. ‘You ain't leavin’ me behind!’

Down the steep slopes they hastened, with Edie skidding and sliding over the grass, trying her best to keep up with Verdandi, who ran as swift as a deer fleeing from the hunt.

Snagging even more holes in her woollen stockings as she bounced and tumbled in Verdandi's wake, the child followed her into the shade of the apple trees which fringed the lower terraces of the majestic hill. It was a mad, haring race, dashing through the blossom covered, leaf dappled orchard. Then out, to where the safe ground gave way to sinking mud, and Edie was glad to see that here the woman stopped and she managed to catch up with her—only to puff and blow in the struggle to draw her breath.

‘Take care, Edith,’ Verdandi warned, not waiting for the child to recover and tentatively planting her foot upon a patch of bog-beset weeds. ‘The marsh is perilous if you do not know the secret paths—copy my steps.’

Gulping the air down, Edie tucked the hair which had worked itself loose and flew in her eyes, back under her pixie-hood and did as the woman instructed.

Over the squelching, miry ground they went, as fast as the meandering routes allowed. But, driven by the urgency of her task, Verdandi often forgot that the child was not able to leap across wide ditches as she could, and was forced to return to direct her through less difficult ways.

Edie didn't like the marsh. Although she enjoyed trudging in the sticky black mud, she hated the clouds of gnats and mosquitoes which flew up to buzz about her face and zoom into her mouth and eyes. When the pinnacle of enchanted flame was almost reached and could be seen rearing above the tall grasses ahead, the girl was very much relieved. Halting, she blew her nose upon her sleeve as a midge chose that moment to go exploring up her nostril.

‘The entrance will not remain open for long,’ Verdandi said, her diaphanous robe now splashed with silt and her slippers caked in clay. ‘We must find this golden device as soon as we can.’

At last the labyrinthine paths and spongy causeways came to an end and the woman crossed over a quagmire-filled trench to a large island of solid ground.

‘We are here,’ she cried when the child bounded over to join her. ‘Now, let us find the grave of this missionary.’

Through the tall, obstructing reeds they crashed, stumbling into the clearing where the silver-green flame towered over them in a pillar of crackling, blazing light.

Shielding her eyes, Edie edged closer intrigued to discover that it radiated no heat. But, just as she was about to put her hand experimentally into the heart of the leaping column, it gave a ferocious roar and boiled upwards in a momentous fireball which exploded high above the marsh and dissipated to the furthest reaches of the clear blue sky.

‘Quickly,’ Verdandi declared, staring at the deep fissure in the ground from which the beacon had blazed, ‘the way is open.’

Edie rubbed her eyes, for the harsh glare had imprinted bright streaks upon her vision. But peering over the edge of the yawning hole, she could see that beneath the soil, a roughly fashioned staircase had been cut into the underlying rock and plunged steeply down into a tunnel of absolute darkness.

Casting a worried glance back to the Tor, Verdandi ran to the topmost step and, not wasting another moment, began to descend.

Edie scampered after her, pausing only briefly as she left the warm sunshine behind to wonder about the raven's strange behaviour and the peculiar, subdued mood of the tall, warrior captain.

But in front of her, Verdandi's white-clad figure was already vanishing into the shadowy gloom and so the girl put her doubts aside, and the stone walls of the narrow passage rose above her head as she followed.

Into the earth they pressed, the daylight rapidly fading to a spectral dusk which was barely enough to illumine the steps beneath their feet. Edie had to fumble against the rocky wall for balance as she cautiously proceeded.

Deeper the tunnel delved, the still air becoming musty and suffocating. Then the girl heard Verdandi sigh with relief.

‘The steps are ended,’ echoed the woman's voice, ‘but here another passage begins. I cannot tell how far it stretches.’

Eager to join her, Edie lost her footing and the child slid down the remaining stairs, landing at Verdandi's muddy feet with a bump.

‘Edith!’ the woman cried, stooping to help her. ‘Are you injured?’

Edie snorted, despising the fuss and picked herself up, ‘Only a few more bruises—take more'n that to...’

Her high, fearless voice was suddenly lost as the surrounding rock trembled and a loud rumbling resounded throughout the tunnel. Down the stairs cascaded a torrent of soil and stones and Verdandi hauled the child to one side as the avalanche thundered into the passage.

‘No!’ the woman cried. ‘Not yet.’

The pale, shadowy light failed completely as, up above, the two sides of the fissure moved together and the passage was engulfed in pitch darkness.

Her back pressed against the quivering rock, Edie heard Verdandi shriek in the consuming night, but when she reached out to hold her, the strong, forceful voice dwindled and cracked and the hands she clutched withered in her grasp.

‘What is it?’ the girl cried. ‘What's happened?’

Invisible in the strangling blackness, the woman sobbed—then answered in a dry, weary voice, ‘We're sealed in and Time has rushed by above. Oh, Edith, I am old once more—I am Veronica.’

Unable to see her, Edie ran her fingers over the weeping woman's form and found that it was shrunken and bowed, the face corrugated with age.

‘We got to get out,’ she said.

‘Not yet,’ Miss Veronica told her, tapping her cane along the wall and shambling forward. ‘I must save the Captain. Please, help me find the hermit's grave, Edith, Veronica needs you.’

And so, into the tunnel which lay at the foot of the now buried staircase, the two of them blindly blundered and the darkness claimed them.

*

Above the ground, at Glastonbury, the ages blurred and the centuries careered by as the marshes faded and the stones of the abbey rose—only to crumble into a familiar ruin as time careered ever closer to the present.

Only the Tor remained steadfast in the madness which whirled about it and the figure of Woden stared at the astounding spectacle in wonder.

Then, as the shadows of evening closed about the great hill once more, and the tower of Saint Michael loomed behind him, Verdandi's Captain turned to the raven upon his shoulder and the false, deluding image which had arrayed him melted into the gloom.

Silently, the sable cloak shredded in the breeze and the silver helm, sword and chain-mail evaporated—becoming skeins of pale mist that were snatched into the night. Like a disturbed reflection in rippling water, the warrior's face shimmered, the long blond hair turned dark and unkempt and the forked beard was straggly again.