Winter Wood (43 page)

‘We must go to the caves.' Henty sounded as if she'd already made up her mind. ‘And quick as we can. Come on.'

‘Together?' said Little-Marten. ‘And me all stinking o' mud and river-weed? I hoped to be a sight more spracked up, afore I spoke to Tadgemole.'

‘There be more important things to think of,' said Henty. ‘And I should've brought news to my father straight away. The Orbis belonged to the cave-dwellers, and he've a right to know of its coming, but 'tis that maid I be thinking of. I be feared for her.' She took his hand and together they began to scramble down the wooded hillside in the direction of the caves.

Maglin watched the faces of the Elders as they sat together in Counsel Pod, each warming their hands at the charcoal burner, their staffs propped upright against the daubed wicker walls.

‘What's the matter with 'ee?' Maglin tried again. ‘Have 'ee lost thee tongues? We need strategies, plans against such a day as the Orbis might return, and all I get from thee be shrugs and mumbles. Am I to act alone, without the aid of Counsel? If so, then I'll waste my time here no longer. I've more to look into than your ugly faces.'

‘Counsel?' Crozer was stung to anger at last. ‘When did you ever seek counsel from we? 'Tis the hag that gives 'ee counsel now, and 'tis with she that you waste your time. You be chasing the wind, Maglin, as addlepated as the old crone herself. And what
strategies
do 'ee bring? Naught but empty talk. Your arm has grown weak, aye, and your thinking with it.' Crozer jabbed a bony finger in Maglin's direction. ‘Away with 'ee then, and look to yourself! And we s'll see whose ugly face is still among us come next season . . .'

‘Crozer . . . Crozer . . .' Ardel reached forward to grab at Crozer's sleeve.

‘Come next
season
? Do 'ee think to threaten me, you old wazzock?' Maglin began to rise from his seat, pushing his fists against the wool-sacked floor.

But then some commotion became audible from outside – loud voices in argument – and a judder of movement shook the pod. Someone was climbing the willow ladder.

‘Maglin! Bist in there? Get
back
, dammee . . .'

Maglin, already halfway to his feet, glared at Crozer a moment longer then lunged for the oilskin cloth that covered the entranceway. He swept the stiff material aside, narrowing his eyes against the brightness of the daylight. Here was Glim, halfway up the ladder, and Raim at the bottom. Both had left their guard posts to come across to Counsel Pod, and both were now struggling to keep a hold on Maven-the-Green.

‘She says she've to see thee,' Raim gasped. His spear was lying some distance away, in the wet grass, and
Maglin could guess how it had got there. Glim too was unarmed.

‘Let her be,' said Maglin. ‘Glim, jump down and give her passage. Let her
be
, I said!'

Glim balanced on the rungs of the ladder, spread his wings and hopped to the ground. Raim released his hold on Maven, and seemed glad enough to do so, coughing a little as he caught his breath. ‘Have her, then,' he spluttered. ‘And welcome.'

Maven clutched at her dishevelled rags. She waited until the guards had stepped well away from her, then came forward to rest her skinny green hands on the ladder. ‘I must speak with 'ee, Maglin.' She peered up at him from beneath twisted hanks of hair. Maglin regarded her, trying to judge her mood and likely actions. ‘Thee'd best come up, then.' He held the oilcloth aside, and turned to look into the darkness of the pod. Three pairs of startled eyes gazed back at him, like owls in a byre. ‘'Tis Maven-the-Green,' he said, and the eyes all blinked at the same time.

Up the ladder came Maven, her humped back swaying from side to side. She grasped the rim of the entranceway and paused for a moment. ‘The day we've looked for be upon us,' she said to Maglin, ‘and this be your time.' She stepped inside.

Maglin glanced down at the guards. ‘Pick up your spears and wait here,' he muttered. His gaze swept the clearing, and as he allowed the curtain to fall back into place he saw a pale shadow, disappearing amongst the trees on the far side of the open space. It was barely a glimpse, a brief impression before the wintry world was
shut out, but Maglin was sure of what he'd seen: the winged horse . . . threading his way among the hawthorns, carrying something . . .

‘What?' he said.

‘The Orbis, Maglin. I've word of it.' The dry croak of Maven's voice sounded muffled. Maglin turned from the entranceway, and as his sight grew re-accustomed to the smoky darkness he saw that Maven had her back to him.

‘The Orbis? What do 'ee know? Tell me.' Maglin moved into the dim glow cast by the charcoal burner.

‘To your hand I said the Orbis would come, and so it now shall, if your hand be quick enough to take it. If not, then 'twill go to another – as maybe it should. Be you its rightful keeper, dost reckon? Then thee'd best get to East Tunnel, maister, and hope to meet that maid before someone else do – for I reckon the Tinklers shall know of this afore long. Now there be a warning for 'ee.'

Maglin waited to hear no more. He swept aside the oilcloth and jumped to the ground.

‘Glim! Give me your spear. Go to West Wood and collect any archers you can find – you and Raim both. Bring all to the East Tunnel.'

Glim handed over his spear, but looked doubtful, ‘I don't reckon we s'd find any archers in West Wood, Maglin.' He pointed away from Royal Clearing, to where distant sycamores rose above the southerly plantations of the Naiad. ‘I spoke wi' Aken at sun-high. His company had poor hunting, and were thinking to try for better luck in South Wood. We'd do better to seek there.'

‘Go where thee will, then,' said Maglin. ‘But be quick about it. Maven!' He turned back towards Counsel Pod. ‘Thee'd best follow I on down to . . .'

Maglin realized that he was talking to himself. Curling wisps of charcoal smoke hung about the entrance to the pod, and the heads of the three Elders peered out at him, but of Maven-the-Green there was no sign.

To the tunnel then, and hope to get there before the Orbis should fall into the hands of the cave-dwellers. Who was on guard there? Ictor. He'd know nothing of such things, nor care.

Ictor . . .

Maglin felt the hair tingle at the back of his neck.
Ictor
was at the tunnel. Ictor, who loathed him, but more importantly was known to loathe the Gorji child who was on her way to the forest . . . who might already be here . . .

What a fool he'd been to place one so dangerous and untrustworthy in the very place where the Orbis was most likely to arrive – and in the path of the child who carried it!

Maglin charged through the trees at the edge of the clearing. As the ground began to drop steeply away he spread his wings, and launched himself into the air.

Little-Marten was horribly aware of his own wretched appearance. He knew that he reeked of river-ooze, and could feel the clag of half-dried mud upon his fingers as he pushed back his hair. Nevertheless he tried to bear himself upright before Tadgemole,
and to prepare himself for what would come.

‘I wonder you set foot in here.' Tadgemole's look was one of cold contempt, the grim lines of his face set hard and unforgiving in the candle-lit shadows. ‘Or dare show yourself to me. Is this what you bring my daughter to, you little ditch-rat? Look at her!' His voice echoed around the stone walls of the inner caves, and down the deserted passageways. ‘When did she last eat, or sleep in aught but her own rags? 'Tis plain that you've nothing to offer her but the life of a heathen scare-a-crow. Aye, one of your own. And so I was right. Right to keep you from her, and right to—'

‘Father, we've no time for this.' Henty drew herself closer to Little-Marten. ‘We've not come to argue, but to bring news of—'

‘And as for
you . . .
' Tadgemole reached out and laid a hand on Henty's shoulder. ‘Do you not
think
, child, of the pain you cause me? Nor care? Why do you find me awake, dost reckon, whilst all here about me are sleeping? Because I can take no rest. By night and by day I worry, knowing that you are out there amongst the Gorji. And not knowing whether you be dead or alive. Is this what I deserve?'

‘But you don't
listen
. I bring news – important news – but you won't listen to me. You never do.'

Tadgemole took his hand from Henty's shoulder, and glanced up. Some slight sound drifted through the tunnels, a distant
tap-tap
. But then it was gone.

‘Come, then. Let me hear you out. What could be so important as to bring you back to me, when my own heartache was not enough?'

‘The Gorji child . . .' Henty began to speak. ‘She's found—'

But then the tapping sound could be heard again, closer now. Henty and Little-Marten turned their heads to listen. Along the dark passages it echoed, coming from the direction of the main cave.
Tap-tap-tap-tap
. A steady rhythm . . . faltering for a moment . . . then steady once more . . .

A tall shadow appeared, thrown along the dimly lit tunnel walls that led to the cavern entrance. Its shape was at first confusing, but then became recognizable. And the sound was now recognizable also –
tap-tap-tap-tap
– delicate hooves upon the hard stone floor. Pegs.

The winged horse came fully into view, pausing beneath the entranceway to look at them.

In his mouth he carried a bundle of some sort . . . oilskin . . . leather straps . . .

‘Pegs?' said Tadgemole. ‘What's this – why are you here?'

Pegs stepped forward. His gait was slightly awkward, the trace of a limp still visible as he crossed the chamber. He stood before Tadgemole and lowered the bundle to the floor. It was a leather pecking bag.

Pegs raised his head and the cavern was filled with colours, and with sounds that had no echo.

I am here to keep my promise to you, Tadgemole. But listen first to your daughter, and to the Woodpecker. Hear what they have to say.

HALFWAY UP HOWARD'S
Hill it occurred to Midge that she had better go and look in the pig-barn. Pegs might be there waiting for her, as he had done before. She had heard nothing of him since that day when she was last here, and so she had no way of knowing how badly he had really been injured. She altered direction. Maybe she wouldn't need to go to the wicker tunnel after all.

Midge walked over to the barn doorway, clutching her carrier bag. She remembered how she had brought such a bag with her on her very first visit to this place. An apple it had held then, and a sandwich. Today she carried the Orbis.

‘Pegs?'

Her voice sounded flat and strange in the darkness. There was no hint of warmth, no animal smell, and Midge knew straight away that Pegs was not here. The grey tractor had gone now, its absence making the ramshackle building seem more neglected than ever. She wished that George were here to keep her company. Midge patted her pockets, searching for her
mobile. Not there. She must have left it on the kitchen table.

It was a relief to step out into the daylight again. Midge turned away from the pig-barn and began the last part of her climb. She stumbled through the coarse winter grass, making her way up and around the hillside until she came to the gully that would lead her to the tunnel. Here she paused for a few moments, staring up at the bare treetops as she got her breath back and wondering if anyone was watching out for her. She could see no sign of movement.

The ground was far wetter than it had been in the summer, and all churned up by the hooves of cattle, so that the gully opened out to form a muddy delta on the hillside. Midge's Wellington boots kept getting stuck in the ooze. It was a struggle to keep upright. But the bed of the stream grew stonier as it narrowed, and so became easier to walk on. Soon she was able to make better progress, stepping from rock to rock until she reached the barrier of brambles that overhung the tunnel.

Something had changed. The tunnel entrance, usually so well hidden, was now visible behind its trailing curtain of brambles. What had happened to the camouflage – the wicker doors so cleverly woven with briars and grasses as to seem part of the undergrowth? Midge peered closer. The doors had been left open. Why? A dog could easily get in there, thought Midge. Or maybe even a man.

She carefully drew aside the brambles, and crouched down to look along the tunnel. Nobody
there, as far as she could see. Just a faint semi-circle of light at the other end. But perhaps she should give the agreed signal in any case.

‘Briefly parted, soon united.' Her whisper was deadened by the endless trickling of water, and she tried again, calling out a little louder this time. Still nothing.

Had Little-Marten and Henty not found their way home yet? That was possible. Surely there would've been somebody here to meet her otherwise?