Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

‘So you’re saying,’ Josse murmured slowly, as if still puzzling it out, ‘that it doesn’t really matter what you call this — this person who imparts wisdom? That he — or she, I suppose — may be called by a variety of names but always serves the same function?’

‘Yes!’ Huathe said delightedly. ‘Precisely that, and the name of this person — this being , perhaps, for she or he is commonly accorded godlike status — will vary according to the mythology of the people.’

‘Then-’ Josse’s frown deepened, then cleared. ‘There is a power of some sort buried in this hilltop, under that granite slab, and some people call it by the name of Merlin.’ Huathe made as if to speak but, with a look of apology, Josse held up a hand. ‘And therefore, as far as my own mission is concerned, I may report back that insofar as Merlin can be said to exist, then he lies buried not in the Great Wealden Forest close by Hadfeld but on top of a rounded hill in the Broceliande.’ He shot Huathe a quick glance. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ Huathe agreed.

‘And because it’s a power that’s buried and not a person, then actually there is no physical entity to be buried, either in the British forest or anywhere else!’ Josse finished triumphantly. ‘Have I got it right?’

Huathe smiled, tentatively at first and then more broadly. ‘Yes.’ Laughing, he added, ‘Oh, Josse, what a relief to have someone who so readily understands!’

‘I don’t understand,’ Josse said flatly. ‘But my comprehension isn’t important. What is important is that I now know that they are not Merlin’s bones buried in the Hadfeld tomb.’ He flashed Huathe a brief smile. ‘I don’t believe he lies buried anywhere and, since right at this moment I’m not feeling any sense of awe or dread, I have to admit I’m also very dubious about the power that you say is interred here.’

Huathe watched Josse silently. Joanna, barely able to breathe, sent him a silent, urgent message: Oh, be careful!

For a few tense moments nothing happened.

Then Huathe stepped over to the vast granite slab. He put out a hand and lightly touched the hawthorn bush, bowing as if giving it due reverence. He seemed to be murmuring under his breath, or perhaps chanting; Joanna heard the quick hum of words that she did not understand. Then he jumped up on to the slab and, standing up tall and straight, threw out both his arms.

Now surely even Josse must have felt the power for Joanna was almost crushed by it, driven to her knees with her arms crossed over her head as she tried to shield herself from what felt like a sudden downward pressure as if the fierce, wild wind of a storm front were coming straight down from the sky. There was an intense flash as fire scoured across the treetops and she thought she heard the sound of rushing water; risking a quick terrified glance, it seemed to her that the gentle trickle of the spring had become a torrent, uncontrolled and endlessly renewing itself until all the land would be drowned. And from the ground beneath her there came a sound as of rocks breaking open, of deep cataclysmic chasms rending the very earth.

There was something else, too: a dazzling, pulsing energy throbbed in the air, steadily waxing until, brilliant as the heart of the sun, it overcame thought, emotion, even sense until finally she knew that in its presence she was nothing.

She fell forward on to the ground and buried her face in her hands.

After an endless time silence fell and she heard Huathe say gently, ‘Enough.’

Slowly she straightened up. Josse was lying on his side a short distance away; she ran over to him, cradling him in her arms. He opened his eyes and stared up at her; he looked stunned. ‘Josse, dearest, I-’ she began.

But Huathe strode over and, with a gesture, commanded her to stop. Then, eyes on Josse, he said, ‘ That was the power that is pent up in this hilltop. It comprises Air, Fire, Water and Earth. What you experienced at the end was the Quintessence, which is the fifth force and that elemental matter from which everything is made that is made and that permeates everything that is of the heavens and the earth.’

Josse was struggling to sit up. He looked, Joanna thought with vast relief, as if he had suffered no lasting hurt. He was glaring at Huathe and he did not look at all happy. ‘And that’s what the ignorant refer to as the power of Merlin the Enchanter?’ he demanded.

‘It is,’ Huathe acknowledged.

Josse put both hands up to his temples, rubbing at the skin as if his head ached. Joanna would not have been at all surprised if it did; hers was pounding like a ceremonial drum beat. Then he lowered his hands and very slowly stood up. His brown eyes fixed on Huathe’s, he said with a faint smile, ‘Very well. I believe you now. There is something here.’

But Huathe did not return the smile. Instead, his expression deeply disturbed, he turned to Joanna. Leaning down so that his mouth was close to her ear, he whispered, ‘The power must not be abused, for it is terrible in its wrath. Nime was right to pen it up.’ Then, standing up again and addressing Josse: ‘You must find a way to stop the sacrilege that is being perpetrated in your British forest.’ He paused, lowering his head and screwing up his eyes for a moment as if he too were in pain. Then he continued, ‘You, Josse, are the one whose task it is. It is you who must convince those who have to be convinced that this presumptuous new Merlin’s Tomb is nothing but a moneymaking sham perpetrated by a foolish young man who is risking his life by dabbling with powers that he does not understand.’

Silence fell. Joanna, realising that her tension had prevented her breathing except in shallow little gasps, let her shoulders slump and then took a deep, restorative breath. Poor Josse, she thought. He suffers, and yet still he does not really know what it is that inhabits this place. But does he understand enough to fulfil his mission? Fleetingly she wondered which of her people had come up with the idea of bringing Josse here and why; had they believed Josse would have a look, be terrified out of his wits and rush home claiming not only to have seen the real Merlin’s Tomb but to have felt its dangerous power? Surely not, for Josse’s nature and quality were known to them — to some of them, at least — and they would therefore know he would not have reacted in that way.

Joanna had developed a great respect for her people and it slowly dawned on her that the predicted outcome of Josse’s visit here was probably this very thing that had in fact just happened. He had seen — been shown — enough for him to go home with a convincing argument. Nobody had underestimated his intelligence by treating him like a gullible yokel chewing on a straw; instead the plan had been formed whereby he was initiated into a piece of knowledge that surely was normally kept within the tribe.

Which meant that someone — and Joanna suspected that it was the Domina — had considerable respect for old Josse. .

She felt a surge of love for him, standing there a stranger and an outsider in this magical, enchanted place, yet straight-backed and courageous. If he was feeling fear at all, which, despite everything, somehow she doubted, then he was not allowing that fear to show.

Suddenly another thought struck her, one that brought with it a sadness so acute that it was like a knife in her heart. They had now done what they had gone there to do. The mission had been achieved and now they would go home. Josse would return to the Abbey, the Abbess and whatever he did in his ordinary life; she would go back to the hut in the forest. And this, this lovely, happy time of travelling with him, talking to him, eating, sleeping, making love with him, loving him, would recede in her memory until it was just a beautiful dream.