Ian Johnstone - Circles of Stone

Ash tensed. “If I don’t go now, we’re going to crash straight into—”

“Trust me,” said Naeo, calmly. “We won’t crash.” She turned to them. “Just watch – we’re expected.”

Their eyes returned to the wall of branches, trunks, bushes and shadows that loomed ever nearer. They all took a firm hold of the handrail.

“I hope you’re right about this …” said Ash, wincing.

As he spoke the long arm of the bowsprit passed over the far bank and disappeared into the forest, snapping branches and crashing through twigs as it went, sending down a shower of dried leaves. Ash and Simia exchanged a glance and braced themselves for the shuddering impact with the bank.

Simia pressed her eyes shut. “This is a bad idea!”

“Don’t worry,” came a voice from behind. “It’ll be fine.”

Sylas was standing back along the deck, near the hatch. He did not approach – throughout the journey he and Naeo had sought to be as far from one another as possible – but he smiled at Simia and took hold of the handrail by his side.

Everyone held on tight. A moment passed, then another. They heard the scrape of branches against the hull, felt the cool of the forest as they passed under the overhanging boughs, heard a joist creak beneath their feet. But there was no calamitous crash, no snapping of timbers, no sudden end to their long journey.

The Windrush sailed on.

They looked to their left and right and saw the floor of the forest passing them by: low bushes and huddling plants, saplings and tree trunks. They looked up and saw the canopy high above, brushing past the rigging, crowding the mast. It was as though the wilderness had opened its arms and drawn them in. The keel cleaved through the soft folds of earth and living things as though they were water, bearing its great weight onwards, towards the two hills.

Their eyes were wide with wonder and Simia shrieked with delight.

“How did you know?” she asked Naeo, breathlessly.

“Look …” said Naeo, pointing out into the forest.

They turned to where she was pointing and narrowed their eyes. At first they thought it was just a muddle of light, or perhaps an oddly shaped trunk, but then they realised that they were looking at a human figure. It was a woman leaning against a tree, her body draped in loose garments of the same drab colours of the forest: browns, oranges, greens, limes and yellows. The only part of her that did not blend with the thicket was her pale face, which almost seemed to float in mid-air, smiling at their wonderment.

“They’re everywhere!” shouted Sylas, pointing out over the side of the ship.

Now they knew what to look for, they saw the pale glow of scores of faces, some peering from behind bushes, some high in the branches of trees, but most gathering alongside the great ship, as though guiding it in as it rolled and yawed ever deeper into the forest. They walked in two columns, left and right, stepping lightly between the trees, many peering back to the river as though to check that the Windrush had not been followed, others looking at its path ahead.

Simia ran from the bow and joined Sylas, grabbing his arm. “It’s changing! The forest – look at it!”

Some distance ahead the trees seemed to be thinning, the shadows falling away, the colours brightening. They could see flecks of light between the foliage, scattering beams through the damp air. The ship dipped into the trough of a ditch and mounted the bank beyond like a wave, gaining new height. Every part of the brush was shimmering with the promise of a break in the forest, and as more and more people emerged to walk at the ship’s flanks, they knew that they were nearing their destination.

The four shared excited glances as suddenly the final curtains of green and brown fell away. Evening sunlight poured down upon them, scattering the shadows and bathing the deck in a welcome warmth.

Before them lay all the majesty of Nature.

A huge lake stretched out as far as the eye could see. Its waters were bright and crystal clear and made the air smell sweet, and it was so still that the surface was mirror-like, reflecting the giant canopy of blue sky above. Only in the distance could they see any movement on the lake, for there, fogging the horizon, was a giant waterfall, sending up a smoke of ethereal mist. Rising steeply on either side were the two hills, carpeted with a thick forest that even now, in early winter, retained its green. Birds of all kinds soared above, turning in wide arcs on the gentle breeze, tipping their wings, playing on the thermals, darting between the treetops.

Sylas laughed with delight and grasped Simia’s hand. At that moment the tired joints of the Windrush let out a brief complaint and Simia shrieked as the keel plunged into the cool waters of the lake, sending up a great sheet of spray on all sides. The vessel rocked backwards and lurched a little to one side, then righted itself. They heard a roar and patter, which at first they thought to be the falling water, but when they turned they saw that the bank was now crowded with a great assembly of Suhl, all of them clapping and cheering, smiling and shouting their welcome.

At their centre, one woman stood alone. She did not wear the forest hues of her fellows, but instead a flowing white gown – the gown of a Suhl elder. Her glistening grey hair fell about her shoulders, marked out by a braid of brighter colours. Her beautiful face was full of joy.

Filimaya raised her arms, gesturing to the Valley of Outs, and bid them welcome.

“ Sylva is a town as strange and beguiling as any in faery folklore, lost as it is in folds of earth, wrapped in a tangle of trees.”

FILIMAYA EMBRACED SIMIA FIRST, holding her tight and bending down to kiss the top of her head. Then she went straight to Sylas and embraced him too, in a way that surprised him: not a formal greeting, but warm and heartfelt. For a moment he felt awkward, holding his arms at his sides. No one had held him like this since his mother had been taken away. But her warmth was infectious and slowly he drew his arms around her.

“Thank you for returning to us, Sylas,” whispered Filimaya. There was a pause. “And who did you bring with you?”

Sylas turned. There, walking down the gangway from the ship, was Naeo. As was her way, she seemed at ease, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, eyeing the crowd of onlookers and paying little attention to the reunion.

“That’s Naeo,” he said, instinctively taking a step away from the gangway. “I thought … I thought you might know her. She’s Bowe’s daughter.”

Filimaya raised a hand to her lips. “Of course …” she said. She took a step in the girl’s direction. “Naeo, daughter of Bowe, my precious child! We thought you were—”

“Naeo is my Glimmer,” said Sylas, abruptly.

Filimaya froze. The gathering of Suhl fell silent. Everyone turned to face him.

“ What was that?” someone hissed behind him, and another: “Did he say his Glimmer ?”

There was a gale of hushes, everyone straining to hear what was said next.

But Filimaya seemed lost for words. Her eyes narrowed a little, searching his face; she tilted her head as though struggling to understand. Then she glanced at Naeo, who returned her gaze without expression.

Finally Filimaya smiled. “Well you never cease to surprise us, Sylas!” she said. There were a few nervous laughs from the crowd. “You must forgive my awkwardness. I find myself entirely unsure how to address you both.”

“The same as ever,” said Simia with a careless shrug, as if it was perfectly clear. “Sylas is still Sylas and Naeo is Naeo. The only thing is—”