Robert Carter - The Language of Stones

The smaller man seemed satisfied with that, but the tall man looked sadly around at the greenery. ‘There’s to be a lot of changes round here, then?’

‘It’s the times that are changing! Warships! That’s what the Realm needs now. Warships, not deer haunts and forgotten bramble patches. I want this lot cleared.’

‘What about the king’s hunting?’ the tall man said.

The other turned to him. ‘Hunting? If we’re to be rich it’s trade we wants, not bloody deer-chasing. And to have trade we must have ships, see?’

‘You said warships.’

‘Aye!’ The man in blue gave him an impatient glance and turned away. ‘Trade, war – what does it matter? We’ll grow rich on either one, or both together if you like!’

The man in blue continued to gesture broadly, showing off his plans for the Wychwoode, while the others trotted after him. Will looked up at the threadbare leaf canopy. The forest already looked sad and shabby where it had been drowned and cut back. Still, it seemed an enormous crime to chop down the biggest oaks, he thought, trees that had taken many human lifetimes to grow and made any place what it was. The Wise Woman had said that more creeping things took food and shelter from oaks than from any other kind of tree. ‘Beetles and butterflies make the oak their trysting place. Squirrels, jays and pigeons take his acorns, even badgers dig their sets among his roots. And after the rutting season, when stags eat little, the oak’s autumn bounty of acorns arrives at just the right time for deer to fatten themselves against the coming cold.’ If there are to be no oaks here, he thought desolately, what will the deer have to eat? And what about the unicorns?

‘Here! What’s your game?’ said a voice behind him.

Will jumped up and almost knocked himself cold on an overhanging bough.

‘Listening in on other people’s business, I suppose?’

When he looked round he saw a girl was watching him. She was lithe and trim in a boyish garb of dark green but she had a pretty, heart-shaped face framed by wisps of yellow hair. She seemed to be about his own age.

‘Oh, poor thing! Did I startle you?’

‘Just a bit,’ Will said, frowning and rubbing his head.

‘Good. I’m glad. It’s your fault for being here in the first place. What’s your name?’

‘Will. It’s short for Willand. What’s yours?’

‘Never you mind.’

Will scowled. ‘Neveryoumind? That’s a stupid sort of a name.’

‘And you’re a stupid sort of a boy. What’re you doing here?’

‘Looking for unicorns.’

‘Unicorns?’ She laughed. ‘You won’t see any unicorns around here.’

‘I suppose not. They don’t often come this far south.’ He tried to sound knowledgeable. ‘They wouldn’t like it here much either. Not with that mill down there making such a thumping din half the time.’

She gave him a hard look. ‘Where do you belong?’

‘I…I live at the tower.’ He wanted to point out his braids and tell her that he was not a boy any more but a man, but her face had taken on a look of deep disgust.

‘The tower? I didn’t know the Hogshead had a son.’

‘You mean Lord Strange.’

‘That’s what you call him. You’re his kin, more’s the pity for you. A proper warden would look after the forest, but this one brings men here to cut it down. You can tell your kinsman that he’s a pig, his purveyor’s a pig, and all the rest of them are pigs too!’

She jumped down and ran from him, but he ran after her. ‘Hey!’ he called. ‘I’m no lordling! I’m a churl like you! Don’t be a fool! Wait for me!’

But the girl would not wait. She was as fleet as a fawn and knew the ground well, dodging along the deer runs where she thought he could not follow. But he did, until she came to a slender fallen tree that bridged a ditch of muddy water and, stepping lightly across, reached the far side. Will attempted it, but as soon as he stepped onto it she pulled over a side branch and turned the trunk under him so that he fell off. He landed flat in the mud below, while she stood six feet above him laughing like a drain. ‘Who’s the fool now?’ she cried.

‘I’ll spank you for that!’ he shouted back.

‘No, you won’t. You’ll never catch me! Not here!’

He stood up, slopping the mud from him. He was soaked all down one side in black, foul-smelling slime. ‘You know what? I think you’re right. Give me a hand up out of here instead.’

She looked down at his outstretched hand, and shook her head. ‘Think I’m a fool? I’m not, you know. Anyway, look at your hand. It’s filthy.’

‘Listen, I’m not Lord Strange’s kin. I’m not a lordling. I’m nothing to do with the folk at the tower.’

‘You said you lived there. Were you lying then – or now?’

‘Neither. What I meant was I’m only lodging there. And I agree with you, the lord is a swine, and he’s wrong to have his best trees cut down. It’s just wickedness and greed, but he can’t help being a pig because there’s a spell of magic on his head.’

She looked at him afresh. ‘You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.’

‘The same as you, at a guess. Just walking about, listening to what the birds tell each other.’ He clasped his hand round a tree root and began to haul himself up. When he put his hand out to her again she stepped back and made ready to run.

‘Oh, come on. You can trust me.’

‘I’ll decide who I’m going to trust. And you look like trouble. I don’t expect you understand anything worth knowing. My father says your sort never do.’

‘I told you – I’m not any sort. I’m just me.’

She sniffed. ‘Why’s your hair all done up like a girl’s?’

‘It’s…it’s a sign of manhood where I come from.’

‘Manhood?’ She laughed. ‘That’s girl hair. You look like a girl.’

Just as he began to think she was not going to help him she made a grab for his wrist. She would not let him clasp her hand. She braced her foot and, with one final effort, pulled him out of the hole.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You see? I’m not going to throw you down – even though I could.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says me.’

‘Try it, then. If you think you can.’

‘Oh, this is baby talk,’ he said turning away. ‘And on the Midsummer of all days.’

She seemed taken aback. ‘Do you respect the solstice, then?’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘The Hogshead doesn’t. Lords don’t. You should know that.’

‘Lady Strange thinks it’d ruin her dignity to have any fun. She says only churlish folk go out on Midsummer’s Eve. I can’t see her standing under elder trees or dancing at fae rings.’

‘We do all kinds of things. We sing songs mainly.’

‘What do you sing?’

‘Mostly the old songs. My favourite’s the one about the prince who plants three apple trees that bear him gifts of silver, gold and diamonds. You must know it.’

‘Maybe. Sing it for me.’

She hesitated, embarrassed, but then she relented. ‘All right. Just one verse.’

But she sang all four, and when she had finished, he clapped his hands. ‘That was pretty. You have a sweet voice, you know.’ Then he backed away a pace.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Nowhere. But I’ll have to go back soon. I’m in trouble with the Hogshead for backchatting him.’ He glanced in the direction of the tower. ‘But first, I’d like to know your name.’

She laughed. ‘I bet you would.’

‘No, really. I would.’

‘We live down by the river, so folk call me…Willow.’ She looked down at her feet. ‘I know it’s a stupid name.’

‘Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a lovely name. It’s beautiful, just like the tree. And it suits you.’