Robert Carter - The Language of Stones

Will took it. ‘Then I suppose it must be magical.’

‘There is a very considerable spell upon it.’

He hefted it dubiously. ‘You don’t carry much else that’s made of leather.’

‘I do not like to kill my friends for the use of their hides. What would you say if you knew that a book had been bound in skin cut from a dead person’s back? Would you read it?’

‘Urgh! No!’

‘You may make a face, but that is so with some manuals of sorcery and star lorc. However, the hide of this bag is quite different. It was sloughed and shed long ago, when the crane, whose name was Aoife, returned to human form.’

The wizard said no more about that, and Will lapsed into silence too. He began thinking about Willow, appalled now at the way he had endangered her. What if she had been taken by the hag? What if he had seen her body, white and bloodless, at the bottom of the pool when the waters had drained away? It was too horrible. Magic, as the Wise Woman had said, was mostly about consequences. Harnessing the power was the easy part, what was difficult was managing what happened as a result.

The more he thought about Willow the more heartsick he felt. He had so wanted her to come, but now he would never even know if she had agreed. He wanted to have the chance to explain. He wanted it so much that it hurt to think about it. He tried to put her out of his mind, but there was something that the wizard had said that would not let his thoughts rest – he had said that the hag could not bear to see others who were in love…

Might that mean he was in love with Willow? And might it mean Willow was in love with him too?

The idea excited him mightily. He was considering whether he could ask Gwydion about it when the wizard halted and thrust out a hand.

‘Did you feel that?’

‘Feel what?’ He felt only a breeze that shivered the birch leaves.

The wizard braced himself and looked around, as if he expected some great beast to leap from the forest and try to tear him to pieces.

‘Feel what, Master Gwydion?’

‘A passing danger…but we are not its target.’

‘But what was it?’Will asked suspiciously. ‘I saw nothing. I felt nothing. I never do.’

‘That is merely your inexperience. But one day soon, I think, you will begin to feel the warning of such threats.’

Will touched the other’s sleeve. ‘Master Gwydion, why do you say I’m a Child of Destiny?’

The wizard decided it was safe to go on, then for once he deigned to answer directly. ‘Because, if I am correct about you, according to prophecy one day you will stand at the crossroads, at the place where the future of the world will be decided.’

‘What prophecy?’ he said, fully alert now. ‘Tell me.’

The wizard’s half-smile faded. ‘Have you ever heard the name “Arthur”?’

‘You mean like Great Arthur? The king of olden days?’

‘Olden days. Well perhaps those days seem olden to you. What do you know about him?’

‘Only what the stories say.’ Will tried to recall what he had been told, but realized his knowledge was scant. ‘Arthur lived long ago, just a little time after the Slavers left the Realm. It was a time of war and so he found a sword in a stone and…and when he pulled it out that made him king. And then he had a big, round table made out of a dozen different trees in Waincaister, and his knights came and ate their dinners at it…and…’

‘And?’

‘Well…he fought battles and always won, except for the last one, because he got shot in the eye with an arrow. But before he died he had to give his sword back to a lady who lived in the pond. And…’

The wizard seemed amused. ‘Oh, is that what happened?’

Will shrugged. ‘So the stories that I’ve heard say. I’m sure there’s more, but I can’t remember it all. Valesmen add their own parts to a tale every time they tell it, so the stories about Arthur the King, which were always our favourites, got more mixed up than most. I’ve heard them told all ways around and can’t rightly say what’s true.’

‘Then I shall have to tell you how it was. Great Arthur was the hundred-and-first king of the line of Brea. He succeeded his father when he was but thirteen years of age, and he lived a most extraordinary life. But you know, his strange fate was hardly that of a mortal king, for he was in truth nothing of the sort.’

‘You once said there was no such thing as immortals.’

‘Oh, Arthur was not immortal. He was the second coming of a king of old, one who reigned in the time of the First Men, the same who swore to protect these isles in time of peril. What you were told about in Valesmen’s stories was Arthur’s second coming, which was prophesied and watched over by one who then called himself Master Merlyn. But you are right about the manner in which Arthur’s kingship was confirmed. When he was just thirteen he drew the hallowed sword Branstock from a stone, which is one of the signs that were to be watched for.’

‘Calibor!’ Will said. ‘I remember King Arthur’s sword was called Calibor!’

But Gwydion, who had been watching him carefully, shook his head. ‘No, that was much later. The Lady of the Lake granted Arthur a sword called Carabur. But the sword he drew from the stone was quite different. That was called Branstock. And it was one of the Four Hallows of the Realm.’

Will put a hand to his mouth thoughtfully. He had the feeling that something was dimly familiar. ‘The Four Hallows…’ he whispered. ‘Wand, sword, cup and pentacle!’

‘Now, how could you know that, I wonder?’ the wizard asked, very satisfied.

‘I don’t know…I…’ Will shook his head as if trying to clear it. ‘Tilwin! Of course! He brought cards to the Vale and taught me to play.’

‘And have you heard of the Sceptre, the Sword of State, the Ampulla and the Crown?’

‘No.’

‘They are four items of regalia that represent the Hallows when a king is crowned. These four objects must be present at each royal coronation. Unless they are, no man may call himself king. But they are not the real Hallows. Those were once lodged deep underground. In ancient times they resided together in a vault in the Realm Below. The first is the Sword of Might, called Branstock. The second is the Staff of Justice. The third is the Cauldron of Plenty, and the last—’

‘And the last is a star.’

‘The last is the Star of Annuin. Tell me, how did you know that?’

He shook his head. ‘I…’ His fears suddenly overflowed. He swallowed hard and looked up. ‘Master Gwydion, has this got something to do with me being a Child of Destiny, because if it has then a big mistake has been—’

The wizard held up a hand. ‘In the same way that King Arthur’s second coming was prophesied in the Black Book, so also was another’s.’

Will felt another current of fear run through him. ‘Whose?’

The wizard looked away. ‘It may be that it was yours. What do you think of that?’

Will tried to laugh. ‘Mine? But that’s – that’s silly!’

‘Is it? Why do you think I saw to it that you were saved from harm and cared for by loving parents, hmmm? Why do you think I made sure you were brought to adulthood in the carefree bosom of the Vale? That place has long been under my magical cloak, for if you were the Child of Destiny, then you had to be preserved from Maskull. Now do you see? You must be properly prepared to fulfil your destiny.’

The idea was vast, terrible. He wanted to hide from it. ‘But…but what if I don’t want to be prepared ?’

‘It does not much matter what you want. You must be. That is one of my tasks. And it seems to me there is still plenty to be made of you.’

‘What does the prophecy say?’ he asked, dazed.