Robert Carter - The Language of Stones

‘As with all prophecies, the wording is far from clear. It speaks mistily, of “one being made two” and other notions that are hard to fathom.’

Will felt heartsick. ‘But it can’t be anything to do with me!’

‘Ah! A further proof.’

‘ What ?’

‘The prophecy says you would deny yourself thrice. That is the second time you have done so.’

‘But I’m not denying myself!’

‘And that sounds like a third denial to me.’ Gwydion glanced at him critically. ‘Still, Lord Strange and his lady have not accomplished as much as I had hoped with you. You have yet the bare means to gain knowledge which is needful, for no man can truly call himself a man until he has stocked his head with a goodly measure of knowledge. You are still far from being sufficiently taught. I think perhaps you need—’

He halted suddenly again and threw out a staying hand. Will froze, then they crouched down together behind a stand of saplings. But nothing showed itself, and the afternoon sun filtered through the leaves until all was still and sleepy again.

‘What was it?’ Will whispered at last. ‘Something evil?’

Gwydion turned, frowning, light upon his feet. ‘I have asked you not to use that word. It makes for loose thinking.’

‘Then tell me what you felt.’

‘A danger. A shadow…some piece of malice in hiding. Or so it seemed for a moment.’

‘Do you mean Maskull?’

‘It felt somewhat like his dirty magic. But perhaps I was mistaken – ah, look there!’

The wizard drew the split hazel wand from his sleeve and began to test the ground ahead. He went on a few paces and pointed his staff at a partly overgrown track that drove through the forest like a green tunnel. It was too wide to jump across, and paved with stones so that its way was clear, for no trees grew along the line where the close-set slabs had been laid. It looked as if it had not been used in a great many years, but still it was a better-made road than any that Will had ever seen.

‘If you would know a little of what you call evil, Willand, then mark this scar upon the land.’

‘It’s a fine path made of stones, Master Gwydion,’ Will said, staring up and down it. He wondered where it came from and where it went.

‘Do not admire it! It is the Akemain, a Slaver road! Slavebuilt, laid here long ages ago by a sorcerer’s empire. Its main purpose was to take armies of foot soldiers across the land as fast as could be. It was built to aid in the work of murder and the holding down of the people.’

‘Sorry.’ He scuffed at the grass with his toes. ‘Where does it go?’

‘It runs fifty leagues and more east to west. And there are many other such slave roads that defile the land in like manner. See how it goes straight and takes no heed of hill or dale? Mark that arrogance well, Willand! For the stones of this long street and others like it have ever been an insult to the earth and are the present bane of our Realm.’

‘How so?’ asked Will stepping into the middle of it. ‘It’s just an old stone road.’

‘You will learn soon enough what it truly means. Come! Do not stand upon it!’

As he hurried on, the ancient road faded quickly from his mind, and little more passed between them until at last they came to the southern edge of the Wychwoode.

It was a hot and close afternoon, but a change came into the air as the sun reddened and the evening became golden. They were once more among open fields. Gwydion avoided the places where folk might be found, meandering instead through woods and along overgrown paths, and as they crossed over a small stream the wizard asked about the lessons the Wise Woman had told him, and what manner of magic he thought he had learned from her.

Will repeated the first of the Wise Woman’s lessons, but then he could not help but admit to having read the book of beasts in which the spells had been written.

‘I know I shouldn’t have,’ he said lamely. ‘I know that now.’

‘And doubtless you did at the time too. Tell me, were there any words written on the front cover of the book?’

Will nodded. ‘A few. But I couldn’t read them in the ordinary way.’

‘The words were most probably, Ane radhas a’leguim oicheamna; ainsagimn deo teuiccimn. That is the true tongue.’

Will marvelled. ‘The sound of it rings pleasantly in my ears.’

‘It is a very ancient way of speech, the words the First Men learned from the fae. They cause a mighty hunger in the head, do they not? That is why you must take care when speaking the true tongue, for it is the language of stones and it has great power. Now tell me what else the Wise Woman taught you.’

While Will recalled all he could, the wizard nodded or stroked his beard, but he asked no more questions and gave no rebukes, for which Will was grateful. At last Gwydion said, ‘Say after me: Fiel ean mail arh an mailor treas.’

Will tried. Then he tried again. And then he tried a third time to get the sound just right, and at last Gwydion smiled.

‘There!’

‘What does it mean?’

‘You have spoken the Rede of the Three-fold Way in the true tongue.’

Will smiled back, pleased. ‘That was easy.’

‘Easy enough for some. But heed me well: magic must always be requested and never summoned. Always respect it, and never treat it with disdain. And when you ask, ask openly and honestly, for the honest man alone has the right to speak the words of power.’

By now they had come to a river bank, and Will saw a small standing stone sticking up out of the grassy bank.

Gwydion said, ‘Come here and put down the crane bag.’

Once more, Will did as he was told, and the wizard made him jump up and sit on the stone. ‘Do not be afraid. This little stone is called Taynton Sarsen. It is as benign as your own Tarry Stone. It marks an important ancient crossing point over the stream.’ He took from his pouch a piece of flint so sharp at the edge that it could have been used to shave with.

‘What are you going to do with that?’ Will asked, eyeing the flint uncertainly.

‘Give you a beggar’s head.’

‘What?’

The wizard tested the edge of the flint, then began to cut off locks of Will’s hair. ‘Hold still. The place where your braids used to hang looks like a half-harvested wheatfield and we can’t have that.’

Will screwed up his face but endured the indignity and when at last he put a hand to his head he found his hair was no more than half a finger’s length all over, and tussocky. He ruffled it and followed the wizard, picking up a stick on the way. ‘Why did you cut my hair?’

‘It is a disguise.’

‘It’s not much of one.’

‘It will serve to confound those who have been sent to make report on you.’

Will felt renewed anxiety cramp his stomach. ‘People sent by Maskull, do you mean?’

‘It is not unusual for him to have me watched when he can get news of my whereabouts. It is likely we are being watched now, for he certainly knows my bag-carrier was lodged in the Wychwoode.’

Will’s anxiety turned to alarm. ‘He found out about me?’

Gwydion smiled. ‘I made sure of it.’

‘You mean, you told him?’

‘I made sure Maskull found out that I had brought an unsatisfactory apprentice lad to Lord Strange’s tower for a summer of correction.’

‘Wasn’t that dangerous?’

‘Of course. But far less dangerous than if I had not done so. You see, Maskull does not know who you are. He will dismiss the detail from his thoughts, and once dismissed it will stay dismissed.’

‘I hope so.’

‘He believes I am a coward. He cannot bring himself to believe that I would dare bring the one spoken of in prophecy into plain view, for were he in my place he would certainly have kept you locked away in a fortress of spells. Be warned, Maskull wants very much to find the prophesied one, and if ever he decided that you were he, then…’ The wizard’s words petered out and he made a lethal gesture.