Robert Carter - The Language of Stones

This book is dedicated to Britain’s greatest living Welshman – Terry Jones.

‘First there were nine,

Then nine became seven,

And seven became five.

Now, as sure as the Ages decline,

Three are no more,

But one is alive.’

The Black Book of Tara

Cover Page

Title Page The Language of Stones Robert Carter

Epigraph ‘First there were nine, Then nine became seven, And seven became five. Now, as sure as the Ages decline, Three are no more, But one is alive.’ The Black Book of Tara

PART ONE A BOY, A MAN PART ONE A BOY, A MAN

CHAPTER ONE OUT OF THE VALE

CHAPTER TWO INTO THE REALM

CHAPTER THREE TO THE TOWER OF LORD STRANGE

CHAPTER FOUR A LITTLE LEARNING

CHAPTER FIVE THE MARISH HAG

PART TWO THE POWERS OF THE EARTH

CHAPTER SIX A NEST OF SECRETS

CHAPTER SEVEN LAMMASTIDE

CHAPTER EIGHT CLARENDON

CHAPTER NINE A BARROW ON THE BLESSED ISLE

CHAPTER TEN LEIR’S TREASURE

CHAPTER ELEVEN THE STONE OF CAER LUGDUNUM

CHAPTER TWELVE ALONG THE BANKS OF THE NEANE

PART THREE THE DUKE OF EBOR’S PLEASURE

CHAPTER FOURTEEN A WINTER OF DISCONTENT

CHAPTER FIFTEEN AGAINST BETTER JUDGMENT

CHAPTER SIXTEEN COLD COMFORT IN THE WEST

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN IN THE HALL OF KING LUDD

PART FOUR WILL’S TEST

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN THE PLAGUESTONE

CHAPTER NINETEEN AT THE NAVEL OF THE WORLD

CHAPTER TWENTY THE NIGHT RIDE TO HOOE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE SKIES OF FIRE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO THE SARCOPHAGUS OF VERLAMION

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ALL IS WON, YET ALL IS LOST

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR THE GREEN MAN

AUTHOR’S NOTE

APPENDIX I ON THE AGES OF THE WORLD

APPENDIX II

Preview

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

Willand son of Eldmar turned his gaze away from the Tops and ran down towards the village. The sun was warm today, the sky cloudless and the grass soft and thriving underfoot. His long hair streamed freely in the sun like golden wheat as he ran past a cluster of thatched cottages and came at last to the Green Man.

‘Is Tilwin here yet?’ he asked, hoping the knife-grinder was already slaking his thirst. But Baldgood the alehouse keeper shook his head. There was no sign of Tilwin, nor of his grinding wheel, so Will went out and sat on the grass.

Sunshine blazed on the white linen of his shirt. It was a fine spot just here. Daisies and dandelions had come out all over the green, as if it had known to put on its summer best. Every year it was fine and sunny at Cuckootide. There was racing to the Tarry Stone, kicking at the campball, and all the other sports. And afterwards there would be the bonfire. Songs would be sung and there would be dances and games and contests with the quarterstaff before the drinking of dragon soup. It would be the same this year as it had always been, and next year it would be the same again and on and on forever.

In the Vale they called today Cuckootide, the day the May Pole was put up and all the world came out onto the green to have a good time. But Will knew he could not have a good time – not until he had talked with Tilwin. He looked up at the round-shouldered hills they called the Tops and felt the longing again. It had been getting stronger, and today it felt like an invisible cord trying to pull his heart right out of his chest. That was why he had to speak with Tilwin. It had to be Tilwin, because only he would understand.

‘Hey-ho, Will!’

He knew that voice at once – whiskery Leoftan, the smith. His two thick braids hung like tarred rope side by side at his left cheek. He wore a belted shirt of white linen like Will’s own and a cap of red wool.

‘Your dad’ll be putting in your braids soon enough now, eh?’

Will shrugged. ‘It’s a hard week to turn thirteen, the week after May Day.’

Leoftan put down his armful of wooden tent-pegs. ‘Aye, you’ll have to wait near another year before you can run in the men’s race.’

Will scrubbed his fingers through his fair hair and stole another glance at the Tops. ‘Have you ever wondered what it’s like up there, Luffy?’

The smith stood up, gave him a distracted look. ‘What’s that you say?’

‘I was just thinking.’ He nodded towards the Tops. ‘One day I’d like to go up and see what’s there. Haven’t you ever thought what Nether Norton would look like with the whole Vale laid out down below?’

‘Huh?’

The moment stretched out awkwardly, but Will could not let it go. Once he had seen a small figure riding on a white horse far away where the earth met the sky. In the spring there were sheep – thousands of them – driven along by black dogs, and sometimes by men too. He had seen them many times, but whenever he had spoken of it to the others they had fallen quiet, and Gunwold the Swineherd had smirked, as if he had said something that ought not to have been said.

‘Well, Luffy? Haven’t you ever wanted to go up onto the Tops?’

Leoftan’s face lost its good humour. ‘What do you want to go talking like that for? They say there’s an ill wind up there.’

‘Is that what they say? An ill wind? And who are they who say that, Luffy? And how do they know? I wish – I wish—’

Just then Baldulf came up. He was fourteen, a fleshy, self-assured youth, and there was Wybda the Gossip and two or three others with him. ‘You want to be careful what you go a-wishing for, Willand,’ Wybda said. ‘They say that what fools and kings wishes for most often comes true.’

Will gazed back, undaunted. ‘I’m not a king or a fool. I just want to go up there and see for myself. What’s wrong with that?’

Wybda carried her embroidery with her. She plied her needle all the time, but still her pigs turned out too round and her flowers too squat. ‘Don’t you know the fae folk’ll eat you up?’

‘What do you know about the fae folk?’

Baldulf swished a willow wand at the grass near him. ‘She’s right. Nobody’s got any business up on the Tops.’

Gunwold grinned his lop-sided grin. ‘Yah, everybody knows that, Willand.’

They all began to move off and Leoftan said, ‘Aren’t you going over to watch the men’s race?’

‘Maybe later.’

He let them go. He did not know why, but just lately their company made him feel uncomfortable. He wondered if it was something to do with becoming a man. Maybe that was what made him feel so strange.

‘There’s a trackway up over the Tops,’ a gritty voice said in his ear.

He started, and when he looked round he saw Tilwin. ‘You made me jump.’

Tilwin gave a knowing grin. ‘I’ve made a lot of people jump in my time, Willand, but what I say is the truth. They’ve sent flocks along that trackway every summer for five thousand years and more. Now what do you think about that?’

Tilwin never said too much, but he knew plenty. He was not yet of middling age, and for some reason he wore his dark hair unbraided. He came once in a blue moon to fetch necessaries up from Middle Norton and beyond. Twice yearly he took the carts down to hand over the tithe, the village tax, to the Sightless Ones. Tilwin could put a sharper edge on a blade than anyone, and he was the only person Will knew who had ever been out of the Vale.