Lavondyss (Mythago Cycle) (26 page)

‘That’s sad …’ Tallis whispered. Her eyes were well accustomed to the darkness, now, and she realized that this young man was the Stag Youth from the year before, after whom she had named Hunter’s Brook. Now, though, he was dressed more fully, a baggy shirt which might have been wool, and trousers that appeared to have been stitched together from ragged strips of leather and linen, an odd and ungainly apparel.

And yet his voice … it still murmured at her. She had heard it before. She knew this man from another place, and perhaps even now she knew where that place had been, but was unprepared to confront it …

‘The last time I saw you,’ she said, ‘you were naked. Nothing on but that mask and your boots.’

Stag Youth laughed. ‘I didn’t know you then. I had only been in the forbidden world for a few days. I was starving and that young deer saved my life.’

‘But why were you so bare?’

‘Why? Because the animal on my head, the mask, helps me think like the beast. The animal on my feet helps me stalk like the beast. The earth smeared on my body helps me hide against the land. It’s the only way to kill a deer.’

‘Are you hunting now?’ Tallis asked boldly. ‘Why are you wearing the mask?’

He reached up and removed it. In the faint light his green eyes gleamed. He seemed anxious as he watched
the girl, saw her surprise, then a half-smile touched his lips.

‘You know me, then …’

Tallis was stunned. She was staring at the man, she realized, her eyes wide, almost frightened.

What could she say? What
could
she say? That only a few days before she had seen this man lying half-dead in a field, at the base of an oak tree? That she had sensed the passing of his life even as she had watched him?

Stag Youth was Scathach. The voice had told her, and now, by starlight, she could see the same proud features, the same gentle face, the same fire in the eyes.

What should she say?

‘
Do
you know me?’ he asked again.

Tallis began to feel light-headed. She had seen this man’s death and now he had returned from death to find her. Or perhaps not even that: she created visions; it was a new talent. So perhaps she had seen a vision of the future. Here was Scathach, unaware as he stood so quietly before her, that she was the sole possessor of the knowledge of his burning …

‘Scathach …’ she whispered, and her eyes filled with tears. The man before her was startled.

But before he could speak, a man called from outside. He went over to the window, peered out, then shouted something in a strange tongue. Tallis heard a horse whinny nervously. Another shout, more urgent this time.

Scathach seemed frightened. ‘There is very little time,’ he said, turning back to the girl. ‘Something has happened …
you’ve
done something … it has made our stay in the forbidden world too dangerous …’

That expression again. Forbidden world.

Scathach was saying, ‘We must go. And I need you to help me …’

But Tallis said, ‘Which is the forbidden world?’

Scathach frowned again, perplexed by the question. ‘This one. Which other?’

False understanding blossomed in the girl’s mind. ‘Of course! You’re a mythago. I
made
you. My
dreams
made you. Like the journal said …’

The young man shook his head. ‘
Am
I a mythago? I wish I knew. But whatever I am,
you
didn’t make me. I have come a long way to this place. It has taken me many years. And I have spent a full year here, camping near to the shrine, exploring the land, watching you.’

‘You’ve been watching
me?

He nodded. ‘It took me a while, but at last I realize who you are. I saw the
gaberlungi
, the masked women.
They’re
your mythagos. I saw them follow you. I saw the way they helped you create the
oolerins
, the gates, some of them simple some of them wild … dangerous … that’s why I opened the Book for you.’

Opened the Book? Then Tallis understood. He was referring to the journal, to the way it had been marked for her.

‘That was you. You opened it at that page?’

‘Yes,’ Scathach murmured. Outside, the shouting had not stopped. It distracted Scathach for a moment, and when he turned back to Tallis there was renewed urgency in his voice. ‘But you should not have taken the Book from the shrine. It must never be removed. It is there for the journeyers, for the travellers, like me. It has taken me a long time searching for it, discovering it. It is a book of great power. It should not have been removed from the shrine.’

Puzzled for a second, she began to comprehend. ‘The ruined house?’ she asked. ‘Do you mean the old house in the woods? That’s the shrine?’

Scathach nodded slowly. ‘It is a place that is talked about in legend …’

‘It’s just an old ruin.’

‘It is the first Lodge, the place of first wisdom, of the first
seeing
. The man who wrote the words of the Book had been born from the mud bank of a river, out of its union with the roots of the willows which grew there. His was the eye that saw and the ear that heard; his was the voice that sang the first histories, and the hand that wrote the words. From his dreams came the wood; from the wood came his prophesies.’

‘He was a doddery old man, according to Gaunt …’

‘You should not have taken the Book,’ Scathach insisted. ‘It belongs in the shadow lodge, in the ivy box.’

Tallis was stunned by this odd tale. The ‘Book’ was a simple journal, written by a scientist (by all accounts an eccentric man) and left to rot in the ruins of his house. But to Scathach that journal was already an icon; a Grail; an object imbued with deep, mystic power.

‘I’ll give it to you,’ she said. ‘You can take it back yourself.’

‘
You
must bring it,’ he said sharply. ‘You took it. Replace it in the ivy box, just as it was. In later years there will be others who will come to find what is written on the pages.’

‘And what about you?’ Tallis asked hesitantly. ‘Have
you
found what you wanted?’

Scathach was silent. In the faint light Tallis saw his eyes sparkle as they watched her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I have. My reasons for searching out the shrine are strange ones, personal ones. I came here to find something, but even now I’m unsure … do I belong here? Or is it truly a forbidden place to me? I can’t answer the question. But I do know that I’m frightened, and I
do
know that I was meant to find you. Finding you has turned out to be the most important thing of all.’

‘Me?’ Tallis said. ‘Why me?’

Again, from beyond the window came the urgent cry of a man.

‘The Jaguthin are getting impatient,’ Scathach murmured, and turned again to peer out at the night. Tallis followed him.

‘The Jaguthin …’ she said, staring at the three men on horseback; one of them held the dark horse that belonged to Scathach.

‘My rider friends … straight out of the heart of the wood. There were twelve of them once … they have been good company …’

Then he made a sound, of surprise, of horror. He was looking beyond the riders, towards the dark land where Hunter’s Brook flowed. The white shape hovered there, taller than the trees. It was the first time he had seen it.

‘Time is running out,’ he whispered. ‘You have
certainly
done something to allow that thing through to the land.’ He turned on Tallis quickly, grasping her by the shoulders. ‘What is your
gurla?
How do you summon it?’

‘My what?’

‘Your animal strength! Your guide!’ Scathach’s look became one of horror; then he made a sound of exasperation, as if he had finally understood something.

Confused, Tallis stepped back into the darkness of the room. She was thinking of Bird Spirit Land. Had her simple actions – driving away the carrion birds from the body of a prince – somehow summoned creatures of great malevolence?

She asked, simply, ‘Why is it important to have found me?’

‘You have the talent of the oolering man. There is something of the shaman in you. You can open the gates. But without a
gurla
I doubt if you can journey through them. I am trapped in this world. I had hoped to use you to re-enter the realm. Though this place is certainly the
world of my first flesh, I don’t belong here as my father did. The Jaguthin can return to the heartwoods, and they are impatient to do so. But not me. I don’t belong
here
, Tallis. But I don’t belong in the wood either. I cannot penetrate beyond a place in the edgewood which my father mentioned: a horse shrine. The wood turns me back. I no longer belong, and yet I need to return to my father’s lodge …’

Tallis was aware of the sadness in the man’s voice. Scathach hesitated, then murmured, ‘I have a very great need to see him again, just once more, before the heartwood calls for him. Before he rides the spirit wind to Lavondyss and beyond …’

Lavondyss!

The word screamed at Tallis. Her heart surged. Her mind soared. Scathach’s words, his concern, faded. His sadness was forgotten in the ecstasy of discovery.

Lavondyss!

She had found the secret name at last. It had taunted her and eluded her for years. She had come close. She had
felt
the name; she had
smelled
the name; but it had haunted her, a shadow, just out of reach.

Now she had it! A name, as Mr Williams had said, very like Avalon. Very like Lyonesse. And in those more familiar names was the echo of the first name, the memory in folklore and legend of the name that had
first
been articulated to describe the warm place, the magic place, the forbidden place … the place of peace; a name used when the great winter had stretched across the world, when the cold and the ice had driven the hunters south and had eaten at their bones, and snagged their hair, and they had run from the frozen spirit of the land … dreaming of safety.

And a place, too, of the dead, where the dead returned to life. The place of waiting. The place of the endless
hunt and the constant feast. The place of youth, the land of women, the realm of song and sea. Old Forbidden Place. The underworld.

‘Lavondyss …’ she breathed, sounding the word in her mouth, savouring the syllables, letting the word make images in her mind, letting the sound send its spirit wind coursing through her …

‘Lavondyss …’

(iii)

She had been conscious of Scathach moving past her as she dreamed, but had not responded. Now she realized he had gone. She went quickly to the open window and saw him, crouched on the outhouse roof a few feet below her, ready to spring to the ground.

‘Don’t go!’ she shouted. ‘I need to talk to you. I need to know about Lavondyss!’

‘Hurry, then!’ he hissed back. ‘If you want to come, then come now!’

Even as she spoke, again she saw the distant shape that seemed to have frightened the riders. She frowned as she stared at the dark trees by Hunter’s Brook. Her eyes filled with the eerie vision that moved there: immense; white; like a bird yet like a man, towering above the trees but not flying, just stalking along the stream, watching the night-land towards the house.

Detail was obscure. She could see the beak, she could see light shimmering in its body. And around and above it there was a dark cloud, like a flight of bats wheeling against the sky. The flying shapes were emerging from the brightness of the body and circling slowly above Windy Cave Meadow …

‘No time!’ Scathach called to her. ‘We must go.
Now!
It’s too dangerous to stay.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Tallis said urgently, her eyes fixed on the terrifying bird-shape that seemed to guard the way to Ryhope Wood. ‘But I must fetch something … to mark Broken Boy …’

‘Hurry!’ Scathach urged. By the fence the three riders were already calling for their leader, their horses turning nervously on the spot, torches flickering in the night air.

The sky was alive with wings.

Tallis ran quickly to her parents’ bedroom, flung open the treasure chest where their precious accumulations of photographs, clothes and locks of hair were kept, and searched down among the junk for the fragment of antler which Broken Boy had given her. She found it. It was bigger than she had expected, a curved tine several inches long. It was encased in the strip of yellowing christening robe, tied with two pieces of blue ribbon. She slipped the antler from the silk and replaced the horn in the chest, tucking the fragment of material into her belt.

In her own room she looped a piece of string through the eyeholes of her masks, knotted the cord and slung them over her neck. They were heavy; they made her unwieldy as she moved to the bed where the secret journal lay. She closed the book and stepped quickly to the window. Scathach was already on his horse, beyond the fence. He saw Tallis and shouted almost angrily.

‘If you’re coming,
come!
’

One of his companions was riding towards the bird figure, lance held high. He weaved between the stones and trees, cantered across the hollowed land.

Tallis picked up the journal and clambered through the window on to the outhouse roof. When she jumped to the lawn she fell heavily. Scathach came to meet her at the gate, dragging her by the scruff of her shirt up on to the hindquarters of his horse. She clung on to his wool shirt with her right hand, the book held firmly in her left.
Her masks clattered by her side as the steed was given its head and Scathach and the other two riders began to gallop through the chaos in the field.

‘What
is
it?’ Tallis shouted against the deafening sound of wings.

‘Oyzin,’ Scathach shouted back. ‘I felt it was coming. I thought we would get away before it came through …’

Tallis held on desperately to the young rider’s body. Her legs were bruised, her vision blurred with the jolting action of the horse below her. She felt sick and frightened. But she could not take her eyes from the strange creature by Hunter’s Brook.

‘It’s not real …’ she whispered.

‘It’s real,’ Scathach muttered darkly. ‘But Gyonval will go … Go now!’ he shouted suddenly, and Gyonval, with the lance, kicked his horse into a gallop, riding at the bird thing.