anymore, only hear the faint rumble of the waterfall, which thankfully lay far below.
There was a lot of foliage covering the pillars, and when he eased it away, he noticed that they had a smooth surface. Pulling back some ivy, he could see that they had been delicately carved, but with so much foliage around them, it was impossible to tell just what the carvings were. However, he could just make out an image of a king wearing a crown. There was also an inscription in a long forgotten language, but it was similar enough to Roggie for him to understand a little of it.
Only the Worthy!
The rest was too difficult for him to understand, and having so much ivy wrapped around it, Roggie did not fancy spending the rest of the nigh clearing it away. He was still staring at it, when he heard a distant voice almost whispering in his ear.
“You are nearly there little one.”
He looked around, but just like the last time that he had heard the calm soothing voice, there was no one there.
His back began to tingle, as if something was pushing him gently forward, and taking a deep breath, he advanced through the stone archway.
Roggie was now in a passageway, and he could see the moonlight shining through on the other side. The passageway was not very long, and had a smooth surface just like the stone pillars. Even though he would normally have been afraid of entering such a place, he still felt the security of the guiding force, which appeared to be urging him forward.
The passageway, like the path, had been abandoned for countless generations, and he wondered what lay on the other side. Walking slowly along, he could see what looked like another set of pillars marking the exit.
With fear banished, a little excitement filled him as he neared the end, and got within touching distance of the pillars. They were also overgrown, but fortunately the passageway itself had remained clear. Pushing his way through the opening, he was amazed at what he saw...
Six
The moonlight shone down brightly on the mountainside, which had been painstakingly carved away to reveal a balcony, framed by a majestic columned wall. Roggie stood in awe at the spectacular site that greeted him and, looking up, he could see a magnificent monument towering high above the land far below. Although overgrown just like the path he had used to get here, it was still possible to distinguish what he thought must be the Great King.
Everything had been painstakingly carved out of sheer rock, including the columned wall, and was the monumental achievement of some long distant craftsmen. There was only one stonemason in the village, and he was only able to do the most basic of things, and Roggie could only imagine what he and the other villagers would have made of it.
The Great King was sitting on his throne, and was absolutely enormous, towering way above him. Roggie was astonished, as he had been carved so well that he looked almost real, and Roggie half expected him to get up off his throne, shake the ivy away from himself, before walking down the mountainside.
It was truly spectacular, and even though the years of neglect had tarnished its once bright stonework, Roggie could only wonder at what it must have looked like in the distant past. The stone had been painted so the king looked real in every detail, to create the illusion of eternal life. Some of the paint had flaked off over time, but nevertheless, it was the most incredible thing that Roggie had ever seen.
There was an elaborate crown on the King’s head, and although again badly tarnished, Roggie could clearly see that it was made out of pure gold. He was sitting with his left hand stretched out with his palm raised upwards in friendship, as if he was almost welcoming Roggie to his kingdom. His right hand was holding a sceptre, which was also made of solid gold. There was a plaque underneath it with the words Only the Worthy carved upon it, and Roggie could not begin to understand what it all meant, and just stood in wonder.
The more that he looked at it, the more real it became, and he felt tingles running all over his entire body. He could see why there had been so many legends about him, as he looked very regal sitting there.
There had been no images of the King in the village, as all traces of him had long since disappeared, with only his legend remaining. The tales of his exploits told by the village elder had provided great entertainment, and he was still revered today, long after he had departed this realm, along with countless others on that terrible day.
The efforts of the long climb began to catch up with Roggie, and he had to sit down. The last day had been the most eventful of his entire life, and he was now very tired and hungry.
Sitting resting his back against the stone columned wall, Roggie continued to stare up at the carving, which seemed to stretch all the way up to the sky. Every detail was so perfect, and it was indeed a monument fit for a King. Even the spear, which rested against his throne, seemed to be ready for use, and as he looked at it, he could see that it was not dissimilar to his own spear.
Roggie’s eyes felt heavy, and as he closed them for a moment, his thoughts drifted back to the time when he had won it, at the village spear-throwing contest.
For as long as anyone could remember, there had been an annual spear-throwing contest within the village. According to legend, it was started by a solitary warrior who having survived the great battle, had settled in the village. He was all that remained of the ancient warrior clan, and before he died of old age, he wrote the Lost Book of the Pict-Sidhé. Very few people knew of its existence, and even fewer had actually read it. Roggie was one of the fortunate few, although being sworn to secrecy; he often wondered why he had been allowed to read it, if he was not allowed to talk to anyone about what he had read!
It was a strange tale of days long ago, of ancient beliefs and codes of honour. There were strange weapons and instructions of how to use them, and the whole thing was so very different from life within the village. There was seldom a quarrel, let alone a battle, and thoughts of a war were things which were consigned to ancient history.
From what Roggie could remember, the word Pict referred to Pictavia - The Land of Forests and Mountains, which was far away from The Land of Moors and Woods, and the other word Sidhé, referred to communicating with the nature spirits which existed in every living thing including animals, birds, rocks and trees. Everyone still believed in that, and everything was treated with respect, particularly the Spirit of the Mountain.
He relaxed, as more of what he had read started to flow out of his subconscious mind.
These Pict-Sidhés or Pixies sounded quite different from the Elphin Rabbits, and the last of the warrior clan was what was referred to as a Lepra-Corpan or Leprechaun. The word meant scaly body, which referred to his body armour, made from small overlapping plates of bronze, which tarnished to give a greenish colour, giving the appearance of Lizard scales. Leprechauns were the Great King’s armoured cavalry, although no one in the village had ever seen a horse, let alone ridden one!
Roggie had read the description in the lost book, and often visualised himself riding one of those creatures, wearing his armour and holding a lance. But, the nearest he had ever come to that was the annual village spear throwing contest.
Normally, Roggie would not have been at all interested, as by nature, he was not the least bit competitive. It took a lot of effort to get him to venture out of his warm comfortable bed, and any activity that he undertook usually revolved around food!
That was the main factor which had encouraged him to enter the competition in the first place, as the main prize was the pick of an assortment of delicacies. There were a lot of very good cooks within the village, and one in particular, who made the most delicious pies, and Roggie’s mouth began to water at the very thought of it.
An open grassy plain which stretched out from the little settlement all the way to the wooden bridge, provided the venue. It held a small crowd, gathered around the other competitors, and he had just sauntered towards it, giving a longing glance towards the pie, which sat invitingly on a long table with some of the other prizes.
A simple white line pa
inted on the grass, was the throwing position, and where the spear landed was marked by a small stake, with a red ribbon tied to it. Every time the spear was thrown further, the stake was moved, and if it landed behind the ribbon, then it was discounted. Each competitor had three attempts, and the name of the person who had thrown the spear the furthest, was marked on a large board by the village elder.
The only rules were that you had to be sixteen to enter, your feet had to remain behind the white line, and the furthest throw won!
Roggie was just eighteen when he entered the competition for the first time, and if it had not been for the pie, then he would probably not have entered it at all.
His mouth had been watering then, as it was now, as he waited for his turn. Roggie loved pies, and by the look of the one sitting in the middle of the table, it was a masterpiece. For him, there was nothing better than sinking his teeth into the crisp pastry, and tasting the juicy vegetables that lay within. Sometimes, he had been lucky enough to acquire one, even though he seldom did anything to earn it.
Roggie lived alone, and had moved into his burrow a few months previously, as was the custom. Eighteen was considered to be the time when Elphin Rabbits became independent, and the villagers had all worked together to build him his burrow.
He had