The Girl and the Guardian

  The morning dawned with seagulls crying above the roar of the surf as they fought over scraps of fish around someone’s early campfire on the beach. The air smelt of the seaweed washed up on the shore, and of smoke from the campfire.

  Shelley woke thinking she must be on holiday in Northland by the sea. She stretched and looked across the room, expecting to see her brother Mark and her parents, but instead there was Korman. He was lying still and peaceful on his gently swaying hammock-bed, but his eyes were bandaged. The terrible memory of the hermits, the burning Void, the hornets, the Dagraath, the fall into the dark waters, and their painful trek over the plains, soon overwhelmed her holiday illusion.

  Then she looked out the open veranda to the beach and the lines of huge slowly breaking waves of crystal clear ocean, the early sun rising above the glittering blue horizon, energising the world with sensuous heat and golden light, and the delicious holiday feeling returned. The beach was like an invitation to paradise for Shelley. She wanted to rush out and explore, feel the warm sand between her toes, go beachcombing and swimming and forget the darkness and horror of the last two nights, and the long labour of their flight. But when she swung her legs over the side of the hammock-bed, all her muscles felt stiff and sore, her head spun, and the sting-wound on her heel throbbed, so she flopped back onto the pillow and gazed up at the thatched ceiling.

  In spite of her aches and pains, she felt alive and happy, safer than she had felt for a long time, and tingling with anticipation. ‘I love this place already!’ she thought. ‘I wonder if Pipes can take me surfing? I think he likes me… While Korman’s recovering, I could have a total holiday! No parents, no rules, no quest…’ The peril of Aeden seemed almost unreal to her now. Looking out on a place of such overwhelming power and natural beauty, it felt absurd to worry about the state of the world.

  When Shelley looked back on them later, the next few days would seem like an impossibly happy and carefree dream, even though she sometimes worried about Korman’s eyes – and about Hillgard and the other captives from Baldrock. It was one of those rare times which turned out almost exactly as she imagined and hoped they would be. It was like one of her early childhood holidays, barely remembered except as nostalgic fragments.

  Pipes was old enough to be a good friend to her, and young enough to be exciting to be around. And he did take her surfing, usually with the others of the village: men, women and children, even the little children of three or four on their miniature boards. But sometimes she and Pipes went out by themselves in the early morning far along the beach. They used long boards of a light wood like balsa which had been rafted down the coast by the woodcutters of the Fairy Forest. The boards were pokerworked with Salamanders or sinuous dolphins and crabs, and seahorses, and other sea creatures that Shelley had never seen before, and lovingly oiled. Pipes gave her one of her own, decorated with a sea serpent that wound all the way about the border, and in the middle of the board was a beautiful mermaid, her long hair floating around her bare body. He showed Shelley how to drip the beeswax on top and polish the whalebone fins underneath; and how to mix oil and a special ash to make a bluish sun-screen.

  So Pipes shared his happy life with Shelley on the warm southern shores of Aeden. He began to teach her the Waverider ways, of love and of and harmony with the sea and the land and sky and all living things. He showed how they gardened and fished, and spoke of the mystical meaning of riding the waves. ‘We learn to be perfectly in the moment – Hishma we call it, perfect timing, neither ahead of the wave nor behind it,’ he explained.

  He showed her how to call the dolphins and surf with them down the curling glassy slopes. Afterwards they would sit on the warm dry sand higher up the beach and look down at the other Waveriders or watch the clouds sailing overhead. Or they would wander along the beach looking at the beautiful exotic shells, giant cat’s eyes and conches and cowry shells, collecting the most perfect ones for decorating the garden beds, and the flat pearly kind for polishing and diamond-point engraving with poems or stories.

  At different points along the long sweep of the beach there were layers of different sands, some dark like ironsands, burning hot underfoot in the sun; some white glittering quartz, and some reddish with garnet or ruby. And every now and then she would see a gleaming rough diamond, which she would casually pocket, though none were as big as the one Rilke had given her at their parting, and which she still carried in a deep pocket. Shelley wondered what the mining companies of Edartha would do to this place – and all of Aeden – if they could get their hands on it.

  It was on one of their walks along the golden beach in the morning sun that Pipes told her that he was an orphan. ‘I was found wandering alone in the plains of the Ürxura, by a blacksmith, who later adopted me. He was out cutting wood for his forge,’ he told her.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing!’ said Shelley. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Only ten or twelve – I’m not sure. The life before seems like a dream.’

  ‘Do you remember anything, how you got there?’

  ‘I remember riding on the back of a great white Ürxura, then waking up on the plain by a clump of great oak trees, alone, holding a leaf from the other world.’

  ‘You got a leaf too!’ said Shelley.

  ‘Yes, I still have it. There was an image…’

  ‘Of the Lady!’ Shelley exclaimed.

  ‘Well, actually it was of a dolphin… it has faded now, and it seems like a dream, but yes, it was a dolphin. I think it drew me here, to the sea… So, when I arrived I spoke only in a foreign tongue, but by the time my father and mother had taught me their own tongue, I had forgotten most of my past life.’

  ‘But you must remember something about it.’

  ‘Only hard, bitter things I would rather forget. From what you tell me of the Silver World, Kor-Edartha, I begin to wonder if I came from there.’ And that was about all he could – or would – say.

  Pipes was so called by his friends (whom Shelley got to know also, though none were quite as friendly with her as Pipes) for two reasons: one was that he was the best rider of the small perfectly-formed ‘pipeline’ waves, bending low to skim just ahead of the break. The other was that he was an expert player of the pan pipes, which he made from the reeds that grew by the eastern lagoon. His long brown hair was sun-bleached to a golden blond at the ends where it curled; his body was bronzed, muscular and lean. His eyes were grey-blue, and twinkled in the friendliest way when he smiled, which was most of the time. And he was always kind to the little children, who would hang around him to be spun around or get piggyback rides into the sea. Shelley felt she was falling in love, though a part of her knew it could never be. ‘He’s probably twice my age, for goodness sake!’ she said to herself more than once as she caught herself daydreaming. But it certainly felt very good to be his friend.

  One day Pipes took her to visit his adopted father, Firebrand, who was the village blacksmith. He was very friendly, and offered to beat Korman’s dented silver skullcap back into shape when Shelley brought it to him.

  Meanwhile Korman was nursed back to health by the medicine woman, whose name was Dawnrose, and his singed beard began to grow back. Bootnip made a nuisance of himself by moulting, scratching off grey and black hairs all over the bed, and also by trying to defend Korman against all comers. But he eventually got used to Dawnrose and allowed her to touch him without biting her. Then he would play hide and seek with her, hiding under the bed, and nipping her ankles if she didn’t pretend to look for him.

  Dawnrose sat at Korman’s bedside day and night, talking with him when he grew stronger, about Aeden and about their very different lives. He told her of the Guardian World where he had grown up, of the Fire World where his sword Arcratíne was forged, and (later, when he trusted her) of his mission. She in turn told him of her training to be a medicine woman, of the teachings of the Waverider sages passed down through the generations, above all of Hishma, riding the wave of the moment, not ahead or behind. She pr
omised to take him to visit the elders and get them to show him their libraries of engraved shells, beautiful miniature books of wisdom and poetry, illuminated with tiny etchings.

  She promised also to take him to the four Listening Shrines, the round chambers dug into the cliffs of the Crystal Mountain, echoing to the roar of the sea far below, and the deep calls of the Seafarers, the whales, who visited from the Blue World and the Silver World, swimming the paths of Beauty that still sometimes opened between the seas of the ancient Order. In each chamber was a great tooth of one of the Seafarers washed up on the beach long ago. On these teeth were carved poems of the Sea-wisdom, and the Fire and the Air and the Earth-wisdoms. The Waveriders would recite these poems, and also any new poems or sayings, around the fires on the beach at night or in the great cave on the festivals of the Blue Moon. If any of the new poems were approved by general agreement, they would be inscribed on one of the four whale-teeth by a chosen artist.

  And she told Korman that some of the Waveriders were saying there should be five more caves dug, to honour the five other Worlds of the ancient Order, but most of the people were content with four. ‘It is enough to know the four elements,’ they said, ‘without seeking to revive that knowledge which went with the Makers long ago. Is it not from the Seekers of Knowledge that the troubles arose?’

  She walked with Korman on the beach in the pearly morning and described in loving detail great perfect waves ridden in the cold dawn and the warm happiness on the beach afterward; and pilgrimages to the Fire Mountain and how, on the peak high above, the Salamanders sometimes appeared to the pilgrims in dreams and visions; and pilgrimages to the Crystal Mountain where the waves curled around the rocks and broke in white plumes high in the air, and the Crystalline Entities sometimes spoke to them of the Cosmic wisdom and the first days of the Order of the Makers when the three Elder Kindreds met.

  As they talked Korman learned that she knew the Lady and the Zagonamara too, in her own way: for her the Lady was Magnémara, Aphrodite, born of the sea foam, beloved by the Dolphins and the seafarers, keeper of the sea-magic. And the Zagonamara was the great sea serpent which coiled about the island of Aeden and kept it above the waves and made it fertile. But she also knew of the Lady who lived in the Fairy Isle of Avalon in the northern woods; the Ürxura had once shown her a vision of it.

  The Aghmaath, being kept at bay by the Ürxura, were to her only a memory of a fleeting vision in a nightmare quickly banished by the white Ürxura’s magic. But now, as she learned Korman’s mind, she felt there the shadow of the Dark, the searing memory of the Void in the crater, and behind that, memories of his boyhood initiation into the Void; and she wondered how much of his blindness was not in his physical eyes but in his mind. So she began to reach out to him in spirit, calling him out of the darkness into the light.

  One golden afternoon Dawnrose said, ‘Korman, I think the time has come to remove your bandages. Your eyes are ready for the light again.’

  So saying, she unwound the bandage from his eyes, and he saw her for the first time. Her hair glowed red in a halo around her wise face, and her eyes were green. He gazed into them awhile, and she gazed back at him with love. Korman looked away first, and said ‘How can I thank you enough, lady? You have healed more than my eyes, these last few days.’ He felt his right arm, now almost as strong as his left.

  Dawnrose turned his head gently and looked into his clear grey eyes. ‘Stay with us, Korman! At least for the summer. You do not need to rush to face these Aghmaath. There is so much to show you, all that I promised and more, now that you can see!’

  She looked younger than her years. Her dark red hair flamed in the sunlight, and her face was joyful and eager.

  Korman sighed. ‘The child who is in my care would love me to say yes to your invitation, Dawnrose. She too has been healed in this place, in heart and mind and body; and she might stay forever if I let her. But we have a destiny, and it lies beyond this peaceful land. The Ürxura cannot protect the other races of Aeden, and many are already prisoners in the thorny wastelands – including the Lady of Avalon.’

  She understood that his mind and heart were made up. Hiding her pain she replied, ‘If you must go, Korman, at least come to our festival of the Blue Moon, tomorrow night, in the glittering seacaves of the Eastern End. There will be feasting and dancing…’

  Korman hesitated, but guessing the pain in her heart he replied, ‘If it would bring you joy, I will gladly stay until then. But we must leave the morning after. I fear Shelley may refuse to come at all if we delay any longer. I fear for myself, also, if I were to stay any longer. This is a blessed place, and your people are wise and loving…’

  ‘You do know how to flatter us, Korman!’ she replied.

  He smiled sadly, knowing that she wished for a more personal compliment, one that his heart was not free to give.

  ‘And you tempt me to stay longer! The road ahead leads, it seems, into the Valley of Thorns. I hope that it leads out again. I have been there once, and I fear to go back.’

  ‘Then let us not speak of it while you remain here. Hishma. Now let me show you the beach.’

  She led him by the hand down the white sandy path through flowering dune-plants. He walked in wonder at the beauty of the world, seeing it for the first time after long days and nights in darkness. The sea was calm and blue, the white clouds like flocks of slow-moving sheep high in the sky. The Crystal Mountain rose clear in the east, high above where the beach ended in glowing surf-mist, and the seacaves echoed to the piping of nesting birds in the cliffs.

  Shelley looked up from the water’s edge and waved. She came running excitedly up the beach to them and took his hand. ‘Korman! You can see! I knew you would get better! Quick, come and see what’s down there. It’s dolphins! They’re letting us ride on their backs. Pipes called them. Come on!’

  There was a group of children around Pipes, splashing and laughing as they were carried around in circles by small dolphins that grinned and squealed as they came up for air. Every now and then they took their riders underwater. Sometimes the child would jump off and swim to the surface and be laughed at; mostly they would hold their breath and come up triumphantly clinging to their dolphin.

  Shelley joined them, holding the dorsal fin of a big dolphin which towed her around at high speed before she lost her grip from giggling too much. Korman watched, smiling but heavy-hearted at the thought of taking her into the horrible valley of the Thorns.

  ‘Do you really think she is the Kortana, the Jewel-Caller the old poems speak of?’ asked Dawnrose as they watched Shelley playing happily in the sparkling water. ‘I know they say he – or she – is to come from the Lost World, Kor-Edartha, whence, they say, came Athmad and Ewana, to the downfall of Aeden. But is it really possible? She seems so young.’

  ‘We must have faith. It is very possible. Since her appearance the lightning has returned to the Tor Enyása. And already she has done great things: she walked in Faery in the midst of mindwebs, and rescued people from peril. They are drawn to her and gladly follow her.’

  What he did not say was that she had drawn the Aghmaath also. He was worried that they had already stayed too long in that happy and innocent place. ‘There may be some way they will get past the Ürxura’s defences and attack us here,’ he worried. The thought gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Because of the Lady he could never stay with this green-eyed lady who loved him deeply and who had healed him, never settle here and try to prolong the fleeting happiness of this time. But he knew he would carry it with him in his heart forever, and he could not bear the thought of the enemy sweeping its fragile beauty away.

  The next day Korman and Shelley helped in the preparations for the Blue Moon festival to be held that night. In the afternoon Dawnrose came to them as they bundled firewood together.

  ‘Can you excuse Korman for a while, Shelley?’ she said. ‘There is a man I think he should meet, who knows something of the road ahead of you…if you go
that way,’ she added, looking at Korman, and her kindly face was troubled.

  ‘Of course,’ Shelley smiled. ‘Just remember to call him Nimmath. We don’t trust the Traders – some are spies.’ She liked Dawnrose a lot, and wondered how Korman could not have fallen head over heels in love with her. But then she remembered the Lady in the thorns, and how he spoke of her, and the light in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry, this Trader is a good man at heart. At least, he hates the Aghmaath and would never betray anyone to them.’

  Dawnrose took him to her hut where a weatherbeaten man was sitting at her outside table of adzed driftwood. On the table the man had piled an array of leather bags, small wooden boxes and cloth-wrapped packages. His donkey stood droopy-eared in the shade of a little tree nearby.

  ‘Lightpath, this is Nimmath, a patient of mine – and a friend,’ said Dawnrose.

  ‘I’m a Trader, Lightpath’s the name, though my paths are anything but bright nowadays,’ said the man, grinning as he half-rose to shake Korman’s hand. Dawnrose got them beer and a herbal drink for herself. Korman looked suspiciously at the pile of merchandise as he sat down opposite. Dawnrose sat next to him and they took their drinks. After a long swig of his beer, a belch and a satisfied sigh, the Trader went on:

  ‘I’ve been down into that valley, not recently, like, not since it became a full-on colony of them Travellers. Even back then it was overgrown with thorns, not the great big Mother-cussing Thorns that spread for miles, they say, and have whole fields and villages inside ’em. And thorny highways, that the Travellers use, for going up and down the land at a rate o’ knots.’ He took another swig of his beer and belched.

  ‘What was your business there? Did you see the Aghmaath?’ asked Korman. ‘Oh yes, but not like you’re thinking,’ replied Lightpath, smiling reassuringly. ‘Just business, you know, Traders’ immunity and all that.’ His smile faded and he turned his mug nervously, staring at it. ‘That was before they changed the rules on us, and threw my old dad into the thorns for speaking out against… against what they’d done to that lady – a queen or something, she was – and the others.’ Korman looked straight ahead, and his jaw clenched.

  ‘I am sorry. I know the Lady you speak of. That is why I must go that way, to see her if it is possible…’ The Trader looked up, incredulous.

  ‘What? You’re mad! You’ll be walking into a trap! We Traders never go down the western sector now, never! We call it the Haunted Land. And we just pray we won’t be around long enough to see it spread to the rest of the country. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it, to open up new trade routes, see if these darned self-sufficient Waveriders need anything after all. Times are a-changing, they are. Right, Dawnrose?’ But she did not answer.

  ‘Traders may adapt by avoidance, Lightpath,’ replied Korman sternly. ‘But I am a warrior – or used to be – and I have sworn to return for the Lady. Tell me what you know that may help!’ His eyes were fixed on Lightpath’s. He saw the fear there, and softened. ‘Please,’ he added.

  ‘All right, then, if you must go that way, you’ll be needing a surgical kit. For taking out thorns.’ He looked with grim satisfaction at Korman, rummaging in the pile of goods on the table in front of him and triumphantly holding up a small grimy canvas bag with some sharp metal instruments in it.

  ‘There’s pincers, and probes for the deep-seated ones, and reverse pincers for opening the wound to let the barbed ones come back out,’ he said, in mock cheerfulness. ‘See, they open out when you squeeze them.’ To Bootnip’s annoyance, Korman bartered a small diamond for the kit.

  ‘If we get through, we will look out for your father,’ he said.

  ‘We, you say? Who’d be mad enough to go with you?’ said the Trader. Dawnrose spoke this time.

  ‘Nimmath is not mad, and he is not reckless. But he is escorting a child to the Faery refuge of Ürak Tara on the other side of the Valley of Thorns. So, in your opinion what hope is there of their getting through safely?’

  ‘I’d say none, I would. But maybe there’s something about him I don’t know.’ He eyed Korman up and down with practised eye, noting the sword at his side. ‘A Guardian, eh? Interested in a trade for that sword, by any chance?’ he asked, staring at the jewelled hilt.

  ‘Since you have guessed, yes he is a Guardian. But a Guardian never parts with his sword, except at death, when he entrusts it to the one who will inherit it,’ put in Dawnrose. ‘Especially this sword. It comes from the Fire World, and once guarded the sacred Jewel of the Tree, up on the Tor Enyása. Besides, you couldn’t afford it.’ She looked at Korman proudly, but he shook his head, and hoped the Trader could be trusted.

  ‘Tell no one of the sword, or of me, or you will have my sword to fear! Swear that you will keep this to yourself!’

  ‘I hate the Aghmaath as much as any man. If you go to strike a blow for freedom, the least I can do is keep my trap shut! I swear.’ Korman nodded his thanks.

  ‘But he who is entrusted with the Jewel-Defender, Arcratíne, and wields it, must do so only in harmony with the Zagonamara, or it will bring only more grief. I am sworn not to draw it in battle – unless the Lady commands me.’

  ‘By the Makers! You do make it hard for yourself! Ha! Well, if you won’t use your sword, you’ll be needing a couple of these!’ Lightpath pulled out two knives from their sheaths and showed them to Korman. ‘Genuine Canyon make, diamond edged! Only thing that’ll cut through the thorns. Just don’t go using them on the Mother Thorns, but. They say they thrash around and stick you through quick as – that.’ He stabbed a knife savagely into the table.

  Korman found another two diamonds to pay for the knives.

  ‘Not really enough for these but I’ll accept ’em, since you’ll be needing these tools bad, where you’re going. Well, good luck,’ said the Trader, rising to go, tipping his hat at Dawnrose. ‘You’re going to need it. Thanks for the drink. Well, you’ve got my calling card and the catalogue, Rosie, if I may call you that. Remember, there’s no thorns here now, but what about tomorrow? You being the healer and all, you’ll be wanting the supplies I can bring you.’ Dawnrose did not answer, but looked troubled.

  ‘Well, I’ll be moving on now,’ said the Trader. He untied his donkey and put his merchandise back in the panniers on its bony back. The donkey looked very unimpressed and reluctant to move. The Trader jerked its rope and pulled, and it slowly yielded to his will.

  ‘Thank you, Lightpath, for the information – and the tools,’ said Korman. ‘May you find a new day will dawn in Aeden when all paths will be brighter, and there will be no need for such instruments.’

  ‘Meanwhile, it’s an ill wind as blows nobody any good, eh?’ Lightpath replied with a grin. Korman did not smile. ‘But seriously, good luck to you – and the girl,’ said Lightpath.

  He muttered to himself as he hoisted his pack and trudged off down the path to the Ürxura plains, ‘A real Guardian, eh? Well it looks like he’s the one that’ll need guarding.’

  ‘What is his name?’ called Korman as the Trader receded.

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Your father’s. In case I find him.’

  ‘It was Brighthope,’ the Trader called back over his shoulder, and shook his head. ‘Crazy idealists, these so-called Guardians!’ he muttered to himself. ‘Korman the Guardian… Ha!’ He paused, struck by a thought, and called out, ‘Korman, did you say your name was?’

  Korman looked troubled, but nodded. The Trader rummaged in his panniers, and came back, leaving the donkey standing, its head drooping dejectedly. He held out a faded flaxen envelope to Korman, and pulled it back as he reached for it. ‘This letter here’s come a long way. From the Badlands near Applegate, no less. It’s for the girl that’s with one Korman the Guardian. I’d just about forgotten it. The boy said it was important. So, what’s it worth to you?’

  Korman’s eyes twinkled as he guessed who the sender was, and what it would mean to Shelley. The Trader noticed this, and waited expectantly. But Korman w
as out of items to trade.

  ‘What about this?’ Dawnrose offered, holding up an embroidered silk handkerchief. ‘It’s from one of the Silk-folk who visited long ago.’

  A red dragon coiled about a tree of several interwoven trunks, in the midst of which shone an amber gem, the rays of it gleaming in fine gold-stitched lines to the border of starry hopeflowers. Korman wondered at its beauty, and went to stop her handing it to Lightpath. But the Trader snatched it and put it in his cloak pocket before Korman could say anything.

  That’ll do nicely,’ said Lightpath, handing over the letter, and he tipped his hat to Dawnrose and Korman, and went back to where his donkey stood listlessly nibbling the short seagrass. They heard him cursing as he pulled at its bridle to get it moving again.

  When the Trader had finally gone, Dawnrose sighed with relief and moved to Korman’s side. ‘I do hope that man is to be trusted. I am sorry I told him your true name. It’s just that I…’

  ‘You wanted him to know and respect me. He has a long path to travel before he can do that, I am afraid, and he may do some mischief along the way. But, what’s done is done, dear lady.’

  She smiled gratefully, then looked troubled again. ‘Do you still mean to go that way, Korman? Is there no safer way?’ she asked, pleading with her eyes. But he replied, ‘As long as the Lady and others are imprisoned in the Valley of Thorns, I am drawn there. I feel it will be all right, that it is the path laid before me, and also the Kortana. She must see the evil if she is to fight it. And perhaps with her at my side we may walk in Faery and go unseen.’

  Dawnrose sighed and shook her head. ‘I hope you are right, Korman. The mindwebs in the Valley will be strong. Even the Ürxura do not go that way any more.’

  She paused, then said in a more intimate voice, full of longing, ‘I want to see you again one day, when all this is over and you can return for healing and rest. There is still much hurt in you that I could help heal.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Then see if you can heal me a little more before we must leave.’ But though part of him longed to, he did not embrace her. His heart was still drawn to another, though she was remote from him, a mortal man.

  They talked a little more, of things past, things present and things that might be, of healing and joyful times to come. Then Dawnrose took a cloth package out of her shoulder bag.

  ‘Now, Korman, look! I bought a little something for you, for your journey. To help you see clearer, things both near’ – she looked into his eyes as she said this – ‘and far away.’ She showed him what she had bought.

  ‘A spyglass, made by the Padmaddim! That is their mark: a crystal inside a circle!’ exclaimed Korman.

  Dawnrose smiled, ‘Yes, they grind the best lenses, Lightpath told me. He said he has found a place where they come to trade with him. Somewhere called the Badlands.’

  ‘Barachthad! I wonder… Has he found some of his kin at last?’

  ‘You know some of the Padmaddim?’

  ‘Only one. But he told me of others, who dwell deep in the hills: the Delvers.’

  The lenses of the spyglass were set into a small, cleverly made oak box with nested sections which extended to form a long square tube. Korman slid it open and looked through the eyepiece.

  ‘I see the Crystal Mountain peaks, and the down-birds nesting in the crags!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Look at something closer to hand,’ said Dawnrose, and she pulled the eyepiece from the end of the tube. Korman protested, but she took his hand and turned it over, and held the eyepiece to it. ‘Look at the finger whorls, each one unique! If we kept prints of these, we could identify a man infallibly,’ she murmured, studying the whorls of Korman’s index finger. She looked up. ‘But there is a quicker way: I see your spirit, Korman, it is unique; no one could fool me, pretending to be you. Not even the wizards of the Travellers’ World.’

  ‘Lady, this is a fine gift, though indeed we do not need a spyglass to recognise a friend. But the eye-piece will be useful if we are pierced by thorns, and the whole contraption may help us to look out for the enemy. Or for lost friends…’

  Dawnrose smiled. ‘May you never need the eyepiece to search for thorns in your body, and may you not meet any enemies on your way, or lose any friends. Now, let us put away all reminders of the world outside, and rejoice together on these timeless shores.’

  Korman knew she was thinking of his lost friend, the Lady, and wishing that he could forget her, and the sense of destiny that bound him to her. His heart ached for Dawnrose, but he knew his path was entwined with the Lady’s whether he wished it or not. And all he saw ahead was darkness, with a glimmer of hope beyond a thorny forest of suffering.

  As the sun was sinking into yellow-stained cloud formations over the distant mountain of the world of the Makers, they all set off for the caves of the Eastern End. Some carried bundles of firewood on their heads; others brought woven flax baskets filled with food from the gardens, honey mead and wine from the vineyards of the Fire Hills. The tide was coming in and the sea was still calm, but Dawnrose, walking between Shelley and Korman, was looking at the sky. ‘There is a change coming. There will be a storm tomorrow,’ she said.

  ‘Then let’s hope it doesn’t come early and spoil the party tonight,’ said Shelley.

  The Blue Moon began to rise out of the ocean, bathing them in its mystic, dreamy light as the last of the golden sunlight drained from the sky. Shelley thought she heard a moonbird sing, far away, and she thought of Rilke, and Worriette, and wondered how they were.

  The festive crowd, singing, playing the pan pipes and beating drums, finally arrived at the seacaves at the foot of the Fire Mountain. These were older caves, now separated from the sea by the sands that piled up at the Eastern End. The largest cave, where the festival was to be held, was like a cathedral, with a level sandy floor, vaulted roof above fluted volcanic formations like great pillars along the walls, and some fallen slabs like massive natural tables. There was a shallow estuary which cut through the glittering quartz and garnet sand near the cave mouth and ran rippling down the shell-strewn beach into the surf.

  Some of the villagers had gone on ahead and hung lamps in the walls and lit a great bonfire at the cave mouth. Shelley forded the estuary stream with Korman at her side, and they looked in wonder at the fairy cave before them. The orange and red firelight blended with the Blue Moon’s light to colour the pillars and the supple bodies of the people as they danced. There were line dances and round dances, all holding hands around the bonfire, while their shadows flickered on the cave walls. Then there was poetry and music, eating and drinking.

  Shelley had noticed how varied the people were in colour and build: some were dark, skinny and tall like some African tribesmen; others were red-headed like Dawnrose; others again were pale-skinned and black-haired like Shelley. Their dress (when the weather was cold enough for more than scanty swimwear) was almost as varied also, yet they were all bound together by their love and reverence for one another, the sea they harvested, the Fire Mountain and Crystal Mountain which held their sacred lore, the earth they tilled, and all the rhythms of life, learned from the mother’s breast to adulthood.

  ‘Where do your people actually come from, Pipes?’ she asked between dances, as they drank mead and spring water and juices from the mango and apple orchards that grew behind the village. ‘I mean, your adopted people?’

  He smiled, half-closed his eyes and recited in his best storyteller’s voice:

  ‘The Salamanders were angry with our ancestors for fighting in their lands and laying them waste with their crystal swords. They cast us out of the World of Fire where the sand of the beaches is made of diamonds and rubies, and great crystals grow in the mountain caves, and fountains of fiery rock make new islands in the sea. They sent us through the Void to the Mountain of Fire, and closed the door to their world forever. Then we came down the mountain and sheltered in this cave and held a great council, seeking new ways for ourselves and our children. Here we s
wore never to fight amongst ourselves. And it is said that our ancestors had managed to keep some of their fireswords, but that they chose to bury them in hidden caves high in the Mountain, along with all the books of warcraft.

  ‘And the Salamanders appeared here to our forefathers, and blessed them, and taught them to purify their lives, so they could live in harmony with all things, dwelling simply by the sea and surfing its waves. So it was that we found happiness. And later the Ürxura visited us, and we learned from them how to live in Faery and forget the old dreaming.’

  ‘So, we’re in Faery now?’

  ‘We don’t call it that; it’s just normal life for us. But we know from the Ürxura that not all people on Aeden live in this way, but many have woven so many dark dreams for themselves and others that they do not know how to wake up, or even that they are asleep.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I feel as if I was asleep before I came to Aeden,’ she murmured. The happiness and contentment she had felt since waking that first morning in the Waveriders’ village, was intensifying into a kind of bliss. ‘I’m dreaming, I must be,’ she thought, but the music and the dancing and all the loving people were real, and they rejoiced together as the Blue Moon rose over the ocean beyond the cave mouth. Korman and Dawnrose danced together for most of the dances, as did Shelley and Pipes, after he had played his pan pipes in the band for a while; but there was little sense of loss when they were swept apart again. They were all together as one.

  But as the night wore on Shelley began to think about tomorrow. Korman had told her he was determined they should leave the day after the Blue Moon party. But it had come too soon. She was so happy now she wanted never, ever to leave. Especially because of Pipes, her special friend. The thought of leaving him filled her with dismay.

  There came a time when most of the people were sitting quietly, only a few still dancing on, to the music of a lone pan pipe and drum. Then in little bands and loving couples, they began to walk back down the beach.

  There had been no ceremonies that Shelley had noticed, apart from the poetry readings, but it was as if the whole evening had been one big ritual celebration of the magical Unfolding; of Life, love, the goodness of things – even the hard things like death and loss and sorrow. She looked at Pipes, and he looked at her. Shyly she came close enough for his arms to reach around her waist. She was longing to stay with him, to make him fall in love with her, for him never to let her leave their beautiful village by the sea, where time was on their side, bringing more golden days, more perfect sparkling waves to ride and balmy nights with beautiful friends like him… She wanted to give herself to him body and soul, and forget the outside world. He drew her near, and her heart beat fast, but he said, ‘Shelley, you are beautiful, and I feel your love. But you are young, your body waits for the moment to mature to bear children, and I think your destiny lies somewhere else, with someone else. It shines through everything you say.’

  She shuffled the cool sand at her feet.

  ‘No it doesn’t!’

  He held her hands in his.

  ‘If we kiss now, falling in love, you know that Everchild will be lifted and you will turn into a…’

  ‘What’s this “Everchild”? I don’t know much about…’

  ‘Oh, so it is different in your world! No one has told you how it is here? I thought Korman…’

  ‘Well, he mentioned it once or twice, but only in passing. You tell me!’

  ‘Well, here on Aeden, a boy and a girl… Are you sure Korman hasn’t told you about this?’

  ‘Of course not, he’s a Guardian, a warrior monk. He’d never talk about stuff like that.’

  ‘OK, when a boy and a girl like each other a lot… They might kiss, and something we call soulbonding happens, where they want to be together for ever.’

  ‘I know this already! We call it falling in love.’

  ‘That sounds dangerous! But yes, it is a bit like that. We have another name for what happens: Going up the Firemountain.’ Shelley remembered the fiery feeling that went through her when she nearly went with Quickblade. Pipes continued, ‘Anyway, once they reach a certain point of commitment, something is triggered in their bodies, the fire is lit, and they mature into man and woman, and can begin, you know…’

  ‘Making babies and settling down?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So you mean to tell me,’ said Shelley, ‘that if they don’t fall in love and kiss, they’ll never grow up, physically? Like Peter Pan or something?’

  ‘I don’t know any Peter Pan, but yes.’

  Shelley thought about the Boy Raiders, and Quickblade. ‘So he could be a Peter Pan, and only when we… I mean he and some girl, fall in love and kiss, the Everchild thing will wear off and he’ll start to grow a beard and everything. I wonder how it all works, this and the never getting sick? Is it magic, or some kind of advanced technology left behind by the Makers? Korman said there’s something in the soil – I wonder what?’

  Aloud she said, ‘How weird! So it’s up to you how long you stay as a child. And you don’t get tempted to throw yourself at some idiot just because of your raging hormones.’

  Pipes didn’t follow much of this, but he went on, ‘So, anyway, I think you and I are both of the marrying kind, who seek one true love for life, to raise their children and share everything. So we must wait until we find the right one. I should have told you about the training we get in the tribe…’

  ‘You can tell me now,’ she said, but she did not know if she wanted to hear any more, in case it was even weirder.

  ‘Well, we’re all given the choice, to mature early and love many loves with a part of ourselves – that’s like surfing the smaller waves, close in – or wait until it’s true love, and love that one love with all of ourselves, body and soul – that’s like going far out into the deeper water where the big waves are. It’s harder, and there’s not really enough time in a lifetime to ride more than one of those. We must choose one path or the other: to try for both is to give – and get – heartbreak.’

  Shelley had been listening, gazing into his eyes, the tears beginning to well up. Now she said, with mixed feelings, of regret and shame and frustration, but also, she had to admit to herself, some relief, ‘Yes, I understand. I just wanted to go with this wave… it felt so right. I thought you felt it too. I didn’t know about the Everchild thing, either.’

  She was hurt, he could see. He let her walk away into the dark by the lagoon. Shelley sat on the crumbling sandbank of the lagoon and blinked through tears at the beautiful Blue Moon sinking towards a line of dark cloud along the horizon. She realised Pipes must have fallen in love with someone before, since he had matured already. Obviously it hadn’t lasted… She could feel the sadness in him.

  Pipes agonised for a while, not wanting her to feel all alone, but not wanting to intrude. Finally he went out and sat near her on the sandbank, and said gently,

  ‘It is good, just being like this, you and I honouring each other, friends waveriding together, each wishing for the other that they’ll find their perfect wave.’ His face was beautiful in the moonlight, and she turned to him and smiled again. The feeling of being in Faery returned stronger than ever. Through the scary darkness of the future she saw glimmering magical paths. Somewhere out there was her perfect path. And it would lead her to her perfect love…

  He seemed to read her mind, and see what she was seeing. ‘There is a strange and wonderful path ahead for you, and it leads far away from here. You have been chosen for a great task, haven’t you?’

  ‘Some people… Korman… thinks I’m someone called the Kortana… out of some ancient prophecy…’

  ‘I can believe that… How wonderful! You are so brave and strong, you frighten me sometimes.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it! Most of the time I’m just scared. Korman’s the brave one. I just wanted to stay here, with you, and be happy.’

  ‘Are you afraid to leave tomorrow?’ asked Pipes, reading her mind again.
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  ‘Well, I guess I am, though it seems unreal, the thought of leaving here,’ she replied.

  ‘Some of us are thinking, perhaps the time has come for us, the happy people, to go out and help those who are stuck in the webs of the enemy. We didn’t know it was so bad out there…’

  ‘You’d actually come with us?’

  ‘If you wanted.’

  Shelley hugged him tightly. ‘Thanks, it makes me feel so good to know you’d do that for me. But it’s not all-out war, not yet anyway, and Korman says we must travel very secretly from now on, coming up to the Valley of Thorns. We’ll be going through occupied territory. He’s going to protect me and bring me to a hidden refuge called Ürak Tara so I can be initiated and learn what I must do to find the Arcra-Achrha, the Lost Heartstone.’

  ‘That’s a big wave to ride! But if anyone can do it, you can… Well, when the time comes for open war, don’t forget to call on us. Some of us will come, even if most of us are almost too happy and contented to believe there’s any peril out there in the wide world – or any peril we should do anything about. Most of us think it’s the outsiders’ own fault, for not living like us. One day I think I’ll leave here anyway, on some mission. We aren’t supposed to think of missions, but times are changing, whether we like it or not. The Happy People, who have foresworn the sword, may be called to take up the sword again, and leave the golden sands and perfect green waves for a while!’

  ‘So this was just a happy dream…’

  ‘But in that dream, we met, and now we’ll always be friends.’

  The swift water flowing out of the lagoon had undermined the bank as they spoke, and they felt the glittering sand suddenly slip away under them and, laughing, they landed in the cool water and felt it sucking the sand from under their feet.

  Korman saw them and felt the letter in his pocket. ‘Not just yet,’ he murmured. ‘Let her enjoy this time and not be reminded of the outside world until the morning, when we must leave.’

  Shelley and Pipes joined the other young Waveriders in a swim in the blue-white foam of the beach for a while, and together they swam beyond the breakers to where the sea gently rose and fell, inky blue, gleaming with phosphorescence as little fish darted around and under them. Then the moon sank beneath a dark cloudbank on the horizon, and Shelley felt cold, so they climbed back up the sandbank and walked back to the village together, wrapped in the big warm Waverider towels, talking quietly and painting word-pictures of all their dreams.

  In the dead of night when the village was sleeping, the weather changed. The wind came in gusts and the stars were blotted out by a wall of dark cloud coming in from the sea, rising to fill the sky and swallow up the Blue Moon. With the cloud came squalls of rain that drove into the veranda of the meetinghouse where Shelley and Korman slept.

  Morning came all too soon, and they awoke to the rattling of shutters and the roar of the whitecaps on the sea, almost drowning out the patter of the rain on the thatched roof. Shelley was warm under the blankets, but the air blowing in restless gusts from the veranda was cold and damp about her face.

  Korman was already up and about. He sniffed the air; he sensed more than just a change in the weather. Something was not right. There was a brooding threat out there somewhere, over the dark breakers. Then he saw five black specks on the whitecaps, far out on the wild sea. Not specks: sails! He thought he could make out the cruel prow of a Viking-like ship under the nearest sail. ‘They’re headed for the shore!’ he thought. Quickly he pulled out the spyglass Dawnrose had given him and put it to his eyes. Now he could clearly make out the markings on the nearest black sail – a circle of black red-edged scythes on ghostly white.

  ‘The spinning scythes! The Aghmaath have ships!’ he cried. ‘Wake up, Shelley!’

  But Shelley was already sitting up in bed, looking out to sea in horror. She too had felt the growing menace of the approaching ships.

  ‘We must leave now,’ said Korman.

  ‘But we can’t just leave these people to face…’

  ‘The Aghmaath are not coming after “these people” – not yet. They are coming after you and me!’

  Shelley scrambled to get dressed, while Korman ran to get Dawnrose. She sounded the wooden Bell of Summoning, and the elders of the village hurried to the meetinghouse. They all agreed that Shelley and Korman must go at once.

  ‘We will forget that we knew you. The Dark Ones will be confused by our ignorance, and their subtle mind-webs will not hurt us,’ said one elder.

  ‘Still, let the women and children hide in the sand dunes and caves,’ said Korman. ‘The enemy has been learning the art of slaughter lately. There is an Edarthan child, Gareth, who has taught them to make many devices of war, including the throwing of fire. I am sorry we came here now. I thought this land was safe from attack.’

  But Dawnrose replied, ‘Do not be sorry, Korman. It was safe, until now; never before have we seen these ships which come like the whales from the deep.’

  ‘We must see Shelley and Korman safely off now!’ Pipes cried. ‘And then, I say let’s find the hidden caves where our ancestors hid their swords and books of warcraft, and let’s fight this enemy, and teach him to fear our shores.’

  But the elders shook their heads sadly. Firebrand his father said, ‘Long have I forged the tools of peace, and taught you the peaceful way of our people. And you would overturn our wisdom at a stroke?’

  Pipes fell silent, but his eyes smouldered.

  Then hasty farewells were said, and Shelley clung to Pipes for a long tearful last hug.

  ‘We will meet again, Shelley, though all the world is darkened,’ whispered Pipes. Dawnrose hugged Korman, kissed him on both cheeks, then turned away to hide her tears. Then Korman and Shelley hoisted their packs, and headed inland alone.

  Soon the rising gale, whipping at their backs, had drenched them with icy rain. Already the golden days at the beach seemed like a dream. Behind them great thunderclaps rolled in from the sea as the black ships, bristling with thorn-barbed spears and battle-scythes, sped on towards the land of the Waveriders.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  The Hidden Valley