He stared at the pages. Leaf after leaf was crammed with the black lines he knew to be writing, but there were splendid illuminations too–beautifully inked and water-hued illustrations of ancient heroes and battles, enchanted forests, snowy mountains guarded by strange giants, and dragons with scales that were violently red and gold and black. As the boy turned one page, after another, he began to fall in love a bit with the illustrations. He was sad that he could not read a word of it. Maybe Caewen could? Though after a few moments, he started to wonder if she would have difficulty too. As he turned pages, he noticed that the letters were different on every page. On some pages they were angular and sharp, on other pages they were rounded, sweeping and curved as if painted with a brush, on others they were bow-lined as if carved in wood. It seemed the book was full of stories, and each story was set down in a different manner of writing. He had always found it hard to believe people learned to read at all–it seemed so strange and difficult–that someone might be able to read in four or five or a hundred languages left him dumbstruck.
– now that is a wise and interesting choice. you’ve a keen eye. that belonged to me when I was a child.
“I don’t know if it’s sensible,” said the boy. “I’m not much learned in things, and I cannot read at all. But I do love the pictures. They’re beautiful.”
– the sensible choice is not always the wise choice. you are not much learned? learning can be gained. wisdom? less so. wisdom is more chancy. wisdom is learnt from life more often than through study. i think you have some wisdom in you. that might be enough.
“I would like this book,” whispered the boy. He took it in both his hands and felt the weight of it. “I would like it very much–if that is fine with you?”
– it is quite well and good with me. Her voice had a smile in its tone. – i am happy you have found a thing that is pleasing for you, and a thing that will bring you joy i expect. take it with my blessing and without obligation or lien.
“Thank you, m’lady great.” The boy clutched the book safely to his chest. Careful not to drop it, he picked his way around a neat stack of spears with bright white stones glittering along their hafts. Caewen was standing nearly at the far door. She had a long, sweeping and elegant blade in one hand, its scabbard held tight in the other. The sword had a blue-green colour to it, but it seemed almost to glow in the dim air. It was almost as if someone had taken a piece of sunlit forest and hammered it into metal and given it an edge. As he walked nearer, the boy heard the voice in the air speak:
– that is brisinglaer, the warflame. it is wrought of an uncanny alloy. the metal was called by us summer’s bronze for its hues – i know not what name you might know it by. it is a good blade and it has been the weapon of great lords and ladies of my people. it is well chosen. may it defend you and keep you and ward away harm.
“That it may,” said Caewen, her voice a little lost in thought. The words of the enchantress-queen were so calm and soothing–lulling even–that it was easy to forget a living spectre lay behind them. It seemed for a moment Caewen had completely forgotten. She was lost in some inner world, testing the weight of the sword and considering the play of light along the edge.
– you must go soon. i cannot hold back the dark beneath the earth much longer. it presses upon my will.
With a last, “Thank you,” they turned and left the place of treasures.
Beyond the door stood a twisting hall, cut narrowly into wet, hard rock. As they walked, the everywhere-nowhere light faded behind them, flickering and struggling, until it was a bare grey smudge threaded upon the air. And then, without warning, they turned a corner and saw daylight. It was a small beam, streaming down through a gap between two massive stones that had whorls carved into them. The ground was solid stamped earth here, and there were tufts of weak grass and lichens growing about the rocky surfaces ahead. Moisture accumulated on the walls, dripped and tapped onto the ground. There must have been iron in the water, because in places it was red, and had stained the rock and ground red too.
It took some time, but like babes being born out of the earth, they were able at last to crawl and twist themselves through the opening between the stones. And then they were out in the clear bright air: breathing cold sharpness; the sunlight was bright in their eyes; the greens of the grass and trees were like emerald; it all shone so powerfully under the bold bright day.
They looked about. At a distance stood the trees they had hidden within on the night before. The ruins were visible, troubling the surface of the earth all about, and a little way off, up a hillslope, they could see the ring of stone where Dapplegrim, Fleat and the fetch should be waiting for them. Caewen and the boy stood now some distance from the entrance. They’d gone a longer way underground than either of them had thought.
But as they looked, a shadow of worry passed over Caewen’s face. The boy felt uncertain too. Where were Dapplegrim and Fleat? Where was the shadow-thing, for that matter? None of them were anywhere in sight.