Black Feathers

32



It takes only a couple of hours for Megan to find herself farther from Beckby than she’s ever been before. Mr Keeper has already broken these boundaries many times by taking her to the other side of the Usky River, beyond Covey Wood, to the far borders of New Wood and well beyond the village into meadows and copses rarely visited by anyone. Places where the grass and wildflowers are waist high in the summer and the undergrowth is alive with tiny movements, rustlings and snufflings. She thought her childhood wanderings gave her a great knowledge of the village and its environs, but Mr Keeper’s understanding of the local landscape is far greater.

In the skeining of the day world and the night country and the winding of time into time, Megan has travelled in ways no one but Mr Keeper will ever understand. Yet to leave the borders of the physical land where she has spent all of her life so far frightens her more. He leads at a stiff pace and she is swiftly tired by the relentlessness of his steps. Even though he moves calmly and without any apparent hurry, his ability to devour the land with his footsteps is supernatural. In trying to keep up she tires fast.

They walk now up a long, shallow incline for what feels like ten miles but is probably less than one. Her legs burn and she stumbles regularly. Her face heats up with anger despite the chill of the wind. There is no end to this hill and there is no clear pathway. The ground is hard and uneven.

The gap between Megan and Mr Keeper widens. She is hungry. She is thirsty. She is tired. She hates Mr Keeper and she wants to go home, to bed, for a month. The hill, though not particularly steep, goes on forever. Megan stops. Her legs buckle and she sits down hard on the ground, her pack pulling her backwards and anchoring her to the earth. She flounders there, unable even to sit up.

From very far ahead, Mr Keeper turns back and sees her. But it can’t be that far away because in seconds he is kneeling beside her and helping her out of the pack straps.

“I can’t do this. I can’t go on.”

She expects a scolding but his hands are gentle. He places a rough mat over the cold ground and helps her to sit on it, placing her pack behind her as a bolster. Once she’s comfortable, he does the same for himself and sits beside her. They face down the long, shallow hill. And only then does she see how far they’ve come. She’s astonished.

“Is that the village?”

Mr Keeper says nothing.

Between them and the tiny-seeming collection of dwellings there are great expanses of meadow, ridges of rampant hawthorn and blackthorn, areas of woodland and small hills and valleys. Home is a world away already.

Mr Keeper sets about cutting some chunks of wheaten loaf and removes two hard-boiled eggs from their shells. He places their brittle, smashed casings in the pocket where he often drops his ash and hands Megan’s share of food to her. He uncorks one of the water bags and offers her a drink.

“Not too much, Megan. A little at a time. Chew the water and don’t fill your stomach.”

She is surprised when three or four “chewed” sips are enough to slake her thirst. The hillside is exposed and the breeze that cuts across it cools her off, stealing the fire from her face.

“Eat your food as slowly as you can. It should be reduced to liquid before you swallow. Not so important when we’re in the village, but out here on the open land you must conserve your strength and take every possible nourishment you can from what you have. Travel is an unpredictable thing.”

“How far must we go?”

He smiles.

“A lot farther than we’ve just come.”

“I don’t think I can carry on. My legs hurt. My feet are sore and my back aches.”

Mr Keeper is chewing. He seems to have put a small piece of bread in his mouth about a year previously and is still reducing it with his teeth. She tries to do the same while she waits for him to speak.

“You have to see things as they really are, Megan. Your apprehension makes everything worse than it is. This creates a struggle when, in reality, there is no struggle.”

Her anger flashes hot once more.

“I am not imagining I’m tired. I’m not making all this up.”

“Once again, the way you see things is causing you pain. Did I say you were inventing your exhaustion?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Actually, I did not. I think you ought to shut up and listen to the actual words I’m saying for a moment, Megan. Can you do that?”

Megan swallows her fury. Only when Mr Keeper is satisfied with her silence does he continue.

“You’re scared because you don’t know where we’re going. You only know that you’ve never been there before and that it means we must leave behind everything you are familiar with. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Your fear makes you tired. And your fear triggers your imagination. What is beyond the next rise? How much farther must we walk? Am I strong enough to make it? Can I prove myself worthy? Why can’t I do what Mr Keeper does?”

In spite of everything, Megan giggles. It’s either that or cry, but she still hates herself for allowing the emotion to escape.

“Any of this sound familiar?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good.”

Mr Keeper takes a bite of egg and a bite of bread and Megan is almost convinced that the conversation is over, so long does it take him to liquidise and swallow his mouthful. In the meantime, though, she’s beginning to feel the cold come through her clothes, she starts to enjoy the feeling of height and distance from the village. It is still there. It isn’t going to disappear. Nor is the snaking body of the Usky River. Nor will the forests and meadows. And from up here, taken together, they are beautiful in a way she hasn’t appreciated before. There’s land beyond them in every direction, land she’s never seen before, could never have imagined until now.

“What I want you to understand is this…”

His voice snaps her back from the pull of the landscape.

“This is not a trial that you must pass by enduring hardships. Of course, the Black Feathered Path has its challenges and some of them will test you to your very soul. But you must save your energy for those occasions. And you must recognise each stretch of the path for what it is. Right now we are taking a walk through the land. It is a physical challenge but not too troublesome a one. We have food. We have water. If need be, we have shelter. Both of us are fit and healthy. There is no hurry. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“But you walk so fast. And you never stumble. And you know where we’re going. You know everything and I know nothing at all.”

“I walk at the speed I walk because it is comfortable for me to do so. You should do the same. The fact that you don’t know where we’re going should be a source of excitement to you, not a source of fear. Do you think I would deliberately lead you into harm or danger?”

She doesn’t answer straight away.

“I don’t know what you’ll do. I don’t know anything about you.”

“Aha! And so you imagine things about me instead. You mustn’t. And you mustn’t imagine where this walk will take us either. If you are tired, rest. If you are hungry, eat. If you are thirsty, drink. If you want to stop to appreciate the land or some animal or plant, do so. I assure you, I will do the same. Don’t imagine danger lurks around every corner and don’t waste your power on false imaginings. Enjoy this. Every moment. As much as you can. Will you try?”

Megan heaves a sigh.

“Yes. I will.”

“Good. And as for me leading you into danger, let me make this as clear as I can. If I didn’t think you could walk the Crowman’s road, this Black Feathered Path that I too have walked in much the same way, I would not have allowed you to make the first step of the journey. I have great faith in you and great trust in the way of things. The way of things comes from the land and the sky and the greatness of spirit all around us. I don’t need to believe these things, Megan. I don’t need to believe them because I know them. Not in my head but in my body. In my bones. Yes, there will be difficult and dangerous times ahead for both of us, but I will do everything I can to arm you, to train you and to protect you from harm. The rest will be up to you.

“In the meantime, you really ought to try and have a nice time.”

So saying, Mr Keeper draws out his pipe, stuffs the bowl with baccy and lights it with one of the matches he has made especially for their journey. The look of contentment on his face is almost comical and once again Megan finds herself close to laughter. She lets it out. Just a giggle at first. Mr Keeper grins to hear it. Then he chuckles, shaking his head. Megan laughs out loud. Soon the wind is carrying their laughter across the broad, flat hillside, flinging it over the grasslands and away.