Black Feathers

55

At first light, after an uncomfortable night on the damp, insect-infested matting, the same hands that took her from sleep beside Mr Keeper and the old man do so again. This time they drag her from Bran’s filthy hovel into the chill of early morning. Megan shivers; her coat is still on the other side of the river. She can hear the waterwheels tantalisingly close. If she broke away now, she could run to the river and dive in. She’s a good swimmer and could easily make it to the other side. But she’s not such a great runner, and she is still stiff with sleep and aching from the hard ground.

As Bran has instructed, they hand her a small pack with some provisions and a leather sleeve which contains a map. Once these items have been given to her, the five hooded figures stand back with their arms folded across their chests. It is only then that Megan thinks she can see the swellings under those folded arms. Her kidnappers are all women.

One of them points the way out of the ramshackle gathering of tents and shelters, and Megan can do nothing more than turn and walk in that direction.

She hears footsteps run up behind her, and one of the hooded figures is there. It holds out something in its hands, and Megan hesitates before taking it. After a brief pause, in which Megan is certain words will come out of the hood, the hooded figure runs away again. Megan turns and keeps walking, all the while tearing into the cut of cold meat that has been saved for her from someone’s meal the night before. Having not had any food since lunch the previous day, she is ravenous.

Before the last dwelling is behind her she is gnawing the bone clean. When there’s nothing left she tosses the bone to her right, towards the water where she knows some animal will extract what little nourishment the bone has left to offer. The river tempts her. It would be a swift and simple matter to run for the bank now, throw away the map and knapsack, dive in and swim to safety.

She keeps walking.

Something in the way Bodbran threatened her keeps her away from the river. A curse, the woman had said; a curse so profound even death would be no escape from it. The only way to cross back to Mr Keeper and the old man is to make this journey first and bring back what Bodbran seeks. Then she’ll be free to go.

One advantage of a light pack is that she makes good time. Soon the sun is up and Shep Afon and Bodbran’s hut are miles behind her. To her right, on the other side of the river, the land rises up into a ridge and she recognises that she and Mr Keeper arrived along that same ridge to find the bustling market village. She looks at the map and sees the ridge represented there, a path running along its spine. As Bodbran has said she would, Megan begins to understand the map and its purpose.

By the time the sun is as high as it will get given the time of year, Megan has crossed many meadows and picked her way through or around thickets of hawthorn and blackthorn. Sloe berries are abundant and she collects them as she goes, enjoying their bitterness. The map shows a huge forest and soon Megan finds herself within it. It’s far too large to go around and its trees border the river right to its bank. All she can do is go through.

What little warmth the sun has afforded her over open ground is quickly dissipated once the trees block it out. Most of the leaves are gone now but the growth above and all around her is dense. The expansive feeling of walking over meadowland is gone and now any sound she makes is reflected right back to her from every tree trunk. Each rustle and snap sounds as though it comes from behind her or from cover, and she whips her head around often to check. There’s no one there, not even a fox or a badger, and when she stops walking the forest is utterly silent. Not a single bird chirps anywhere.

Megan is thirsty and she’s fairly sure she can hear something sloshing in her knapsack. On the map, about halfway through the forest, there is a clearing and in that clearing some kind of tree, larger than all the others.

If I can make it to that tree before nightfall, that’s where I’ll rest and drink.

The forest slows and saps her. Thorns catch at her and fallen logs trip her. Megan stumbles and stops walking, feeling the strength drain out of her legs. Nearby is a moss-covered log and she sits down on it, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. After a while, she opens the knapsack and removes the water skin. It is much smaller than the one she usually carries and so she takes the tiniest sips to make it last. If she can find a spring she’ll be able to refill it, but she doesn’t know the river water here and suspects that, even this far away, it will be rich in waste from the village.

The knapsack also contains a gauzy tarpaulin which she assumes is for shelter, though how it will keep out the elements is a mystery. There is no sleeping mat or bedroll, only a light poncho. Maybe Bodbran expects her to make the journey in a single day. The afternoon light shows the forest in darker and darker tones. She’ll be lucky to make it to the clearing before nightfall at this rate.

Once the water skin, tarp and poncho are out of the knapsack, there’s very little left. Bodbran has provided tinder and flint to make fire but there is nothing to boil water in. A small knife in a soft leather sheath lies at the bottom of the pack. The sheath is branded with the motif of a feather and beside the sheath there is another leather wallet. Inside this is a single, large black feather.

She studies the map and reconsiders what it is Bodbran has asked her to find:

“It is a thing of power, ageless and unchanged since it was created. All about it will be destruction and decay and this alone will shine. You will know it by its purity. Bring it back to me and you will go free.”

“And if I can’t find it?” Megan had asked through the aromatic smoke haze.

“If you fail, you are cursed, Megan. You must find it.”

“But where exactly is it? How long will I have to search for it?”

“Beyond the forest is a place where no one goes. I have seen it in the Weave but I can tell you nothing about it. It is the kind of place not shown on any map. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“No. I don’t understand any of this.”

“You will soon enough. All you need to do is find the very centre of this place beyond the forest. Go to its heart. That’s where you’ll find it.”

Looking at the map now, the task seems hopeless. Beyond the forest, what the map shows is indistinct. Megan tries to make sense of what it represents. It seems to show gradual ruin and decay. The trees at the other side of the forest are small and withered or burned. The path becomes broken and peters out. From there the map shows nothing but shading or blank space. Beyond it the grasslands continue. The river runs beside the missing area on the map and on through to the other side where the land becomes distinct again. Something else runs across the blank patch in a diagonal line. Neither a road nor a river, it is depicted merely as a connected series of curving lines, like teeth marks. Somewhere within the blank area on the map is what Bodbran has sent her to find.

At its heart.

The light of day is waning and there’s still a good way to go before she reaches the clearing and the tree where she plans to camp. Megan takes another couple of small sips from the water skin and rolls the fluid around her mouth many times before swallowing. When everything is back in the knapsack, she shoulders it and walks on, trying to find a little brightness within herself and give her steps a little bounce.

The best she can manage is a fast trudge, each footstep overshadowed by a growing sense of dread.

Alone again. Walking. But at least he was alive. At least he could still search.

Cooky had pointed him away from the hills towards the midlands. There would be more people and that might mean more danger, but there would also be more clues, more knowledge he could glean. Along the way, he might find allies too. Green Men, people who might help him search.

Gordon walked fast away from the camp. He moved through the pines along a tiny path between the trees, hoping it was a different direction to the one the hunting party had taken. The feeling of vitality in his muscles, his ability to carry a pack and still make good time, had grown. He felt taller, and perhaps he was. He willed strength to the limit of every limb, imagined himself filling out and rising up. To be a man, he needed a man’s stature. It was coming to him. He knew it.

But to be a man he had also to be strong on the inside, and this was where he felt a terrible vacuum. Within himself there was only fear and loss and despair, nipping at every thought, weakening every hope.

About a mile beyond the edge of the pine forest the path angled down a small slope, and he found himself beside the river he’d seen from his rocky, hilltop camp.

“Cross the river. Head east.” That’s what Cooky had said. “You’ll find more of us out that way. And any Green Man you meet will tell you all he knows about the Crowman. It’s him we fight for. But don’t trust anyone just because they say they’re a Green Man. Use your instincts.”

Gordon followed the path down until he was walking beside the river, against its flow. He scanned the banks for boats, bridges or anything else that would afford him passage across.