The Giants’ Dance. Robert Goldthwaite Carter

catastrophe.’

      ‘The once and future king did not come to save us from the Conquest.’

      ‘Perhaps the arrival of Gillan might have seemed to warrant it, but in the end the Phantarch, Semias, reached an understanding with the Conqueror and we saw that his invasion was not the ending of the world such as we had feared. That was near four hundred years ago.’

      ‘How long is it since Arthur fought his last fight at Camlan?’

      ‘I think you already know the answer to that – near a thousand. So we come to you, Will, and the last pitiful fragments of the Black Book that Master Gwydion has cherished in a secret place down so many generations. This also seems to speak of a king, though no one can be certain. One who is “…a True King, born of Strife, born of Calamity, born at Beltane in the Twentieth Year, when the beams of Eluned are strongest at the ending of the world”.’

      ‘The ending of the world?’ Will felt the shock of the idea. ‘I was born in a twentieth year…’

      ‘Aye, in the twentieth year of the reign of King Hal. And on the night of the full moon. And it was said that you would deny yourself thrice, and so you did.’

      ‘And “One being made two”?’ Will said, looking up suddenly from the strange knife that lay upon the table. ‘What does that mean?’

      ‘It too seems to be a part of the prophecy.’ Morann looked away. ‘As also is the suggestion that “two shall be made one”.’

      Will straightened. ‘Then it was written all along that the Doomstone would mend itself!’

      ‘That could be one interpretation.’

      Morann reached out to take his blade but Will stayed his hand. ‘You said this had been sharpened on the Whetstone of Tudwal. So what if it was?’

      ‘Ah, well, you see, a blade so sharpened will deal only a lethal blow, or no blow at all.’

      Will quickly put the knife down.

      ‘Morann, if you’re leaving tomorrow, may I ask a favour of you tonight? Could you go to Trinovant by way of Nether Norton? I don’t know of another messenger who could find his way into the Vale.’

      ‘You may consider it done.’

       CHAPTER FIVE MAGICIAN, HEAL THYSELF!

      When Will woke the next day at first light, he found that Morann had already left. He sat down at a small oak table and, while he waited for breakfast, took out the little red fish from his pouch. It was so like his own green fish that there could be no doubt that it had come from the same place. And as Gwydion always reminded him, a famous rede said there was no such thing as a coincidence. But what the meaning might be in the fish was far from clear. As he turned it over in his fingers he wondered why he had not shown it to Gwydion, or to Morann, who was surely the best person to give an opinion. He had just put it in his pouch and forgotten about it. Or had he?

      Delicious smells wafted in from the kitchens and soon the Plough began to fill with Eiton’s harvesters. Will, who was sitting alone in the corner, saw how they first noticed him then touched their foreheads and shook him by the hand as they filed in.

      ‘Morning. Morning…’

      Will breathed deep. He seemed to have lost his appetite, and took a little oatmeal. When he had finished it he took up the red fish and studied it again, while its beady little green eye studied him. It was so like his own talisman, yet the comfort he had always got from the green fish did not come from this one.

      Now, as he looked up, he saw the harvesters holding out their sickles towards him.

      ‘Thank you, Master,’ the nearest of them said.

      ‘What?’

      ‘For your blessings upon our trade tools.’

      He looked back at the man blankly, then he saw that his quarterstaff was propped up behind him and he realized with a bump what the men had taken him for.

      They think I’m a wizard, he thought, smiling. A wizard! Would you believe it?

      The men would not leave until he had touched each of their sickles in turn and muttered the name of it in the true tongue.

      As the last of the harvesters left, a young mother came to him and asked to have a blessing laid on her child.

      ‘A blessing? Well, I don’t think I—’

      ‘Please. Just a good word for the babe, Master,’ she said. ‘To keep the horse flies off her while I ties up the corn stooks. See?’

      ‘You want me to put a good word on the baby?’ Will asked doubtfully. He looked across the room and saw Dimmet watching with folded arms. Will inclined his head, then shrugged. ‘Here. Give him to me. What’s his name?’

      ‘Rosy,’ said the child’s mother.

      ‘Oh, yes. Yes…of course.’

      Will made a sign on the babe’s forehead, while muttering a spell of general protection against insects. He realized he couldn’t remember the true name for horse flies, so he protected her from wasps and creepy-crafties of all kinds, then he handed the child back.

      ‘She’ll be fine in the fields, but make sure she stays out of the sun, won’t you?’

      ‘Thank you, Master,’ the woman said and went away.

      But no sooner had she gone than a toothless old woman appeared. She had with her a girl of five or six. When Will looked up the old woman said nothing, but the child smiled the most astonishing smile. She had no more teeth than the old woman, and was also cross-eyed.

      ‘Can I…help?’ Will said at last.

      ‘Begging your pardon, Master,’ the old woman said. ‘I brung the daughter’s daughter when I heard you was here.’

      Will waited, but when nothing more came from the old woman except an expectant look, he said, ‘What I mean is…is there something I can do for you?’

      He watched as the old woman shuffled and then said something to the child, pointing to Will’s staff. Straight away the child put her hands to her mouth and grinned shyly, then she darted forward to touch the staff.

      ‘Hoy! What’s this?’ Will asked. ‘What did you just tell her? That’s no wizard’s staff.’

      The old woman looked suddenly cast down and began to beg piteously. ‘Is there nothing can be done for the poor little one, Master?’

      ‘What’s your name?’ Will asked the girl.

      ‘Thithwin.’

      ‘Thithwin. What a very nice name.’

      ‘It’s Siswin,’ said the old woman. ‘I’m africkened she’ll never get a husband looking like she do, Master.’

      ‘Surely it’s a mite early to be thinking of husbands for…ah, Siswin,’ Will said frowning. He was uncomfortable discussing the child’s looks in her hearing.

      ‘Ain’t there nothing at all can be done against plug ugliness, Master?’

      ‘Just…wait a moment.’

      He thought back to his studies and knew there was something that could be done, if only it was to make the child believe that she was beautiful. According to the magic book Gwydion had given him that usually did the trick, for children had a way of growing into what they thought they wanted to be most of the time.

      He took the girl’s shoulders in both hands, steadying her before him. Then he brushed back the hair from her face with his thumbs and put a pinch of salt on top of her head, after which he muttered a spell that was used to untangle knots.

      ‘Look