The Giants’ Dance. Robert Goldthwaite Carter

are you?’ Will demanded.

      ‘One who wishes to know if you are a born fool who has learned nothing since.’ Suddenly the old man’s voice was gone and another that was deeper and wholly compelling filled the air.

      Will’s mind whirled in terror. His hand moved towards the knife, knocking his soup bowl from the table. But the bowl and its contents froze in mid air and never reached the floor. Nor would his hand move further towards the knife no matter how hard he tried to make it.

      ‘Who are you?’ he asked for the third time, though he had already decided he knew the answer. He heard his voice rise in panic, betraying him as complete powerlessness overtook him. He tried to get to his feet but he could not move. You fool! his mind screamed. You broke a promise and look what it’s brought you to!

      ‘You know who I am. And I command you – speak my name if you dare!’

      A blade of ice slipped into Will’s heart. All the hairs on his head stood up, and against his will his lips formed the word, ‘Maskull!’

      

      No sooner was the word spoken than the face of the old man began to change. It shimmered like ripples on a pond. Will watched motionless as a new face began to form. Nor did much relief come to him when the face that appeared was Gwydion’s.

      ‘Easy now, Will. There is no danger. Fortunately you are with a friend.’

      But Will still could not speak. He blinked and looked again, still unsure if the apparition was real. Then the shock that gripped him began slowly to ebb away. The soup bowl clattered to the floor, splashing his feet.

      Anger overtook him.

      ‘You scared me half to death!’ he cried, and sprang to his feet.

      ‘I am sorry to have frightened you, Willand, but the lesson was an essential one. I told you to remain here but you did not remain here. I told you to lie low, but you did not lie low.’

      ‘I only did what I had to!’

      ‘Is that what you call it?’

      ‘What was I supposed to do? It all seemed like the right thing to do at the time.’

      But the wizard’s grey eyes were on him, relentlessly accusing and shaming him. ‘Listen to me, Willand. You are not taking the task that lies before you seriously enough. In future you must be more guarded. You must make an effort to recognize and pierce magical disguises. You act as if you have forgotten the dangers that you face.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But it’s not my way to mistrust everyone I meet.’

      ‘That must become second nature to you.’

      ‘No!’ Will shook his head. ‘That will never be. I can’t live like that, Gwydion.’

      ‘Then you will not live long!’

      ‘At least I’ll stay myself.’

      ‘Fool. If that really had been Maskull, you would have become his unwilling slave, and our world would have been lost!’

      The wizard sat back and allowed Will’s anger to fully subside, then he said in a more composed voice, ‘Too much depends on you. You must listen more closely to your inner warnings.’

      ‘What inner warnings?’ he asked, still shaking. ‘If I’d felt anything then I would have listened to it.’

      ‘Is that the truth?’

      ‘Yes!’

      But when Will looked inside himself he saw that a part of him had noted the spangling that had covered the hair and shoulders of the old man. It had made him think of fine rain, but how could it have been rain when the sky outside had not a cloud in sight? And, to add to that, he had ignored the sounds of Bessie moving about in the stable yard. He had selfishly ignored the horse’s thirst. If he had been more alert – or perhaps if he had been a little kinder – he would have noticed Bessie and straight away he would have been warned of Gwydion’s return.

      He said, chastened, ‘I was wrong to disobey you. But what am I to do when I have the power to cure ailments and ailments come to me to be cured? I didn’t plan to spread the word of my being here, it just happened.’

      Gwydion muttered and Will’s stomach turned over as he watched the pea soup slowly return to the bowl and the bowl settle itself back on the table. ‘You must learn to understand a very basic rule, Willand. The Sightless Ones say that life presents endless choices between good and evil. They are wrong. In their terms, life’s endless choices are all about choosing between two “evils” or comparing two “goods”. Now weigh the many small mercies you have given to the local people against the vastly greater mercy that you alone can give to the world. Keep a sense of proportion. Be mindful of your true duty.’

      ‘You speak as if I was pursuing gratitude, or fame, or that I did it for gain.’

      The wizard put a hand on Will’s shoulder. ‘I know that your motives were not ignoble or unfitting. Nor is it my wish to lay blame on you. I am concerned for your safety. Now let me see that hand.’

      Will unwrapped the strip of linen from his hand and the wizard looked at the angry redness of the wound.

      ‘Teeth,’ Gwydion said.

      Will told him what had passed. The wizard spoke healing words and treated the wound with a kind touch and a pinch of aromatic powder whose sting made Will flinch.

      ‘It wasn’t the prettiest or best-tempered of beasts I’ve ever met with,’ he said. ‘But it seemed to me more pitiful than malicious.’

      ‘It seems that your kindness may have rebounded on you, Willand.’

      ‘That’s an odd sort of remark to come from you. Did you not once tell me that the Rede of Friendship lies at the very heart of magic? And is there not a common rede that says: “One good turn deserveth another”?’

      ‘In the natural world, but perhaps not so when matters have been twisted into their opposites by sorcery.’ Gwydion slapped his hand hard then held it tight.

      ‘Ouch!’ He recoiled from the sharp pain as Gwydion let go, but when he looked down the wound had almost gone. Only two purplish pits remained where the deepest punctures had been.

      Suddenly, Will heard the sound of hooves. He wheeled about and made for the door.

      ‘Come on, Gwydion,’ he cried. ‘You told me to take notice of my inner feelings. That’s just what I’m doing!’

      They headed for the back door and reached the yard at the same time. Two shapes loomed at the end of the yard. The lead horseman drew his mount up sharp and Will felt his right hand grasped in friendship.

      ‘Tilwin!’

      ‘Tilwin if you must, though I prefer my own name.’

      As Will caught hold of the horse’s bridle his eyes fixed on a pale horse that walked through a pool of moonlight. It was Avon, and on his back was Willow.

       CHAPTER SEVEN A GOOD NIGHT’S REST

      Despite his surprise, Will embraced Willow as soon as she got down from the horse. Then his surprise turned to alarm.

      ‘What’s happened?’ he asked her, taking his daughter in his arms.

      ‘As you see, we’re as well as we’ve always been.’

      ‘I was worried about you—’ he turned a questioning eye on Morann, ‘—but I didn’t expect you to be brought here.’

      ‘Well, here we are,’ Willow said.

      He cuddled the child. ‘She looks well.’

      ‘She’s