The Book of Magic: Part 2. Группа авторов

of odd hue? A stranger in the village?”

      “No tree, no stray, no stranger,” said Wendrel. “Just the staff in the stone. Will you come?”

      “Yes,” said Colrean.

      “Can we come too?” asked Sommie, her question echoed by Heln.

      Colrean looked up at the sky, watching the clouds, judging how much daylight remained. He thought about the phase of the moon, which was waning gibbous, and which stars would be in the ascendant that night, influencing the world below. There was nothing of obvious alarm in the heavens, no harbinger of doom.

      “It should be safe enough, at least until sunset,” he said slowly. He looked at Wendrel. “But there is danger. As Frossel said:

       A wizard without a staff

      may still be a wizard

       A staff without a wizard

       is a void

       Waiting to be filled.

      “Who’s?” asked Heln.

      “Frossel?” finished Sommie.

      “Frossel was a wizard, chronicler, and poet,” answered Colrean. He started walking, the slower pace forced by his limp easily matched by Wendrel at his side, the children ranging faster across and behind him on the path, like dogs on a tricky scent who nevertheless do not wish to go far from their master. “I might lend you one of his books. He wrote a lot. Go on, I want to talk to Wendrel.”

      The children nodded together and bounded ahead.

      “What does ‘a void waiting to be filled’ mean?” asked Wendrel quietly.

      “A wizard’s staff, lost or abandoned by a wizard, will attract many things, many of them not of our sunlit, mortal realm,” said Colrean.

      “Rannachin?” asked Wendrel.

      “Yes, but worse things too,” said Colrean. “Far worse. And the staff—if it is a wizard’s staff—will call magic-workers of all kinds, even from very far away. Though I have some hope the stone will quiet it. I suppose that’s why whoever put it there did so, trying to keep it hidden.”

      “The stone will hide it? Our Corner Post?”

      Colrean looked aside at her as he strode on with his curious, lumbering gait. A brief look of puzzlement passed over his face like a cloud whisking across the sun.

      “You do not know the nature of your stone?”

      “I know it’s very old,” replied Wendrel, with a shrug. “But the powers I have are to do with people, and living things, not ancient lumps of rock or the like. The Corner Post has always seemed simply a stone to me. Though there is that odd rowan that keeps the stone company … sometimes I have felt as if it were watching me, that it is more than a simple tree …”

      “It is,” said Colrean. “Though I do not know its nature either. All such mysteries are best left alone, save a pressing need to do otherwise. As for the Corner Post … there is definitely a power within it, though it sleeps, and sleeps deeply. I suspect it is one of the ancient walking stones, which many ages ago came down from the far mountains and took root here to fulfill some compact long forgotten. Those stone warriors served the Old Ones, the folk of the air, so long vanished but never entirely gone.”

      Wendrel shivered. When she was a young apprentice, a birthing had gone terribly wrong. At the moment both infant and mother died, she had felt a sudden cold and unnerving presence, something drawn to the two deaths. The midwife who was her mentor quickly said this was one of the Old Ones, and that if they remained still and did not speak, no harm would come to them. Yet to warn Wendrel, the older midwife had spoken. She was at once struck dumb, and it was a twelvemonth before she regained the use of her voice at all, and she who had one of the sweetest voices in the three villages could never again carry a tune.

      “Even the most powerful wizards do not readily meddle with such stones,” continued Colrean. “I am surprised … no … I am astonished that the stone would allow anything to pierce it, let alone a wizard’s staff.”

      “Allow?” asked Wendrel.

      “On its own ground, I think that stone could stand against the Grand Wizard herself,” replied Colrean. “And it must be allied to, or at least have permitted the rowan to grow … and that tree isn’t much younger than the stone! It’s older than any of the trees in the forest, even the giant redwoods or Grand’s Oak, over by the broad water. Ordinary rowans do not live so long.”

      Wendrel asked no more questions, and was silent, her brow furrowed in thought. They walked on, crossing one of the rivulets that fed the Undrana. Colrean’s oddly heavy, nailed boots boomed on the old log bridge, accompanied by the soft patter of Wendrel’s sandals and the almost imperceptible scuffing of the children’s bare feet.

      They left the forest fringe soon after, to follow the well-trodden path along Gamel common’s western boundary wall. The villagers were back at their reaping, for the harvest could not wait for anything save obvious, immediate threat. Sheaves of barley dotted the common, waiting for the older children to pick them up. But there was a noticeable lack of activity toward the top of the common, where the Corner Post loomed with its attendant rowan, the lesser trees and shrubs about it like beggars waiting for bounty from a king and queen.

      “You had best leave me, and come no closer,” Colrean warned Wendrel and the children, as they drew near the copse. He could feel the staff’s presence now. It was making his thumbs prick and shiver as if a horde of minute insects stuck their prongs in his flesh, and there was a cold, wet draft caressing his bare neck, though no wind ruffled the barley stalks.

      He looked up again at the sun, and the few tufts of scattered cloud dotted across the great stretch of blue sky—clouds that dissipated even as he watched.

      “I think it will be safe enough till dusk. But you need to warn everyone to stay away from the Corner Post. They must be inside well before full night. The livestock too. Salt thresholds and windowsills. Stoke the hearthfires up and keep cold iron close.”

      “What’s going—”

      “To happen?”

      “Perhaps nothing,” said Colrean, attempting a smile to reassure the children. They were not reassured, for the smile was unlike any expression Colrean had made in their sight before, and were they asked what he tried to convey, would have said he was in pain. “The staff in the stone may call … creatures … who are dangerous. I will stay here. If anything comes, I will make sure it can do no harm. Now go!”

      The children, well versed in obeying their elders, skipped off at once. But Wendrel lingered, concern on her face. As she had said, her powers lay with the living, most particularly attending upon births and deaths. She was thus well acquainted with fear, and the small indications of it upon an otherwise well-composed face.

      “Do you have such power, to assure no harm will come to us?” she asked.

      Colrean shook his head. “But I may be able to divert the course of whatever does come for the staff. Delay acts of small malevolence, and I hope give warning of anything worse.”

      “Why would you do this for us?” asked Wendrel. “To heal the hurt from a millstone, to aid in a birthing—these things do not risk your life. But surely you do now.”

      Colrean half shrugged, as if he did not know how to answer.

      “This is my homeplace now,” he said. “I have grown fond of some … many of the people. I have found peace here.”

      “A peace soon to be disturbed, if you are right,” said Wendrel. “Almost, you remind me of the wizards of the old tales, who would appear without word on the eve of some storm or terror, come to defend the common folk. Only to leave when the danger has passed, as unheralded as they came, without thanks or payment.”

      “Wizards