the compound and played a Celtic melody on his old wooden whistle. The gentle, haunting notes rose in the still air, then seemed to settle on the surrounding countryside, bringing a swaying acceptance of their rhythm to the plants and trees. Sir Valiant, familiar with the tune, moved his head slowly from side to side as Lord Scroop scrabbled, as usual, for purchase between his ears. As the thin notes finally ended, their echo played on the breeze for a few precious moments more before disappearing forever.
‘You have a wonderful, natural ability with music and your instruments,’ said Twilight. ‘It is a great skill and one that will always serve you well.’
‘Yes, but it’s music, not magic. That’s what I call a real skill, being able to completely change something into something else that’s completely different,’ said the young man glumly.
‘Celts are an artistic people. They respect those who can further their understanding of the pure devotions of nature. Their gods are in the landscape, the plants, trees, and hills, and the planets, the sun, stars, and moon. Music is akin to those beliefs. A music-maker of your skill will always receive more veneration than a mere shape-shifter like me. Music is folk culture, elegiac poetry to the Celtic soul. It chimes, whispers, and soothes perfectly with their circular cruciform designs and inner voices. ‘
‘Well, I know which I would rather be.’ Desmond smiled. ‘But since it is not possible, there is nothing to be done about it.’
Combi and Nation emerged from the small willow shelter Desmond had built them in the corner of the compound. Following closely behind were two small, dark furry bundles with bright black eyes.
‘Have you thought of names for the newborn yet?’
‘I rather like Billy for the male and Milly for the female,’ said Desmond. ‘What do you think?’
‘Billy and Milly,’ mused Twilight. ‘Good, I like it. It’s a pity Eleanor and Harlo can’t be here. They would play with them all day long.’
‘Have you heard from them, from Rawnie?’
‘We are in constant communication. They are all well, as are Guinevere and my brothers and sisters.’
‘Constant communication, eh?’ Desmond chuckled. ‘More magic, I suppose.’
Twilight looked at him.
This is what I mean. An ability to converse directly with another without speaking.
Desmond jumped as Twilight’s voice spoke the words directly into his mind.
‘Huh . . . ‘
It is very useful when there are others nearby whom you do not wish to hear your spoken words. It is also useful to communicate over great distances with loved ones, although Rawnie is near my limit, being at least three days’ ride away.
‘That,’ said an astonished Desmond, shaking his head, ‘isn’t magic, it’s miracle-making. Your voice came as if spoken in a dream.’
‘Come,’ said Twilight. ‘Hold my hand tightly. We’re going to have a look at the Wessex coastline to see if those Viking long ships have appeared.’
Mouth agog with excitement, Desmond gripped the proffered hand.
‘You mean we’re going to fly . . . like the pica?’ He gasped.
The miracle-maker smiled.
‘Like a shooting star, my friend, like time itself.’
‘There!’ said Twilight, pointing to the far horizon as they drifted gently in the clouds above the coastline a few minutes later.
Clinging fearfully to Twilight’s hand and hardly daring to turn his head for fear that he would drop out of the sky like a stone, Desmond risked a glance in the seaborne direction the spellbinder was pointing. Sure enough he could make out the hazy outline of long ships.
‘Let’s have a closer look. This will do.’ In an instant they halted almost directly above the lead ship.
With their oars threshing against the beat of the striking drum, which could be heard clearly even at their cloud base height, the colourful dragon prows breasted each wave and plunged onward.
‘Hmm,’ murmured Twilight, ‘now that is
‘You have a wonderful, natural ability with music and your instruments,’ said Twilight. ‘It is a great skill and one that will always serve you well.’
‘Yes, but it’s music, not magic. That’s what I call a real skill, being able to completely change something into something else that’s completely different,’ said the young man glumly.
‘Celts are an artistic people. They respect those who can further their understanding of the pure devotions of nature. Their gods are in the landscape, the plants, trees, and hills, and the planets, the sun, stars, and moon. Music is akin to those beliefs. A music-maker of your skill will always receive more veneration than a mere shape-shifter like me. Music is folk culture, elegiac poetry to the Celtic soul. It chimes, whispers, and soothes perfectly with their circular cruciform designs and inner voices. ‘
‘Well, I know which I would rather be.’ Desmond smiled. ‘But since it is not possible, there is nothing to be done about it.’
Combi and Nation emerged from the small willow shelter Desmond had built them in the corner of the compound. Following closely behind were two small, dark furry bundles with bright black eyes.
‘Have you thought of names for the newborn yet?’
‘I rather like Billy for the male and Milly for the female,’ said Desmond. ‘What do you think?’
‘Billy and Milly,’ mused Twilight. ‘Good, I like it. It’s a pity Eleanor and Harlo can’t be here. They would play with them all day long.’
‘Have you heard from them, from Rawnie?’
‘We are in constant communication. They are all well, as are Guinevere and my brothers and sisters.’
‘Constant communication, eh?’ Desmond chuckled. ‘More magic, I suppose.’
Twilight looked at him.
This is what I mean. An ability to converse directly with another without speaking.
Desmond jumped as Twilight’s voice spoke the words directly into his mind.
‘Huh . . . ‘
It is very useful when there are others nearby whom you do not wish to hear your spoken words. It is also useful to communicate over great distances with loved ones, although Rawnie is near my limit, being at least three days’ ride away.
‘That,’ said an astonished Desmond, shaking his head, ‘isn’t magic, it’s miracle-making. Your voice came as if spoken in a dream.’
‘Come,’ said Twilight. ‘Hold my hand tightly. We’re going to have a look at the Wessex coastline to see if those Viking long ships have appeared.’
Mouth agog with excitement, Desmond gripped the proffered hand.
‘You mean we’re going to fly . . . like the pica?’ He gasped.
The miracle-maker smiled.
‘Like a shooting star, my friend, like time itself.’
‘There!’ said Twilight, pointing to the far horizon as they drifted gently in the clouds above the coastline a few minutes later.
Clinging fearfully to Twilight’s hand and hardly daring to turn his head for fear that he would drop out of the sky like a stone, Desmond risked a glance in the seaborne direction the spellbinder was pointing. Sure enough he could make out the hazy outline of long ships.
‘Let’s have a closer look. This will do.’ In an instant they halted almost directly above the lead ship.
With their oars threshing against the beat of the striking drum, which could be heard clearly even at their cloud base height, the colourful dragon prows breasted each wave and plunged onward.
‘Hmm,’ murmured Twilight, ‘now that is
Similar Books
