father, child, spinner, weaver, cutter, maiden, mother, crone … ’
Ahead of her the Celestines were humming deep in their throats, and behind Dobhailen growled and snarled, a strangely harmonic counterpoint. The words and the humming formed a rhythm that they could march by. Isabeau felt her stride lengthen and quicken, and her breath come more evenly. The ghosts seemed to shred away, until they were mere mist and shadows and a cold snaky wind about her ears.
All about them, above and below them, were sheets of silvery-green fire that leapt and roared and hissed. She could see vague shapes through the green fire, a forest of trees, a white rushing river, mountains behind. With each step the picture blurred and rushed past, however, and she never had the chance to recognise any landmark or realise where they were.
Then suddenly there was a great hiss of green sparks and Isabeau felt herself falling. She cried out and tried to wrench her hand free to save herself, but neither Dide not Stormstrider would let her go. She fell painfully to her knees, with a great ringing in her ears, blind with vertigo. When her vision cleared, she looked about her and realised she was slumped on the ground in a cool, grey dawn many miles away from the Pool of Two Moons.
Crouched in the morning mist, on the crest of a small hill, was a great grey mausoleum, guarded by brooding stone ravens. A long avenue of yew trees led up to it, gaunt and dark in the dawn. In the forecourt before themausoleum was a long, oblong pool surrounded by formal urns and statues. It reflected the dome of the tomb in its still, black waters.
We are here , Cloudshadow said wearily.
‘I dinna realise this was a Heart o’ Stars!’ Isabeau exclaimed. ‘How extraordinary! When ye said we would travel to the Tomb o’ Ravens, I thought ye meant we would walk the Auld Way as close as we could get, and then go cross-country. Is this truly a Heart o’ Stars? Where is the circle o’ stones, the summerbourne?’
All gone , the Celestine answered.
‘But … why? When? Was it Brann the Raven who had the circle levelled? Did he no’ ken?’
Of evil mind was the man who built this grave, and of evil intent. He knew this was a place of power and sought to use its magic for his own ends , Stormstrider said. His mind-voice was deep and grave, and had the same stern arrogance of his face.
‘I never kent,’ Isabeau said slowly and looked about her with a troubled face. Now she knew, she saw the three elements that always composed the sacred sites of the Celestines – the hill, the pool, and the erection of stones – but its shape and composition, its essence, were all wrong. The natural spring of water had been trapped and forced into this stiff, formal, stone-bound shape, and the pillars constructed did not celebrate life and the passing of seasons, but death and one man’s vanity.
Buba came down to rest on Isabeau’s shoulder, and she put up one hand and petted him, comforted.
The others were all stretching and moving about, murmuring the occasional comment to each other. Dobhailen did not like the look of the crypt, and he curled back his lip and growled, his green eyes glowing like marsh-candles. Cailean fondled his ears, and the shadow-hound,stiff-legged, crept forward and sniffed at the broad steps. Suddenly he raised his muzzle and bayed aloud, the call of a hunting dog that has caught a scent. It was a deep, loud, savage sound that echoed off the walls and made them all jump and cry out in alarm. Dobhailen lunged up the stairs and bayed again at the door. Cailean followed him, and so did the others, hurrying.
The dog led them in through the massive doors and into the shadowy chill of the crypt. Within was a long hall, lined on either side with small vaults protected by heavy iron grilles. Above were elegant arches, the ornate pillars topped with carvings of sharp-beaked ravens amid fronds of acanthus and oak. In every dark vault were sarcophagi, thick
Ahead of her the Celestines were humming deep in their throats, and behind Dobhailen growled and snarled, a strangely harmonic counterpoint. The words and the humming formed a rhythm that they could march by. Isabeau felt her stride lengthen and quicken, and her breath come more evenly. The ghosts seemed to shred away, until they were mere mist and shadows and a cold snaky wind about her ears.
All about them, above and below them, were sheets of silvery-green fire that leapt and roared and hissed. She could see vague shapes through the green fire, a forest of trees, a white rushing river, mountains behind. With each step the picture blurred and rushed past, however, and she never had the chance to recognise any landmark or realise where they were.
Then suddenly there was a great hiss of green sparks and Isabeau felt herself falling. She cried out and tried to wrench her hand free to save herself, but neither Dide not Stormstrider would let her go. She fell painfully to her knees, with a great ringing in her ears, blind with vertigo. When her vision cleared, she looked about her and realised she was slumped on the ground in a cool, grey dawn many miles away from the Pool of Two Moons.
Crouched in the morning mist, on the crest of a small hill, was a great grey mausoleum, guarded by brooding stone ravens. A long avenue of yew trees led up to it, gaunt and dark in the dawn. In the forecourt before themausoleum was a long, oblong pool surrounded by formal urns and statues. It reflected the dome of the tomb in its still, black waters.
We are here , Cloudshadow said wearily.
‘I dinna realise this was a Heart o’ Stars!’ Isabeau exclaimed. ‘How extraordinary! When ye said we would travel to the Tomb o’ Ravens, I thought ye meant we would walk the Auld Way as close as we could get, and then go cross-country. Is this truly a Heart o’ Stars? Where is the circle o’ stones, the summerbourne?’
All gone , the Celestine answered.
‘But … why? When? Was it Brann the Raven who had the circle levelled? Did he no’ ken?’
Of evil mind was the man who built this grave, and of evil intent. He knew this was a place of power and sought to use its magic for his own ends , Stormstrider said. His mind-voice was deep and grave, and had the same stern arrogance of his face.
‘I never kent,’ Isabeau said slowly and looked about her with a troubled face. Now she knew, she saw the three elements that always composed the sacred sites of the Celestines – the hill, the pool, and the erection of stones – but its shape and composition, its essence, were all wrong. The natural spring of water had been trapped and forced into this stiff, formal, stone-bound shape, and the pillars constructed did not celebrate life and the passing of seasons, but death and one man’s vanity.
Buba came down to rest on Isabeau’s shoulder, and she put up one hand and petted him, comforted.
The others were all stretching and moving about, murmuring the occasional comment to each other. Dobhailen did not like the look of the crypt, and he curled back his lip and growled, his green eyes glowing like marsh-candles. Cailean fondled his ears, and the shadow-hound,stiff-legged, crept forward and sniffed at the broad steps. Suddenly he raised his muzzle and bayed aloud, the call of a hunting dog that has caught a scent. It was a deep, loud, savage sound that echoed off the walls and made them all jump and cry out in alarm. Dobhailen lunged up the stairs and bayed again at the door. Cailean followed him, and so did the others, hurrying.
The dog led them in through the massive doors and into the shadowy chill of the crypt. Within was a long hall, lined on either side with small vaults protected by heavy iron grilles. Above were elegant arches, the ornate pillars topped with carvings of sharp-beaked ravens amid fronds of acanthus and oak. In every dark vault were sarcophagi, thick
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