I’m not a pedlar . . .’
It is given to Peace-Weavers to pass on to mortals the sense of the wider Universe of which they are part. In Imbolc’s eyes Pike saw briefly the beauty of the stars, the orbits of the planets and the colour and vast shifting of the galaxies beyond.
Or was it but the light of love that shone from her to him? Whatever it was, the impression was enough to fill Pike’s eyes with awe, while Brief, who knew the Peace-Weaver’s way of doing things, smiled to see that even one as wary as Pike could be won over so quickly.
‘Oh, yes, she may be trusted, Mister Pike,’ repeated Brief softly.
‘Aye, well,’ said Pike, raising a hand to his eyes as if not sure what had just happened, ‘of that I am glad, for I’d lay down my life for the lad, seeing as he once saved mine. Master Stort yonder has a powerful wyrd about him, which seems to carry mine along with it.’
Imbolc let the matter of wyrd pass without comment, it being too large and profound a subject to discuss in the fading light of a cold wet day under a railway bridge. Anyway, as the weather worsened and the day darkened, there was the sense that things thereabouts would soon come to a head and they should all be ready when they did so, however that might be.
But one thing was clear. For a hydden of Pike’s strength and accomplishments to concede so freely that his own wyrd was subject to a mere child’s was unusual, to say the least.
‘Tell me how it came about that one so young saved your life?’ she asked quietly.
Pike looked both rueful and embarrassed. ‘He did warn me but I did not listen. He has the power of prediction, has Master Stort.’
‘Warn you about what?’
‘Quagmire, down by the River Severn. He would insist on going out and about without protection, refusing even to carry a stave. So I felt it my duty to accompany him, thinking that Master Brief would not like it if all that bookwork came to naught because young Stort had been waylaid and harmed, or worse, by the thieves and robbers who infest those parts.
‘As it was, it was me who nearly died. I ignored his warnings about the dangers of the place, and the next thing I knew I was stuck in it and sinking fast, and would have drowned there and then if he had not acted.’
‘He had the strength to pull you out?’
Pike shook his head. ‘A hundred folk working together couldn’t have got me out. The ground, you see, was treacherous, so they couldn’t have got near without sinking in it themselves. I thought I was properly done for.’
‘So how . . . ?’
‘I’m coming to that. You know what the lad did next, calm as you please? He makes himself comfortable on the nearest solid ground, pulls out a slate and chalk from his pocket, for the purpose of working a few things out, produces a chronometer from another pocket and proceeds to time my rate of sinkage.
‘Naturally, I cursed a bit, but he calmly says, “Mister Pike, I advise you to stop fidgeting, and spread your arms out horizontally. That’ll slow you down a bit.” I did as he said, but even so I continued to sink.
‘“Do something!” says I, beginning to get desperate, for the mud was up to my chest by then. He ignored me, his brow furrowing, and it was then that the humming began.’
‘Humming?’
Pike nodded, his gesture a mixture of weariness and affection.
‘He hums whenever he’s working out a problem. Only trouble is there’s no hydden alive less able to hold a tune or even produce a harmonious note, come to that. Stort’s humming is an agony to all about him, and I almost began longing for that mud to rise right up over my ears. Hum, hum, hum . . .
‘I may have cursed a bit and he may have said, “More haste less speed,” or words to that effect. I know we both got angry with each other for a while. By then the mud was up over my chest, and with the pressure of it even breathing was becoming hard.
‘Then his infernal humming suddenly stopped – always a good
It is given to Peace-Weavers to pass on to mortals the sense of the wider Universe of which they are part. In Imbolc’s eyes Pike saw briefly the beauty of the stars, the orbits of the planets and the colour and vast shifting of the galaxies beyond.
Or was it but the light of love that shone from her to him? Whatever it was, the impression was enough to fill Pike’s eyes with awe, while Brief, who knew the Peace-Weaver’s way of doing things, smiled to see that even one as wary as Pike could be won over so quickly.
‘Oh, yes, she may be trusted, Mister Pike,’ repeated Brief softly.
‘Aye, well,’ said Pike, raising a hand to his eyes as if not sure what had just happened, ‘of that I am glad, for I’d lay down my life for the lad, seeing as he once saved mine. Master Stort yonder has a powerful wyrd about him, which seems to carry mine along with it.’
Imbolc let the matter of wyrd pass without comment, it being too large and profound a subject to discuss in the fading light of a cold wet day under a railway bridge. Anyway, as the weather worsened and the day darkened, there was the sense that things thereabouts would soon come to a head and they should all be ready when they did so, however that might be.
But one thing was clear. For a hydden of Pike’s strength and accomplishments to concede so freely that his own wyrd was subject to a mere child’s was unusual, to say the least.
‘Tell me how it came about that one so young saved your life?’ she asked quietly.
Pike looked both rueful and embarrassed. ‘He did warn me but I did not listen. He has the power of prediction, has Master Stort.’
‘Warn you about what?’
‘Quagmire, down by the River Severn. He would insist on going out and about without protection, refusing even to carry a stave. So I felt it my duty to accompany him, thinking that Master Brief would not like it if all that bookwork came to naught because young Stort had been waylaid and harmed, or worse, by the thieves and robbers who infest those parts.
‘As it was, it was me who nearly died. I ignored his warnings about the dangers of the place, and the next thing I knew I was stuck in it and sinking fast, and would have drowned there and then if he had not acted.’
‘He had the strength to pull you out?’
Pike shook his head. ‘A hundred folk working together couldn’t have got me out. The ground, you see, was treacherous, so they couldn’t have got near without sinking in it themselves. I thought I was properly done for.’
‘So how . . . ?’
‘I’m coming to that. You know what the lad did next, calm as you please? He makes himself comfortable on the nearest solid ground, pulls out a slate and chalk from his pocket, for the purpose of working a few things out, produces a chronometer from another pocket and proceeds to time my rate of sinkage.
‘Naturally, I cursed a bit, but he calmly says, “Mister Pike, I advise you to stop fidgeting, and spread your arms out horizontally. That’ll slow you down a bit.” I did as he said, but even so I continued to sink.
‘“Do something!” says I, beginning to get desperate, for the mud was up to my chest by then. He ignored me, his brow furrowing, and it was then that the humming began.’
‘Humming?’
Pike nodded, his gesture a mixture of weariness and affection.
‘He hums whenever he’s working out a problem. Only trouble is there’s no hydden alive less able to hold a tune or even produce a harmonious note, come to that. Stort’s humming is an agony to all about him, and I almost began longing for that mud to rise right up over my ears. Hum, hum, hum . . .
‘I may have cursed a bit and he may have said, “More haste less speed,” or words to that effect. I know we both got angry with each other for a while. By then the mud was up over my chest, and with the pressure of it even breathing was becoming hard.
‘Then his infernal humming suddenly stopped – always a good
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