sign as I have since discovered – and he stood up and said, “I know what I need. We have seventeen minutes, twenty-three at the most, depending, I suspect, on how deeply you breathe. Try to keep your chest well expanded while I’m gone.”
‘With that he set off in that lop-sided gallop that passes for Stort running, and he headed across the fields to Wardine. I continued to sink and, as the mud reached my chin, I cursed the Mirror and all that reside within it, including Master Stort, Wardine, Master Brief, book-learning and much else beside.’
The Peace-Weaver nodded sympathetically. ‘You must have been terrified.’
‘I was,’ said Pike, ‘but be that as it may . . . as the mud reached my mouth, Master Stort reappeared with some villagers carrying poles and ropes, and various other things they had assembled at his instruction. In no time at all they had rigged up a sort of . . . well, I would say it was . . . a contraption .’
‘Actually, Mister Pike, it was a block and tackle,’ interrupted a voice off to their right. It came from the black bin-bag, and it seemed Master Stort was about to emerge.
Pike grinned. ‘Whatever it was, he and those others rigged it up, and they somehow got a rope under my arm, pulled steady at the tackle he had made, and about thirty seconds later I popped out from all that mud like a cork from a flagon of fermented mead. And ever since that day, he has my loyalty and trust in all things. Eh, Stort?’
The bin-bag shuffled about a bit, and the nose disappeared inside.
‘Yes, thank you Mister Pike,’ came a muffled voice. ‘Our wyrds are as one, yet together make more than two! That’s a riddle as well as being a mystery!’
‘Yeh, well . . .’
Pike went back to sit with the other stavermen; the bin-bag continued to rustle and shift.
‘It must be said,’ Brief continued quietly ‘that Stort has an independence of spirit bordering on the eccentric. It’s a quality not helped by the fact that he sincerely believes that everything he does is entirely logical.’
‘Is that such a problem, Master Brief?’ asked Imbolc.
‘Yes, it is, because it means he does not know how odd his behaviour can seem to others, like wearing a bin-bag for a cloak. He’ll merely argue that it’s easier to carry.’
‘He’s right, of course.’
‘And he won’t carry a fighting stave, because he insists that fighting is not the best way to settle disputes, and that history shows it just provokes more of them.’
‘He’s right about that too.’
‘Maybe he is,’ sighed Brief, ‘but that kind of thing is hard for others to take, especially those of his own age, amongst whom, you’ll not be surprised to learn, he has very few friends. But Pike’s right about his gift for predicting things.’
‘For example?’
‘Things big, things small, from weather change to who’s about to come round the corner next. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough I daresay.’
‘So let me guess. You went off to see him in Wardine for yourself, and then brought him back to Brum to study further under your direct instruction?’
‘In a nutshell, yes,’ confessed Brief.
‘And now he’s led you here?’
‘Thanks to you, Imbolc, it would seem. But quite what we can expect to happen I have no idea.’
He waited for Imbolc to enlighten him. Peace-Weavers don’t suddenly turn up in the back of beyond unless they have a very good reason. Brief was feeling increasingly uneasy.
All Imbolc said was, ‘I am here merely as an observer. I cannot influence a thing, merely watch and take note, even though . . .’
‘What?’
‘I know only that what will happen here will influence all our lives, and therefore Mister Pike is right to be wary, as you are right to feel nervous. When Shield Maidens begin to show themselves we’d better all watch out . . .’
They looked around expectantly as if they thought that the critical moment would come just by talking about it.
What happened
‘With that he set off in that lop-sided gallop that passes for Stort running, and he headed across the fields to Wardine. I continued to sink and, as the mud reached my chin, I cursed the Mirror and all that reside within it, including Master Stort, Wardine, Master Brief, book-learning and much else beside.’
The Peace-Weaver nodded sympathetically. ‘You must have been terrified.’
‘I was,’ said Pike, ‘but be that as it may . . . as the mud reached my mouth, Master Stort reappeared with some villagers carrying poles and ropes, and various other things they had assembled at his instruction. In no time at all they had rigged up a sort of . . . well, I would say it was . . . a contraption .’
‘Actually, Mister Pike, it was a block and tackle,’ interrupted a voice off to their right. It came from the black bin-bag, and it seemed Master Stort was about to emerge.
Pike grinned. ‘Whatever it was, he and those others rigged it up, and they somehow got a rope under my arm, pulled steady at the tackle he had made, and about thirty seconds later I popped out from all that mud like a cork from a flagon of fermented mead. And ever since that day, he has my loyalty and trust in all things. Eh, Stort?’
The bin-bag shuffled about a bit, and the nose disappeared inside.
‘Yes, thank you Mister Pike,’ came a muffled voice. ‘Our wyrds are as one, yet together make more than two! That’s a riddle as well as being a mystery!’
‘Yeh, well . . .’
Pike went back to sit with the other stavermen; the bin-bag continued to rustle and shift.
‘It must be said,’ Brief continued quietly ‘that Stort has an independence of spirit bordering on the eccentric. It’s a quality not helped by the fact that he sincerely believes that everything he does is entirely logical.’
‘Is that such a problem, Master Brief?’ asked Imbolc.
‘Yes, it is, because it means he does not know how odd his behaviour can seem to others, like wearing a bin-bag for a cloak. He’ll merely argue that it’s easier to carry.’
‘He’s right, of course.’
‘And he won’t carry a fighting stave, because he insists that fighting is not the best way to settle disputes, and that history shows it just provokes more of them.’
‘He’s right about that too.’
‘Maybe he is,’ sighed Brief, ‘but that kind of thing is hard for others to take, especially those of his own age, amongst whom, you’ll not be surprised to learn, he has very few friends. But Pike’s right about his gift for predicting things.’
‘For example?’
‘Things big, things small, from weather change to who’s about to come round the corner next. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough I daresay.’
‘So let me guess. You went off to see him in Wardine for yourself, and then brought him back to Brum to study further under your direct instruction?’
‘In a nutshell, yes,’ confessed Brief.
‘And now he’s led you here?’
‘Thanks to you, Imbolc, it would seem. But quite what we can expect to happen I have no idea.’
He waited for Imbolc to enlighten him. Peace-Weavers don’t suddenly turn up in the back of beyond unless they have a very good reason. Brief was feeling increasingly uneasy.
All Imbolc said was, ‘I am here merely as an observer. I cannot influence a thing, merely watch and take note, even though . . .’
‘What?’
‘I know only that what will happen here will influence all our lives, and therefore Mister Pike is right to be wary, as you are right to feel nervous. When Shield Maidens begin to show themselves we’d better all watch out . . .’
They looked around expectantly as if they thought that the critical moment would come just by talking about it.
What happened
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