Greenwitch

It's all right!" Simon said hoarsely. Hastily he cleared his throat and put his shoulders back, though it was hard to recover dignity in pajamas.

Jane clutched her mug like a talisman of reality; then suddenly jumped so hard that she spilt half the cocoa on the window-sill.

Will knelt down beside the granite slab and turned the grail again. Slowly he read aloud: When light from the lost land shall return, Six Sleepers shall ride, six Signs shall burn, And where the midsummer tree grows tall By Pendragon’s sword the Dark shall fall.

Captain Toms leaned on his heavy stick, peering at another panel of the grail. He said softly, his accent cradling the words: By the pleasant lake the Sleepers lie, On Cadfan’s Way where the kestrels call; Though grim from the Grey King shadows fall, Yet singing the golden harp shall guide To break their sleep and bid them ride.

Staring at the manuscript, Merriman said slowly, painfully, as if he were spelling out a hard lesson: On the day of the dead, when the year too dies, Must the youngest open the oldest hills Through the door of the birds, where the breeze breaks. There fire shall fly from the raven boy, And the silver eyes that see the wind, And the Light shall have the harp of gold.

The spell of Mana and the spell of Reck and the spell of Lir, and yet none of these if Tethys has a mind against you. For the Greenwitch will be the creature of Tethys very soon now, with all the force of all life that came out of the sea.’

The dark man had his back to them. “Look well at the Romany vardo,” he said, without turning. “There are few of them to be seen any more.” “Romany?” said Simon. “Are you a Gipsy?” “Half Romany dial,” the man said, “and half gorgio.” He turned and stood with arms folded, surveying them. “I am part Gipsy, yes. That’s the best you’ll find these days, on the road at any rate. Even the vardo is only part Gipsy.

For she knew suddenly, out there in the cold dawn, that this silent image somehow held within it more power than she had ever sensed before in any creature or thing. Thunder and storms and earthquakes were there, and all the force of the earth and sea. It was outside Time, boundless, ageless, beyond any line drawn between good and evil.

Hazel for the framework,” the woman said. “Rowan for the head. Then the body is of hawthorn boughs, and hawthorn blossoms. With the stones within, for the sinking. And those who are crossed, or barren, or who would make any wish, must touch the Greenwitch then before she be put to cliff.

The making of the Greenwitch,” said Merriman, “is an old spring rite still celebrated here, for greeting summer and charming a good harvest of crops and fish. In a day or two, as it happens. If you will all tread a little more gently, Jane might be able to watch it.” “Jane?” said Barney. “Only Jane?” “The making of the Greenwitch is very much a private village affair,” Merriman said. Jane thought his voice seemed strained, but his face was so near the roof of the narrow landing as to be lost in shadow. “No visitors are normally allowed near. And of the locals, only women are allowed to be present.

It’s just a sort of spring thing,” he said. “They make a leaf image and chuck it into the sea. Sometimes they call it the Greenwitch and sometimes King Mark’s Bride. Old custom.

Oh!” said Jane in delight. The room was painted white, with gay yellow curtains, and a yellow quilt on the bed. The ceiling sloped down so that the wall on one side was only half the height of the wall on the other, and there was space only for a bed, a dressing-table and a chair. But the little room seemed full of sunshine, even though the sky outside the curtains was grey. Jane stood looking out, while her great-uncle went on to show the boys their room, and she thought that the picture she could see from the window was the best thing of all.

Somewhere in Barney's mind, as a spark flickers and finds tinder and blazes up into a flame, a small light of resentment flared suddenly into a crossness that burned away fear.

Remember. Y maent yr mynyddoedd yn canu ac y mae’r arglwyddes yn dod. The mountains are singing, and the Lady comes. Remember.

Even in the darkest sea they knew they were observed and escorted all the way, by subjects of Tethys invisible even to an Old One’s eye. News came to the Lady of the Sea long, long before anyone might approach. She had her own ways. Older than the land, older than the Old Ones, older than all men, she ruled her kingdom of waves as she had since the world began: alone, absolute.