The Moon of Gomrath

Susan stretched out her hand, and touched the iron gates. They swung open.

“Quickly now,” said Uthecar. “It is a healthier night within than without.”

He hurried the children through the gates, and the rock closed after them the moment they were all inside.

“Why did they open? They wouldn’t before,” said Susan.

“Because you spoke the word, and for another reason that we shall talk about,” said Albanac.

They went with Albanac down the paths of Fundindelve. Tunnel entered cave, and cave gave way to tunnel: caves, and tunnels, each different and the same: there seemed to be no end.

As they went deeper the blue light grew pale and strong, and by this the children knew that they were nearing the Cave of the Sleepers, for whose sake the old dwarf-mine of Fundindelve had been charged with the greatest magic of an age, and its guardian was Cadellin Silverbrow. Here in this cave, waiting through the centuries for the day when Cadellin should rouse him from his enchanted sleep to fight the last battle of the world, lay a king, surrounded by his knights, each with his milk-white mare.

The children looked about them, at the cold flames, now white in the core of the magic, flickering over the silver armour, at the horses, and the men, and listened to the muted, echoing murmur of their breathing, the beating of the heart of Fundindelve.

From the Cave of the Sleepers the way led uphill, by more tunnels, by stark, high-arching bridges over unknown depths, along narrow paths in the roofs of caves, across vaulted plains of sand, to the furthest caverns of the mine. And finally they came to a small cave close behind the Holywell that the wizard used for his quarters. In it were a few chairs, a long table, and a bed of skins.

“Where’s Cadellin?” said Susan.

“He will be with the lios-alfar, the elves,” said Albanac. “Many of them are ill of the smoke-sickness: but until he comes, rest you here. There is doubtless much you would know.”

“There certainly is!” said Colin. “Who was that shooting arrows at us?”

“The elf-lord, Atlendor son of Naf: he needs your help.”

“Needs our help?” said Colin. “He went a funny way about getting it!”

“But I never thought elves would be like that!” said Susan.

“No,” said Albanac. “You are both too hasty. Remember, he is under fear at this time. Danger besets him; he is tired, alone – and he is a king. Remember, too, that no elf has a natural love of men; for it is the dirt and ugliness and unclean air that men have worshipped these two hundred years that have driven the lios-alfar to the trackless places and the broken lands. You should see the smoke-sickness in the elves of Talebolion and Sinadon. You should hear it in their lungs. That is what men have done.”

“But how can we help?” said Susan.

“I will show you,” said Albanac. “Cadellin has spoken against this for many days, and he has good reason, but now you are here, and I think we must tell you what is wrong.

“In brief, it is this. There is something hiding in the dead wastes of the Northland, in far Prydein where the last kingdom of the elves has been made. For a long while now the numbers of the lios-alfar have been growing less – not through the smoke-sickness, as is happening in the west, but for some cause that we have not found. Elves vanish. They go without a sign. At first it was by ones and twos, but not long since a whole cantref, the cantref of Grannos, was lost, horses and weapons: not an arrow was seen. Some great wrong is at work, and to find it, and destroy it, Atlendor is bringing his people to him from the south and the west, gathering what magic he can. Susan, will you let him take the Mark of Fohla?”

“What’s that?” said Susan.

“It is the bracelet that Angharad Goldenhand gave to you.”

“This?” said Susan. “I didn’t know it had a name. What good is it to Atlendor?”

“I do not know,” said Albanac. “But any magic may help him – and you have magic there. Did you not open the gates?”

Susan looked at the band of ancient silver that she wore on her wrist. It was all she had brought with her out of the wreckage of their last encounter with this world, and it had been given to her, on a night of danger and enchantment, by Angharad Goldenhand, the Lady of the Lake. Susan did not know the meaning of the heavy letters that were traced in black, in a forgotten script, upon the silver, yet she knew that it was no ordinary bracelet, and she did not wear it lightly.

“Why is it called that?” said Susan.

“There are tales,” said Albanac, “that I have only dimly heard about these things, yet I know that the Marks of Fohla are from the early magic of the world, and this is the first that I have ever seen, and I cannot tell its use. But will you give it to Atlendor?”

“I can’t,” said Susan.

“But the elves may be destroyed for lack of the Mark!” said Albanac. “Will you fail them when they most need help?”

“Of course I’ll help,” said Susan. “It’s just that Angharad told me I must always look after my bracelet, though she didn’t say why: but if Atlendor needs it, I’ll go back with him.”

At this, Uthecar laughed, but Albanac’s face was troubled.

“You have me there,” he said. “Atlendor will not like this. But wait: is he to know? I do not want to burden him with fresh troubles if they can be avoided. Perhaps this would be of no use to Atlendor, but let me take it to him, Susan, so that he can try its powers. If they are deaf to him he will accept your provision more easily.”

“And why should himself not be away beyond Bannawg sooner than the fox to the wood, and the Mark with him?” said Uthecar.

“You do not know the lios-alfar, Hornskin,” said Albanac. “I give you my word that there will be no deceit.”

“Then another word shall go into Cadellin’s ear,” said Uthecar, “lest Atlendor should think black danger merits black deed. None of the lios-alfar will leave Fundindelve if Cadellin bids them stay.”

“No,” said Susan. “I trust you. And I think I trust Atlendor. Here you are: let him see what he can do with it. But please don’t keep it longer than you need.”

“Thank you,” said Albanac. “You will not be sorry.”

“Let us hope so,” said Uthecar. He did not look at all happy. “But from what I have heard of you, I am thinking you are not wise to put off your armour. The Morrigan does not forget, and she goes not forgive.”

“The Morrigan?” said Colin. “Where? Is she after us again?”

Although the children had first crossed this woman in her human shape, they had soon learnt that there was more to her than her ungraciousness. She was the Morrigan, leader of the witch covens called the morthbrood, and above that, she could wake the evil in stones and brew hate from the air, and she was terrible in her strength. But mainly through Colin and Susan her power had been broken by Cadellin Silverbrow, and they had not been certain that she herself had survived the destruction that had overwhelmed her followers.

“The morthbrood is scattered,” said Albanac, “but she has been seen. You had best ask him who brought word of her.” He nodded towards Uthecar. “This honey-natured dwarf from beyond Minith Bannawg in the Northland.”

“Why? Have you seen her?” said Colin.

“Have I not!” said the dwarf. “Are you all wanting to know? Well then, here is the tale.

“On my way south I came to the hill of the Black Fernbrake in Prydein, and a storm followed me. So I was looking for rocks and heather to make a shelter for the night. I saw a round, brown stone, as if it were set apart from other stones, and I put my arms about it to lift it up – and oh, king of the sun and of the moon, and of the bright and fragrant stars! the stone put arms about my neck, and was throttling the life of me!

“Ask not how, for I cannot say, but I plucked myself free; and then the stone was the Morrigan! I sprang at her with my sword, and though she took out my eye, I took off her head, and the Black Fernbrake’s sides called to her screech.

“But the head leapt a hard, round leap to the neck again, and she came at me loathingly, and I was much in fear of her. Three times we fought, and three times I lifted her head, and three times she was whole again, and I was near death with pain and faintness.

“So once more I set iron to her shoulders, but when the head was making for the trunk I put my sword on the neck, and the head played ‘gliong’ on the blade, and sprang up to the skies. Then it began to fall, and I saw that it was aiming at me, so I stepped aside, and it went six feet into the ground with the force it had. Was that not the head! Then I heard stones crunching, and a chewing, and a gnawing, and a gnashing, so I thought it was time for me to take my legs along with me, and I went on through the night and the winnowing and the snow in it.”

They were waiting now for the wizard to come. And while they waited, Uthecar saw to it that talk never flagged.

He told how Albanac had met him one day, and had spoken of a rumour that something had come out of the ground near Fundindelve and was being hunted by Cadellin Silverbrow. Having himself been idle too long, Uthecar had decided to make the journey south from Minith Bannawg in the hope that Cadellin would be glad of his help. He was not disappointed. The matter was greater than he thought—

Long ago, one of the old mischiefs of the world had brought fear to the plain, but it had been caught, and imprisoned in a pit at the foot of the Edge. Centuries later, through the foolishness of men, it had escaped, and was taken at heavy cost. Albanac’s news was that man had loosed the evil a second time.

“And there was no knowing in the hard, shrivelling world,” said Uthecar, “where we might find the Brollachan again.”