Note: I think I forgot to mention in the last part that this is another
sequel to my 'The Summer Country', which can be found at Fonts of Wisdom,
Fur & Brimstone, and here at Fanfiction.net. Chronologically it occurs
before 'The Shard and the Storm', but there is no crossover of characters
or plot between those two stories.
Oh yeah, and no prizes for guessing who Jack is.
Chapter 2: In which more people are introduced, our heroes are hunted, and what with one thing and another they finally get bludgeoned about the head by a clue.
Katherine woke the next morning in her lover's arms. After she had woken him – almost an hour after – she washed with the fresh hot water provided by their hosts and dressed, before heading out to see what the day might hold. Wisdom was only a short distance behind her, but she left him talking with the Hawk, and headed up to the city wall.
Scone was a rich city, and the high wooden stockade had a base of dressed stone – not Roman, for the legions had never reached this far north, but rather the work of the skilled masons of Eyre. Katherine walked along the empty parapet, pausing only to salute a watchman, and enjoyed the fresh, cold air. Before her the hills rose, grey-green and bleak and unutterably lovely; behind, the city was already awake, people going about their business as they did every day. She turned back to the hills, and enjoyed the sight of snow; it seldom fell to settle in the Forest, her last home, and before that – well, before that was something she preferred not to think about.
'Beautiful, isn't it?' Said a voice beside her, and she turned to see the young man who had attended the Witch-Queen the previous night leaning on the wall beside her. He was tall, she now noted, lean-built and startlingly handsome, with a short beard and well-trimmed moustache. His black hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and his clothes were very clearly expensive, yet tough and practical. He smiled at her, beautiful black eyes smouldering, and she found herself smiling in response.
'I can't think of a better word.' She agreed. 'This is the first time I've visited the north.'
'For which the Lord be thanked. If I believed that such a woman as you had passed through this realm and somehow escaped my notice, I should have to give up my reputation and lifestyle, and become a monk. You are not travelling alone?' There was genuine concern in his voice, and she hurried to reassure him.
'No. I'm with my lover, disappointing though you may find that.'
'So long as he is not yet your husband. I am Jason.' The tall man held out his hand, and when she took it, bent over to kiss hers.
'Katherine. I'm with Wisdom and the Hawk.' He suddenly looked up, his face still friendly but with a hint of concern.
'Dangerous men, milady. I do not mean to seem presumptuous, but surely you would be safer in a more settled location? With, perhaps, a better class of man?'
'You think yourself better than –'
'More refined only. I do not doubt that the Hawk is braver and Wisdom – ha! – wiser than I, but –' A guard ran up the steps of the wall twenty yards away and called out.
'My Lord! My mistress demands your attendance.' Jason listened, then turned back to Katherine.
'A courtier's work is never done, I fear. My queen calls, I go. I hope I shall see you again. If ever you do separate from the spy, do look for Lord Wyngarde in Scotland and Eyre.' He strode away.
For some reason it never occurred to Katherine to mention this encounter to Wisdom.
'Well?' Demanded his mistress when Wyngarde reached her.
'She's confident and strong. Lean, not thin. She's lived hard, and I think she might know how to fight.' Despite their mutual antagonism, based in her contempt for him and his lust for her, they had long since reached an understanding that he would answer her questions with promptitude. However, he was then allowed to make queries of his own. 'Why? They're just two men and a girl. From what you tell me the men are fairly dangerous, but they're still just two men.'
'Jason, you don't seem to understand. You're just a man, and I'm just a woman. Admittedly I rather doubt that either of them would be capable of doing the things we've done, but Wisdom has a knack for finding things out and, I understand, an old friendship with the Cassidy.'
'So? He will see nothing amiss, and if anything occurs to him, he will forget it.' Wyngarde smiled. For her he was a little older than for Katherine, slightly bulkier, and even more handsome.
'So I suspect he may be working for – whoever it is that opposes me. I can't find them. They are clearly a mindwalker, and though not especially powerful, good at concealing themselves. My enemy would need agents of his own – where do you think the wolf girl and has gone? And if they work for my enemy, they could have that information hidden within their minds. I would have trouble reaching it, but you might be able to find it by careful interrogation.'
'Academic, my queen. Did you not encourage them to leave today?'
'Yes, going south. Even so, if they are not already my enemies, they may yet be recruited. Colin!' Across the room the Champion of the Scots, the most skilled swordsman in the Highlands, turned obediently. 'Colin, I think you should despatch a detachment of moss-troopers. There are some brigands disguised as old friends of my husband.' The Witch-Queen's most loyal servant bowed to her, and turned to obey her instructions.
Neither Kitty nor Wisdom could have said exactly why they were leaving Scone the morning after their arrival, or why they were heading back the way they had come. For some reason this did not concern them until they had been on the main road – which Wisdom had, uncharacteristically, picked as their route – for nearly three hours, and nearing the ten-mile stone. At this point Katherine turned to her lover and asked him, 'Did you find you had difficulty thinking last night?'
'Kitty, I'd been drinking.' He pointed out. 'But, yes.' He frowned. 'I can't really remember how.'
'It seemed that every so often I'd try to think about something, and then just stop and ignore it.' She told him. 'Especially when I tried to think about the Queen Moira.'
'What about her?' Wisdom asked.
'There was something – not quite right about her. I don't know what.'
'Her voice was wrong. So was her clothing. Nothing like she used to be.' He told her. 'And –' He frowned.
'Black Tom killed your friend's first wife?' Asked Katherine. 'And he just apologised and they made up? That made no sense.' He nodded in agreement, and started to reply, but suddenly froze.
'What?' She asked, and he made a curt gesture of silence. She listened, and after a moment heard – hoof beats.
'Off the road.' He told her. 'It could be anybody.' Katherine drew her sword, and then joined him in jumping the ditch that ran alongside their route and hiding in the scrubby bushes. Wisdom had a hard time of it; he knew how to be unobtrusive, but all-out concealment outdoors had never been his strong point. Such things had been Katherine's life for the last third of her eighteen years, though, and she faded into the scenery with an ease born of long practice.
It was less than a minute later that the riders mounted a slight rise a short distance from them. There were a dozen of them, and they carried the bucklers and javelins of moss-troopers, the light cavalry scouts of the Scots. They were riding their horses and a fast but comfortable trot, and looking about them.
Katherine started to rise from cover, but Wisdom grabbed her arm. She glared a question at him, but lay silent until the warriors had ridden past.
'Imagine.' Wisdom whispered in her ear. 'You're a soldier, riding along. They were hunting somebody, Kitty. Now imagine a couple of complete strangers suddenly jump out of the bushes at the side of the road. What do you do?' She nodded in understanding, and they continued walking, now following the tracks of the horsemen.
'So what does it add up to?' She asked him after a few minutes.
'The horsemen?' He asked.
'No. Black Tom, and the strangeness of the Witch Queen, and your friend's behaviour –'
'Search me, kitty.' He said. 'Last I heard Black Tom was marauding in Ireland with a man named Cain. That was almost a year ago, though. He could have found new allies.'
'New allies?' Katherine paused. 'You're thinking there's a mindwalker in Scone, aren't you.' He nodded. 'Did he know any?'
'Black Tom didn't. That doesn't mean they didn't know him. Having the Cassidy's brother on hand would be useful if Sean were to drop down dead.' He paused. 'But most mindwalkers are more subtle than that.'
'Are you speaking from personal experience?' She asked, trying to make a joke of it. She had spent her childhood in a small town just west of the forest, and then her teenage years in the camp of the Nightcrawler. Wisdom, however, was a full decade her senior, and had spent most of his life travelling Britain and Ireland, getting involved in every intrigue of the last fifteen years. She seldom showed it, but Katherine worried that his past had included more interesting women than her, and that one of them might return to him. Considering the only mindwalker she had ever seen had been the Lady Elisabeth Braddock – notable for being tall, statuesque, exotic and beautiful – she was slightly nervous that that was something close to the surface.
Wisdom's expression as he answered, though, was anything but reassuring.
'There were a couple of them.' He looked like he was not enjoying the memory.
'What happened?'
'I had one as a partner, years ago. I thought she was my friend.' His lover blinked. She had never really heard him talk about the details of his past. She knew he was a murderer and a spy, but had never quizzed him about specific incidents – and he had never volunteered any information.
'What went wrong?' She asked.
'She sold us out.' Wisdom's face had gone hard, and Katherine realised that there was no point in pursuing this line of inquiry.
It was just before noon that they reached the shores of Loch Leven and had to take a brief sidetrack to reach the bridge at the west end of the lake. Just before the bridge, a man was waiting for them.
He was sitting with his back against one of the milestones, wrapped in a heavy coat of black bearskin. His head was bowed, and his long hair hid his face. His only apparent weapon was the thick ash-wood staff that rested against his right shoulder.
He did not move as they approached, and at first it seemed to the travellers that he had died there, propped up against the old marker. When they got nearer, though, it became clear that he was breathing and, when they were less than ten feet away, he stood up.
Like so many others he was taller than Wisdom, though clearly not as tall as the Hawk. He was bulkier than the archer, though, and it was clear that beneath the thick fur his shoulders were as broad and his body as powerful as any mans. Beneath the coat he was dressed in a tattered woollen shirt and trews, unmarked by any badge or tartan, and a pair of finely made leather boots that seemed – incongruous. He had strong features and the weathered skin and narrowed eyes of a man who lived his life exposed to the elements. His eyes were a brown so dark as to verge on black, while his hair was either dark blonde or light brown. He could have been any age from twenty to fifty, Katherine realised.
As he came to his feet his staff had settled in his hand, and now he held it by his side as he stepped forwards. His movements were smooth, predatory – he was dangerous. His expression was guarded, but friendly.
'Katherine and Wisdom.' He said quietly.
'Ain't had the pleasure.' Wisdom replied. 'Who're you?'
'I have been called Jack.'
'Jack?' Asked Katherine. 'Is that your name?'
'As much as any other.'
'That doesn't answer my question. Who are you?' Wisdom demanded, his muscles tensed in readiness to fight.
'Jack-in-the-Green?' He asked conversationally. 'I have been sent to guide you.'
'Guide us where?' Asked Katherine.
'To the valley.' He replied.
'What valley?'
'It has no name.'
'Like the People?' Her question registered, and Jack looked at her with a modicum of respect.
'Very like the People.' He agreed. 'Follow.' He started to turn away.
'No.' Said Wisdom. The bigger man paused, turning back to them. 'Why should we?' He touched Katherine's elbow and turned away.
'Because otherwise you will never find out what is happening at Scone.' Wisdom didn't hesitate, much to Katherine's surprise.
'I'll find out.'
'You will not have the chance.'
'You don't know my methods.'
'Do they work from beyond the grave?' Wisdom and Katherine turned, Katherine drawing her sword. To their surprise the man who claimed the name Jack-in-the-Green stood as before, clearly not threatening them. 'There are riders on the road, Peter called Wisdom and Katherine, daughter of Carmen the Jew. Their orders are to seek you both out, and to destroy you.' He turned and began walking northwest, along a narrow game trail that led away from the road. 'Follow.' He said, and this time they did.
After a few moments a great wolfhound slunk out from the trees and fell in behind the man.
After a quarter of a mile the three travellers turned off the path and began climbing a thickly wooded hillside. It had started to rain, and the going was muddy and miserable. Katherine had always believed that it was impossible to have a marsh at the top of a hill, but this one seemed to be trying. After a time they climbed over an old dry stone wall, and, walking in the lee of it, were able to make much faster progress.
'Who built the wall?' She asked her companions in general.
'The People. It marked a border for them.' Jack told her.
After over an hour against the wall they left it behind and began climbing once again. Within a short time they topped the treeline and began climbing a steep slope. It was a scramble, but they were able to top a ridge and look down into the valley below.
On this side of the hill it was not raining. The clouds were heavy and the light grey, but the view below them was only all the more beautiful for it. Ahead of them the mountains rose, sloping in to one another, with snow capping the highest. There had been a similar view from Scone, but with the significant difference that rough fields and flocks of sheep could be seen on the hillsides. Here the hillsides seemed bare and bleak, utterly untouched by human civilisation, and even the dark green of the valleys seemed primal and empty.
'It's been a while.' Jack whispered beside her.
'The Picts left this to the Scots?' Katherine asked in disbelief.
'No.' He replied, and pointed to the side. She and Wisdom turned.
There was a man sitting on the ground beside a fire built in the lee of a small cliff. He was small and skinny, clad only in a loincloth. There was an air about him that suggested great age – and, by appearance, he was older than anyone either of them had ever seen before – and also immense understanding. He turned his gaze to them.
Jack walked over and crouched opposite him. Katherine and Wisdom drew closer, uncertain what to do.
The wolfhound moved past them and curled up by the fire, resting its head in the old man's lap. He stroked it briefly, and then looked up at the man and the woman.
'The Old Man would like you to share his fire.' Jack told them without looking round. 'Sit and be welcome.' Wisdom was slightly puzzled, but the Nightcrawler had taught Katherine this long-extinct custom – although where he had learned it she did not know. In ancient times the laws of hospitality had extended far beyond the home, as had the rules that governed a guest. She dropped smoothly into a seated position, and bowed her head to the old man.
'I thank you for your welcome.' She replied. 'I am Katherine of the Forest, and my companion is Wisdom of –' She paused. Wisdom, who was anything but slow, had already sat beside her.
'Britain.' He said shortly.
The old man inclined his head in return. The customs as Katherine had been taught them were that he would now introduce himself. Instead it was again Jack who spoke.
'This is the gateway of the valley.' He told them. He drew a knife from under his coat and leaned forward to poke at one of a brace of grouse roasting on a makeshift spit supported over the fire on a couple of rocks. Katherine blinked in confusion; surely neither birds nor rocks had been there a second before, but now they were crisped and nearly ready to eat.
Jack was speaking again.
'The Old Man wishes you to eat here with him.' He said. 'And me, also.' The wolfhound raised its head – and it seemed to Katherine to be female, its fur a brown that verged on russet – and whined. Jack addressed it directly. 'And you, of course.' He said, and she rolled over onto her back and flopped her paws in contentment.
'I don't like it, Kitty.' Wisdom muttered. 'This place smells of magic.'
'Who are you?' Katherine asked both of their hosts.
'I am – what the Britons call Jack-in-the-Green. This place is the gateway to the valley, and the Old Man is its guardian.'
'Is this a test?' Wisdom asked shortly. Jack raised his head and met his gaze. Wisdom looked into the bigger mans eyes, and for a moment something ancient looked back.
'Yes.' He said simply.
'When does it end?' Asked Katherine.
'At the end of your life.' She was told. Jack lifted the spit off the fire and took the birds off by the simple expedient of splitting them in two. She and Wisdom each received half of a different bird; the other two halves went to Jack and the wolfhound.
The old man watched them eat, no expression on his face.
When they had finished, and the bones had been cast into the fire, Jack rose to his feet once more.
'Follow.' He said.
'Have we passed?' Asked Wisdom.
'You're still alive, aren't you?' The bigger man replied. He moved off, towards the mountains, the wolfhound by his side. After a moment the spy and the outlaw followed.
It seemed impossible. They were walking along a ridge towards the mountains – and then suddenly the ground seemed to slope away beneath their feet and they could see a valley below them. It was vast – it looked to be at least ten miles across – and really not the sort of thing that could be missed.
Wisdom frowned, but began following the Nomad down a steep path. Katherine hesitated, and looked back.
Behind her she could see the old man sitting on the ridge, but beyond him the mountains rose up, high and close. They had definitely not been there before.
There was a village in the valley, a gathering of huts around which moved people, small, tough-looking men and women, their faces tattooed and their bodies clothed in fur and wool. Some of them – men and women – carried short swords modelled after the Roman pattern. Few of them paid any attention to the newcomers as Jack led them through the village to a building indistinguishable from any of the others except that the fire pit in front of it was cold and empty. There he picked through the woodpile that rested against one side of the hut, and then set about building a fire.
His wolfhound padded past him and into the hut, nudging the door closed behind herself.
'Well?' Said Wisdom after a moment. 'You offered us an explanation.' Jack drew his knife and struck it against a firestone, dropping sparks into the fire. After a few moments the tinder began to smoulder and he sat back, still holding the knife.
'You'll get one.' He said. 'But not from me. From the Sage.'
'Sage?' Said Wisdom, suspicion and anger in his voice.
'That would be me.' Said a woman's voice from behind them. Katherine and Wisdom turned as one, to see a woman in black, pale skinned, dark haired and swathed in a long cloak. Beneath it she appeared to be slim, but in the same way that Katherine was slim, her body composed of lean muscle. There was an air about her, as if she knew secrets and they weren't pleasant. It was a look shared by Wisdom, and by no one else of Katherine's acquaintance. 'Hello, Peter.' She went on. 'It really has been a while.'
'Tessa.' Said Wisdom, with loathing. He drew his dagger as he spoke.
Oh yeah, and no prizes for guessing who Jack is.
Chapter 2: In which more people are introduced, our heroes are hunted, and what with one thing and another they finally get bludgeoned about the head by a clue.
Katherine woke the next morning in her lover's arms. After she had woken him – almost an hour after – she washed with the fresh hot water provided by their hosts and dressed, before heading out to see what the day might hold. Wisdom was only a short distance behind her, but she left him talking with the Hawk, and headed up to the city wall.
Scone was a rich city, and the high wooden stockade had a base of dressed stone – not Roman, for the legions had never reached this far north, but rather the work of the skilled masons of Eyre. Katherine walked along the empty parapet, pausing only to salute a watchman, and enjoyed the fresh, cold air. Before her the hills rose, grey-green and bleak and unutterably lovely; behind, the city was already awake, people going about their business as they did every day. She turned back to the hills, and enjoyed the sight of snow; it seldom fell to settle in the Forest, her last home, and before that – well, before that was something she preferred not to think about.
'Beautiful, isn't it?' Said a voice beside her, and she turned to see the young man who had attended the Witch-Queen the previous night leaning on the wall beside her. He was tall, she now noted, lean-built and startlingly handsome, with a short beard and well-trimmed moustache. His black hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and his clothes were very clearly expensive, yet tough and practical. He smiled at her, beautiful black eyes smouldering, and she found herself smiling in response.
'I can't think of a better word.' She agreed. 'This is the first time I've visited the north.'
'For which the Lord be thanked. If I believed that such a woman as you had passed through this realm and somehow escaped my notice, I should have to give up my reputation and lifestyle, and become a monk. You are not travelling alone?' There was genuine concern in his voice, and she hurried to reassure him.
'No. I'm with my lover, disappointing though you may find that.'
'So long as he is not yet your husband. I am Jason.' The tall man held out his hand, and when she took it, bent over to kiss hers.
'Katherine. I'm with Wisdom and the Hawk.' He suddenly looked up, his face still friendly but with a hint of concern.
'Dangerous men, milady. I do not mean to seem presumptuous, but surely you would be safer in a more settled location? With, perhaps, a better class of man?'
'You think yourself better than –'
'More refined only. I do not doubt that the Hawk is braver and Wisdom – ha! – wiser than I, but –' A guard ran up the steps of the wall twenty yards away and called out.
'My Lord! My mistress demands your attendance.' Jason listened, then turned back to Katherine.
'A courtier's work is never done, I fear. My queen calls, I go. I hope I shall see you again. If ever you do separate from the spy, do look for Lord Wyngarde in Scotland and Eyre.' He strode away.
For some reason it never occurred to Katherine to mention this encounter to Wisdom.
'Well?' Demanded his mistress when Wyngarde reached her.
'She's confident and strong. Lean, not thin. She's lived hard, and I think she might know how to fight.' Despite their mutual antagonism, based in her contempt for him and his lust for her, they had long since reached an understanding that he would answer her questions with promptitude. However, he was then allowed to make queries of his own. 'Why? They're just two men and a girl. From what you tell me the men are fairly dangerous, but they're still just two men.'
'Jason, you don't seem to understand. You're just a man, and I'm just a woman. Admittedly I rather doubt that either of them would be capable of doing the things we've done, but Wisdom has a knack for finding things out and, I understand, an old friendship with the Cassidy.'
'So? He will see nothing amiss, and if anything occurs to him, he will forget it.' Wyngarde smiled. For her he was a little older than for Katherine, slightly bulkier, and even more handsome.
'So I suspect he may be working for – whoever it is that opposes me. I can't find them. They are clearly a mindwalker, and though not especially powerful, good at concealing themselves. My enemy would need agents of his own – where do you think the wolf girl and has gone? And if they work for my enemy, they could have that information hidden within their minds. I would have trouble reaching it, but you might be able to find it by careful interrogation.'
'Academic, my queen. Did you not encourage them to leave today?'
'Yes, going south. Even so, if they are not already my enemies, they may yet be recruited. Colin!' Across the room the Champion of the Scots, the most skilled swordsman in the Highlands, turned obediently. 'Colin, I think you should despatch a detachment of moss-troopers. There are some brigands disguised as old friends of my husband.' The Witch-Queen's most loyal servant bowed to her, and turned to obey her instructions.
Neither Kitty nor Wisdom could have said exactly why they were leaving Scone the morning after their arrival, or why they were heading back the way they had come. For some reason this did not concern them until they had been on the main road – which Wisdom had, uncharacteristically, picked as their route – for nearly three hours, and nearing the ten-mile stone. At this point Katherine turned to her lover and asked him, 'Did you find you had difficulty thinking last night?'
'Kitty, I'd been drinking.' He pointed out. 'But, yes.' He frowned. 'I can't really remember how.'
'It seemed that every so often I'd try to think about something, and then just stop and ignore it.' She told him. 'Especially when I tried to think about the Queen Moira.'
'What about her?' Wisdom asked.
'There was something – not quite right about her. I don't know what.'
'Her voice was wrong. So was her clothing. Nothing like she used to be.' He told her. 'And –' He frowned.
'Black Tom killed your friend's first wife?' Asked Katherine. 'And he just apologised and they made up? That made no sense.' He nodded in agreement, and started to reply, but suddenly froze.
'What?' She asked, and he made a curt gesture of silence. She listened, and after a moment heard – hoof beats.
'Off the road.' He told her. 'It could be anybody.' Katherine drew her sword, and then joined him in jumping the ditch that ran alongside their route and hiding in the scrubby bushes. Wisdom had a hard time of it; he knew how to be unobtrusive, but all-out concealment outdoors had never been his strong point. Such things had been Katherine's life for the last third of her eighteen years, though, and she faded into the scenery with an ease born of long practice.
It was less than a minute later that the riders mounted a slight rise a short distance from them. There were a dozen of them, and they carried the bucklers and javelins of moss-troopers, the light cavalry scouts of the Scots. They were riding their horses and a fast but comfortable trot, and looking about them.
Katherine started to rise from cover, but Wisdom grabbed her arm. She glared a question at him, but lay silent until the warriors had ridden past.
'Imagine.' Wisdom whispered in her ear. 'You're a soldier, riding along. They were hunting somebody, Kitty. Now imagine a couple of complete strangers suddenly jump out of the bushes at the side of the road. What do you do?' She nodded in understanding, and they continued walking, now following the tracks of the horsemen.
'So what does it add up to?' She asked him after a few minutes.
'The horsemen?' He asked.
'No. Black Tom, and the strangeness of the Witch Queen, and your friend's behaviour –'
'Search me, kitty.' He said. 'Last I heard Black Tom was marauding in Ireland with a man named Cain. That was almost a year ago, though. He could have found new allies.'
'New allies?' Katherine paused. 'You're thinking there's a mindwalker in Scone, aren't you.' He nodded. 'Did he know any?'
'Black Tom didn't. That doesn't mean they didn't know him. Having the Cassidy's brother on hand would be useful if Sean were to drop down dead.' He paused. 'But most mindwalkers are more subtle than that.'
'Are you speaking from personal experience?' She asked, trying to make a joke of it. She had spent her childhood in a small town just west of the forest, and then her teenage years in the camp of the Nightcrawler. Wisdom, however, was a full decade her senior, and had spent most of his life travelling Britain and Ireland, getting involved in every intrigue of the last fifteen years. She seldom showed it, but Katherine worried that his past had included more interesting women than her, and that one of them might return to him. Considering the only mindwalker she had ever seen had been the Lady Elisabeth Braddock – notable for being tall, statuesque, exotic and beautiful – she was slightly nervous that that was something close to the surface.
Wisdom's expression as he answered, though, was anything but reassuring.
'There were a couple of them.' He looked like he was not enjoying the memory.
'What happened?'
'I had one as a partner, years ago. I thought she was my friend.' His lover blinked. She had never really heard him talk about the details of his past. She knew he was a murderer and a spy, but had never quizzed him about specific incidents – and he had never volunteered any information.
'What went wrong?' She asked.
'She sold us out.' Wisdom's face had gone hard, and Katherine realised that there was no point in pursuing this line of inquiry.
It was just before noon that they reached the shores of Loch Leven and had to take a brief sidetrack to reach the bridge at the west end of the lake. Just before the bridge, a man was waiting for them.
He was sitting with his back against one of the milestones, wrapped in a heavy coat of black bearskin. His head was bowed, and his long hair hid his face. His only apparent weapon was the thick ash-wood staff that rested against his right shoulder.
He did not move as they approached, and at first it seemed to the travellers that he had died there, propped up against the old marker. When they got nearer, though, it became clear that he was breathing and, when they were less than ten feet away, he stood up.
Like so many others he was taller than Wisdom, though clearly not as tall as the Hawk. He was bulkier than the archer, though, and it was clear that beneath the thick fur his shoulders were as broad and his body as powerful as any mans. Beneath the coat he was dressed in a tattered woollen shirt and trews, unmarked by any badge or tartan, and a pair of finely made leather boots that seemed – incongruous. He had strong features and the weathered skin and narrowed eyes of a man who lived his life exposed to the elements. His eyes were a brown so dark as to verge on black, while his hair was either dark blonde or light brown. He could have been any age from twenty to fifty, Katherine realised.
As he came to his feet his staff had settled in his hand, and now he held it by his side as he stepped forwards. His movements were smooth, predatory – he was dangerous. His expression was guarded, but friendly.
'Katherine and Wisdom.' He said quietly.
'Ain't had the pleasure.' Wisdom replied. 'Who're you?'
'I have been called Jack.'
'Jack?' Asked Katherine. 'Is that your name?'
'As much as any other.'
'That doesn't answer my question. Who are you?' Wisdom demanded, his muscles tensed in readiness to fight.
'Jack-in-the-Green?' He asked conversationally. 'I have been sent to guide you.'
'Guide us where?' Asked Katherine.
'To the valley.' He replied.
'What valley?'
'It has no name.'
'Like the People?' Her question registered, and Jack looked at her with a modicum of respect.
'Very like the People.' He agreed. 'Follow.' He started to turn away.
'No.' Said Wisdom. The bigger man paused, turning back to them. 'Why should we?' He touched Katherine's elbow and turned away.
'Because otherwise you will never find out what is happening at Scone.' Wisdom didn't hesitate, much to Katherine's surprise.
'I'll find out.'
'You will not have the chance.'
'You don't know my methods.'
'Do they work from beyond the grave?' Wisdom and Katherine turned, Katherine drawing her sword. To their surprise the man who claimed the name Jack-in-the-Green stood as before, clearly not threatening them. 'There are riders on the road, Peter called Wisdom and Katherine, daughter of Carmen the Jew. Their orders are to seek you both out, and to destroy you.' He turned and began walking northwest, along a narrow game trail that led away from the road. 'Follow.' He said, and this time they did.
After a few moments a great wolfhound slunk out from the trees and fell in behind the man.
After a quarter of a mile the three travellers turned off the path and began climbing a thickly wooded hillside. It had started to rain, and the going was muddy and miserable. Katherine had always believed that it was impossible to have a marsh at the top of a hill, but this one seemed to be trying. After a time they climbed over an old dry stone wall, and, walking in the lee of it, were able to make much faster progress.
'Who built the wall?' She asked her companions in general.
'The People. It marked a border for them.' Jack told her.
After over an hour against the wall they left it behind and began climbing once again. Within a short time they topped the treeline and began climbing a steep slope. It was a scramble, but they were able to top a ridge and look down into the valley below.
On this side of the hill it was not raining. The clouds were heavy and the light grey, but the view below them was only all the more beautiful for it. Ahead of them the mountains rose, sloping in to one another, with snow capping the highest. There had been a similar view from Scone, but with the significant difference that rough fields and flocks of sheep could be seen on the hillsides. Here the hillsides seemed bare and bleak, utterly untouched by human civilisation, and even the dark green of the valleys seemed primal and empty.
'It's been a while.' Jack whispered beside her.
'The Picts left this to the Scots?' Katherine asked in disbelief.
'No.' He replied, and pointed to the side. She and Wisdom turned.
There was a man sitting on the ground beside a fire built in the lee of a small cliff. He was small and skinny, clad only in a loincloth. There was an air about him that suggested great age – and, by appearance, he was older than anyone either of them had ever seen before – and also immense understanding. He turned his gaze to them.
Jack walked over and crouched opposite him. Katherine and Wisdom drew closer, uncertain what to do.
The wolfhound moved past them and curled up by the fire, resting its head in the old man's lap. He stroked it briefly, and then looked up at the man and the woman.
'The Old Man would like you to share his fire.' Jack told them without looking round. 'Sit and be welcome.' Wisdom was slightly puzzled, but the Nightcrawler had taught Katherine this long-extinct custom – although where he had learned it she did not know. In ancient times the laws of hospitality had extended far beyond the home, as had the rules that governed a guest. She dropped smoothly into a seated position, and bowed her head to the old man.
'I thank you for your welcome.' She replied. 'I am Katherine of the Forest, and my companion is Wisdom of –' She paused. Wisdom, who was anything but slow, had already sat beside her.
'Britain.' He said shortly.
The old man inclined his head in return. The customs as Katherine had been taught them were that he would now introduce himself. Instead it was again Jack who spoke.
'This is the gateway of the valley.' He told them. He drew a knife from under his coat and leaned forward to poke at one of a brace of grouse roasting on a makeshift spit supported over the fire on a couple of rocks. Katherine blinked in confusion; surely neither birds nor rocks had been there a second before, but now they were crisped and nearly ready to eat.
Jack was speaking again.
'The Old Man wishes you to eat here with him.' He said. 'And me, also.' The wolfhound raised its head – and it seemed to Katherine to be female, its fur a brown that verged on russet – and whined. Jack addressed it directly. 'And you, of course.' He said, and she rolled over onto her back and flopped her paws in contentment.
'I don't like it, Kitty.' Wisdom muttered. 'This place smells of magic.'
'Who are you?' Katherine asked both of their hosts.
'I am – what the Britons call Jack-in-the-Green. This place is the gateway to the valley, and the Old Man is its guardian.'
'Is this a test?' Wisdom asked shortly. Jack raised his head and met his gaze. Wisdom looked into the bigger mans eyes, and for a moment something ancient looked back.
'Yes.' He said simply.
'When does it end?' Asked Katherine.
'At the end of your life.' She was told. Jack lifted the spit off the fire and took the birds off by the simple expedient of splitting them in two. She and Wisdom each received half of a different bird; the other two halves went to Jack and the wolfhound.
The old man watched them eat, no expression on his face.
When they had finished, and the bones had been cast into the fire, Jack rose to his feet once more.
'Follow.' He said.
'Have we passed?' Asked Wisdom.
'You're still alive, aren't you?' The bigger man replied. He moved off, towards the mountains, the wolfhound by his side. After a moment the spy and the outlaw followed.
It seemed impossible. They were walking along a ridge towards the mountains – and then suddenly the ground seemed to slope away beneath their feet and they could see a valley below them. It was vast – it looked to be at least ten miles across – and really not the sort of thing that could be missed.
Wisdom frowned, but began following the Nomad down a steep path. Katherine hesitated, and looked back.
Behind her she could see the old man sitting on the ridge, but beyond him the mountains rose up, high and close. They had definitely not been there before.
There was a village in the valley, a gathering of huts around which moved people, small, tough-looking men and women, their faces tattooed and their bodies clothed in fur and wool. Some of them – men and women – carried short swords modelled after the Roman pattern. Few of them paid any attention to the newcomers as Jack led them through the village to a building indistinguishable from any of the others except that the fire pit in front of it was cold and empty. There he picked through the woodpile that rested against one side of the hut, and then set about building a fire.
His wolfhound padded past him and into the hut, nudging the door closed behind herself.
'Well?' Said Wisdom after a moment. 'You offered us an explanation.' Jack drew his knife and struck it against a firestone, dropping sparks into the fire. After a few moments the tinder began to smoulder and he sat back, still holding the knife.
'You'll get one.' He said. 'But not from me. From the Sage.'
'Sage?' Said Wisdom, suspicion and anger in his voice.
'That would be me.' Said a woman's voice from behind them. Katherine and Wisdom turned as one, to see a woman in black, pale skinned, dark haired and swathed in a long cloak. Beneath it she appeared to be slim, but in the same way that Katherine was slim, her body composed of lean muscle. There was an air about her, as if she knew secrets and they weren't pleasant. It was a look shared by Wisdom, and by no one else of Katherine's acquaintance. 'Hello, Peter.' She went on. 'It really has been a while.'
'Tessa.' Said Wisdom, with loathing. He drew his dagger as he spoke.