The wind had fallen; aside from the muted crispness of the sand giving beneath their feet, everything seemed very quiet.

Jane was unable to help feeling afraid, much as she tried. I'm with Will, she reminded herself, I'm safe with Will, I always have been. She glanced at him walking beside her, confident, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking so – ordinary, so very much like the kind of person you'd scarcely notice if you passed him on the street, and yet she could sense something growing in him with each step; it was like the gradual illumination cast by a slow-warming bulb, soft and hazy at first, then rapidly building and building to incandescence –

He turned his head to meet her anxious gaze and said, 'Honestly, there's nothing to fear, Jane,' and pushed his glasses up on his nose, that unthinking oh-so-human gesture; but there was a difference in his voice, a new resonance.

Will led them on, past the rocks where he and Jane had met the day before, under a bridge and through the damp muddy edges of a creek ,where soil and sand, earth and water mixed and eddied; cars passed overhead, their engines thrumming with anonymous resolve.

They came to a swathe of grass, a picnic table, a short jetty of wooden planks. Fish, small and silver, chased each other beneath the green-brown water. A rowboat, old-fashioned in style but seemingly new, with white paint and blue trim gleaming, bobbed at the jetty's side. Two oars rested inside it, and at the prow, in a flowing script of exquisite delicacy, its name was written.

Will traced the lettering with one finger. 'Pridwen,' he read softly. 'Yes. Of course.' He helped Jane into the boat and then clambered in himself with such enthusiastic lack of grace that Jane burst out laughing. And Will was laughing too, and there was no need to row or steer even though they set the oars in the locks; the small boat drifted down the creek of its own accord.

.rising…..rising… .rising…..rising… .rising…..rising…

Will's sense as an Old One could not have told him more clearly that they were doing what they needed to do. The feeling of rightness, of purpose, rang through him more sharp and bright than it had for long years; it sounded him like a bell from top to toe, so that his head was filled with music and the world around him shimmered with incomparable clarity.

They rode in the little blue and white boat; the sound of bellbirds and kookaburras pealed and spun in the air above them.

'There are apple trees up there.' Jane pointed. 'I passed some the other day, growing by the side of the road, but there are some a bit lower down the slopes too, see?'

'So there are.'

'Nice apples, too, I picked some – you don't often see fruit trees growing wild, around here…' She trailed off.

The boat was drifting gently to the edge of the creek, now broadened almost to river-size, and the mountain stretched above them. It was clothed in the deep green of long grasses; tall straggly eucalypts and dark firs towered over the occasional spreading fruit tree, and here and there dandelions and nasturtiums shone fire-like amid the bracken and the few remaining native flowers. A medley of the wild and the familiar; it was like nothing Will had ever seen before.

'Apple trees,' he said thoughtfully. The world shone at the very idea of them. 'How perfect.'

They scrambled out and began to climb the slope. It was steep, and often they needed to use hands as well as feet, clutching at clumps of grass. Below them the sun caught the water as it tumbled and chattered over a heap of stones, glittering.

Will halted, panting a little, by the side of one particular apple tree. It was old, unkempt, its branches still leafy and heavy with red-green fruit; more apples littered the ground beneath and filled the air with a sweet scent. A bird flapped away from a branch as Will laid his hand gently against the grey trunk.

The music in his ears was now so strong it almost dizzied him. 'Take my hand,' he said to Jane; his voice sounded strange to him, as if it belonged to someone else. Seeing her hesitate he smiled as reassuringly as he could. 'Nothing to worry about now, I promise. Take my hand.'

She did, squeezing it tight. Will spoke the words he needed; they came to his lips as easily as if he had learned them only yesterday, or had been practicing them all his life. And the hillside shimmered as though it lay under a wave of heat; both Will and Jane shut their eyes against the bending force of it. When they opened them, the apple tree was still there, unchanged; and beyond it stood a pair of great dark carven doors, as familiar to Will as his own name.