The Moon of Gomrath
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Colin pulled on his shirt and trousers over his pyjamas, and jammed his feet into a pair of shoes, before going to wake Gowther. But when he came to Susan’s door he paused, and, for no reason that he could explain, opened the door. The bed was empty, the window open.
Colin tiptoed downstairs and groped his way to the door. It was still bolted. Had Susan dropped nine feet to the cobbles? He eased the bolts, and stepped outside, and as he looked he saw a thin silhouette pass over the skyline of the Riddings.
He struggled up the hill as fast as he could, but it was some time before he spotted the figure again, now moving across Clinton hill, a quarter of a mile away.
Colin ran: and by the time he stood up at the top of Clinton hill he had halved the lead that Susan had gained. For it was undoubtedly Susan. She was wearing her pyjamas, and she seemed to glide smoothly over the ground, giving a strange impression that she was running, though her movements were those of walking. Straight ahead of her were the dark tops of the trees in the quarry.
“Sue!” No, wait. That’s dangerous. She’s sleep-walking. But she’s heading for the quarry.
Colin ran as hard as he had ever run. Once he was off the hill-top the uneven ground hid Susan, but he knew the general direction. He came to the fence that stood on the edge of the highest cliff and looked around while he recovered his breath.
The moon showed all the hill-side and much of the quarry: the pump-tower gleamed, and the vanes turned. But Susan was nowhere to be seen. Colin leant against a fence-stump. She ought to be in sight: he could not have overtaken her: she must have reached here. Colin searched the sides of the quarry with his eyes, and looked at the smooth black mirror of the water. He was frightened. Where was she?
Then he cried out his fear as something slithered over his shoe and plucked at his ankle. He started back, and looked down. It was a hand. A ledge of earth, inches wide, ran along the other side of the fence and crumbled away to the rock face a few feet below: then the drop was sheer to the tarn-like water. The hand now clutched the ledge.
“Sue!”
He stretched over the barbed wire. She was right below him, spreadeagled between the ledge and the cliff proper, her pale face turned up to his.
“Hang on! Oh, hang on!”
Colin threw himself flat on the ground, wrapped one arm round the stump, thrust the other under the wire, and grabbed at the hand. But though it looked like a hand, it felt like a hoof.
The wire tore Colin’s sleeve as he shouted and snatched his arm away. Then, as Susan’s face rose above the ledge, a foot from his own, and he saw the light that glowed in her eyes, Colin abandoned reason, thought. He shot backwards from the ledge, crouched, stumbled, fled. He looked back only once, and it seemed that out of the quarry a formless shadow was rising into the sky. Behind him the stars went out, but in their place were two red stars, unwinking, and close together.
Colin sped along the hill, vaulting fences, throwing himself over hedges, and plunging down the Riddings to the farm-house. As he fumbled with the door, the moon was hidden, and darkness slid over the white walls. Colin turned. “Esenaroth! Esenaroth!” he cried. The words came to him and were torn from his lips independent of his will, and he heard them from a distance, as though they were from another’s mouth. They burned like silver fire in his brain, sanctuary in the blackness that filled the world.
CHAPTER 6
OLD EVIL
“I think we mun have the doctor,” said Bess. “She’s wet through again – it conner be healthy. And that blessed sand! Her hair’s still full of it.”
“Reet,” said Gowther. “I’ll get Prince ready, and then I’ll go and ring him up.”
Colin ate his breakfast mechanically. Bess and Gowther’s voices passed over him. He had to do something, but he did not know what he could do.
He had been woken by Scamp’s warm tongue on his face. It must have been about six o’clock in the morning: he was huddled on the doorstep, stiff with cold. He heard Gowther clump downstairs into the kitchen. Colin wondered if he should tell him what had happened, but it was not clear in his own head: he had to have time to think. So he tucked his pyjamas out of sight, and went to light the lamps for milking.
After breakfast Colin still had reached no decision. He went upstairs and changed his clothes. Susan’s door was ajar. He made himself go into the room. She lay in bed, her eyes half-closed, and when she saw Colin she smiled.
He went down to the kitchen, and found it empty. Bess was feeding the hens, and Gowther was in the stable with Prince. Colin was alone in the house with – what? He needed help, and Fundindelve was his only hope. He went into the yard, frightened, desperate, and then almost sobbing with relief, for Albanac was striding down the Riddings, the sun sparkling on his silver buckles and sword, his cloak swelling behind him in the wind.
Colin ran towards him and they met at the foot of the hill.
“Albanac! Albanac!”
“Why, what is it? Colin, are you well?”
“It’s Sue!”
“What?” Albanac took Colin by the shoulders and looked hard into his eyes. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know – she’s in bed – no – I mean – you must listen!”
“I am listening, but I do not follow you. Now tell me what is wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” said Colin. He paused, and then began. As he spoke, Albanac’s face grew lined and tense, his eyes were like blue diamonds. When Colin started to describe how he had followed Susan to the quarry Albanac interrupted him.
“Can we be seen from her window?”
“No – well, just about. It’s that end window at the front.”
“Then I would not be here.”
They moved round until the gable end of the house hid them from any windows.
“Now go on.”
When the story was finished Albanac laughed bitterly. “Ha! This is matter indeed. So near, after all. But come, we must act before the chance is lost.”
“Why? What—?”
“Listen. Can we enter the house without being seen from the window?”
“Ye – es.”
“Good. I think I have not the power to do what should be done, but we must think first of Susan. Now mark what I say: we must not speak when we are nearer the house.
“Lead me to the room. I shall make little sound, but you must walk as though you had no guile. Go to the window and open it: then we shall see.”
Colin paused with his hand on the latch and looked over his shoulder. Albanac stood at the top of the stairs; he nodded. Colin opened the door.
Susan lay there, staring. Colin crossed to the window and unlatched it. At the sound, Albanac stepped into the room: he held the Mark of Fohla, open, in his hand. Susan snarled, her eyes flashing wide, and tore the blankets from her, but Albanac threw himself across the room and on to the bed, striking Susan under the chin with his shoulder and pinning her arm beneath him while he locked the bracelet about her wrist. Then, as quickly, he sprang back to the door and drew his sword.
“Colin! Outside!”
“What have you done?” cried Colin. “What’s happening?”
Albanac’s hand bit into his shoulder and flung him out of the room. Albanac jumped after him and slammed the door shut.
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