Power of Three

chapter two

Ayna, Gair and Ceri were born in Garholt. Their father was Gest, who was a hero. This is how Gest became famous.

Garholt was on the south of the Moor, not far from the other end of the old Giants’ road. It was the largest of all the mounds and by far the most prosperous. While Chanters and Wise Women all over the Moor were shaking their heads and wondering what could be causing the growing bad luck, for many years the curse seemed to pass Garholt by.

Garholters – rather unwisely – prided themselves on their luck. They had gold, wool and hides in plenty; salt, fuel and wine. Their sheep were more numerous and in better shape than any on the Moor. Their honey was famous. Indoors, the houses were roofed with stone, and the five wells, round and stone-roofed like the houses, had been made safe from Dorig and from every other danger. The walls of the mound, below the big windows, were hung with tapestries embroidered in dark, bright colours. And Garholt could, in a quarter of an hour, muster more than a hundred of the fiercest and best-armed fighting-men on the Moor – not to speak of equally warlike women and children.

But this took a good, careful Chief to maintain it. Gart, the old Chief, was just such a one. But he died quite suddenly, and his two sons were killed the same night. Hearing their father had been taken ill, Gart’s two sons were hurrying home from hunting, using one of the new Giants’ roads for speed. This was unwise of them. As the curse had affected the Giants too, they had grown fewer, but those few had become very violent and untrustworthy. While Gart’s sons were hurrying along the road, a Giant caught and crushed them. So, as Miri the Beekeeper’s wife, who was a Wise Woman, pointed out, the bad luck came to Garholt after all and left it without a Chief.

That was how Gest came to be Chief in Garholt. He was old Gart’s nephew and lived in the much smaller mound of Islaw. Messages were sent to Gest at once, but the Garholters were very much afraid he would not be the good, careful Chief they were used to. Islaw people had a name for being queer and shifty – though, of course, no one in Garholt would have dreamt of calling them half-Dorig the way the Otmounders did. Still, Islaw people were known to be different. And Gest’s Islaw father had been a Chanter, who were odd people at the best of times. Then it was learnt that Gest was bringing his own Chanter, a man called Banot, with him. From being dubious, the Garholters became indignant. Weren’t the Garholt Chanters good enough for Gest? Or what?

When Gest arrived, everyone was relieved to find him fair, handsome, jolly and not at all peculiar. He was a big man, as a Chief should be, and obviously a seasoned fighter. Nor did he seem particularly clever. The Chanter, Banot, though his thin face had the dreamy look of his profession, seemed to have no harm in him either. It soon became clear that Gest had brought him simply because he and Banot were bosom friends. The Garholters all heaved sighs of relief and began to manoeuvre Gest into marrying Tille, the granddaughter of old Gart.

Nothing came of that. Gest was nice to Tille – as he was to everyone – but it was Banot who fell in love with Tille and married her.

Gest had not been a month in Garholt, when a messenger arrived from Og of Otmound. Og greeted the new Chief and wanted a band of fighting-men from Garholt at once to help him fight the Dorig. Hearing this, Gest smiled, a wide, jolly smile. Banot, who knew that smile, looked apprehensive. But the older and more responsible Garholters, who did not know it, took Gest aside and gave him the benefit of their advice. They did not know then that Gest was a hero.

“See here,” said the oldest Chanter, “Og has no right to take that tone with you. He may be the senior Chief, but we’ve made no treaty with him. Send me back to say No.”

“He’s giving you orders because he can’t afford to pay for our help,” said the goldsmith. “But we Garholters have our pride.” He looked round, with satisfaction, at the gold glimmering on people’s necks and wrists.

“I’ll say No very tactfully,” said the Chanter.

“Why is he so set on fighting the Dorig?” Gest asked.

“It’s the natural order of things,” Miri, the Beekeeper’s wife, told him. “Men against Dorig, Giants against men.”

“They say the only good Dorig is a dead Dorig,” added the oldest smith.

The Beekeeper, who always had news, said, “The Dorig have been pulling their people and sheep under water for years. A while back, they took to waiting outside Otmound in their own shapes and attacking anyone they met. Og warned everyone who went outside to carry a thornbush against them, but Dorig don’t seem to be afraid of thorns the way they used to be. Their latest trick is to pretend to be game when the Otmounders are out hunting: let a man chase them, then shift to their true shape and kill him. You know their crafty ways.”

“Well, no,” Gest said apologetically. “I’ve only met a Dorig once and it ran away before I could speak to it.”

“Then you have a lot to learn,” said the smith.

Gest smiled again. “I know I have. That’s why I think I’d better go over the Moor and talk to Og.”

To the consternation of all Garholt, this is just what Gest did. He sent Og’s messenger back to say he was coming and then prepared to set out himself, with only Banot for company. Everyone implored him to consider. They reminded him there was no one to be Chief after him. They said, if he must go, he should take twenty good men with him to protect him from Dorig. They told him fearsome tales about the way the Dorig sacrificed their victims and hung them up to the Sun.

Gest attended to none of it. He was quite pleasant, but completely firm. The Garholters discovered that their new Chief was the most obstinate man on the Moor. They respected him greatly for that, but it made them all the more anxious to have him safe back again. They took Banot aside and made him promise to see Gest was safe.

“I’ll do what I can,” said Banot. “But you don’t know Gest.”

They had to be content with that. Everyone anxiously watched the two set off along the line of the old road. The early Sun glinting on the gold collar of each was the only bright thing about them. Their clothes and weapons were dull and serviceable. Banot’s harp was shut in a dingy travelling case, so that it would not catch the attention of Giants. When the two had disappeared into the mists, the Garholters retired to the mound and spoke words for their safety. Then they waited.

Two days later, to their dismay, Banot came back alone. He was vague-eyed and abstracted, and Tille was the only one who was wholeheartedly glad to see him. The rest crowded round him, demanding to know where Gest was.

“In Otmound, I suppose,” Banot said vaguely. “He sent me home.”

Though they were all relieved to hear Gest was still alive, they wanted to know what Og had said, why Banot had been sent back, and what Gest was doing.

Banot seemed tired. “Gest always does things his own way,” was all he would say. “Someone bring me a drink.”

Miri, the Beekeeper’s wife, hurried up with beer, hoping it would loosen Banot’s tongue. Tille helped him take the harp off his back. The case came open as she did so, and she noticed that one of the harp strings had broken. It had been replaced by a queer pale length of gut, which gave off a strong smell of glue.

“Where did you come by that peculiar string?” she said.

“Oh that – I had to take what I could get,” said Banot. He drank some beer, seemed to recover, and began to laugh a little. “I’ve been singing and playing and talking for hours,” he said. “I’ve no voice left and I ache all over.”

“Was this in Otmound?” said Tille, glad to hear things were so merry there.

Banot shook his head. “No. By the roadside. We met some friends, Gest and I, while we were on our way – no one you know, but great fellows – and I stopped over with them on the way back.” He laughed. “The best of friends.”

“But when is Gest coming?” everyone wanted to know.

“In a day or so,” said Banot, yawning. “If he comes at all. And he may be in a hurry.” With that, he laughed and yawned and staggered off to sleep, leaving no one much the wiser. Nor would he say any more the next day.

Gest arrived in the middle of the following night. The first anyone knew of it was when Gest turned and shouted the words that sealed the main door against enemies. Startled by the shout and the thump of the door, people scrambled from their beds. Someone had the sense to raise the light, whereupon everyone stared in amazement. Gest had brought with him a beautiful young woman, tall and pale, with hair as black as peat. Both of them were splashed with mud to the eyebrows and almost too much out of breath to speak. Gest no longer wore his golden collar. The woman, on the other hand, wore a collar richer and more intricate than anyone in Garholt had seen before in their lives.

“Speak the rest of the doors shut!” Gest panted to the first person to arrive.

The boy scampered to do as he was told. The rest crowded up, shouting, “Why? Is it Dorig?”

Gest had used up all his breath and could only shake his head. The young woman shyly answered instead. “It’s my brother, Orban. I’m Og’s daughter, Adara.”

This caused gasps and murmurs. It was well known that Og loved his daughter more than he loved himself. Adara was said to be the most beautiful woman on the Moor, and the wisest who ever lived. And it looked as if Gest had carried her off.

“War,” said the Beekeeper gloomily. “This means war.”

“Doesn’t,” said Gest, still very short of breath. “Did three tasks for her. Marry her tomorrow. Got to rest now. Get a feast ready.”

“Just like that!” Miri said indignantly, as she and Tille led Adara off to Tille’s house to rest. “Does he think we can have a feast ready in five minutes?”

“Of course you can’t,” said Adara. “I don’t suppose he thought. I’ll go back and tell him to put it off, shall I?”

This of course put both Tille and Miri on their mettle. “You’ll do no such thing!” said Tille. “We’ll manage.”

“Besides, if he’s carried you off, it’s not proper to wait,” said Miri.

“He didn’t carry me off. I came of my own accord,” Adara protested.

“What you thought of it doesn’t count,” Miri said severely. “Now you get to bed and get some rest. We’ll see to it.”

By the time she and Tille had put Adara to bed, they had both lost their hearts to her. Neither of them blamed Gest for losing his. “Or his head into the bargain,” Miri said sourly. Adara was gentle and sympathetic and not in the least proud. But the greatest point in her favour, Miri and Tille agreed, was that though she was supposed to be the Wisest Woman ever, you would never have known it from the way she talked. “I can’t abide Wise Women who are always letting you know what a fool you are,” said Miri, from bitter experience, being a Wise Woman herself. “I wish she’d told us what happened though. Now we’ll have to wait for brother Orban to tell us.”

Orban arrived as she spoke. Garholt quivered with the noise. From the shouts and thumps at the main door, it sounded as if half the men of Otmound had come with Orban.

Gest, refreshed with a long drink of beer, took all the men of Garholt out of the side doors. The two bands confronted one another under a full Moon and everyone inside the mound waited for the battle to begin.

Orban, who had grown into a lumpish, sulky man, stepped out in front of the massed Otmounders and scowled at Gest. “I want to speak to you alone,” he said.

The Garholters were beginning to get used to Gest. They were not surprised when he agreed. The Otmounders, however, were clearly very surprised. They stared uneasily after Orban and Gest as the two climbed to the top of the mound together. But Orban made no attempt to hit Gest. Instead, he spoke to him in an undertone, savagely and urgently. Nobody heard what he said. Once Gest, who had been shaking his head at Orban every so often, put both hands up to his neck, with the gesture of a man about to remove his collar. Then he seemed to remember his collar was gone, and took his hands away.

“No, the other one, you fool!” Orban was heard to say. “The one Kasta—” But then he realised other people could hear and lowered his voice again.

“Who’s Kasta?” the younger smith whispered to Banot.

“Orban’s wife,” whispered Banot. “Awful woman. She—”

He was interrupted by a roar from Orban. “GIANTS! You—!”

Gest said something loudly at the same time. Orban seemed to calm down. He stood under the Moon with his arms folded, growling sullenly at Gest, and Gest seemed to be watching him warily. One thing at least was clear: Orban did not like Gest and Gest did not much care for Orban. Gest said something. Then, to everyone’s surprise, the two of them shook hands. Orban turned and came jauntily down the mound, looking as if a weight was off his mind. He smiled, and waved airily to the seventy Otmounders waiting below Garholt.

“Right, everyone,” he said. “That’s it. We’re going.”

“Going? Without Adara?” one of them asked blankly.

“Yes. I’ve told Gest she can stay. He did three tasks for her after all,” Orban said gaily. He shepherded them back along the roadline. They went reluctantly, and it was plain they were very puzzled indeed.

So that was how Gest came to marry Adara. As to quite how he had managed it, the Garholters were mystified. But from what they had heard so far, it was clear to them that Gest was a hero and a Chief straight out of the old stories. Three tasks! They were agog with pride and curiosity. Though some people took the reasonable line that this kind of thing was well enough in the days of King Ban, but what was needed nowadays was a careful, steady Chief, nobody could wait to find out exactly what Gest had done to win Adara.

But neither Gest nor Adara would talk about it and if Banot knew, he was not saying either. People kept their eyes and ears open for hints all through the bustle of preparing the wedding feast, working a new gold collar for Gest, making clothes for Adara, and the hundred other things necessary, but no one learnt anything until the wedding feast was in full swing. Then Miri happened to come up with wine for Banot, just as Adara approached him from the other side.

Adara looked more beautiful than ever in her wedding dress, but she also looked troubled. “Banot,” she said, “what do you know of the Old Power, the Middle and the New?”

Banot, like all the Chanters, was working hard, playing for the dancing and singing. His face had been flushed and shiny. But Miri saw, when he looked up at Adara, his face was pale. “Those are Dorig things,” he said. “You shouldn’t talk of them at a time like this.”

“Just tell me if you know how to appease them,” Adara said coaxingly.

Banot would not look at her. He stared straight ahead, with his fingers ready on a chord. “I only know one way,” he said, “and that’s by sacrifice. And if I told you what kind and how made, we’d have to stop the feast and chant for luck until the new Moon.” Then he struck the chord and began playing to prevent Adara saying any more.

Adara turned away, looking appalled. It was some time before she seemed happy again. And Miri was equally upset. It was well known how the Dorig sacrificed. Sometimes hunting parties would come upon the corpses of their sacrifices hanging in the Sun to rot. If you had the bad luck to find one, the only thing to do was to stop and use the very strongest of the strong words, or the Dorig Powers would fasten on you. Giants sometimes sacrificed in the same way, but they only used moles, weasels and other small animals, whereas the Dorig used men, women and Dorig. Miri, not knowing why Adara should ask otherwise, began to have a suspicion that Gest or Adara had invoked the Dorig Powers to help Gest perform his three tasks. She became more anxious than anyone to know just what had happened in Otmound.

The story came out gradually, piece by piece – nobody really knew how. It seemed that Gest and Adara had fallen in love as soon as they set eyes on one another. Gest promptly asked Og if he could marry Adara. Now Og was hoping Gest would bring him the men of Garholt to fight the Dorig, so he did not want to offend him. But neither could he bear to have his beloved Adara go right away to the other side of the Moor. He had been in great distress. “The silly old woman!” Miri said contemptuously. No one in Garholt thought much of Og.

During a sleepless night, Og hit on the notion of making Gest do three tasks to win Adara’s hand. He had an idea this would appeal to Gest’s adventurous spirit. But he would make the tasks totally impossible. When Gest failed to do them, Og would be very sorry and very kind, keep Adara to himself and still keep Gest friendly enough to help him fight the Dorig. As Og hoped, Gest was delighted to perform three tasks for Adara, but since he saw Og was going to refuse to let him have Adara if he could, Gest sent Banot home, so that no one could say he had used a Chanter’s help.

Og thought he had chosen cunningly. He announced that the first task was to answer riddles. He could see Gest was a man of action, not a thinker. Anyone in Garholt or Islaw could have told him that too. Gest could not answer riddles to save his life. Yet Gest had stood in front of Og for a whole day steadily answering all the riddles Og and his Chanters could devise, and getting them right. Perhaps love had sharpened his wits. But no one in Garholt thought it was natural.