The Silver Witch(39)
Tilda sees a tall, wiry young man, dressed against the cold, talking in an animated manner with his colleagues.
‘If there’s anything more you want to know about the find,’ says the professor, ‘he’s your man. I’m sure he’d be delighted to talk to you.’
As they watch, the group turns away from their precious excavation and begins to move back toward the tent. The professor hails them.
‘Lucas! Molly! There is someone here who would very much like to meet you.’
When Lucas lets his gaze fall on Tilda as he shakes her hand, she has the distinct impression she is being studied rather than stared at, as if she, too, were an unexpected find. Introductions are made, during which Tilda learns that the pair are both working on their doctorates at the university, that Molly is married and has left her two small children at home with her husband in order to be part of the dig, and that Lucas is every bit as passionate about the find as the professor. She does her best to take in everything she is being told, but she is feeling increasingly unwell. She is aware of Professor Williams explaining, somewhat sketchily, her interest in the history of the lake, but his voice is growing distant, and her legs feel in danger of buckling beneath her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m not feeling very well. I … I think I probably just need something to eat.’
‘Excellent idea,’ says the professor.
Dylan nods. ‘The Red Lion does the best steak and kidney pudding in Wales. Have you tried it yet?’
‘No, I…’ The idea of a cozy pub, a proper hot meal, and a chance to sit and talk in company is hugely appealing.
Lucas steps in. ‘Well, we’ve had to shut things down here for the day. Temperature is just too low. Can’t risk moving anything while the ground is this frozen. We might try to get some heat into it tomorrow, if there isn’t a thaw. Meantime, lunch sounds like a plan. Happy to fill you in on what we think we’ve found. If you’re interested,’ he tells Tilda.
‘Yes, I am. That’d be great. Oh, can I bring Thistle?’
Lucas regards the dog as if he has only just noticed her. ‘Well, I don’t know if she’ll be allowed in,’ he says.
‘I know the landlord. Mike’ll be cool about it. If I ask him,’ Dylan assures them. The point made, he leads them all in the direction of the village pub, Lucas falling into step behind him, the professor picking up the subject of the skeleton as they make their way along the muddy path.
SEREN
The moment has come. The moon is full, its beams pure and strong, touching the surface of the lake with silver. The night is at its deepest now, and all on the crannog, save the bored watchmen, are sleeping; the cattleman curled around his plump little wife; the blacksmith warm in his forge; young brothers and sisters heaped together like puppies, snuffling and squeaking as they chase sleep; the new mother dozing with her babe at her breast; even the horses slumber, eyelids drooping, resting a hind hoof, heads low, minds slowed and numbed to the world. And my prince, he will be snug beneath his fine cloths, his princess at his side, the two of them private behind the drapery of their princely bed. She will dream of a future filled with children. Their children. Each one a promise of loyalty, of protection, of respect, of continued privilege and position, as they scamper about the great hall carrying his likeness and his blood into the next and future generations.
And will my prince dream? Does he dare to? So great are his responsibilities. So many have put their lives, and their families’ lives, into his strong hands. Dare he let his secret thoughts run free in the haven of his nighttime imaginings? Will he allow himself there, and then, to be a man before he is a prince? To be young? To follow his heart? Or would to do so weaken the prince in his waking hours? Would he yearn for that other, fleeting happiness? Might he risk diminishing himself so?
I know that I must not.
And this night I am engaged in work that serves to remind me well of my place. Of my purpose. I seek a vision for the princess. I search for a seeing. For an answer to her question. For a way for her to have what it is she desires more than any silver trinket or jeweled necklace or gold-threaded gown. This night I am her prophet and her servant. Though she does not truly love Prince Brynach, nor he her. Though he would choose another if he were free to do so. Though I do not trust her intentions. I do not believe her to be loyal. Despite all this, I will do what I can for her. I will do what I must.
I have kept my fire well stoked, and even now the logs burn bright on a bed of scarlet embers. My outdoor fire pit is three strides from my front door, and five from the lake. Earlier I gathered and prepared everything necessary for my vision quest. I have spread my finest deerskin upon the gritty ground, so that I might lie in comfort as my spirit travels, and so that I will be accompanied by the spirit of the departed deer. The night is cold enough to freeze a shallow puddle, but not so bitter as to bother me while I lie still beneath the stars. I am close enough to the fire to benefit from its heat, and over my tunic I wear my fine woolen cape, its hood pulled up to keep my head warm. I might have chosen my wolf skin, but its own music would be at odds with that of the deer whose assistance I am hoping for. This is to be a gentle quest, not a hunt. Besides, the cape was a present from the prince. It is fitting that something of him should accompany me on my journey.