A RAVEN EMBOSSED IN GOLD

4. The Hollow Road

I threw the saddle bag containing my few possessions over my shoulder and continued on foot, slower now, caught by brambles and thorns until I fell upon my knees in a ditch by a hedge at the edge of a field, unable to go any further, waiting for the end. For a moment as I knelt there the clouds parted and the white moon shone down and as I raised my face to its betraying light I saw that I was not alone. A stranger stood above me, cloaked in black night and silent as the tomb. I covered my face with my hands and begged. I swore I would do anything he asked if he would save me, I would have torn out my heart and given it to him if he would have only kept me hidden from my pursuers. It was only when I looked again that I saw the truth, that the dark stranger was nothing but the trunk of a dead tree cloaked in ivy, with a great dark bird perched above, cocking its head and regarding me with its bright black eye.

A sudden shout echoed behind me, closer than I had imagined, and the bird took flight, swooping in the darkness, its feathered pinions beckoning me. I followed, crossing the field at a diagonal, heading for a pair of tall trees. It was only when I passed them that I knew where I had been led. For the first time since childhood I had entered one of the old fairy roads and I prayed then that it would afford me the same protection now as they had done then. I burrowed myself deep into the undergrowth and hid there, eyes closed but unsleeping, heart pounding like a hammer in my chest, my silent lips crying for my long lost mother as I lay there and awaited a fate that did not come. I heard the voices as they grew louder and then again as they faded away. My nemesis passed me by. Life, it seemed, was not yet done with me.

The white, sunless dawn found me picking my way through nettles and fireweed, every muscle in my body aching, every inch of exposed skin scratched and torn from my mad flight the previous night. Lost and alone I followed the fairy road. Too fearful to go back I was compelled to continue onward down that hollow road, shadowed by hawthorn, elder and ash. In my exhaustion and despair it seemed to me that I was suspended between worlds, that the fields and trees and farms that ought to have existed beyond those high-banked hedges had vanished and I walked a silent path across a white void.

It seems strange now, and I have wondered much about it, but it seems to me that I recall little of that journey. Like in a dream it seemed that I walked forever and went nowhere, passing beneath the same looming trees, through the same tangled undergrowth again and again until I woke, exhausted, and found myself staggering between the guardian trees into the sunlight of a new day and a field full of sheep, far from where I had begun.

By the time the sun had reached it’s zenith I had left the curious sheep far behind and was following the course of a small river. On the far bank parkland swept down toward a grand house sitting squat and square in the distance and, when I happened upon the grey stone bridge that spanned the river the hunger in my belly hardened my resolve and I determined to go there and either beg or steal the food that I craved.

Of course I never got the chance to do either. I walked brazenly down the driveway and was seen long before I reached the house. As I approached the door it opened and I expected to see a strong young footman sent to see me off, or a coachman with a whip. Instead, cautiously, a small grey man edged his way through the half opened door and stood upon the top step. His hands clasped in front of him, his eyes fastened upon me as though I were some long expected guest he was waiting to greet rather than a ragged stranger, spattered in mud, stumbling from hunger and exhaustion, escaping from the shadow of the noose.

For what seemed like a very long time we simply regarded each other, his mouth working as though he were about to speak. And then he frowned as if he had realised that I was not the person he had hoped. Though whether he saw me truly I did not know, for his first words, spoken in a thin, reedy voice, seemed to indicate that he saw something other than the beggar and thief that stood before him. He seemed to think that in some way he had summoned me there, that the simple coincidence of our meeting was his doing. He insisted that I had brought something to him, and he demanded to see it.

I had no idea what he meant, I thought I had brought him nothing; I thought I had come only to take. Wondering if he were perhaps deranged I sought to placate him. I still carried a loaded pistol in my pocket but I had no wish to empty it into this frail, grey vessel that stood before me twisting his hands together in anticipation or in fear. I had no desire to harm him and besides, there may have been a guardian or madhouse attendant waiting behind the half opened door. As I stood there, confused and silent, searching my mind for a reply, for something to offer in return for food, I noticed that his greedy eyes had left my face and were now fixed upon the saddle bag I still carried, slung across my shoulder. I had a sudden inspiration.

'Books,' I said. 'I bring you books.' And I watched his pinched little face light up with joy.

Epilogue

I woke the next morning, my dream full and heavy in my head. I shaved and descended the stairs. To my consternation I met John Childermass as he broke his fast, sitting as he had sat the night before, his feet propped upon the hearth. He greeted me cordially but must have thought I was half witted for I stumbled upon my words, unable to know what to say to this man whose life and secrets I had dreamed, but who I knew not at all. Finally I managed to stumble out the words to greet him, to ask him if he had slept well that night.

He nodded and smiled his wry smile, saying that he always slept better when he could hear the sound of a river.