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4. Gwarulch by Night / The Raqwitch Looks to the South
“THE AWE-GUH-AY-ER,” PAUL said once again, trying to match Aleyne’s pronunciation. The two of them sat at the prow of the River Daughter, which was rapidly making progress down that difficultly named river, aided by the current and the poling of Ennan and Amos, the brothers who owned the narrowboat.
As Aleyne had expected, Paul had slept through two nights and a day, waking only that morning, rested if no less anxious. They had immediately embarked on the River Daughter and the pair had spent the morning talking. Paul had spoken of his “adventures”, and of Julia and the Ragwitch; he’d also learnt that Aleyne was in fact Sir Aleyne, a Knight of the Court at Yendre–though from Aleyne’s description of what he did, he sounded more like a cross between a policeman and a park ranger, and he didn’t look at all like the knights in books or films. Aleyne had a particular love of the river Awgaer and spent much of his time on its waters, or in the villages that shared the river banks with the wildfowl and water rats.
“Perhaps you should just call it ‘the river’,” said Aleyne, laughing at Paul’s eighth attempt. “I hope you can do better with Rhysamarn–the Wise might refuse to see you if you can’t pronounce the name of their favourite mountain.”
“Really?” asked Paul, who was often taken in by Julia’s jokes, but Aleyne was already laughing, his black moustache quivering with each chuckle.
“No, lad–just my joke! But the Wise are strange, it’s true, and Rhysamarn is a strange mountain–or so they say.”
“You’ve never been there?”
“Well, I have almost been there,” replied Aleyne, “but I didn’t see the Wise. It was some years ago, when I was more foolish and rather vain. I thought to ask the Wise…well, I thought to gain some insight into procuring the love of a certain lady–a passing fancy, nothing more.”
“What happened?” asked Paul eagerly, hoping that Aleyne (who was looking rather sheepish) wouldn’t avoid the question and trail off into a completely different story.
“To tell the truth,” continued Aleyne, “I was halfway up the mountain when my horse brushed a tree and knocked down a wasps’ nest. The wasps chased me all the way down to the water trough at the Ascendant’s Inn, and my face was so stung I couldn’t go to Court for weeks–or see the lady.”
“Perhaps you did see the Wise after all,” laughed Amos, who had been listening at the stern. Ennan laughed too, till both had to pole hard to keep the narrowboat straight within the current.
“Maybe I did,” said Aleyne. “The lady in question did turn out to be rather different from what I had thought…”
“Yes, but why are you taking me to this Rhysamarn place?” asked Paul. “Will the Wise find my sister and take both of us back where we belong?”
“As to the first,” answered Aleyne, “only the Wise could possibly know what has become of your sister–especially if she has become mixed up with…the One from the North.”
Paul noticed that while Aleyne didn’t make the sign against witchcraft as often as old Malgar the Shepherd, he still did it occasionally–and he didn’t like using the Ragwitch’s name, now that he suspected She really did exist. “The One from the North” was the phrase he used to speak of the Ragwitch, or “Her”, with a hissing, audible capital “H”.
“And for the second,” Aleyne continued, “I have never heard of such a place as yours, with its…carz and Magics, so I suspect that if it does exist–and I believe you–the Wise will know of some way to get you back there.”
“I hope so,” replied Paul sadly. Relaxing in this boat was all very well, and safely exciting, but it was still the world of the May Dancers, their forest…and the Ragwitch. Paul wished the Ragwitch had taken him, rather than Julia, so his sister would be the one who had to look for him. Still, from what Aleyne had hinted at, being with the Ragwitch wouldn’t be very nice at all–maybe even scarier than the forest…
Paul slowly drifted off to sleep, one hand trailing over the side, occasionally brushing the water. Aleyne watched him as he turned and mumbled about his sister Julia, and how life just wasn’t fair.
When Paul awoke, it was early evening. The River Daughter was rocking gently, tied up against a jetty of old, greenish logs. Sitting up, Paul saw that the river was no longer narrow, but had widened into a majestic, slowmoving stretch of water at least a hundred metres wide. On either bank, open woodland sloped away from the river. To the west, yellow sunlight filtered down through the trees, the evening sun dipping down behind the upper parts of the wood. Paul watched sleepily as a bird flew up from the trees, crying plaintively as it rose higher into the greying sky.
“Ornware’s Wood,” said Aleyne, who had been sitting on the wharf “Not as old as the May Dancers’ forest, but much more pleasant. And the only creatures you should find here are hedge-pigs, deer, squirrels and suchlike.”
“No kangaroos?” asked Paul, half-heartedly. From the sound of it, they were going to have to walk through this wood, and it was still much like the May Dancers’ forest, no matter what Aleyne said.
“Kangaroos,” mused Aleyne (after Paul had described them). “No, I think there are none of those in Ornware’s Wood. But I have heard of animals like you describe, far to the south. Anyway, we must be going. There’s still an hour left of this half-light and we will camp not too far away.”
“OK,” replied Paul. “But where’s Ennan and Amos?”
Aleyne looked at the empty boat for a second, then answered, “They’ve gone to pay their respects to a…man…who holds power over the next stretch of the river.”
Paul wondered about Aleyne’s hesitation in describing the person the boatmen had gone to see. But Aleyne had already grabbed his pack and the smaller one he’d made up for Paul–though it seemed heavy enough to its bearer.
Half an hour later it seemed even heavier, although the going was easy and the wood pleasantly cool. Paul was glad when Aleyne finally stopped and dropped his pack against a gnarled old oak. Paul thankfully followed suit and sat down next to his temporarily eased burden.
“We shall camp here,” said Aleyne. “There’s a small stream beyond that clump of trees. It drains into the river and its water is clear and fresh. This will do very well; and from here it is a little less than a day to the Ascendant’s Inn at the foot of Rhysamarn.”
Paul looked glumly around the camp site. He didn’t like camping, particularly when there was no shower and toilet building nearby, nor a caravan in case it rained. Julia, of course, loved camping, though she normally didn’t get the chance if Paul had anything to do with it.
“Where’s our tent?” he asked Aleyne, as the latter opened up his pack and took out a small iron pot.
“Tent?” replied Aleyne, holding up the pot to the setting sun to look inside. “I have no tent–nor indeed a horse to carry such a heavy thing, all poles and cloth! I’ve a wool cloak, same as you’ll find in your pack. Good greasy wool will keep the weather out.”
“Oh,” said Paul, who hated
