Boneland. Part 25

'I've been to Toft.'

'Then you'll know.'

'Yes. And I've found her.'

'Where?'

'Here.'

'So you understand. You asked the Question.'

'Yes.'

'Do you understand the answer?'

'Yes.'

'So?'

'I've stopped the hurt.'

'What a long way to market, eh?'

'Yes.'

'But that's the way it is and has to fare, my love. You end at the start. You told me yourself.'

'I did. Yes. I did.'

'We are always with you, Colin. Always have been. Always shall be. All three.'

'Three?'

'Three.'

'Her too?'

'Her too.'

'Her in the room?'

'Her in the room. Trinity. You are nothing without her. She is the shadow that shapes your light. The moon, Colin. Ever strong; ever dying; ever young; the same. We are the Three. With you. Of you. In you. No need to fear or find.'

'If you could have told me, from the start-'

'Ah. "If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there'd be no trade for tinkers." "If" is a big word, Colin. You had to do it yourself. I said so all along. I did tell you.'

'What's that noise?'

'Why don't you look?'

Colin turned his face to the other dish.

'It's only a crow,' he said. 'Carrion crow. Corvus corone corone.'

'Only a crow.'

'Yes. They're very common.'

'Then do it.'

'Yes.'

'That's the ticket. That's the ticket for soup.'

'Yes.'

'Now, Colin.'

'Yes.'

'Forgive yourself. Accept.'

'Yes.'

'Now, Colin.'

'Now, Meg.'

'And be.'

The wind was on the struts.

'Knickerty. Knackerty.'

The spanners gripped.

'Now. Now. Now.'

He disarmed the focus.

Colin left his robes and walked by Seven Firs and Goldenstone and Stormy Point to Saddlebole. He stepped up to the shelf and touched the quartz and laid his cheek against the rough of the sand. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I am sorry. I was wrong. I was so wrong. It is not Time. Sleep on.' He went around the scarp to Castle Rock. The telescope moved in azimuth and elevation to lock onto him. He held the black stone: the stone that held stars and galaxies, all heavens in the hand that had held its making. He went to the thrust of the rock above the air and looked down. He looked up. He walked along the brink, along the line of nothing, between sky and ancient river. He turned from the rock towards the dish. It waited. He spoke.

'Listen.'

I see a new Story. I see a Dream.

Tell me, said the other.

'I'll tell you. I've got to tell you.'

I sang and danced and cut the woman. I sang and danced and I cut strong. I cut with the last bone of the Mother, to fetch the woman. But you have come.

'I must tell you.'

I am spirit. I am peace. Take the Stone. Take the bone of the Mother.

'I will.'

Sing, dance, cut. Bring back the sun.

'I shall.'

It is a true Story, said the other. It is a true Dream. Sleep now.

Also by Alan Garner.

FICTION.

The Weirdstone of Brisingamen.

The Moon of Gomrath.

Elidor The Owl Service.

Red s.h.i.+ft.

A Bag of Moons.h.i.+ne The Lad of the Gad.

The Stone Book Quartet.

Strandloper.

Thursb.i.t.c.h.

ESSAYS.

The Voice that Thunders.

end.