Lords And Ladies

'And what do you want?'

'I don't want anything.'

'Everyone wants something. Otherwise, why are you here?'

'I just wanted to find out if you was real.'

'To you, certainly . . . you have good sight.' The girl nods. You could bounce rocks off her pride. 'And now you have learned this,' said the woman in the circle, 'what is it that you really want?'

'Nothing.'

'Really? Last week you went all the way up to the mountains above Copperhead to talk to the trolls. What did you want from them?'

The girl put her head on one side.

'How do you know I did that?'

'It's at the top of your mind, girl. Anyone could see it. Anyone with . . . good sight.'

'I shall be able to do that one day,' said the girl smugly.

'Who knows? Possibly. What did you want from the trolls?'

'I . . . wanted to talk to them. D'you know they think time goes backward? Because you can see the past, they say, and-'

The woman in the circle laughed.

'But they are like the stupid dwarfs! All they are interested in is pebbles. There is nothing of interest in pebbles.'

The girl gives a kind of one-shoulder uni-shrug, as if indicating that pebbles may be full of quiet interest.

'Why can't you come out from between the stones?'

There was a distinct impression that this was the wrong question to have asked. The woman carefully ignored it.

'I can help you find far more than pebbles,' she said.

'You can't come out of the circle, can you?'

'Let me give you what you want.'

'I can go anywhere, but you're stuck in the circle,' said the girl.

'Can you go anywhere?'

'When I am a witch I shall be able to go anywhere.'

'But you'll never be a witch.'

'What?'

'They say you won't listen. They say you can't keep your temper. They say you have no discipline.'

The girl tossed her hair. 'Oh, you know that too, do you? Well, they would say that, wouldn't they? But I mean to be a witch whatever they say. You can find things out for yourself. You don't have to listen to a lot of daft old ladies who've never had a life. And, circle lady, I shall be the best witch there has ever been.'

'With my help, I believe you may,' said the woman in the circle. 'Your young man is looking for you, I think,' she added mildly

Another of those one-shoulder shrugs, indicating that the young man can go on looking all day.

'I will, will I?'

'You could be a great witch. You could be anything. Anything you want. Come into the circle. Let me show you.'

The girl takes a few steps forward, and then hesitates. There is something about the woman's tone. The smile is pleasant and friendly, but there is something in the voice too desperate, too urgent, too hungry.

'But I'm learning a lot-'

'Step through the stones now!'

The girl hesitates again.

'How do I know-'

'Circle time is nearly over! Think of what you can learn! Now!'

'But-'

'Step through!'

But that was a long time ago, in the past[3]. And besides, the bitch is . . .

. . . older.

A land of ice . . .

Not winter, because that presumes an autumn and perhaps one day a spring. This is a land of ice, not just a time of ice.

And three figures on horseback, looking down the snow covered slope to a ring of eight stones. From this side they look much bigger.

You might watch the figures for some time before you realised what it was about them that was strange- stranger, that is, than their clothing. The hot breath of their horses hung in the freezing air. But the breath of the riders did not.

'And this time,' said the figure in the centre, a woman in red, 'there will be no defeat. The land will welcome us. It must hate humans now.'

'But there were witches,' said one of the other riders. 'I remember the witches.'

'Once, yes,' said the woman. 'But now . . . poor things, poor things. Scarce any power in them at all. And suggestible. Pliant minds. I have crept about, my deary. I have crept about o'nights. I know the witches they have now. Leave the witches to me.'

'I remember the witches,' said the third rider insistently. 'Minds like . . . like metal.'

'Not anymore. I tell you, leave them to me.' The Queen smiled benevolently at the stone circle.

'And then you can have them,' she said. 'For me, I rather fancy a mortal husband. A special mortal. A union of the worlds. To show them that this time we mean to stay.'

'The King will not like that.'

'And when has that ever mattered?'

'Never, lady.'

'The time is right, Lankin. The circles are opening. Soon we can return.'

The second rider leaned on the saddlehorn.

'And I can hunt again,' it said. 'When? When?'

'Soon,' said the Queen. 'Soon.'

It was a dark night, the kind of darkness which is not simply explainable by absence of moon or stars, but the darkness that appears to flow in from somewhere else-so thick and tangible that maybe you could snatch a handful of air and squeeze the night out of it.

It was the kind of darkness which causes sheep to leap fences and dogs to skulk in kennels.

Yet the wind was warm, and not so much strong as loud — it howled around the forests and wailed in chimneys.

On nights like this, normal people would pull the covers over their head, sensing that there were times when the world belonged to something else. In the morning it would be human again; there would be fallen branches, a few tiles off the roof, but human. For now . . . better to snuggle down. .

But there was one man awake.

Jason Ogg, master blacksmith and farrier, pumped the bellows of his forge once or twice for the look of the thing, and sat down on his anvil again. It was always warm in the forge, even with the wind whistling around the eaves.