The Silver Vortex by Moyra Caldecott

Author:Moyra Caldecott [Caldecott, Moyra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Myths and Legends, Romance
ISBN: 9781843193111
Publisher: Mushroom eBooks
Published: 2000-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Lark challenges Wardyke

One early dawn, after a night of tossing and turning, Lark made a decision. She climbed the slope of the hill that led to the great burial mound overlooking the valley where her village lay. The grass that covered it was wet and the lower part of her skirt was soaked through by the time she stood upon its brow. The entrance to the mound was sealed by a gigantic slab of stone. There was a small courtyard where the mortuary priest performed his ceremonies, but this was now deserted. The ritual of the ancestors usually took place at night, when the living felt themselves much closer to the dead.

Wardyke’s urn of ashes was here, and although Lark hoped that his fell soul was long gone from this place, she knew that the remains of a person, or something that had been very close to him for a long time in life, might sometimes be used for recall.

Desperation had driven her to such measures. She knew she should enlist the help of the mortuary priest and do the thing properly at the appropriate time of the night... but from what she had heard of Wardyke she would not want to encounter him at night. No, the dawn was the best time — when all light and growing things, hope and love and joy were at their strongest. Let his shade come now when it could do the least harm. She had to find out about her child — one way or another.

Isar had kept Wardyke’s dagger. It was well wrapped up and hidden, but for some reason Isar did not want to part with it. She had respected his wishes, knowing that Wardyke was his natural father in this lifetime, and, for a brief period when he was a child, he had been close to him. She knew also that whatever later grief had come their way, in the ancient days they had been close friends. She hated having it in the house, especially now, when she feared that Wardyke was beginning to overshadow them again. It seemed to her that it might well be acting like a lodestone to draw him back.

This day she had it with her. She trembled at the risk she was taking, and she had told no one of her intentions. Not even Fern. She felt she had to do this thing alone.

Lark stepped into the small forecourt before the entrance slab and composed herself for her task. She had no clear idea of how she was going to achieve what she wanted to achieve — or even if it was possible. She stood facing the centre of the long corridor she knew was behind the sealing stone. She pictured the small chambers that led off on either side, the dark little cells containing the bones and relics of the ancient chieftains and their families, and, more recently, the Spear-lords and those whom they wished to honour.

She tried to picture Wardyke — not as ash, but as he was in life, as she had heard him described.

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