The Raven's Knot by Robin Jarvis

Author:Robin Jarvis [Jarvis, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction / General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780006750130
Publisher: HarperCollins UK
Published: 1995-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16 - Two Lost Souls

Following Aidan's counsel, Neil took the Wellhouse Lane approach to the Tor. This route began as a narrow track fenced in upon either side by a thick growth of trees and bushes. It finished abruptly at a metal gateway, beyond which the great hill swept impressively upwards.

It was not until he was halfway up this momentously steep slope that the boy's anger began to diminish. The climb was not difficult, for a stepped pathway had been cut into the inclining turf, but his leg muscles ached all the same.

Tackling it from this direction however, a trick of perspective lent the tower of Saint Michael the illusion that it was retreating behind the mountainous hill—sliding steadily down the bank opposite to the one which Neil was doggedly toiling up.

Pausing to gaze at the odd, solitary structure, that tall stone finger which claimed the pagan site in the name of the Archangel, the boy assured himself that it could not be much further. Yet, just when he thought he had neared the summit, he discovered that he had only reached a shoulder-like formation and that there was still some distance to go along the Tor's deceptively long spine.

Exhausted for the moment, he took the opportunity to look around him and turned to gaze down upon the town of Glastonbury.

Neil was high above it now and, from that uncanny vantage point, it felt as if he was standing upon a circle of grass which had been cut adrift from the anchoring earth and was floating up to the clouds.

Sitting patiently by the boy's ear, Quoth delighted in the lofty airs which streamed through his mangy feathers and he flexed his primaries experimentally, longing to be able to soar over the tree tops. But his right wing was still too weak and he tucked it glumly by his side, jealously watching the other birds casually traversing the sky.

‘Thou must learn to endure thy affliction,’ he grumbled softly. ‘Envy may shooteth at others but doth ever wound herself.’

‘It doesn't look real,’ the boy said, contemplating the small houses below. ‘Like a toy landscape for a model railway.’

In the middle distance, the collection of buildings and streets branched out to form a spur of brick and slate—neatly lassoing a slightly smaller hump-backed mound than the one he was currently standing upon.

‘That must be Wearyall Hill,’ Neil muttered. ‘Aidan would know why it's called that. Do you think he really will come back? Miss Ursula said that I could trust him.’

Quoth rocked back and forth. ‘Trust him, verily,’ he chattered darkly, ‘yet look to thyself.’

Neil resumed the climb and the tower grew larger with every step until, finally, he was standing before its gaping arch.

Exposed to the ravaging gales, which on wild, wintry days whistled and ripped through the two door-less entrances at its base—those age worn stones had once been joined to a church, but an earthquake centuries ago had destroyed the nave. Now only the tower was left—a striking monument

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