The Standing Stone
The wolf’s wet nose nuzzled the boy’s hand as he stepped out of the Inn,
the beast’s soft warm strength pressed against his leg as they stepped out from the back door.
The pony was there, as ever, under the ancient apple tree,
her nose dripped gently from the drink she’d just taken at the trough.
He went up to her, she pushed her wet muzzle into his belly as he stroked her ears.
‘I’ll miss you …’ he whispered.
It doesn’t have to be forever, the pony answered him in mindspeech,
then she shoved him gently with her nose. Go on now.
And he went on, the wolf at his side, the rucksack on his shoulders holding his few worldly possessions
And the book. He would not leave the book.
The wolf nudged him leftwards as they came out from under the arch that led out of the back courtyard of the Inn.
He took in a deep breath, had lived her all his life and now …
Left again and round the side of the old building towards the Green and then a right past the shop.
The Lady saw him as she stood at the doorstep beside the black cat, nodded, smiling.
He swallowed hard and nodded back.
Round the edge of the Green now, past the crab apple and rowan trees at the side of the forge,
and then bear right past the allotments and right again around the front of the forge.
He could hear the clanging of the hammer, the blacksmith was forging something, he wondered what,
then jumped and blinked at the huge hiss and the cloud of steam that went up.
She came up to him holding up something long and bright in her hands,
it shimmered and glinted in the morning sun. What was it? Could it be?
His feet took him to the entrance and through the fence.
She stood there holding it up, as he came close he realised he was as tall as she now.
‘Here.’ She handed him a long, stiff leather sheath,
all worked with colours and inlaid with rubies, quartz and black tourmaline.
‘You’ll need this.’
He took it, saw how to affix it to his belt and did so.
She nodded, smiled. ‘Now … here …’
And she handed him the sword, the metal still all warm from the forging.
He expected weight but got none so his arm flew upwards as he took it from her.
‘Careful!’ she chuckled. ‘It’s true-silver, will never lose its edge now I have bathed it thrice in water and in fire.
You must learn to use it now … but not here.
Take it, and be gone with you
I’ll look forward to when I see you again and you can tell me the stories of what it’s shown you.
Take it. Sheath it. And be gone with you. I’ll see you when I see you, if at all.’
The boy sheathed the sword,
bowed deeply to the blacksmith, and turned again towards the road.
His eyes prickled now with tears.
Step by fateful step they approached the tall stone.
He wanted to slow down but the wolf would not allow it, nudged him ever on.
Closer and closer came the stone, shining whitely in the morning sun. and they arrived.
The boy turned, dropped to his knees before the wolf. ‘Can you not come with me?’
The deep ice-blue eyes, eyes that saw the wind, shone deep as they held his own.
You know I cannot, youngling. You must go alone … or not at all
And that would be a pity.
You have much to learn out in the wide world,
and will have much to bring home to us here in the Bonewood.
Can you do this thing?’
The boy looked deep into those eyes.
They showed him much, mountains and rivers, seas and cities, woods and deserts.
And people, people, people, everywhere.
‘Must I go?’
His own heart turned over,
he saw himself grown old and stupid, scarce knowing day from day, each looking the same
Did he want that?
‘I will go.’
He stood up now,
and now he saw the girl standing on the track as the end of the forge.
She watched him, a half-smile on her lips and in her eyes.
They held each other’s gaze a long moment and then he turned.
Drawing the sword, he sliced a fingertip,
wiped the blood in a circle on the standing stone
and, without lifting his finger, marked it inside with and equal armed cross.
‘I will return.
He kissed the stone, stepped out across the threshold between worlds.
