The Eye of Time

THE EYE OF TIME Part 2

CHAPTER ONE

After following the steep path up the ridge from the River, Syllan led his two young companions at last into the village. He looked across the slope at a settlement scattered along a broad meadow, consisting of twenty or thirty huts around two much larger longhouses. It had been a long, hard journey across the mainland from their island home, but it looked now as if the end of his quest was finally in view.

He sat himself down on a stone at the edge of the settlement, sending Tokhan and Dutehar in to make enquiries. They looked a tough pair, in their dusty deerskin leggings and waistcoats, laden with their bags and weapons, but Dutehar's curly red hair and sunny countenance made their appearance much less threatening as they greeted the locals. Tokhan was every inch a warrior, but when his chiselled face broke into a welcoming smile, no-one could ever doubt his sincerity or intentions.

Even at this height, it was a warm summer's day with very little breeze, and Syllan found himself dozing lightly as he reflected that they were at last near their goal. With a nod of acknowledgement to the spirits, he hoped they would be successful after all this time.

Two grubby children came over to where he sat and stood staring at him with intense interest from a safe distance. He watched them from beneath his half-closed lids as they whispered to each other, each daring the other to approach him. At last, the young boy lost the argument and tentatively crept towards Syllan. When he was a step away, he stopped and bent forward, reaching out a hand to tag the stranger. Syllan opened his eyes and cocked his head to one side, making the boy leap back as if he'd been bitten. Smiling at his little trick, he greeted the children in their own language and took from his pouch a strip of dried venison which he broke in two and offered to them. They took the food readily, and after chewing thoughtfully for a moment, the girl found her tongue.

"You're not a demon! But you dress so strangely – do you come from the other side of the lake?"

"I've seen the lake people," her companion scoffed. "They dress just like us! These men come from far away, from the wilds beyond the sunset. Am I right?" he demanded of Syllan, who laughed, nodding slightly.

"I suppose that's true, in a way. But we don't think of it as the wilds. We think of it as home. We come from an island far towards the setting sun, but be certain the sun sets still further away for us, too. It has taken us four whole moons to travel here, seeking a seer who is a master at working with the spirits of rocks and stones."

"You mean Orelac! He's the best stone-changer in our land! He is a ..."

At that moment they were interrupted by a female voice loudly calling them home.

"Oh, we have to go!" The girl seized the boy's arm as they turned and ran towards the woman, who at that moment appeared around the side of one of the huts. Syllan leaned back, but before he could return to his daydreaming, Tokhan reappeared to tell him that a message had been sent to the seer Orelac.

"We must walk to the far side of the village to meet the messenger on his return. He will tell us there whether Orelac will see us or not."

Tokhan admitted he had not seen Dutehar for some time. He grinned ruefully; the young warrior had once again managed to disappear completely in a community of fewer than thirty households. No doubt he would be back by nightfall with some laughing woman on his arm and an invitation for the three of them to eat with a family in the next village. Syllan sighed, replaced his straw sun-hat, and hefted his bag onto his back to follow the more responsible of his companions.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the hut, Syllan was able properly to take in the man who stood before him. Lit by the flickering flames of the small fire in the centre of the floor, he stood facing Syllan with his arm raised in formal greeting. The seer was a hand-span shorter than Syllan himself, with a weatherworn face that had seen at least forty summers, framed by a thinning crop of curly grey hair and a dense white beard. He wore a plain, woven tunic and leggings in the local style, without any of the fancy decorations and animal bones so often favoured by other seers to advertise their status. Apart from a brindled hound curled up by the fire, he was alone. His smile of welcome was qualified by the curiosity evident in his gaze.