cottages of Nether Norton with a mellow light. This yearâs Blazing was a fine one. Tonight was what the wizard, Gwydion, called in the true tongue âLughnasadâ, the feast of Lugh, Lord of Light, the first day of autumn, when the first-cut sheaves of wheat were gathered in to the village and threshed with great ceremony. On Loaf Day, grain was ground, and loaves of Lammas bread toasted on long forks and eaten with fresh butter. On Loaf Day, Valesfolk thought of the good earth and what it gave them.
Today the weather had almost been as good as Lammas two years ago when Will had taken Willowâs hand and they had circled the fire together three times sunwise, and so given notice that henceforth they were to be regarded as husband and wife.
He put his arm around Willowâs shoulders as she cradled their sleeping daughter in her arms. It was a delight to see Betheâs small head nestled in the crook of her motherâs elbow, her small hand resting on the blanket that covered her, and despite the dullness in the pit of his stomach, it felt good to be a husband and a father tonight. Lifeâs goodhere, he thought, so good itâs hard to see how it could be much better. If only that dull feeling would go away, tonight would be just about perfect.
But it would not go away â he knew that something was going to happen, that it was going to happen soon, and that it was not going to be anything pleasant. The foreboding had echoed in the marrow of his bones all day but, unlike a real echo, it had refused to die away. Which meant that it was a warning.
He brushed back the two thick braids of hair that hung at his left cheek and stared into the depths of the bonfire. Slowly he let his thoughts drift away from Nether Norton and slip into the fire-pictures that the flames made for him. He opened his mind and a dozen memories rushed upon him, memories of great days, terrible days, and worse nights. But the most insistent image was still of the moment when the sorcerer, Maskull, had raised him up in a blaze of fire above the stone circle called the Giantâs Ring. That night he had seen Gwydion blasted by Maskullâs magic, and afterwards, as Gwydion had tried to drain the harm from a battlestone, the future of the Realm had balanced on the edge of a knifeâ¦
It had been more than four years ago, but the dread he had felt on that night and the redeeming day that had followed remained alive in him. It always would.
âWill?â Willow asked, searching his face. âWhat are you thinking?â
He broached a smile. âMaybe Iâve taken a little too much to drink,â he said and touched his wifeâs hair. It was gold in the firelight and about as long as his own. He looked at her, then down at the child whose small hand had first clasped his finger just over a year ago. How she had begun to look like her mother.
âAh, but sheâs a beautiful child!â said old Baldgood the Brewster, his red face glowing from the dayâs sunshine. Hehad begun to clear up and was carrying one end of a table back into the parlour of the Green Man. The other end of the table was carried by Baldram, one of Baldgoodâs grown sons.
âSeems like Bethe was born only yesterday,â Will told the older man.
âSheâll be a year and a quarter old tomorrow, wonât you, my lovely?â Willow said dreamily.
âAye, and sheâll be grown up before you can say âJack oâ Lanternâ. Look at this big lumpkin of mine! Get a move on, Baldram my son, or weâll be out here all night!â
âMy, but heâs a bossy old dad, ainât he?â Baldram said, grinning.
Will smiled back at the alehouse-keeperâs son as they disappeared into the Green Man. It was hard to imagine Baldram as a babe-in-arms â nowadays he could carry a barrel of ale under each arm all the way down to Pannage and still not break into a sweat.
âHey-ho,