On Potters' Field (Part Two)

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

The unlikely duo weaved back and forth through the trees. Twice Thomekin concealed Claire in the dense fern beds scattered around the forest floor as he chattered with groups of his kinsfolk in their staccato tongue, and both of them had to hide from a band of whooping, half naked men chasing a terrified deer with an arrow sticking out of its side. Thomekin pulled his bow from his shoulder and readied a flint tipped arrow because he feared that the men would see them, but they passed by without incident. After a while they came across a little cave in a hillside almost hidden by hanging ivy. The goblin scuttled inside and re-emerged with a finely woven robe the same dark brown as his own clothing. “Put this on,” he whispered. “Your garb is way too bright, young lady, we need to make you less visible.”

The robe fit Clare perfectly, and it came down almost to her ankles. Around the neckline, she realised, was a pattern of tiny embroidered blue birds. “Sweet,” she said.

“Consider it a gift,” Thomekin said. “It's a flying robe, you're one with the birds.....”

Eventually the trees began to thin out and on the undulating plain beyond they followed the course of a tree-lined watercourse curling around a hill with three standing stones at its summit and a half moon of round barrows around its base. “It doesn't look exactly the same as I remember, but it's definitely the place,” Claire whispered. “But how can you use the stones to get me home? And how come there are no people here if this is human territory?”

“There are no people because this is sacred ground, only their shamans are allowed to walk here except during religious festivals. The village is in that direction, and there's another, much bigger settlement not far beyond it.

That triangle of stones, my dear, marks a terribly powerful place. The stones were not erected by the rag-tag groups of humans slowly taking over the area, and neither were they erected by goblins or elves – this was a sacred place before either of us arrived here. No one knows who first worshipped here, but my people have been here for several thousand years so it was clearly a very long time ago..... We have to skirt around the hill and climb it from the other side so we can't be seen from the village until we're at the top. My own magic isn't particularly potent, child, but maybe we won't need it, the stones themselves will deliver you home, I trust.”

It was a tough climb, and the hill was cripplingly steep. “It's nowhere near as steep as this in my time,” Claire said, “I often climb it with my family. I guess the rain must have eroded it over the years.” When they reached the slightly concave summit they crawled on their bellies until they were at the edge of the triangle of stones. “You see those spirals and odd letters carved into the monoliths? They're not visible in my time, and I've never heard anyone speak about any markings. My history teacher did her dissertation on this site when she was studying for her degree, and she's never mentioned it.” There were bones scattered on the bare ground, most of them animal bones including several horses skulls, but Claire spotted a few human jawbones. Tucked in a hollow carved in the base of one of the stones was an entire head, it still bore a layer of shrivelled skin and elaborately braided hair. “They make human sacrifices here?” she said.

“On occasion, yes,” Thomekin replied. “The humans currently occupying the villages over there sacrifice a few captives from other tribes during the summer and winter solstices, but the people they took the land from some fifty or sixty years ago after a long and bitter war were much more bloodthirsty – they slaughtered people all the time, women and children as well as men, and often the victims were from their own tribe. Crawl to the middle of the triangle, Claire, then you must sit up, raise your arms skywards and wait for the response of the stones. Hurry! The less attention we attract and the quicker I can get back to the cover of the trees the better.”

Claire did as Thomekin asked. At first she felt nothing unusual, but after a few moments she felt a vibration in the ground beneath her bottom. Before long it became a buzzing like a huge swarm of irate wasps, and the stones began to pulsate and hum in unison with the noise from the ground. The stone in front of her glowed a rich, deep orange, she guessed the others were glowing too but she couldn't turn her head, she was rooted to the spot. “Thomekin! What's happening?” she cried, but her voice was lost in the reverberating thrum.

“Don't worry, child!” Thomekin yelled. “It's just the old magic working. You probably can't hear me, but if you can I bid you farewell and good luck, I have to go before the villagers see me and fill my old hide full of arrows.” The goblin ran down the hill as fast as his legs would carry him, and soon he was hidden in the trees retracing his steps along the winding stream.

Claire blacked out because the pressure in her skull was too intense to bear, but she wasn't unconscious for long. When she opened her eyes the buzzing had gone, the arcane landscape had vanished and she was snuggled inside the old oak with the rain still falling outside though it wasn't anywhere near as heavy, and apart from an occasional low rumble in the distance the thunder had stopped. Her phone was ringing, and when she answered it it was her mother. “What happened, sausage? The line went dead and I had to call you back.”

“You called me straight back?”

“Yes, you know very well I did. I'm just starting the car up, where are you?”

“In Never-never land.”

“What?”

“I'm sheltering in the hollow tree in Potters' field, as soon as I see your car come around the bend I'll run down to the gate by the stream.”

“All right love, I'll see you in a tick. You shouldn't shelter under trees during a thunderstorm, mind.”

“Somehow you've been dreaming, you silly moo,” Claire muttered to herself. “Only you haven't possibly had time for that. And how the hell could anyone fall asleep in a thunderstorm?” Within the tight confines of the hollow oak she stood up to stretch her legs, and then she realised that she was still wearing the brown robe with the pattern of little blue birds that Thomekin had given her. “So sweet,” she said. Carefully she took off the garment, rolled it up and hid it at the bottom of one of her bags because for some reason she didn't want her mother to see it. She would cherish the goblin robe from a bygone age for as long as she lived.