Sparks from the bonfire flew up into the starry sky. The castle bell tolled twelve times. It was midnight, and time for Arwen the Grand Teller to read the tell-stones.
Hands shaking with excitement, Quinn walked slowly towards the bonfire, where the Grand Teller stood, waiting. The dancers stopped whirling and gathered close. Lord Wolfgang and his painfully proper daughter sat on their chairs under the oak tree. Lady Elanor’s governess stood behind her, one hand weighing on her shoulder. She wore a huge red ring which seemed to make her hand even heavier.
The Lord of Frostwick Castle stood some distance away, watching with a curiosity that seemed tinged with mockery. His son stood at the banqueting table, gobbling down honey cakes.
Quinn knelt before the Grand Teller and gave her the bag of tell-stones. Arwen poured the small white pebbles out on a cloth spread under the birch tree, its branches hung with golden ribbons and yellow witcher’s herb.
Arwen then drew four tell-stones at once, placing the first to the north, the second to the west, the third to the south and the final stone to the east. Quinn knew that each direction of the compass represented a different element—Earth, Water, Fire and Air—and so had a different meaning.
Crossroads. Gate. Dark Moon. Skull.
The Grand Teller studied the four white stones carefully. Each had a symbol painted in silver upon it. She seemed to grow pale. Quinn examined the stones too, and felt a sudden dread.
‘There is danger coming,’ Arwen said. ‘Dark days lie ahead. We must all beware.’
Quinn saw Tom start violently, and then flash a look at Lady Elanor. Both seemed pale and anxious, and Quinn wondered what troubled them. It was not like Tom to pay much attention to what the Grand Teller saw in her tell-stones. Though, of course, anyone would be fearful at the sign of the Skull.
‘We are at a crossroads in our history. Strangers come, with dark magic and violence. There is death in the wind … death …’ Arwen’s voice rose and quickened. Her hands were clenched, her eyes wide and terrified.
‘What is it?’ Lord Wolfgang demanded. ‘What danger?’
Suddenly Arwen swayed on her feet. ‘Blood! I see blood! Betrayal and blood!’ she cried, before collapsing in a heap. Quinn rushed to help her, Tom a few steps behind. Together they lifted the old woman to a chair, where she drooped, her head in her hand. Her face was white as skim milk.
‘Carry her to her room,’ Lord Wolfgang commanded, and some servants came to lift her. Once again Tom glanced meaningfully at Lady Elanor, as if wanting her to do something. Lady Elanor only looked at her father wistfully, as if wishing he would turn and look at her.
Troubled and upset, Quinn gathered up the four tell-stones and put them back in their bag.
‘I am surprised you hold such old superstitions,’ the Lord of Frostwick said. ‘We got rid of our witch long ago.’
‘Perhaps that is why you do not prosper,’ the Lord of Wolfhaven replied, not tempering his words with any hint of a smile.
The Lord of Frostwick scowled. ‘I do not prosper because I have no river and no harbour, nor any of your fertile lands,’ he snapped. Then he eased his face with an effort. ‘I beg your pardon, I do not mean to quarrel. We’ve agreed not to discuss the matter until I can find some way to raise the funds to pay all your tolls and taxes. Let us hope we all have a bountiful harvest this year.’
‘The only harvest will be of dragon teeth and human bones,’ the Grand Teller muttered, lifting her head for a moment as the servants carried her towards the old oak tree.
‘What a gloomy old woman,’ Lord Mortlake said. ‘Shall we dance again? My son and I must leave at first light tomorrow, but there’s no reason not to enjoy ourselves now.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Music!’
Startled, the musicians seized their pipes and drums and lyres. Music rang out, and the lords and ladies took hands to dance about the bonfire once more. As Quinn began to pack away the cloth, Tom said to her in an undertone: ‘Quinn, you must tell the witch that I too have had a warning. I saw the wild man of the woods … he told me danger comes … that the wolves smell danger in the wind!’
‘Smelled something in the wind?’ Quinn replied. ‘That was probably you.’
‘Quinn, stop it, please,’ Tom pleaded. ‘No-one will listen to me … the wild man said I had to warn the lord.’ He made an abrupt move, as if about to charge over and accost the lord himself, and Quinn caught his arm, not wanting him to get into trouble.
‘Well, the Grand Teller has told him now,’ she answered. ‘We can only hope he listened to her.’
But the Lord of Wolfhaven Castle sat with his bearded chin sunk into his hands, staring at the bonfire as if recalling long ago midsummers, much brighter and merrier than this one.