"You are discovered," said Darach quietly.
Colin didn't look at him, because he knew it was his fault. If he hadn't wanted to spite the old man, he would never have suggested that they go down into the valley in the first place.
"The horseman is dead," said Graham. "At least he wasn't breathing. I don't think. He can't tell anyone where we are."
Darach sighed.
"When the servant dies," he said, "the master knows. The riders are difficult to destroy, because they are not human. They are made of darkness, and can only be destroyed by certain pieces of alchemy, or by light."
"Did we destroy him?" said Gwen.
"You have powers here you did not have in your own world. And the Cloud's evil will not work on you. Now, we must leave here – and quickly. They will soon locate us. There are many horseman."
"Where are we going to go?"
"The Beacon. Wake-Robin - you go now and warn the keeper that we are coming. How soon? How soon? Before tomorrow morn. If not then, not at all. When you have told the keeper this, you will go to the Palace, and tell her majesty that if she wishes to send one of her infernal courtiers, we will be waiting."
Wake-Robin nodded and disappeared through the door.
"Can he speak at all?" asked Gwen.
"He used to be able to," explained Darach, "but when he was only small he began to realise most people did more harm than good with what they said. He came to the conclusion that talking was a curse, so he gave it up. I should think by now he's lost the knack."
"How will he give the keeper your message?"
"With signs. Now all of you must help me gather my books. It will soon be dark and we must begin our journey." Darach looked round sadly. "I want you to open all the cages please."
One by one the children unlatched the various cages while Darach collected together a selection of books and bric-a-brac. The animals and birds, many of which Darach had been in the process of healing, disappeared into the gathering darkness.
The cottage grew very still without the customary squeals and scratchings. A solitary blackbird sat on the hearth and refused to budge.
"Go on," said Darach, "get out of here. Your leg's mended anyway. Go on - get out."
The blackbird hopped back and forth on the hearth, making soft chirps.
"Faker!" said Darach. "You're as well as the rest of them. Off with you."
The blackbird cocked its head and regarded Darach with shining eyes. It obviously had no intention of leaving.
"When they come here," the old man threatened, "they'll burn this place to the ground, you flea-bitten bird. So go on - go on. Shoo!"
The blackbird flew up and perched on one of the cages.
"Oh I can't be wasting time with the likes of you," said Darach finally. "Stay and wait for the horsemen if you must. Good day."
He took up his bag and his staff and strode across the threshold with the deliberate step of a person who fears his strength may falter, and he may turn back.
"Come along now -" he said, not looking behind him. The children followed him.
"Oh," he said suddenly, stopping in his tracks, "leave the door ajar. Just in case that blasted bird changes its mind."
As darkness crept into the crevices in the tree-trunks and the places between the roots, as the owl woke and the moths came out, they left the forest, with Darach leading at a fiery pace. Presently, it was just a silhouette against a pale sky that was filling with stars.
What a long night that was to be. They forced themselves to stay awake, though their bodies told them they should be sleeping.
Darach led them south-southwest until they came to a large river. Here they turned east and traced the river up to its source in the hills.
It was very quiet. In the valley below them they could see the lights in the cottages. Otherwise there was only the starlight, for the new moon had not yet risen very high.
The river began as a tiny stream bubbling up from a cleft in the lichened rock. They drank from it and sat down to rest for a while.
The stars were on the water, and the wind in the reeds at the water's edge. They sat in silence for a long time, and Darach half-spoke, half-sang a kind of song:
There came to me a fa'ry-light, Bright shining like a fallen star. And in the stillness of the night, It sang to me of lands afar.
'O follow, follow me,' it sang
'The world is not for such as we, The broken heart, the mortal span, Are hurts for other men but thee.
Half-dreaming from my cot I rose, Before the dawn had hit the sky,
And followed where the sea-wind blows, And mournfully the grey gulls cry.
'Where is this land, o light?' I said, And unto me it answered true,
'Where empty hopes and dreams are few, Over the sea so wild and blue.'
'O follow, follow me,' it sang,
'Unto the sea so wide and deep.' But in my ear the loud waves rang,
And woke me from my deathly sleep.
And lo! Upon the cliff I stood
Where pounds the dark and awful sea,
Below me roared the ceaseless flood Where but for God I dead should be.
What fools men are to hope and dream When all must crumble down the years, And finally such fancies seem
As worthless as a maiden's tears.
When he had finished singing the song, except for the wind, there was utter silence.
"What does the song mean?" Gwen asked.
"It's a song of leading," he replied. "It tells that all is not what it may seem. That we walk believing we know where the world ends, but we delude ourselves. Look at the stars. Some say that they are holes in heaven, others that they are candles lit in a great darkness. But I have talked with some men who believe that they are bigger than candles by far."
"They are," said Graham. "They are. They're like the sun, and some of them are being born, and others are dying. They are all suns like our sun, but they look small because they are so far away."
"Indeed."
"I've got a book on astronomy at home."
"The science seems more advanced in your world."
"It is. We know what the stars are made of, and how many light-years they are away from us."
"Light-years. I don't know what that can mean, but it is a fine sounding word. You must tell me more of these matters, my boy, if we have a moment."
A shooting star flashed in the sky, burning out abruptly. They watched it fall.
Suddenly, from the direction in which they had come, there drifted a sound like the shrieking of many birds. For a few breathless moments it stained the night, and then sank away.
"What was that?" whispered Graham.
"They have discovered that we have eluded them," said Darach simply, "and they are angry. Come. We have some way to go yet, and the hour approaches..."
They set off once again, striding through the night. Presently the moon fell away and the stars began to fade. The gloom that the children had seen on that first morning crept over the world.
"We must be more careful than ever at this time," said Darach, "for the night is holy, and we were safe after a fashion. The moon is a power of light. But here, in this darkness, when there is no sun or moon, we are unsafe. Don't speak at all if you can avoid it. In the unnatural hush our voices will carry miles, and the horsemen have sharp ears. If anything does happen, obey me to the letter, if you care for your lives. The horsemen are close."
Now there was a nightmarish quality to their journey. The land that they were crossing was marshy, and each step was soggy and uncertain. Often they were up to their knees in clinging, oozing mud. As they became accustomed to the gloom, they could just see the expanses of flat marshland they were crossing, to right and left of them, but though they strained both eyes and ears they neither saw nor heard the dreaded pursuers. Occasionally a marsh-bird would screech, a blood-curdling cry which froze them in their tracks. Then they would all sigh and plod on through the mud.
A cool wind had sprung up, smelling of the sea. It was a fresh, clean smell, and although the wind chilled them, they were glad of it.
Now they had left the marsh behind them and were walking on dry sand, which hissed beneath their feet. Softly, on the wind, came the lisping of the sea. They walked on. Finally Darach called a halt.
"This dismal gloom," he whispered. "I can't find my way in it. The Beacon can't be that far. But it's the tide. It plays tricks. Comes in quickly and surrounds you. We must be careful."
Now the sand beneath their feet was no longer soft and dry, but damp and hard-packed. Though they tried to keep the sound of the sea to their right they could tell by the ripples on the sand that tide would soon cover the place where they stood. Though they scanned the horizon as hard as they could for the beacon tower, the gloom seemed deeper and more impenetrable than ever before.
"It isn't just the gloom," whispered Colin to the others. "There's a sort of sea-mist."
"We'd better hurry," said Darach. "The tide's coming in."
"If we can't find the Beacon – we'd better go back the way we came and wait for the sun to come up," suggested Colin.
"A sensible idea. Come on."
They turned back. But they had only walked a few yards when they were up to their ankles in water.
"We've come the wrong way," said Graham. "We're walking into the sea."
"This way then!"
They headed in another direction. But the water was encroaching that way too.
"The wind is off the sea," said Darach. "Therefore, if we sprint with the wind to our backs –"
"It is to our backs," said Gwen, "but there's water ahead of us."
"Maybe it isn't very deep. Just a stream perhaps," said Colin, and taking hold of Darach's staff, he waded in up to his knees.