‘Read that,’ he commanded.
I approached it, and saw that words had been carved into the rock-face. It looked a little like a poem, because it was set out in a pattern and not all the lines were of equal length. The inscription was partly covered in moss, making sections of it hard to read, so it took me a few moments to decipher it while my master waited patiently.
THE HIGHEST POINT IN THE COUNTY IS MARKED BY MYSTERY.
IT IS SAID THAT A MAN DIED THERE IN A GREAT STORM, WHILE BINDING AN EVIL THAT THREATENED THE WHOLE WORLD.
THEN THE ICE CAME AGAIN, AND WHEN IT
RETREATED, EVEN THE SHAPES OF THE HILLS AND THE NAMES OF THE TOWNS IN THE VALLEYS CHANGED.
NOW, AT THE HIGHEST POINT ON THE FELLS, NO TRACE REMAINS OF WHAT WAS DONE SO LONG AGO, BUT ITS NAME HAS ENDURED.
THEY CALL IT –
THE WARDSTONE.
‘Well, lad, you’ve read it. What have you to say for yourself?’
‘It might have been someone with my name who bound the evil, whatever it was,’ I suggested.
‘Aye, it might – that’s a possibility. But the word ward also means something else. It’s the old name for a district. So the stone might simply mark the corner of some plot of land whose ownership has long been forgotten; it might be nothing to do with your family name. Does anything else come to mind?’ my master asked.
‘Whatever happened here was a long time ago. How long ago was the last Ice Age?’
‘Thousands of years, lad – I reckon it was thousands and thousands of years back in time.’
‘That’s a long time ago to have an ancestor called Ward – and language changes, doesn’t it? You once told me that during an Ice Age, when it is difficult to survive, men forget knowledge and live in caves and hunt, concentrating on survival. How old is this inscription? It might not be that old – just somebody commemorating a legend.’
‘It’s hard to estimate its age, but it was there at least a hundred years ago because my own master, Henry Horrocks, saw it when he visited the spot as a new apprentice in the company of his master. The truth is, we’ll probably never find out when that lettering was carved into the stone. It’s one of the great mysteries – another example of the unexplained. However, I want to put something else to you, lad. What if this big rock really can move through time? If that were true, it would open up two possibilities. The inscription might be a record of something that happened long ago in the past. But what else could it be?’
I didn’t have to think. It was as if a deep part of my brain had always known and now surrendered the knowledge to my conscious mind. When I opened my mouth, the words just fell out, as if they had been readying themselves to escape.
‘It could point to something that’s going to happen in the future. It could have been written in the distant future, looking back on events yet to happen in our time. It could be a prophecy.’
The Spook seemed deep in thought. He didn’t believe in scrying – for him the future could not be fixed. But during my years of training with him I had seen that belief challenged over and over again.
‘On the other hand, the Wardstone might go somewhere else but stay in our own time,’ he suggested.
‘What do you mean? Where else could it go?’
‘Some folks believe that there are other worlds, invisible but very close to ours. You should know, lad: you’ve been to one of ’em yourself – the Hollow Hills, where you got that sword, is one example. Of course, that could be just an extension of the dark.’
‘Could the Wardstone go to the dark?’
‘Who knows? It’s part of the unexplained, and another mystery to be solved.’
Then, without another word, my master led me off the fell and we headed back towards Chipenden.
AFTER SPENDING ANOTHER night outdoors, we arrived back at the Spook’s house early in the afternoon. I was tired, but my master seemed bright and full of energy.
‘That was just what I needed, lad. Despite the wet weather on the way there, the pains in my joints have gone. That walk has done me a power of good.’
I smiled and nodded. It was a relief to see the Spook’s health and attitude so much improved, but I was feeling down again. I had hoped to find Alice waiting for me at the Chipenden house, but she wasn’t there. Moreover, the Spook’s suggestion that the inscription on the stone might be a prophecy troubled me.
It said that a ‘man died there’. Who could that be . . . the Spook? But I was turned sixteen now, so I probably counted as a man too – was the end in sight for me? Perhaps I wouldn’t be the Spook’s last apprentice, after all.
‘Cheer up, lad!’ my master said. ‘Things have a way of sorting themselves out.’
I forced myself to smile back at him. He meant well.
That night I didn’t sleep well. No sooner had my head touched the pillow than I was plunged straight into a nightmare. And in that dream I was re-living one of the scariest experiences I’d ever endured as a Spook’s apprentice.
I was back in Read Hall, south of Pendle Hill, living moment by moment the night, years ago now, I’d been visited by the evil creature called Tibb. He had been created from the body of a sow by the Malkin clan, in order to see into the future. They needed a powerful seer because they were being challenged by young Mab Mouldheel, who had tremendous powers of prophecy.
I was lying in bed, paralysed by a dark magical spell. Tibb was above me, and I could hear the sound of his claws biting into the wood as he clung to the ceiling. He resembled a giant spider, but he had four limbs and his head hung down backwards from his long neck. The mouth was open wide and I could see his sharp teeth. In the dream I was just as terrified as I’d been then. Something fell from his gaping mouth onto my shirt. It was sticky and warm. At the time I hadn’t realized what it was, but now, despite the terror of the dream, I knew that it was human blood – Tibb had been in the next room feeding on Father Stocks. I had heard the poor priest crying out in anguish.
It was then that Tibb spoke to me – the terrible words of a prophecy:
‘I see a girl, soon to be a woman. She will love you, she will betray you, and finally she will die for you.’
I awoke dripping with sweat, my heart racing.
Alice would be using dangerous magic, perhaps even at this very moment.
Had Tibb foretold her death?
Early in the afternoon I went to collect the week’s groceries from Chipenden, visiting the butcher’s, the greengrocer’s and then the baker’s, as usual. The village had been attacked during the recent war, a patrol of enemy soldiers killing some of the inhabitants and setting fire to several houses. I was pleased to see that things were almost back to normal.