“Oops,” said the Grail-Keeper. She coughed a couple of times before continuing, her voice becoming higher, more gentle and childlike. “That didn’t come out right. I thought appearing in this guise would make things easier for you. But it is long since I have walked in this skin, and I do beg your pardon.”
“Sure,” said Susan. A horrible suspicion entered her mind, which she had to banish immediately with a direct question. “Um, that hawk, it wasn’t . . . Merlin?”
“A merlin, certainly,” said the Grail-Keeper. “But not Merlin St. Jacques. Nor his sister, since I see you are concerned that might be the case.”
“Where are they?”
“They are here.”
“This is Silvermere?”
“Yes. The lake, the island, the house. All are Silvermere. Though like me, they may appear in different guises for different visitors. The St. Jacques, for example, have a common view of what Silvermere should be, and so it is,” she explained chattily.
Susan listened to this adult explanation, coming from what appeared to be an enthusiastic child, but which she knew was really some sort of ancient mythic entity. Perhaps an Ancient Sovereign herself. Or maybe the Grail-Keeper was some sort of hybrid of mortal and myth, as the booksellers were? And, Susan realized, as she was herself. . . .
“Similarly, they have shared expectations of the Grail-Keeper, and that is what they get. Come, walk with me.”
She jumped easily down from the rock and smiled, a brief, mischievous smile. The kind that if she were the little girl she seemed to be might lead to some sort of innocuous trick, but given who she actually was, made Susan feel very nervous.
“You will be safe here,” said the Grail-Keeper, her face serious, the smile vanished. Susan wondered if she could read her mind, or at the least, detect her fears.
“Safe from all your enemies. Until you leave, of course.”
“All my enemies?” asked Susan. “Plural. As in more than one.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who they are?” asked Susan.
The girl nodded.
“Can you tell me?”
“I could,” said the Grail-Keeper. That mischievous smile flickered across her face again. “But I won’t. I’m not supposed to interfere in what goes on beyond Silvermere. So I don’t, on the whole. Perhaps a little nudge, here and there, nothing of great moment.”
“My enemies,” repeated Susan. “Plural. I don’t suppose you’ll wink if I guess who they are?”
“No,” said the girl. She paused to wink ferociously several times, alternating eyes, before skipping on again. Susan followed her, but her mind was elsewhere, thinking about “enemies” and their possible motivations.
The Grail-Keeper suddenly stopped skipping and skidded to a halt as the path ahead forked, though in both cases it continued through the wood and the two paths looked no different.
“Shall we take the left- or right-hand way?”
“I don’t know,” said Susan. “Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go?”
Susan opened her mouth, shut it, and thought very carefully. One part of her simply wanted to go home and go to bed and pull the Moomintroll quilt her mother made her when she was eight over her head, and have Jassmine absentmindedly bring her cold cups of tea she’d made hours before. She even felt this might be possible, that this strange, fey little girl before her might be able to arrange that. But she also knew her mother’s house would be only a very temporary refuge. Whatever had been set in motion would carry on to the end, whether she hid from it or not.
Then there were the booksellers. Though she had serious doubts about Thurston and Merrihew, she had total confidence in Merlin and Vivien, and the even-handed Aunts Helen and Zoë had impressed her. Perhaps if she could go to the Old Bookshop, she would be safe and the booksellers could sort out what was going on. . . .
But neither of these felt right. Susan knew where she really needed to go.
She opened her mouth again and spoke forcefully.
“I want to go to my father. I’m sure he isn’t dead, or gone, or whatever it is Helen and Zoë think. I want to go to the Old Man of Coniston.”
“Then you shall,” said the Grail-Keeper. “In fact, both these paths will take you there. The question is, which one?”
“Where are Merlin and Vivien?” Susan asked again. She looked past the girl to the separate paths. Both looked essentially the same, well-trodden trails through the wood. “Are they at the end of either of these paths?”
“No,” said the Grail-Keeper.
“But they’re all right?”
“They’re enjoying a rather good dinner,” said the girl.
“Dinner,” sighed Susan. Her stomach twinged and she felt momentarily faint, and a touch confused. She hadn’t had breakfast or lunch, and it was already time for dinner? “They couldn’t wait for me?”
“They have, for the moment, forgotten you are here,” replied the Grail-Keeper.
“What!”
“The Silvermere of the St. Jacques is not for you, at least not on this occasion. You may pass through this Silvermere with me, but you may not linger, nor may you eat or drink, for you are not an invited guest. I have allowed Merlin and Vivien to bring you here, but not to stay.”
“And I have to leave without them? Without Merlin and Vivien?” asked Susan. She tried to sound strong, but couldn’t help a faint tremor in her voice.
The girl nodded, very solemn now.
“This isn’t one of those things where one path leads to my doom and the other to redemption or something, is it?”
“Perhaps both paths lead to your doom,” said the Grail-Keeper. “But either one will take you where you say you want to go.”
“I’m not simply saying it’s where I want to go!” protested Susan. She took a breath and repeated herself, slowly and firmly. “I need to go to my father. To the Old Man of Coniston. I’d love to have the help of Merlin and Vivien, because I do believe they are my friends. But I will go alone if I have to. And I will take the right-hand path.”
“Good,” said the girl. She winked and added, “It’s a bit quicker.”
They took the right-hand path and walked on through the pleasant wood, with great oaks and slim ash trees and here and there bright rowan trees caught between bud and berry, the white flowers not entirely fallen and the berries coming into their full color. The sunshine shone down to make a dappled light, and many flowers grew amongst the grass to either side of the path: a carpet of bluebells and bursts of celandine, wood sorrel, lords and ladies, and ransoms.
But Susan was too hungry, tired, and generally apprehensive to appreciate the beauty of this wood. She strode on behind the Grail-Keeper, who walked fast and occasionally began to skip, which was even faster. The fizzing, expectant sensation inside Susan was still there, even growing stronger, but it was counterbalanced by a heavy feeling of lonely dread.
The path began to climb a little, and they came to a grassy clearing. The girl crossed it and climbed upon a strangely flat-surfaced lichen-covered rock that thrust up out of the earth, the greater part of it buried. Though at first it seemed an entirely natural outcrop, Susan realized it was in fact a roughly worked and truly enormous obelisk, bigger even than Cleopatra’s Needle, fallen on its side and buried, with only the last dozen yards projecting out of the earth.