show you where your pathway lies."
A woman who would show him where his future lay?
Tristan laughed aloud. Of course! She must be a fortune-teller, and this old man directed her trade! He'd seen these women at the tournaments, dark-faced Gypsy queens with dancing girls and music and all manner of good things. Well, why not? He might as well see her. He wouldn't get rid of the old beggar any other way.
He vaulted from his horse. "Show me."
The old man drew near, seizing Tristan's arm. "Leave your horse here," he commanded. "He will not stray. Then make your way down the face of the cliff. When you reach the sea, circle three times among the Maiden rocks and the way will open to you."
They had reached the edge of the cliff. The sea was pounding on the rocks below. Tristan felt the rushing, roaring wind, and looked up the high road to the world he knew. Beyond the great bluff lay a broad smiling plain, while dread and desire alike drew him down to the sea.
"Go, boy, go!" cried the old man tetchily. "The Lady of the Sea waits for no man."
"So be it." Tristan turned and, lowering himself over the edge, began to climb down the cliff face.
Shaking his head sorrowfully, the old man watched him go till the spread-eagled figure looked no bigger than a fly on a wall. Then the air shivered and changed shape as the ragged beggar became Merlin again, his golden eyes glowing, clad in his robes of power. Extending his arms, the old enchanter made the sign of grace in the air over Tristan's head.
"May all your Gods go with you, boy," he breathed.
Carefully Tristan picked his way down the trackless cliff. Halfway down, a small hawthorn tree clung to the furzy turf, blooming its heart out in blossoms of foaming white, and he rested there, braced against its knobbly trunk. As he went on, bright tufts of lichen, orange, black, and green, offered themselves to his grasp and he came across toeholds carved in the face of the rock. Nearer to the ground the cliff sloped and the climb became easier, till at last it felt like going backward down a rough flight of stairs. But still he was trembling in every limb by the time he reached the shore.
The tide was out, and a half-moon of wet sand was densely crowded with jagged, sea-washed rocks. A dozen or twenty, all higher than himself, clustered around a taller rock leaning back against the wall of the cliff, like maidens dancing attendance on the lady they served. Tristan smiled. So—three times among the Maiden rocks…
He began to circle, making his mind a blank. Around he went and around, till it seemed to him that the rock he had called the Lady was beckoning to him, leaning away from the cliff. Behind it he glimpsed a shadow, like the mouth of a cave. Moving forward, he threw a last glance around. A mighty sea eagle hovered overhead, and the air throbbed with the force of his clamorous wings.
Tristan stood for a moment, then saluted him with a solemn wave. Near the shore, a great salmon leapt in a shining arc to inspect him, and Tristan met his yellow eye and greeted him, too. Where the sea met the shore, he thought he saw female forms riding the white crests of the waves, laughing girls like mermaids slipping in and out of the foam, but he could not be sure. Yet still he felt bright eyes all around him and knew that whoever the Lady was, her sea courtiers guarded her well. With a swift prayer for their blessing, he slipped into the crack in the rock.
At once a dark tangle of boulders barred his way. Threading his way through, cursing his size and bulk, he found himself in a low tunnel leading into the side of the cliff, surrounded by a darkness like that of a tomb. Now he was wading through water, and the pebbly base of the stream was slipping beneath his feet. Losing his balance, he threw out a hand and his fingers met a slimy mass of seaweed on the wall. Cursing, he forced himself on.
He did not know how far he went into the dark, only that the crashing of the waves outside became a
Learning to Kill: Stories