Willow by Wayland Drew Read Free Book Online

the shadow of the Wickerman, with all its wreaths and drifting streamers, touched the High Aldwin’s throne. Since noon, people had been gathering in a big circle around it, and when the two friends arrived with Ranon and Mims, Meegosh had to stand on the remnants of a crumbled wall and lift the children on his shoulders to see their father honored by the High Aldwin.
    Like a strange bird, the shadow of the Wickerman fluttered across the throne. The crowd hushed.
    The High Aldwin appeared.
    He came out of the ground, out of the ruins, out of the shadow. One moment, there was an empty throne; the next moment, the High Aldwin was sitting in it. “Good afternoon,” he said.
    “Good afternoon, High Aldwin,” the crowd chanted in unison. Burglekutt and the other councillors bowed deeply.
    He was very small, very old. His face was almost lost in white locks and braids, bushy beard and eyebrows. Out of this mass shone two blue eyes. His embroidered cap glowed eerily in the shadow of the Wickerman, and small lights twinkled in his starry cape. In his right hand he clasped a staff surmounted by an owl’s skull, and by frail wings of leafy gold.
    “Are we ready? Are we ready?” He seemed a bit befuddled, as he always did on first appearance. Some said it was because he had just wakened; others, because he had been swept so fast through infinite space.
    “Yes, High Aldwin,” the Council said.
    “Then let us begin. Bring forth the candidates.”
    This year there were only three.
    “Ufgood?” Burglekutt said, spreading his arms in astonishment and turning to the rest of the Council. “ Ufgood was chosen to be among the candidates? Is this a joke?” He laughed mirthlessly, but no one joined in, and the High Aldwin silenced him with a baleful glance.
    The crowd grew still. The shadow of the Wickerman passed, and the High Aldwin stood in the sun. “The Great Mystery,” he began, looking hard at the would-be apprentices, “is the bloodstream of the universe, and sorcery is the way to its energy. Sorcery is not magic. It is not skill. It is not thought or knowledge.” He leaned close, and his blue gaze embraced the three of them. Willow felt enshrouded, closed off from his children and Meegosh. He felt alone. The High Aldwin’s voice deepened, grew more resonant. “Forget all you know or think you know. You will need only your intuition, your own deep feeling for what is right and good. Answer now!” He raised four fingers. “Which finger contains the power to enter the bloodstream of the universe?”
    Hesitating, the first candidate chose the index finger.
    The High Aldwin shook his head. “Next!”
    The second, wavering, finally selected the little finger.
    Again the High Aldwin shook his head. “Next!” He turned to Willow.
    So intimidating was his manner, so piercing that gaze from his sky blue eyes, that Willow lost all confidence. He trembled. “That one,” he said, pointing to a middle finger.
    Sadly, the High Aldwin shook his head. The failed apprentices heard him speak, although his lips did not move. You have forgotten what I told you. You have forgotten the simplest, most important thing of all.
    Still shaking his head, he stood up. The candidates drew back. “No apprentice this year!” Smoke curled from the place where his staff struck the ground.
    The crowd released a long and disappointed sigh and began to disperse. Only Burglekutt spoke. “Just as I expected! Well, begone, the lot of you. It’s over for this year. Clear off, there, Ufgood! Don’t pester the High Aldwin!”
    Willow had lingered behind and approached the throne. “Sir, forgive me but I have to talk to you. It’s a matter of great importance. I have something . . .”
    The Aldwin’s gaze turned to him, but it was not, this time, the enfolding stare that Willow had felt earlier. It was cool and dispassionate, even a bit amused.
    “Sir, I have a child . . .”
    Mims screamed.
    It was the high, piercing, sustained scream of a child