Seaward Read Online Free Page B

while the man waited patient and unmoving in his golden doorway. At last the weight of his pack made Westerly shift his feet, and a twig cracked loudly. The man’s head turned, but he did not move.
    Westerly said, clear and deliberate, “What would have happened to me, if I hadn’t run?”
    â€œShe offered you a chance, and you took it,” the man said. “You knew that it was only a chance.” His voice was deep and mild, but every word distinct.
    â€œI’d have been . . . nothing . Like them.”
    â€œYes,” said the man in gold. “Very likely. Particularly if you had found yourself in her livery. There are things I must tell you about the Lady Taranis.” He turned in Westerly’s direction, holding out his hand. “Come in, out of the night.”
    Darkness had filled the air; Westerly could see nothing around him but the dim outline of the nearest trees. He hated the nights in this land, hated the chill that his blanket could only just keep at bay; the small menacing sounds from every direction, hissing, crackling, breathing; the nervous shallow sleep, the half-sleep of an animal, that was all he could ever allow himself. But still he paused warily, watching the man in gold.
    The man shifted impatiently. “Listen, then,” he said. “I will tell you about yourself. You come from anothercountry. You are Westerly, travelling, and you fear those who perhaps follow you, and would kill you if they caught you. You are searching for your father.”
    Westerly stood very still, listening.
    â€œYou travel seaward,” said the man in gold, “because your mother told you that it was the sea which would take you to him, though she did not tell you where, or when, or how.” He paused for a moment, looking round restlessly at the trees. “The nights are not your friend in this country, boy—you must come in. There are three things of which your mother did tell you. Have you forgotten them?”
    Westerly heard in his mind his mother’s voice, low and urgent, in the last moment that he had seen her. “You will meet three that you can trust: a man with eyes like an owl, a girl with selkie hands, and a creature in a high place. Go bravely. I love you.”
    He felt for the knife in his pack, to be sure that it was in easy reach. Then he went forward into the light, up to the doorway. The man in the golden robe stood there unmoving; Westerly looked up at him. He saw a lean, lively face under a tousle of gold-brown hair; the mouth had lines of laughter round it, and the eyes dancing at him were bright and strange, a tawny brown flecked with gold.
    The man smiled a little. “Well?”
    â€œEyes like an owl,” Westerly said. “Weird.” He grinned suddenly, and went in through the log-framed door.
    The brightness inside made him pause, blinking. It was a single arched room, running the length of the house; lanterns burned on all four walls and on a rough wooden table set in the middle, and flames leapt in a high stone fireplace that filled the far wall.
    The man in gold latched the door behind them and swung off his long cloak; he was still a regal figure, in jerkin and trousers as tawny-gold as his eyes.
    Westerly said, “Who are you?”
    â€œI knew your mother once,” the man said.
    â€œIn that country or in this?”
    â€œIn both.”
    â€œBut who are you?”
    â€œLugan,” said the man. “You may call me Lugan. And while you are in my house, give no thought to those who may follow you. Sit down.”
    He crossed to the fire and took the cover from a black iron pot standing beside it; the smell that rose filled Westerly’s mouth with water, and his stomach felt suddenly as if it were flat and empty against his spine. Lugan filled two bowls with a thick aromatic soup heavy as a stew; set them on the table and broke chunks from a loaf of dark crusty bread. “Eat,” he