Read Silver on the Tree for Free Online

something yousaid to me once, a long while ago—” He screwed up his face, groping in his memory for the right words.
“For all times coexist,
you said,
and the future can sometimes affect the past, even though the past is a road that leads to the future.”
    A small smile of approval flickered in Merriman’s grave face. “And therefore, now, the Circle of the Light must be called, by Will Stanton the Sign-seeker, who once on a time achieved the joining of the Six Signs of the Light into a circle. It must be called, so that from the one and the same calling it may help the men of this world, both in the time of Arthur and in the time from which you come.”
    â€œSo,” Will said, “I must take the Signs from their refuge, through that most complicated spell we laid on them after they had been joined. I only hope I can find the way.”
    â€œSo do I,” said Merriman a trifle grimly. “For if you do not, the High Magic which guards them will take them outside Time, and the only advantage the Light holds in this great matter will be lost forever.”
    Will swallowed. He said, “I must do it from my own century, though. That was when they were joined and hidden.”
    â€œOf course,” Merriman said. “And that is why my lord Arthur asked us to be swift. Go, Will, and do what you have to do. A night and a day: that is all the time we have, by the measure of the earth.”
    He stood and crossed the floor in one swift movement and grasped Will’s arms in the old Roman salute. Dark eyes blazed down from the strange craggy face, with its deep lines. “I shall be with you, but powerless. Take care,” Merriman said.
    â€œYes.”
    Will turned away, to the door, and pulled aside the curtain. Outside in the night there still faintly rang out the metallic hammering, the striking of iron upon iron.
    â€œWayland Smith works long, this day,” said Merriman behind him, softly. “And not on shoes for horses, in this time, for horses are not yet shod. On swords, and axes, and knives.”
    Will shivered, and without a word went out into the black night. His head whirled, a wind blew into his face—and once more the moon was floating like a great pale orange before him in the sky, and in his arms was a wooden board, and the sound of hammering before him was that of a hammer driving nails into wood.
    â€œAh,” Stephen said, looking up. “That looks perfect. Thanks.”
    Will came forward and gave him the board.

•  
The Calling
  •
    Up in Will’s attic bedroom the air was warm and still, furry with summer heat. He lay on his back, listening to the late-night murmur and chink below as the last waking Stantons—his father and Stephen, he thought, from the rumbling voices—made ready for bed. This had been Stephen’s bedroom once, and Will had carefully packed up his belongings to let the rightful owner take residence again for the length of his leave. But Stephen had shaken his head. “Max is away—I’ll use his room. I’m a nomad now, Will. It’s all yours.”
    The last door closed, the last glimmer of reflected light went out. Will looked at his watch. Midnight had passed; Midsummer Day was here now, a few minutes old. Half an hour’s wait should be enough. He could see no star through the skylight in his slanting roof, but only a moon-washed sky; its muted brightness filtered down into the room.
    The house was muffled in sleep when finally he crept down the stairs in his pyjamas, gingerly treading the furthest corners of those steps that he knew would creak. Outside the door of his parents’ room he froze suddenly; his father, snoring in a gentle crescendo, half-woke himself, grunted, turned rustling over and was lost again in soft-breathing sleep.
    Will smiled into the darkness. It would have been no great matter, for an Old One, to put the household away into a pause of