Free The Silver Sun by Nancy Springer Page B

frozen blood in his veins. “Come on, brother,” Hal said gently, and Alan walked on. He met the fear; he walked through it; and it melted away before him. Then a feeling of comfort and friendliness filled his heart, and the darkness left his eyes, and he found that he was within the circle of standing stones. That which had been a forbidding fear was now a protecting embrace which welcomed him in. Hal hugged him.
    “I doubt if there is another man in all of Isle who could have done that!” he exclaimed proudly.
    “Except present company,” Alan retorted wryly. “You walked in here as if you were going to market. What was it that frightened me so?"
    A low chuckle sounded close by Alan's ear; he jumped. A gentle voice spoke rapidly in a language he did not understand. Hal nodded and turned to Alan. “He says he is sorry he startled you. He did not mean to."
    “Tell him no harm,” Alan gasped politely. “But who, or what, is he?"
    Hal sat down and leaned against the stone wall of the barrow. “They,” he corrected. “They are the spirits of the men buried here."
    “Ghosts?” Alan asked weakly, sitting also.
    “I dare say you could call them ghosts,” Hal answered doubtfully. “But most of what is said of ghosts is false. They do not clank chains, or rattle bones, or wander in the night, or in any way interfere with human affairs. Indeed, they are powerless to speak or move from their barrow unless someone calls on them for help, as I did."
    Alan felt faint. “Are they all around us?” he asked uneasily.
    “Ay. This ring of standing stones is their fortress. No mortal can enter it without withstanding the fear. The amount of fear depends in part on the amount of evil in his heart. I do not think the bounty hunters will disturb us again."
    “You must be perfect in goodness, then, for you did not fear."
    “Nay! I said ‘in part,'” Hal protested. “Fear also arises from that which is unknown. I understood, and you did not."
    “In very truth,” Alan muttered, holding his head in bewilderment, “I never believed such things existed, and I always laughed at the tales the countryfolk told of them."
    “You may continue to do so,” Hal smiled, “for they are mostly nonsense. Yet they remind us that there are great mysteries in earth and sky, dwellers far beyond our comprehension. But always, in the peasants’ tales, the denizens of Otherness come to work men woe. It is not so. Remember this, Alan, and you will walk beneath the dark of the moon like the Gypsies, without fear: no creature, neither flesh nor spirit, mortal nor immortal, will do you any reasonless harm, except one—and that is your fellow man."
    They spent the night within the barrow ring, nestled against the lee side of the central mound. Alan felt warm and comfortable in spite of the cold, damp stone. He was full of wonder and questions. He learned that not all the dead became shades like those he had met; these spirits must have died in rage or hatred, Hal thought. Perhaps they had been warriors. But whether in life they had been good men or evil was of no concern. Their passing had purged them; good and evil had gone from them with their mortality, and they were now only bodiless reflections of the fears and loves of those who encountered them.
    And they could be summoned, Alan knew. “What is the language that you speak to the spirits, Hal?” he asked. “Is it the same that you speak to the Gypsies?"
    “Ay."
    “And to Arundel?"
    “Ay."
    “Is it Welandais?"
    “Nay —"
    “What language is it, then? Where did you learn it?” Hal frowned helplessly. Even in the flickering light of their campfire, his discomfort was evident. Alan retracted the question. “Never mind."
    “I would tell you if I could,” Hal said plaintively.
    It was late before Alan finally settled into sleep, still marveling. He awoke to a foggy morning, and found Hal already speaking with their invisible hosts in his mysterious language.
    “You know they see