Page 47 of Under Gorse and Stone

“You cannot command that,” the creature snaps.

“I can command whatever I like, because I am a friend of the guardian here, and you know full well his reaction to your presence.”

The creature shudders all over, and then shadowy smoke whirls. When it clears, it's gone.

“What wasthat?” I ask and gasp as Sigurd pulls me into his arms.

“I am so sorry I was gone,” he mutters into my neck.

I pat his back. “It’s fine. I’ve never been mugged by a foggy thing before. We’re all about the new experiences.”

He chuckles. “’Twas a spriggan.”

I search my memory. “Don’t they guard ancient burial sites?”

“Their intentions may have been good back in the dark days, but now they mainly guard the gold. They are usually found on cliffs or cairns. I had no idea one such was in residence here. I shall come back another day and scourge the area. Humans should not be around them.”

“He wanted your watch. No fucking way was I giving him that.”

“He would have hurt you badly for that. You could have given it to him, and I would never have missed it. You, however…”

“What?”

“You would have been missed.” The words are simple and heartfelt and make my eyes feel hot. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, I’m fine, Sig. You can’t know everything.”

“Sig?”

I’m glad to see that his eyes are twinkling again. I shrug. “It suits you.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, he stoops to the ground where a dark bundle is lying. “I dropped this.”

This turns out to be a thick parka, and I slide it on, laughing as I seeEnglish Heritageprinted on the lapel. “The spriggan wasn’t the only one doing a spot of mugging.”

He smiles. “’Twas in the guard’s hut. I shall return it when we leave. Come walk with me.” I slide my hand into his, and we walk along the path, the gravel crunching beneath our feet, and our shadows stark in front of us.

We come to the famous statue called Gallos. It’s easily eight feet tall, and shows a king in tattered clothes resting his hands on a sword.

Sigurd pats the statue’s arm in a friendly way.

“Isn’t this supposed to be King Arthur?” I ask.

He looks at the ragged cape. “Yes, but Arthur would have loved to have been as tidy as this statue.”

“You knew him?”

“But of course.” He laughs. “He was always messy when not dressed for battle. He was argumentative, opinionated, and loud. He lost his possessions as soon as he got them, and his roar could be heard all over the castle.” His gaze turns melancholy. “He was also kind, clever, and a most loyal friend.” He turns to me and blinks when he finds me gaping at him. “What?”

“Just how oldareyou?”

He smiles. “Very old, my Cary.”

“How old is very old, Sigurd?”

His face is grave and far away, as if he has suddenly looked down a long distance. “I have seen England when it was naught but dark forests where the fae lived, where twisted fruit grew, and strange things lived in the depths that did not like the light. I have watched Christianity rise, and I have seen the fall of the monasteries when England echoed to the sound of screams, andthe fires seemed to encompass this land. I have seen an armada of ships threaten the country, and it was I who harnessed the winds that drove them onto the rocks. I have heard the confidences of kings and stood by their sides through centuries to keep this land, this Albion, safe. I have seen giants and I have seen monsters, but the biggest of those is the human race.”

He stops, and the fierce expression fades slowly. He smiles at me and draws me close, so I fit under his arm, hugging me. “You are strange folk,” he says softly. “Quick to anger and wilful enough to spoil what you touch, but you are also immensely kind, with a limitless desire to please and an infinite capacity to forgive.”