Alan Garner Classic Collection. Alan Garner

went back to the cart, and when Bess had done her shopping they continued on their round of deliveries. It was late afternoon before all was finished.

      “I suppose you’ll be wanting to walk home through the wood again,” said Gowther.

      “Yes, please,” said Colin.

      “Ay, well, I think you’d do best to leave it alone, myself,” said Gowther. “But if you’re set on going, you mun go – though I doubt you’ll find much. And think on you come straight home; it’ll be dark in an hour, and them woods are treacherous at neet. You could be down a mine hole as soon as wink.”

      Colin and Susan walked along the foot of the Edge. Every week they did this, while Bess and Gowther rode home in the cart, and any free time they had was also spent wandering on this hill, searching—

      For a quarter of a mile, safe suburban gardens bounded the road, then fields began to show, and soon they were clear of the village. On their right the vertical north face of the Edge rose over them straight from the footpath, beeches poised above the road, and the crest harsh with pine and rock.

      They left the road, and for a long time they climbed in silence, deep into the wood. Then Susan spoke:

      “But what do you think’s the matter? Why can’t we find Cadellin now?”

      “Oh, don’t start that again,” said Colin. “We never did know how to open the iron gates, or the Holywell entrance, so we’re not likely to be able to find him.”

      “Yes, but why shouldn’t he want to see us? I could understand it before, when he knew it wasn’t safe to come here, but not now. What is there to be scared of now that the Morrigan’s out of the way?”

      “That’s it,” said Colin. “Is she?”

      “But she must be,” said Susan. “Gowther says her house is empty, and it’s the talk of the village.”

      “But whether she’s alive or not, she still wouldn’t be at the house,” said Colin. “I’ve been thinking about it: the only other time Cadellin did this to us was when he thought she was around. He’s either got tired of us, or there’s trouble. Why else would it always be like this?”

      They had reached the Holywell. It lay at the foot of a cliff in one of the many valleys of the Edge. It was a shallow, oblong, stone trough, into which water dripped from the rock. Beside it was a smaller, fan-shaped basin, and above it a crack in the rock face, and that, the children knew, was the second gate of Fundindelve. But now, as for weeks past, their calling was not answered.