Lavondyss (Mythago Cycle) Read Online Free PDF Page B

so young.
    One hidden camp was in the garden, in an alley between two brick machine sheds; a second by Stretley Stones meadow; a third in the tangle of alder and willow that crowded part of the bank of the stream called Wyndbrook; the fourth and favourite camp was in a ruined sheep shelter among the earthworks, up on Barrow Hill.
    Each camp seemed to attract Tallis at a different time of year, so that in summer she would sit and look at picture books by Stretley Stones meadow, but in the winter, especially in the snow, she would make her wayto Barrow Hill, and huddle in the enclosure, staring across Wyndbrook at the dark and brooding face of Ryhope Wood.
    Often, during these long months, she would see the black shape of Broken Boy in the distance, but if she followed him he always eluded her; just occasionally – always in spring – Tallis would find his spoor close to her house, or see his furtive, lame movement in the nearer fields and copses.
    During these early years of her childhood she missed her parents very much, missed the warmth that she had known so briefly. Where once her father had talked to her when they had walked together, now he strolled in thoughtful, distant silence. He no longer remembered the names of plants and trees. And her mother, who had always been so joyful and playful with her, became pale and ghostly. When Margaret Keeton was not working in the orchards she sat at the dining table, writing letters, impatient with Tallis’s simple demands upon her attention.
    So Tallis found refuge in her camps, and after her fifth birthday she took with her the book which her grandfather had left for her, the beautiful volume of fables and folklore. Although she could not read the print with any great facility, she consumed the pictures and invented her own simple stories to go with the images of Knights and Queens, Castles and strange Beasts that were contained there.
    Sometimes she stared at the closely packed handwriting that she knew was her grandfather’s. She could hardly read a word of it, but had never asked her parents to read the letter to her. She had once heard her mother refer to the scrawl as ‘silly nonsense’ and propose that they throw the book away and buy Tallis an identical copy. Herfather had refused. ‘The old man would turn in his grave. We can’t interfere with his wishes.’
    The letter, then, became something private to the girl, even though her parents had clearly read the text. For a few years, all Tallis could read was the beginning, which was written across the top of the chapter, and a few lines at the end of a chapter where the writing was larger because there was more space.
    My dear Tallis: I’m an old man writing to you on a cold December night. I wonder if you will love the snow as much as I do? And regret as much the way it can imprison you. There is old memory in snow. You will find that out in due course, for I know where you come from, now. You are very noisy tonight. I never tire of hearing you. I sometimes think you might be trying to tell me your own infant’s stories, to make up for all the tales I’ve whispered to you
.
    After that, the writing entered the margin of the first page and became cramped and illegible.
    At the bottom of the page she was able to read that
    He calls them mythagos. They are certainly strange, and
I am sure Broken Boy is such a thing. They are
…
    And the text became illegible again.
Finally she was able to read the closing words.
    The naming of the land is important. It conceals and contains great truths. Your own name has changed your life and I urge you to listen to them, when they whisper. Above all, do not be afraid. Your loving grandfather, Owen
.
    These last words had a profound effect upon the girl. A few days before her seventh birthday, while she was sitting in her camp by the clear water of Wyndbrook, she began to imagine she could hear whispering. It startled her. It was like a woman’s voice, but the words were