Author’s Note: Wayland's Smithy is a prehistoric long-barrow in the south of England,
where a supernatural smith (once a Anglo-Saxon god) used to be said to shoe
horses. Nearby is the White Horse of Uffington, a chalk-cut hillside
figure,also prehistoric.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s not safe to be
sleeping here, mortal.
So
weakling in mind, your people. So easy to overwhelm. You to inherit
these lands? None of you would
have slept here on a time, not so long ago by your years, scarce any time to
me. You forget too swiftly. It is not safe to sleep here.
In the times when they
brought the horses to me, then they knew better than to sleep. I miss the horses. You should have a horse with you, mortal. There is strength in a horse. They make me remember a time when I
rode. Is the Horse still in speed on the
hill? It mattered once, the Horse. There was a story to it I no longer
recall. Did it matter to me, that
story? Was I of a people of horses,
once?
There, sleep on, I only
took a little. Just a little: to see
with your eyes, feel with your flesh. To
know the Horse is there yet, (so your people do remember somewhat), and to see
the stars. I miss the stars. I cannot see; there’s the thing, cannot feel
or hear. I only know, as I know
where you are, but I cannot know very far.
Not far enough to know the Horse is there.
I would have taken all
once. Just to remember. The life made me remember. I have no life. I had once.
I would have hated you once, because you had life. Stupid, weakling creature, why did you
deserve the life you’d lose so soon? Why
should your kind inherit these lands; why should I live in the hollow hill and
be blind to the stars? I remember the
stars.…
Ah, that is better! I have more memory now. I refused the Call: that is how it was. I thought that I was strong, but I was not as
strong as him, as strong as the Lord of Dark; or his servant, the one
they called Necromancer. I remember that
I hated, and yet I could do nothing, and they took memory and gave the terrible
hunger to make me theirs. That was when
I saw your kind first and I slew for them, even as every slaying made me
hate them more. So much I that forget
still.…
They were defeated; then I
was free. Free to hide in the barrows
where the dead lay, where they called me wight, free
to draw others to my Dark. I would have
drawn you down then. Perhaps I would
have taken your form. But all forms become cold and unlovely on me. You cannot see me, or you would fear. You should be afraid; you should know better
than to sleep here, mortal.
But there were
horses. I remember when I found that I
could mend the shoes. Mending is not
making, but it was the first act in so long that was not of destroying. A thing of my own, a thing I could do that was
good. It was good to shoe the
horses. But there are no horses
now. And no silver: they would leave me
real silver, not like the little discs you carry. Silver is the most free of metals, did you
know? Your kind forget
so much.
You do not know me, and I
forget the name they called me by, your kind, as I forgot those names I bore
before. I used to be a maker. There was Light once…
Yes, I was great
once. I was the one that caught the
Light, but the Light was taken and I called the Dark. And so Darkness took me, and in Dark I
remain. And the Light, the Light, it was
mine, and it was taken…. So much lost.
More… I should recall, there was more that I lost. I am cold.
Cold.
You are cold. I have given you
my coldness. I did not mean to do that. I only wanted memory, and to see the
stars. Will you not wake? Will you not leave this place, and think that
you have had bad dreams? Will you not
forget? I did not mean to harm you. You should not be sleeping here….