The next morning, Nessa was already outside when we arrived.
She had put a small basket beside the garden gate, containing bread, cheese, two apples and a flask of tea.
“You may be gone longer than you expect,” she said.
Rowan looked at the basket.
“That's generally how these things go.”
Nessa smiled and led us towards the stream.
The water was lower than it had been the previous day. Beneath the stone arch, a narrow opening had appeared in the bank. It was almost hidden by ferns and trailing roots, but a little path of flat stones led towards it.
Nessa stopped at the entrance.
“I have never gone beyond the first chamber,” she said. “The water comes out here, but I don't know where it begins.”
“Have you seen the little creature since it left?” Merrick asked.
“No. But sometimes, in the evening, I hear a sound from beneath the ground. A little note, like a bell.”
She handed him the basket.
“Perhaps it is waiting for you.”
We entered.
The passage was low at first, and we had to bend beneath the roots. Then it widened into a natural tunnel, with the stream running along one side. The stone walls were smooth, and small pale flowers grew in the cracks. Their petals seemed to hold a little light of their own.
After a short distance, the passage divided.
One branch followed the stream. The other climbed gently upwards, towards a faint blue light.
Nell pointed towards the blue.
“That way.”
We followed her.
The passage opened into a chamber with a high roof. Water fell from a narrow crack in the ceiling, forming a clear pool before disappearing through a channel in the floor. The sound was soft and continuous, like rain heard from inside a house.
At the far side stood a small wooden door.
It had no handle, only a little carving of a bird.
Merrick approached it.
The wooden bird in his hand gave a faint sound.
Not a bell this time, but a short, clear note, almost like a bird calling.
The door opened.
Beyond it lay a garden.
We stepped into a place of extraordinary quiet. The ground was covered with short green grass, and the air was warm and sweet. A stream crossed the garden beneath a little stone bridge. Willow trees grew beside it, their branches trailing almost to the water. There were beds of pale flowers, and a low stone wall enclosed the whole place.
At the centre stood a small house with a thatched roof and a blue door.
A woman was sitting outside, mending a basket.
She looked up.
“You've brought him back,” she said.
Merrick stopped.
“Who?”
“The little bird.”
She put down her work.
“My name is Eira. I look after this garden.”
She was a small woman, with silver hair and a green shawl. Her hands were strong and deft, and beside her lay a collection of willow rods.
Rowan immediately became interested.
“Those are good rods,” he said.
Eira looked at him.
“Would you like some?”
Rowan smiled.
“I would.”
She invited us to sit beneath the willow trees. There was bread, cheese and fresh water on a wooden table, and a little bowl of honey. We ate while Eira told us about the garden.
“It has been here a long time,” she said. “Longer than the house, I think. The stream comes through it, though the water does not always come from the same place.”
“Where does it go?” Nell asked.
“Wherever it is needed.”
Merrick showed her the wooden bird.
Eira took it gently.
“You made this when you were very small.”
“Everyone seems to remember me making things.”
“You were always making things. You once tried to build a bridge across the stream using apple branches and a piece of string.”
“Did it work?”
“For a little while.”
Rowan looked amused.
Eira turned the bird over and examined the carving beneath its wing.
“You gave this to the little one who came here.”
“The creature with the feather?”
“Yes. It was frightened when it arrived. It had never been in a garden before.”
“Where did it come from?”
Eira looked towards the far end of the garden.
“From the place where the water begins.”
She led us across the bridge and through a little gate in the stone wall. Beyond it, the garden narrowed into a wooded passage. The stream ran beneath the roots of several enormous trees, then disappeared into a dark opening in the hillside.
Beside the opening stood a small stone basin.
In it lay a pale blue feather.
Merrick picked it up.
The mark near its tip was the same as the one on the feather Nessa had kept.
Then we heard the sound.
A little note, clear and delicate, came from somewhere inside the hillside.
Eira smiled.
“It knows you're here.”
Nell stepped closer to the opening.
“Can we go in?”
Eira shook her head.
“Not yet. It has only just begun to remember you.”
Merrick looked at the feather in his hand.
“Will it come out?”
“If it wishes to.”
We waited.
The sound came again, followed by a faint rustling, like wings moving through leaves. Then something small appeared in the darkness.
It was no larger than a thrush, with delicate pale feathers and a blue mark at the tip of each wing. Its eyes were bright, and its feet were almost invisible beneath its plumage.
It looked at Merrick.
Then it flew to his shoulder.
For a moment he stood quite still.
The creature gave a soft, bell-like note.
Merrick smiled.
“Hello,” he whispered.
The little bird settled against his neck.
Eira watched them.
“It has been waiting a long time.”
“Why did it leave Nessa?”
“Because it had grown.”
“Where will it go now?”
Eira looked towards the trees.
“That depends on where it wants to be.”
The bird lifted its wings, flew once around the garden and returned to Merrick's shoulder.
Then it turned its head towards the dark opening in the hillside.
A second note sounded from within.
This one was deeper, and seemed to come from far below the ground.
Eira's expression changed.
“Oh,” she said. “That is unexpected.”
“What is it?” asked Nell.
Eira looked towards the hillside.
“The water has found another way.”
And beyond the opening, where the stream had disappeared, a faint green light began to grow.
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