Unbidden, Kal and Galli took their places beside Wilum. Just a few steps behind them shuffled Gwyn, his marbles restored to a pocket. The rest of the Fletcher family had fallen in with Frysan and Marina towards the middle of the milling group of refugees gathered under the Meeting Oak. The intricately ornamented flagstone footpath led past the oak and ended beside the waterfall in a grotto that had been carved from the granite face of Thyus.
"Come along!" commanded Wilum. He walked along the path up to the grotto, where it appeared to reach an end. When he had gone as far as he could, Wilum turned left and stepped, it seemed, into the thundering spray of Skell Force, disappearing altogether from sight of the others, swallowed up by a spuming wall of water. Kal and Galli, treading close on his heels, also stepped behind the curtaining spray. Gwyn made expressive beckoning gestures to those who followed, urging them to make haste. The rest of the group entered the grotto, within which were set the broad stone stairs that rose behind the waterfall.
Manaton and Gara, with their children, were the first to follow, gaping and fearful, into the gloomy half-light of the Stairs of Tarn Cromar—stone steps that unknown hands in the Age of Echoes had hewn out of the side of this upper flank of Mount Thyus. They were cut on a diagonal across the very face of the mountain, incised into it like a groove. Here, at their base, the waters of the Force shielded the Stairs from view, while casting a damp mist of waters on the fugitives, who could almost reach out and touch the cascading stream. All talk was suspended and a baby, hanging on the back of its mother in a wicker basket, cried, unheard above the deafening roar of the waters. The older children clung to their parents in fear, while Diggory, flanked by Gammer and his daughters, sweated his way up the gradient, his puffing unnoticed, just as, for once, were his wife's good-natured gibes at his expense. Devved carried the lower end of his son's stretcher, while Garis and Artun took turns holding the other end. Behind Devved trudged Relzor with a scowl. Last came Narasin, throwing constant glances back across his shoulder to their rear.
Beyond the screening waterfall, the steps rose higher and became more steep. The Stairs were no longer a dark groove veiled by an oblique curtain of water. In a sunken trench, they lay open now to the sky, and, against the unclouded azure above them, Dhu cut arcs as he soared in lazy circles up the sharp face of Thyus. A wall of rock on either side kept them out of view to anyone who might be looking up from below. In the light Galli had seen faint splotches on the walls and in cracks at his feet. Again, the fading trail of blood, here staining the granite of the Stairs where it had not been washed away by the storm. He shot a puzzled look of concern to Kal and Wilum. The old Hordanu met his eyes and shook his head.
"Not a word," Wilum whispered. "I see it." Then lifting his voice and turning to look over his shoulder, he said, "Keep on, my good people, not much farther now and we may take our rest. Just to the top of the Stairs."
The intricate figures that graced the path alongside Tarn Cromar were resumed and became even more splendid. Every now and then, a small colony of yellow avalanche lilies bloomed in the gaps of the rocks—a welcome break of colour amid the drear stone. At one point, the Stairs doubled back upon themselves and then continued their steep ascent. As they neared the top, the grey of the rock gave way to a fascinating gallery of brightly painted pictures. Mostly they depicted the chase, full of oddly clad figures from long ago hunting deer, elk, and other game animals, some of them strange and unfamiliar.
At long last, a good half a mile from where they had started, high above Tarn Cromar, the Stairs gave onto an alpine meadow, an open stretch of ground boxed in on one side by the sheer wall of Mount Thyus and on the other three sides by a broad parapet of rocks, chest high, broken only by the outflowing headwaters of the Skell. In this lonely spot, the Skell took its rise from the Seven Springs, a small water pool of great depth, banked up by a low-slung half-circle of mortared stone. Out of the pool there issued a long triangular watercourse, similarly enclosed, which broadened out and slipped with deceptive languor over the edge of the meadow, the very crest of Skell Force.
When they had all finally emerged from the Stairs, the tension they had been under ebbed almost palpably, for at long last they had reached a place of relative safety. Before they could stretch themselves out in the meadow on a natural carpet of wildrye and anemones, secure in their aerie near the very roof-eaves of the Holding, Wilum bade the men collect stones in order to construct a breast-high barricade across the opening of the Stairs.
"There we are. That should do," he said as they finished the makeshift fortification. "Now we'll have to establish a rotation of watches. Three men on every watch of four hours. How does that sound, Frysan? What about you, Narasin? Are you happy with this arrangement? Good. All right, then. That's how we'll do it. Now on every watch, two of you need to stay at the barricade. As for the third man, step over here with me and I'll show you something." Wilum moved along the stone parapet a brief distance and came to a stop, gesturing. "Look, here's an opening that can be used as an observation post. It'll give you a good prospect of Tarn Cromar and all the approaches to it, which means you should have plenty of time to spot any sort of movement on the part of the Boar and then raise the alarm."
"Wilum, we'd do well to lay aside anything we have that's made of metal before we take up sentry duty," Frysan said. "The glint of sun on a brooch or a pendant or the hilt of a sword could give us all away. The sort of thing apt to be seen for miles around." He had slipped comfortably back into the role of soldier, though it had been years since he had served.
"Yes, good. The longer we can keep them off, the better our chances of working out some sort of strategy of escape. And it'll take a bit of serious thought, of that you can be sure. Now, let's all take a well-deserved rest before I show you any more of the Hordanu's Enclosure. In the meantime, Frysan—ah, is that ankle still bothering you? Are you all right? You and Artun together would make one sound man—perhaps you can devise a rotation of watches while we're catching our breath and giving our weary bodies a rest."
It was the first time Wilum admitted to being tired. Unslinging the Talamadh from his shoulder and putting aside his staff, he laid himself down in the sun-drenched hollow of a mossy boulder and closed his eyes. Reclining like this, he looked wan and haggard and desperately sad, a tattered manikin living on the shadowy margins of Arvon's long-fled glory. His hair and long white beard had become matted and unkempt. The gleaming Talamadh looked incongruous propped up against the bedraggled folds of his cloak. On the boulder above him, Dhu had perched. The fellhawk now stretched wide his pinions, flapped twice, folded his wings again, and resumed his vigilant contemplation of the alpine sanctuary.
While Wilum and the others rested, Galli and Kal explored the area of the Seven Springs—a small water-soaked meadow decked with a profusion of wildflowers. It was said that, before the springs had been dammed up with their stonewall rampart, all seven of them could be seen bubbling up from hidden pools in the mountain.
"Look here, Father. Look at these tracks. I've never seen anything like them, have you?" called Kal, standing with Galli beside the Well of the Seven Springs. Frysan walked over to investigate, frowned, and called for Wilum, rousing him to join them as well.
Wilum stared at the imprints in the clay. Some of the other men now began to move within earshot.
"Look," called Galli, who was crouched down on all fours. He had followed the clues like a bloodhound through the moist meadow, brushing aside thick cushions of moss campion and yellow clusters of fringe-leaf cinquefoil to reveal a trail. "The tracks lead to our lookout post here. It seems the creature has been keeping watch as well."
"What do you mean, 'keeping watch,' Galli?" Diggory said, walking to where his nephew knelt in the crushed grass. "It was probably just some brute beast cropping that nice patch of grass, not knowing or caring if the whole of Arvon was being slaughtered."
"Look at the tracks. It was no browsing mountain goat or errant bear, Uncle Digg. The way they're laid out—something two-legged. They look most like a man's bare footprint."
"What are you talking, Galli?" Narasin said, drawing toward Galli as well. "Men? Up here in the Enclosure? Could it be them Scorpions are up here already?"
"No, Nar, unshod, barefoot. And not a man's, like a man's. Look, come here by the Well." Galli rose and walked to where a group of men had gathered around Kal, Frysan, and Wilum. He stooped beside a clear impression in the clay. "You see." He traced the print with a finger. "It looks like a man's footprint—heel, ball, toes—but it's squat, and far too wide. And these here . . ." he said, pointing to the top of the impression, where tapering marks slightly scored the clay, "claws, or I'm a poor excuse for a tracker. And these are all fresh—these here and the ones by the lookout. All made since the rain." He rose again. An anxious murmur passed through the gathering of men. Among them, even the most experienced hunters and woodsmen could offer no opinion.
"Then what could this be, Wilum? What creature could it be, haunting the Hordanu's Enclosure? Could it be—Do you think?" asked Frysan.
Wilum looked at the men around him, his eyes moving from face to face. He spoke slowly, softly.
" 'Haunt' . . . Funny you should use that word. I have a notion, as do you, I think. A creature that's been spoken of only in tales, a way to frighten children when they're naughty. Yet real enough, I daresay, real enough once . . . And now again."
"Bah, gathgour!" It was Devved, feet planted, arms crossed over his broad chest, shaking his head in disbelief. "Gathgour! Don't be talking nonsense, Master Wilum, not now, not here, not at a time like this." His jaw flexed. "Gathgour! Why, that's the stuff of fairy tale and child's play. For scared little boys in the moonlit woods." Devved glowered. "Gathgour!" he muttered again. His growing fear, mirrored in the eyes of his fellow Holdsmen, was masked by a very thin veneer of anger.
Wilum allowed the silence to settle a moment before he fixed the great man with a look both compassionate and authoritative. "Not child's play, Devved. Nor fairy tale, but the stuff of legend. And in legend there is often more truth than we would care to, or are able to, admit. The gathgour is as real as the danger we find ourselves in today. Unthinkable, unexpected, almost unbelievable, but real nonetheless."
There was a strength in Wilum, boiling up from his depths. Kal, standing close by him, could feel it radiating from him like a warmth. It moved like a breath of breeze, sustaining his words, a gentle spirit of protector, defender, provider, teacher, leader and prophet—gentle, yet of immense power. It resonated in Kal's heart, leaving him in profound awe.
Wilum continued, leaning less heavily on his staff. "Aye, the gathgour is real. As is the night drake which Kal saw and whose baying howls you all, no doubt, heard last night. Real, as was the wolf by the Tarn. Real, as are the Black Scorpions that have desecrated and destroyed Wuldor's Howe. The balance has tipped, as the last strains of the Great Harmony fade. As order crumbles, misrule ensues, and the powers of chaos grow in strength. As day gives way to night, the creatures and events of darkness must increase. You will see stranger and more fearsome than this yet. But do not be afraid. The Talamadh survives, as does the Hordanu." He shifted his weight, moving, almost imperceptibly, towards Kal. "The Lay of Ardiel still reverberates in Ahn Norvys. And while it does, there is hope and power, and strength to go on. Do not be afraid. No, open your hearts to this hope and do not be afraid."
Wilum fell silent in the strange stillness that had descended on the small group of men standing in the near twilight. He traced the outline of the gross track with the end of his staff. He spoke again. "For the time being, I think it best if we don't speak of this in the presence of the children. They are quite frightened enough." Wilum looked up. "Save those on watch, we will gather and stay close to each other. See that no one strays."
The sun had sunk further behind Thyus, casting long cold shadows onto the lonely rim of the Radolan Mountains. The wind, too, had freshened into a chilling breeze and sent ripples scudding across the surface of the Well of the Seven Springs.
"Don't we have to start thinking about where we'll stay the night, Master Wilum?" queried Galli, wet from stalking through the soggy grass.
"Yes, indeed. Frysan, do you have your schedule of night watches settled?"
"Aye, Diggory and Galli and I, we'll take the first watch. Narasin, you and your sons will take the second. Athmas, Manaton, and Thurfar the third. Kal will stay with you, Wilum, to keep an eye out for anything suspicious." Frysan made a glancing gesture towards Relzor, who skulked close by the wall of the pool. "Devved, your boy will need you when he wakes."
"Very good," Wilum affirmed. "You three be as vigilant as possible. Keep your swords at the ready. The gathgour was said to be a sore powerful and crafty creature, and no lover of men. We'll send along the three men of the next watch with a fourth to show you the way back to the cave where we'll be spending the night. Don't go making any fire. There will be quite enough of the moon's light for you to see by, I expect."
"What if we spot something during the first watch? How would we know where the rest of you are?"
"Excellent point, Frysan. I'll take Galli with me now and send him back to you here for the first watch immediately, as soon as we reach the Cave of the Hourglass, which is about half a league from here farther up Mount Thyus a ways. You'd be hard put to find it if you didn't already know where it was."
"My hunting horn," Thurfar said, proffering Frysan a curled brass horn bound in leather hanging on a strap. "I'll leave it with you here. That way, you can blow a summons, if need be."
"Excellent," said Wilum. "But make sure you use it only in case of dire emergency, Frysan. Let it stay here with whoever is on guard."
"Good. Let the alarm signal be two short bursts, followed by one long winding. Understood?" Frysan said. The men all nodded.
"So be it," Wilum agreed.
In the gathering shadows of the late afternoon, after a last word from Gammer to her husband, the Holdsfolk took their leave of Frysan and Diggory. Passing the Well of the Seven Springs, they followed a path through the verdant highland, heading higher up the mountain. Soon the path veered off to the left into the rocks and boulders strewn everywhere along the edge of the open meadow. Here their course began to ascend and meander, threading its way back and forth across the rising ramparts of the mountain. In places, they were able to look down and see the two men on sentry duty on the edge of the grassy area. They entered a long gloomy gallery of rocks that hid them from sight. At a turn in the path, daylight spilled into the passageway. Wilum motioned for them to stop. Everyone halted, while he examined a large breach that opened full to the outside. Wilum sidled through the gap, followed by Kal, who was in turn followed by Gwyn and Galli.
"Hold it, Kal," he said, glancing as well towards Gwyn and Galli. "Everyone else too, get back for a moment while I have a closer look. Let me see what we're apt to face here. Better to do it now, while we've still got some light, and then we'll push on to the Cave of the Hourglass."
"It looks like these two big rocks were shunted aside to make the opening," Kal said, examining one of two large slabs.
"Aye, they were prised apart long ago, long before Hedric found this spot."
"Is this it then? Is this the secret pass?"
"Hush now, Kal. Let me have a look and gain some notion of the lie of the land. Believe it or not, in all the years I've been frequenting the Enclosure, I've never had cause to take much more than a brief peek at this spot before now," explained Wilum, creeping forward to explore the situation.
"May I see too?"
"Aye, come, but keep the others back." Wilum let Kal follow along behind him, as he ventured out onto a broad platform of granite set diagonally into a jagged bay of the mountain, its forward edge ending in a sheer drop to the crevasses below. Above them, the mountain reared itself in a series of spiking terraces to its snow-crested top. At first glance, there appeared to be nowhere to go from this place but up, a daunting, if not impossible, task even for a hardy climber. Wilum shuffled on to the far end of the ledge, where it angled towards the right, seeming to end there at an impassable pier of rock. He turned his body to the mountain and, hugging the rock face, all at once disappeared from sight. Curious, Kal pressed forward towards the same spot, while some of the others looked on, among them Relzor, crowding Galli and Gwyn at the opening to the ledge.
"So that's how he did it," Kal mumbled to himself, moving closer and seeing the narrow slab of rock that Wilum had used as a bridge to round the flank of the mountain. The windblown folds of Wilum's cloak billowed out from around the corner.
"Hold it, Kal! I'm coming back," Wilum called, working his way back across the gap.
"What did you find? What's there on the other side?"
"Windward, Kal, windward," Wilum said in a low voice beyond the hearing of the rest. "Go on, have a look yourself. But be careful."
Kal inched across the rocky bridge, trying not to look down and trying not think that a slip of the foot would mean a headlong fall to certain death on the rocks far below. Once he turned the corner, the flank of the mountain broadened. Kal stood at the head of a narrow rift etched into the westward side of Thyus. It fell precipitously, but not far, as it quickly lost a great deal of its steepness, sloping gradually to a trough of gently rounded foothills, nestled between the towering bulk of the neighbouring mountains.
Within the vista afforded him by the rift, there lay the coastal plain, a dim brown band. The horizon, suffused with the rosy glow of the sun as it dipped gently into the Cerulean Ocean, made him feel like he was standing on the roof of the world. He beheld a sight unlike any he had experienced in the Holding on the leeward side of the Radolan Mountains, where there was always the answering view of other alpine peaks to block his field of vision, limiting it to the confines of his own native clanholding. And now he and the Holdsfolk who remained were being thrust out into the wider world, provided, of course, they could escape the cordon of mountains, which served no longer as a protective palisade, but a prison.
In that moment, overlooking the greater world, his heart quickened, for it dawned on him that here lay their avenue of escape. Here, stretching out before him, was the way out of their prison. In the air below him, above the falling slopes of the alpine valley, Dhu wheeled, his feathers burnished in the fading rays of the setting sun.
Kal turned from the prospect to rejoin Wilum. He had failed to notice it before, but now he clearly saw that a shelf of unbroken ground lay under the narrow ledge like a safety net. It would make passage easier for the tired and burdened clanfolk—especially the children.
"Our way out of the clutches of the Boar, Wilum. Our way down! And then we'll have all the length and breadth of Arvon in which to hide ourselves from him."
"Keep your voice low, Kal. It does seem so, yet I fear we must not be overly confident of anything."
"What do you mean? The Boar has probably only just begun to suspect that we're even up here. And should he decide to do something about it, we could hold him off—"
"If we didn't have other enemies within our gates."
"Are you talking—Do you think Relz—"
"Kal! Above you!" Galli screamed. Beside him, Gwyn, terror-stricken, was flailing his arms, pointing at something above their heads. Kal's eyes shot up in time to see a huge stone hurtling down on them.
"Master Wilum!" Kal threw himself at the old man, pushing him into the dubious shelter of a long niche etched by time from the rock wall. There was only the hint of an overhang to shield them from the ponderous weight of granite that came crashing down with a shudder. Crouched on his knees, with one hand clutching his longbow and the other shielding his head, Kal felt the debris whizzing past himself and Wilum, who lay opposite him head to head. The ground beneath them shook from the force of the concussion, and it seemed a whole section of the mountain would give way and tumble with them into the chasm below. When the avalanche of stone had exhausted itself and passed, cascading down the side of Thyus to the echo of crashing rocks, it grew still. The dust settling, Kal ventured to crane his head out from his sheltering crevice, now so tilted and narrow that he felt a mere shift of his body would dislodge him. The place where they had stood just moments earlier was but vacant air. The whole area around them had yielded before the dreadful momentum of the rockfall, leaving Wilum and Kal stranded on the side of the mountain.
Kal, frightened and pale, turned to see the crumpled form of the old man. "Are you all right, Master Wilum?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. The form beneath the dishevelled cloak stirred, and Wilum shifted, lifting his head to look at the young Hordanu.
"I'm fine, lad, except for a little gash on my hand." He smiled thinly and brought his hand up for Kal to see. "It's nothing, really. It seems like I've been left with a bit more elbow room than you."
"Not much more. Talk about not having room enough to roll over." Kal made a light attempt at keeping up his courage.
"Are you two all right?" Manaton called from the opening.
"Aye . . . aye . . . seems we are," Kal said, looking across to the men gathered at the opening. A small shower of rock chips and dust spilled from the edge as Kal moved his foot.
"Careful there, Kal. Watch it! You don't have even an inch of firm ground left. How are we going to get you back? Rope—we need rope. Did any of you men bring rope?" There was a stir among the men who had clustered themselves at the lip of the steep drop that yawned open at their feet. Drifting down to them from somewhere above came the long screech of a fellhawk on the hunt.
A good fifteen paces of gaping chasm separated Wilum and Kal from their comrades. The sun had set even farther on the horizon, and the air had become more damp and chill. Athmas had handed Manaton a hempen rope with a grapnel tied to it. Manaton unfastened the grapnel, fixing a rock instead to the end of the rope. Kal lay nearer to Manaton than did Wilum. Still it took more than half a dozen throws for Kal, his hand outstretched, to catch the rock weight and with it the rope.
Leaving his son's stretcher aside, Devved prepared to bear the brunt of the job of pulling Wilum and Kal one by one to safety. Kal tried to lean forward into the slight rift in the rocks as much as possible and loop the rope around the old man in a sort of makeshift shoulder harness, making sure to attach the Talamadh securely.
"You're all set, Wilum. Just watch yourself, it's a long piece over. There's some jagged edges there under the opening. You may hit them hard. Throw out your arms and legs to catch yourself. The men will pull you up. All right, are you ready?"
"Aye, Kal, as ready as not," Wilum said and, whispering a prayer, cast himself into the air. Devved had laid his body down prone at the edge of the precipice, his muscular arms extended out over the deep canyon spread out beneath him. It was probably Wilum's tunic that helped to buffer him against a nasty gash on the leg as he hit the rock face. The blacksmith's legs and trunk were held pinned down by Galli and two others, while the rest anchored the rope in the passageway behind the big man. He wasted no time, but lifted Wilum straight up, keeping the rope clear of the sharp edges.
With Wilum back on solid ground, the rope was untied, and Manaton once again prepared to cast it across to Kal. Dhu's screams were closer, lower. Kal glanced up and saw his bird hovering off the rock face. Something had upset him. Kal tried to peer out farther. For one horrific moment he seemed to lose his balance.
On the second cast, Kal was able to grab the rope. He fashioned his own harness with its coils, careful of the bow and quiver he wore around his shoulder. When Devved lay in position once more, he made ready to leave the security of the ledge, fighting fear and nausea. Like an unfledged eaglet, he looked out uncertainly from his aerie and hesitated.
"You can do it, Kal. Just don't look down and you'll be fine." Galli encouraged him.
"All right, get ready for me. Here I go."
Kal braced himself to meet the impact of the angular granite on his shins. No sooner had he cast off, than he heard a coughing bark that sent wild spasms of panic through him. Kal screamed out in pain, as his right knee caught a sharp edge, and a rock the size of his head sailed past him.
"Kal!" Manaton yelled, catching sight of the strange creature poised to throw yet another stone. For a moment Manaton stared aghast, as another one of them appeared and hoisted a boulder. The two creatures were each no taller than a man, but huge, their thick, long-limbed bodies covered with a glistening grey coat. Their faces were broad and sharp-set, their large eyes slit-pupilled, their ears erect and tufted. They lifted their heads, fanged maws open, and sent forth guttural cries, part scream and part bark. The Holdsmen stood paralysed, as Kal dangled below the opening, his pleas for help resounding over the chasm. Then Manaton seized his bow, while Devved, in danger himself from being struck, strained to lift Kal. Screaming, Dhu swooped down on the closer of the gathgours, which dropped its rock and cowered before the fury of the fellhawk. Manaton found he could not draw a good line on the two monsters past the frenzied bird.
"No, Manaton. That won't do any good here," insisted Wilum, lifting the Talamadh from his shoulder. At once, with supple fingers, he began to pluck at its strings, while his lips burst into the rhythmic cadence of verse.
"Look, Master Wilum. They can't abide the sound. They're climbing away. Maybe I can prick them a bit from here, hurry them along," Manaton said, even while letting fly a shaft that struck stone, missing the trailing beast, as it bobbed and wove in its frenzied retreat. Dhu pursued the fleeing creatures. "Will you look at them make their way on that mountain! Re'm ena! This is a sight I'd never thought to see. Incredible. In all my days!" Manaton lost his chance to loose a second shot.
With muscles fashioned by years at the forge, Devved pulled Kal up as if he were no more than a horseshoe being drawn from the tempering fire.
"There we are. Move away. Let's get farther in," urged Manaton.
"Are you all right, Kal?" Galli laid his hand on his friend's shoulder.
"What happened there? I couldn't see from where I was." Marina pressed forward, joining her son. "What's that? Your leg is all blood-soaked."
"It's all right, Mother. I'll be fine. It's nothing, just a bit of blood, a scrape that's all."
"Don't worry, Marina. We'll look to him as soon as we get to the Cave, and that's not far from here," Wilum said against the rising sound of crying children. Wilum seemed undisturbed by the encounter with the gathgours, while the rest of them slunk through the narrow passage cowed and daunted, as if expecting the creatures to leap down from the rocks and come bounding into the passageway after them. Sensing their anxiety, Wilum took the Talamadh in hand and began to strum it softly, chanting a tune, this time from "The Lay of Gildasir."
"No need to be afraid. Just follow me," he said. "The gathgour has no power to harm us so long as I'm singing,
'Wuldor, Wuldor plies his might,
Lets the shadows with the light;
Hope and fear and peace and strife,
Twines he in the thread of life.
Fate and fortune, fibres wound,
From his distaff, by him bound;
In the twist, in wonder spun,
Coil our days unto their sum,
From the infant's dawning breath,
To its agèd twilight death.
All life's joy and all life's grief,
All are caught, without relief.
Pleasure's passions turn to pain,
Agony turns calm again—
In his spindle's twirling strand,
From his fingers, from his hand.
Steady spins he, steady still,
All is suffered by his will;
Steady spins he, twists he, twines,
Knowing thoughts and hearts and minds.
How he heeds our turning years,
Holds the burden of our tears,
Heaps man's ages, one on one,
Heals his body when he's done.
So, of hope left unbereft,
We, fine cords in hands so deft;
Patterned ends our lives bedight,
Though black shadows check the light,
'Til the Spinner's spinnings cease
And naught is left of Woe, save Peace.' "