Read Online The Last Days Of The Edge Of The World by Brian Stableford - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Stableford
Tags: Fantasy fiction
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supported by the mound of stones was a signpost.
It was the weirdest signpost that Ewan had ever seen. Its arms hung limp and were crumpled, as if half melted by great heat at some time in the indeterminate past. Its stem was bent over, so that two of its arms pointed down, two up.
Ewan walked into the clearing, and the gateway behind him sealed itself silently. But he was past fear by now. He was quite calm.
He walked forward and began to rummage among the rounded stones which formed the cairn beneath the signpost. It didn’t take more than a minute to find the stone that he wanted. It was in no way similar to the rest. It was flat and square and pale blue in colour. It was polished smooth, and engraved upon it were the following words:
TURN THE SIGNPOST ROUND
And that, thought Ewan, dazedly, is that. So much for one of the great mysteries of our time. But it was not so simple.
He had, by some peculiar quirk of fate, been allowed to reach his destination just as it seemed the forest would not let him… but getting there was only half the battle.
The question now was: how did he propose to get back?
He looked around and saw that the clearing was ringed by a solid wall of tangled branches, utterly impenetrable. He looked up and found that he could see dim and distant stars in the circle of night sky which the clearing cut out of the forest canopy. But that was no use. He couldn’t fly.
Nowhere in the confining walls was there the slightest chink. There was not the thinnest sliver of empty shadow. There was no way out of the grim and gloomy prison.
Unless….
He leapt suddenly up on to the mound of stones and grasped the bent stem of the signpost in both hands.
It turned quite easily. He turned it round one quarter of the way, and nothing changed. Then he turned it halfway round, and then three-quarters. Still nothing happened, and so he completed the operation, bringing the stem back to its original position.
Then it came alive in his hands.
There was a blinding flash as if lightning had struck into the clearing. Ewan’s body jerked rigid with the shock. It was as though there was an explosion inside his head.
He toppled slowly from the mound to fall unconscious on to lush green grass.
Much later, he awoke.
It was late evening. The sun was sinking toward the western horizon. The sky was deep blue. Everything was
bright.
Everything–-
The signpost stood tall and straight, its four arms pointing along four neatly cut tracks extending into the forest. The forest was green, its trees standing tall and dignified, no longer involved in a conspiracy to cut out every last vestige of the sunlight. Around the signpost grasses grew, and there were flowers on the forest floor. The sound of birdsong was dancing in the air.
Leaves rippled, and the undergrowth rustled with the passage of small creatures. As Ewan sat up and looked round, a butterfly which had settled on his sleeve took off and bobbed in the air as it steered itself to a nearby cluster of willow-herb. There was a sweet smell on the drifting wind. A small stream emerged from the other side of the moss-covered cairn to run away downhill towards the edge of the world.
Ewan wondered desperately what day it was. If it was the same day that he had set out, he could be in time with the answer when he returned to Jessamy. If it was the day after, then he had run over the time limit. He remembered the patch of night sky that he had seen before turning the signpost around. It had to be the next day. He must have been asleep for many, many hours.
But something inside him told him that it wasn’t the next day, that he still had time.
He stood up and stretched his limbs.
The grey mare was standing beside one of the four roads which led away into the forest—the one which led away toward the setting sun, and Caramorn. In the grass where he had lain were two things. One was a set of panpipes. The other was a candle in a glass casket. When he knelt
It was the weirdest signpost that Ewan had ever seen. Its arms hung limp and were crumpled, as if half melted by great heat at some time in the indeterminate past. Its stem was bent over, so that two of its arms pointed down, two up.
Ewan walked into the clearing, and the gateway behind him sealed itself silently. But he was past fear by now. He was quite calm.
He walked forward and began to rummage among the rounded stones which formed the cairn beneath the signpost. It didn’t take more than a minute to find the stone that he wanted. It was in no way similar to the rest. It was flat and square and pale blue in colour. It was polished smooth, and engraved upon it were the following words:
TURN THE SIGNPOST ROUND
And that, thought Ewan, dazedly, is that. So much for one of the great mysteries of our time. But it was not so simple.
He had, by some peculiar quirk of fate, been allowed to reach his destination just as it seemed the forest would not let him… but getting there was only half the battle.
The question now was: how did he propose to get back?
He looked around and saw that the clearing was ringed by a solid wall of tangled branches, utterly impenetrable. He looked up and found that he could see dim and distant stars in the circle of night sky which the clearing cut out of the forest canopy. But that was no use. He couldn’t fly.
Nowhere in the confining walls was there the slightest chink. There was not the thinnest sliver of empty shadow. There was no way out of the grim and gloomy prison.
Unless….
He leapt suddenly up on to the mound of stones and grasped the bent stem of the signpost in both hands.
It turned quite easily. He turned it round one quarter of the way, and nothing changed. Then he turned it halfway round, and then three-quarters. Still nothing happened, and so he completed the operation, bringing the stem back to its original position.
Then it came alive in his hands.
There was a blinding flash as if lightning had struck into the clearing. Ewan’s body jerked rigid with the shock. It was as though there was an explosion inside his head.
He toppled slowly from the mound to fall unconscious on to lush green grass.
Much later, he awoke.
It was late evening. The sun was sinking toward the western horizon. The sky was deep blue. Everything was
bright.
Everything–-
The signpost stood tall and straight, its four arms pointing along four neatly cut tracks extending into the forest. The forest was green, its trees standing tall and dignified, no longer involved in a conspiracy to cut out every last vestige of the sunlight. Around the signpost grasses grew, and there were flowers on the forest floor. The sound of birdsong was dancing in the air.
Leaves rippled, and the undergrowth rustled with the passage of small creatures. As Ewan sat up and looked round, a butterfly which had settled on his sleeve took off and bobbed in the air as it steered itself to a nearby cluster of willow-herb. There was a sweet smell on the drifting wind. A small stream emerged from the other side of the moss-covered cairn to run away downhill towards the edge of the world.
Ewan wondered desperately what day it was. If it was the same day that he had set out, he could be in time with the answer when he returned to Jessamy. If it was the day after, then he had run over the time limit. He remembered the patch of night sky that he had seen before turning the signpost around. It had to be the next day. He must have been asleep for many, many hours.
But something inside him told him that it wasn’t the next day, that he still had time.
He stood up and stretched his limbs.
The grey mare was standing beside one of the four roads which led away into the forest—the one which led away toward the setting sun, and Caramorn. In the grass where he had lain were two things. One was a set of panpipes. The other was a candle in a glass casket. When he knelt
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