The Land of the Silver Apples - Farmer Nancy - Страница 66
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“Then there’s no time like the present,” the king said cheerfully. “Mumsie learned to speak to swallows from the Man in the Moon. Not only that, she learned how to cast her spirit into one. When you went missing, Pega, I was devastated. I thought you were dead until the Nemesis confessed to what he’d done.”
“I should have kept my mouth shut,” grumbled the Nemesis.
“Ah, but you felt sorry for me,” the king said. “Underneath that crusty exterior beats a heart of pure frog spawn. Mumsie sped straight off in the body of a swallow to ask Dragon Tongue’s advice.”
“You know Dragon Tongue?” cried Jack.
“Well, of course. He’s the Wisest of the Wise,” said the Bugaboo. “He told us Pega’s candle contained the life force of the earth itself. But he warned us that lighting it would move the wheel of the year. Never again would time stand entirely still in the Land of the Silver Apples. We would age—slowly, to be sure, but certainly.”
“We held a council. Everyone had to agree,” said the Nemesis.
“And they did, Pega, my love.” The Bugaboo held her hands in his long, sticky fingers. “They said it was worth it to have such a beautiful, kind queen with such a beautiful voice.”
“Oh, Lord,” said Pega. “I’m responsible for death coming to your people. I feel so guilty.”
“Nonsense, darling. You merely made us step back into the stream of life. We’d been cut off too long, listening to elf music.”
Wisps of cloud had turned gold and red. The sea darkened, and the foam caps of the waves stood out more clearly. A breeze quickened the air. The swallows shot away to the mountain, to find roosting places in the hollows of the rock. There was only the sound of the sea and the squabbling gulls.
“What are they saying?” asked Pega.
“They’re accusing each other of nest-robbing,” answered Thorgil. “Most of them are proud of it.”
“You also speak to birds, shield maiden?” the Bugaboo said.
“I tasted dragon blood by accident. Don’t ever do that. It almost burned my throat out.”
That night they went to bed early, for they would leave at first light. Pega packed the food. The Nemesis, under Thorgil’s direction, carved her runes into a tree trunk. “They may return. They may see this and know that I am alive,” she said.
Jack waited until all were asleep before rising and facing the fire. He thought about the swallow he’d seen with the Bard when he was in the dungeons of Elfland.
Are you a bard?he had asked Mumsie that last night with the hobgoblins.
Nothing so grand,she had replied. I’ve learned a few things from the Wise, but I’m far too lazy to commit my life to such study.It seemed she was far wiser than she let on.
Jack cleared his mind and walked sunwise around the fire.
It was this beach he had seen when Thorgil, Skakki, and Rune were planning a raid into Elfland. What an insane scheme that was. But if Thorgil hadn’t done it, he’d never have seen her again. Perhaps Father Severus was right. There was a purpose to everything under Heaven.
Jack put the thought from his mind. It was interfering with his magic. He walked round and round, chanting softly. Sooner than he expected, the night-dark sea beyond his hands brightened and became a hall lit by firelight. It wasn’t King Yffi’s. It wasn’t any place Jack knew… until he recognized a few details: a stained-glass window, an ivory box with the carving of a man being devoured by leaves.
It was the treasure-house of St. Filian’s. Torches burned on the walls. Most of the chests of gold and jewels had been moved aside to make room for a feast. Monks were drinking and bellowing songs as sullen slaves moved among the tables with food. Jack remembered the monks as being crude, but he’d never seen them this bad.
Some were collapsed on the floor, soaked with wine or worse. Others reeled drunkenly. Two of them traded flabby punches over some insult. They had given up their homespun robes in favor of fine linen and wool. The gifts to the monastery had been looted.
At the head of the table was a small man almost hidden by his roistering companions. He alone wore the simple garb of a monk, and only he had a humble meal of bread and water. It was Brother Aiden.
“Please listen,” he said in his gentle voice. “We really must go to the chapel.” No one paid the slightest attention to him. After a moment he rose, and Jack followed him from the overheated hall down long corridors to the chapel. Brother Aiden lit a candle, revealing the ruinous state of the room. Benches were overturned, dust covered everything, and the cross leaned at an angle.
The little man knelt down to pray. Jack tried to call him, but his magic wasn’t strong enough. Finally, discouraged, the boy left the chapel and wandered through the monastery grounds. He didn’t know where he was going. He wished he could reach the fortress of Din Guardi and see the Bard, but that wasn’t how the vision worked. It showed you what you needed.
A gibbous moon cast a ghostly presence over the ruin of walls and collapsed buildings. Why hadn’t these been cleared away? But when Jack stepped through the rubble to St. Filian’s Well, he saw that the monks had not been entirely idle.
The opening of the well had been covered. Somehow, with enormous effort, a huge slab of stone had been dragged over the hole. More stones had been wedged into gaps and cemented there with plaster. There was no hope of anyone ever getting out of that well.
King Yffi had never intended to let anyone return. Even when the water was restored, the stone had been left in place. He had no honor, as Thorgil would say. Jack was consumed by a rage so complete, he could have called up another earthquake. But the anger snuffed out the vision, and he found himself on the beach with the waves muttering along the shore.
“The well is sealed? You’re certain?” said the Bugaboo. It was early morning, and the sun was still hidden behind a fog bank out to sea. They were all crouched around a roaring fire, trying to warm up.
“I saw it,” said Jack.
“Yes, and I saw roast partridges dancing on beds of leeks in my dreams,” said the Nemesis.
“Farseeing doesn’t lie,” the boy protested.
“It’s a bard thing,” said the Bugaboo, aiming a friendly punch at the Nemesis. “Personally, I believe him. Dragon Tongue wouldn’t teach him faulty magic.”
“Then perhaps we’d better go through the Forest of Lorn,” said Thorgil.
“Father Severus would never survive.” The hobgoblins had made a litter to carry the monk, but it would be useless on the steep and narrow trails through the mountains.
“As I remember, the Hollow Road branched in many directions,” Jack said. “Are there other exits?”
“Yes,” said the Bugaboo. “Most of them go through places you wouldn’t like—the Worm Nursery and the Hall of Wraiths, for example. One passage comes up in a deep chasm called Hen Hole. We’d never get up the sides. The only safe exit lies under Din Guardi.”
“Under Din Guardi?” echoed Jack, who had a somber memory of dungeons and clashing waves.
“There’s a network of caves. The fortress is extremely old.”
“Great toadstools and little slime molds! Do you want to get us killed?” exclaimed the Nemesis. “That’s where the Man in the Moon committed the crime that exiled him to the sky. The old gods still think it belongs to them. The Forest Lord lays siege to it day and night.”
Jack shivered, remembering the Hedge that surrounded the grim, gray walls.
“It’s not that bad,” the king said. “It was quite a jolly place when Lancelot ran it. Someone else took it over recently. I can’t remember who.”
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