Entry #419380, added on 08-03-06 @ 8:32 pm EDT
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| Chapter Four - Far More in the Tale | Entry #419380 |
Elkwater's King
  | ID: 998876 (Rated: ASR)
Elkwater's King 
Two brothers follow a wary white German Shepherd to search for the King of a secret realm.
by Basilides   |
Chapter Four - Far More in the Tale
"The hasty stroke oft goes astray."
~J.R.R. Tolkien
My head swam as I regained my balance. I felt the rough, rusty surface of the tractor with my right hand. My left hand felt strangely empty. Whatever had been there an instant before seemed important, but I couldn't remember why, or even what it was. I did remember that I was not supposed to be in the pasture without an adult.
"Timmy!" came Uncle Martin's frustrated shout. I heard the gate opening in the distance.
"Coming!" I yelled. "I'm sorry!" I jogged toward the lumbering grey-clad figure of my Uncle. But I was distracted by the blue chevy pickup with the wineberry bush growing all over it -- the same one I gazed at when I went into the pasture with Michael and...and someone I couldn't remember. I knew I ought to keep running to Uncle Martin, but there was one particularly juicy-looking wineberry poking out from the spot where one of the pickup's headlights had been. I reached over and picked it, then popped it in my mouth.
It was absolutely delicious.
That is when the loud hiss rose from the grass at my feet. I looked down and saw -- inches from my left foot -- a coiled snake, poised to strike. I froze in terror, but I couldn't help thinking what a very beautiful snake it was. It was the color of burnished bronze, like the metal pinecones that hung from Aunt Eva's cuckoo clock. It had wavy, mesmerizing hourglass designs on its back and head. It glistened in the sun.
It struck.
Several things happened at once. First, a big black boot materialized where the snake's head had been an instant before. Meanwhile some irresistable force had grabbed the back of my t-shirt and cast me backwards into the turf. All this was accompanied by a magnificent grunt, like that of a victorious bull. I looked up from the grass to see Uncle Martin grinding his heel into the ground, the body and tail of the snake thrashing wildly.
He did not turn to me until the snake stopped moving, but when he did there was no anger at all in his eyes. They were moist, though.
"Come look at this snake," he said.
I didn't dare refuse. I got up and stood next to my uncle and stared mutely at the crushed head and limp body of the serpent.
After a moment, Uncle Martin looked at me and spoke. "That's a copperhead," he said. "A copperhead'll kill a boy your size."
"Uncle Martin, I'm really, really --"
"Look at those cow's a-yonder," he interrupted, and so I did. "You forget what happened to that pig got caught out there?"
I remembered clearly, even though it had been two summers ago. It wasn't a pleasant memory.
"Yes, Uncle Martin. You said, 'Cows and sows...um...cows and sows...'"
"Cows and sows don't mingle none," he finished. "And boys and broken rules shouldn't neither." He looked at me until the shame felt hot in my cheeks and made my scalp tingle. "Timmy," he said, "the 'shall nots' aren't there to spoil your fun. They're there because you're important enough to keep livin'."
He put his arm around me and we walked back to the farmhouse. My head hung miserably, and I wondered what in the world was so important that I went to the pasture in the first place.
*******
My eyes opened as I slowly woke up. Flashing before my mind's eye were visions of the mice, Porquillian, the beautiful girl, and the terrible Lady. I remembered the fearful swim in narrow caves and the eels. What a horrible nightmare, I thought. But as the room came into focus, the fearful events of the day before seemed less like a dream, and the moments with Uncle Martin in the pasture seemed more like one.
For one thing, I wasn't in the farmhouse at all. I was inside a home kept by someone who wasn't very tidy, though. The dark walls of the room were covered with shelves, hanging fabrics, kitchen utensils, gardening tools, and an old painting or two. The room was as cluttered as your average man's garage. A large window on the wall to my right opened to the lovely topaz-blue sky I saw the morning before. On the wall across from the foot of my bed -- for a bed is what I was laying in -- a door stood ajar. From the room beyond I could hear voices. One was a woman's voice, and the other seemed to be that of a child.
I sat up in the bed, and noticed that I was completely naked, covered only by a thin, rustic-looking blanket. I frantically looked from side to side for my clothes, but was stricken by a wave of dizziness. I fell right back down on the pillow.
I must have made some kind of noise, because at that moment the door opened a bit and a dark-haired, middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. An instant later, a little girl who could not be older than seven popped her head in as well.
The woman smiled kindly. "Awake finally? I was beginning to wonder if you would sleep forever. Are you thirsty?"
The woman spoke a language I'd never heard before, but just as with the snarlings of the mice and the hissing of the terrible snake, I understood every word she spoke, and answered her in the same language.
"Yes, Ma'am, I am very thirsty."
"Ria," she said to the little girl, "bring the pitcher of fresh water, and a cup please. Then go find Romber and tell him his big discovery is awake."
"Can I tell Daddy and the others, Mama?" Ria asked.
"Yes but tell Romber first," her mother answered. "It would break his heart if anyone else knew before he did."
I must have downed four big cups of water before a stomping, hurried commotion announced the arrival of someone shouting, "I'm here! I'm here!"
I was startled. "Who is that, Ma'am?" I asked the kind woman.
"Only the man who saved your life," she smiled, and even as she spoke a great bear of a man appeared in the doorway, clothed in the same strange loose-fitting cotton as the little Ria and her mother. But this man was covered in sweat and grime, as if he had been working outdoors for hours. He did not have the light brown complexion of the woman. Instead, his face was white and freckles, his messy hair as red as a fire engine.
"Is he all right, Mrs. Kir? Is he going to make it?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself, Romber?"
Romber suddenly became nervous and fidgety. He made a motion as if to take off his hat, but only grabbed a handful of tousled hair (since he was not wearing a hat). He blinked and cleared his throat.
"Are...are you comfy, young Master? Do you like my bed? Are you feeling well? But you can't be feeling well. You haven't eaten in three days. I'll...I'll bring out the best in the larder. Anything you want!" And with that, Romber was out the door and making loud, banging noises in the other room.
"Is that your husband?" I asked Mrs. Kir.
She choked on something, even though I didn't see her drink any water. After she stopped coughing, she said, "No, dear Romber is my neighbor. I live with my husband and four girls on the next farm, about three miles south along the Ryemellow. But the last three days, Ria and I have been staying here tending to you."
"Thank you, Ma'am...Mrs Kir."
"You are very polite. You are well raised. But visitors from other worlds are allowed to call grownups by their first name. My name is Dinah."
"My name is Timmy--I mean, my name is Tim. People used to call me Timmy, years ago, when I was a little kid. But now everyone just calls me Tim."
"Well met, Master Tim."
I liked how Romber and Dinah talked to me. It made me feel important.
"Do you get lots of visitors from other worlds?" I asked.
Dinah laughed. "Only two, that I have ever seen. Not counting Trustlings, I mean. But you are the first I have ever talked with, or kept clean while he slept for three days."
My feeling of importance was replaced by embarrassment. I held my blanket a little tighter and changed the subject.
"Where is this place, Ma'am...Mrs....Dinah?"
"You are in Romber's bedroom, in his house, on the farm he has worked since his parents died, on the western bank of the great Ryemellow River, in the Third Verse called Karis, in the Kingdom of Tuntuq-Teague, or as many call it these days, Elkwater."
I tried to absorb her answer, but before I could ask anything else she asked, "Master Tim, can you tell me how you received all your wounds? Or how you came to be in such a place as unsafe as the edge of the river in the dark of night?"
I wanted to tell her. I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly was overcome by pain in my lower left side. Dinah rushed to me and held my face, concerned. When it subsided, I said, "I think I ate a poisoned berry on my Uncle's farm. Before I got here." Her face told me she suspected my lie, so I continued quickly. "I remember being in the water, and eels, and then darkness."
"I suppose some of these could be eel bites, though I have never heard of anyone surviving them," she said. "They will not suffer anyone to swim the Ryemellow. But the eels should have left you alone."
"Why?" I asked.
Dinah picked something up off a nighstand, something folded in a small cloth. Gingerly she unwrapped it, and I saw my half of the walnut shell. I took it in my hand, and didn't feel so naked any more.
"I've never seen one before, but I supose this must be your stile," she said.
"Yes," I answered as I stared at it. "Usher gave it to me."
"The Usher," Dinah sighed. "I have heard all the old tales. What does he look like?"
"Like a very strange, sick, naked boy," I answered.
Dinah looked at me pointedly.
"Stranger than me," I said, embarrassed again.
By this time Romber had come in carrying a tray loaded with food. Dinah stood and announced that she would keep the rest of her curious family at bay so I could eat in peace. She closed the door while Romber gently placed the heavy tray in my lap.
The meal was simple but delicious. There was cold chicken, hard-boiled eggs, two kinds of pickles (one sweet and one sour), some very soft white cheese, and a dark, heavy bread. The bread smelled a little like fruitcake, but wasn't sweet at all. It was slightly bitter and almost meaty. After a few nibbles, I was really enjoying it.
"What kind of bread is this?" I asked Romber, who was staring at me while I ate, as if I were in danger of disappearing before his eyes.
Romber beamed. "Do you like it? I make it myself, from my own River Rye, and in my own steam oven."
"Yes, I really like it," I answered.
"They call it Goblin-fart bread."
I stopped chewing. "What?"
"Goblin-fart bread," Romber repeated, still beaming.
I furrowed my brows. "Why do they call it that?"
Romber suddenly got very serious, and leaned forward to say in a low voice, "You will find out in about three hours."
We were silent for a moment, just looking at each other. Finally, I said what any nine-year-old boy could possibly be expected to say at such a thing.
"May I have some more, please?"
*****
In less than an hour I had met the rest of the Kir family. Of course I was fully clothed by then. Dinah's oldest daughter had stitched my ragged shirt and jeans back together, and for some reason they had all insisted that it was important I wear them, even though they said they would be happy to loan me new clothes. I had also seen myself in a mirror, and it was not a pretty sight. The bottom of my nose was bruised and scabbed over where Porquillian had injured me, and there were many other bruise and cuts besides. No wonder Dinah had questioned my condition. But I would not risk trying to explain to her or anyone else. I did not want to feel that pain in my side ever again.
We seemed to be waiting for something. I sat with Mr. Kir (his first name was Jeron) on a log while the two youngest girls played, Dinah and the oldest set about secretly trying to tidy up Romber's house, and Romber was out in one of his Rye fields. The rye grass was green, and the youngest girl brought me a stem when I said how beautiful it looked. It smelled fruity, like my favorite breakfast cereal back home.
"Elkwater River Rye is pretty special," Jeron said as I breathed in the aroma. "And Romber has such a love for the grain and earth that I suspect his small crop is the best in Elkwater. He learned this love from his own father."
"How did his parents die?" I asked, remembering what Dinah told me.
"They were already old when Romber was left to them. They were never able to have children, and hoped to receive a Trustling all their lives. They had given up hope when Romber was left to them."
"Who left him?" I asked.
"Who leaves Trustlings? That's a good question. Some say the Usher does, although the Kings have always disputed that. Others say some ancient spell brings babies from other worlds, perhaps babies who have no parents themselves. I don't know. They just appear one morning, usually in the same bed as the parents or a sibling. Anyway, Romber is a Trustling. His parents were darker, like us - but not as dark as the Horst family, who live five farms south of here."
"Oh," I said. "Are there lots of farms here?"
"In this little dell, there is Romber's farm and ours. You have to go three miles north or south to get to the neighboring farms."
"Heigh-ho the merry-o," I sang.
Jeron gave me a strange look. "What?" he asked.
"Never mind," I said. "What are we all waiting for?"
"For a message from the King."
I blinked. I had forgotten all about the reason the Usher wanted to bring me or my brother to this world in the first place.
"The King?"
"We sent a drum message to him yesterday, stating that another Kingfinder had been found," Jeron said. "We might get a drum message back any time, or maybe even a Prela Bird."
I did'nt hear anything Jeron said past another Kingfinder.
"Mike is here? Where is he?" I demanded, standing up.
"You know him?" asked Jeron. "He went to the King's Manor some four days ago. He'd been expected. He appeared right in front of the Durshone Wall on the appointed day, just as in the days of old, a lone child. He was really surprised to see the throng waiting for him."
"Throng?"
"And the Watcher drove him down the Durshone Highway, a parade really. They passed this way the day before Romber found you. It was really something to see."
My heart was beating. "Do you think he has met the king yet?" I asked.
"Oh yes," answered Jeron. "The drumbeats have been keeping everyone up-to-date. He has been at Pepperwood (that's the name of the King's Manor) for two days."
I was devastated. While I was unconscious, Michael had found the King. It wasn't fair. The adventure was over before it had even begun, or so I thought.
"Did Usher...I mean, the Usher say anything when they got here?" I asked.
"Oh no one sees the Usher. It is said that when he leaves your world after selecting a Kingfinder, he returns to the Sixteenth Verse. And that is a place rarely visited."
"What is all this stuff about Verses" I asked. "Dinah said this was the Third Verse. What does that mean?"
"Tuntuq-Teague (Elkwater that is) is divided into sixteen regions, called Verses. Our first King, Carthalo, had a Queen named Miriama, and she dreamt the verses as a song one night. The Third Verse is
For love reclaims the lost, and the lawless are redeemed
"We call this verse Karis. All the land between the Ryemellow to the East, the King's Road to the South, and the slanting Blue Pepper River from the North and East is the Third Verse. But nearly all of it is behind the Durshone Wall. No one has seen the great city of Akun-Patami, or the wonder of the statue called "Carthalon", or even the shining Lake called Tuntuq-Teague, after which the whole kingdom is named, for hundreds of years. Our Karis, once the greatest of all the Verses, just lives in the shadow of Doss Teeglan's wall, his prison for an evil he helped to create."
As I listened to Jeron speak, he transformed from a quiet farmer to some kind of magical storyteller. His eyes looked to some faraway place and his voice developed a certain cadence. His words trailed off and the wind streamed through his long straight black hair. If this were not a different world, I would have thought he looked like a Native American Chief, his eyes fixed on a vanishing paradise.
Jeron took a deep breath, remembering where he was. He smiled at me apologetically.
"But there are more learned men to explain these things. I should let you hear them from the scholars at Pepperwood. They can teach you better."
"Mike - the other Kingfinder - is my brother," I said. And then, still full of anger at the unfairness of Michael's victory, I lied, "He wasn't supposed to come here at all. The Usher really wanted me. But I tripped over something and got distracted when I started to see Elkwater, and he jumped in ahead of me. Maybe he even tripped me."
Jeron looked very serious. "Is this true, Master Tim?"
I suppressed a surge of guilt.
"Yeah, and when I got up, Mike and the Usher were gone. I went running toward Little Fox Creek, but..." (and here a wave of inspiration hit me) "...but a snake nearly bit me. Still, I saw through to this world just before my stile went cold. I remember eels, and water, and two moons. But just when I reached the riverbank I passed out."
Jeron's eyes were wide, and his lips trembled. "This is grave news," he said. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "May Shozer have mercy on us all."
I meant to ask him who Shozer was, but at that instant Romber's voice carried from afar:
"The King's bird is coming! It's a Prela! It's coming!"
The children stopped playing, Dinah and her daughter came running out of Romber's little house, and Jeron and I stood up, gazing at the sky. Romber came crashing through the rye, pointing to the North. Something was indeed in the sky, a very large green bird with a long tail, prowling through the air like a cat. In a graceful swirl it landed on a fencepost right in front of Romber and bowed to him.
The Prela Bird reminded me of pictures I'd seen of the first feathered dinosaurs (or how people supposed they may have looked) except this bird had a sharp black beak like a Robin (only longer) and eyes soft like a dove's. It had a long, black featherless tail but with a fanned patch of feathers at the very tip. Except for its black beak, eyes, and tail the whole bird was a metallic hunter green, and it shimmered like oil when it moved.
The Prela spread its magnificent wings - some seven feet from tip to tip - and held out one grat clawed foot. Attached was a small scroll, bound in leather and tied to the bird's leg. Romber swallowed hard, but the bird itself untied the scroll with its beak and held it out to Romber.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Prela Bird, Sir...or Ma'am, no offense," said Romber, and he opened the scroll. As it unravelled, something round and hard fell to the ground.
"I broke it!" wailed Romber.
Dinah bent and scooped up the thing. "No, you did not break anything, Romber," she said. "It is the King's Token - a hickory nut!"
Romber glanced down at the scroll and his lips moved. He looked up afer a few seconds.
"Would someone else please read this?" he asked. "My eyes are sweaty from working."
"I will!" I said, but when I looked at the writing, it was just a jumble of unfamiliar characters. I was a little disappointed. Apparently I could speak and understand new languages, but could not read or write them.
In the end, little Ria read us the message:
To my loyal subject Romber, Farmer of Karis: I thank you for your service and rescue of the otherworld boy, who we believe to be Timmy, the brother of the Kingfinder Michael William McFadden. For keeping the boy in your home, I thank you again. But for all your deeds, I command of you yet another: that you bring the Kingfinder's brother to the Blue Pepper Station, where he will be paddled all the way to Pepperwood Manor. I thus hereby appoint you Deputy Watcher for the duration of your journey.
Long Live the Prince of Soranou!
~Warren~
The Hickory King, Steward of Elkwater, Warden of the Third Verse, Overseer of Waskindia, Defender of Silvas, Beholder of the Hidden Stream.
Everyone began to congratulate Romber, who was blushing as badly as I have ever seen anyone blush, but I was terribly upset. First, that Michael told him my name was Timmy, while he ranked his full legal name; and second, the manner of the journey.
"What's wrong, Timmy?" asked Romber. I winced.
"I don't deserve to be paddled all the way to the King's Manor," I said.
"Sure you do!" Romber said. "If ever anyone deserved it, you do!"
My stomach turned. How could they know I lied? "But...but I haven't done anything wrong!" I protested.
They all looked at me with puzzled expressions, until Ria finally said, "No no, not paddled on the hiney! Paddled in a canoe!"
And when everyone realized my mistake, there were roars of laughter. But I didn't think it was funny at all.
Within the hour, Romber and I were ready to leave. I had nothing to bring, and since Jeron assured me it was only a day's journey to Blue Pepper Station, we had only to carry some food and water. Dinah and her girls went to their house to gather some of each for us. The only reason we weren't ready to leave sooner was because of Romber's horse. He brought me to the stable while the Kir family prepared our things.
"Timmy," said Romber, who refused to call me anything else since the King's message, "I want you to meet Popi. He's right in here."
Romber opened the stable door. "Popi! Hey Popi! We are going on an adventure."
Romber was answered by a neigh, and when my eyes adjusted to the light, I finally saw the impressive creature. Larger than a normal horse, Popi had longer hair too - especially around the hooves and neck. He reminded me of a Clydesdale, but this peanut-butter colored dun stallion had different markings than the Clydesdales I was used to seeing back home.
"Popi has real Arlazex blood in him, you can see that," said Romber.
"I don't know what that is," I said.
"Arlazexi are the mighty wild horses of the Ninth Verse! They...oh never mind. I'm just wondering...just asking if you would...if you would please--"
I waited as the big man stammered.
"As a favor to me," he went on,"And without saying a word to anyone else--"
"Yes?" I asked, a little impatiently.
"Would you ask Popi what he thinks of me? You know, ask him if I've been a good master?"
"Really? Ask the horse?"
"It's just that you can speak all the languages and all," said Romber. "And I thought you might be able to speak Horse. Oh it is silly, isn't it? Never mind, and never mind I said such a thing." Romber started to walk out of the stable.
"Wait," I said.
I stood in front of the great beast and did my best to imitate a whinny. To my surprise, when the horse snorted back at me, I did actually understand it. Oats? is what it said.
"Do you like the man?" I asked, knowing that my sounds and leg stomp were just right to convey the question. At least that was the message. Literally, it was something like, "Is the man as good as rolling in mud?"
When man brings sugar, better than mud, came the reply.
I turned to Romber, who looked as if he might explode with anticipation.
"Popi thinks you are the greatest thing since sugar," I said. It was sort of true. Romber was ecstatic, and promptly gave the horse some of the sweet stuff itself. All the happiness that followed made me feel a little queasy.
"Hadn't we better get going?" I asked.
And so we got going. We brought Popi out with all his gear, and I helped Romber hitch him to a wagon. The Kir family gave me some snacks for the journey: rye crackers, some of that very soft white cheese, some pine nuts, and a little dried fish. One by one they said good-bye to me, and little Ria even kissed me on the cheek. But Jeron waited until the others were talking to Romber before he said his good-byes.
"Well gone, Tim McFadden. I think your journey to the King's Manor will be free of danger. No more scrapes or bruises, I hope." Jeron smiled at me.
"Thank you, Mr. Kir. Maybe you can visit!"
Jeron chuckled, and then his face got very serious. "I sent a message back to the King. I tied it to the leg of the Prela Bird while at the stable with Romber."
I swallowed. "Oh," I said. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, so I asked, "What did you write?"
"I warned King Warren that your brother tripped you so he could enter Elkwater instead of you," Jeron said. "It is important that he knows."
"Oh," I said. Suddenly I didn't feel very well.
Jeron studied my face for a moment, then shook his head slowly from side to side. His eyes seemed to bore a hole in mine. "Well gone," he said, and turned away.
The first hour of the journey was miserable. I could not stop thinking about the look on Jeron's face - and his obvious disappointment in me. He seemed to know I was lying about Michael and how we each got into Elkwater. He must have seen it on my face. I didn't know if he would send another message to the King or not.
But the trip to "Blue Pepper Station" (whatever that was) got even worse. Romber was talking all the time about the Durshone Wall to our west. He spoke about how it rose so high that it looked like part of the sky (as if I couldn't see that), how he would lie awake some nights wondering what was on the inside of it (if he only knew), and how someday maybe people would live there again (they would need some serious pest control if they did). Still, Romber's cheerful chatter wasn't as bad as the people who came running out onto the road.
Yes, word had somehow gotten around - perhaps by Jeron's drums from a few days ago- that another boy from "kingfinder land" (as Romber called it) was headed to Pepperwood. I was seated in the wagon, close to Romber and facing away from him, my legs scrunched up and my hastily sewn clothes covered in pieces of old rye grass. When we passed a couple of farms, some families came running out to see me, cheering. I waved, and actually my spirits rose a little. But when they got close enough to see my bruised face and scabby nose, their cheers died down. Their expressions became puzzled. Concerned, even.
It was the same when we passed the first village. People were running out into the road with confetti they were pulling out of waste bins (they must have been reusing the confetti from Michael's parade) and cheering. But they quieted down as they got closer. They seemed to inspect my injuries, looking at each other with anxious glances.
And then, just at the worst possible time, the goblin-fart bread started living up to its name.
The first time it happened, everyone pretended not to notice (except one large woman who violently nudged her husband, thinking it was him). The second time it happened the growing crowd avoided making eye contact with me.
Then Romber pulled the reigns in on Popi, because a very important village official was heading towards us with a small entourage. He greeted me and handed me a scroll, which he explained was the deed to the swamp next to his village, which was named Twert. He apologetically explained that he would have given me the deed to Twert itself, but that it had already been awarded to the Kingfinder Michael. I ground my teeth.
And then the Important Official turned around and began making a speech to the small crowd. In horror I felt the pressure of the gas build up inside me. I employed every ounce of self-control to keep the gas inside of me. I prayed (to no one in particular) for the man to hurry and finish his speech.
"Every man, woman, and child," he droned, "in deference to the whims of fate, now stands before an Auspicious Event. And this Event has never been seen before, that a second Finder has been ushered by the Usher into our beloved remnant of the Third Verse. What histories ahall be written? What poems shall be recited about this day? What shall the songs written by the Minstrels sound like to our ears?"
And at "sound like to our ears?" I could hold the gastric demons no more. A sound pealed from me like thunder - loud and rolling thunder.
The official stopped his speech, the breeze stilled, and even the horse was completely silent for a few seconds. And then a little boy sitting on his father's shoulders pointed his finger at me.
"He did it!" he yelled, breaking the silence.
Romber, obviously feeling sorry for me, came to my rescue. "He's had a bit of my famous bread is all," he said.
That broke the silence. Every person in the crowd began laughing, and most of them couldn't stop laughing. Even the Important Official could not regain his composure. Whatever the rest of his speech was, I never knew. Romber solemnly got Popi moving again, and I buried my head between my knees in shame, the laughter subsiding with every "clippety-clop" of the horse.
"Don't pay them a single mind," Romber said from the driver's seat above and behind me. "They've only ever met one boy from Kingfarter Land before. Finder! Kingfinder Land I meant! Oh me!"
I could only grind my teeth, and think about the promise I made to Ari to help her escape someday if I could. I wondered if she was a powerful enough sorceress to cast a spell that could make those villagers stop laughing forever. I hoped she was.
I spent the rest of the day's journey sulking. When we passed farms or villages, Romber would wave at the people who inevitbaly came to see me. Then he would make excuses for me while I huddled in the cart, pretending to be asleep. "He isn't feeling well," he would say, or "Hush, he's asleep after a hard day!" And in-between the small mobs of curious onlookers, he would tell me about the farms we passed (and who lived there), the names of the villages, or in the forested regions he would name some tree or bush. He said little about the Wall towering to our left until it suddenly ended. I sat up and took notice at its rounded corner, and was amazed at the magnificent statue leaning from it, like a giant beautiful lady of grey stone being birthed from the wall. She must have been six hundred feet high. She held a bough of Holly in one outstretched arm, and over her other arm was a blanket that ended in stone snowflakes. Her close-cropped hair was crowned with icicles, and her face a visage of wint'ry beauty.
"That's Lady Kaymon - Winter," Romber said, gazing up in wonder. "Isn't she something?"
Instead of answering him, I just stared open-mouthed while Romber spoke of the other three "ladies" sculpted out of the other three corners of the Wall. I barely heard him, transfixed by the stone eyes of the ancient statue. As I stared, trance-like, her face softened. Her cheeks lightened in color to a fleshy faerie-white. Her brows moved and her head turned toward me. Her grey eyes became a silvery blue. Her eyes locked onto mine, and so I was fully in her spell. A frosty mist escaped her lips like an exhale of breath in the winter, and I felt a chill in the warm summer air. Her lips moved, and though I heard no sound, I could read them.
"Keep the walnut shell forever," she silently whispered.
I blinked, and as suddenly as she had come to life, the Lady Kaymon's transfguration was over. She was lifeless, still, and stony. She was just a statue after all.
I reached into my pocket and touched the walnut shell. I let my breath out. I had been holding it.
"Kingfinder Tim? Kingfinder Tim? Are you all right? You should see this! Kingfinder Tim?"
I don't know how long Romber had been trying to get my attention. Popi had come to a halt in the middle of the road. Maybe we had been there some time already.
"What is it?" I asked Romber, a little annoyed.
"Petie crossing! Look at the Peties!" he replied, his face flushed with excitement.
I looked ahead, and what I saw made my spine tingle. A line of centipedes was crossing the road from the riverside forest on our right to the more sparsely wooded grassland to our left. There were hundreds of them of all sizes. Some were no bigger than my index finger, one or two were as long as the horse and cart put together, and there was every size in-between. They were mostly a maple brown color, although a few were pale yellow with brown legs and faces. They all had huge, frightening-looking mandibles. They were making their way across the road fairly briskly, sometimes the big ones crawling over the smaller ones, but there seemed to be no end of them.
“Centipedes!” I yelled.
“Aren’t they pretty?” asked Romber. “I can bring one over.”
“No, thank you,” I said, and shuddered. “How long before we can get going again?”
“Sometimes they can cross for hours. It depends on how big the animal is they are going to eat. They clean up all the dead wild animals. There must be one way down there.” Romber pointed to the left, where the “Peties” were traveling.
I watched them for a few minutes in horrible fascination. There were so many.
“I guess the King won’t mind if we’re late,” I said, meaning the opposite.
Romber, who had been smiling and staring at the caravan of oversized insects, gave a start. “Oh!” he said. “That’s right. We’ve got to be on our way.”
A little sadly, he reached into a bag and took out a small, clay ball. He held it out to me.
“It’s a breakie ball,” Romber said. “But we’d better not break it here. It is full of some juice from a plant the Peties like a lot. I mean, a lot a lot. It only grows fruit in the early spring, and it makes the Peties want to…” Romber’s face got very red suddenly, for some reason. “…to find Petie wives and husbands.”
“Oh,” I said. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Watch,” said Romber.
Romber stood up in the front of the cart and drew his arm back like a football quarterback. He threw the “breakie ball” far into the riverside forest, where the centipedes were coming from. I didn’t hear it fall or break, but the effect was almost instantaneous. The centipedes in the road suddenly reversed course, and the brisk caravan became a writhing, speeding cord of insectoid fury. The centipedes abandoned whatever they were eating on the left side of the road to pursue the contents of Romber’s lure, and in a few minutes the road was clear.
“What would happen of we accidentally spilled some of that plant juice on us?” I asked.
“Bad things,” said Romber. “Very bad things. But the Peties can’t help it. They aren’t mean. As long as you aren’t dead, or have Blister Flower juice on you, or as long as you aren’t sleeping in the forest by the river, they will leave you alone for sure.”
A terrible thought occurred to me.
“Um, Romber,” I began, “what will they do to you if you are sleeping by the river?”
“They’d think you were dead, and eat you up unless you woke up quick! Like Papa used to say, ‘If you fall asleep in the forest you’ll be asleep a long time.’ So don’t—“
Romber realized what he was saying just as he saw my ashen face. He put his hand to his mouth.
“I…I was almost eaten by those things?” I asked in a shaky voice.
“But I saw you out there before the Peties did! I musta got there right after you fell asleep. I could see you in the Bold Moon’s light, ‘cause there weren’t any clouds really. Nothing was coming for you yet.”
“Do you—do you always go walking around in the middle of the night?” I asked.
“No! Never. I mean, never except for that one night.”
“What made you go out that night?”
Romber looked at me very seriously. “A dream,” he said.
“What was the dream?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.
Romber was quiet for a few minutes, the quietest he had been on the whole journey so far. I thought he had decided not to answer me, when he began to speak in a low voice, the same kind of voice a person uses at a funeral, or in a room with a newborn baby, or in church.
“I dreamed I was out in one of my fields. It was sowing time, and the brown ground was ready for seeding. I had my seed-barrow with me, and I was ready to roll it over the rows I’d made. But then I saw a man out in the middle of my field. He had a sack slung over his shoulder, an old-fashioned sower’s sack filled with seed. And he was sowing my field, but not in the neat way that the seed-barrow sows. He was just reaching onto his sack and flinging rye seed onto the ground. He was messing everything up! I guess I was a little aggravated. I ran to him, shouting ‘Hey, friend! Hold on! Hold on a minute!’
“He didn’t act like he heard me, and he didn’t stop throwing seed around. Was angry that he was changing the way my beautiful crop would look. But as I got closer, I saw his face and all my anger left me. It was the kindest face I’d ever seen, and a little smile was one his face as he threw the seeds. Joy! That was what was on his face—a look of joy. But his eyes – oh Timmy his eyes – were dark red where they ought to be blue or brown. I knew that he was the kindest man I’d ever met, but that he was the most dangerous man I’d ever met too. In my dream, I thought he might even be Shoz’r.”
Who is this ‘Shoz’r?, I almost asked Romber. But I didn’t want to interrupt the story.
“Anyway, I saw how he was scattering the seed, and even though he was just throwing it, the seeds were planting themselves in perfect rows and at just the right distance apart. They even buried themselves in the ground a little ways, like little worms. I looked in his sack and saw the seeds glittering like fish just under the surface of the water on a sunny day. But in the middle of all the rye seed was a walnut. I wondered why he had a walnut in there.
“I followed him around. He planted my whole field. He didn’t speak to me, or even look at me. He just went on sowing until his sack was empty…empty except for the walnut.
“Are you going to plant that, too?” I asked.
“He looked at me then and smiled a kind smile. I felt warmness go through my body, like when you put your toes by a fireplace on a cold night, except this was even nicer-feeling. And then he reached into his sack and tenderly drew out the walnut. He looked at it for a second, as if it were an old friend, and then suddenly cast it straight up in the air.
“The walnut kept going up and up, until I shouldn’t have been able to see it but somehow I still could see it. I guess because this was a dream. Anyway, when it was real high in the air a gust of wind blew it ‘way over toward the Durshone wall. It went over the wall. I was so sad that it would be lost forever. But then, an Osprey flew by and plucked it out of the air with its talons, and flew back toward us. But it kept flying until it was over the Ryemellow river. Then, another gust of wind made the Osprey drop it right into the river. It floated for a minute, until eels began swirling all around it. For sure I thought they would gobble it up. But they kept swirling around it until it floated to the near bank of the river, and just sat there on the bank.
“But then I could see movement in the forest near the riverbank, and I knew the Peties were coming for it. I never knew a Petie to eat a walnut, but I guess they wanted this walnut. I turned to the sower.
“Friend,” I said, “If the walnut stays there it will be eaten. Don’t you want it to grow into a beautiful tree?”
“And when he spoke it was like wind going through the trees and rocks rolling down a hill all at once. He said, “Whether it will be a beautiful tree or the promise of a tree unfulfilled is not for you to know this day. But I will not let it be devoured by centipedes.”
“You won’t?” I asked. “How are you going to save it?”
“He laughed, and when he did I thought the soil got more fertile and the air richer. “I am sending you to gather it up, Romber,” he said.
“I tried to see if I could get to it before the Peties did. It was gonna be close. “I’ll keep it safe forever and ever!” I said.
“You would if you could,” said the man, and he put his hand on my shoulder. “But when it is time, you will let it go. But go to the river now. Do not delay.”
“And then I woke up, Timmy. I woke up, put on my boots, and ran to the Ryemellow as fast as I could. And just as I got there, I saw you lying face-down by the riverbank. I took you home, then ran and woke up Jeron and Dinah. And that’s how I found you.”
It was a strange story to me. But everything in this world was strange.
“So it was just a dream,” I said.
Romber looked at me, his face serious. “You are smarter than me,” he said, “And you are from Kingfinder Land where maybe everyone knows about these things. But if you ask me, a dream is what it was. A dream I dreamed when I was asleep. But I wouldn’t say just a dream any more than I would say the stile in your pocket is just a walnut.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, and neither of us spoke for a long time.
We passed several more farmsteads and one more village before we arrived at the Blue Pepper Station. The People came out to cheer, as they did before, but for me and Romber they were somber affairs. For me, it was because I was still pretty embarrassed about the farting from before and because Romber’s dream gave me a lot to think about. I didn’t know what was making Romber so serious until he said to the Mayor of the last village that “The Kingfinder will soon be off to see the King, and I’ll likely never see him again.” Other than family, I’d never known a grownup so sorry to see me leave. It made me feel good and sad at the same time.
Just before we got to the Blue Pepper River, a group of people from the surrounding farms joined us, like a happy escort. There were three or four children younger than me, and they asked me all kinds of questions about my world, such as what colors the horses came in, whether I lived in a town or on a farm, and what kinds of candies there were. I was tempted to ignore them, but since I didn’t want everyone to think I was as rude as I felt, I gave them curt, short answers such as “horse-colors”, “both,” and “the sweet kind”. The little kids didn’t seem to mind.
Soon the sounds of water and watercraft were all around. The Blue Pepper River branched off south and mostly west from the Ryemellow, which ran almost directly south. The Blue Pepper Station was a town located just a mile or two from the place where the Blue Pepper River left the Ryemellow. It was a bustling river town, where many goods from the Third Verse (chiefly grain, vegetables, and livestock) were sent by raft downriver to larger towns in other Verses.
As soon as we entered the town, we were met by several town officials and a large crowd. We went to a riverside gazebo in front of a large lawn, where a lot of speeches were made and a “Good Wishes” ceremony was enacted. Honestly, I don’t remember much of it. For one thing, I was getting tired of politicians and their speeches. For another, it all seemed rehearsed and without much feeling, and when I realized that they must have all done this days before with my brother (and so all the novelty was gone out of it), I just wanted it to be over.
Unfortunately, I was expected to speak. I was led to the podium where hundreds expectantly listened. No one warned me about this. I didn’t have anything to say. I looked at Romber for support and wished I hadn’t. He was standing there wringing his hat as if he were tryng to squeeze water out of it. He looked more nervous than I felt. I turned and looked up to the official that led me to the podium, hoping he would come to my rescue.
“Just say what’s on your mind,” he urged.
I looked out to the crowd again. I mumbled something. They still looked at me expectantly. I guess they didn’t hear me. There were no microphones or anything. So I said it again, in a more normal voice. They stirred, and someone yelled out, “We can’t hear you!” The crowd laughed a little.
The heckler and the laughter made me angry, so I yelled at the top of my voice:
“IT’S ALL A DREAM! ALL OF IT! IT ISN’T REAL!”
I don’t know what the crowd thought of that. I didn’t wait to find out. I turned around and walked right up to the official, who started with surprise but led me off stage.
“Don’t worry, lad,” he said, “It has been a long day for you I’m sure.” But his smile and compassion both seemed phony.
So he led me down the main street in front of a little procession that included Romber (who caught up to us quickly), the rest of the city officials and their families, a few of what I guess were police, and about a third of the crowd from the lawn. But we stopped in the middle of the town. Up ahead of us a very large, muscled man was walking straight toward the procession (us) with a very determined gait. He looked like a huge Native American warrior with bronzed skin and long raven-colored hair. He wore a kind of leather armor which only covered his waist, shoulders, knees, and elbows. A knife was strapped to each calf and a sword was strapped to his back.
“Wait here,” said the official who was with me. I didn’t even know his name. He walked ahead and met the tall warrior some 100 yards ahead of us. The warrior folded his arms and spoke. Then the official spoke for a long time. The warrior just stood there with his arms crossed. The official then launched into a grand speech, gesturing and gesticulating for several minutes. The warrior put his hand out, spoke briefly, then put his hands on his hips and turned away from the official and towards us. He seemed to be looking straight at me in particular.
The official walked quickly back to us. His face was sweaty and nervous-looking. “Bother it all!” he said. “We’d planned to have you stay the night like Kingfinder Michael, and have a proper going-away ceremony in the morning. It’s tradition after all. But apparently the King wants you at Pepperwood right away without the usual ceremonies.”
“Is that the King?” I asked, gesturing at the tall man in the distance.
“Oh no. No no no,” answered the official. “That’s your military escort. The King sent him. He just arrived, and he won’t accept any delay.”
I glanced at the imposing figure again. “He…makes me a little nervous,” I said.
“Well what do you think the military is for?” the official said. “Now come along. We are King’s men here, and if his majesty Warren wants you right away, he’ll have you right away.”
Despite my misgivings, the official brought me ahead to the “military escort” of one. Romber followed close behind.
The man was even taller close up, and a lot more intimidating. His face was chiseled and stern. His eyes were dark. The leather on his shoulder carried an insignia of an elk-horn. He kept his focus on me.
“Kingfinder Timmy,” said the official to me, “This is the warrior Morning-Tamer, representative of the Hickory King. He will be bringing you by keelboat to Pepperwood Manor.”
“Hello,” I said, “Sir.”
But Morning-Tamer looked away from me and directly at Romber. In a deep, steady voice he asked, “Is this Deputy Watcher Romber?”
“It is,” shakily answered Romber, “Or, I mean, I am, Mr. Torn-Manger. I mean, Rotting-Mater. I mean, O me!” And Romber buried his face in his hat.
It was probably my imagination, but I thought I saw the corners of Morning-Tamer’s mouth curve upward ever so slightly.
“Do you have the King’s message?” he asked.
“Oh! I left it in the cart!” wailed Romber. “Or—wait! I have it! It is in my bag. Just a minute!” And Romber rummaged around in his sack until he triumphantly presented the scroll and hickory nut to Morning-Tamer, still avoiding his eyes.
Morning-Tamer unrolled the scroll and read it carefully. Then he handed it to Romber. “This is yours to keep,” he said, “and to pass to your children and children’s children. The King thanks you for your service. He would also like you to have this knife as an heirloom”
Morning-Tamer reached to his left calf and produced a beautifully wrought silver knife, and handed it to Romber, who was speechless. For a few seconds, anyway.
“I have something for the King too!” shouted Romber, and set to digging around in his sack until he produced a wrapped bundle.
“This is some of my famous bread, baked yesterday,” Romber said. “You can have some too!”
Morning-Tamer awkwardly accepted it, and held it in one hand like he was holding a rabid squirrel. He obviously wasn’t accustomed to carrying parcels. “I will see that my lord gets it all,” said the great warrior.
I won’t go into all my good-byes with Romber, but they were uncomfortable. He followed us all the way to the river dock, where the “keelboat” waited. What they called a keelboat in this world was more like a very wide canoe with a rudder and four sets of oars. Five men were aboard, and after Morning-Tamer and I stepped aboard, they nodded and prepared to depart.
While the town officials and few people gathered waved silently as we moved away from the dock, Romber began to run along the banks of the river downstream. He was fast for such a big man but between the current of the river and the strength of the four oarmen, we soon caught up to him and then overtook him.
As we passed him, Romber waved one last time. Then he looked up at the sky and shouted words I could barely hear. He said, “I kept him safe, Mr. Sower! So now I give him back to you! Now it’s your turn to keep him safe, Mr. Sower!”
And then we rounded a bend in the river, and I never spoke with that good and gentle man again.
~Chapter End~
(Chapter Five - The King's Whey - will begin 7/11/06) |
© Copyright 2006 Basilides (UN: basilides at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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