Entry #517803, added on 09-11-07 @ 3:04 pm EDT
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| Chapter Eleven Where There's a Willow There's a Way | Entry #517803 |
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 Eleven - Where There's a Willow, There's a Way
Idolatry lies not in the idol but in the worshiper.
~Joy Davidman
I drew maps; Michael drew roller coasters. Grownups tend to forget how much time a child spends waiting in life: waiting at the store, waiting at insurance or financial offices, waiting for class to end, waiting in restaurants - and unlike an adult, a child can't say, "The heck with it! I'm done waiting!" A kid just has to tough it out or find something to do. The technique my brother and I developed to make waiting tolerable was to find paper and pencil and draw. I made up maps of imaginary countries; Michael designed amusement parks (with a heavy emphasis on the more exciting rides).
Aunt Eva was taking this hunt for "Perry" pretty seriously. Since her search for clues at the farm turned up empty, she decided one morning to take us to the Cecil County Courthouse where she could search government archives. Before long, Aunt Eva was led off to a special Records Room while we were left at a table in the licensing office. Ms. Morwesson, the rather heavy and continually exasperated Clerk/Cashier who handled the licenses, had provided us with paper on which to draw our respective specialties. Soon, we were lost in our art, quiet as the pale green stillness of a slow day at a government office.
"Fantastic!" said a deep, gentle voice behind and above us. "You boys display remarkable skill with such a limited medium. May I examine your materpieces more closely?"
Mike and I slowly looked up to see the collared Reverend Clark, pastor of the Foxton United Methodist Church, smiling down at us.
"Sure, Father," said Mike, handing the minister his roller coaster schematics.
"You aren't supposed to call him Father," I chided my brother. "He isn't a Priest." And I handed Rev. Clark my own drawing.
"That's all right, that's all right," said the minister, poring over our drawings. "You are welcome to call me anything that's in the abridged dictionary. But what really impresses me is the creativity of you two. Your mother must be very proud. I was hoping she would visit with you this summer so she could bless our congregation with her lovely voice. I do miss her solos."
Michael and I just looked at one another. Mom.
"She is busy at home, taking care of stuff," I said.
"Our parents are getting a divorce," Michael blurted out.
I gave him a dirty look.
Rev. Clark made no sign that he heard Michael, but kept making appreciative sounds at our drawings. But then, he turned the papers to the other side and raised his eyebrows.
"What's this?" he asked, looking at the printed matter.
"Ms. Morwesson said it was just some extra scrap paper," I explained.
Rev. Clark slowly turned the papers over for us to read.
They each said, "Marriage License" in bold Gothic lettering, beneath which was the Cecil County seal of two flying ducks, then a form with lots of blank fields.
We stared at Rev. Clarks stern face for a moment. I wondered if we had committed some kind of sacrilege.
Then he broke out in a wide smile.
"Congratulations!" he said. "I had no idea you two boys were getting married!"
"No, no--" Mike began.
"So who is performing the ceremonies? I'll bet it is that Rev. Kitchner. Ah well, the Presbyterians win another one with that cute little wedding chapel of theirs. No wonder your Aunt and Uncle didn't say a word to me about it. Am I at least invited?"
"No, but--" I began.
"No? Well, I'll forgive you. Just bring your wives to Church next Sunday, will you?"
"Fath...I mean Reverend--" Mike began, but at that moment Ms. Morwesson came huffing into the room with a stack of files in her arms.
"Good morning, Reverend. What can I do for you today?" she hurriedly asked while unburdening her files on a desk.
Rev. Clark held up the marriage licenses. "We were just discussing these," he said.
Ms. Morwesson blushed. "I...they aren't notarized," she stammered. And then, collecting herself she said, "Besides, notarized or not, they are just pieces of paper. No offense, Reverend, but that's all marriage really is: a piece of paper."
There they stood facing each other: Church and State, Performer of weddings and Issuer of licenses, like two titans about to do battle. Between them sat two wide-eyed impressionable youths.
"I suppose you are right," sighed Rev. Clark. They are, after all, only...but wait! What have we here?"
Rev. Clark looked at the other sides of the papers as if for the first time. Ms. Morwesson craned her neck a little, curious.
"This is not just a piece of paper. It is a theme park, with rides and benches and confection stands!" Rev. Clark flipped the paper to show Ms. Morwesson the drawing labeled "McFadden World".
"Marriage is a roller coaster, I'll grant you that," shot back the clerk, not surrendering.
"And it is also," continued the minister, flipping over my own drawing, "an undiscovered country, maybe full of peaks and valleys, but also dotted with forests and cities with strange names and interesting coastlines. Perilous maybe, but adventuresome and beautiful too."
Reverend Clark reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope, carefully handing it to the Clerk. "Speaking of which, here's the signed certificate for a wedding I performed last night - a new world being created as we speak."
Ms. Morwesson unceremoniously snatched the envelope from the Minister's hand. "You make too much of it," she said, and rushed off with the envelope into another room. Were there tears in her eyes?
"No, Wanda Mae," Reverend Clark whispered, looking at the doorway the clerk had just exited. "You made too much of it. When you make marriage your idol, that is when it breaks your heart. It is not a god, nor is it a piece of paper. It is--"
"An invisible window?" I finished for him.
Rev. Clark snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, there you are! Don't worry about Ms. Morwesson. She has been through some tough times. But my own wife and I are praying better times will be ahead for her. Speaking of whom, I promised to meet my wife at the salon ten minutes ago. I'll see you Sunday, boys, unless you will be honeymooning?"
"No!" we shouted together.
"Good, then!" Rev. Clark strode out of the building, calling over his shoulder: "Don't forget to bring your wives!"
*******************************
I woke up warm because I was a little too close to the fire. As I scooted away from it, I noticed Kwotik sitting on a rock, staring at the blaze. The men of Horst were taking care of the watch so we could sleep. I asked the Bard why he was awake.
Kwotik glanced at me before returning his gaze to the flame. I figured he was ignoring me and almost lay back down to sleep when he finally spoke.
"I got a look at the Bug City, when we were first flown in. It was like a dream, since I was just coming out of unconsciousness. There were these huge polygons swaying in the breeze, like great box-kites anchored to the earth. Night was coming on quickly, but the polygons glowed dimly in the chemical light of those firefly thingies they glued to the walls. It was a city of monsters and killers to my mind, but it was still beautiful."
I guessed what he was thinking. I kept quiet.
"Such a little fire," Kwotik said, "and the city is no more. How can they be so defenseless? Why wouldn't they have some precautions? You don't let your children sleep in a tinder box."
"They were going to kill us," I said.
"Not the black ones," Kwotik replied. "A lot of their young died too."
"They don't blame you," I consoled him. I decided it would not be a good time to tell Kwotik that they had nicknamed him "Avenging Flame". They sort of looked on him as an Angel of Shozer's wrath for their straying from His will. The Tickler's Guild was being blamed for the Holocaust, not Kwotik.
"That makes it worse." Kwotik rubbed his forehead with his palm. "I don't have to argue my case or justify myself. That frees up my conscience to do its dirty work."
"Maybe you just ought to be thankful you are alive," I said. That was the wrong thing to say.
Kwotik stood up and began pacing. "Thankful? Thankful to whom? To Shozer? Sure, He rescued us, if you want to look at it that way, but He also did nada to save alll those bug kiddies. Some Deity, huh? It makes no sense. "
"So you believe in Shozer now?" I asked.
Kwotik furrowed his brows and looked back at the fire. "No, I don't."
He didn't say anything else, and so I went back to sleep.
**
We stayed put for three days while Cloud-Warrior healed up enough to continue the journey. He still looked a mess with one ear missing and half his tail gone, but all in all his recovery was swift. He was just as grumpy as usual and anxious to get on with the quest.
Our next stop - and inn called the Crystal Willow - was some five to seven days' journey North: if we cut directly through the Oak Forest we could be there in five. If we made a side trip up the Acorn River to the city of Horst, then east to the Inn, the journey would take an extra two days, even if we did not stay any extra time in Horst.
Purdris strongly encouraged us to go to Horst. "You will always regret it if you do not see the City of Lights at dusk, shining in the midst of the Acorn as the river winds its way around our City's plateau. The Water Lilies are in bloom and so is the Night Jasmine. The Festival of Renush is near also, though still a couple of weeks away. But there is always such an excitement in the air in preparation for the Festival."
"We have already wasted too much time," answered Cloud-Warrior. "And I do not understand what beauty you humans see in your cities. The Oak Forest is among the world's most beautiful places, they say. I find it pleasant. I do not insist on it, but I urge the Kingfinders to choose the Forest.
"I agree with the Knight," said Kwotik after my translation. "I'm anxious to get to this Inn. It was often praised when I was hanging out at the First Verse. Kurmanta has given me my fill of city life for the time being. I opt for the shortcut."
"I'd like to see the city," said Michael. "Any town that can produce such brave men as saved our lives deserves a visit."
"Good point," said Vis Cloud-Warrior. "Then the choice rests with you, Sneaky Bull. If you choose Horst we will abide by the will of the Kingfinders. If you choose the Forest, then it is 3 to one in favor of that path."
My heart truly desired to see Horst, but it seemed such a long journey (2 extra days), and the Forest so handy. Besides, I had to take any chance to deny my brother what he wanted. So, I went against my heart's desire.
"The Oak Forest," I said.
The first two days of travel through the Oak Forest lifted everyone's spirits. We were sad to bid farewell to Purdris and the other men who had come to our defense in the 'Battle of the Wounded Sentinel' (as Kwotik dubbed it), but the cool shade of the oak boughs, the friendly crunch of leaves underfoot, and the preponderance of streams and ponds combined with a general atmosphere of well-being to banish all thoughts of grief from our minds. The Forest just had the feel of a "good" place, not magical in any sort of otherworldly way, but like something pervaded by Nostalgia. If we came upon a field or a certain bank of a stream, I'd get an overwhelming feeling that I knew the place or that I had been there before. It was not de-ja-vu, but more like an almost-forgotten memory dredged up at the sight of a certain tree line or hedge.
The day I came to despise the Forest was a day we had crested one of its tallest hills. At the peak, a very old and tall oak grew, but with branches that stooped low to the ground. It was begging me to climb it. I did so, and got quite close to the top, about four branches higher than Michael was willing to climb. I could see for many miles in any direction in the gathering dusk, but a vision to the southwest gripped me. To this day I cannot vanquish it from my thoughts.
Far away, an oasis of light gently stood out against the landscape, like a glimmer of setting sun that drifted to the Earth as a feather falls, but then changed in color from deep orange to yellows and reds and blues and greens. The distant city of Horst instantly captured my longing like nothing else in Elkwater. I gazed at it until the shouts from below became impossible to ignore.
Once on the ground, I would not speak of it. Everyone noticed the change in my attitude: from playfulness to sullenness, but I would not explain the cause.
The Oak Forest, once so beautiful and friendly in my eyes, came to be an ugly enemy. I came to hate the crunching leaves and the crooked boughs, the woodsy aroma and the reminders of non-memories. I simply wanted to be rid of the Forest as soon as possible.
When the forest thinned out to our right the final day, I begged my companions to leave the trees and skirt the Forest to the right, where it was mostly open field.
"Why would we want to leave the Forest?" asked Kwotik. "Let's enjoy it while we can!"
"I'm not enjoying it!" I shouted. "I can't breathe. It's stifling. I need to get out!"
Reluctantly the company agreed to leave the canopy of the Oak Forest and enter a clarity outside the oppressive, leafy confines. No one understood my problem but I did not care. I'd found my freedom, even if I still had no joy.
That day the terrain turned hilly as we curved northwest, the forest edge always within sight to our left. The rocky outgrowths - like molars sticking out of the sides of hilly heads - might have been picturesque, but they made for slower going. Several times we passed deep gullies threading through the dunes, and all the climbing and descending brought an ache to my legs like I hadn't experienced since we first left the Clockwork Castle.
"How much further?" I gasped as we crested the top of an annoyingly large dune. The sun was low in the sky and a chill was on the building breeze.
Cloud-Warrior barked something unintelligible and sped down the other side.
Michael said, "Whoa" as Kwotik simultaneously said, "Nice."
Below us, a small but steep valley cradled a creek that ran northward, fromt he direction of the forest. The Oak Forest's northern end was marked by a high stony cliff, and this creek descended the cliff in a waterfall. And hugging the cliff not twenty yards west of the waterfall and creek, was a large log house. Lights shone from dozens of windows in the gathering dusk, and smoke rose from three chimneys. A path left the doorstep of that place and wound its way up the opposite dune. A handful of travelers were descending that side toward the structure.
"Must be a popular place," I mused aloud.
"It's halfway between the King's Highway and Horst," said my map-memorizing brother. "I'll bet the Willow stays busy all year round."
"I don't care how busy it is. I just want a hot bath," I said, leaving Michael a perfectly good opening to insult me. But he didn't take the bait - he only grinned stupidly as he jogged down the dune to the Inn's front door.
"A bath and a beer, not necessarily in that order, is in order," quipped the Bard as he strode down behind Michael.
I grimaced at the thought of beer, but felt the allure of a hot bath and soft bed and...something else. Something about that log building seemed to call to me, drawing me in. A little spooked, I walked more cautiously down the dune.
***
The place was busy, especially as it was supper time and the main dining hall was just inside the front door. This room was wood paneled and two stories tall, a balcony overlooking the main dining area. The balcony held the bar, along with a handful of tables, but those on the lower level did not have to wait for one of the three busy servers to climb the spiral staircase for their drinks. Three dumbwaiters were in service just behind the bar, moved up and down the ropes by the bartender's assistant like elevators in a skyscraper at rush hour.
In the center of the dining hall stood a pedestal, and on that pedestal stood a magnificently wrought crystal willow-tree. Its trunk and branches were of burnished bronze, its leaves fine glass. It held my gaze for a few seconds before I realized Cloud-Warrior was nowhere to be seen.
"Look, everyone! It's the Kingfinders and no mistake!" shouted the shrill voice of a round-bodied young server from across the hall.
Whistling and stamping broke out all over, and suddenly a crowd gathered to clasp arms with us or slap us on the backs.
"A round of Ale in honor of the Kingfinders!" shouted one.
"Nonsense! Bring out the Whiskey!" shouted another, to cheers.
A loud barking silenced the crowd, and it parted to make way for the canine Knight, followed by a tall bearlike bald man with penetrating eyes and an intimidating scowl.
"That's enough of all of you," the man boomed, waving the crowd back with his considerable arms. "Get back to your business and respect the business of others!"
He whirled around to face us. "I'm Roseluc," he said, still scowling. "The place is mine."
"And I am Til Kwotik Androliga, Bard of Hollenwaith," said Kwotik, bowing.
Roseluc barely nodded in return. I wondered how I felt about this huge, stern man. "And these must be the two Kingfinders?"
He turned to Mike. "You in the green and yellow: you are the one they have such hopes for."
He turned to me. "And you are the one who gives everyone the runs. Well come. Follow me and you can wash before supper."
I decided I hated him.
We followed Roseluc to a long hallway and a stairway at the end. Michael peppered him with questions.
"This is a cool place! Did you build it?" asked my brother.
"Hungh," Roseluc said in reply.
"Was that The Crystal Willow, out on the pedestal? Did you name the place after it?"
"No and yes. Watch that bump in the floor."
"What's for dinner?"
Roseluc stopped at a door and turned around, the scowl bigger than ever. "I'm sorry," he said in a very un-sorry tone, "but I have very little experience with children. This is your room. Here is your key."
Roseluc bent his head towards us. "After you wash, you can come out and eat. Or not. Sleep until morning if you want. I'm obligated to feed you and keep you for a night, no more."
When Roseluc's Goliath frame disappeared from view, Kwotik chuckled. "Friendly-like, isn't he?" asked the Bard.
Cloud-Warrior growled impatiently: "Tell the jabberer to stop circling his sleep spot and open the door."
"He says -- " I began.
"Never mind I get the gist," said Kwotik, and turned the key.
The room was big, big enough for four large beds and a separate bath. A large window looked directly to the waterfall.
Sloshing sounds suddenly came from the bathroom.
In an instant, Kwotik had his staff ready and both Mike and I had our swords in front of us. Cloud-Warrior bared his teeth and growled, ready to pounce.
A white-haired, dark-skinned man in a white bathrobe appeared at the bathroom doorway, toweling off his hair. He laughed as Cloud-Warrior ran to him and licked his outstretched hand.
He glanced at us, smirking at our open mouths.
"I got tired of waiting," he said. "Why can't people be prompt? That's what I want to know. The older I get, the slower everyone else moves. So I decided to take one of the four baths."
He rubbed the side of Cloud-Warrior's neck, then looked at Kwotik. "So I guess that means you are out of luck until tomorrow, Troubador! Now if you will excuse me while I get changed -- sure! come on, Vis Cloud!"
With that, Erm. Phosophorus Ambellicor disappeared into the bathroom and Cloud-Warrior followed, leaping into one of the tubs.
Kwotik shut his mouth with a snap and slowly put away his quarterstaff, a look of consternation on his face.
"Mages. I hate Mages," he mumbled.
*****
"So," I said, a fat turkey leg in one hand, a big piece of cornbread in the other, and some of each in my mouth, "can we basically expect every time we get a real room, for somebody from Pepperwood to be waiting around inside to give us a heart attack?"
"Don't eat with your mouth full and don't talk with your mouth open," answered Erm. Phos, taking a long draw from his mug.
Kwotik raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean --"
"I mean, ultimately, that success will come by focusing on your part in this quest - I mean each of your parts - rather than what others are going to do. In this case, my visit is sort of spur-of-the-moment. I really have no business being away from my job. Things are probably falling apart there as we speak. So let's not dally."
Suddenly, the Earth Mage let out a tremendous belch, and all noise ceased in the dining hall for a few seconds. Then, thunderous applause.
"Thank you," said the wizard, unfazed and waving his mug in the air, "and may I have MORE please?"
"That's your third beer!" chided Kwotik.
"It's not beer. It's apple juice, which I make fizzy after it is served to me. Ah! Thank you, Miss!" This last he said to the serving girl, who had just plunked down a fresh mug.
Erm. Phos put his hands around the mug and furrowed his brows, then raised it to his lips and smiled. "Perfect!" he announced.
"See, I thought you were praying," said Kwotik.
"Well, yes, that too..."
"Can you make mine fizzy?" asked Michael.
"Why not?" asked the Mage, and surrounded Mike's mug with his hands, concentrating.
Michael took a sip and lit up. "Thanks!" he beamed.
I looked sullenly at my milk. No point in making that fizz. The thought reminded me of fermented cottage cheese. I pushed my plate away.
"So why the unplanned visit?" I asked, trying to steer back to the point.
"Because of the BruuuuUUUUAA," answered Phosphorus Ambellicor, the last word drowned out by a sudden belch. "Oh my."
Michael burped then, but it paled in comparison.
"No, no, no," said Erm. Phos to my brother, "You have to dig deep, and push up from the diaphram."
"OK," said Mike.
The Mage held up a restraining hand. "But you mustn't practice on a full stomach; that could be a disastrous."
Michael's shoulders drooped. "Oh," he said.
"Do you gentlemen mind if I sit somewhere else?" asked Kwotik. He wasn't amused at all.
I was surprised. This kind of amusement seemed right up the Bard's alley.
"What's gotten into you?" I asked.
Kwotik gave me a hard stare.
"Oh, that's right," I said aloud. "You hate Mages."
Michael choked on his fizzy apple juice and started coughing. Erm. Phos' head snapped up as he squinted at Kwotik.
"Why do you...hate...Mages?" the Earth Mage demanded.
Kwotik's hard stare turned into a killer stare, and lingered on me a few seconds before he slowly turned to the Mage. "Hate is probably a poor choice of words," he said. "Let's just say in past personal experience I have found Mages to be full of their own importance, overvalued, hypocritical, full of hot air, and -- well -- spoiled."
Erm. Phos' eyes glazed over, but his head remained cocked quizzically and his lips stayed slightly parted. He didn't visibly react at all. However, the pewter mug he held suddenly dissolved into a fizzy froth and ran down the table. The Mage didn't seem to notice.
"Careful," Michael said quietly. "He'll turn you into a pointsettia."
"A pomegranate," I corrected.
"Nonsense!" said Kwotik, sensing no danger at all. "He can't turn anything into anything. Earth Magic doesn't work that way. He might be able to get an orchard to grow in a flash or change my material structure into a pile of mush, but he can't make one thing into another, even as an illusion! That's Fire Mage business, right 'dirt Wiz'?"
Kwotik raised his chin and let out the most cataclysmic belch of the day so far.
Erm. Phos licked his lips. The table seemed to be vibrating. "Quite ironically," he said quietly, "I've always thought all those things you said about the Magewaard apply perfectly well to the whole Bardic tradition. I think you sense that I perceive the truth about you arrogant little jesters, and so you went on the attack. You poor thing. Thankfully, we Earth Mages have a legendary even-temperedness.
The hand of Erm. Phos that once held the cup was sinking into the table as he spoke, as if the wood of the furniture was made of sand.
"Legendary temper, eh?" smirked Kwotik. "Is that why you are subconsciously destroying the hypotenuse?"
"Hypotenuse, in the language of Elkwater, sounds a lot like -- oh you know."
"He means 'table'," said Mike to the bewildered Mage. Erm. Phos looked down at his hand.
"That's what I said: 'hypotenuse'," insisted Kwotik.
"No," came a deep voice from behind me. I turned to see Roseluc staring down at us disapprovingly. "Listen carefully: hypotenuse...table...hypotenuse...table. Hear the difference?"
"Eh--" began Kwotik.
Roseluc turned to the Earth Mage. "We will consider the mug a gift to the King's Court, but I would appreciate it if you would return my solid oak table to its original state."
"Yes, yes of course," answered the Mage, rattled. "Easiest thing in the world. Just a moment. Indeed. Original state. Oakensis photosyntheticus marbellized fourteen en toto originalus he murmured while massaging the tabletop. Before our very eyes, the spot o the table the Earth Mage had compromized had grown a two-foot-long branch, complete with living leaves.
"Ah. Ha ha. A little too original," Erm. Phos said, nervously. "I'll fix that."
Roseluc closed his eyes. "Stop," he said. "No more magic. Leave it. Aren't you people getting tired?"
"No," we all answered at once, which brought a sigh from our host. He turned and walked away, muttering under his breath something about celebrities.
"So you just stopped by to say 'hello'?" I asked. I was dying to know the reason for Erm. Phos' visit.
"What? Haven't you been listening?" the irritated Mage queried. "The reason for my visit...the reason -- ahem --. Excuse me. Miss, could you bring me another apple juice?"
"He forgot!" laughed Kwotik, leaning back in his chair.
The Earth Mage shifted his legs under the table. Suddenly Kwotik was leaning back much further than before. Chair and Bard fell backwards on the floor. Kwotik sprang up.
"You kicked the chair!" he accused.
"I did not!"
"You did!"
Cloud-Warrior stood up on his hind legs and put both paws on the table. "Enough!" he barked. "You two are acting worse than these two bulls. I am taking them to the room. Don't bother joining us unless you can stop fighting like humans and can act canine for once."
He led Mike and me to the room. I don't know if either of the two understood Cloud-Warrior exactly, but there was no mistaking the tone of his bark. They sat long-faced, watching us go.
The reason for the Earth Mage's visit remained a mystery until later that night, just as I was getting into bed.
Erm Phos was sitting at a small corner table in the bedroom, sipping a cup of what he called "brambleleaf tea", when he set the cup down with a clunk! and began speaking as if he were in the middle of a conversation.
"--so you see, the King's health being so indeterminate, and the Wodeld signs pointing to an imminent change, we have to make some adjustments to your itinerary. You must skip a few points of interest. This matter is complicated by the fact that you are already behind schedule."
"I don't know where we are going anyway," I said.
Kwotik, who had been sitting on his bed carefully examining the Waskinde legs, sat up straighter and frowned. "Where exactly are we not going?"
"King Warren has decided to let you bypass Mt. Issachar, the city of Holmont, and in fact the Speckled Plains altogether," answered Erm. Phos.
"How will the Seven Tribes take that snub?" asked Michael.
Erm. Phos looked at my brother as if he were aware of him for the first time. "That is an astute question, young Kingfinder. I suppose the Chieftains of the Larini will be displeased - in fact I am certain of it. And I rue the necessity, but it is a necessity. Still, their displeasure is a matter for the King to deal with...and the next King. You just concentrate on your mission."
I laughed. "It's kind of hard to concentrate on a mission when we don't even know what we are doing or how we are supposed to find this King of yours!"
The Earth Mage glared at me. "Must we go over this again? If you were to concentrate on that, the mission would be doomed to failure. Concentrate instead on your daily experiences and the unique elements of this Kingdom that you discover. It isn;t really that complicated. So enough of that nonsense."
"It is a little hard to be kept in the dark," my brother chimed in. I looked at him suspiciously, wondering why he was taking my side.
Erm. Phos waved his hands in the air in frustration. "In this case the light of explanation would blind you to your task. No more of this matter!"
Reluctantly, we changed subjects. The Earth Mage tried to tell us about the lands we would be missing: the fierce and noble Tribesmen of the Speckled Plains, the sequestered and unusual experimental community of Holmont, and the grandeur of Mt. Issachar, the "saddle" of the Lawryngil Tribe. But the Earth Mage was not as good a storyteller as Kwotik, and I was tired. I fell asleep to the drone of his low voice, and dreamt of Tall, raven-haired men riding sleek, dun-colored horses over a grassy plain. The leader, clad in buckskin and yellow silks, raised his voice in a piercing cry as he raised a glinting spear in his right hand, then spun his steed around to thrust his weapon into the flank of - a Bison! The Bison whirled to face the horseman and lowered its mighty horns to gore either horse or rider, but I do not know how the death-match ended. My dream shifted to the Farmhouse. I was sitting in Mom-Mom's study, looking at a large book about the Old American West, staring at a photo of a painting where Plains Indians were shooting arrows at a fleeing herd of Buffalo. There were no silks or spears in the painting. I rubbed my eyes, wondering in the dream whether I had been dreaming.
******************************************************
I woke long before the day did. All was dark in the room, and the only sound was the Earth Mage's snoring. I supposed that's what woke me, and I considered walking over to his bed and asking him to turn over onto his side.
Something stopped me. Something was urging me to be very, very quiet.
Moonbeams filtering through the large window provided the only light. I looked around for any sign of danger. There was none that I could see. My lower left side ached.
I felt a compulsion to get up and leave the room.
I lifted myself out of bed and grabbed the light robe at its foot, slipping it on as I crept barefoot toward the door. I reached for the handle, but stopped right before pulling it open. Cloud-Warrior slept just at the bottom, blocking my exit. My heart pounded. Cloud-Warrior could hear a flea sneeze from a mile away, and he was a light sleeper. I waited a moment. He did not stir.
I glanced around for some other exit. There was none to be seen. I wanted to go back to bed. I began to walk in that direction. At that moment the subtle ache in my side grew and became nearly unbearable. I looked around for another exit again, and the ache subsided.
I briefly thought about using the window, but we were high up and near the waterfall. I was not in the mood to play waterslide.
I carefully tiptoed to the bathroom and looked around - there! A small door was behind one of the tubs. I squeezed behind the tub and pushed at it, causing it to collapse inward with a soft "thump". I looked inside.
It was really dark in there.
Swallowing hard, I crawled in the small opening into a much wider space, but with such a low ceiling I could not even sit up straight. I felt around, and my hands found several cold metal pipes running vertically. Of course. There was no running water at the Crystal Willow, but the tubs and basins all had drains. The water had to go somewhere. I crawled a few feet and found another small door just like the one I'd pushed in from the bathroom. I pulled it in, and found myself looking into another moonlit bathroom. I returned to the other door and carefully closed it. Heck, why should they know how I got out of the room? Then I crawled out into the neighboring bathroom.
I closed the pipe-door behind me and stood up, then tiptoed to the neighbor's room. I peeked in the bedroom, half-expecting to see some fiend waiting to attack. But no, the room was clear and the beds empty. Still, I walked to the door cautiously and turned the handle.
Locked. Just lovely.
I fiddled around in the dark until I figured out how to unlock the door from the inside. This took a few minutes, and the urgency to leave was stronger than ever. I cracked the door slightly ajar and peeked into the hallway. The hall was dimly lit by a few lanterns, but was empty.
I didn't know where to go or even why I was going, but I felt an urge to go down and left. I did so, walking down a few hallways and taking several flights of stairs until the walls looked hewn from stone rather than wood. Down the last tunnel - going into the side of the small mountain - it got darker than ever. I took a lantern from the wall and walked down the rough corridor.
I crept past doors to my right and left. I had no interest in any of them. I simply wanted to go forward, to take the corridor all the way to hell if need be. After some hundreds of feet, the passageway narrowed and curved. The doors to my right and left were smaller. Finally, the passage came to an end and an iron door blocked my path. I tried to open it, but it was locked fast.
Something within me wanted to wait, so I waited, merely staring at the lock. I felt a coldness go out of me, and then something from the direction of the lock went "click." I tried the door again, and this time it swung right open. I lifted my lantern to see what was inside -
- and gasped in wonder and surprise.
The light from the lantern danced all over something in the center of the room. It was reflective, but strangely so - almost organically so. It looked like a hundred tangles of wrinkled tubing extending from a larger base of the same stuff. Each smaller tube, twisting and turning every way imaginable, ranged in size from the width of my finger to the width of my finger. The whole thing sat on a table, and stood some four feet over that. It was the diameter of a small kitchen table.
"Come," came a weak but strangely familiar voice. "Come around to the opposite side near the bottom. Reach in where you see a glow."
"Who are you?" I asked.
"There is no time. Come!"
I walked around to the other side of the construct. Sure enough, a light blue glow seemed to come from deep within the tangled glassy branches. I reached in with my hand.
"Further!" came the voice, a woman's. "A little to the right now. Fine! You are touching the right part with your forefinger. Grab hold of it. Now, snap it off!"
"What?" I asked, afraid.
"Just do it! Quickly!"
I snapped off the piece of whatever-it-was in my hand. When I did, a surge of energy flowed from my right and and through my body.
"Pull it out and look at it," said the voice.
I withdrew my hand and looked at the glowing blue thing I held. It was just a chunk of the structure about the size of half a carrot. But there was an image within - an image that moved. A face.
"Ari!" I said aloud.
"Quiet," said the imprisoned princess I met in that terrible cave weeks ago. "The effort to make this happen has drained me of all my power for now, especially that business with the lock. I could not have done any of it were it not for the snakeskin cure you carry with you. It is my only connection to the world outside the walls of my prison."
"The...the snakeskin?"
"My prisonkeeper may yet be my escape, yes," answered Ari. "For the moment the Lady is asleep, but only for the moment. And someone approaches you, so let me be brief. What you hold is very rare: a Grohnin, which is a product of nature that can be used as a conduit of magic. Certain very rare gems or metals can be Grohnin; I am not sure what this one is exactly. But you must tell no one you have it, and you must keep it secret. You will be unable to contact me through it, but I will contact you from time to time...once I have regained my strength. I can help you now, a little. Just one question: Have you managed to dispose of your brother?"
"Dispose? Well, I.... No, he's still--"
"Too bad. We will have to deal with that. Put the Grohnin away. Hide it quickly! someone comes!"
The picture faded and I found myself staring at a strange, gray thing sparkling in the light of my lamp. I put it in the pocket of my robe. I glanced at the door and saw no one. I walked around the weird structure, then reached out to touch it one more time before I made my escape.
"No one has dared to touch the Willow in a score of years," came a deep, menacing voice from behind me. I spun around to see the hulking figure of Roseluc sitting in a chair by the wall.
"I...I..." I wondered if he saw me put a piece of it in my pocket.
"You will not be the one to mar its solitude," finished the Innkeeper.
"I'm sorry, sir," I managed. "I didn't know!"
"What are you doing in this place?" demanded Roseluc. His blue eyes bored into mine.
"I couldn't sleep, so I went exploring. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to!"
"You didn't know you weren't supposed to break into a room with a locked iron door?" The Innkeeper stood up. He towered above me.
"But it wasn't locked!" I protested, flinching.
Roselook looked at me for a few seconds, then stepped to the door and examined the lock. "Careless of me," he muttered.
When he turned to face me again, his gaze was just a little softer. "Go back to your room," he said.
I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir, but may I ask just one question? What is this thing? It's beautiful."
I didn't think it was beautiful at all, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
Roseluc looked thoughtful for a moment, deciding whether or not to answer me. Finally he sighed like a bellows and sat back down in the chair near the far wall.
"Not many have called the Willow beautiful at first sight. It is raw and wild. It is the Crystal Willow for which my Inn is named."
"But...but what about the one in the main hall?" I asked, confused. "That's not the Crystal Willow?"
"No," answered the giant. "That was a gift from the Sandsmiths of Horst, when they heard I had taken the real Willow off display some twenty years ago. I had to hide the original - this one. Even a metal enclosure did not stop people from trying to steal portions of it. One night, some villain nearly managed to break off a piece before he was interrupted by a guest. The guest was killed for his efforts, but the commotion woke up me and many of the staff, and the thief had to escape without his prize. That was enough for me. I vowed not to let any more die over the Willow. So I moved it back here."
"Why would someone want to steal part of it?" I asked. I hoped there was not a hole in my pocket.
"I do not know, except that Phosphorus-Ambellicor once told me it might have ancient magical properties and to keep it safe.. I do not know why the Willow should have any magic about it."
"But what is it?" I asked, pressing him.
Roseluc was silent for a long time. In fact, I thought he had fallen asleep. But then his voice came softly, as if he had moved away to a distant time or place.
"I was just a boy," he said, "and I had lost all my family. Our house burned down, and only I escaped it. I ran, and just kept running for days. I avoided towns or people, and stole unattended food from farmhouse kitchens. This went on for some time, until people made stories about me. They thought I was a ghost, or a faerie, or even an Ysarda playing tricks. Sometimes they hunted me, but I was only found after many months. Then I became something of a minor celebrity - I even met King Warren. But I was soon forgotten, and then I was alone again."
"Didn't they try to find you a new home?" I asked.
"No, but that was not their fault," the Innkeeper continued. "The circumstances were...complicated. I wandered, lost and hopeless. I had no more strength to steal from farmhouses. I went down to the Ryemellow River and plunged into it."
"The eels!" I nearly shouted. "They'd kill you!"
"That was my own thought. But they did not. When I awoke, I was on an island in the middle of the river."
I thought about the large islands I saw from the cliff overlooking the Riverbank before we looked upon the Sea of Soranou. I remembered how lush and beautiful they looked, and was a little jealous of Roseluc.
"It was raining," Roseluc continued, "and I tried to lift myself up to seek shelter, but I could only crawl. I was on a great sandy stretch of beach. After a few steps I found I had no energy. I just lay there, some few feet ashore on the sand. I gave up. I wanted to die. I wanted to join my family. And that is when it happened."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Lightning struck not five feet away from me."
"Lightning?" I asked, completely lost in the story.
"Yes," he went on, "and I was terrified. I cried out to be saved. I don't even know who I was addressing. I just suddenly did not want to die. I was crying in the rain and thunder. But then I looked up, and I saw him walking over the river to me. He stepped on the shore and then knelt by my side, smiling at me."
"Who? Who was smiling?"
"The Water-Walker. He told me not to be afraid, and that he did not create me simply to have me die on that beach. So I got a little cheeky, and asked him if he created my mother and father and brother and sisters simply to have them die in a flaming house."
"What did he say?" I asked.
"He said, 'Do not make the mistake of confusing a Departure with a Destination.' and then he pointed to the ground beside me. It was dark and steaming - the place where the lightning struck. We began digging around that spot with out hands, both of us together. We dug all night, all through the storm. Carefully, tenderly, we lifted the Willow out from the ground. He then took me by one hand and held the Willow in the other, and walked me back across the river. He left me there, on the shore, winking. Some villagers found me the next day, and eventually me and my Willow were brought to Horst, where a kind family took me in. When I was old enough, I built this Inn."
I looked at the Crystal Willow with wonder.
"Some call it 'Lightning Glass'," Roseluc said. "It is fairly fragile. It is something of a miracle that it has stayed intact this long."
After a moment, I asked, "That Water-Walker of yours. Do you think it was Shozer?"
"I know only what I told you," he answered. "What I believe is another matter."
I suddenly felt terrible for breaking off a piece of the Willow. "Sir," I said, "I am sorry I came in here without permission. I'll make it up to you."
Roseluc glared at me pointedly. "It cannot be mended," he said.
My heart beat faster. He knew. He knew about the theft.
"But it can be forgiven," he said. "And I do forgive you. Now let's get you back to bed."
He never brought the matter up again.
***
Chapter End |
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