02 - The Land of the Silver Apples

  “Well, mayor of Bebba’s Town, God chooses His instruments where He pleases. Behold Brutus! Rightful heir to his father, Lucius, of the line of Lancelot!”

  Again Jack found himself admiring the monk’s skill. Not once did he actually lie. God had chosen His instruments of destruction: yarthkins. But by proclaiming Brutus, Father Severus left the impression that the unreliable, good-natured, and lazy ex-slave had done it. Ethne’s dazzling presence did no harm either.

  “Hurrah for King Brutus, Lord of Din Guardi!” shouted the mayor, which was then echoed by the crowd. A feast day was declared, bonfires built, beer kegs rolled out, and unfortunate chickens chased for the festivities. In no time the trappings used for fairs were unpacked. A charming pavilion was erected for King Brutus and (as the townspeople assumed) his future bride, Ethne. Father Severus lost no time in informing everyone that she was a princess.

  It was a grand celebration that went on late into the night. Jack worried about Pega and the hobgoblins, but Father Severus said it was better to leave them alone. “The Bugaboo will take care of her,” he said. “I hope her heart has inclined toward him since his near escape from death. She’s a good child and deserves a better fate than she’d receive here.”

  But Jack thought about her horror of being underground without the light of the sun.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  ST. FILIAN’S WELCOME

  In the morning they set out for St. Filian’s, leaving Ethne behind in case of trouble. A large crowd of townspeople insisted on coming, which was what Father Severus had wanted all along. “Believe me, the real problem lies with the monastery,” he told Jack as they rode side by side. “Those monks are little better than pirates, and there’s a lot of them. I quite look forward to sorting them out.” He smiled ominously.

  “You, sir?” inquired Jack.

  “Brutus is putting me in charge. Brother Aiden is the most forgiving man in the world. He’d rescue a drowning rat even if it bit him, and would bless the little brute afterward. Father Swein’s flock needs a different sort of shepherd.”

  Jack saw a patch of white beyond a grove of pines on a hill and recognized St. Filian’s. Beyond, to his amazement, stretched a large lake filled with reeds. But where before Jack’s heart had lifted at the sight of beautiful white walls and buildings buzzing with activity, the monastery now seemed curiously dead. “It hasn’t been raided?” he said.

  “Not from without,” said Father Severus. The grounds that had been carefully tended were now in squalor. Weeds grew everywhere. A rubbish heap was piled outside a door, and a latrine had obviously not been cleaned for a long time. Two monks—or slaves (it was hard to tell from that distance)—lay snoring on the heap. A pig rooted around them for scraps.

  Some of the damage had come from the earthquake. Great cracks ran down some of the walls, but they should have been mended by now. “It’s like the vision I had,” murmured Jack.

  “Blow the trumpet, Ratface,” commanded Father Severus. Ratface had been taught the skill at Din Guardi, to muster soldiers. What he lacked in musical ability he made up for with zeal. The trumpet shook the air again and again. The monks jumped up from the rubbish heap and ran into each other in panic. The pig dashed for the woods. Cries came from within.

  “That should do it, Ratface,” Father Severus said. The boy grinned and wiped the spit off the mouthpiece.

  “Run! Run!” cried voices.

  “No! Fight! Fight!” shouted others.

  “It’s the Northmen! We’re doomed!” one monk wailed.

  “If it were Northmen, they’d be inside by now,” remarked Thorgil. Soon a group of slaves armed with cudgels was pushed out the door by cowering monks.

  “Tell Brother Aiden we’ve come to see him,” Father Severus called out over the heads of the unwilling slaves. “We bring the new Lord of Din Guardi.”

  “Hurrah for King Brutus!” shouted the townspeople, who were gathered behind. Brutus rode at their head, as befitted a noble lord. He drew Anredden and brandished it wildly. The crowd cheered.

  “Someday he’s going to do himself serious harm with that,” muttered Thorgil.

  “Forward!” ordered Father Severus, and the crowd streamed around the horses. They were thrilled to be part of such a momentous event, and if they punched a monk or two who had cheated them, who could blame them? Very soon St. Filian’s Monastery was under control. Brutus rode into the courtyard, beaming goodwill on all sides. Jack looked around until he saw a small man appear from the chapel.

  “Brother Aiden! Thank Heaven, you’re all right,” the boy cried.

  The monk’s face broke into a smile. “Jack! Brutus! I’m so glad to see you! And—and—it can’t be!”

  “It is, my friend,” said Father Severus.

  “You were taken by the Northmen. You were killed!”

  “I was sold into slavery, but there’s far too much to explain here,” said Father Severus. “As soon as I’ve sorted things out, I’d be eternally grateful for a mug of your heather ale. Oh, and I’ve come to take over the monastery. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Such a blessed event has been in my prayers every night!” exclaimed Brother Aiden.

  “Good,” said Father Severus with a not-so-pleasant smile as he looked around at the subdued monks, some with black eyes and all looking as repentant as one could wish. “I have a few chores to attend to first.”

  The Bard and Father were in the infirmary, the most comfortable place in the monastery. The Bard had added to the collection of herbs hanging from the ceiling, and he was explaining their uses to Giles Crookleg when Jack and Thorgil came in.

  “Jack—oh, my son,” cried Father. His leg was still bound in splints and he leaned on crutches, but Jack was delighted to see him looking so healthy. “I thought you’d never return. When Yffi covered the well—” Father straightened up to study Jack. “I swear you’ve grown, though it’s only been a few weeks. And where did you get those clothes?”

  “Well done, Jack!” the Bard said heartily. “You’ve accomplished extraordinary things! Ah, Thorgil, we meet again.”

  “Dragon Tongue?” the shield maiden said.

  “I told you he was alive,” said Jack.

  “Who is this lad?” said Father. Jack was flummoxed. All along he’d been going over ways to explain Thorgil. He realized that not only Father, but also the townspeople had taken her for a boy. That solved the problem of her refusal to wear dresses. She was still a Northman, however, and would be killed if anyone found out. And then Father made things worse by asking, “Where’s Lucy?”

  The moment Jack dreaded had arrived. “She’s well,” he faltered. “She’s happy.”

  “She was never ours, Giles,” said the Bard. “From the very beginning, you knew that. I assume she’s still in Elfland.”

  “She didn’t want to leave,” Jack said miserably.

  “Not for me? Or Alditha?” cried Father.

  The Bard laid his hand comfortingly on Father’s shoulder. “Elves don’t think the way we do. You can break your heart on them and they’ll only laugh and turn away.”

  Jack watched awkwardly, not knowing what to do as his father wept. Lucy had never loved him or anyone else. She’d probably forgotten all about him by now.

  “Don’t you want to know about Hazel?” said Thorgil suddenly.

  Father looked up. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Thorgil Olaf’s—”

  “That’s quite enough information,” said the Bard. “This is someone Jack met on his travels. Hazel is your real daughter, Giles, and last I heard, she was living with a family of hobgoblins.”

  “Hobgoblins!” Father was suddenly roused from his grief. “They’ll eat her!”

  “Nonsense. Hobgoblins are good-hearted creatures, and they adore children. I take it Hazel didn’t want to leave either.”

  Jack’s heart sank even further. “You see, she’s never known anything else. She thinks she is a hobgoblin, and she loves her foster parents. It would
have been cruel to kidnap her.”

  “Although I did think of it,” said Thorgil.

  “It’s a good thing you failed,” said the Bard. “Now, we have much to talk about, and Aiden will surely want to hear what happened. Jack, why don’t you ask him around for dinner. Oh, and you might take Pega and her friends a basket of food. Tell them they’ll be most welcome after dark.”

  Jack left at once, wondering which bird had told the old man about Pega and the hobgoblins. It was uncanny how the Bard always seemed to know everything that was going on. As he went out the door, Jack heard Father say, “Thorgil is a strange name for a Saxon.”

  “It’s very popular up north,” the Bard informed him.

  When evening fell, the townspeople went home. They were in a fine mood, laughing and congratulating one another on the victory over the monks. “Father Severus put them on bread and water for a month,” one of the men said.

  “Prayers every four hours and work duty the rest of the time,” said another happily. “When they’ve finished mending the walls, they can start on Din Guardi. Ah, it’s good to have a real king again!”

  “A fine little princess he’s got himself too.” The men chuckled and made their way through the darkening fields to Bebba’s Town.

  Jack listened to them as he lay on his stomach in the long grass beyond the monastery’s perimeter with the hobgoblins and Pega. “Do you think it’s safe?” whispered the Bugaboo.

  “I hope so. Brother Aiden told me to enter by way of the lych-gate.” They crept forward until they reached an opening in the wall around the graveyard. It was completely deserted inside, with weeds growing over sad little crosses marking the monks’ graves. A mist drifted in from the meadow.

  “All the better to hide us,” murmured the Nemesis.

  They came to the back door of the infirmary, and Thorgil opened it. “About time,” she grumbled. “Dragon Tongue wouldn’t let us eat until you arrived.”

  Jack was used to the strange appearance of hobgoblins, but Father almost fell off his stool when he saw them. “Demons! D-demons! Come to drag us down to Hell!”

  “Stay calm, and you, too, Aiden,” ordered the Bard. “These gentle creatures are hobgoblins, the kindest folk on earth. Welcome, Pega. I’ve saved you the best seat.”

  The girl hung back in her tattered and dirty clothes. “I’d rather stay with the Bugaboo and the Nemesis.”

  “To be honest, all the seats are best because they’re all the same,” the old man said cheerfully. “You and your friends are guests of honor. Serve the meal, Ratface. You may be dressed like a knight’s squire, but we all know you’re a scullery boy underneath.” Ratface sourly passed around bread trenchers covered in lentil stew and cups of cider.

  “To new beginnings!” said the Bard, lifting his cup.

  “To new beginnings!” the others echoed. They fell to, and no one spoke until they were finished.

  “It’s excellent,” the Bugaboo said after his fourth serving of stew. “It just needs a tiny handful of mushrooms to improve it.”

  “As usual, you show deplorable manners, criticizing the food,” said the Nemesis. Jack knew the hobgoblins were completely relaxed when the Nemesis started sniping at his king again.

  “Thorgil has told us of your adventures, and I, of course, already knew some of them,” the Bard said. “You are to be congratulated, Pega. It’s no small thing to triumph over the elves. I knew, when you lit that candle at the Yule ceremony, that you were meant to do something important.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, looking down shyly.

  “And you, Jack, broke the ring of Unlife around Din Guardi. For a long time the life force has striven to enter. It was like a boil that festered and sent infection all around. Now it is healed.”

  “I lost the staff from Jotunheim,” Jack couldn’t help saying.

  “I know.”

  Of everyone in the room, Jack thought, only the Bard understood what a terrible sacrifice that had been. The old man looked at him with such sympathy, the boy was afraid he might cry and disgrace himself. “There are other powers that come with sacrifice,” the Bard said quietly. “They are known to the Wise, but it takes time to learn them. I knew long ago, at the need-fire ceremony, that you, Pega, and Lucy had set immense change into motion. What I didn’t see was Thorgil. She gave what she most valued when she raised her hand against the Lord of Unlife. And gained much that she has not yet realized.”

  “She?” said Brother Aiden and Father at the same time.

  “You got used to hobgoblins. You can get used to Thorgil being a girl,” the Bard said. Jack was impressed with how he’d introduced each problem and made it seem like the most ordinary thing in the world. Father was even talking to the Bugaboo, and Brother Aiden had stopped crossing himself whenever he looked at the hobgoblins. Good old Bard! He got the best of everyone.

  The door leading to the monastery opened suddenly, and in came Brutus—King Brutus, Jack reminded himself—and Father Severus. “Whew! It’s been a busy day,” exclaimed the new Lord of Din Guardi. “I haven’t been able to sit down once.”

  “Tomorrow will be worse,” Father Severus assured him. “We were on our way to bed when I remembered a bit of unfinished business. You can pick out your own beds, by the way. The monks will be sleeping on the floor for a very long time. Dragon Tongue”—he turned to the Bard—“it is time you met someone.”

  Father Severus stepped aside, and Ethne came into the room, making the candles seem to burn brighter. “Behold your daughter, Dragon Tongue.”

  For the first time since Jack had known him, the Bard was rendered utterly speechless.

  Jack understood now why Ethne had seemed so familiar. When she was elvish, she was like a younger version of Partholis. But when she was human—and Jack liked her much better then—she had the same blue eyes and even the same smile as the Bard. Some of her kindness probably came from him too. Alas, it was usually swamped by Partholis’ influence. Now the human side came to the fore.

  “I always wondered who my father was,” Ethne said. “I asked Mother and she couldn’t remember.”

  “Elves don’t.” The Bard finally found his voice. He looked stunned.

  “I’ve heard so much about Dragon Tongue.”

  “Seems like you made off with more than Partholon’s magic,” remarked Father Severus.

  The Bard cast him a fierce look. “I’ll thank you not to spoil this moment. Ethne, believe me, I had no idea of your existence. I wish I’d seen you when I was young. It was sixty years ago when I was in Elfland, and you are young still, but that’s how things happen there.” The old man smiled sadly. “I haven’t much of a place to offer you, but you are most welcome.”

  “She’s going to be a nun,” said Father Severus.

  The Bard turned on him. “Now, that is too much. There’s more than one way to step into the stream of life, and I’m perfectly able to instruct her. I won’t have her spending hours fasting and turning her back on the beauty of the world.”

  “But—Father—I like fasting,” said Ethne.

  “It’s just a novelty to you. What you need is to be immersed in life, let it flow through you, learn to love.”

  “I’ve been instructing Ethne for a year,” argued Father Severus. “I’m going to build a nunnery and send to Canterbury for an abbess to run it. Ethne will have companions and instruction. She’ll learn to do good works. She’ll be taught humility. I’ll root out that elvishness and cleanse her soul until the angels will fight over who gets the honor of carrying her to Heaven.”

  “Oh, dear, dear, dear.” The Bard sighed and looked very old and tired indeed. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, and I may not have enough years left to save her.”

  Jack felt alarmed. He didn’t want to think of the Bard dying ever, even if it only meant he’d be reborn somewhere else.

  “There are many branches on the Great Tree, child,” the Bard said gently, taking Ethne’s hands. “Christianity is only
one leaf.”

  But the elf lady smiled at him uncertainly. Jack knew she had no idea what he was talking about.

  “She’s caught between two worlds.” The old man looked up at Father Severus. “I don’t know whether she can entirely abandon one of them.”

  “With God’s help, she will,” Father Severus said.

  “Tell me, Ethne, do you truly want to be a nun?”

  “It sounds ever so much fun,” the elf lady said enthusiastically.

  “Very well, I won’t stand in your way. But listen, if you ever need help—” The Bard paused, thinking. “I’m going to send you a cat. I know nuns are allowed pets. Treat him nicely and don’t forget to feed him.”

  “This isn’t some wizard’s trick?” Father Severus said.

  “Never!” The Bard’s blue eyes fairly blazed with innocence.

  “He’s a cat I bought from an Irish sea captain who put in to Bebba’s Town. His name is Pangur Ban. If ever you feel frightened, my newly found daughter, tell your troubles to Pangur Ban. I often find it very soothing to talk to creatures that cannot possibly—ever… in no way… by any stretch of the imagination—pass on information.”

  Ethne bent forward and kissed the old man on the cheek. “I’ll remember,” she said softly.

  Then, because it was very late and everyone had had a tiring day, Father Severus said they should all go to bed. He had even employed a woman from Bebba’s Town to look after Ethne. He was a very organized man.

  Chapter Fifty

  HOMEWARD BOUND

  Father’s leg healed more swiftly than anyone had dared hope. Even better, the limp was almost gone. “The bones were set badly when you were a lad, Giles,” the Bard explained. “Having them broken again was a fine opportunity to straighten them out.”

  “If you say so.” Giles Crookleg grimaced as he put weight on his foot.

  “You’d better ride the donkey. It’s a long journey.”

  Father gazed sadly at Bluebell, and Jack knew he was remembering how she had carried Lucy to Bebba’s Town.