by Peter Harris
Chapter Twenty-one
Bootnip and the Birthday Cake
‘I’m scared, mother,’ said Rilke as they all hurried down the dark cobbled street to Grim and Ira’s home, a solid old two-storied cottage with oak beams and whitewashed walls. ‘Everything will be all right, Rilke. The people will come to their senses in the morning, you’ll see. It’s just that mayor, he whipped them up to a frenzy,’ said Ira. But Shelley caught her worried look.
Rilke opened the wrought-iron garden gate and they stood in the little front porch while Grim unlocked the heavy oak door with an iron key. Inside, Grim and Ira lit candles, and in their yellow light Shelley, Korman and Elgar were settled on a couch in the dining room. Shelley looked at the boy Rilke. He looked about Mark’s age, ten or so, she thought. But she liked the look of him better than her younger brother.
‘How old are you?’ asked Rilke, who had been staring back at Shelley admiringly. Anyone who was the companion of a great Guardian warrior like Korman must, he thought, be very special, and definitely very lucky. And he liked her dark brown eyes and honest look, strong and brave, but also sisterly. He had no sisters, or brothers.
‘I… I’m thirteen, in Edarthan years. It was my birthday the day I arrived in Aeden.’ Shelley felt sad and homesick. She was even missing Mark. Rilke reminded her of him, somehow.
‘Did you get a birthday cake?’
‘No, I was captured by the Deathwagon, then I was rescued by the Boy Raiders, then Korman found me and we ran from the Trackers. So there wasn’t much time for a party!’
‘Oh. But what adventures you had!’ said Rilke. ‘I’d give anything to go with you two! Where are you going? Can I come?’
Ira had been listening with alarm, and she hastily put in, ‘Oh you poor dear, no party on your birthday? Korman, how like a man not to do anything for her! I tell you what, Shelley, we’ll bake you a cake tonight!’ She brushed away a tear as she looked at Rilke and the girl from Kor-Edartha, and she thought, ‘Who knows how long we will have them with us, and what tomorrow will bring?’ So she hurried into the kitchen and began to bake, and called Rilke to help her. ‘Can we put a surprise into it, mother, a big jewel just to cheer her up?’ he whispered.
‘We haven’t got anything, dear, you know that. It’s all been sold to pay for food. Even the amber eyes from the icon.’
‘But it’s tradition, mother! We have to find something.’ He went to his room and found a small shiny stone from the brook that he called a diamond, but really it was just quartz. ‘One day I’ll find a really big diamond and give it to her,’ he told his mother as he stirred the stone into the mix.
When the cake was in the oven they all sat around a solid rough-hewn table of oak, worn smooth with age (Grim told them it was made long ago by grandfather Steadman), and ate what little the couple had, (nuts and olives and some ryebread), along with food from Korman’s pack, and a drink like home-made ginger beer for the children. Grim brought the last of his beer and honeymead from the cellar for the adults. There was no cider left; the apple trees had been dying, Grim explained. ‘Or being poisoned,’ he said darkly. ‘And there’s something gone badly wrong with the hives this year. There’s black hornets killing the bees and taking over. Can’t go near them or they attack in a swarm. My boy here nearly got killed by ’em, didn’t you?’
Rilke beamed up at Grim. ‘Yes father, I did. They’d have got me for sure if I wasn’t such a fast runner and hadn’t of dived into the river and stayed under for at least five minutes!’ he bragged. ‘Still got three bites,’ he said, showing Shelley the nasty raised scars on his neck and shoulder.
‘Rilke, what has your father told you about telling the truth?’ said his mother. ‘The truth is, Shelley, he was paralysed by the stings and nearly drowned in the bottom of the millpond, but my Grim here dived down and pulled him out.’ She smiled at her husband, and he smiled back, but he looked worried.
‘They must be hybrids,’ said Korman. ‘Be thankful. The pure-bred black hunting hornets used by the Kiraglim are far bigger, and they can kill with a single sting. Or if their masters want the victim alive, they will just paralyse him until the Kiraglim arrive.’
‘Ugh!’ Shelley shuddered, and Rilke rubbed his scars nervously, trying to look brave.
‘How can my people be so blind to the evils brought by the Aghmaath?’ said Ira.
‘The truth is hard to face,’ replied Korman.
‘Standing up for the truth is a way of life for some of us, Korman,’ said Elgar, who had been silent up to that point, recovering from his public humiliation in the town hall. ‘We just don’t seem to get it, do we, that the herd is always right, eh?’ He smiled sadly, and sighed.
‘Well, Elgar,’ Shelley put in, ‘I think you are the ones who are right. As they say, “The majority is always wrong!”’
‘That’s a good one, miss,’ said the old man, perking up again. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Earth – I mean, Kor-Edartha.’
‘You mean, you’re one of the Edartha-born, a daughter of Ewana?’
‘I guess so… if the story I’ve heard here is true, and our ancestors back on Kor-Edartha all came from Adam and Eve – Athmad and Ewana – and the Garden of Eden, or Aeden, was actually here on this planet! I thought it was just one of our Earth myths.’
‘Most myths have at least a grain of truth in them,’ said Korman.
‘Well, at least once in a Blue Moon, anyway,’ said Shelley. ‘Like Troy in the Iliad – it turned out to be real.’
‘There’s another Edarthan memory of Aeden!’ said Korman. ‘The Blue Moon actually happens here. Aeden has a moon which appears in our skies only irregularly (roughly once every three months), and stays overhead for three days and three nights. It is a beautiful blue. We also have a golden-silver moon, similar to yours, which is visible nearly every night.’
‘Your ancestors would have seen our moon, Korman,’ said Shelley, ‘…if it’s really true the Templar Knights came here and you’re descended from them.’
‘Of course it is true. The Guardians, who kept the knowledge of our lineage over the centuries, never lie.’
‘Do you have a Templar sword, Lord Korman?’ asked Rilke.
‘No, my sword is of older lineage than that, and not to be drawn lightly! It is Arcratíne, Jewel-Defender. It comes from the dawn of the Order, the Golden age, when the Makers and the Crystal entities worked together to make many wonders, such as the Mindstones, one of which Shelley has already seen. The blade of this sword is made of living fire crystal. Korman the First, after whom I was named, bore it in his guarding of the Tree nine thousand years ago, after the Makers left to battle the Dark Entities in the void beyond the Great Sphere of the Nine Worlds.’
‘They left the Order in the hands of the Guardians?’ asked Grim.
‘Yes. And we failed, at least partly. We stuck to the guarding of the Trees and neglected the teaching and renewal of the knowledge and wisdom of the Order to the common people, as they came to be called. Originally there were no “common people” – all were enlightened. But this only happened by teaching and love and nurturing, which through complacency, gradually over the countless generations, grew less and less until only a remnant fully remembered the Tan Krithür, the Sayings of the Concept, and used the Labyrinths to become initiated into the knowledge and wisdom and joy of the Order. And eventually, almost none. Then the Labyrinth of Ürak Tara was lost from sight, withdrawn by the power of the Lady into the Faery realm. Likewise the Island of Avalon where the Lady’s maidens still live, they say.’
‘So how can we get to Ürak Tara, if it’s in the Faery realm?’ asked Shelley.
‘We must walk in that realm as well as the visible realm. This has become easier for me since you arrived, Shelley.’ She remembered the strange looks he had given her on the journey down the stream, and how he had seemingly vanished and reappeared several times. She wondered when she would start seeing things too, and whether she would have any idea whether it was real or w
hether she was actually just going mad. To deflect these thoughts, she asked, ‘What about the technology of the Makers? Did that get lost too, as Barachthad says?’ Korman, who had been looking hard at her, replied, ‘No, I do not think so. The Makers themselves hid its secrets in the soil of Aeden, not to be restored until they returned. For they knew it was perilous, if the Aghmaath were to steal it. Their wisdom was to leave the stewardship of the Order to good men and brave, to defend the Order and the Concept by wisdom and love, not technology. They left behind only a few tools of their visible power. This sword is one; the three Vapáglim, medallions of Opening, were another (but they are lost, it seems, and there is some rumour that they were forged not by the Makers themselves but by certain Travellers, who all came to a bad end by using them). The Mindstones were a better idea by all accounts. And in some ways the greatest of all the ancient marvels: the two Great Labyrinths of Aeden, with their spheres of initiation and their living pictures.’
‘They had movies! Where were these Labyrinths? Can we see one?’
‘As I have said, one was in the Valley of the Rainbow, now the Valley of Thorns, and it is dark and dreadful. The other is under Ürak Tara, where we are going.’
‘So we will get to see it!’
‘I hope so. Our mission depends on finding it.’ Shelley didn’t want to hear any more just then about her Quest, or the realm of Faery, and she fell silent. But Rilke said, ‘I want to see the Labyrinth with the living pictures! I thought you said it was just an old fairy tale, father!’
‘A lot of the things I have heard tonight I used to call fairy tales. Now, I am inclined to believe them all,’ replied Grim.
‘So, can I go with them, father?’
‘No, of course not,’ began his mother, but Grim said, ‘If Korman would consider it, I would be grateful. My heart tells me this village has become a dangerous place for us. If we cannot turn the people back from the Aghmaath, then…’
‘Then your son will be taken for indoctrination, along with all the children of the village,’ said Korman. ‘But we will take him with us, if you wish.’
‘Oh, yes please!’ said Rilke, and his eyes shone in the candle-light.
As they discussed the route they must take in the morning, Ira looked at the motionless hour-glass, and exclaimed, ‘The cake! I almost forgot!’ and hurried into the kitchen. But the fire had died down and the cake was only a little burnt. She scraped it and brought it out in triumph. They lit little candles on it, just as on Earth. Shelley wondered at this, but blew out the candles happily. Then, just as Ira was about to cut the cake, a rustle came from the corner where Korman’s pack lay, and a furry streak clawed its way up Korman’s cloak and lunged onto the table, scrabbling on the polished wood. Before anyone could stop it, the anklebiter had burrowed into the heart of the cake. After a few seconds of frantic movement, his head reappeared, covered in cake. He was holding the piece of quartz proudly in his jaws. ‘Bad boy!’ said Korman, holding Bootnip up by the scruff of his neck. ‘Drop it!’ he ordered, but Bootnip held onto the stone, growling ferociously. ‘Bootnip, drop it!’ said Shelley, holding out her hand, and to her surprise, with an expression of disgust the anklebiter let it drop into her hand, covered in anklebiter saliva. He had, in fact, only let it go because he had felt it with his teeth and knew it was not a real jewel. Anklebiters are, at bottom, almost completely indifferent to authority and impervious to commands, just like cats.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Korman. ‘I should have remembered, he knows about birthday cakes and the jewels that are hidden in them. I used to give him a birthday cake every year, back in my cave. It is their instinct, of course, to dig for precious things.’ He put Bootnip firmly back in the pack, where he rustled about licking the bits of cake out of his fur.
‘The stone’s for you anyway,’ said Rilke. ‘Happy birthday!’
‘Thank you!’ said Shelley, with a lump in her throat. Then she washed her hand and the stone, and Ira cut out the parts of the cake that Bootnip had mangled, and after singing a birthday song they all ate a piece. Then Ira said it was really time for bed – at least, for the children. ‘Yes, we must leave before dawn,’ said Korman, ‘or those who follow the Aghmaath will arrest us as traitors, and bring us before the Inquisitors. The Aghmaath are very interested in this Edarthan girl, Shelley.’
‘And in Korman the Outcast,’ said Grim.
‘If they came for us you’d use your sword to defend us, wouldn’t you, Korman?’ said Rilke. Korman looked sadly at him.
‘Alas, I cannot. I used it once in wrath, and the Lady was taken by the Aghmaath and thrown into the Valley of Thorns, and my sword arm was withered. I have sworn an oath never to use Arcratíne again until the Lady gives me the word, and the strength. I am her disciple now, learning a new way for the Guardians. I am practising the hidden powers that come from harmony with the earth and the rock and air and fire and water, and all living things. She is teaching me to walk in Faery. You will find we should not need to use this sword. We will go with a mist about us, and the Dreamcasters and the Trackers will draw up an empty net.’
Rilke looked puzzled and disappointed. Then he asked, ‘Will you show me your withered arm?’
Before Ira could scold Rilke, Korman bared his right arm and held it up.
‘Not very good for deeds of valour, is it?’ he smiled. ‘But one day, I believe it will be healed.’
Ira drew Rilke close and hugged him, tears in her eyes. ‘Time for sleep, you cheeky young man. It is long past your bed-time. Your biggest-ever adventure is only a few hours away, sword or no sword!’
Old Elgar had been looking troubled. He looked at Korman and said, ‘I do not know about this Lady. But I have heard stories about the Kiraglim trackers. They still do not work openly, but they have been seen in the hills around here, and there have been disappearances in the villages that no one can explain. You declared yourself openly tonight at the meeting, and the mayor will send messengers in the morning to the Aghmaath in Milltown – if he hasn’t already.
‘So, here is my suggestion: let me be a decoy. My wife Lilly and I will do this for you and Shelley. We will exchange clothes, and in the morning we will leave, taking the low road, with our hoods over our faces, pretending to be you. Meanwhile you and Shelley will be long gone, taking the high road through the olive groves and up into the mountains, south-west towards Baldrock, then (giving that haunted mountain a wide berth) south-east through the Eel Hills. And with us wearing your boots and your clothes, the Trackers and their dogs will follow us, not you. But there are many streams to cross, and by the time we reach the place I have in mind, we should have given them the slip.’ Shelley shuddered at the mention of eels, but said nothing.
‘That is a brave and noble offer, Elgar,’ said Korman. ‘But where do you mean to go? – assuming Lilly agrees to it.’
‘She has long been wanting to return to the old Guardian enclosure – Lakeview it was called – where we farmed so long ago, before the fall of the Tor Enyása. We would rather die trying to get there, than stay in exile here and be taken away by the Aghmaath to their place of endarkenment.’
‘I think you should take their offer,’ said Grim. ‘The Trackers must not find you! We would do it but our place is here in the village, to try and turn the people back to wisdom.’
Korman finally agreed to Elgar’s plan, and soon Elgar came back with Lilly, dressed for travel in the fashion of the villagers of Aeden. Shelley immediately liked Lilly, a merry little old lady about her own size, but wrinkled and wiry, and brown as a nut. They went off and changed into each other’s clothes, as did Korman and Elgar. Then they returned to the living room. It was an odd feeling for all of them. Shelley looked wistfully at Lilly wearing the supple boots Barachthad had given her.
‘Don’t let Elgar stop to argue with any strangers along the way, will you Lilly?’ said Ira.
‘Certainly not! We’d never get away,’ replied Lilly.
‘You look like a true Guardian
, Elgar,’ said Korman. ‘You will lead the Trackers on a merry chase! Just remember to take your staff so you can hit them over the head if they find you!’ The two men laughed, and Lilly looked proudly at Elgar. Shelley felt very serious, and proud, to be with such brave people.
‘Well, it is getting very late,’ said Ira, finally. ‘Time for you young ones to get some sleep.’
Rilke showed Shelley their bedroom and the simple bathroom. But her bed of wool and goosedown was soft and warm, and it seemed the height of luxury to her, compared to her visions of sleeping under the brambles somewhere in the wild. She hoped it would not be too cold in the early morning when Korman was to wake them. Rilke shyly got into his little bed in the corner, and in spite of his excitement soon fell fast asleep. Shelley, though she was now exhausted, took a little longer. She was thinking of home as she held the little stone Rilke had given her.
Ira and Lilly talked in the kitchen as they did the washing up, while Elgar and Korman stayed in the living room, talking of the routes they would each be taking, and of the Guardian lands in the Northeast Arm of Aeden. Korman gave Elgar a talisman of the Guardian Order (a medallion with a Salamander-dragon entwined around a sword), in case any of the old Guardians were still alive, and questioned him. Elgar thanked Korman, and embraced him warmly.
‘You are like a son to me,’ he said. ‘And so I return to what we were speaking about earlier: Be cautious about this Lady, Korman. She is not in any of the lore of the ancient Order that I have heard. Can you be sure she and this Faery realm are not another deception, perhaps a rival to the deceptions of the Aghmaath? Many uncanny things walk in Aeden now that the Jewel is gone. Or if as you say she has been imprisoned in the thorns, she may have come under the sway of the Dark Ones, and be sending out mindwebs to lure you into their trap.’
Korman smiled at the old man’s concern, and said, ‘I am sure in my heart, good father Elgar, that she too is good, and has not come under the sway of the Aghmaath. And the works she has done, for me and for the land of Aeden and its protection, bear me out. Also, nothing she has said to me is against the Concept.’ Korman looked hard at Elgar, then went on. ‘Besides all that, you have heard of her: she is a descendant of the one who was called Venus.’
‘But surely, Korman, Venus was just one of the fairy tales of the Golden Age?’
‘You would not say that if you had seen this Lady. And it was she who set me the task of waiting for the Kortana at the Portal of the Plains.’
‘Is Shelley the Kortana, the Jewel-Caller, then? If the old prophecies are to be trusted, and there is such a person at all…’
‘She is the Kortana. I live or die in that belief, Elgar. Only time will tell if I am right.’
‘Let us all hope you are right, and that this Lady is not leading you into a delusion. Take care, my dear Korman. If you take my advice you will be faithful simply to your old Guardian Order, and the Concept, and the memory of the Guardians.’
Korman was fingering the amber ring on his finger, and seeing it glowing Elgar said, ‘That is no Guardian ring! It looks like something from the Faery realm to me – I saw something similar that an old Trader was trying to pass off as a genuine Guardian ring. But they are red of course, for the Guardian World and valour. Lightgold is forbidden, Korman! As are images of intertwined Tree-men and Tree-women. Where did you get it? Not from this Lady of yours?’
‘No, Elgar, I made it myself during my long vigil, from a nugget of pure silver and a piece of golden agathra Bootnip brought me one day. I took them as a sign of new things, and formed the ring as a talisman and loyalty-ring for the Lady Ainenia. For I lost my Guardian ring the day I was cast out from the Order.’ Elgar shook his head and sighed.
‘Well, speaking of Guardians, may you find your lost brother on your travels, and come safely to Ürak Tara.’
Lilly and Ira came out of the kitchen. Elgar and Lilly embraced Korman again, and left for their own house. Then Ira and Grim excused themselves, and went off to bed, locking the outside doors securely. The sound of gentle snoring came from Korman’s pack, then twitchings and happy grunts. Bootnip was dreaming, perhaps, of birthday cakes with huge jewels in them.
Korman did not go straight to bed, but sat by the dying embers of the fire, deep in thought, and the voice of the Lady began to weave into his thoughts, and he meditated for a long time on her wisdom, and on the wisdom of the Makers, and the Concept. Then he took out a little box from the folds of his robe and carefully opened it. Inside was a single flower about the size of a lawn daisy. It was closed tight like a bud. He whispered to it and stared at it as if willing it to open. But nothing happened, and finally he lovingly closed the box, put it away again, and sighed deeply. He took out his singing bowl and tapped it sadly. The hum of Creation filled his consciousness, and he smiled a little.
Then he stretched out in front of the cold grate, and slept until the dark hour before dawn.