But they did. It was Finn who achieved it somehow. They all arrived soon after noon, when passengers were already trickling aboard the ferry, all very pleased with themselves. Finn had been at his monkly cadging. He had an armload of food and a charm bracelet which he said would cure Aunt Beck. He insisted on fastening it around her wrist, in spite of her saying, “I won’t wear that. It’s unseemly.”
Ivar was waving a pottery plaque with a blurred green bird on it. He had won a swordfight competition and was highly delighted with himself. “I beat ten other fellows!” he kept saying. “Beat them hollow!” But the real reason for his joy was that he had had his fortune told. “So I’ll be coming with you to Gallis after all,” he said, but he wouldn’t tell me why.
“I thought it was settled that you were coming anyway,” I said.
“Not to me, it wasn’t,” he said. “Not until I heard what this seer had to say.”
Ogo had had his fortune told too, it seemed. “But it was all nonsense,” he told me. And he whispered, “Ivar won because the other swordsmen were so bad actually, but don’t tell him. Even I could have won if I’d gone in for it.”
“What did you do instead?” I asked.
“Danced a bit. Went around the stalls,” Ogo said. “They had a calf with two heads and a bird like Green Greet that sort of sang. Some of the things they were selling were really good. Like this. Look.” He pulled out a rainbow scarf that seemed to be made of cobwebs and wrapped it tenderly around Aunt Beck’s neck.
Aunt Beck blinked a bit and, to my surprise, she said, “Thank you kindly, young sir.” She didn’t seem to know it was Ogo.
“And this is for you,” Ogo said, proud but embarrassed. And he passed me a flat wooden box.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have spent your money on me,” I said as I opened the box. “Oh!” Inside was a necklace of copper plaited with silver, with big green stones in it every so often. It was quite lovely. “It’s beautiful!” I said.
“It wasn’t expensive,” Ogo said, rather pink. “I watched the woman make it. She was ever so clever. And I thought you needed something to make up for missing the fair.”
“It’s the most splendid thing I’ve ever had!” I said. “Thank you, Ogo.” And I put it around my neck. It was perfect, as if I’d had it always. I felt like a queen in it.
Then we had to board the ferry. They put a wide gangplank out because there were two more carts and a pony trap beside ours, and all three of these went up with no trouble at all. Moe refused. She braced all four hooves and went stiff. Ivar smacked her on the rump and it made no difference at all. In the end, Ogo and I had to walk backwards on either side of her, hauling her bridle, with Finn and Ivar awkwardly leaning across the shafts to push on her rear. Like that, we inched on to the ferry. The sailors were fussing about the tide and the wind by the time we got her aboard. She really did not want to go. This surprised me. Up to then Moe had been such a good donkey.
They may call donkeys stupid, but in actual fact they are quite clever. Moe had stood and looked at the sea, and the ferry, and put two and two together. She must have known we were taking her away from the country of her birth. At all events, when they cast off the ropes and the sails filled and the ferry went rocking out into the wider water, the other two donkeys and the pony were given their nosebags and seemed quite content. Moe refused hers. She shook all over. Then she started to bray. Now the bray of a donkey, as I said before, is one of the loudest things in nature. It is a sort of roar, followed by a shriek of indrawn breath, followed by another roar. But the worst of it is that it sounds so sad. Poor Moe sounded heartbroken.
“Will you shut that donkey up!” the other passengers said.
“She really is heartbroken,” I said. Ogo and I tried everything we knew to comfort her. We pulled her ears and petted her and murmured consoling things, but she brayed on and on.
Finally, Finn said, with his hands over his ears, “She’s afraid of the sea, so she is. Green Greet, can you settle her?”
“Can try,” Green Greet said. And he flew up off Finn’s shoulder and landed on Moe’s head. She shook her head and flopped her ears, but he stayed on her. He started talking to her in a low, warbling murmur. It didn’t have words. It was sort of animal talk. And after a bit Moe stopped yelling in order to listen. By the time we could see Gallis properly, all lit by the sun, Green Greet had got Moe almost as quiet as the pony. He moved down her back and went on warbling to her, while the rest of us stared out at Gallis.
Gallis is very beautiful. The blue peaks and sunlit rifts full of trees assured us of this, but, when the ferry swung into a glassy bay under the nearest blue peak, none of us could really attend to the scenery. Or perhaps Aunt Beck could, jolted this way and that as she sat in the cart we all tugged and pushed. Moe did not want to get off the boat. It was exasperating.
“Typical donkey,” Ivar growled. “Shall I twist her tail?”
“No!” Ogo and I said together.
“She’s a Bernica donkey,” I said. “She knows Gallis is a foreign country.”
“Well, if you two want to be soft, slushy idiots, I’m not helping you any more,” Ivar said, and he went marching away down the gangplank. We could see him striding ahead up the rocky way that curved around the great mountain. Ogo and I exchanged looks. Both of us were hot and angry by then.
“Peace!” said Finn – which irritated me almost as much. “Let Green Greet guide Moe.”
He shoved the bird off Moe’s back quite unceremoniously. Green Greet, after an indignant squawk, flapped up ahead of Moe. He left a green feather which Ogo picked up and put in his belt for luck. And Moe took off after Green Greet in a rush. Aunt Beck swayed about in the cart as it rattled down the gangplank, and we trotted after.
There was no real jetty, just a shelf of rock with a couple of bollards on it that the ferry tied up to. Everyone had gone streaming up the rocky path, so we followed, uphill and around the mountain. It reminded me of Skarr. Most of our bays are like this, except where the towns are. The difference was that Gallis was almost violently beautiful. The path led through a mighty gorge overhung with splendid trees, where a great white waterfall dashed down the cliffs to the left. On a ledge beside the waterfall we saw the distant figure of a man in blue clothes.
“What’s he doing up there? It’s not safe!” Aunt Beck said.
“He’s playing the harp, Auntie,” I said. “I think he’s singing too.”
You could just hear the music through the sound of the waterfall. And it was the strangest thing. As the song went on, the sun came out and made the trees green-gold. The falls shone silver-white with rainbows around the water, and the rocks glowed with colours.
“Have I got this right?” Ogo asked. “Is he singing the place more beautiful?”
“I think he is,” Finn said, puffing rather. The path was steep. “I have heard many wonders of the bards of Gallis.”
I had heard wonders too. People in Skarr always said that there was no magic like the magic of the bards of Gallis. They could sing anything to happen, they said – though I remembered my father laughing when I asked him about it and saying that he wished it was true. Some of it must have been, I thought, as we toiled around another corner and lost sight of the gorge and the bard.
“He is a bard,” I said. “They always wear blue.”
As I spoke, we came to a stone building and a gate across the path. Green Greet gave another squawk and landed on the gate, which seemed to alarm the man guarding it, who put up one thick arm to shield his face.
Ivar was standing angrily on our side of the gate. “He won’t let me through!” he said to me. “He says I’m a foreigner. Make him see sense, Aileen.”
“And he had no reason to insult me!” the guard said, backing away from Green Greet, but holding the gate shut as he went. He was a tall man and thickset with it. He wore official-looking grey clothes and a sword. “I’m only doing my duty. I could see at once the young gentleman was not a native of Gallis, weari
ng plaids and all, as he is—”
“I told you. I’m a prince from Skarr,” Ivar said. He was a little mollified by being called a young gentleman, but still angry.
“—and it is as much as my place here is worth to let him through – to let any of you through – before Owen the priest has examined you,” the guard said, as if Ivar had not spoken. “I can see you’re all foreigners. I have rung the bell and Owen will no doubt be out presently. He’s busy blessing the other travellers from the ferry.”
“So we wait, do we?” Ivar snarled.
“In patience,” the guard agreed. “Will one of you please remove the bird? I am not sure it is godly.”
“Godly!” exclaimed Finn. “Nothing could be more godly than Green Greet! I begin to see that Moe was quite right not to wish to come to Gallis!”
“And which of you is Moe?” asked the guard.
“The donkey,” Finn explained. “This donkey protested every yard of the voyage—”
“Are you trying to insult me too?” the guard said, glowering.
“No, no!” Finn protested hastily. “I am a monk and a man of peace.”
“Then move the bird,” said the guard.
I found my spirits sinking steadily. I had forgotten the other thing my father always said of Gallis. I remember him praising the beauty of Gallis and its lovely climate often and often, until I asked him why, if Gallis was that wonderful, he had chosen to come away to Skarr. His reply was always, “Because, Aileen, a person can do nothing in Gallis without the permission of a priest.” I began to fear that our journey had come to a stop.
I watched Finn coax Green Greet on to his shoulder and we waited for the priest.
Eventually, the Holy Owen strode pompously up to the gate in a swirl of grey robes. I could see he was worse than the Priest of Kilcannon. He had rather a fat face decorated with a moustache even larger than the guard’s. It must have got in the way when he ate. He folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe and leant on the gate.
“Well, well,” he said. “What have we here? Five foreigners and their livestock.”
Livestock! I thought. At that moment, I felt Plug-Ugly press invisibly against my legs. It made me feel much better.
“Green Greet,” Finn said, as indignant as I had ever known him, “is not livestock, holy sir. He is the Great Bird of—”
“And you are?” Holy Owen said, cutting across him contemptuously.
“I am Finn,” Finn said, “a monk of the Order of the Goddess from Bernica and we are on a holy mission—”
“And you, madam?” Holy Owen said, cutting across poor Finn again. He looked up at Aunt Beck, sitting in the cart. “Are you in charge of this holy mission?”
Aunt Beck simply sat and said nothing.
Holy Owen waited for her to speak and when she did not even look at him he narrowed his eyes at her. “Dumb, eh?” he said. “Then who is in charge?”
“I am,” I said, before Ivar could open his mouth.
Holy Owen looked at me incredulously. I wished I was not so small. “Indeed?” he said. “And who may you be?”
I said, “My name is Aileen and I am a Wise Woman of Skarr.”
Holy Owen began to look downright derisive. “She is!” Finn and Ogo said together, and Finn went on, “The Great Lady herself declared Aileen to be fully initiate.”
“Hm,” said Holy Owen. He went quickly on to Ivar. “And you?”
Ivar, not unnaturally, began proudly, “I am a prince of Skarr. My father—”
“Another foreigner,” Holy Owen said dismissively. “You, great tall lad. Are you from Skarr or Bernica?”
“Neither,” Ogo said, almost as proudly as Ivar. “I’m from Logra.”
“Logra!” exclaimed Holy Owen. “How did you get here?”
“I was left behind on Skarr when the barrier was raised,” Ogo explained.
Holy Owen frowned at Ogo disbelievingly.
“It’s true,” I said. “He was quite small then.”
Ivar said, “Yes, it’s true. He’s here as my servant.”
“Fitting,” Holy Owen said and pulled at his huge moustache, considering us. “And the lady in the cart?”
“She is my Aunt Beck,” I said, “and she is also a Wise Woman of Skarr.” I had a moment when I seriously wondered whether to say that Aunt Beck was in a holy trance, but thought better of it. Instead, I said, “She suffered a stroke in Bernica. We were told that a holy healer of Gallis might be able to help her.”
Holy Owen went “Hm” again and continued to stare up at Aunt Beck and pull his moustache. “Miracles have been granted,” he said. “But there is a problem. You are all five foreigners to Gallis.”
Ivar, Ogo and Finn all spoke at once. “But this is ridiculous! People come from Bernica to be healed all the time. What are your healers for?”
And Green Greet echoed them. “Healers. Ridiculous.”
I felt Plug-Ugly push against my legs. I said loudly, “Excuse me, holy sir, but this is not so. My father was born in Gallis. He is a bard.”
Holy Owen let go of his moustache and looked sharply at me. “A small man, I suppose. What is his name?”
“Gareth,” I said. I know I spoke as proudly as Ivar. “I remember him as quite tall.”
“Gareth,” Holy Owen said. “Him. He is well-known here for going against all the advice of all the priests. It is also well-known that he was snatched away with Prince Alasdair and taken to Logra.”
“I know,” I said. “I hope to find him some day. But you cannot deny that I am half a citizen of Gallis, and I lead this expedition. I think you must let us all through, holy sir, and bless us on our way.”
There was a long silence. We all looked tensely at Holy Owen, who did nothing but stare at the gate and pull his moustache. Moe began to flick her ears and stir impatiently. At length, Holy Owen went “Hm, hm” – twice for a change. “There is still a problem,” he said. “If you were all from Bernica, I might solve it myself by sacrificing this donkey. But with people from both Skarr and Logra, I— Yes, I must seek advice from Holy High Priest Gronn. We are lucky. He is presently in this area adjudging the The Singing. I will send a messenger to him. Meanwhile, I must ask you all to stay inside the gatehouse until word comes back.”
And this is what happened. We all protested. We argued. Ivar drew his sword. But more guards came out of the stone building before he could use the sword and that was that. I grew angrier and angrier. I could see just why my father had left Gallis and come to Skarr. By the time we had been surrounded and urged into the courtyard inside the gatehouse, I was so angry that I felt a kind of power in me.
“Stop that!” I shouted to the guards who were unhitching Moe from the cart.
They stopped. They stared at me and then at Holy Owen. “And why should they stop?” Holy Owen asked me.
“Because I don’t know what you’re going to do with my donkey,” I said.
“Nothing, only take it to the stables,” Holy Owen said.
“How can I be sure of that?” I said. “When only five minutes ago you were talking of sacrificing her! I insist on going to the stables with her and making sure they look after her properly!”
Holy Owen sighed. “You Wise Women must be quite a pest to the kings of Skarr. No wonder they turned you both out. Very well.” He turned and beckoned to another, younger priest. “Go with her to the stables and make sure she behaves herself. You, guards, take the rest of them inside.”
“I’m coming to the stables too,” Ogo said.
I was very grateful. I felt myself beaming at Ogo as I said to Ivar, “Can you take care of Aunt Beck then? Find her somewhere to sit.”
Ivar scowled at me. But he nodded and took hold of my aunt’s arm.
Aunt Beck said, “Let go of me, boy! I can walk on my own.” And she went stalking ahead of Ivar to the dark doorway of the building.
“Queer sort of stroke,” the young priest said as I led Moe off to the stables at the side. He was all dark hair and l
ong nose with a drip on the end. I didn’t like him. His name was Lew-Laws, it seemed. I was glad Ogo was there.
By the end, I was very glad Ogo was there. The guard who was supposed to see to Moe obviously had no idea how to treat a donkey. I was forced to push him aside and look after Moe myself. Lew-Laws did nothing but lean against the side of the stall as if the whole matter was beneath him. Ogo loomed over the guard. This was the first time that I realised that Ogo had become very big indeed while we travelled, and very useful that was. Ogo loomed at the guard to fetch clean water. Then he loomed again to make sure he got Moe a decent amount of food, while I brushed her down and oiled the places where the harness rubbed her.
“Her hooves need trimming,” Lew-Laws remarked unpleasantly. “Aren’t you going to see to those too?”
Ogo, in the friendliest way, came and leant against the wall next to Lew-Laws and loomed over him too. “I tried to do that in Bernica,” Ogo said. “She doesn’t like it. She kicks, but do find a file and try if you want.”
Lew-Laws eyed Moe’s hind hooves and moved away along the wall. “Not important,” he said.
We left Moe pretty comfortable and let Lew-Laws take us into the house to a small room where Holy Owen sat at a table writing. Someone rushed in with a chair for Aunt Beck as we arrived.
“Good,” Ivar said. “At last. I kept asking.”
Aunt Beck sat down in the blank way that was now usual with her. I was disappointed. For a moment, I had thought she was back to herself again. But no.
I went and put both hands on Owen’s table. “How long will your message to Holy High Priest Gronn take?” I asked him.
“Hush,” he said. “I am just now writing it. The messenger will be with him before midnight. I should have his reply by morning.”
“You mean you’re going to force us to spend the night here?” I exclaimed.
“Of course,” he said. “Now tell me, this bird. Your monk calls him Green Greet. Why is that?”
The Islands of Chaldea Page 11