She prodded the scarf with her fingers in a nervous, unconscious gesture, as if afraid a stray strand had escaped. Then, she smiled sadly, “Do not apologize. I have lived with fear for so long I have become friends with it. What lord do you serve? What lands did he grant you?”
Gil put his hands together between his knees, pressing his knees together and leaning forward. “You see, that is what I want to talk to you about, Mom. Any other mother in the world, if her kid came home and said he was a knight, she would ask in what TV show or movie or something. She would not say what lord do you serve? Would she?”
Mrs. Moth said in her soft but firm voice, “Other mothers may speak or not speak and may raise their children in whatever haphazard way they wish, but mine has been raised to answer when his mother asks a question.”
Gil looked ashamed. “Sorry, Mom. My job is knight, but it was only for one evening. I have not been knighted and have sworn fealty to no one. But I protected a damsel. And she paid me.” He nodded at the pile of money lying on the counter.
“What damsel?”
“Her name is Nerea Moth. She is my cousin. She is the daughter of, um, Glaucoma. He is the physician to a queen of the mermaids. Nerea’s mom is named Nor’easter. Or something that begins with N. Anyway, we have a great-grandfather in common. Pill Ignore of Listerine. Nerea told me the names of a bunch of my cousins and uncles and stuff, but I did not recognize any of them, including two aunts and an uncle. Ebenezer of the Broken Sword. You have two sisters. Dramamine and Elaine. Elaine of the C. Am I getting any of those names right, Mother? Even one?” And now an angry and sarcastic note began to creep into his voice. “You see, I have not been over to my aunts and uncles every Christmas and Mistmas and Thismas and Thatmas, whose names I also cannot remember, so I don’t even know what they look like or what their names are!”
“Elaine of the Sea is her name. She is much older than I. She married Garis le Gros, and it was hoped the wedding would calm the quarrel between the Fisher-King of Sarras and the Sea Fairies of the Aegean.”
“Sea Fairies! Great! So there is an intelligent species of humanoid supernatural beings living in the Mediterranean that I happen to be related to, and you never mentioned it to me. And there are other groups living under mountains, fighting over the weather, and what day it is going to snow because one side wants to cause starvation and the other side wants diseases.”
“No. One side wants pride and envy. The other wants wrath and sloth.”
Gil leaped down from the counter and landed on the kitchen floor with a bump loud enough to set the honey jars rattling. “Why did I have to find out all this from a mermaid in sunglasses and getting my butt kicked by an elf-knight riding a bear, and almost get speared by three brothers until Oberon came–”
Her whole body trembled in shock. “Hush! Do not say his name! Titania is gone. He has lost his old crown and now wears a lesser one. Call him Alberec.”
“Why, mother? Why?”
“It attracts less attention.”
“No, I mean why did I have to find all this out from talking to stray wolves and random mermaids? There is a world out there, worlds beyond worlds, in the sea and underground and who knows where else? Other hemispheres beyond the mortal two, whatever the heck that means! And I am a member of the largest and best family in the world, and you never told me! Why did you never tell me?”
She said softly, “Do not take that tone with me. I am your mother, and I gave you life. I surrendered my life to save yours.”
Gil said, “I am the one you are hiding from them. From the family.”
She said, “From the family and from others.”
“From the elfs?”
“And from worse than they.”
“Why do they want to hurt me? And do not tell me the tale is too heavy for me!”
“Your foes are strong and terrible, my son, my precious son.” There was a sob in her throat, and her eyes were wild, but her face remained calm.
“If I cannot face my foes, how can I force my mother to face them for me?”
Ygraine shook her head. “The time is not right for the telling. We must pack, and…”
Gil shook his head. “I am not leaving. I have a bear cave where I can live now… except… uh… well, I am not leaving.”
Ygraine picked up her lunchbag. “But I must if I am to catch the bus. Walk with me to the stop.”
Outside, the red rays of the newborn sun painted the fields and trees a delicate cherry hue. The heat of the day had not yet come.
Ygraine walked rapidly along the empty road, but her voice was always calm. “Tell me more. Who saw you? What was said? You said you protected your cousin Nerea. From what did you protect her? How did you get this money?”
“From her. She gave me a gold hairpin, and I pawned it in Mr. Yung’s shop on Blackstone Street.”
She sighed sadly, and he realized that she knew the shop. His mother must have also pawned her possessions.
“Tell me more,” she said.
“Nerea and I climbed Brown Mountain. Swam up, actually. We watched the elfs fighting. They looked like something out of a storybook, mother. Like something from… from… from another universe, a brighter and better universe than this one. From a world where people keep their word, even to their enemies.”
“It is the same world as this. Only the falsehoods and illusions differ. But, yes, the elfs are too proud to lie.”
“We were found out, and Nerea ran away. I did not run. I stayed behind and fought them! They were armed with spears and swords, but I beat them with just a stick from a tree.”
“For what reason did you not flee?”
“They were on horses. Or on something horselike. There were four of them. They would have simply outrun us before we got to the stream to get away. So I had to stand up against them.” Gil looked proud of himself, and he put his fists on his hips as he marched along, hoping his mother would praise him.
She peered closely at her son’s face. “Did you think of this at the time or later?”
Gil’s face sagged, and his shoulders slumped. “Well, later. Much later. But it still counts. Doesn’t it?”
“For what reason at the time did you not flee?”
“I could not run away. I saw how brave and noble they were. They would not have run away. I want to be like them. I want to be one of them.”
His mother asked no more questions. They walked for a time and came to the sign and the shelter for the bus.
She stood, peering down the road.
“How did you escape?” she asked.
“I am not sure. Their king, Alberec, appeared in a wind of mist. I had crushed one of the Winter knights with a bear hug. The Winter knights belong to–”
“I know to whom they are sworn.”
“–And Alberec’s three knights were being rude. One of them called you a vile name. I told him I was going to thrash him for that. Maybe Alberec felt ashamed at how his men acted, or he liked that I downed someone on the opposing side. He told me to swear peace with Sir Dornar–”
At that moment, her lunchbag slipped from her fingers. There was a loud snap as glass shattered. Golden, sticky fluid darkened the paper bag and began to seep from it.
Gil looked down sadly and then looked up the road. He could see the bus in the distance. “Well,” he said with sigh, “At least you can buy your lunch for once.” And he held out a hundred dollars in twenties.
She whispered, “What was on his shield?”
“The shield was divided into blue and silver quarters. In the middle was a gold cup sprouting wings. At the top was an upside-down star. His brothers had the same shield, except for the top part.”
She said, “You must forgive that knight whatever hard names he calls me. Any curse he throws on your mother will doubtless return to land on his own. The label is born by the firstborn son, the crescent by the second, the star by the third. It is the heraldry of the Lord of Sarras, the High Country, and they claim descent from t
he sister of Joseph of Arimethea, who brought the most holy and sacred Grail to England in the days when Nero burned Christians as torches alive in Rome. They are in exile on Earth, for Sarras has fallen. It is most passing strange that Sir Dornar and his brothers should be beneath Brown Mountain only a few miles away. Too strange to be mere happenstance.”
The bus was coming.
She said, “Tell me who else knows of you. Either you and I climb aboard this bus, and we go to Spartanburg and leave all things here behind, or else I climb aboard and work my work and return this evening, and all is well.”
Gil said, “Why didn’t you tell me not to tell anyone my name?”
She said, “I sent you to look for a job in Blowing Rock, not in the woods, nor under the waters, nor under the mountain. I did not foresee that the dog would tempt you to go deeper into the older woods, where the mist is thin.”
“How did you know that it was Ruff–?”
“Speak! The bus is nigh.”
Gil said rapidly, “Nerea said she was the only one who knows I am alive. The wolf said everyone thought I was dead. After that, I did not tell my name to anyone, not even the bear, because it kind of freaked me out that the wolf knew me.”
“What wolf?”
“Canus rufus. But he called himself Krasny Volk Odinskyy.”
“It is better that you should name any beast rather than they name themselves. But we are safe for now. He has no pack and has no reason to speak to the Elfinking.”
“Wait. What? How do you know that?”
“Who else learned of you?”
“A thrush and a mermaid. Oh, and the bear told me he had talked with a man named Francis, who told him I had to go back to my mother’s house. He must have told him my name.”
“Which Francis?”
The bus pulled up just then. With a shrill squeal of breaks and a dismal sigh the bus came to rest.
Gil said quickly, “The bear told me he rebuilds churches and watches over all the wild animals. Whoa! What is wrong?” And he put out his hand, for it seemed as if his mother were about to faint.
Ygraine took a breath and recovered her composure. Two bus doors swung open, one in the front and one in the rear. They were next to the rear door. A metallic smell seeped out.
“If it were Francis who told the bear to send you home, I dare not gainsay it. I see the hand of providence moving, though I cannot see the deep design. Some call me wise, but all I have learned through all my long years is how little we know. What does the mite who hides in the feathers of a sea mew know of the sea?”
The bus driver honked his horn and called out impatiently.
Gil said, “So, can we stay? Or go? Go or stay? I don’t want to move! Mother, I–”
But she stepped aboard and smiled sadly. The bus sighed again, and the doors folded shut. Through the streaks of the door window, he saw her lips move.
Stay.
4. The Stairs
He watched as the groaning bus lumbered off. It was only when he was walking the long walk back to his house that he realized that his mother still had answered none of his questions. That made him feel more angry and more weary at the same time.
This time, as he walked up the rickety, creaking stairs to the apartment, he stomped with his feet very hard, grinning savagely, hoping to break a board or two. Because there was four hundred dollars still sitting on the kitchen counter, and, no matter what else his mother wanted to spend it on, he wanted to spend it on more boards and nails.
He was too tired to walk all the way into his room. He collapsed on the swayback couch and fell immediately asleep.
5. The Visitor
Gil was wakened by a loud noise. Startled, he rolled smoothly to his feet to leap out of bed, or tried to. But he had forgotten he was not in his own bed. The couch was narrower, and the smooth roll was interrupted halfway by an unexpected drop. He fell upon the floor with a painful thud.
Disoriented in the dark, he looked up. Light from the full moon was slanting in through the front window, illuminating the small, chubby faces on the standing radio and making their eyes glisten. Outside the window, in the dim and lunar light, the Cornelian Cherry tree looked like a many-armed monster.
The smaller square window in the door was darkened by the silhouette of a head in a low-crowned wide-brimmed hat. A matching rhomboid of moonlight fell on the threadbare carpet, so the shadow of that unseen face was almost touching his foot.
The sound came again. Someone was knocking.
Gil stared at the shadow in the window, his mind still fogged with sleep. Not only could he think of no one who could be calling at this hour, he could think of no one who would call at any hour.
Was it the police? Had something happened to his mother? Usually, on days when she left early, she returned early. If she had been asked to work a double shift, which sometimes happened, she could not phone home. There was no phone here. For the first time, Gil wondered whether this was due to their lack of money or due to his mother’s caution. Perhaps she did not want her name on phone company records.
There was a click. The front door swung open silently and slowly.
Gil rolled to his knee and tensed, ready to spring. He was sure he had locked the door. Sure of it! He had fallen asleep without taking off pants or belt, so he drew his knife, putting the blade in the moonlight and holding it at an angle so that the man at the door would see it.
The moon was behind the stranger. He was tall and broad, in a black hat and voluminous trenchcoat. The reflection from the knife blade fell right across the man’s unblinking eyes, which were deeply set and bright as the eyes of a hawk, as green as the sea. The rest of his face was in shadow, as if a mist were clouding it.
“Fear not!” The voice that spoke was as deep and low as the echo heard in a cavern hidden below the roots of a mountain, as timeless and distant as if ancient years and far-off kingdoms were speaking.
“Who are you?” Gil growled.
“Your father sends me. He wanted you to have this.”
The silhouette took the lapels of the dark trenchcoat, one in each gloved hand, and drew them apart. On his chest was a fine chain, and hanging from the chain a white and glittering shape no bigger than a table utensil made of green glass. He took the chain in both fists, and yanked them apart, shattering it. The links fled outward in all directions and popped like tiny golden bubbles, vanishing. The glittering green shape was flung forward, spun through the moonlight, and fell to the thin carpet with a distinct chime of noise.
Gil’s eyes, against his will, were yanked to the glittering object, but he dared not touch it. It was an old-fashioned key as long as his forefinger, with wards as big as the teeth of a rabbit, and the bow was a cross of Celtic design, made all of intricate interlocking spirals. It was made of green glass. A tracery of gold wire twined through the transparent depth.
“Is this a key? Is this the key?” Gil asked in wonder, his fear forgotten.
“What was your father’s is now yours. This day you are a child no longer but are come into your legacy. Claim it!”
With a bang, the door slammed shut. The shadow of the head against the window nodded, and the deep voice called out. “Act in haste, before moonset, ere the door you are destined to open is lost!”
Gil jumped to his feet and tugged on the front door, but found it locked. He worked the latch and yanked the door open. The empty night was beyond. The man was not on the stairs nor on the lawn. Gil looked up, wondering if the man had jumped to the roof, or into a tree, or flown away on the midnight wind. He saw no one.
He turned.
The glass key was sitting quietly in a pool of moonlight, glittering and waiting.
6. The Door
Gil touched the key gingerly with a forefinger, wincing, as if he expected it to give him an electric shock. It was cool and smooth to the touch. Snatching the key up, Gil ran around the corner to the spot halfway between his mother’s bedroom door and the bathroom door.
For
a moment, the wall seemed blank.
Moved by some unknown instinct, he opened his bedroom door behind him so that a rectangle of moonlight from the full moon entering from his bedroom window fell into the hall. He thrust the glass key into the moonlight. Immediately, the reflected and refracted beams of silver light outlined the rectangle of the arched door. Then, like an optical illusion, he saw or thought he saw a slight discoloration, a hint, a shadow, forming two uprights, a threshold, like the hint of a door, half hidden in the texture of the wallpaper. The top was a curved semicircle. The sides were about an elbow’s length apart. There was even a bright spot at the right height and size to imply a doorknob.
The key grew brighter, as if it were gathering the starlight also and casting that against the wall. The door was half-visible as if seen through a fog of mist. As the light from the key played over it, the mist grew thin, and the door grew solid.
Then it was there.
Gil touched the doorframe and the handle, noticing the little scars and whorls in the wood-grain and the tiny hole where someone had removed a nail. He touched the glass knob. Below the doorknob he saw the letters GPM just where he had scratched them one moonlit evening with his knife eight years ago. There were also marks about the latch where he had once tried to pry the door open. There were no hinges visible on this side. Had there been, Gil would have tried to remove them with a screwdriver years ago.
He knocked with his knuckles. It was solid. It was real. Finally.
The keyhole was shining with light, and the glass doorknob caught the reflections in the many triangles of its surface and glowed. He knelt and put his eye to the keyhole. The staircase beyond was made of dark wood. The passage was paneled with alternating vertical planks of light and dark wood. A banister hung from little brass curlicues paralleled the staircase flight. From this position, he could see only the lowest strip of the threshold above. There was a line of light, brilliant light, white light, coming from under an upper door.
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