The woodpecker said, “Step outside, and let me inspect you more carefully.”
Gil said to the spider, “Don’t be angry. You must admit, eating your own mother is a very disturbing habit.”
The spider said, “There is no greater offering of love. You eat your own Lord every Sabbath and drink his precious blood as well.”
Gil was not sure if it was wise to get into a theological debate with birds and spiders, so he said to the woodpecker, “Picoides, I am looking for my dog.”
“Ruff? He’s just outside the fence. Kind of sneaking around. I think I heard him humming some sort of jazz music from a spy show while he was doing it. Watching the trucks going in and out, timing the guard rounds, pacing out the distance and overlapping fields of view from the security cameras, chasing squirrels, sniffing his own buttocks. You know what dogs are like. Disgusting animals, really. Glad they cannot fly. Can you imagine the mess they’d make if they flew? Yikes!”
“You know my dog?”
“Sure. He’s a spy for the elfs. A lousy spy. He was asking around about Ygraine of the Wise Reeds. The high parliament of birds was notified immediately. Whenever she goes to or comes from her rotten job in that wine bar, we are supposed to dive bomb the dog, get him to chase us, make sure he never spots her.”
“You have a parliament?”
“Rooks do. They form the secular arm. Magpies have congregations, and they form the spiritual orders. Crows are our Execution Branch, and Ravens are our Fourth Estate, on account of their unkindness.”
Gil rubbed his temples, wondering why woodpeckers were more talkative than other birds he’d met. “I’d like you to talk to him for me. Ruff, I mean. He has a special glove he can put on his paw to give it the shape and movement of a human hand. I want you to take it from him and leave it on the roof.”
Gil picked up the spider on his forefinger. “I have no idea if this will work, but for my final boon, Ma’am, I’d like you to help me with something.”
9. A Green Glove
An hour later, Gil lay prone with one eye at the slit that pierced the door, watching a tiny spider, smaller than a dime with seven thin legs and one leg ending in a bright green human-sized glove, walking carefully along the ceiling. Between the finger and the thumb of the glove was the keyring and the keys to this cell.
One of the keys opened the iron plate over the window. It was a four-story climb to the ground, but the spider said that the glove granted her hand human strength while she wore it, so Gil took the glove in both his hands, and she held him and walked slowly down the concrete wall while he held on and prayed and sweated.
As he had been told, the bullets from the riflemen in the watchtowers were able to land to his right and left, making loud, appalling noises, but they simply refused to hit him. The electricity in the fence was evidently also considered a modern enough weapon that it did not harm him. The barbed wire at the top would have been able to cut him, except that his gauntlets were too thick.
After that, he heard Ruff barking. “This way! This way!”
Gil looking behind him at the pursuit, saw how the trees and thorn bushes, which had let him pass by without grabbing his cloak or legs, got in the way of the men with guns coming after.
He found Ruff atop a small snowy hillock, talking to a pair of bloodhounds. These two hounds sniffed Gil carefully. One said, “Fed you a spam sandwich, you said? One of your pack?”
The other hound asked suspiciously, “He is not a cat person, is he?”
Ruff said, “I never sleep on the floor if he has a bed, I never go hungry if he has food.”
A silent look of understanding passed between the second and first hound.
The first hound said, “Okay. We’ll lead the deputy the wrong way. But you owe us big! Every escaped prisoner makes us look bad on our quarterly performance review. C’mon, Buford. Let’s get back to the kennel.”
The two hounds loped off. Gil knelt down and gave Ruff a hug.
“Boy, am I glad to see you!” said Gil. “You saved my life at least three times.”
Ruff took his green glove back and held it in his teeth. A small cloud of mist gathered around it, turned dark gray, and then vanished, and the glove vanished with it. Then, he licked Gil’s face.
“Well? Well? You’ve decided. Haven’t you? You made up your mind,” said Ruff, sadly.
Gil said, “You can smell that I have made a decision?”
“Yup. That, and the fact that all you had to do was stay in that building and not risk getting shot breaking out, and you would have missed your date with the Green Knight. I was sure your mom would tell you not to go.”
“She did.”
“You are not listening to Ygraine of the Reeds? They say she is the wisest woman in the world!”
“Ruff, I talked to a mom in there who is going to give up everything for her kids, even her life. I also talked with a man who did not see the point of keeping one’s word. I want to be in her world, not in his.”
Ruff said, “You’d live longer in his.”
Gil said, “And be just as dead at the end and be called to account for my life.”
Ruff nodded sagely, scratched his fleas, and turned in a circle, sniffing. He seemed to be licking or biting himself, but Gil saw a trickle of mist seeping from his teeth.
10. The Token
Gil said, “What are you doing?”
Ruff said, “I hide my stuff in the mist, like you do. It’s natural for elfs. It’s allowed.”
Gil said, “Allowed?”
“Angels don’t mind it. Prophets do it, too. It is not actually magic. Here.”
And in his teeth was dangling a fine gold chain, at end of which was a tiny glass bead small as the end of his thumb.
“What is it…?”
Ruff said, “Whoa ho ho and Oo la la!”
“What?”
Ruff laughed in his throat. “You are just a Dude in Distress, ain’t you! And then the Damsel had to save you! You know what that means….”
Gil picked up the pendant and held it to his eye. Inside the glass bead were two or three strands of black hair, very long and very fine, frozen in the glass, tied with Celtic intricacy into endless threefold knots.
Gil said, “Ruff! What is this?”
“The favor you asked for. From Nerea. She clipped the hairs off her head with a golden knife. One of Phaethon’s daughters is a pal of mine, a nymph named Aetherea; I had her trap it in clear amber to act as a pyx.”
Gil said, “First, I don’t know what a pyx is. Second, I never asked her for a favor.”
The dog said, “Why not? You like her don’t you? I can tell you like her. Humans are in heat all year round.”
“She’s my cousin!”
“Second cousin once removed. It’s allowed. Did you like kissing her? Do you want to kiss her again? Don’t lie to me. I can smell the truth!”
“You cannot smell the truth!”
“You going to take it? Or throw it away?”
“Why did you tell her I wanted her favor?”
“I had to ask because you were too stupid to. She sits on rocks all day just watching you exercise. Doesn’t that tell you something? And you want her favor to carry into battle. Don’t you?”
“I refuse to answer on the grounds it may tend to intimidate me. Beside, what business is it of yours?”
Ruff wagged his head and made a snorting noise. “Look, Gil, I am a smart dog! A good dog! I know things!”
“What do you know?”
“I know that once a girl wins over a guy’s dog, it is all over but for the shouting. If you name your firstborn after me, I will be happy to act as his godfather.”
“The only shouting is going to be when I kick you down this hill.”
“See? It is all over but that!”
Gil slung the chain over his head so that the bead of glass was over his heart. “I cannot throw it away. That would be rude.”
“Ooh la la!”
“Stop saying
that!”
“It is French,” said Ruff.
“It is not French.”
“It is!”
“If it is French, then what’s it mean?”
“It means, ‘Whoa ho ho!’”
“And what does that mean?”
“I dunno,” said the dog with a shrug and a flip of his tail. “It’s German. I don’t speak German.”
“Hmm.”
“So! So! You know which way to go? Where is this green place? Is it within walking distance? Or do we need to get a boat or something?”
Gil said, “I have no idea at all.” So he chose a direction at random and started walking, with Ruff trotting happily after.
Chapter Three: The Headless Huntsmen
1. Green Steed
Gil walked for a day through the snowy hills of Appalachia. Each time he was tempted to quit, he pushed the thought aside. His mother had told him once that temptations were like bugbites: the itch always seemed as if it was sure to last forever. But if you can hold out from scratching for fifteen minutes, the itch might fade. And if it does not, at least you held out for fifteen minutes.
At dusk, he and Ruff were hungry. Only then did he abandon his aimless walking and start to look in earnest for a good campsite. Ruff wended his way downhill, sniffing and searching for fresh water. As Gil was crossing an open meadow, Ruff barked.
“Look! Look! Behind you, there! Behind you!”
Gil turned. He saw above him on the crest of the hill, with the glorious red clouds of sunset like a forest fire behind him, was a steed larger than a Clydesdale and green as a holly leaf. It was the horse of the Green Knight.
The green steed said, “Sgeolan, put on your speaking cap so that you can speak to the young squire. I am to tell him the path to go.”
Gil said, “I can understand you.”
The green horse’s ears twitched. “You speak the speech of horses? That is unusual. It is said that Alexander the Great had that gift, and also Uther Pendragon, Arthur’s sire.”
Gil said, “How did he come by this gift?”
The green horse flicked its ears again. “We are not here to discuss this. I am come to tell you the way to the Green Chapel.”
Gil said, “Tell me.”
“First, you are headed in exactly the wrong direction. Go downhill, and follow the springs that feed into the Tennessee River, and sail it to the Ohio, thence to the Mississippi and to the Illinois. Follow this to Calumet Harbor. Then to Lake Michigan, past the Mackinac Bridge, to Lake Huron, to Sarnia, and then to the St. Clair River south to Lake St. Clair. Go to Walpole Island. The war poles after which the island is named will be visible to you, but not the ghosts they drive away. The autochthons call the place Bkejwanong, which, being interpreted, means Watersmeeting.”
“Auto who?”
“The Anishinaabeg, which includes the Chippewa, Ottawa, and Potawatomi. These tribes were removed from the human world, brought into the Twilight by shining beings, and hidden behind the mist. Their chief Sassaba agreed to serve and worship the elfs and eschew the Christ of the White Man, and lakes as large as Huron and rivers as long as the Ohio were erased from sight and memory. Untouched woods, and hunting grounds where birds and game thrive in numbers uncounted, were given to the tribes. Here are hills no booted foot has touched, trees that never felt the iron ax. The bold Chippewa range those hidden lands, fighting and raiding and slaving, and keeping all their old ways, and worshiping devils. You must pass through their land: avoid them.”
Gil said, “So the Green Chapel is on Walpole Island, which is an Indian reservation? Where is this again? Michigan?”
“Canada. Knights, march-wardens from London and Strathroy, venture to Walpole Island, despite the danger, to do battle with windigo and water-panthers, and corsairs from Algonac and Harsens Island raid there, capturing Pukwudgies to sell to magicians.”
“Who are these knights and corsairs?”
“Irishmen, Smithwicks, Moths and Cobwebs, and other Twilight Folk who no longer dwell in the human world. From here, if you sail without rest, and at the speed fit and proper for an elfin boat, you should make the trip in sixteen days. You should not have waited so long.”
Gil said, “What if I do not have an elfin boat? Shouldn’t I fly?”
The green steed looked doubtful and said, “I was told you lacked the art of flying. That would, of course, be swifter yet. Have you a swan robe? I did not know males wore them.”
“I meant by airplane.”
“Human contrivances are unlucky as well as unlovely. What became of your swift elfin boat? Are you not the Swan Knight?”
“Actually, I am not sure. There was another who wore this armor before me.”
“What armor?”
“Sorry,” said Gil. “This armor.” Gil stared at one of the diamonds on his armor until the diamond seemed to glow with starlight, which drove away the mist. Sir Bertolac had shown him this means of undoing the glamour.
The green steed reared back, startled. “May the cat eat you and the devil eat the cat! That is very disturbing! Were you hoaxing my eyes? Well, your little elf tricks will not save you from my master’s good iron ax!”
Gil said, “I do not have a perfect memory like an elf, so you will have to repeat the instructions.”
But Ruff said, “I got it. I know the way.”
Gil looked at the dog in surprise. “You do?”
“I do! I do! All pooka know about the northern lakes where knights and Indians battle. It is not London, England. It is London, Ontario. On the River Thames. The other Thames. The March-Wardens of London are famous. The brothers of Lord Simcoe, John and Percy, entered the mist to free the slaves kept by efts and werewolves, and they wed the river women and cannot return to the human world. The fiercest and most famous demi-men of the north are descended from them.”
But the green steed said, “That little pooka may not go with you! Sgeolan never struck the head from my master, and he is neither invited to the Green Chapel nor would be permitted to leave alive!”
Ruff said, “No! No! I go with my boy and die with him!”
The steed said, “It is forbidden! I don’t want to see you—I mean, the Green Knight will not permit an unclean animal into his lands!”
Gil said to the green steed, “I do not have a boat. How are you getting back there? Can I simply ride on you?”
The green steed said, “As a courtesy, I will carry you to the bank of the river. But the dog must stay behind!”
Gil and Ruff argued about it for a long while while the green horse stamped its hooves in the snow and snorted in its nostrils impatiently. In the end, Ruff won the argument technically (Gil could not refute the point that if Ygraine could not forbid Gil from seeking death when honor demanded it, Gil could not forbid Ruff) but lost the argument practically.
The green horse could produce a dark gray form of the mists of Everness from its hooves as it galloped, seven fathoms at a stride, or leap half a mile through the roaring air from one hilltop to the next as lightly as a stag. The strange fog streamed backward from the flashing hooves of the flying steed. Ruff was left far, far behind.
As they raced across the Appalachians and into the Tennessee river valley, Gil leaned forward and shouted into the green steed’s ear over the uproar of the winds. “Tell me something! How did you know my dog’s real name?”
But the green steed gave no answer.
2. Ashore
Gil slept by the waterside, wrapped in his gray cloak. He woke before dawn and started walking north, wondering how he was supposed to find whatever boat the green steed expected him to find.
It was deserted here, out of sight of any human roads or telephone lines or highways. The east was pink and the clouds above bright red. The birds began to sing, “Hail! Holy Light! Offspring of heaven firstborn…!”
He knelt, crossed himself, crossed his hands, and tried to pray.
Prayer would not come. His thoughts stirred and jumped like a skittish steed. H
e did not know the way. Surely that was excuse enough to avoid his appointment with the deadly Green Knight? No one in the elfish world knew Gil’s name. He could avoid any scandal or dishonor merely by painting his shield with a new design. And it was not as if the elfs had volunteered to take the Green Knight’s wager! What right had they to criticism him?
Besides, no one would ever know.
Gil opened his eyes. “I would know,” he said.
He stood, and sighed, and began trudging north.
The wind was cold, and the frost was bitter, but there was no snow on the ground here. The sun was a ball of fire, fat and dim, peering over the horizon. The long shadows of twilight still covered the rocks and leafless trees of the shore. Wisps of dispersing fog clung here and there about the river, clouds resting on the waters. In a strip of blue between two cloud banks, he saw a scrap of white, graceful and fair, floating along the waters. After a time of marching, the sun was yellow and almost above the horizon, the fog was less, and the white figure was closer.
Gil saw it was a swan. He had not expected to see swans on the Tennessee River. On the other hand, he did not know whether they were from this area or not.
The creature was far away, but Gil called to it. The swan seemed not to have heard him at first, but, after a while, he noticed it was swimming near and nearer.
She spoke in a very soft voice, “Nobly you bear your shield and nobly high aloft your crest, Swan Knight.”
Gil said, “You know me?”
“How could I not?”
“Who is my father?”
“You are the son of the Swan Knight.”
Gil said, “And what is his name?”
The swan said, “That I do not know. Why do you walk here, unhorsed and footsore?”
“I walk because I have no horse.”
“A knight without a horse is not a knight. Whither go you?”
“To Walpole Island I go.”
“Wherefore?”
“I go to be beheaded, and I am late.”
“It may not be a thing of sorrow to be late for one’s beheading.”
Swan Knight's Sword (Moth & Cobweb Book 3) Page 5