by Lee Duigon
He found an old tree that had been blown down, forming a sort of cave in the ground where its base used to be. The roots, still packed with earth, made a roof for the cave. A few armloads of ferns tossed into the hole would make his bed. He’d slept in worse. And having done that, he gathered wood and made a fire, and settled down to have his supper—dried meat, some berries, and a drink of water. A city boy from a good home might have thought it a miserable supper, but Ryons had often gone to bed hungry.
It was dark before he’d finished eating, a deep dark that you could almost reach out and knead with your fingers. He heard all kinds of strange noises—birds, insects, frogs—things that came out at night and that no one ever saw. He’d heard them at the castle, too; but now, without any people around, they seemed louder, closer.
He hoped there weren’t any dangerous animals nearby. He remembered Helki said, “The most dangerous animal in the forest is a man. The others—wolves and bears and catamounts—hunt when they’re hungry and leave you alone when they’re not. After a while you learn to stay out of their way, and they stay out of yours, and you don’t have to be afraid of them. But you can never tell what a man is going to do.”
It dawned on Ryons then that he liked Helki, and would miss him. And Obst, and Jandra, and his Ghols. Now that he thought of it, he missed them already. Obst was going to teach him how to read and teach him all about God. Now that wouldn’t happen.
“Why did I do it?” he wondered. Run away, just like I was still a slave! And they were all so good to me, too!
Up above, somewhere, some unseen creature of the night made a noise like a woman trying to sing with her throat cut. Down below, Ryons regretted what he’d done.
If a slave ran away from the Wallekki, and they caught him, they usually killed him as a lesson to the others. At the very least they flogged him. Ryons didn’t think Obst or Helki would let anyone do that to him if he went back to the castle the next day and said he was sorry—but would anybody even want him back? What good was a king who ran away? He thought of the chieftains sitting in their black tent, and shuddered. They wouldn’t be pleased with him!
“Wherever you go, I am with you. Whatever you do, I shall protect you.” Jandra said that; but it was really God, using her to speak to him.
Ryons felt the need to pray. He peered into the darkness, in case that was where God was, and said, “Lord, I’m sorry I ran away! I didn’t mean it, and I won’t do it again. Tomorrow I’ll go back, I promise.
“I don’t know why you want me to be a king. I’m not even sure what a king is! But Obst says we have to obey you, and always try to do whatever you want us to do and be whatever you want us to be. And I reckon he’s right, or you wouldn’t have made him our teacher.
“But I wish you’d answer me, because it’s dark out here and I’m lonesome. I used to think I was lonesome, sometimes, when I was a slave, but that was nothing. Now I have friends, and I ran out on them, and it makes me feel sick and sad to think of it.”
He waited and waited for an answer, but no voice, no words, came out of the darkness. Obst must not have taught him, yet, everything he ought to know about how to pray. He was just sitting alone under a fallen tree, talking to himself. Anyone could do that.
Yet even as that last thought slipped away, he also thought of Jandra, who said, “I am with you.” And he believed God’s word and fell asleep on his bed of ferns.
CHAPTER 10
The Forest and the City
Under ordinary circumstances it would have been an easy thing for Helki’s woodsmen to track down Ryons and bring him back to the castle. Helki himself could have done it in a day.
But no, the king’s army had a divine command to go to Obann, and the chiefs were determined to go without delay. Men would have to stay behind to garrison the castle, protecting the settlers from outlaws, but all of the former Heathen would be marching on to Obann.
“I hate to leave him flailing around in the woods, and that’s a fact,” Helki said to Obst.
The old man shook his head. “It’s out of our hands, Helki,” he said. “I love that boy as if he were my own flesh and blood, but God Himself has promised to take care of him. We all heard Jandra prophesy as much. We’ll see him again; I’m sure of it. But not here, in Lintum Forest.”
“I ought to go after him,” Helki said. “It wouldn’t take me long. What business do I have marching with an army?”
“You have the business God has sent you,” said Obst.
So they made their arrangements. Helki’s most trusted woodsmen would stay behind to hunt for the settlement and stand guard over it. Although he’d quelled many of the outlaw chiefs, Lintum Forest was a big place, and there were still bandits in it who had not been reformed by Helki’s rod. Once word spread that he and his army had gone away, there might be trouble in the forest.
The chieftains studied their scouts’ reports and consulted as to the best route to take to Obann. As far as anyone could see, the plain was empty now, the Great Man’s armies all having passed the forest. The fighting men looked to their weapons, the horsemen to their horses, the footmen to their boots. Abnaks busied themselves making pairs of extra moccasins, as many as they could finish in so short a time. Most of them had never seen a city before and were eager to clap eyes on the far-famed walls of Obann.
The old subchief, Uduqu, sharpened his stone axe and put a good edge on his scalping knife.
“I’m getting too old for this—but not as old as you!” he said to Obst. “I wonder if God is just sending us to Obann to be killed. What do you think, old man?”
“Our King Ozias, who wrote the Sacred Songs, was a man of war,” Obst said, “and he knew God as a God of battles. But he also knew Him as a God of peace. ‘How good it is for men to live in peace together! For the Lord has hitched the chariot horses to the plow, and the good land bears fruit for man and beast.’ There will be peace someday, Uduqu. May you and I both live to see it.”
“If we’re going to fight all the Thunder King’s armies at once, we’ll do well to live a single hour,” said Uduqu.
At least Obst had his book of Scripture back. It was returned to him just as the army was ready to move out. It was a big book, almost too heavy for him to carry in both arms. But Abnaks and Fazzan and Attakotts who’d never seen a book gathered round and marveled at it.
“Are God’s words really in that thing?” asked a burly little Fazzan with blue rings tattooed around his eyes. “Will they fall out when you open it?”
“No, they won’t fall out,” Obst said. “Nevertheless, they’re here—all of them, centuries’ worth, in one place.”
And that night the whole army, even the Wallekki who had a few books of their own, gathered around a great bonfire by the castle to hear Obst read the words of God: and he read to them of the creation of the world, and they were all amazed.
Having resolved to go back to the castle, Ryons set out in exactly the opposite direction. Every step took him farther from his goal, but he didn’t know it. How could he?
Natural obstacles forced him farther and farther from the castle. He almost fainted when a deer burst out of the underbrush and ran right in front of him, disappearing almost instantly. Such a big animal, and he never saw it until it was right on top of him!
There was no telling what other animals, even bigger ones, might be hiding close enough to touch. He wondered if there were lions; he was sure there must be bears. There are no lions in Lintum Forest, but he was right about the bears.
Indeed, if Helki had only had the time to teach him woodcraft, he would have known a bear was right behind him, following him out of idle curiosity. He got a whiff of a funny, pungent smell from time to time, but never realized it was the bear’s. And the bear moved so quietly that Ryons never heard it.
If he’d known the bear was following him, he would have panicked and tried to run away, and that would have been the end of him. What bear could resist chasing a fleeing human boy? Ryons didn’t know, but
all the other animals in the neighborhood knew the bear was there and gave it a wide berth. So after his brush with the deer, Ryons never met anything more dangerous than the birds and squirrels above him in the trees. Blue jays scolded the bear mightily, but the boy didn’t know the cause of the commotion.
And so he wandered all day long, on a course that tended generally southwest-ward, without coming anywhere near the castle, a settlement, or a hunters’ camp. Eventually the failing daylight and his aching muscles forced him to acknowledge he was lost, good and proper, and he would have to make a camp again—no getting home today.
This time he had to make do without the cozy shelter of a fallen tree. Beside an old stump he bent some leafy saplings into a rough little hut. He made a campfire to relieve the dark and ate half of the dried meat he had left in his bag and drank the rest of his water.
Too tired to remain awake for long, he raised his hands as he had seen Obst do and asked God to show him the way home. He fell asleep before he could receive an answer.
By now everyone in the city knew the Heathen horde was only two days’ slow march from the gates of Obann. It was supposed to be a military secret, but everybody knew. There was no explaining how.
Nanny Witkom got up from the rocking chair because she heard God calling her. It wasn’t as if He were standing in the kitchen, calling her. That would have been her imagination. She wasn’t as crazy as all that, and she knew it. But she also knew God’s call when she heard it, even if she couldn’t tell you what it sounded like, or if it made any sound at all.
He was telling her to get out of the house and go into the street and exhort everyone she met to flee the city if they wanted to live. They were hanging prophets, these days—Gwyll thought she didn’t understand that, but of course she did: she wasn’t senile—but God would not let them hang her. God let her know He was unhappy with Gwyll for not heeding Him, but He wouldn’t let any of Gwyll’s household come to harm. They wouldn’t hang her. But even if they did, she would still obey the call.
It was a hot summer day, no need for a shawl. Nanny stepped out into the bright sunlight. There were already people on the streets, hurrying to and fro. Nanny fell asleep on her feet and spoke God’s words without being aware of it.
“Hear the Lord, you people of Obann! Hear the Lord, and live!
“Why will you die, when if you obey Me, you shall live? I have marked this city for destruction, and this Temple for a desolation, and the wealth of this city for plunder for the Heathen; but all who heed My words shall escape with their lives. Those who stay will be slain with the sword or sold into captivity. This city shall not see another winter!”
She was not aware of it when two strong men laid hands on her, stopped her mouth with a rag, and carried her away by force.
Lord Gwyll, inspecting the defenses on the walls, received an urgent summons to the Justice Building. The messenger ushered him into Judge Tombo’s private office and shut the door on them.
“My lord Gwyll!” said the judge. He sat behind his desk, too fat and too tired to stand up and give a formal greeting. “You’d best sit down.”
“I have work to do, Judge Tombo.”
“Sit down, man. I’m going to do you a favor.”
Tombo’s office furnishings were humble to the point of shabbiness, in stark contrast to the opulence of his personal residence. Gwyll sat on a bare wooden chair.
“Your old nanny was picked up on the street this morning,” Tombo said, “babbling treason in the guise of prophecy. She’s obviously mad, doesn’t realize what she’s doing. But at this point in the present crisis, such utterances cannot be allowed.
“If it were anyone else, we’d have already hanged her. But I’ve been a guest in your house, Lord Gwyll. We ought to watch out for one another. So I wish to release Nanny into your custody, with the understanding that you’ll send her out of the city before another day goes by, not to return until the city’s safe again. The governor-general has agreed to this arrangement. Do you?”
Gwyll felt sick. He should have known this would happen. How could Rhianna have let Nanny out of the house, given her condition?
“Your eldest son, I believe, has a country house way down the river, not far from Durmurot,” said Tombo. “Send Nanny there to stay with him. She’ll be safe there. And no one would think any the less of you if you sent your wife there, too—just until the Heathen go away.”
Gwyll let out a sigh. “My lord judge, I’m in your debt!” he said. “I’ll send Nanny to my son first thing in the morning. I should have done it weeks ago.”
Tombo smiled wearily. “You’re not the only one with a crazy prophet in his household. We all have ’em! But come winter it’ll all be over. If the Heathen are still here by then, the cold and hunger will break up their armies and send them back east where they belong. I doubt they’ll be able to make this kind of unified effort again in our lifetimes.”
“God grant it may be so,” Gwyll said.
CHAPTER 11
Merry Mary
Two days after they lost Ivor, Jack and Ellayne and Martis were well out on the plain, still plodding along toward Lintum Forest. But now when the wind was right, Wytt said he could smell the forest. It lay straight ahead of them. Another day or two would get them there.
“How empty the plain is!” Ellayne said as the day wore on. “It’s hard to believe people ever lived here.”
Wytt jumped up on Ham’s pack and whistled, chattered, and brandished his sharp stick.
“It’s not so empty now,” Jack said. “He smells men around us, half a dozen of them. And they’re close.”
So close, indeed, that they rose up out of the tall grass before Martis could even draw his sword. There were six of them, wiry little men with curly hair, barefoot, clad only in loincloths, with slings in their hands and stones in the slings. They’d smeared their skins with dirt and the juices of crushed plants: otherwise Wytt would have smelled them before they got so close. Two of them had fresh scalps dangling from their loincloths.
“Easy, easy!” Martis said to the children. “These are Attakotts. I don’t speak their language.”
One of the Attakotts spoke to Martis. To Jack it sounded like jabbering, but Martis understood it: it was Tribe-talk. His eyes lit up, he smiled, and his whole body relaxed. He replied in the same language, and they had a conversation. Wytt sat down on top of the pack, no longer alarmed at all.
“We’re safe!” Martis told the children. “These men are ours, scouting for King Ryons’ army. They say the army’s on the move again, heading west. That’s odd! But they’ll take us to Helki, and then we’ll know what it’s all about.”
“Will Obst be there, too?” Ellayne asked. “He’s the only one who’ll be able to read the scrolls.”
“Yes, Obst is with the army. We’ll soon be seeing all our friends. And then Obst will read the scrolls.”
“Which means we’ve done it!” Jack said. “We’ve done the mission God gave us—we’ve found the lost books and brought them back. Our work is over.”
“We thought that once before,” Ellayne reminded him, “and we were wrong.”
While Jack rejoiced, King Ryons was in the middle of his fourth day in the forest, hopelessly lost and out of food, hungry and weary and scared.
He didn’t see what good it did for God to be with him as he wandered around until he starved. But such thoughts fled away when he came unexpectedly upon a clearing with a little cabin in it.
“People! At last!” he said aloud—someone to give him something to eat. He breathed a prayer of thanks, as Obst had taught him, and hurried toward the cabin.
“Hello, hello!” he cried. “Is anybody there?” He made the forest ring with it, and before he arrived at the cabin’s doorstep, an old woman tottered out from the shadows within, leaning on a cane.
If he’d been brought up, like Ellayne, on stories of Abombalbap, he would have been afraid: he would’ve thought the woman was a witch. In those stories there were
always witches in the woods, and they cast spells on children, or ate them. This old woman had a long, sharp nose, a mane of crazed white hair, filmy blue eyes, and was clad in a dirty black dress. Her sandaled feet were even dirtier.
“Who’s there?” she said. “Don’t bother to wave—I’m almost blind, can hardly see a thing. Speak up, whoever you are! There’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”
Ryons slowed to a walk. “I’m lost!” he said. “I’ve been lost in the woods for days and days, and I’m hungry.” And because slaves learn early on not to tell the truth if they can help it, he added, out of force of habit, “My name is Gik.” That was what his Wallekki masters called him before Obst named him Ryons.
The old woman cackled. “Gik? That’s not a nice word! What kind of a name is that?”
They were both speaking Tribe-talk, but it seemed the old woman knew at least a few Wallekki words. Maybe she knew more: he would have to be careful.
“Well, what’s your name, then?” Ryons said.
“Me? I’m Mary—although there’s some as calls me Merry Mary. It makes kind of a joke in Obannese. But you don’t want me to call you Gik, do you? Not a kingly little boy like you!”
Kingly? Why had she said that?
“They call me Ryons.”
“That’s better! Why don’t you come in out of the hot sun and sit down?”
He didn’t see what else he could do, so he followed her inside. At least it was cooler, although there wasn’t much to it: a little fireplace, some rude furniture, and a bed tucked away in a corner. He wondered how an old lady could live here all alone.
“Is there anybody else here with you?” he asked.