The Arkadians

by Lloyd Alexander

  Catch-a-Tick, skipping beside Lucian, kept recounting the events to Fronto. "Aiee-Ouch planned the whole thing. He had it all worked out from the first. Oudeis didn't need to bother rescuing us."

  "I wish I'd been able to recite a paean of victory," said Fronto. "I don't usually find such a large and enthusiastic audience."

  "No more tribute, no more victims," Lucian said to Joy-in-the-Dance. "What a relief for his father and the whole kingdom when Asterion brings home the good news. You saved us all when you made Bolynthos see the snake."

  "I didn't make him," the girl corrected. "I only suggested."

  "Whatever you did," said Lucian, with a shudder, "it felt like some of it rubbed off on me. For a moment, I thought I really saw the ax coiling around him. But why didn't Bolynthos spare our lives? That's what the crowd wanted. He must have gone mad, if he wasn't mad in the first place."

  "I didn't have a chance to explain then," said Joy-in-the-Dance, "but there was something more. The crowd started shouting for him to give up his throne or they'd take it away from him. That was enough to put him in a fine rage. What sent him over the edge-well, you see, they not only wanted to get rid of him, they also wanted me to be queen of Tauras."

  22 - Earth-Shaker's Chickens

  "Lad, that's a tale to match any of mine," said Oudeis as the boat sped over calm waters and the island dropped from sight. The ship master had been listening with rapt attention, hanging on every word while Lucian gave his account of all that had befallen them-and Catch-a-Tick kept interrupting to add details of his own part in it.

  "Well told, my boy," said Fronto, nodding approval. "Satisfyingly bloodcurdling but, perhaps, needing a touch of something to relieve the grimness and lighten it up a bit. Next time you tell it, you might work in some tender moments. To warm the heart and bring a tear to the eye. The only thing more touching than lovers separated is lovers reunited. You could use those twisting passageways to better effect, as well. What I'd suggest-"

  "Stow all that! Take the tiller!" Oudeis shouted to Ops. The ship master had gone pale beneath his tan. "Blast me for a fool! I've been listening to that yam spinning as if nothing else mattered in the world." He rummaged in the cargo and pulled out the wineskin. "It slipped my mind. A drink for Earth-Shaker."

  "Come now, Oudeis, be reasonable," said Fronto. "You did your duty by him when we sailed from Mount Panthea. Don't waste wine that could be put to other, some might say more discriminating, use."

  "A lot you know, you landlubber." Oudeis, much agitated, upended the wineskin and poured its contents over the side. "Whenever I've neglected Earth-Shakerand it hasn't been often-there's trouble. There, that's the best I can do. I hope it's not too late."

  "I'd say the old fellow's been doing well for us," Fronto said confidently. "We couldn't ask for calmer seas, a better breeze, or a clearer sky."

  "What do you call that, eh?" Oudeis pointed upward. "It wasn't there a moment ago." He squinted at the grayish cloud high overhead, so distant it seemed no bigger than a fist.

  "Hardly worth getting upset," said Fronto.

  "You think not?" snapped Oudeis. "Stick to poetry, jackass, and don't teach me about weather." Taking the tiller from Ops, the ship master ordered his passengers to lash down the cargo. Sniffing the wind, keeping an eye on the cloud, he held the vessel steadily on course.

  "It's my fault," Lucian said to Fronto. "I shouldn't have talked so much. Going on about what happened I made him forget his gift to Earth-Shaker."

  "Oh, you got his attention," said Fronto. "From a yam spinner like Oudeis, that's a high compliment. It's not of ten that one storyteller bothers listening to another.

  "Here's something that's occurred to me," Fronto went on. "The Lady couldn't tell you what occupation to follow. But I can. I've been observing you, my boy. I have the answer."

  "Then you've found it sooner than I have," Lucian said. "What is it?"

  "Storytelling, what else?" declared Fronto. "You have the knack for it. Of that, I'm certain. A little practice and you'll come along nicely."

  "No, I'm afraid not," Lucian said, with a shadow of regret. "That takes more skill than I'll ever have."

  "Nonsense," Fronto insisted. "You're already a storyteller without even knowing it. Indeed, nothing would please me more, and I'd be proud to call you a colleague. You think over what I'm saying-Haw! Haw!"

  Fronto choked and rolled his eyes in alarm. "What was that? I didn't mean to say it. That haw-haw slipped out by itself. That's pure jackass, not me at all.

  "The Lady warned me," Fronto went on, in mounting panic, "I'd start losing my speech and be more and more a donkey. It's happening already? Dear boy, this is dreadful."

  "You're speaking clearly as ever. You're fine," Lucian hastily assured him, trying to hide his own sudden alarm. "Don't upset yourself. It might-it might have been something you ate."

  "I haw-I hope-you're right," Fronto said unhappily. "Yes, perhaps only a transitory hiccup."

  Putting all thoughts of Fronto's advice out of his mind, Lucian hurried to Joy-in-the-Dance, who had finished knotting a rope around the kegs and jars. The girl frowned when Lucian told her what had so distressed the poet.

  "That's not a good sign," she said. "My mother told us he had time enough to get to the island, but she didn't count on our getting thrown into a bullring."

  With Lucian, she went to Oudeis, who was glumly scanning the horizon. "How much longer to Callista?"

  "Ask Earth-Shaker. It's more up to him now than to me."

  "We've a good strong wind," put in Lucian. "That should help."

  "Too strong, and it's fishtailing all around. I can barely hold course. I don't like it. And I don't like them."

  Oudeis gestured astern. A flock of birds had appeared, following the wake of the vessel. Lucian shaded his eyes. The birds were sleek and slender, black with a flash of white; their widespread, sharply curved wings bore them swiftly, ever closer.

  "Earth-Shaker's chickens, we call them." Oudeis grimaced. "Or wave walkers."

  "We call them Lady's hens," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "They're petrels, they won't harm us."

  "Storm birds, by any name. The bigger the flock, the bigger the blow."

  "They follow storms, they don't cause them."

  "It comes to the same. Shoo, shoo!" Oudeis shouted and flailed an arm as if he were, indeed, chasing off invading chickens.

  Even as Lucian watched, the waves turned choppy and rose higher. The wind freshened; within moments, the vessel heaved and shuddered. Oudeis laid all his strength of arm on the tiller.

  The little fist-shaped cloud had lengthened into gigantic hand, its twisted fingers clutched the darkening sky. The craft shot ahead like an arrow from a bow, tossed so high that it seemed to fly through the air.

  Fronto, knocked off his legs, braying in terror, went skittering across the deck. Catch-a-Tick jumped up and down, gleefully whooping.

  Lightning clawed the sky. A thunderclap set Lucian's head ringing. The shock staggered him; he felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. The kegs and jars had begun jolting free of their lashings.

  Oudeis bellowed for Ops to lend a hand. "The lines are fouled. I can't lower the sail. It has to come down, or the gale's going to smash us into kindling." He spat furiously. "No use. To the masthead! Cut those lines or we'll all go visiting Earth-Shaker."

  Still dazed, Lucian stared around. Oudeis shook his fist at him. "I'm talking to you, idiot. Get aloft. Snap to it."

  "Me?"

  "Who else, you lubber? I need Ops to help me hold the tiller. I'm your only navigator. The goat-boy and the jackass can't do it. I'll not risk the little lady's neck. That leaves you."

  "I appreciate your reasoning," said Lucian.

  "Then do, you lump-head!" Oudeis snatched a knife from his belt and tossed it to Lucian, who stumbled toward the mast. Blade clenched between his teeth, he took hold of the rigging and tried to persuade himself it was not much worse than the tree he once climbed.


  "There goes Aiee-Ouch!" Catch-a-Tick jigged up and down and clapped his hands. "Who but Aiee-Ouch would dare do that!"

  The swaying mast towered above him. Hand over hand, he inched his way upward. The vessel tilted, nearly capsizing. He hung on, dangling from the lines as the craft righted itself. The sky split, rain began sheeting down. His foot caught in one of the lines, he kicked loose and climbed higher. A line had tangled around the yardarm. He slashed at the wet knots. The line frayed, then parted with a snap. The sail billowed free as the mast shuddered, groaned, and toppled into the web of rigging. Lucian jumped clear. The craft spun around and flung him against the railing. The tiller had shattered. Oudeis was shouting something. With the wind howling in his ears, Lucian heard none of it; nor did he hear the ship scream as the hull ripped apart.

  He knew he was alive because he was choking and coughing. He knew he was on land because he was flat on his stomach with gritty sand on his face and in his eyes. He rolled over and blinked. It was a clear and beautiful morning.

  "Hullo, Aiee-Ouch." Joy-in-the-Dance was on one side of him, Ops and Oudeis on the other. "You must have swallowed half the ocean, but we've squeezed most of it out of you."

  "I knew my services would be needed," said Ops as Lucian sat up, relieved to find the amulet still around his neck; the pouch, with the sling and fire stones, had likewise survived the battering.

  "You cut down the sail at just the right time," said Catch-a-Tick, "so the boat smashed on those rocks. Oudeis says if we'd been farther from land, we'd have drowned. Fronto let me ride on his back when he waded ashore."

  The poet himself was standing stiff-legged, wheezing and snuffling. "Difficult to express adequate joy that we're all alive," he said in a husky voice. "Either I've caught cold or it's getting harder to talk. Not that it matters. One way or another, I'm doomed."

  "Belay that maundering," ordered Oudeis. "Just be grateful we slipped through Earth-Shaker's fingers." He glanced seaward, shaking his head. "My little ship, my brave little ship, gone to splinters, not enough of her left to cobble a raft."

  "Farewell, Callista," groaned Fronto. "I'll be a jackass for certain." "I said I'll take you there," declared Oudeis, "and so I will." "Perhaps you're thinking of building wings," remarked Fronto, "so we can flap our way off this island."

  "What island?" retorted Oudeis. "I've been doing some calculations. As I reckon it, counting from the time we were blown off course, we're not on an island. We're on the south coast of Arkadia."

  "Arkadia?" Lucian jumped to his feet. "Last place in the world we want to be!"

  "Here we are, no matter," said Oudeis, "and we'll have to make the best of it. So, we're going to walk. No use following the shoreline. There aren't many folk in these parts. Maybe a fishing village or two. But a fishing boat won't do for a voyage to Callista. We need a good seaworthy craft. I know how to get one.

  "We head inland," he went on. "It would take too long to go by way of the coast. We go due north awhile, then tum seaward. In less than a week, we'll reach Metara."

  "Oudeis, I don't dare set foot in Metara," said Lucian. "If anyone from the palace sees me, if Calchas and Phobos find out I'm there, it's worth my life."

  "We have no other choice," Oudeis said. "We won't go into the town. We head straight for the harbor, where the merchant vessels put in. It's a sure thing I'll find some old shipmates to help us. You have the Lady's amulet? Good. There's many a ship master owes her a favor. We'll have a deck under our feet and be off to Callista quick as you can whistle. I'll sail with you, to be certain all goes handsomely."

  Oudeis ordered them to scavenge among the broken timbers and other flotsam that had washed ashore. The search yielded little: a small keg of dried fish, a cook pot, and Fronto's straw hat. With these, and a couple of cloaks, Oudeis was satisfied, declaring they could add to their provisions along the way.

  "I'll tell you right now," said Oudeis, setting off over the sand dunes and up to the bluffs overlooking the coast, "this is my last voyage. Dry land for the rest of my days. No more touch-and-go with Earth-Shaker. Once I'm back from Callista, by thunder, I'll take an oar and walk inland. When someone asks, What's that strange looking piece of wood? there's where I'll settle."

  Oudeis proved as skillful a pilot on land as on sea; only Joy-in-the-Dance could match him in choosing the easiest paths leading steadily north. Their first day, as they crossed the windswept moorlands beyond the coast, Lucian observed a solitary bird high in the clouds.

  "An eagle," said Joy-in-the-Dance as the bird glided closer, hovering on outspread, golden wings. "Did my mother send it to watch over us?"

  For all her efforts to lure it down, the eagle came no nearer. Nevertheless, during the following days, it was seldom out of sight.

  The moorlands gave way to richer vegetation; the trees became denser, the undergrowth heavier. Catch-a-Tick, proud to show off his skill, taught Lucian how to strike sparks from the fire stones. With the boy's instruction, Lucian was soon able to build a cook fire; and Joy-in-the-Dance was always quick to find roots and berries to eke out their scanty meals.

  Late one afternoon, when they halted for the day, Lucian spoke apart with her. "Do you remember the night of the dancing? Something your father said to me. And I keep thinking-when your mother sent me away. I've been wanting to tell you-"

  "Be quiet, Aiee-Ouch."

  "But I want you to know-"

  "Hush. Somebody's in the bushes and it isn't one of us."

  The girl motioned for Ops and Oudeis. That moment, a bulky figure lurched from the undergrowth. The man's garments hung in tatters, his hair and beard so matted and his face so begrimed that Lucian hardly recognized him.

  It was King Bromios.

  23 - A King in Rags

  Lucian jumped to his feet. "Your Majesty-"

  "Stand away!" Bromios shoved him aside and lunged for the cook pot. Though the vessel had been simmering over the fire, he snatched it up, paying no mind to his burned fingers, and began scooping out the contents and cramming the morsels into his mouth as fast as he could.

  "Here, you, that's our food." Catch-a-Tick started toward Bromios, who held one arm protectively over the pot and fended off the boy with the other.

  "Let him be." Joy-in-the-Dance put a restraining hand on Catch-a-Tick's shoulder. "I'm interested to know what the king of Arkadia's doing here."

  "That's a king?" said Catch-a-Tick.

  "Never. Not me." Bromios sat down heavily and tossed aside the empty cook pot. "Nothing to do with kings. I'm a humble peasant."

  "Your Majesty," said Lucian, "I know you're the king. I've seen you a hundred times in the palace."

  "What palace? Don't bedevil me, boy. Where's more food?"

  "I was one of your clerks," Lucian insisted.

  "He's really the king?" put in Catch-a-Tick. "You're face-to-face with your mortal enemy! Go at him, Aiee Ouch. Hit him with the cook pot. Smite him down!"

  "Keep out of this," Lucian said. "I'm not smiting anybody."

  "You're showing mercy." Catch-a-Tick nodded. "That's heroic, too. But not as good as smiting."

  "I could try my hand at a little smiting." Oudeis stepped up to Bromios and shook a fist. "You miserable specimen of a monarch, you're at the bottom of everyone's troubles, including mine. What you started ended up with me transporting a talking jackass, losing my ship, nearly drowning-"

  "That's right," broke in Fronto, too indignant to keep silent. "It's a chain of circumstances, cause and effect. And when we come to the effect of our being here in deplorable circumstances, you're the cause."

  "Cause? Of what?" said Bromios. "I have nothing to do with a jackass." "A poet, actually," corrected Fronto. "You're to blame for what's happened to all of us."

  "Poet?" Bromios squinted at him. "I never met one, but you're not what I might have expected."

  "I never met a king," returned Fronto, "and I could say the same."

  "And don't blame me for your troubles. They're no fault of mine."

/>   "Who, then?" said Joy-in-the-Dance.

  Bromios groaned. "That monstrous Woman-Who-Talks-to-Snakes. I wish I could lay hands on her."

  "What would you do?"

  "Do?" cried Bromios. "I know just what I'd do. I-"

  He stopped as if the wind had suddenly leaked out of him, and put his head in his hands. When he finally looked up, he spoke barely above a whisper: "I'd beg forgiveness."

  "You'd what?" exclaimed Joy-in-the-Dance.

  "Yes, I'd beg forgiveness. Oh, I admit I vowed revenge. Calchas and Phobos couldn't have been happier. But, since then, nothing's gone right. Planting? Not done as it should be. The harvest? Who knows if they’ll even be one. Sickness? No wise-women to cure it. The people are against me, men and women alike, and that's a painful state of affairs. I don't like being hated. A king has feelings, too, you know."

  "You should have thought of that before you wrecked everything," said Oudeis.

  "I'm not good at thinking," protested Bromios. "Calchas and Phobos are supposed to do that sort of thing for me. But I'm not blind. I saw how badly I'd done. The Lady's followers were the only ones who knew how to get us out of the mess. I wanted to take back my decrees. Calchas and Phobos wouldn't hear of it. They wanted to crack down even harder. I couldn't understand that. They knew things were getting worse. But I overheard them, one night, chuckling about what good fortune it was, food and everything else starting to be in short supply. That's a puzzler."

  "Not to me," said Lucian. "I think I understand it very well. I kept your palace accounts. I found out that they were cheating you already. I'll make a good guess they're buying up everything they can lay hands on to sell later at ten times the price. Simple as that."

  "If you say so," replied Bromios. "Arithmetic's beyond me. All I know is: The more I wanted to take back the decrees, the more they talked against it. When I told them I'd do it no matter what they said, they came out with a better notion.

  "A great honor and privilege is what they had in mind for me," Bromios went on. "The grandest, noblest deed a king could do. The chance of a lifetime: the rite of immolation."