by Nancy Farmer
“There are many branches on the Great Tree, child,” the Bard said gently, taking Ethne’s hands. “Christianity is only one leaf.”
But the elf lady smiled at him uncertainly. Jack knew she had no idea what he was talking about.
“She’s caught between two worlds.” The old man looked up at Father Severus. “I don’t know whether she can entirely abandon one of them.”
“With God’s help, she will,” Father Severus said.
“Tell me, Ethne, do you truly want to be a nun?”
“It sounds ever so much fun,” the elf lady said enthusiastically.
“Very well, I won’t stand in your way. But listen, if you ever need help—” The Bard paused, thinking. “I’m going to send you a cat. I know nuns are allowed pets. Treat him nicely and don’t forget to feed him.”
“This isn’t some wizard’s trick?” Father Severus said.
“Never!” The Bard’s blue eyes fairly blazed with innocence. “He’s a cat I bought from an Irish sea captain who put in to Bebba’s Town. His name is Pangur Ban. If ever you feel frightened, my newly found daughter, tell your troubles to Pangur Ban. I often find it very soothing to talk to creatures that cannot possibly—ever … in no way … by any stretch of the imagination—pass on information.”
Ethne bent forward and kissed the old man on the cheek. “I’ll remember,” she said softly.
Then, because it was very late and everyone had had a tiring day, Father Severus said they should all go to bed. He had even employed a woman from Bebba’s Town to look after Ethne. He was a very organized man.
Chapter Fifty
HOMEWARD BOUND
Father’s leg healed more swiftly than anyone had dared hope. Even better, the limp was almost gone. “The bones were set badly when you were a lad, Giles,” the Bard explained. “Having them broken again was a fine opportunity to straighten them out.”
“If you say so.” Giles Crookleg grimaced as he put weight on his foot.
“You’d better ride the donkey. It’s a long journey.”
Father gazed sadly at Bluebell, and Jack knew he was remembering how she had carried Lucy to Bebba’s Town. They also had two ponies—gifts from the new Lord of Din Guardi—to carry the Bard and supplies. Jack, Pega, Thorgil, and Brother Aiden would walk. “I wish I could stay here. I’ve always wanted to be a monk,” Father said.
“And I’d say that beating knocked the sense out of you—if you’d had any in the first place,” the Bard said. They all turned to look at Bebba’s Town, now falling behind, and the empty stretch of rock where once Din Guardi stood. They had said their farewells that morning, and Jack wondered if he would ever see Brutus again. The king had promised to visit the village, but you couldn’t trust anything he said.
He and Thorgil had put on their old clothes and packed the beautiful gifts of the Lady of the Lake. There was a small but very good well a half-day’s journey from the town. Attached to it was a copper cup on a long chain. No one knew who had put it there—perhaps Lancelot or King Arthur himself. It was for weary travelers to refresh themselves, for the well water was too deep to reach easily. They camped in a small beech wood, and in late afternoon two figures materialized from the trees.
The Bugaboo and the Nemesis were draped in motley wool cloaks and resembled patches of dappled shade. “Welcome,” called the Bard. “We’ve brought chanterelles especially for you.” Jack and Thorgil laid out a cloth with the various delicacies they had packed for this farewell feast. Pega, for once, did nothing. She sat by herself looking strained and miserable.
The Bugaboo went at once to her side. “Dare I hope? Are you going to make me happy beyond my wildest dreams?” he cried, grasping her hand.
“Oh, Lord,” she said, looking down.
“Do you need more time?” said the hobgoblin king. “I don’t mind waiting—well, yes, I do, but I understand if my little moss blossom is feeling shy.”
“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. You’ve been so good to me, and I know your people want me as their queen. Saints above! They gave up their immortality for me.” Pega drooped still farther and wiped at her eyes. “I feel so guilty.”
“It was their decision,” the Bugaboo said.
“I always wanted to be beautiful. I went out every May Day morning and washed my face in dew. I even paid a wise woman for a charm, but nothing worked. Finally, I knew it would never happen. But then you came along and you liked me—”
“Loved you, dearest,” corrected the king.
“The thing is …” Pega stopped and looked at Jack.
He was trying not to eavesdrop, but the air was too still. No one else was talking. The night before, Father Severus had gone on and on at her about the suitability of this marriage. He was capable, as Brother Aiden put it, of making a wolf drop a lamb. The mere sight of Father Severus was enough to make the rascally monks of St. Filian’s chop wood, haul water, and thank God on their knees six times a day. But he had not been able to move Pega, small and humble though she was.
“The most important event of my life,” Pega went on, “was when Jack freed me. ‘Freed me for what?’ I asked myself. ‘For work,’ I answered. Just that. To do the simple tasks of everyday life, to care for others, to belong. The Bard once told me my spirit craved a family and warmth. And I replied, ‘I’d be happy staying here—and doing chores forever—and just being a fly on the wall.’
“That’s pretty much it. I’m not suited to be a queen. I’m most sincerely sorry to disappoint you, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I also don’t want to live in a cave full of mushrooms. Don’t offer to move here!” she said, putting her finger to her lips in warning. “You have a duty to your people. The plain truth is, you belong there and I belong here. I’m sorry.”
The Bugaboo’s eyes blinked rapidly and erratically. Jack had never seen a hobgoblin weep, and he didn’t know whether they could do it, but this probably came close. “I’ll visit every summer,” he said in a husky voice. “I’ll ask whether you’ve changed your mind. And I’ll bring Hazel with me.”
“That would be extremely kind,” said Pega.
The hobgoblin king rose and bowed to the other members of the group. “It was nice of you to bring chanterelles,” he said in the same husky voice, “but I’m not feeling hungry just now.” Then he was too overcome to say any more and rushed from the glade.
The Nemesis hurried after him, pausing only to bend over Pega and whisper, “Thank you.”
They sat under the trees, recalling adventures and telling stories. When night came, Jack built a fire and Brother Aiden brought out a flask of his special heather ale. Thorgil declaimed gloomy poetry. The Bard entertained them by luring a family of owls to hoot mournfully as a background to her verse. Then Pega sang, and the very trees stopped rustling to listen.
Jack wished the moment could last forever, but time stood still only in the Land of the Silver Apples. And that was a curse rather than a blessing. It was enough to be in the stream of life, to be with good friends and have good cheer. He stretched out on the grass, watching the stars scattered among the leaves overhead.
Appendix
RELIGION
Many groups of people settled in the British Isles, bringing their gods and goddesses with them. With the passage of time, these old deities were forgotten or were turned into fairy stories. Some of them even became saints. An example is St. Brigid, who was originally a goddess of inspiration and poetry. The line between the old and new religions was often blurred. St. Patrick used a charm to turn his followers into deer to escape their enemies. St. Columba, who surely started out life as a druid, persuaded the Loch Ness Monster to stop eating people. Ravens, after being scolded by St. Cuthbert for vandalizing his roof, made amends by bringing the saint a slab of lard to oil his boots.
How these early missionaries loved to travel! They wandered from village to village, camping out, getting free food, and avoiding nine-to-five jobs. They loved being alone, finding the mos
t remote islands on which to build huts. St. Cuthbert had to be dragged from his to become the abbot of Lindisfarne and was most annoyed about it.
Northern Europe during the fifth to eleventh centuries was a mixture of religions. Worshippers of Odin, druids, wise women, Christians, and people of faiths we can only guess at lived side by side. We don’t know what the Picts worshipped. We have only their strange and beautiful carvings—a crescent crossed by a broken arrow, a beast with curled feet and a mouth like a dolphin. I have given them the Forest Lord (also called the Green Man), the Man in the Moon, and the Wild Huntsman as gods. But no one really knows. Nor does anyone know where such beings as the will-o’-the-wisps, hobgoblins, the Lady of the Lake, mermaids, and yarthkins came from. I think they are old gods who lingered on into a twilight with the elves.
As for the elves, the belief that they were half-fallen angels is found in early Christian writings. It was certainly an idea the famous author J. R. R. Tolkien knew about, although he chose not to use it.
ST. FILIAN’S WELL
St. Filian’s name is also spelled “Fillian” and “Fillan.” There was a St. Fillan’s Well in Scotland, where people suffering from insanity were thrown from a high rock into its water. You could call this an early form of shock therapy. In the eighteenth century a minister had the well filled in to stop the practice. In 2005 a construction company called Genesis Properties wanted to remove a large stone near St. Fillan’s to make room for houses. Angry locals refused to let them touch the stone because they said elves were living underneath it. Genesis backed down.
DIN GUARDI
The fortress of Din Guardi lies near the city of Bamburgh (Bebba’s Town) and across the water from Lindisfarne (the Holy Isle). It is very old, possibly going back to Neolithic times, and was built and destroyed several times. It is now called Bamburgh Castle. It is supposed to be the site of Joyous Garde, Lancelot’s palace.
Many interesting things have been discovered buried beneath it, but the most fascinating was a sword. It was probably the finest sword of its time, and even today, scientists aren’t sure how it was made. There is nothing like it in existence. The archaeologist who discovered it hid it in his house for forty years, apparently to enjoy its possession in secret. When the man died, the sword was thrown away, but fortunately, his students got there before the garbage collectors.
Of course, this is the sword Anredden, made by the Lady of the Lake. Only she knows how it was done.
SYMBOLS CARVED BY THORGIL’S SHIPMATES
Northmen did not have a good way to record their history. They carved symbols into rock, and through the years some of these evolved into an alphabet. But there is only so much you can say if you have to depend on rocks instead of paper. Most stories were turned into poetry and memorized.
The alphabet symbols were called “runes.” Some of these were associated with gods and invoked their powers. Two or more could be combined to make a talisman called a galdrastafir.
The symbols carved for Thorgil and Heinrich are as follows:
1. Thor’s hammer (mjöllnir)
2. The rune of protection; also the symbol for Yggdrassil (algir)
These stand for Thorgil. In the middle (3) are the “knots of death” (valknut), also known as the “mind-fetter” Odin casts on those warriors he wishes to claim for his own. These are followed by:
4. Odin’s rune (oss) above the rune for horse (ior); this indicates Odin’s eight-legged steed, Sleipnir
5. A spirit ship
These stand for Heinrich.
When algir (2), the rune of protection, is repeated in the talisman below, it becomes many times more powerful. This is what is carved on the amulet Thorgil wears around her neck.
PICTISH SYMBOLS
Pictish symbols are carved on many stones in Scotland, as well as a few stones in southern France. They are so distinctive and complex, it is certain they had an important meaning. Unfortunately almost no information about Pictish culture has survived. Their language has vanished. Their history is clouded in myth. Their gods remain mysterious.
Their art, however, endures in the Lindisfarne Gospels, the Book of Kells, and many other works. It is clear they were done by master artists. Their animals are drawn with great realism and skill. Thus it is a surprise to find the Pictish beast to be completely unidentifiable. (It is the creature with the curled tail and topknot.) People have called it a dolphin, a horse, and even an elephant. It is a common symbol, and there are tales about it. One (which occurs in the book) describes it as the size of a cucumber when born, and quickly growing to enormous size.
The broken arrow is a common motif in the carvings, particularly the broken arrow crossing the crescent moon. This has been interpreted as a death symbol for a man, while the comb and mirror are death symbols for a woman. In The Land of the Silver Apples, the broken arrow and moon are tattooed on the chest of Brother Aiden, indicating that he is marked for sacrifice. These moons and arrows are often enlaced with vines. I have used them in the book as markers for the three main gods of the Picts: the Man in the Moon, the Forest Lord (or Green Man), and the Wild Huntsman. This is entirely my idea—no one knows who the gods of the Picts were—but the three beings occur in ancient lore all over northern Europe.
Most interestingly, the distinctive comb (which looks almost like a garden gate) and mirror occur in carvings of mermaids. I don’t think this is an accident. It is quite possible that the mermaid was a Pictish sea goddess and that these symbols refer to her.
The meanings of all the symbols are guesswork, but here are some possibilities from The Pictish Guide by Elizabeth Sutherland, printed in Edinburgh, Scotland, 1997:
A solar disc held by a human.
The broken arrow crossing the crescent moon indicates the death of a man.
The mirror (left) and comb (right) indicate the death of a woman.
The three ovals connected by a chain may be a bracelet.
The snake crossed by the broken arrow (also called a “Z rod”) may mean renewal and immortality.
The curved, flowerlike design may be a flower or a horse’s harness.
The arc may be a rainbow, which was considered a bridge to the other world. This is sometimes shown with the broken arrow.
The double disc crossed by the broken arrow is supposed to indicate the duality of the sun, which lights this world by day and the otherworld by night.
This curved form is probably only a decoration.
The rectangle may be a container for valuables.
The notched rectangle crossed by the broken arrow may be a chariot or a fortress.
Our old friend, the Pictish beast.
The circle crossed by a line, with two small circles at either side, may be a cauldron, which symbolized rebirth.
Another crescent moon crossed by a broken arrow.
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