Magic Three of Solatia

by Jane Yolen

  Though the woods were beginning to thin out, it was difficult to notice it at first, for night had indeed fallen. Yet no stars lit their path. What moon there was, a pale, thin splinter, was shrouded with a gray blanket of cloud.

  It was no wonder that they were practically at the edge of a cliff before they noticed they were out of the woods.

  “The forest is behind us,” said Jared with relief.

  “The worst is ahead of us,” said one of Coredderoc’s heads. The other nodded in bitter agreement.

  “Come,” said Lann, “let us look around for a moment and then take turns standing watch. For sleep will be the Great Encourager. Only tired men are afraid.”

  “Then I must be perennially tired,” muttered Jared, but softly so that only he himself heard it.

  The dark was so deep that they could see nothing. The gray blanket never moved off the moon. The three friends huddled together for warmth. But warmth there was none.

  Suddenly Lann remembered the feather inside his shirt. He took it out to see if there was some way he could share it with his friends. It felt unaccountably heavy, so he shook it. A down comforter sprang from the feather, soft and warm.

  “Where does that come from?” asked Jared.

  “From love,” said Lann. Then he added, “Here, friends, and welcome. I will stand the first watch.”

  But first became last, for neither the giant nor the dwarf woke up until morning. Lann too fell asleep, his hand holding fast to his amulet.

  When a wild goose and gander flew across the sky, they circled once around the sleeping friends, honking so loudly the three awoke at once. With great apologies to one another and waves for the departing birds, the three friends rose to greet the sun.

  It was like no sun they had ever seen before. Instead of shedding a bright and cheery light, the sun looked thin and worn out, like an old penny. It hung forlornly over the edge of the cliff.

  When Lann looked over the cliff’s edge he shivered. There was no way down.

  Yet there, in the middle of a lake that began at the cliff’s bottom, was a huge crag of scaly gray-green rocks, and on the top, hunched like a vulture on dead meat, was a castle.

  “Bleakard’s castle,” said Lann.

  “How do you know?” asked his friends, though they knew in their hearts he was right.

  Lann pointed.

  Around the top of the castle, circling and circling and crying piteously into the wind were the wild goose and gander. Their cries carried clearly in the fetid air.

  6. The Singing

  “WE MUST GET DOWN there and cross to the castle,” cried Lann, his eyes still on the circling birds.

  Just as he spoke, a dreadful sound rent the air. It was a high, sinuous piping that repeated and repeated the same seven notes. It insinuated itself into the air, and the repetitions seemed to engrave the evil melody on their minds.

  “My head is cracking from that sound,” said Jared.

  “Your head!” cried Coredderoc. “Pity me. I have two.”

  “It must be Bleakard’s tune. That infernal piping,” shouted Lann above the noise. “How can one think above it?”

  “Think we must,” shouted one of Coredderoc’s heads.

  “Without thought, man is an animal,” stated the other, and was immediately shushed by his friends.

  “There is only one way to battle a spell of music,” said Lann. “Or at least that is what my mother taught me.”

  “Well, hurry, whatever the way,” said the giant with a shout. “My ears will turn to stone if I listen a moment more. All I can think of is that one hideous tune.”

  “Only music can defeat music,” Lann shouted back. “And love, hate,” he added in an undertone as if to remind himself.

  He took his lute from the ground where it had lain all night. Without even stopping to tune, for tuning with that constant piping was not possible, he began a song.

  With their ears covered, the others could barely hear him. But if they could have listened with care, they would have heard the same seven notes of Bleakard’s piping. But oh, the change! Lann’s song took the seven notes and turned them inside out. He gentled them, calmed them, made them sing of love, not hate.

  My love is like a silver bird

  That flies to me when night is near.

  My love is like a silver bird,

  And oh, I wish my love were here.

  My love is like a silver boat

  That crests the currents of the air.

  And should I sink or should I float,

  It’s oh, I wish my love were here.

  My love is like the fount of life

  That sprays into the summer air.

  My love is of my very life,

  And oh, I know my love is here.

  At first Lann’s song was as gentle as lapping waves. But like the waves, his song was also persistent. And as the song continued, Lann’s voice became stronger. The lute, which had sounded flat and brittle because it was untuned and playing against the strident piping, became richer and rounder and stronger, too. Till at last Lann’s song filled the cliffside entirely, drowning out the grating flute. And when the three friends with the four voices finished singing the last chorus together, there was no pipe to be heard at all.

  The moment the piping ended, the wild goose and gander stopped circling the castle. They hesitated for a moment in flight, and stood in the air like two figures in a tapestry. Then, banking sharply to the right, they flew toward the cliff, their powerful wings beating in unison.

  “We have won,” shouted Jared, leaping into the air like a mighty fish out of the water. Where he leaped up, flowers sprang too. But when he came down on his left foot, flames shot out.

  “We have just begun,” said Lann. “For when one battles wizards, all things come in threes.”

  “Three?” asked the giant fearfully.

  “Yes,” replied Lann. “As my mother taught me—first the singing, then the seeming, and last the slaying. If there is any need for a last.”

  “What does that all mean?” asked Jared.

  “I am not entirely sure,” admitted the minstrel.

  Jared shook his head and tried again. “What I mean is, are we the ones who do the slaying? Or are we the ones who are to be slain?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Lann. “All I know is that my mother is always right.”

  “A pox on mothers who are always right,” said the giant, and he turned away. “I think I will go back to my forest home.”

  “Stay, friend,” said Lann. “Perhaps this time she is not right.”

  “I fear she is right again,” said Coredderoc with one head. “I seem to recall such an unholy trinity.”

  “I know she is right,” said the other head. “Look!”

  The friends looked where he was pointing, at the crags beneath the castle. The very rocks seemed to unwind themselves and a giant gray-green serpent uncoiled and stretched, turning its ugly head in their direction.

  As it uncurled, it moved its shoulders. Two giant wings began to unfurl.

  “If that is a seeming,” said the giant, “I do not like what it seems to be.”

  “What if it flys up to us here?” asked Coredderoc fearfully. “We have no weapons.”

  “Except my lute,” said Lann.

  “I fear that is not enough, friend,” said Jared. “If that great scaly worm decides to fly here and have us for dinner, I fear it is not near enough. And as your revered mother has said, after the singing and the seeming comes the slaying. I fear, friends, we are all dead men.”

  Almost as if it heard the giant’s voice, the great lizard pumped its mighty wings. The vast winds it created stirred the waters of the lake. And with an awful scream, which sounded like the seven notes of Bleakard’s song, the dragon flung itself into the air and plunged after the wild goose and gander that were fleeing toward the cliff.

  7. The Seeming

  AS THE GREAT DRAGON came closer, the goose and gander, who had been flyin
g wing to wing, suddenly parted. They circled separately to each side of the gray-green monster. Then each by each, they struck at the dragon’s sides. The blows they gave it were but light little flecks. But like the kingbirds which can drive off the larger crows and hawks with many petty pecks, the goose and gander annoyed the monstrous worm. It stopped its headlong flight toward the cliff to try to strike its tiny tormentors.

  The goose and gander flew out of range over and over again. When one was in danger, the other would swoop down upon the dragon. And in that way, the silver birds delayed the dragon’s descent upon the three friends on the cliff.

  “Quick,” said Coredderoc, “I have a plan. I was a king’s minister and I remember something of war.”

  “Tell us what to do,” replied Lann, “and it will be done.”

  “First strip your lute of its strings,” said the dwarf’s first head.

  “But it will never sing again,” protested the minstrel.

  “If you do not, you will never sing again,” said the first head.

  “Lutes can be replaced,” said the other head. “But men cannot be.”

  “We are going to make ourselves some mighty bows,” the first explained.

  Jared slapped his thigh. “Well said, friend. King I may have been, but now I take your orders. Command me.”

  “Your part is next, friend giant,” said the first head. “Gather all the sticks and twigs you can find and three large green boughs. Go to the right. I shall to the left.”

  Within moments they had a pile of wood. The giant was able to gather huge mounds of twigs and branches with his large hands. The three boughs they used as bows and strung them quickly with the lute strings.

  “And now, friend, some fire. But just in the center of the pile.”

  With a wild bellow, Jared leaped into the pile of sticks. He hopped up and down on his left foot, and the pile burst into flames. The minute the fire was well begun, Jared leaped out again.

  Then the three friends reached into the pile of sticks and, grasping the faggots by their cold ends, placed the flaming arrows into their makeshift bows.

  “To me!” shouted both of Coredderoc’s heads together as he sighted with his first head along the arrow shaft.

  Jared and Lann took up the cry.

  “To me!”

  “To me!”

  At their voices, both the goose and gander spun away from the dragon and fled to the cliff.

  The dragon came after them straightaway.

  The friends let go of their arrows at once. And though the bows were but poorly made and the arrows but poorly aimed, the dragon was such a large target they hit it with all three flames. Immediately the arrows struck, the three friends took up fresh ones.

  The goose and gander dived down upon the flaming pile, and each grasped a burning branch in its beak.

  The gander raced toward the dragon’s tail and scored the flame along its tender underside. But the goose, carrying a flame as large as her own body, flew straight toward the dragon’s eyes.

  When Lann saw where she was flying he dropped his bow. “Bridda, come back! Oh, come back!” he screamed.

  But the silver bird never turned. At the last moment, when the dragon opened its mouth and it seemed certain it would swallow bird and brand and all, she dropped the flame into its mighty maw. At the same instant, she swept her wings to her side and plummeted straight down, down, down toward the lake.

  Like a giant Roman candle, the dragon burst into bits of gray smoke and green flames, and each part fell loudly into the lake with a hiss. A great cloud of steam rose to the clifftop, and for long moments nothing could be seen.

  When at last it was clear, the three friends peered over the cliff’s edge. They could see waves lapping at the bottom of the cliff over hundreds of broken gray-green rocks. And far out in the middle of the lake, a silver goose swam in ever-widening circles. Her feathers were singed, and the air was filled with the smell of burned flesh. But of the dragon, there was no trace at all.

  8. Over the Perilous Lake

  “SO MUCH FOR THE seeming,” said the giant.

  “Do you think that also counts as the slaying?” asked one of Coredderoc’s heads.

  “I have not seen such a slaying in a long time,” said the second head.

  “But we did not slay anything,” said Lann, strumming his fingers across the place where his lute strings had once been. “It seemed a dragon was upon us, but it was merely the gray-green rocks from the castle. Can’t you see that?”

  They all had to agree with him then. The slaying was yet to be.

  “Now we must get off the cliff and to the castle,” said Jared.

  “Ah, but how?” asked Coredderoc’s heads together.

  “Not that I really want to go there, you understand,” said Jared, “but I do have a plan. And if the rest is as simple as the first…”

  “I hope the rest is simple, and it is not just we who are so,” said Lann. “What is your plan, friend?”

  “I will shake my right foot, and we will begin with many flowers.”

  “Flowers?” said the minstrel. “What good are flowers against a wizard?”

  “Or lute strings against a dragon?” reminded Coredderoc’s two heads together.

  “We must make a strong chain of them,” said the giant. “Strong enough to carry our weight.”

  “Down the cliff?” asked the dwarf’s first head. “But what good will that be?”

  The second head added, “We would still need to cross the lake. And I for one—”

  “For two,” interrupted the first head, “can’t swim.”

  “Not down the cliff,” said Jared. “My plan does the two steps in one.” He waved the gander to him.

  The gander in turn called to the goose who swam in the lake, washing her poor singed feathers. The goose shook the water from her wings as she rose into the air. In moments, the two silver birds were on the cliff.

  The gander walked right over to the royal giant. The goose stayed back, as if embarrassed to be seen. At that, Lann went up to the beautiful bird and caressed her head and looked deeply into her round black eyes.

  “Fair heart,” he said to the goose as if talking to a girl. “you have been most courageous. But there is more courage yet to be asked.”

  The goose dipped her head toward the ground, then looked up at Lann. The gander crowded close to him, too.

  “You must carry us across the lake,” said the giant. And then he described the flower rope that was to be built.

  Swiftly, the three friends worked while the goose and gander cleaned their wings and made ready for the flight. Jared would stomp his right foot on the ground, and the harder he stomped, the larger the flowers. The larger the flowers, the stronger the stems. And the stronger the stems, the more sturdy and safe was the strand that they wove.

  The giant’s fingers were large and stubby, and he broke more flowers than he could twist together. But the dwarf’s fingers were quick and eager. And Lann’s fingers, used to plucking a lute string, were the most facile of all. In less time than it takes to tell of it, they had twined a flower rope the length of three tall men.

  “Now, I shall hang from one end, near the gander,” said the giant. “And you, Coredderoc, and you, Lann, shall balance me on the other end, close to the goose.”

  The three friends helped the goose and gander slip the rope around their bodies like a halter. Then, positioning themselves as Jared had instructed, the giant, the dwarf, and the minstrel took hold of the rope. The goose and gander picked up the ends in their beaks.

  “Hold fast, friends, and never lack courage,” called out Jared, though he was the one who was most afraid.

  The wild goose and gander began to pump their wings, up and down, up and down they beat together. Slowly the goose and then the gander rose in the air, the rope tight around their bodies, the ends in their beaks. And more slowly still, the rope stretched taut between the friends and pulled them into the air. As each one left the
earth—first the dwarf, then Lann, and finally the giant—they said silent prayers for the safety of the others. And Lann said a special farewell to his mother.

  Once fully in the air, though their burden was heavy, the goose and gander moved with ease. Their mighty wings beat steadily, silently, swiftly.

  But the arms of the three friends were pulled nearly free of their sockets. And the three were soon weary beyond wondering.

  Jared lost the grip of one hand less than halfway. Dangling dangerously and screaming mightily, the giant was borne through the air.

  Coredderoc never said a word the entire trip across the lake. His two heads gazed soulfully at one another as if some important message were passing between the eyes of the two.

  Lann, his unstrung lute across his back, crossed with his eyes closed the entire way. And whether he was singing to himself or praying, only the goose could have told, for she was the only one who might have heard.

  But the rope stayed taut between them, and the goose and gander, bearing their heavy burden over the perilous lake, crossed the three friends to the castle that awaited them like a giant bird of prey.

  9. The Slaying

  THE GOOSE AND GANDER lowered the rope with the three friends hanging from it to the crenelated castle wall.

  The minute his feet touched the stones of the castle, Lann let go of the flower rope. He reached over to remove the halter from the goose’s body.

  After a moment, Jared did the same for the gander.

  As for the dwarf, he knelt and kissed the stones with both his heads. Then he stroked the wall. “There is something familiar about this castle,” said the first head.

  “Yes, something like—yet not like,” said the second head.

  “It reminds me of my own castle,” said Jared sadly. “But then, I suppose all castles are something alike.”

  Lann thought a bit. “It may be yet another seeming,” he said.