They rode on a bit till full night came, and they paused to give the animals a drink from the river, and they fed them some grain. Then they waited for the moon, four days past full, to rise and light their way. Onward they fared, yet finally they stopped for the night. As they set camp, Liaze said, “I think I know the answers to Verdandi’s rede.”
“You do?” asked Twk, his eyes flying wide in amaze.
“What be they, lass?” asked Gwyd, looking up from the fire he was laying.
“Well, part of it we already know,” said Liaze, dropping the gear from the second packhorse to the ground and turning to unlade the others.
“But not all,” said Twk, darting into the food sack and fumbling about, then rushing back out bearing jerky.
As Liaze curried the animals, she said, “Remember the rede: Upon a bed ’neath ebon sky,
One plans for one to slowly die.
But if ye three are truly brave,
A golden draught will surely save.
Hence, ground your lyre and ground it well
For you to cast the needed spell.
Sleep must come, if it comes at all,
For one to thrive beyond the wall.
Take only one else one will die,
As will the one ’neath ebon sky.
“The first four lines we think we know—”
“Yes, yes,” said Twk. “But what about the last six lines?”
“Well, back atop the precipice, as I looked at the twilight boundary ahead, I thought of what we know of serpents, and then I knew the answers to Verdandi’s rede.”
“What be it we ken o’ snakes?” asked Gwyd.
“They have no ears,” said Liaze.
“No ears?” blurted Twk. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Their hearing is poor, and though they can detect airborne sound—some say through their jawbone—they hear mainly through their skin,” said Liaze.
Twk sighed in exasperation. “Yes, yes, but—”
“Twk, Twk, ma laddie,” said Gwyd, striking flint to steel and setting the tinder to light and putting it in among the dried grass, “j’st let the princess finish.” The Brownie began gently blowing upon the glowing ember.
“This means serpents can feel vibrations in the ground; it’s one way they track prey and avoid predators.”
Twk started to say something, but a glare from Gwyd silenced him before he could speak.
“Oui, Twk, I think I know what you were going to add: that they can also see and taste and some think they can sense the body warmth of their game. Yet, heed: Verdandi said, ‘Ground your lyre and ground it well / For you to cast the needed spell.’ But I am no spellcaster, so what might that mean? I think she is telling us that music will put the serpent asleep.”
“Will? Or might?” said Gwyd, looking up from the flames now consuming the dry grass of his campfire. “Remember, lass, Verdandi said, ‘Sleep must come, if it comes at all,’ and t’me that means she’s not certain.”
“Be still, Gwyd, and let the princess finish,” said Twk.
Gwyd smiled and began feeding twigs to the blaze.
“I think if I set the base of the harp well into the ground,” said Liaze, “perhaps even dig a small hole and tamp soil about the base, and if I pluck the strings hard—hard enough for the serpent to feel the vibrations through the earth—and play a soothing air, then the creature might fall into slumber.”
“I see,” said Twk, breaking his own admonition. “Sleep must come, if it comes at all, / For one to thrive beyond the wall.”
“Oui,” said Liaze, smiling at the wee Pixie. “And that one who will thrive beyond the wall is Gwyd as he goes after one of Mithras’ apples.”
“Why can’t it be me who goes after the apple?” asked Twk.
Gwyd roared in laughter. “What? Ye? Why, the apple might fall on ye and crush ye flat.”
“Then I’ll take Jester,” said Twk.
“No,” said Liaze. “Recall, the rede says for one to thrive beyond the wall, and you and Jester make two.”
“Aye,” said Gwyd, “The princess be right, laddie buck. It hae t’be me.”
Twk sighed and nodded glumly, then said, “What about the last two lines?”
“ ‘Take only one else one will die, / As will the one ’neath ebon sky,’ ” quoted Liaze. “That means for us to take only one apple, for were we to try to take two of them, I deem the serpent will awaken, and Gwyd will not be able to escape; and if he does not get away with an apple, then Luc will also die there on the black mountain, for we will have no golden draught.”
“Aye, Princess,” said Gwyd. “When I delayed e’en a scant moment on ma most recent apple-takin, the serpent almost made the last o’ me.”
Tears welled in Liaze’s eyes, and she paused in her currying. “Oh, Gwyd, ’tis a perilous thing you do, and I—”
“Hush now, Princess,” said Gwyd, “f’r this be the way o’ it: ’tis ye who must play the well-grounded harp, and I who must retrieve the apple. We’ll fare all right, I ween.”
“But what about me and Jester?” asked Twk. “What are we to do?”
“Nought that I can see at the moment,” said Liaze.
“Bu-but Verdandi said that I and mine—Jester, I think—would be needed at a critical time,” said Twk.
“Then, Twk,” said Gwyd, now feeding larger branches to the fire, “this be not the time.”
As he had done every day, Jester announced the coming of dawn, and shortly thereafter the trio was on the way. Down through the rest of the wide vale they rode, and in midmorn they passed through the twilight marge to come into an arid plain.
“Oh, Gwyd, have we missed the right point to go through the bound?”
“Nae, Princess,” said Gwyd. “This do be the land o’ the garden.”
“But it is so sere,” said Twk. “How can a garden grow in such a place as this?”
“There be a bit o’ water, Twk, where the garden lies,” said Gwyd. Then he turned to Liaze. “Princess, head f’r that darkness low on the horizon; they be mountains adistant.”
And so, across the dry plain they ran, and dust flew up from galloping hooves. In sparse clumps here and there only thorny weeds grew, and the horses passed among them.
Galloping, walking, trotting, cantering, all day they fared toward the mountains afar, and Liaze wondered if the horses were making any progress at all. Often Liaze stopped to water the steeds, after which she fed them grain as they walked.
“You are certain there is water where we go?” asked Liaze, adding, “We will be bone-dry when we get there.”
“Aye, Princess, a small stream meanders down fra the mountains and into the garden. Snowmelt, I ween, f’r it takes y’r breath away wi’ its chill.”
“Ah,” said Twk, “that’s what feeds the apple tree among all this dust.”
“Indeed,” said Gwyd, and on they rode. “But who would hae thought t’plant it here t’begin wi’?”
“Mithras,” said Twk with finality.
On they pressed as the sun sailed up and across the sky and then fell toward the horizon. And then it set, and Jester fell asleep. They moved more slowly until the gibbous moon rose five days past full to shine brightly down upon them, and Liaze picked up the pace again.
But at last, ahead in the near distance a wall of stones loomed. “There, Princess,” said Gwyd, “there be the garden.”
“I see it,” said Liaze.
“Weel,” said Gwyd, “I think ye need t’leave the horses here, else they’ll be affrighted by the smell o’ the snake.”
Liaze haled the horses to a halt and dismounted. Gwyd jumped down and stepped back to Twk, and the wee Pixie dropped to the Brownie’s shoulder, leaving Jester asleep behind. Then Liaze and Gwyd with Twk aboard strode toward the rock enclosure, and as they neared, within the walls beyond they could hear the rustling of the great serpent, sleepless and standing ward.
34
Garden
Liaze eyed th
e rough stone wall, some twelve feet high and perhaps forty paces in length from corner to corner, or so it was on this bound of the garden. “Are the other sides as this one?”
“Aye, lass,” said Gwyd. “It be square, though ’round the corner”—Gwyd gestured to the left—“there be a gate.”
“A gate?”
“Aye. Ye can look through and see the tree and beastie, though the bars are set too close f’r me t’squeeze through.”
“Could I get through?” asked Twk.
“Aye,” said Gwyd, turning leftward, “ye could. Howe’er, the snake’d snap ye up like ye was nought but a morsel.”
With the Pixie on his shoulder, the Brownie led the princess to a great bronze gate set midway along the stretch of the wall. Past narrow-set, heavy bars laden with filigree, in the moonlight Liaze could see in the center of the stone-walled garden a tall, yellow-leafed tree burdened with golden apples agleam in the argent glow. “Oh, Gwyd, how beautif—” Of a sudden, Liaze gasped, for coiled ’round the base of the tree lay a huge, great-girthed snake, its scales blotches of brown and tan held in a gold-laced pattern. And it raised its head and its long forked tongue flicked in and out as it tasted the spoor of these interlopers standing just beyond the portal.
“Oh, my,” said Liaze.
Twk edged a bit behind Gwyd’s collar. “Are you certain it won’t come over the wall, Gwyd?”
“Nothin be certain, Twk,” said Gwyd, “yet it ne’er did so in the past when I escaped wi’ the fruit.”
Liaze took a deep breath and said, “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it but that we fetch the harp and see if we can put this monster to sleep.”
They turned and started back toward the horses. “Where lies the stream, Gwyd?”
“On the far side, Princess.”
“Since there is no wind, I would ride the horses ’round and tether them fast, if there are trees.”
“There be no trees, lass, but brush instead.”
“That will do. Besides, I would gather some of that brush for a fire.”
“A fire, Princess?” asked Twk.
“Yes, for though I can play the harp in total blackness, this night I would see the strings as I do so. Besides, I plan on having my bow strung and an arrow ready, and I would not wish to fumble about in the dark in the event they are needed.”
Gwyd shook his head. “Did I mention, lass, that the snake be unkillable?”
“What?”
“Aye, I think he be protected by Mithras himself so that j’st anyone canna steal the apples.”
Liaze sighed. “Nevertheless, Gwyd, I’ll have an arrow ready.”
They reached the horses, and Gwyd lifted Twk onto the gelding where Jester slept, and Liaze boosted Gwyd to Nightshade’s saddle, and mounted Pied Agile and rode wide ’round the garden to the stream, well away from the wall. And there, as Gwyd gathered brush for a fire, Liaze watered the animals and fed them some grain, and refilled the waterskins and took a deep draught herself.
Twk wakened Jester, the rooster somewhat grumpy at being roused in the night, though it did take grain along with the horses.
Liaze strung her bow and shouldered her quiver and fetched the harp from the rucksack and her trowel from the gear.
And as they readied themselves for the ordeal—for none of them could think of it in any other terms—Liaze said, “Where do you enter, Gwyd?”
“J’st t’the right o’ the gate, Princess, f’r there the stones be best f’r climbin’ out, though not f’r climbin’ in. I walked atop and studied all o’ the wall carefully ere ma first foray. I think most o’ the victims o’ the serpent didna do so, and they took the easy way in, but it be the worst way out.”
“Canny,” said Liaze, smiling at the Brownie. Then she frowned and asked, “How will we know the serpent is asleep?”
“Ah, lass,” said Gwyd, “that be the hard part, f’r snakes hae nae eyelids.”
“No eyelids?” said Twk. “Then how do they blink away dust and such?”
“Och, Twk, ye ne’er looked?”
“Gwyd, Gwyd”—the Pixie spread his arms wide—“I’m nine inches tall. If you were me, would you walk up and look a snake in the eye?”
Gwyd laughed and said, “Nae, Twk, I wouldna. Anyway, snakes hae a clear scale o’er each eye. Like glass it be, and it protects them.”
Liaze nodded. “Yes, but that still doesn’t answer my question: how will we know when the serpent is asleep?”
“Weel,” said Gwyd, “on the night o’ the longest day o’ the year, I wait until he stops tastin the air wi’ his forked tongue. Then I hie f’r the tree.”
“Is there no better way?” asked Liaze.
“Lass, it’ll hae t’do,” said Gwyd.
Liaze sighed in resignation, and, along with her bow and arrows and the harp and trowel, she and Gwyd took up the brush and bore it ’round to the gate, Twk on Jester trotting along at their side, the Pixie with an armload of dry grass to use as tinder.
They set all down in front of the gate, and as Gwyd started a small fire on the dusty ground, Liaze used her trowel to gouge out a shallow hole in the hard soil, sized a wee bit smaller than the foot of the harp. When it was deep enough, she angled the base into the gap and wrenched the harp back and forth to auger the foot down into the hole to tightly wedge it in. Soon she had the instrument well grounded, the foot lodged in hardpan. She packed more dirt into the hole atop the foot and tamped it down. Finally, she glanced at the serpent yet coiled about the trunk of the tree, and she took a deep breath and looked at the Brownie and said, “Oh, Gwyd, I’m not certain that—”
“Princess, there be nae other way. Besides, we must trust t’the Fates.” Gwyd squared his shoulders and turned and strode to another place along the wall.
Liaze watched as the Brownie walked away and began to climb, and she murmured, “But we don’t know whether it will work.”
“We can only try, my lady,” said Twk. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about why the serpent sleeps on the longest night of the year. You see, it’s that night that the music of the spheres is the loudest, or so I believe, hence that’s when the snake can be lulled by the movements of the heavens.”
“Ah, but Twk, I cannot match the magic of the spheres.”
“Mayhap not, Princess, yet you are closer than any of the lights in the firmament, and so your soothing music might be enough.”
“Indeed, Twk, ‘might.’ ”
Gwyd had come along the top of the garden wall back to the right side of the gate.
“Ready?” asked Liaze, her voice quavering, and she did not trust it to say more.
“Ready,” said Gwyd, his own voice tremulous.
Liaze glanced at her strung bow and the arrow at hand and then at the serpent. She took a deep breath and let it out and began forcefully strumming the harp in a lullaby, and she crooned along with the melody:Hush, my child, and go to sleep,
The moon sails through the sky.
You, my babe, I safe will keep,
Our day has said goodbye.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Sleep, oh sleep, I sigh,
Sleep, sleep, my youngling,
Hush now, don’t you cry.
Verse after verse did Liaze sing and play, and chorus after chorus, and the dust just in front of the harp danced in synchronism with the vibration of the hard-plucked strings. Slowly, ever so slowly, the serpent’s coils relaxed and its head began to droop, and its forked tongue gradually tasted the air less and less.
Liaze sang and fiercely strummed, and the dust danced nigh the harp.
The moon sailed onward through a starlit sky, not heeding the desperate gamble below, as Liaze crooned and played, and Gwyd sat waiting atop the wall, and Twk stood by Jester and fretted.
Still the song and plucked notes graced the air, and still the ground ever so lightly shivered, and still the serpent tasted, but slowly less and less, and gradually it loosened its coils and drooped . . . until finally the serpent’
s head dipped to the ground, and it no longer sampled the air.
Gwyd slipped down the inside of the wall, while Liaze continued to play and sing, though her voice tightened with stress.
Oh, my sweet, sleep this darktide,
Oh, my sweet, sleep this eve;
I am here by your sweet side
As sweet, sweet dreams you weave.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Sleep, oh sleep, I sigh,
Sleep, sleep, my youngling,
Hush now, don’t you cry.
Across the intervening space crept Gwyd, and the serpent shifted slightly. Sweating, Gwyd froze in place and waited, and Liaze, her voice trembling in dread, sang on:Your papa’s gone ahunting,
And maman makes the bed,
And lie you in your bunting,
Nought but dreams in your head.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Sleep, oh sleep I sigh,
Sleep, sleep, my youngling,
Hush now, don’t you cry.
The serpent made no further movement, and Gwyd crept onward. Finally he reached the monstrous snake, and cautiously he stepped over coil after coil to come to the trunk of the golden apple tree.
Liaze could hardly bear to look, but look she did, as she played and sang:The stars begin to glimmer
And look upon your face,
While in your dreams you murmur
A song of sleeping grace.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Sleep, oh sleep, I sigh,
Sleep, sleep, my youngling,
Hush now, don’t you cry.
Up Gwyd shinnied to the first limb, where he pulled himself higher.
Liaze nearly choked in fear, and her fingers seemed stiff with anxiety. But she continued to play and sing:Sleep, my child, and dream your dreams,
The moon sails through the night,
Bathing you in silver beams,
And rinsing you with light.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Sleep, oh sleep, I sigh,
Once Upon an Autumn Eve Page 24