Carven Flute

by Steve Shilstone

  “I can see it when I close my eyes… At rest, it was flush yellow pink in color. Yoss, how soothing. It was covered with criss-cross carved images of ivy. When it sang… yoss, when it sang, it floated in the air pulsing slowly all the colors of the rainbow. When I played it myself, I could make it spout sprinkles of sparkles to conjure tiny cottage cakes… mmmmmm… lemony… Bagbones! Stay on course, old Harick! Don’t wander!”

  (Here she shook her fist for emphasis, then gazed with a lost look over our heads.)

  “Jo Bree. I lost it. I gave it. Why? Because I missed my sister. Because I missed Semma. She liked to kick me awake when I slept, but I missed her. She dragged me by my hair sometimes, but I missed her. She practiced cruel and nasty spells, more than a few on me, but I missed her. There was a truth. She was my sister. She was all I had.”

  (Here she shrugged before continuing.)

  “After she flew down the Well and I decided not to follow, but instead to collect these rings,”

  (Here she held up her hands to display the twenty-two.)

  “I made a vow. Thus. I swore I would never again look down the Well at the strange world. I didn’t want to know where she was or what nasty things she was doing. I only wanted to remember the day at the pool below the Falls of Horn. And truth, I was afraid. I loved this world. I had saved it. The hills of Clover, the Orrun Mountains, the Greenwilla River, the Wide Great Sea, all of it everywhere was precious to me. If missing my sister so desperately was destined to drive me down the Well, would I be able to return to my own tasty cottage in my own Danken Wood?”

  (Here she paused and squinted through her spectacles at Kar and at me in turn. I knew she was gathering the courage to say something she had never shared. I felt it! I sensed it! I flicked a glimpse at Kar. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth was set in a line. She felt it, too! When Babba Ja Harick spoke again, she whispered, and the whispered words fell as if reluctantly from her lips.)

  “I went down the Well.”

  (Here we squirmed.)

  Chapter Eleven

  Ragaba Rises

  “This is how it happened. Time and time again and again I took my broom above the clouds to soothe my restless spirit. Yoss. I was ever haunted by my memory’s mirror of that day at the pool below the Falls of Horn. I wondered and pondered and thought about my sister. Maybe Semma’s descent down the Well to the strange world had changed her, turned her away from cruelty and greed. Maybe she missed me. Maybe she was desperately trying to find a way to get back here and was unable to do so in spite of her practiced skill with potions. Yoss, maybe. Yoss. Sometimes I flew in high circles above the Well, turning, turning, turning, my cloak flapping in the breezy gusts. More than a few times I clenched my teeth and plunged at the Well only to veer away at the last possible nince. Whenever so thrown off by my own timidity, I rode here in frustration and gnashed my fill of shingle and door. For days following such a failed plunge, I brooded in that corner with my pink feather shawl draped over my head. Mornings I tore off the doorknobs and ate them, but otherly, I just brooded. And then, when restlessness wriggled me nervous again, I would leap to my broom and fly.”

  (Here she paused and sighed. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with the fingers of her right hand. She stood quite still with her hand covering her eyes. We waited. She sighed again and dropped her hand to her side.)

  “One morning… cloudless… quiet… like many other mornings, I waved the shawl from my head and stood. I hadn’t moved for days… a freeze, I suppose. Yoss. I couldn’t remember my dream, and I didn’t try to… because… the wriggle of restlessness had me sudden in its grasp. Such a height of nervousness gripped me that I ignored the doorknobs, snatched up my cloak and broom, and flew straight out of that window.”

  (Here she pointed to the window above the brick chocolate table where her crystal ball should have been, but wasn’t.)

  “I sailed west without a thought, the wind whipping my hair and cutting at my face. I passed high above the Well and continued on, not circling, not looking, no. I passed over the Woeful Wanderers’ Wasteland on a true swift line, heading west. On and on I went until I reached the Wide Great Sea. I reached for my Jo Bree in the hem of my cloak and brought it out. Low to the waves, cloak fluttering, hair streaming, I curled down to grip my broom and play my Flute at the same time. Yoss. Awkwardness. Such a thing I had never done before. Why am I doing this? I asked myself. Why am I riding low to the waves and playing my Flute? I was in the clutches of an urge unbidden. Thus was it so, a truth. It had to be a Prophesy. Yoss. Fair to say, so it was, because a spout of water whirled up at the first trilling run of bubbly notes singing from Jo Bree… and there… there was Ragaba rising from the spout.”

  (Here Kar shuddered. Such was so, and so it should have been. Ragaba was Kar’s mother, so said. I wondered who my mother was, then waved the intrusive thought away. I centered my attention on the sad wrinkled face of Babba Ja Harick.)

  “She wasn’t upside down then….”

  (Here the lavender witch froze.)

  Chapter Twelve

  The First Freeze

  We waited a while, wondering if what we thought we saw was what we knew we were seeing.

  “Is she…?” finally asked Kar.

  “I think such is so,” I replied.

  Our eyes locked, and we recited together as if on command, “Fuzzletong berry.”

  How many Gwer drollek stories had we heard where the one true way of melting the witch was to smash a fuzzletong berry on her face? Many and many a tale had made it common knowledge among us bendo dreen. Truth, Kar and I began a search at once. The cottage presented all around a clutter of stockings and cloaks, slippers and rumpled cambric shirts, shredded fabrics and gauzy remnants, tiny bottles of colored liquids in a jeweled cask, several broken cups, a little wooden box filled with blue sand, three golden platters, and mounds of other witchly rubbish. But no fuzzletong berry. We stared at the witch. She stood there, a statue.

  “I’ll shift and fly to the tree,” announced Kar.

  “I’ll stay here in case she melts while you’re gone,” I said. “The fuzzletong tree is northwest of the Wood. You’ll have to fly s….”

  “Bek, I know where it is,” Kar interrupted. “You aren’t the only one who has heard all of the Gwer drollek stories, you know. Wasn’t I sitting next to you in the Assembly Bower for every one of ’em? If she melts before I get back, don’t let her continue the story.”

  I said nothing. If the Harick, the Babba Ja, melted and went on with the story, how was I, a youngling bendo dreen, to stop her? Thusly, when Kar shifted to winged cloud and flew off, I simply sat on the wickery chair to wait. The silence thickened around me as I studied the motionless witch. Her eyes stared unseeing over my head. Her spectacles perched low on her nose. Her lavender lips were barely parted. Her hands, both of ’em raised slightly in front of her, parted the blackest purple cloak. The twenty-two rings captured my gaze and held me whirling in thoughts of their legendary powers. Those are the ruby rings of alertness on her left thumb. Which one is the ring of silence? Oh, there’s the serpent eating its tail! I wonder what that sapphire does? I don’t remember it from any of the… Oh! Double diamond there! Pink diamond there! What about those? I eagerly examined each of the twenty-two in turn, marveling at their beauty while at the same time shivering at being in the presence of their bars and bars of eons of legendary history. Such was so powerfully so that time slipped unnoticed and Kar crashed through the doorway in triumphant return.

  “Got it! I was the first jrabe ever to escape from inside the Barrier, pluck a berry from the fuzzletong tree, and return! I know it’s true! I know!” shouted Kar, shifted to bendo dreen, and she held the berry between thumb and first finger high above her head. “Now I’ll be the first jrabe to unfreeze the witch!”

  “How do you know? Zinna might have done it lots of times when she was Ragaba,” I scoffed. I don’t know why. Yes, I do. I get jealous of her shapeshifting sometimes. Such is so
.

  “Even if she did, she never did it when you were waiting in the edible cottage. I’m the first to do that! Zinna’s not here now, is she? First ever!” gleefully babbled Kar.

  “Do you want to hear the story of Jo Bree, or do you want to keep dancing around like a jark dweg?” I grumbled.

  “Jo Bree! Jo Bree!” sang Kar, and she boldly turned and smashed the fuzzletong berry on the witch’s chin.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Down the Well

  “She was right side up at first… Oh, did I freeze? Juice on my chin… Well met, younglings, never mind, you’ve done it.”

  (Here she dabbed at the drippy crushed berry on her chin and gave to us a sad smile.)

  “Ragaba, yoss, Ragaba, she was right side up. I had never before seen a jrabe. Her skin was pale purple like mine. I envied her long green mantle. Her ears were enormous, her hair as orange as orange can get. Her eyes… smeared white fog. Yoss. She startled me. I sat straight up on my broom. Still I raced low above the waves. Ragaba glided beside me and spoke. She said, ‘I hear ye flying. I heard ye playing music. Who be ye, flying and playing on what I sense to be an instrumental Flute of magic?’ ‘I am Babba Ja Harick. I saved this world by collecting the twenty-two rings. Who are you?’ I managed to boast. ‘Ah, the witch,’ said Ragaba, and she shifted with a swirl to an image of me. ‘Now I see ye, though not too well. Such, I suppose, is the why that ye squint. I be Ragaba, jrabe from under the sea, a sorceress, true, a sort of jroon. Why be ye, Babba Ja Harick, making mournful magic music while ye fly above the sea?’ I was looking at myself, a mirror image looking at me. Words formed. I blurted them out.”

  (Here she shrugged.)

  “I wasn’t talking to Ragaba. I was talking to myself. Yoss. ‘I want to fly down the Well and find my sister. She was all I ever had. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to return. I don’t want to be trapped down there. I want to go, visit Semma, and return. Maybe she will come back with me. Maybe. Yoss.’ Ragaba exploded into a misty cloud and gathered herself in writhing plumes to reform as jrabe, but this time upside down, her dark green mantle and her orange hair hanging up. ‘Oh, simplicity. Of course ye can return. Be I not a sorceress jrabe? I will attach to ye an invisible strand, the other end of which I will tie to my wrist. Ye will not feel it. Ye will not know it be there, but there it will be. When ye wish to return, kick your right leg four times forward. Thus I will feel four tugs on my wrist, and instantly will I draw ye back. And what do I ask in return? A simple payment. The Flute I heard singing such mournful sweetness.’”

  (Here Kar and I both squirmed in our chairs. Such and so much new information fizzed in our brains. We were hearing the true story!)

  “How was I to be sure what she said was truth? ‘Can I test the strand?’ I asked. She answered, ‘Ye be cautious then. And why not? Never before have ye seen a jrabe. Shall ye trust me? Well, so, here. I loop your ankle with my invisible strand.’ She reached a bony lavender hand out from under her mantle and flicked its fingers. I felt nothing. ‘I don’t feel anything,’ I said. ‘If ye felt it, the spell would be flawed. Go now. Fly off. I will remain floating here. When ye judge yourself a proper distance away and feel so tempted, kick out four times with your right leg. I will draw ye back.’ I veered away and swerved to climb. I looked back. There she was, upside down, hanging low above the waves. I sped for a length of time until endless sea was all around me. I wrestled with my thoughts. Should I? What if? Give up Jo Bree? I concluded the turmoil in my head by kicking out hard four times.”

  (Here she kicked out her right leg four times with agile vigor.)

  “Instantly I was flung, pushed backward through the sky by a burst of wind and brought to a stop next to the hanging jrabe. ‘It works,’ I gasped. Breathless, I thrust Jo Bree at Ragaba before I could change my mind. She slipped a bony hand from under her mantle and held it up in refusal. ‘When ye return,’ she said. ‘Until then, ye might have need of it. I trust ye.’ So saying, she dove into the sea and disappeared in bubbles under the glassy waves. I banished all timid thoughts from my mind and headed east. Yoss. Truth. To be short, as the sun sank and the moons rose, I plunged down the Well.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Song of the Carven Flute

  “I was falling through a starry night. Yoss. In eerie silence. And then, sudden splash. I kicked and pulled myself up toward a glow of light. I had Jo Bree clutched in my left hand. My broom was gone. Yoss, simply gone. I gave it no thought. Not one. I swam up and up, desperate to break the surface and breathe. With a final wild lurch I broke through, and, while gasping and spluttering, I paddled over to a great boulder and clung to it. Yoss. I squinted hard to see where I was. My spectacles were gone, so said, as well as my broom. I discovered that the boulder rose from the middle of what seemed to be a sort of a beckoning pool. I could tell that the blurry trees surrounding the pool were tall and straight like the ones right here surrounding my cottage…my home…my Danken Wood.”

  (Here she sighed and gazed past us out the window. We thought for the barest fraction of a nince that she had frozen again. But no, she turned and studied us sadly as she ran an ancient bony lavender finger along the rim of the cauldron.)

  “Yoss. I was down the Well. That secret is out. But there are more…there are more. After placing the Carven Flute on a nearby flatness, I hauled myself up onto the boulder. I settled myself. Then, as I brought the ring of obsidian and turquoise to my lips to chant my clothes dry, Jo Bree floated from the flatness and began to pulse slowly in rainbow hues. I dropped my hand from my mouth and waited, dripping, sopping, relieved. My Carven Flute, my Jo Bree, was going to sing me help. It sang:

  ‘Long I awaited the lilac

  Long to emerge from the snow

  Losses and sorrows before us

  Take me and with you I’ll go

  Point me in every direction When I pulse green you will know

  There lies the path you will follow

  Where to your sister you’ll go

  Seen as a bird called the white stork

  Will be the lilac’s disguise

  Carry me, carry the bundle

  Believe what you see with your eyes’

  My eyes. My eyes! Stark bold clarity! I saw in a flash vividly far! Beyond the boulder, the pool, the trees, to the crisp distant towering peaks! I stretched my neck. How long it was! I clattered my bill! How long IT was! My feathers were snow white! Yoss! I tilted my head and saw Jo Bree at rest on the flatness of boulder. Its carven ivy leaves no longer pulsed rainbow, but simply flushed yellow pink. Next to the Flute was my blackest purple cloak, bundled up like a pouch, tied with a knot. I lifted the pouch with my bill. It jangled. My rings! My clothes! All bundled in my blackest purple cloak. I set the bundle down. I grasped Jo Bree in the clutch of my bird claws, and took up the bundle, too. I hopped to the top of the boulder and threw myself into flight, flapping my great white wings. Yoss. A wonder to fly as a bird without broom. Yoss. I could see forever. I flew. I turned Jo Bree this way and that until it glowed green. Then I rode the sky, following the green glow path of Jo Bree. On powerful wings I soared. I watched day become night, and night become day, and on I flew, never tiring. A few times clouds boiled below me. Lightning danced. At night there was a single moon! I traveled over mountains and valleys and rivers and fields and plains. I saw wastelands, forests, and rocky skrabbles. I could see! I could see! Such sight was a wonder. I reached a wide great sea. In a night and a day I crossed it. More land. More mountains. Then woods. A Wood. Yoss. A Wood. I passed above it. Jo Bree faded from green to flush yellow pink. I sailed a wide circle back. Jo Bree turned green. I veered to the north. Flush yellow pink. Back I came. Green. I veered to the west. Flush yellow pink. Back I came. Green. West and south. Same. Same. Below was the Wood where my sister dwelled. Somewhere below me was Semma Ja Harick.”

  (Here was where her voice broke and she couldn’t continue for a goodly time.)

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Gingerbre
ad House

  “The Wood was fairly as dense as the Chack Tree Forest, but, yoss, far different were its trees. They bent this way and that, crooked with twisted limbs. The leaves of the trees were a brownish green, and they rustled when I fell through them in a clumsy attempt at landing. The floor of the Wood was marked with a well-worn dirt path winding through a thin dry leafy carpet. Nothing to do but follow. Dark and gloomy and still was the Wood, a place of shadows. I looked to Jo Bree for direction. I placed the Flute on the ground in front of me and moved back. Truth, I expected it to pulse and sing. Yoss. It did nothing. It did nothing.”

  (Here she idly pulled a wooden spoon from out of the cauldron and tapped it lightly on her chin. With sudden violence, she flung the spoon across the room, where it bounced off the wall and came to rest on a mound of cambric and stockings. Kar and I sunk lower in our wickery chairs. Babba Ja Harick closed her eyes, shook her head, and continued.)

  “Carrying both Flute and bundle in my bill, I leapt from the path and flew along it under the dark canopy of the Wood. It turned and twisted like the limbs of the trees. Crooked path in crooked forest. It led me… to a clearing.”

  (Here she sat down heavily on the floor and gripped the rim of the cauldron with both hands.)

  “The house… like we had planned as younglings, mere witchlets, in the Chack Tree Forest… Mine would be…this. Hers… Semma’s…would be…gingerbread. Stung with unexpected terror… flooded… I flew to the top of the closest crooked tree and perched. Wits. I needed to gather them. I was all atremble. I looked at Jo Bree. Jo Bree did nothing. I slipped the Flute under the knot of the bundle and wedged Flute and bundle in a tangle of branches. My back was turned to the cottage, but I could feel it there. I felt…yoss…