“Bek?”
“Yes.”
“You saw the seasons change. It must have been …”
“Magical. Changing from white froth blossoms, white leaves, white twigs, branches, roots, all everything dazzle white to rainbow color splashes of flowers and lush green Woods in the span of a simple shiver.”
“Now the Woods are frozen in ever summer. I …”
“Silence, Kar.”
“Bek?”
“What is it?”
“Those are nesters. Why are they so such far from Blossom Castle?”
“Nesters roam. Soon their instruments will sing.”
“The one on the left has a ziler, right? And the other’s playing a pangro, if I remember clear from the stories.” “You’re right. Let’s leave ‘em be. Silence.”
“Hop down, Kar. We’ll sleep here. We now know that the Woods Beyond the Wood are fatter than one day’s march. Let’s swim.”
“Ha! Swam again? Did I do something great? Bet I did. No need to pop … Ha! … Pop or stop! I’m fizzed! I can see in the dark! Hurrah for me! Ha! Ha! The mad queen! Up, silly bundle of feathers! We travel through the night. Blue Hills! Blue Hills! Blue Hills! Hee hee!”
Chapter Sixteen
The Charborr Forest
I was a grinning maniac and didn’t know why such was so. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t care. I danced lively along a moons-lit path. Kar dug deeply, grimly, into my shoulder, hanging on.
“The stiff silence is no match for me. I can see in the dark!” I exulted. “Can you, Kar? Can you?”
“No, and I don’t want to,” grumped Kar.
“Ha then,” I mocked. “You didn’t see that trofle we just passed. It had its … its spikes clamped flat. Its left front waddler was lifted, all in freeze. Trofles have no … no magic, so said, I suppose. Never knew that for certain from the Gwer drollek … stories. So! Night swim!”
I was positively pulled from the path by that so such sudden eruption of swim thought. I kicked my boots away and peeled my stockings off, then waded through a stand of boggy reeds until I found myself seated, wet, and pulling on my highboots in darkness.
“How long did I … swim?” I said calmly, speaking to Kar, though I did not see her.
“Hmmmm?” I heard her rustle in reply somewhere off to my left.
“How long?” I repeated, fingering Jo Bree, the dead dry wooden tube in my belt.
A flutter of flapping brought Kar to land on my shoulder. She craned her mallet head around to look me in the eye.
“I was sleeping. I don’t know how long you swam. But I’m glad you swam. You seem so such to be more … Bek. Can you still see in the dark?” she said.
“No,” I answered. “Maybe I don’t need to.”
Saying such, I raised a hand to point at the sick yellow hint of dawn on the horizon. As light gained advantage over dark, Kar and I sat in the stiff silence while new and unknown surroundings revealed ‘emselves to us. Yes, we sat on a path near the motionless Greenwilla River. Yes, there were trees behind us. But no, the Greenwilla was not full fat wide. It was so such more like as a grand stream. And no, the trees were not thick-trunked with twisted limbs and rounded crowns like as were most trees of the Woods Beyond the Wood. These trees were straight and tall, narrow pointed, like as the trees of Danken Wood. But they were strangely other, different. Black they were, complete. Black of bark, black of branch, black of needle. And where roots humped from the blue-black ground, they too were of a still blackness. Oh, and across the strangely slender Greenwilla, a riot of boulders sloped in ragged piles, and, beyond ‘em, stony mountains rose high.
“Skrabble,” I whispered, pointing at the mountains.
I could see Kar’s nod of agreement from the corner of my eye.
“The Greenwilla. We could be near the … the source,” I added.
Once again Kar nodded her mallet head.
“This behind us … Freshet Spill, the waterwizard, he said … he said the witch crossed over the … the … Charborr … Yes … the Charborr Forest … Charborr,” I mumbled in the new odd way I sometimes spoke.
“Charborr,” whispered Kar in my ear, and she shuddered. “We’re somewhere we didn’t even know existed so said one week ago. Why didn’t we know? We’re in it. The Charborr Forest.”
This time I nodded.
“Bek, you may be acting strange and oddly jark dweg at times, but you did get us this far. What do we do now?” said Kar, her trust in me so such full strong despite my oddly strange behavior.
“We … move through this … this forest and up the … the … dwindling Greenwilla. Yes, that’s it. On the far side of this so said Charborr Forest we will … we will discover … the Blue Hills,” I said solemnly.
The stiff silence crowded around. I stood and walked eastward under the tall straight black trees growing from the dusty blue-black ground. Charborr Forest.
Chapter Seventeen
The Forest Trek
A path to follow stretched out in front of us. It was scuffed black smooth. It wound like a ribbon beneath the Charborr Forest trees. The ground on both sides of it seemed so such like as a carpet of blue black spongy moss. I plucked and tasted a clump. It brought to mind fermented gadapple sauce, pleasant and sour.
“Kar, taste this. It’s like hutter gadapple compote,” I said.
“I’m not hungry. Maybe later. First I wonder what sorts of creatures made this path. It’s well worn. I’ll be the first jrabe jroon to see ‘em. You’ll be the first bendo dreen. If they had magic before the freeze, they’ll be able to talk to us, tell us things. If they didn’t, they’ll be statues. I wonder if there’s a community of sorts. We should check the trees for doors. We should …”
“Kar! Settle!” I commanded, interrupting her speech of agitation. She was chattering nervous. Speech of agitation. So. Such. “We will … follow this … path and keep our … our eyes open. What we discover … will be … what we find.”
I put a finger to my lips, an invitation for the stiff silence to take its rightful place mingling with the menacing black gloom of the Charborr Forest. Whoever I was right then wanted it so. Somehow, some way I’d been charged with a thorns overflowing bounty of confidence. I marched my highboots along the path with arm-swinging strides. Kar rode my shoulder. I flicked my eyes left, right, up, down, ever on alert to see something new, something strange. Truth, I expected no less. Truth, less is what I got. The path bent surely, slowly away from the river and up, ever up, but so such gently, barely climbing. I saw no doors in the trees. No windows. No sign whatsoever of creatures other than the well-worn path I trod upon. When a goodly span of time had passed, when the sun reached its highest overhead, I paused to rest and nibble more of the blue black ground moss. Kar fluttered down and tore into a tuft with her mallet head mouth. Her blue plume feather waved. Ridiculous.
“Mmmm, good. You’re right, Bek. Gadapples,” she said.
“A forest of blue black … moss … and trees. Nothing else. Nothing else,” I mused. “Maybe there’s an underground … city … like … like Rumin.”
“Why the path then?” asked Kar, still busy tearing up and chewing clumps of moss.
“True … true. Why the path?” I pondered. “Why the path? I will tell you why. A path reveals its … its … why … at its … end. Yes. That’s it. Up, Kar. Let’s find the … why.”
The path ran straight, nudged left for a spell, right for a spell, but ever on a modest rise. I smiled at the stiff silence stacked all around us. Truly, I was a new Bekka, a different Bekka. I walked tall as I could, short though I am. I noticed the gloomy menace of the towering black Charborr trees had Kar hunching her wings and dipping her mallet head.
“Tell me, Kar, ridiculous bird, are you ticklish?” I asked in effort to lighten her mood.
She widened her pink eyes and gave me a wary look before saying, “Bek, have you shifted to strange again?”
For an answer, I grabbed her by the legs and tickled her madly under her
wings. She writhed with screeching laughter. I set her down on the path and backed away.
“So. The ridiculous bird is … ticklish,” I said, folding my arms. “The blue plume, Kar. The plume. It truly is what makes it the funniest. You were so such right to add the plume.”
“Thank you,” she snapped with a fine measure of irritation. “I’m going to fly ahead. No more riding. A jrabe jroon never knows when her best friend from forever is going to attack her.”
So saying, she wobbled into flutter flight and flapped away above the path. Satisfied I had transformed her mood from gloom to anger, I followed. It wasn’t long before she came hurtling back in a whirl of wings.
“Oh, Bek! The crest! The crest! I saw! I saw! The Blue Hills! The Blue Hills! Tiers of ‘em! AND THEY’RE ALL MOVING!”
Chapter Eighteen
The Sea of Blue Hills
“Run, Bek! Run! Such close it is. The crest. Hurry. Hurry! See!”
“Ohhhh! Blue Hills. They’re …”
“Moving! I told you. Look. The path. It zigs and zags right down the steepness. Is it too high for you? Ever was it so that you were afraid of heights. Close your eyes. I’ll guide you down. We’ll get to that lake, cross it, and …”
“Kar! Settle! Not another … word. I am … Bekka of Thorns. I am not … bothered one shake by this … this … so said steepness. I am changed. Not like you … a silly bird. But … on the inside … strange power. Listen closely to … what I say. Somewhere over there among those drifting … Blue Hills, the witch, the Babba Ja Harick, she … she … awaits our arrival. She is expecting … me. Kar, see how the Blue Hills drift … in tiers?”
“I see.”
“Ah! They change direction … all together at once so such. The first tier … the lowest … it was moving right and now it moves left. Ah. And with it drifts the third and the … fifth … while the second and the fourth, they were drifting left and have reversed direction to the … right. Count, Kar.”
“Count?”
“Yes. Now!”
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fif …”
“Yes! That’s it! Stop. Start over.”
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.”
“So! On every count of … of … fifteen, the tiers so such reverse their drift. Ah.”
“What does it mean? Are they as like hackenlumps, gateways to the Land of the Rainbow Giants?”
“No, no, no, not at all, but … yoss, yes, maybe … Kar, yes, you do have a very … idea there. Very in spite of being a ridiculous bird. Hackenlumps? The Impassable Swump of Greedge. Yes, a true Gwer drollek with the Triplet Princesses Three and, in addition, the most famous of all bendo dreen, Bandy of Thorns. So such well thought of, Kar. So such.”
“It wasn’t …”
“Silence. I am yet thinking while I speak. So … the Blue Hills are as like similar to the hackenlumps in the … the … Swump of Greedge. But these hills are … more of ‘em …and … and … bluer. Watch ‘em, Kar. They lull with their gentle back and forth, don’t they?”
“They do.”
“Yes, yoss, yes, they do.”
“They do.”
“Yoss.”
“Shouldn’t we be moving on, strange Bek?”
“What? Oh. Right. Go on. We should. Down the zigs and zags. I’ll … I’ll… run. You fly. I’ll race you to that lake! That lake … ah … that lake …”
“… is the source of the Greenwilla River?”
“So said. Well thought. The source of the Greenwilla River. We’ll … swim. We’ll swim! Then will I press the print of my highboots on the lowest tier of the moving Blue Hills. Such will be so. And noon … no … soon. Yes!”
Chapter Nineteen
Another Swim
I raced in clattering eagerness down the steepness, weaving in jubilation back and forth, zigging and zagging, following the path. Down I hurtled, unable to stop, legs churning, highboots slamming, jarring my spine with shuddery thrill. Old Bekka would have crawled her way below on so such a steepness. New Bekka flung herself along in carefree glee. Such was truly so. I reached the base of the steepness, crossed it, attacked and conquered a low smooth blue black mossy hill, slid, jumped, and tumbled to the edge of the lake we’d observed from the high crest of the Charborr Forest. Kar came fluttering awkwardly over the hill.
“Ha! I won! I was the first!” I boasted without one oat of guilt.
“I don’t care. It wasn’t fair. I’m not me. I couldn’t shift. I’d like to see you try to beat me when I’m a Striped Racing Dragon,” complained Kar.
“Don’t grump, Kar. Truth is … true. You would beat me as … Dragon. Such I know is so,” I soothed. “Quick … now. Regard. I will … I will hold my poor dry dead stick Jo Bree between my teeth. Let’s swim.”
I sat, thoroughly soaked, boots and all, on pale blue grass. Apparently I’d splashed my way across the lake fully clothed and booted. I stared above the motionless water to the heights of the Charborr Forest. Something … oh. I suddenly realized I still held Jo Bree between my teeth. I released my jaw grip and allowed the Carven Flute to fall into my waiting, but strangely unfamiliar, common bendo dreen yellow green hands. Tears sprang to my eyes. I wiped ‘em. Jo Bree, my Carven Flute, was no longer dead and brown. Flush yellow
pink it glowed.
“Kar! Kar!” I shouted. “Jo Bree is … is … restored. Kar!”
No response. No Kar. Where was she? It was then I noticed for the first time the movement, the smooth and gentle drift of the ground beneath me. I counted silently to myself. At fifteen came a pause, followed by the ground drifting back the other way. I rode on the low apron of a moving hill, a Blue Hill! A hill of pale blue grass. Nothing more. Not a tree. Not a bush. No moss, blue black or other. I searched the lake, the sky. A speck. I saw a speck in the sky high above the Blue Hill. It grew larger and larger, plunging straight at me. Wings. Dragon! It swooped.
“Ha! Bek! My powers are back!” roared the Dragon, dipping a glide to land nearby.
Of course it was Kar, striped orange and yellow as Racing Dragon with a whippy tail and wonderful see-through membraned wings. But not so such for long. In a mad frenzy of delight, she shifted to winged cloud, to tumbling Acrotwist Clown Queen Jebb, to upside down jrabe with dark green mantle and enormous lavender ears, to swirling red mist, and finally to Karro, my own old Karro of Thorns, my best friend from forever.
“Oh,” she cooed,” I’ll never shift to anything so such ridiculous as that silly bird again. But it was funny, wasn’t it, Bek?”
“Oh … funny. I liked the blue … plume,” I offered.
“I didn’t,” said Kar, and she studied me closely. “Are you my old Bek, or the other?”
Before I could decide, Jo Bree rose into the air between us and began to pulse all the colors of the rainbow. We waited, not shocked, but relieved. The Carven Flute would sing. Jo Bree would sing us a path to follow. Without a delay of any worrisome length, the Flute sang in its quavering, calming voice:
“Prophesied pale purple witchlet
Returned to the home she forgot
One has been sent here to find her
For magic, success must be bought
First A and E, then I, O and U
The tiers of the snaves must be climbed
Riddle and nonsense, babble and bargain
The nook to be found must be rhymed.”
The Carven Flute dropped into my hand and faded to flush yellow pink. Kar and I exchanged fuddled looks there in the late afternoon. Such was so.
Chapter Twenty
The Snaves of Annek
“What does it mean, Bek?” asked Kar.
“It means what it wants to … mean … when … folded … over,” I stated firmly, much to my own surprise and fuddlement. “If the trays are … tilted, the food … falls … on the … floor. I mean to say that A and E and I and O
and U are symbols … used … to write the language … from … down the … Well. They are … for me … alone … to understand.”
“All right, strange Bek, tell me so such about snaves,” said Kar, regarding me with narrowed eyes and a steady frown.
“Once upon a time … Gwer drollek … the oceans were … marmalade,” I spouted, throwing myself deeper into fuddlement. “Wait … Hutters can’t … swim in the … oatfields. I mean to say that I … know nothing … of … snaves.”
Kar walked over to me, forced me to sit down, made me settle. She paced in a circle around me. I was glad of it. Such was so. The Blue Hill gently moved, sliding back, and then forth. Why did the words sent from my brain change when spilled from my lips? Such I asked myself. And yet, the muddle I spoke had cleared somewhat near the end of the spew. Yoss, I thought. Why ‘yoss’ and not‘yes’? Why ‘yoss’ as like says the Babba Ja Harick? My chin cupped in my hand, I gazed silently at Kar in the gathering night.
“We are here to find the witch,” she began, talking more to herself than to me. “We are here to bring magic back to our lands and seas. My friend Bekka is maddened, but even so such, she is the key. The waterwizards so said. Should I shift to Dragon and carry her all and over on a search of these Blue Hills?”
The answer to her question came not from me, but from the top of the drifting Blue Hill. There, of a sudden, a shaft of silver blue light streamed straight up into the night. At the base of the shaft, a red tentacle writhed into view. It pointed at us and beckoned with its tip. Kar was a statue frozen. I, surged with confidence, sprang to my feet.
“Kar, we have to wrestle … under the table,” I announced.
I grabbed her by the elbow and marched her quickly up the slope. The tentacle slipped out of sight before we reached the summit. I hurried. The shaft was thinning. An entrance! An entrance to below! A hole in the ground. Perfect circle. Was the hill hollow like near Dragon’s Deep Pool? The shaft was thinning, the entrance closing. I ran, pulling Kar. I pushed her in. I dove, sliding through. The snap crack closing sound of the entrance echoed above us. Where were we?
Blue Hills Page 4