The Land of the Silver Apples sot-2

by Nancy Farmer

  Jack doubted it. The doors had been too securely locked. He didn’t like the slime trails he saw going up the walls or the way his feet stuck to the floor. Knuckers, he thought, but didn’t say it aloud.

  The door to the courtyard was open, with a red glow coming from the fire pit and torches blazing along the sides. A black spit was silhouetted against the flames. “I can’t look. Are they—” Pega hid her face.

  “They’re all right.” Jack saw the Bugaboo and the Nemesis with Father Severus and Ethne. And one more person he never expected to meet. “Brutus!” he cried.

  “Welcome to Din Guardi! Or as my ancestor Lancelot called it, Joyous Garde. It’s been a while since there was any joy around here.” Brutus grinned infuriatingly. He was still dressed in the golden tunic with the scarlet cape that the Lady of the Lake had given him. The great sword Anredden still hung from that diamond-studded belt.

  Pega ran to the Bugaboo and hugged him. “I was so afraid! I thought you were—”

  “We’re right as rain, dearest. Only the better for seeing you.” The Bugaboo planted a noisy kiss on top of her head.

  “Brutus, why weren’t you here earlier? Why didn’t you help us?” shouted Jack, longing to wipe the silly grin off the man’s face.

  “Couldn’t, I’m afraid. Old Yffi tossed me into the dungeon as soon as he saw me. Took away my sword, too, but these chaps got it back.”

  Jack looked around to see that the shadows were full of many, many dark lumps whose eyes glinted in the light of the torches. “Yarthkins?”

  “Mother used to talk to them all the time. Fine fellows as long as you don’t get on their wrong side.” Brutus signaled, and a very frightened, very repentant Ratface scurried out with a glass of wine.

  “I don’t think you even know how to use a sword,” said Thorgil, torn between scorn and laughter.

  “That’s not how we Lancelots win battles,” said Brutus, winking. “Anyhow, we were waiting for you to show up so they can finish the job.” He nodded at the silently watching haystacks. They looked as though they might be settled down for a very long time, perhaps centuries.

  “What job?” said Jack.

  “Long, long ago the Man in the Moon built this place.” Brutus drained his cup and helped himself to a plate of fried chicken held by a visibly trembling Ratface. “Various people lived here after he was driven out, but no one could ever quite relax, if you know what I mean.”

  “Not with Hel in the basement,” observed Thorgil.

  “Even Lancelot used to look over his shoulder when he went downstairs. Well! Thanks to you, Jack my lad, the ring of Unlife has been broken.”

  “I’m not your lad,” said Jack, who was nettled by the casual way Brutus referred to his sacrifice of the staff.

  “All trace of the old fortress must be cleansed,” Brutus went on, impervious to Jack’s anger. “I hate to see it come down, but there’s no way we’re going to hold back the Forest Lord. Only the yarthkins have been able to stop him so far. So let us say farewell to Din Guardi. Wine cups all around, Ratface.”

  The scullery boy ran to the pantry and stumbled out with an armload of metal goblets and bottles.

  “Do they drink?” whispered Thorgil, nodding at the silent, waiting haystacks.

  “Not as we do,” said Brutus. “Ah! This is the fine wine of Iberia. That’s on the continent, I’m not sure where. Yffi and his crowd had all the best stuff.”

  They toasted the last hour of Din Guardi, and Jack offered his cup to the one yarthkin who was standing apart from the rest.

  Thank thee, child of earth. It was well thought of, though we prefer water, said the creature.

  “I didn’t want you to feel left out,” said Jack.

  A rippling sound like pouring sand echoed around the courtyard. Jack suspected he was being laughed at. Such as we are never left out, whispered the yarthkin, melting back into the shadows. We will not forget thee.

  “And now it’s time to go,” Brutus said cheerfully. “Ratface, you lead the way with a lantern. Thorgil my lad, you bring up the rear.” Thorgil smiled, not at all annoyed at being called “my lad”.

  “Stay close to me,” said the Bugaboo, placing Pega between himself and the Nemesis. “I’m not convinced of the Forest Lord’s goodwill.” They went out between waiting clumps of yarthkins and through the front gate. The Hedge loomed ominously against the stars.

  “There’s the passage. Don’t wander off, anyone. Nice Hedgy-Wedgy,” crooned Brutus, almost, but not quite, patting the dark, shiny leaves.

  Jack didn’t know whether the Hedge was being nice or not. If this was its good behavior, he never wanted to see it on a bad day. The air in the passage was stifling. Thorns and twigs reached out to snag Jack’s clothes and skin. Once, a tendril curled around his ankle before—regretfully, it seemed to Jack—slipping away. And the hostility radiating from the leaves made it difficult to breathe. With one shift, the passage could close in, crushing whatever was within—

  Don’t think of it, Jack told himself.

  Then they were through, into the clean air with a swath of twinkling stars above and a full moon cresting the top of Din Guardi. A grinding and a crackling told Jack that the passage had indeed closed. “Wait!” he cried. “Yffi and his men! They’re still in the fortress.”

  “They have earned their fate,” said Father Severus. Jack noticed that he had the altar cloth from the Holy Isle cradled in his arms.

  “The yarthkins sorted them,” Brutus explained. “The rejects were tossed into a storeroom—actually, all of them were rejects except Ratface. Yffi tried to fight, but it isn’t easy to fight yarthkins. Right, Ratface?”

  “N-no,” stammered the scullery boy.

  “Ratface gave them a bit of a struggle too. I gather it isn’t pleasant being felt all over by them.”

  No, indeed, thought Jack, and he no longer wondered at the scullery boy’s terror.

  “Let us climb that hill,” suggested Brutus. It was a small hill, and Jack found it pleasant to walk through the feathery grass covering it. Crickets chirped and frogs peeped. It was an ordinary, beautiful summer night.

  When he reached the top, Jack could see the dark shape of Din Guardi under the full moon. It seemed larger than he remembered. Then he realized that the Hedge was pressed against the walls.

  The Forest Lord attacked.

  Rocks groaned as they were wrenched from their places. Wooden doors splintered. Iron grills over windows threw off sparks as they were torn apart. The noise was terrifying and continuous. After a while Jack saw that the fortress was growing smaller. It was settling into the earth like a snowbank melting into a stream. When it was almost flat, the sounds of destruction died away.

  If there had been human voices in that turmoil, Jack had not heard them. His heart felt sore. He couldn’t imagine the last moments of the men trapped inside. He regretted the fate of the captain who had admired Ethne and of the man who had lain out all night in the dew to listen to the elves sing. Be careful what you ask for, Thorgil had said.

  “There passes the glory of Din Guardi,” said Brutus, standing tall and outrageously handsome under the full moon. “It was a place of shadows and sorrow, doomed in its grandeur and inglorious in its fall. Still, it’s always nice to have a fresh start,” he added, spoiling the noble effect of his speech.

  “You’re going to rebuild?” asked Thorgil. The fortress was entirely gone now. Only a stretch of lonely rock jutted out over the sea.

  “I am its lord, after all. The Lady of the Lake and her nymphs have promised to help me.”

  “I’ll bet they have,” said Jack.

  “I’m going to stretch out on the grass for a little shut-eye. It’s so warm, I’m sure we’ll all be perfectly comfortable.” Brutus fell asleep at once, and he was soon followed by the others. It had been a long and dreadful day. Once the danger was past, exhaustion fell on everyone.

  But Jack sat up for a while, remembering the staff he had carried from Jotunheim and wonderi
ng if he was, in some way, responsible for the deaths of Yffi’s men. The full moon shone down on the sheet of rock that had once been Din Guardi. Jack wondered whether the Man in the Moon had watched its destruction and what effect it had on him.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  THE GIFTS OF THE LADY

  Jack was the last to wake in the morning. Father Severus was conferring with Brutus, and Ethne was dancing in the meadow at the foot of the hill with Ratface lurking nearby. She looked all elf in the morning light. “I can hardly believe Din Guardi’s gone,” said Pega, who was watching the sea pensively. “I went down at first light, and there’s not a single pebble left. I saw a hole going down into the rock, but I was afraid to get close to it.”

  “Very wise,” said Jack. The flower-filled meadow reached all the way to the shelf of rock. Everything looked as though it had been there for a thousand years. Of the Hedge, there was no trace.

  Thorgil pranced up to them on a stocky little pony. She dismounted, then turned it around to show off its dappled skin. “Isn’t he handsome? The yarthkins drove the livestock out before the Forest Lord took over.” The Bugaboo and the Nemesis had also caught ponies. They clung to their backs like burrs, and the ponies arched frantically to throw off the creatures.

  “I d-don’t s-s-see what all the f-fuss is about rriding,” complained the Nemesis with his long, sticky fingers and toes digging into the pony’s hide. “It isn’t f-fun at all!”

  “You’d better let it go before it dies of fright,” advised Jack.

  “G-gladly!” The Nemesis bounced off like a frog, and the pony ran in the opposite direction with its body soaked in sweat. The Bugaboo released his mount at the same time.

  “I’m sorry, dearest,” the Bugaboo apologized. “I did want to impress you. I suppose I’m not cut out to be a knight.”

  “That’s all right.” Pega smiled. “You’re a king, which is better.”

  “I can hardly wait to get to St. Filian’s,” said Jack.

  “Me neither! I miss Brother Aiden.”

  The Bugaboo was about to say something when Brutus called for them to join him. Thorgil’s pony, apparently deciding she was his new owner, followed her up the hill and waited nearby, cropping the grass.

  “Are we going to St. Filian’s?” Jack asked.

  “We must deal with Bebba’s Town first,” said Father Severus.

  “I’ve been arguing with him,” said Brutus. “It seems it isn’t enough to be Lord of Din Guardi. I realize there isn’t much left of the place—”

  “There isn’t anything,” said Thorgil.

  “—but a title should count for something.”

  “You have to understand,” the monk argued. “Bebba’s Town has been ruled by scoundrels for a long time. They don’t trust anyone. You have to win their support before you attempt to take control of the monastery.” Father Severus frowned as Ethne danced to another part of the meadow, followed by Ratface. “For one thing, you must look like a man who could protect them. Yes, yes. I know you’re handsome. Battlefields are littered with the bones of good-looking men. But the townspeople expect you to be fierce, a proper warrior like your ancestor Lancelot. It also doesn’t hurt to seem irritable, as though you’d cut off the head of the first person who annoyed you.”

  “I’d never do that!”

  “I didn’t say you’d have to do it. Just look as if you might. That’s how Yffi maintained power and how every leader does it.”

  “I’d rather rule this field of daisies,” said Brutus, smiling.

  “Pay attention, you dolt!” Father Severus looked both fierce and irritable. Jack realized the monk would make a far better leader than Brutus, but the job wasn’t open for him. “You have a duty to these folk. Great injustice has been done, and innocent people have been plundered and killed. You must take control. I have a plan—but before I get to it, would you mind going down to that meadow, good Nemesis? Tell Ratface I’ll turn him over to the yarthkins if he doesn’t leave Ethne alone.”

  “Gladly,” said the Nemesis.

  After Father Severus outlined his plan, Brutus went off to find the Lady of the Lake—by himself, because (he said) the Lady despised all mortals (except for him, of course). He was gone a very long time.

  Jack despaired of ever getting to Bebba’s Town. He was hungry, and the meadow had little food to offer. The Bugaboo and the Nemesis found turnips, but raw turnips hardly qualified as food in Jack’s mind. When Brutus returned, however, they saw what had taken him so long. The Lady of the Lake had given them wondrous gifts.

  For Jack there was a white tunic and a blue cloak embroidered with silver moons and stars—most suitable for a bard, he thought. Thorgil was given a dark blue tunic and a leaf green cloak with vines around the edge. It made her—well, it made her look beautiful, Jack thought, remembering the kiss beneath Din Guardi. He looked away in embarrassment.

  Father Severus wore a black monk’s robe. To go with it, the Lady had provided a crozier, a shepherd’s crook with the end carved like an uncurling fern. “It’s magnificent!” cried the monk, waving it about. “Even better than the ones I saw in Rome. All the best bishops have them—good heavens, I’ve just committed the sin of pride!”

  Ethne was radiant in a white gown sprinkled with diamonds. Ratface was dressed as a proper knight’s squire, which took away some of his weasel-like demeanor. “There’s a heap of swords, belts, and pennants next to the lake,” Brutus said. “We can pick them up on the way.”

  But for Pega and the hobgoblins there was nothing. “I can’t go in this,” Pega cried, pointing at her threadbare, secondhand dress.

  “The Lady must have forgotten about you,” Brutus said.

  “She didn’t forget!” fumed Jack. “She’s taking revenge. Partholis must have told her about the candle.”

  “Don’t cry, dearest. It’s much nicer to wait here,” said the Bugaboo. “Hobgoblins can’t go into town anyway. Mud men throw rocks at us.”

  Pega wiped her tears away. “They are mud men, aren’t they? Oh, how I hate them! And the Lady, too!”

  “I’ll tickle up some trout, and the Nemesis will build a fire. When it’s safe, we’ll go to St. Filian’s and see your Brother Aiden.”

  “You’re so good to me,” she said, sighing.

  “And who would not be?” the hobgoblin king declared.

  It was easy rounding up horses—they seemed relieved to find owners again. Thorgil rode her pony, and Jack found one too. He had never been on a horse, except with King Yffi’s men, but he had some experience of donkeys. A pony was exactly the right size to learn on. He turned to wave good-bye to Pega and the hobgoblins. All three were hidden in the grass, and if Jack hadn’t known exactly where they were, he would have missed them.

  The band set off with Jack and Ratface bearing green pennants that fluttered in the breeze. Jack was pleased with the new and extremely well-made sword at his side. It was short and light enough to be used easily. To no one’s surprise, Ethne turned out to be an excellent horsewoman. She had only to ask, and the beast did exactly what she wanted as though it understood her speech. Brutus rode a coal black stallion with neat hooves and flashing eyes. They made a glorious pair, with Father Severus going ahead to announce them. Ratface plodded behind on a heavy-footed nag he was afraid of.

  “Brutus will charm all the women, and Ethne will charm all the men,” observed Thorgil as she and Jack brought up the rear. “Perhaps they should marry.”

  “Ethne wants to be a nun,” said Jack.

  Thorgil laughed. “You might as well ask a butterfly to haul rocks. I know little of nuns except that Ethne would make a bad one.”

  “She’s allowed to try.”

  “I wonder. In some ways she’s like Frith and Yffi—oh, not cruel or vicious like them. But she’s caught between two worlds. Such creatures often go mad.”

  “Father Severus will watch over her,” said Jack uneasily.

  The entry into town was all they could have hoped for. Everyone w
as gathered in the market square, for all had heard that Din Guardi was no more. A pair of shepherds, looking for lost sheep, had watched its destruction. “It were a dragon!” one of them told the excited crowd. “All breathing sparks and whatnot. Horrible noises, just horrible!”

  “We daren’t stick out a toe all night,” the other exclaimed. “Else we’d be gobbled up too. In the morning there was nothing. Not… one… pebble.” The tidiness of the destruction impressed everyone.

  It was then that Father Severus rode up on his steed, crying, “Make way for the new Lord of Din Guardi!” Everyone scattered to make room. Brutus followed, cheerfully raising his hand in greeting. “Look fierce,” hissed the monk, and so Brutus frowned adorably.

  “Coo! He’s a handsome one,” a woman said.

  “What about her?” said a man. Ethne made her horse lift its hooves delicately, as though it were dancing. It was a pretty trick that caused many a shout of approval, but of course the prettiest trick of all was the glamour that shone all around.

  “You tell me if that looks like a nun,” Thorgil said to Jack.

  “Behold the man who rules Din Guardi after the death of the vile usurper Yffi!” cried Father Severus, raising his crozier. “In the night, destruction fell on that fortress. All evil was swept away, and now is the time of new beginnings.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” said a man who seemed to be a local leader, “you mean a dragon didn’t tear the place up?”

  “There are no dragons here,” the monk said scornfully. “It was the wrath of God that fell on Yffi.”

  “But He had help, right?” insisted the man. “By the way, I’m the mayor.”

  “Well, mayor of Bebba’s Town, God chooses His instruments where He pleases. Behold Brutus! Rightful heir to his father, Lucius, of the line of Lancelot!”

  Again Jack found himself admiring the monk’s skill. Not once did he actually lie. God had chosen His instruments of destruction: yarthkins. But by proclaiming Brutus, Father Severus left the impression that the unreliable, good-natured, and lazy ex-slave had done it. Ethne’s dazzling presence did no harm either.