Whirligig

by John Broughton

  “But it's only a bird!”

  Lar's yellow, slightly squinting eyes moved from one to the other. Adam turned to him in frustration: “Tell him it's only a bird, Lar.”

  “The owl's call is a sign of misadventure, Master. Anyway, it's Tuesday.”

  “So what?”

  “On Tuesdays and Fridays, one should never set off, Master.”

  “Oh no!” Adam looked from the earnest yellow eyes to the stubborn brown ones and back again. What nonsense! With pixies and dwarves, it was impossible to move. What would they do all day stuck at the edge of the forest? Just because an owl had hooted. He looked round for a stone to scare off the ill-fated bird, but seeing Palustric’s fierce frown, thought better of it. The spot where he wanted to throw a stone was supposed to be blessed. Adam sighed heavily and recalculated the days to the foot of Mount Ember.

  At the blessed spot, they built a sturdy stockade, where they passed the night. They set off on Wednesday morning, trudging along forest tracks until the trees on either side became dense. Here the trees were younger, and as the track ran down into a hollow with brakes of hazel on the rising slopes at either side, a strange sound struck their ears. That is, it struck Lar and Adam’s ears, for dwarves are dull of hearing.

  “Hush!” Adam said, beckoning Palustric to listen. “Can you hear it?”

  Palustric shook his head.

  “Surely, you can?” Adam pressed him as the beautiful melody grew stronger. Palustric had just heard it as a figure leapt out of the trees and stood before them. Taller and slimmer than a dwarf and fairer by far, the golden-haired person greeted them with a happy smile of welcome.

  “Greetings, travellers.” He spoke in a clear, sweet voice, lower than a pixy’s but higher than a dwarf’s.

  “An elf!” Palustric whispered excitedly to Adam. In the old days, dwarves and elves met regularly, but no more. This was Palustric's first encounter with the Forgotten Folks, just as it was Adam's.

  Several golden-haired people, almost as tall as Adam, flitted from the trees. They moved with such ease and silence that Adam felt as clumsy as a bear. There was no doubt that if they hadn’t wanted to meet them, the travellers would never have known of the elves’ presence. Adam studied their clothes and tried to understand the colour. Their doublets, shirts and hose shimmered and changed colour as they moved, but the changes never varied from woodland colours: shades of green, tints of brown, and russet and yellows. It was bewildering to the human eye, at least. Adam wondered if his companions were having the same problem focusing on the elves. Elfin laughter tinkled and rippled around them because the companions’ wide eyes and open mouths made them look amusing. The elf waved a green-yellow-brown sleeve towards the trees: “Come, be our guests! The day grows old; it is time to rest!” So sweet was his smile and, indeed, those of the other elves, that the idea of refusing didn’t enter their heads.

  The elves led them quickly through the hazel trees along a half-hidden pathway. Whether it was hidden by elven magic or by Nature, Adam wasn’t really sure. In any case, before long, they were standing in front of a huge turf-roofed hall in a clearing. Once through its wooden doors, they found it surprisingly well-lit from long, narrow windows, which seemed to let in more light than their size suggested. The wooden walls were covered by tapestries of such fine needlecraft and shimmering colours that they sparkled and danced before the friends’ wondering eyes. Some scenes of running elves seemed to be alive so that Adam half-expected the stitched figures to leap out of the tapestry in front of them, as their hosts had done in the forest.

  “Welcome! Welcome, my friends,” repeated the elf who had first greeted them. “Welcome to Spinney-hall.” He led them towards a throne at the end of the hall, raised on a low dais. The elf bowed towards a lady seated there. The travellers copied him without a second thought since her presence inspired admiration. They were all charmed by this Beauty, whose golden hair spilt over her pale green gown. Her eyes held them spellbound, greeting them as softly as a violet sunset.

  “My name is Inertia, Elfin Queen of the Woodlands and these are my sisters Linga and Supinia; my counsellors,” she waved a hand lightly, “Langor, Torpor, Lollop and Tarry…oh, but so many names, you will never remember them all!” She smiled sweetly and clapped her hands. A long table was brought before her. At her command, her guests were seated either side of her as the table was loaded with all kinds of delicious foods, the very smell of which, made Adam feel as hungry as the forest wolves.

  “We heard you coming,” Inertia said.

  “I'm not surprised,” Adam said humbly. “I expect we sound like lumbering great rhinoceroses to you!” It took Adam a very long time to explain the rhinoceros to the patient company. He ended up by saying: “I expect an old rhino must seem as fanciful as a unicorn to you! They both have one horn, but the rhino really exists!”

  Inertia laughed and waved a hand at a servant, who nodded and slipped out of the hall. He soon returned, leading a white creature by a silver chain, its coat shimmered in the light of the hall.

  Adam, forgetting about good manners and his meal, leapt to his feet. His chair fell backwards to the floor as he gazed open-mouthed at the unicorn. Larger than a goat, but smaller than a pony, the unicorn stared back, timid as a deer, at Adam’s approach. The two elves at either side of the unicorn held the animal steady. The beast’s deep, blue eyes lost their fear as Adam gently stroked its wondrous soft coat. To his joy, the lovely creature pressed its head against his chest. Its horn, as long as Adam's arm, curled and tapered to a point.

  Adam's eyes moved from the unicorn to the wall-hangings. “You are right, Adam,” said Inertia, as if she could read his thoughts, “unicorns are much-prized by our people for their wool, which we dye and spin into yarn for needlecraft. This tapestry is half-stitched and indeed made of unicorn wool.”

  Just wait till he told Emily! She would never believe this—his joy gave way to sudden sadness and he frowned. If ever he got back to her in one piece. There was the small matter of the dragon ahead of him. Inertia’s violet eyes studied the boy’s face. Again, she seemed to read his thoughts: “You are troubled by your quest, but there is time for such things. Set your troubles aside here and rest. I was telling you that I heard you coming. We all did! But it was not the weight of your step, nor even that of the dwarf,” (Palustric looked hurt), “which first told us of your coming, but the elven orb you bear.”

  Adam's hand went down to his pocket, where it closed around Cari. He looked guilty and confused. “I don't understand,” Adam said. “How can an orb announce an arrival?”

  “It's an elven orb,” Inertia replied with a smile, “and it began to sing as it drew near to elves after so long away.”

  “So that was the music we heard…” Adam took Cari from his pocket with a sad look on his face. He turned the orb in his hand, admiring it for the last time, before handing it to Inertia. “Take the orb,” he said unhappily. “It doesn't belong to me, I'm not an elf. It's better with the Elfin Queen of the Woodlands, isn’t it?”

  Inertia smiled even more sweetly, causing Adam’s heart to beat faster. This elf was truly beautiful. “The orb, its true owner, and yourself have destinies entwined. You bear the orb without harm and must, therefore, continue to do so until the day comes when you deliver Cari to the one who awaits it.”

  “But who is the owner?” Adam asked.

  Inertia smiled mysteriously. “Come back to the table and tell us how you came by the sphere, for we elves love a good tale.”

  The evening passed pleasantly with plentiful food and drink as Adam, with a little help from Lar, amused the elves with the tale of how he and Emily had fooled the trolls and beaten the Hag in the Land of Poverty. But it was the tale of their present quest which seemed to interest Inertia most.

  Palustric explained how the Key of Ingenuity had been forged in the Old Days with all the art of his forefathers. While the Key had remained among them, it had been easy for any dwarf to turn his hand to the fine
st jewellery or armour. However, when the Key was stolen by the Ever-cursed Outsider, the wisdom of the Council was called into question. With the inspiration given by the Key, people had neglected to learn the old skills properly. Why bother when the Key provided inspiration without effort? The folly of this behaviour was now clear to everyone. Whatever the Ever-cursed Outsider had intended to do with the Key would never be known, because he was gobbled up by Lentor the Dragon, whose greed had been aroused by the beautiful Key. Lentor held the Key, along with all the other gold and jewels that he’d accumulated over the centuries. Palustric’s face bore that great sadness, common to all his people when he spoke of the Key. Now, he explained, his people could not finish work of the finer kind. Regaining the Key would enable them to recover their old skills. Meanwhile, dwarves had been forced to become farmers and fishermen. Several brave or foolhardy dwarves had climbed Mount Ember, but none had ever returned. Palustric looked with troubled eyes at his friend. “I suppose I’m lucky really,” he ended, sighing heavily. “At least I’m apprenticed to a blacksmith.”

  “Come, Palustric,” Inertia said, “this is not the moment to be sad, and the task before you will keep for a while. Stay here with us and be merry for as long as you like!” There was something so oddly beguiling about the way Inertia spoke, as though she wanted them to stay forever. She clapped her bejewelled little hands and called for music and dancing, tumbling and juggling, wrestling and elf-magicking.

  10

  Bella the Goldsmith put down her eyeglass slowly, so as not to disturb the girl. Emily was in a kind of trance. Yet her hands were moving in a skilful way that Bella envied. She had not seen the like of this since she was a girl. Vague memories of her great-grandfather returned to her. What a goldsmith he was! And even he had admitted to being only a poor copy of his great forefathers. He had remembered some of the old skills. True enough, much of the knowledge was in the Book of Jewellification; that volume took years to read, and, of course, reading was not the same thing as actually doing. But this girl, this outsider, had read the Book in a short time—in no time, you might say. Now, what was emerging under her hands?

  Ever since coming to the workshop, Emily had wanted to make a brooch, a brooch which she could see now in a kind of vision, a brooch which told of how she had left her own world: a dragonfly brooch with a fairy upon its back, just like the dragonfly and the Fairy Queen that she had seen. In a trance, her silver eyes glazed like two mirrors; Emily’s hands worked of their own accord. They fashioned gold plate, set with amber and enamel and embellished with moonstone, until the most beautiful complete brooch that Bella the Goldsmith had ever seen lay upon the bench. Even as old Bella hurried away to fetch Balom as fast as her short, dwarf legs could carry her, Emily began collecting materials for another similar brooch. Still in a trance, she pumped the bellows of the small forge, whipping the flames about the red coals.

  Not even Balom’s booming voice could make her look up or distract her for a moment from her task. Bella shrugged and pointed to the brooch: “The child has made this brooch.” Bella sounded as if she couldn't believe her own words. “You and I, Balom, thought we would laugh at her efforts, but this…this is magnificent!” She turned the lovely object admiringly in front of Balom’s face. “Work to compare can only be seen if it was forged in the Old Days.”

  Balom turned to Emily and spoke a few words, but the girl seemed not to hear him. Her fingers were flying about her second brooch. Balom caught her arm, but she shrugged him off, her eyes never moving from the work on which they were fixed.

  “She won't even stop for meals,” Bella said grimly. “It’s as if the girl has lost the power of reason.”

  The two dwarves discussed the matter as they watched Emily create another, equally beautiful brooch. Only a dwarf could truly appreciate such work for its craftsmanship and skill. Bella and Balom gazed and gasped as Emily’s hands flew backwards and forwards from the forge to the bench, to the pincers and to the hammer and then back again. They watched in awe as the girl plied and twisted, smoothed and cut the heated metals. It was late in the evening before Emily finished. Balom was still there; he watched as she blinked and looked at the jewels with normal eyes.

  A slow, mysterious smile spread across her face. “I’ll be here early in the morning, Bella,” she said. “I’ve such a lot of work to do.” Emily left Bella and Balom bending over two perfect brooches.

  The weeks ran together in Bella’s workshop. They were all the same to Emily. Glazed eyes and sweated brow, she laboured over her brooches. She didn’t care if her hands were dirty and her face smeared with soot. Although Bella begged her to make something different, she would not—or could not. To please Bella, from time to time, she changed the design, though the subject was always the same: a fairy astride a dragonfly.

  “Why do you do it, child?” Bella asked, but only received stubborn silence or a mysterious smile in reply. On the other hand, Bella’s workshop was building up a beautiful collection of jewelled brooches, each subtly different, but of one basic design.

  Before long, word spread; at first, rich dwarves came to buy Emily’s brooches. As news travels quickly, people from further afield began to arrive. If Emily hadn’t been in a trance, she would have marvelled at the pixies, brownies, and occasional ugly goblin who came to buy. All of them were rich and prepared to pay well for Emily’s work. Many asked for other designs, but Bella told them that to appreciate the beauty of jewellery, one had to have the eye. The kind of eye, she explained, which could distinguish the subtle difference between one fairy-mounted dragonfly and another. Everyone believed her and bought all the more eagerly. Of course, Bella knew that her strange apprentice wouldn’t, or couldn’t, make any other type of jewellery; however, by now, Bella had become an excellent salesdwarf.

  Bella became ever more anxious as the business prospered. “You should be careful, Emily,” she warned one day when the girl had finished her work and the glazed expression had passed. “The way things are going, Success could come to you any time. Be ready, that’s all!”

  Emily just smiled and looked at the brooches that she had made that day. She was so fast and skilled that she could turn out three superb brooches in one day—she had no idea how. All she knew was that when she was busy, everything was blotted out. This meant that she didn’t have to worry about Adam; she tried not to think about him now and blinked away tears. What would happen to him? What would happen to them? She tried to push the thought out of her mind, but she had a feeling that things were not as they should be. She often had this feeling, especially when she thought of her brother or home. They had been away a long time now. At first, she thought, it had been exciting meeting pixies and dwarves, seeing real magic and witchcraft. Now she longed for the comfort of home, her father's whiskery kiss, her mother's cookery, Jasmine’s purring—a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it angrily with the back of her hand and left a long black smear across her cheek. She tried to work out why that strange feeling was so important, but she couldn’t.

  11

  Adam was uneasy. He wasn't sure what was bothering him: a feeling that wouldn't go away, but it wouldn't come to the front of his mind, either. He, Lar and Palustric were having a wonderful time. They had been in Spinney-hall for many months now, but none of them was worried about the time passing. Adam had never felt so contented anywhere: so cheerful, comfortable, well-fed and pleasantly entertained. He felt permanently drowsy and lethargic. In fact, the three friends barely gave their perilous quest a thought these days. When he occasionally thought of Emily, or home or dragons, Adam just shrugged. It was as if that kind of thought didn’t belong in this place. On such occasions, Adam would pick another bunch of dark, juicy grapes—one of the reasons why he was putting on weight—and try to forget his uneasiness.

  Lately, he had spent a lot of time in front of the mirror, something he’d never done before. Sometimes he spent hours adjusting his silver hair or admiring his profile from various angles and worrying
that his scar spoiled his good looks. He certainly was good-looking, he would tell himself in these quiet moments, staring into his reflected silver eyes. Maybe the scar made him more rugged. He sighed deeply. He knew he was in love, but could an elfin lady love a human boy? In any case, this was no ordinary elfin lady.

  One morning, having decided to roll slowly out of his cosy bed, Adam bumped into Lar outside the hall. He yawned and grinned at the pixy, who squinted sleepily back at him. Perhaps it was the air of laziness and luxury about Lar that finally brought Adam’s worries to mind. Suddenly, everything fell into place.

  “Lar!” Adam cried. “We've got to get away from here!”

  The little pixy’s mouth dropped open. “What for?” he yawned again.

  “We must! Find Palustric now!” Adam was shouting in his anxiety.

  Lar could not understand. What was wrong with his Master? Everything here was magnificent. There was no need to go elsewhere. Why should they move? Everything he had ever wanted was here in Spinney-hall, as far as he was concerned. He said as much to Adam.

  “That's just it, Lar. Don’t you see? Inertia—” he struggled for names, trying to remember, “Tarry, Lollop…all those names! Don’t you see? We've been blind! Why didn’t I see it before? All those names mean the same thing. Don’t you see, Lar?” Lar shook his head sleepily and looked confused.

  “They mean hanging about, doing nothing—just what we’re doing! The idle life has tempted us: temptation has got the better of us. Don’t you see, now? We’ll never complete our task if we linger here!” He waved his arm towards the door of the hall; his gaze followed his gesture, as did Lar’s. But instead of seeing Spinney-hall, they saw Palustric standing alone in pyjamas. Otherwise, the glade was empty and silent.