“Well, they’d be frozen, but when they thawed they’d be soft and rotting.” Dove tossed her head. “If I wasn’t—” She hesitated, looking for the right word. “Well, me, I’d be the apprentice, and Bertha wouldn’t have such a ninny on her hands.”
Their easy camaraderie made the climb up the hill, to the cliff, and across the ledge take little time at all. Soon, they ducked into the caves and waited. “I think twilight will be here soon. He won’t come before dusk, I’m sure.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Dove of Wynnewood.”
“Waleron!” Her surprise answered many of Philip’s questions and created more.
“Yes. Jakys brought me to meet Philip.”
“I’m happy to meet you Waleron. Will you shake my hand?”
Laughter rang out in the cave prompting a roar from deep within the caverns. “Now we’ve done it. The dragon is aroused,” Jakys murmured. His words were cut short by a piercing scream.
“Merewyn!” Waleron’s voice was full of terror. “My—”
At the second scream, Philip rushed deeper into the cave, past the voices of the people he hadn’t yet seen, searching for the source of the horror-filled scream. A third scream erupted before he found a little girl, her back flattened against the wall, shrinking from the glowing eyes of the advancing dragon.
“Go, run the way I came!” he growled under his breath.
“I can’t—”
“Go!”
He heard the girl scramble through the rocks, stumbling and raised his head to meet the menacing eyes of the dragon. This time, rather than frozen in fear, Philip felt the surreal sensation of knowing he would die and being fascinated with the method. How many people would die at the claws of a dragon? They’d sing ballads about him— the boy who was consumed by the dragon of Sceadu.
He felt delirious as the sounds of the song filled his mind in those last seconds before he expected the great mouth of the dragon to clamp down on him. He closed his eyes and waited, praying that the child had made it to safety. The song sounded so real that he almost— Philip felt Dove brush past just as he realized that he knew that tune. It was the same tune she’d sung to the mother dragon last spring— the one that had saved his life.
“I thoouuught weeeee diiiiddd thiiiiisss ooooonceeee befoooorrrre.”
He tried not to laugh as he backed to the curve in the cavern and then ran to find the child. His prayers for Dove flew heavenward as his feet pounded the dirt caverns. Unlike the last time, this time he knew that he needed to be out of the way in order to give Dove room to escape when she chose to run. He didn’t know how far a dragon’s fiery breath could reach, but he wasn’t taking a chance of having Dove roasted before his eyes.
Pausing just before he entered the narrow space of the cave they’d been in, Philip listened, thankful that the sound grew closer with each passing second. Confident that Dove would keep the dragon mesmerized long enough to escape, Philip continued toward the entrance, feeling his way around the cave and trying to find the girl.
“Are you here? We need to get out. Dove will be coming and we need to be out of her way. Come on, little girl, everything is going to be just fine.” He spoke soothingly all the way to the entrance, but he found nothing— no one.
As he stepped outside the cave, he saw the shadows of Jakys, Waleron, and Merewyn. “You’re children— but you’re not.”
“Mæte. We’re known as the Mæte. Is Dove—”
“Coming. She’ll keep the dragon mesmerized as long as she can, and then she’ll run. We have to be out of the way of the opening. The dragon can’t get through, but his breath…”
Before he could continue, they all heard a horrifying roar and Dove’s screams. She burst through the opening, fire following close behind. It was almost like déjà vu for Philip, but this time, Dove’s cloak was engulfed in flames. Quickly, he ripped it from her, tossing it down the cliff. She curled into a ball, her hair flying around her, bleached oddly in the moonlight. Instinctively, Philip whipped his own cloak off his body and draped it over her, trying to keep his eyes averted.
Once she was recovered in Philip’s cloak, Dove dropped to the ledge, wrapped her arms around her knees, laid her head on them, and sobbed in exhausted relief.
Chapter 20
Folklore
She’d never been more terrified in her life. She’d almost died. She’d exposed herself to Philip. Then, if all of that wasn’t enough, she disgraced herself by crying like a weak little girl. Dove wanted to run away and lock herself in her cottage.
“Are you burned, Dove?” Philip’s concerned voice broke through her misery.
“I—” For a moment she hesitated. Was she truly all right? Nothing burned. Nothing hurt. She was still a little breathless, her hands shook, but otherwise, she was fine. “I’m excellent.”
“Let’s get you some wine, Dove.” Jakys tone forbade argument.
They followed the ledge, to the same tiny opening that Dove had squeezed through weeks earlier. Philip struggled to fit through the narrow rocks, but with much twisting and turning, and a torn shirt to prove it, he finally dropped into the tunnel behind the others. “This is impossible. I don’t see how I’ll ever get back out of there.”
“We’ll lead you out another way.”
“Who are you and where are you taking us?”
Jakys chuckled under his breath, and even Dove snickered. Waleron, leading Merewyn ahead of them, disappeared down different tunnels until they were far out of sight. “That is exactly what Dove wanted to know when I brought her here.”
“Why was Merewyn in the tunnel?” Dove’s curiosity could no longer be delayed.
“I don’t know, but Waleron will tell us later, I’m sure.”
They walked for ages— deeper into the cliff with every step until at last they reached the common room. Durilda looked up from her little dolls and raced to greet her father. Philip saw what looked like a miniature version of Dove in the abandoned pile of wooden carved pieces and realized that this was how and where Dove had survived the storm. Furthermore, they’d asked her to return— with him. That realization made him shiver. It seemed almost ominous.
“Fæder! You brought the Scynscaþa back!”
“Do not say that word, Durilda. That is a horrible thing to say!” Jakys voice was harsh with anger.
“Sorry, Fæder. The modors were talking and…”
“Silly women with their silly stories,” Jakys muttered to himself. He knelt to be at eye level before he cupped his daughter’s face in his hands. “Don’t be one of those women who clutches at superstitions. It makes you weak.” He led his daughter from the room, promising to return with Baldric and Grifon.
Philip and Dove exchanged glances. She looked strange to him, wrapped in his cloak. “It reminds me of that scripture that talks about ‘fables fit only for old women.’ Don’t you think?”
Dove nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“Why are we here? What is this place?” He stared at the carvings in the wall, the piles of cushions in the center of the floor, and the eyes of curious Mæte, peeking around corners.
“Jakys will explain. Trust me.”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
Philip’s hood wasn’t as deep and perfectly suited to Dove’s head as her own cloak. He could see the outline of her face through it. “I can see you.”
Grateful, she tugged it forward, fussing with it so she could see without being seen. “You were so brave, Philip. I couldn’t believe it when you rushed to save Merewyn.”
“I thought it was a child… Well, they all look like children until you look closely. They’re like tiny—”
“I think that’s where they get their name— Mæte.” Dove’s amusement was evident even without the slight lilt to her mouth.
“Dove, I can still see you,” he whispered, concerned. “I mean, I can’t see you fully, but I saw you smile. If you are so certain you’ll be harmed if people see you, then do some
thing. They’re shorter than you are here. They’ll be able to see better than I can.”
She shuffled her feet, tugging the hood even further forward over her face. “They’ve seen me, Philip. My hood flew back when I was here. Everyone here is terrified of me.”
This both irritated and distressed him. Why was he, the person she trusted— even more than Bertha— not allowed to know her secret, but the entire world of little people in the mountain could know and she trusted one to protect her from the rest? “Wha—”
“Scynscaþa. That is what they call me. You heard Durilda.”
“Her fæder is wise. It’s a terrible thing to call someone.”
“I told you when I first met you. My kind are considered demons. Bertha says it’s our curse.”
Having heard all he wanted to of Dove’s interactions with the Mæte and of the supposed horrors that she represented, Philip pointed to the tables around the room. “It looks like a lot of people could sit here. Do you know how many there are?”
Jakys’ voice startled both of them. “Enough. There are enough of us to ensure our longevity and our safety.” He beckoned them to follow. “Waleron has sent for you. Baldric will take you to him. I must hurry ahead and see if Merewyn has recovered.”
Silently, they followed the guard as he led them through tunnels, past other Mæte, and occasionally threatened one who made threats against Dove. Philip’s unease grew stronger with each step. Whatever Dove’s secret was, it terrified these people. They weren’t afraid of him, even though he stood two feet taller than most, but they were terrified of Dove. Barely a head taller than Baldric, she made nearly every one of them skittish.
Outside Waleron’s chambers, Baldric nodded at Jakys and turned to leave, smiling at Dove. “I’m glad you are back. Maybe you can help Reynilda. Someone must.”
“Who is Reynilda?” Philip asked in a nearly inaudible whisper.
“Waleron’s daughter. She has a— a— disease. He wants—” She shrugged. “He’ll tell us what he wants.”
The king of the Mæte stood as Philip and Dove approached his throne-like chair. “I owe you my granddaughter’s life. Dove of Wynnewood spoke truth when she said you were brave and could be trusted. Welcome to our home.”
“Who—”
“Ah, yes. You want to know what we are and why you have never seen us. Dove will tell you all she knows later.”
“What,” Philip asked casually, “if I want to know something she doesn’t know the answer to? Who do I ask then?”
“If she doesn’t know the answer, it is because we chose not to share it. You ask Jakys or me, but we likely won’t answer if Dove couldn’t.” The king was a little condescending, but the little man believed Philip needed to be put in his place. He’d begun to realize just how brave he’d been and was in danger of becoming puffed up about it.
“Well then, do I ask Dove or you why we are here?”
Jakys, Waleron, and Merewyn erupted in hearty laughter at that question. Even Dove snickered a little. Philip tried to pretend to be affronted, but couldn’t do it. His joke had worked. The haughty attitudes of the Mæte dissolved in their tears of mirth. Jakys, seating himself on a padded bench near Waleron, pointed at other benches and offered for Philip and Dove to sit. “Be comfortable. We have much to discuss.”
“Philip, we have brought you here, because we need your help.”
“With what?”
“The unicorns.”
Philip’s head whipped to watch Dove’s reaction. Seeing none confirmed that she’d already spoken to them about the animals. “Why ask me for help with unicorns?”
“We need a horn of a unicorn— desperately.”
Sensing Philip’s mounting frustration, Dove spoke quickly. “They say the unicorns have healing capacities. I don’t know if they’re right, but they want the horn to try it.”
“You want to kill—”
“No!” The three Mæte spoke in horrified unison. “Certainly not,” added Jakys. “The gods would certainly bring great trouble on us for such a vile deed.”
“The God of heaven and earth, I AM, is the only true God.” Philip’s voice sounded bolder than he felt. It was one thing to declare the truth of Scripture to the village lads, the midwife, or his little friend. It was another to contradict what appeared to be a king of dwarves. They could kill him for that.
“You believe you are the god of heaven and earth?” The barely suppressed laughter in Waleron’s voice eventually erupted in chuckles.
“No, that’s the name of his god,” Dove corrected. “Don’t mind him. He’s obligated to tell us how great his god is. I think he is rewarded for it somehow.”
A pit grew deep and hard in Philip’s stomach. Dove had never truly mocked his faith before this. Usually, she was quite adamant that his “god” was intelligent— compassionate even. “I speak truth because I value it, not because I want some kind of payment for it.”
“I must say, Philip, your god is not very creative. A name like I AM is so very uninspired.”
“Are we going to discuss matters of faith or the unicorns?” Philip knew he was rude, but no longer cared. After all his assurances to Broðor Clarke that Dove was coming to a faith in Jesus, he now felt like a liar.
“The unicorns. Although,” Jakys added, “I am curious about your god. I’d like to hear more of him. Is he a friend of your Zacchaeus or Jesus?”
“I AM is Jesus.”
“I see. I liked the story of the little man.” Making a self-deprecating gesture to his own height, he added, “After all, I can appreciate someone who needs the help of a tree to see through crowds of men.”
“If you are not going to kill the unicorn, how will you get his horn?” The idea of removing a horn from a unicorn sounded both dangerous and revolting to Philip.
“We just want a few inches— at first. We want to see if it improves Reynilda before we take more. If we could catch several, we could take enough of their horns to have plenty without removing the animal’s natural self-defense.”
It sounded very conscientious, but Philip still was unsure. “What if we can only catch one? Lord Morgan says they are extremely difficult to tame. It could take weeks— even months.”
“It won’t take as long as you think.” Waleron sounded very confident. “You don’t have to work to tame a unicorn if you know what you’re doing.”
“Well, we don’t know. I may be much larger than you— Do I call you lord or—”
“Waleron is fine.”
“He’s their king,” Dove whispered helpfully.
“Oh! I saw the throne, but I thought maybe it was just the furniture style. You don’t act like I thought a king would.”
“I don’t know how kings are supposed to act, but I prefer to be shown respect not obeisance.”
“Well, anyway, we’re not adults yet. We don’t know how to tame the animal. Dove has been trying to leave it apples, so it’ll trust her, but after that, I don’t know what to do yet.”
“But we do.”
Philip looked at Jakys curiously. “If you know what to do, why haven’t you done it?”
“We can’t. It can only be done by a human— a Fæmne.”
“A maiden? Why not Merewyn?”
“We have tried. The unicorns run from us.”
“I think you forget,” Dove began, “that I am just as feared as you— maybe more so. I fear that you are placing much too much trust in my humanity. Bertha says I am human, but am I? Are you not human? Why do you assume that I can be the Fæmne that you need?”
“We don’t know, not for sure, but your fæder was most likely human, even if your modor wasn’t. That might help. We must try.”
“What will Dove have to do?” It was time, in Philip’s opinion anyway, to quit speculating and start planning.
“Sit. She must sit, alone, and in the thicket near where we believe the unicorns live. We’ve tried to explore, but we never see anything but their hooves. Sometimes there is a flash of color beh
ind the branches, but not for long.”
“Sit. You want Dove to find the thicket, sit, and do what?” Skepticism was etched in every one of Philip’s features.
“According to legend, the unicorn will be drawn to a young maiden who sits and waits. She must weave a wreath of laurel to throw over his horn and slide down his neck. Then, and only then, she must call for us. We will come and take the horn then.”
“What prevents the unicorn from shredding us, or Dove for that matter, with his horn?”
“The laurel. It renders the animal helpless as long as he wears it.” Waleron’s confidence was contagious.
Dove and Philip exchanged glances before Philip spoke again. “Are you sure it won’t hurt the animals to lose part of their horns? Can you guarantee Dove won’t be injured?”
“I can guarantee nothing. I only know what legend says. However, if the animals avoid us, they are likely to avoid her too— unless the stories are true. If it is true that they will lie with their head in a maiden’s lap, why should it not be true that they can be conquered by laurel?”
“It just can’t be that easy,” Philip murmured to himself. “Why is it a maiden? Why not me? If something happens to Dove because we trusted a legend…”
“I’m willing, Philip. I know you’d rather capture and tame the animal, but wouldn’t it be simpler to tame one after you already had it in your possession?”
“Only if it doesn’t gut my friend in the process,” he grumbled.
“Fine, then,” Waleron exclaimed, clasping his hands and rubbing them together. “We eat. You must be hungry after your dance with the dragon. Jakys will take you to the common room and feed you. Come tomorrow evening— near twilight. I will have Merewyn weave you a wreath.” He stared at Philip for a moment. “If you pray to your god, pray. It would be nice to know, soon, if my daughter’s life can be spared.”
“May I see her skin? Is there a way to look without coming too close? I wanted to describe it to Bertha.”
Waleron stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I will consider and let you know after your meal. Go eat.”
The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series Page 35
