“Here comes someone of the greatest importance to see Their Majesties!”
Then double doors swung open and they were in a great long chamber with two thrones on a dais at the end of it and a red carpet leading to them. Seated on the thrones were the King and Queen.
“Who is this?” asked the King.
Dakin’s father turned to one of the guards. “Tell him we have the ring,” he said, in a modest way.
But the chamber had an echo, and the King heard what he’d said and leaped to his feet.
“The ring! Did you say you have the ring?” he cried in the greatest excitement. “My dear, they have it! These people have the ring!” he added, turning to the Queen, who also jumped up, and to Dakin’s delight they actually hugged each other.
“Come, come quickly!” the King called down the room to them, so they hurried along the red carpet, with the six guards almost running to keep up, and the King came down the steps to the dais to meet them and wrung their hands so hard it hurt, and at the same time said: “Where is it, where is it?” and held out his hand for it eagerly.
24
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Rally
“Give ms majesty the ring, Dakin,” said her father. But Dakin kept her hand in her pocket.
“I’ll show it to you,” she said. “I’m afraid I can’t give it to you, because—well, it’s rather a long story.” And she told it to them as briefly as she could, and then, while they were still gaping at her in amazement, held out the little brass troll and showed them the ring.
The King peered at it closely, and so did the Queen.
“It’s the Ring of Kings, all right,” said the King. “It has come back to us. What a relief! I see the problem, of course. It is a hard one to solve. But surely some answer will be found. We must not let a little difficulty stand in the way of a celebration. Come, my dear,” he added to the Queen. “We must introduce this young lady to Rally. He is free to marry now, and I’m sure he’ll wish to thank her personally.”
“To thank me?” thought Dakin. “To marry me, you mean!” But of course she did not say so aloud.”When he sees me,” she thought, “he will know at once that I am meant for him.”
Meanwhile the Queen had clapped her hands and a servant had appeared.
“Send for the Prince,” she said.
“And bring some chairs, so that we may all be comfortable,” added the King.
Some big, richly upholstered chairs, almost like more thrones, were quickly brought, and the royal couple graciously asked Dakin and her father to be seated. The grown-ups talked, but Dakin was watching the little door through which the servant had gone. After a while she heard footsteps coming. She straightened herself, smoothed her apron, and pushed a curl of hair behind her ear, her heart beating hard. He was coming—her prince!
The door opened, and in walked the most drearylooking young man Dakin had ever seen.
Her mouth fell open. No. It just couldn’t be. Not that little, skinny, miserable youth with the skimpy beard and the stooped shoulders and the weak chin! This couldn’t be him! Why, she wouldn’t marry if he were the last young man in the world!
“Ah, Rally,” said the Queen, “come over here and meet the girl who has found our ring.”
The young man shuffled over and threw her a look out of his pale, uninterested eyes.
“Oh?” he said. “Quite clever of her, eh? Where was it?”
“That’s a long story, my boy,” said the King heartily. “She’ll tell it to you, no doubt, if you ask her politely.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll bother.” said the Prince. “So long as it’s back, that’s all that matters. I sup pose that means that now I can marry Zendrina. She’s a boring creature, but never mind, we don’t have to see much of each other, and I’ll be able to concentrate on my butterfly collection instead of worrying about the ring the whole time.”
There was a short silence, and then his mother said with a bright smile, “Well, Rally? Have you nothing more to say to the young lady?”
The Prince looked blank, and then said, “Have I? I don’t know... What? Do you want to look at my collection?” he asked Dakin. “I’ve got some fine specimens, you know, all pinned to pieces of wood. I’ll show them to you if you like.”
“No, thank you,” said Dakin quickly.
The King tried to hide his irritation, and gave the Prince a heavy pat on the back. It was more like a whack really, and Rally nearly fell on his face.
“Thank her, you young blockhead!” he said, pretending it was a joke.
“Oh—oh yes. Thanks and so forth,” said Rally. He stifled a yawn.
Dakin suddenly bowed her head and her shoulders rose and fell.
Her father leaned down to her. “What is it, Dakin? Don’t you feel well?”
She shook her head.
“Your Majesty, my daughter has been ill. May I take her out onto the balcony for some fresh air?”
“Of course! Of course!” said the King.
Dakin and her father crossed the room and went out onto a wide stone balcony overlooking the valley.
“What is it, darling? Why are you crying?”
“Oh, Father! Oh, Father!” was all Dakin could say between her sobs.
She was holding Gog in her hands, and as she cried, her tears fell on him. And suddenly, just as before, he sneezed and sat up.
25
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Gog
She felt her father clutch her shoulder and stagger backward in amazement. But she was so overjoyed she could hardly keep from jumping up and down.
“Gog! Gog!” she cried softly, so as not to attract the attention of the royal family.
“Thank heavens!” said Gog. “I thought you’d never have sense enough to cry on me again! Lend me your handkerchief.”
“What happened, Gog? What happened?”
“It’s all quite simple,” said the troll, wiping the tears off his hat just like the last time. “Tears are magic, as no doubt you know by now. Not very powerful, but still magic. They give me a few hours of life—life of a sort, of course. So after I—er—after we separated,” he said with a cough (Dakin guessed he felt rather ashamed of having deserted her), “I ran home as fast as I could—to your home, I mean, of course. Just as I reached the garden gate, the magic wore off. It was very lucky your little sister found me, or I might have lain out there getting tarnished again. So. Now I suppose you want the ring. Oh, it’sall right, I heard you tell the whole story—even when I’m not able to move or speak, I can still hear. Well, I suppose I’ve got no further use for it, and I’m not at all anxious to be chopped in half. That young man would do it without thinking twice about it, no doubt. Here.” And he put both thumbs into the top of the ring and wriggled out of it as easily as taking off his trousers. He picked it up and handed it to Dakin.
“What were the tears about, anyway?” he asked her with a sharp look in his little brass eyes.
Dakin didn’t answer.
“Disappointed, eh?” he asked. “Well, well. That’s how it goes. Nobody ever gets exactly what he wants in this world. Magic or no magic. What makes you think you’d have liked being a princess, anyway?”
“Ah,” said Dakin’s father. “Now I understand! Poor girl...” But to Dakin’s annoyance she saw he couldn’t help laughing as he glanced over his shoulder at the weedy figure of Prince Rally in the throne room. “So that was what you had in mind, daughter? No, no, he’s not for you! Better come home and marry young Ruston. He’s still waiting...” But Dakin tossed her head and turned her back on him.
While all this was going on on the balcony, the King had not been idle. He had called his heralds and ordered them to ride out all over the country to announce that the ring had been found and that there would be a great national celebration in a week’s time for the Prince’s wedding. Naturally Dakin and her whole family were invited to come to the palace for this, as the guests of honor of the King. The Queen was thoughtful enough to take Da
kin aside and ask when it would be convenient for the royal dressmaker to call upon her mother, to measure all the ladies of Dakin’s family for new dresses for the wedding, and the King’s tailor would do the same for the men.
Dakin thanked the Queen politely and said she was sure any time would do, and that her mother would be delighted. She had no doubt about the truth of this, and could hardly imagine the excitement such news would bring to her sisters. For herself, Dakin could not work up the least enthusiasm for the wedding or anything connected with it, and drove home (in one of the royal carriages, the pony being brought back later) thinking all the way how she could get out of going at all.
She and Gog had a long conversation on the way back. Gog asked a lot of questions about what had happened when the Evil One died, especially to his brothers who had been gargoyles.
“I can’t understand why your spell didn’t break at the same time,” said Dakin, who was expecting the tear magic to wear off at any moment.
“Oh, that’s clear enough,” said Gog. “The spell the Evil One put on me, just as I got to the edge of the wood seventeen years ago, couldn’t be broken while I was beyond the foot of the mountain.”
“Ah, I see!” said Dakin. “Then that means that if I take you back onto the mountain slopes again, the spell will be broken?”
“I should think so,” said Gog. “If not... Well, you’ll have to cry on me once a day. It would be better than nothing. After all, I did steal the ring. I deserve to be punished.”
But Dakin lost no time at all, as soon as the carriage had set them down at their own door, in running off through the village as fast as she could in the direction of the farthest-away mountain.
26
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Back to the Mountain
It was strange to cross the river again and be running toward that dark wall of trees, knowing now all that lay ahead. She entered the wood joyfully and at once took Gog, who was now stiff and “dead” again, the tear magic having worn off, and set him down on the pine needles.
Nothing happened.
She picked him up and ran farther into the forest, holding him ahead of her, expecting every moment that he would change into a real, live troll like the others. But he didn’t. On and on she ran. Why wasn’t it working? The way was all uphill now, for she was well and truly on the slopes of the mountain. She began to get tired, for she was not yet perfectly strong after her adventures, but she kept going, watching the pine needles. The sun was going down. On she tramped, up and forward, hour after hour... At last it grew dark. The moon rose. She was not afraid, though she felt cold and hungry.
“Don’t worry, Gog,” she said. “I think I know what we have to do.”
The trees, at long last, began to thin, and the moonlight became brighter. She passed silently out between the last trunks, into the moonlit meadow.
It was even more beautiful than by day, if possible, and of course far more mysterious. Ahead the noble mountain crest rose straight before her, the moon silvering its snow; the black summit which had once been the ogre’s castle now looked like the turrets and steeple of a great cathedral. Straight before her lay the meadow, bathed in the strange light, its long grasses whispering in the night breeze. And the cabin—
Dakin peered ahead. Where was it? This moonlight was strange! Everything seemed clear to her eyes, yet somehow she couldn’t pick out the cabin. She began to run.
The cabin was gone. But it couldn’t be! She ran on, her eyes straining to find it. She clutched Gog in her hand, running, running through the whispering silvery grasses... Then—
Splash! She fell into deep water.
She gave a gasp and her mouth filled. She felt the cold water closing over her head. She kicked hard to make herself come up, but she kept sinking. In her hand Gog seemed to give a sudden twist, and then he was gone. Half drowning as she was, a new panic seized her and she groped wildly in the water. What if he sank to the middle of the world!
She could hold her breath no longer. Was this the end for her? Surely the saving waters of the Lithy Pool would not harm her!
But something had hold of her and was pulling her up. Her face burst clear, and all the water seemed to break into fragments of light around her.
She drew a deep, deep breath, shook her head, and rubbed her eyes clear with both hands.
She looked. The first thing she saw was a young man.
He was standing on a smooth, grassy place. The moonlight was shining on him. He was watching her with dark, serious eyes. He was all that a young man should be—all that Prince Rally wasn’t.
“Who are you?” asked Dakin with a gasp.
“Don’t you know? I’m Ravik, the idiot.”
For a moment they stared at each other.
“You’re Croak,” she whispered at last.
He shook his head. “Not any more. Ravik. The idiot.”
“Ravik—the scholar—gentle, kind, and generous.”
“But a fool.”
“You’ve paid for that. Eating flies for two hundred years...”
He did not smile. “Others have paid, too. I can’t forgive myself.”
“That’s silly. It’s all over.”
“Yes,” said Gog’s voice, “it’s all over.”
He was standing beside them, a proper, full-grown troll, grinning from ear to ear.
“The Lithy water did it!” he said gleefully, capering about. “Where are my brothers? I must say hello to them. Do you think they’re still angry with me? Where can I find them?”
“They’re living in Drackamag’s cave,” said Ravik. “Straight up there. An hour’s walk should do it.”
“When will I see you again, Gog?” asked Dakin.
“On your wedding day!” Gog called back over his shoulder. “We’ll all come! I’ll give your love to the others, and an invitation!” And he ran off, every few steps giving a little dancing jump into the air and clicking his heels together.
Ravik and Dakin turned to each other again. They were both still dripping wet.
“What did he mean, my wedding day?” asked Dakin.
“I don’t know. I would love you to marry me, but I understand you swore you would marry only a prince. I’m not a prince.”
Dakin blushed furiously and hung her head.
“I was the idiot when I said that,” she said. “I wish I hadn’t. Could I unswear, do you think?”
“We all make mistakes,” said Ravik. “If you can forgive me for mine, I can easily forgive you for yours.”
“Then I will marry you. Could it be, say, a week from today? Then I wouldn’t have to go to the royal wedding.”
Ravik looked rather stern. “The King would be disappointed. And don’t you want your family to come to our wedding?”
“Yes, of course! And the brothers. And—”
“And who?”
“No, it’s silly.”
“Tell me.”
“Well—the Voice. But how can a voice come to a wedding?”
Ravik put back his head and roared with laughter, but not unkindly. “Dakin,” he said, “if the wedding is to be here, on the mountain, then the Voice will certainly be at it. For the Voice is the voice of the mountain, the soul of the mountain which has wakened at last from its long sleep. You woke it yourself, by the strength of your wish to come here; and by your goodness and courage when you did come, you made it powerful enough to help you defeat the Evil One that I, in my folly, brought here long ago.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen. Go to the Prince’s wedding, collect your reward, and give it away to your family or the poor people of the village. Then, when it’s over, you can come to me here and we’ll be married. Only this time, remember that the cabin’s been taken down! Otherwise you might fall into the pool again and spoil your new dress.”
“Why did you take it down?” asked Dakin.
“It was my prison for two hundred years,” said Ravik. “As soon as I’d been all over the mountain to make sure all the evil on it
had been done away with, the first thing I did was to pull it down. But don’t worry,” he added, seeing her face, “I can build it up again. But bigger. Big enough for the two of us.”
He kissed her soundly, and then Dakin said, “Do you think, now that the mountain’s awake again, that it will begin to call people, as it did before—good people? It would be nice if we could start a village up here.”
“It might happen. Not too soon, I hope. We have plenty of work to do here first.”
“We shall be the prince and princess of the mountain,” said Dakin.
“I must take you home. Your family shouldn’t have to worry about you any more.”
The prince of the farthest-away mountain took her hand and they walked down through the moonlit glades of the wood together.
Other Avon Camelot Books by
Lynne Reid Banks
The Fairy Rebel
I, Houdini
The Indian in the Cupboard
The Return of the Indian
The Secret of the Indian
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LYNNE REID BANKS was born in 1929, the daughter of a Scottish doctor and an Irish actress. In the early part of her life, she trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. In 1953, she left the stage to become a reporter, journalist, and scriptwriter. She has written over twenty books for both children and adults. Mrs. Banks lives in England with her husband and three sons.
The Farthest-Away Mountain Page 9
