"Well, here we are," the Swan announced. Anselm stood beside her, smiling in satisfaction. Kink's tail waved back and forth like a victory flag. Ilien frowned.
"Wait for it," Anselm said. "They're coming."
Ilien waited. The tall grass churned in the breeze that came off the lake, dancing and swirling before the playful gusts of wind. One quick gust blew in their direction, parting the grass as it approached. Ilien felt a warm breeze blow past him and he breathed in the sweet scent of flowers.
"Runner must like you," the Swan commented. "She's being a bit obvious, if you ask me."
Ilien did as he always did when he figured he'd missed something. He kept quiet, hoping to catch it the second time around.
"So what do you think?" Anselm asked, grinning.
"Yeah, what do you think?" Kink echoed.
Ilien shuffled back a bit, stuck his hands in his pocket and tinkered nervously with his house key and pencil. He had no idea what they were talking about! He was about to say so when something suddenly breathed down the back of his neck. He spun around, but it was only the breeze.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Anselm said.
"Magnificent," Kink said.
"Absolutely!" the Swan agreed.
Ilien waved his hand in the air before him, feeling foolish. "Okay. What are you talking about?"
The Swan stretched out a wing. "Why, Runner, of course. I must admit, I haven't seen her myself in quite some time but she's still the most inspiring horse in the Wood. Surely you agree?"
Ilien stood dumbfounded.
Kink fell back on his haunches. "He can't see her," he said. "He can't see her at all."
"See what?" Ilien shouted.
Anselm's meaty hands flew to his mouth. "Surely this can't be good."
Ilien's patience was nearly gone. "What can't be good?"
"Look. She's nuzzling him even now and he doesn't even know it!" Kink cried.
Ilien did feel a tickle run down his side, but as far as he could see it was only nerves at being cast a fool. "Will you stop?" he insisted. "There is nothing nuzzling me."
Even the Swan looked surprised. "But there is, Ilien."
"Tell me you can see her," Kink begged, jumping to his feet.
Ilien's silence was followed by a low whistle from Anselm. The Giant turned nervously to the Swan. "What does it mean?"
"It means he walks," Kink said, his crooked back end plunking back to the ground.
"It means nothing of the sort." The Swan walked over to stand beside Ilien. In a low voice she said, "You really can't see her?"
Ilien shook his head, looking from disappointed face to disappointed face.
"Not at all?" she asked, hopefully.
"No. Not at all." He screwed his eyes to focus at a fixed point in mid-air before him. "Is that bad?"
The Swan thought for a moment. "Not necessarily."
Ilien felt a cold dread steal over him. "That doesn't sound comforting."
The Swan put a comforting wing around Ilien. "What I mean to say is, I'm not sure what it means. The horses of the Drowsy Wood are visible to all but mortal men."
"And Reknamarken," Kink added, examining his crooked back side
"Yes. And Reknamarken. But you are Nomadin, Ilien. You should have no trouble at all seeing Runner."
The Swan cocked her head in the direction of the field. "Uh huh. Yes. Of course, Runner." She looked back at Ilien and smiled. "No matter. Runner has agreed to take you anyhow."
"You can't be serious." Ilien waved a hand through the air where he thought Runner should be. "I can't see her and now I know I can't even hear her. How do you know I can touch her let alone ride her?"
"What was that?" the Swan asked.
"I said I can't—"
"No, no. Not you." The Swan dismissed Ilien with a wave of her wing. "I was talking to Runner. What was that dear?"
The Swan listened intently. Anselm and Kink paid rapt attention to the silence as well. A moment later she turned to Ilien. "Runner says to have faith."
"Faith?" Ilien searched the empty air before him and threw his hands up in defeat.
"Yes. Faith," the Swan repeated. "You do know what that is?"
"Of course I know what faith is!"
"Good." She shooed him forward with a wing. "Now climb aboard. You really must leave at once."
Ilien looked hard at the space in front of him, the space that everyone thought was rideable. "You can't be serious."
"Do I look serious?" the Swan asked, smiling. "You have ridden a horse before, haven't you?"
"Of course."
"Then let's go. There should be nothing to it."
Ilien shook his head, but reached out to grab the invisible reins anyhow.
"Um. Ilien?" Kink nodded in the other direction. "She's behind you."
Ilien turned around with a grimace. He stuck out his hand, grabbing empty air again. He reached further, feeling more foolish than before.
"Just lift your leg in the air and Runner will do the rest," the Swan assured him.
Ilien did as she asked. He stood like a dog taking a—
"Whoa!" he cried, rising into the air as if levered off the ground by an invisible teeter-totter. He fell forward, clutching at thin air. "Hey!" His hands hit something almost solid, and somehow warm. He felt a strange tingle run up his fingers and into his arms. Soon he was able to steady himself. He sat six feet up, eyeing the ground suspiciously.
"Don't worry," Kink said. "You'll get the hang of it."
Ilien doubted that, but patted what he thought was Runner's neck in a friendly sort of way. Can't be too careful, he thought.
The Swan clacked her beak to garner everyone's attention. "Now, when you exit the Wood," she said, "you'll find yourself in a small, nondescript grove of pines in the middle of the Near Plains, fairly close to Greattower Mountain."
Anselm cleared his throat. "That grove was cut down some time ago."
The Swan looked surprised. "Cut down?"
"Yes," the Giant said, "by some men who wanted to build a river-boat casino."
"A river-boat what?" the Swan asked, her beak hanging open in disbelief.
"Well you see, the Far Hills River runs right through there, and—"
"Never mind," the Swan cut in. "I guess you'll have to exit by way of the small grove near Bamber Lake."
Anselm shook his head.
"Cut down as well?" the Swan surmised.
"Yes. To help build the town of Bamber."
The Swan snapped her beak shut with a loud snap. "Are there any exit groves left?"
Ilien waved his hand in the air. "Hello. Can anyone tell me what in the world you're talking about? What is an exit grove?"
The Swan stared blankly at him for a moment. "Oh. Yes. I quite forgot. You're new at all this." She shook her head at her foolishness. "As you have already so eloquently pointed out," she said, "nothing here works in a straight line. The Wood, after all, is enchanted."
She glanced at Anselm and Kink and winked.
"I think I get that much," Ilien said, frowning.
"Ah. Yes," the Swan said, growing serious. "Well, to put it plainly, there are only six ways into the Drowsy Wood, or more accurately put, were six ways in." Her eyes narrowed on Anselm as she said this. "So it goes that there are, or were, six ways out. Each way leads a traveler out or in through a small grove of pine trees, which as you know, has to be navigated just so in order for their enchantments to work." Her brow bunched in worry as she turned to Anselm. "Are there any exit groves left?"
"Well—" Anselm began.
The Swan shook her tail. It thrummed in the air like a five-foot feather duster. "Just forget it," she snapped. "We do have a map here, don't we?"
Ilien, being fond of maps, looked on with interest. The Swan saw him peering intently at the empty air in front of her.
"I didn't exactly mean here," she said. "Really Ilien, not everything in the Drowsy Wood is invisible."
"I have the map," Anselm announced, p
ulling it from his pocket. It was in very poor shape, folded many times, with edges frayed and torn. Ilien absently nudged his invisible mount forward to get a better look, and to his surprise he floated through the air and hovered near Anselm. The Giant began gingerly unfolding the map, as if afraid the aged parchment might suddenly crumble to dust before his eyes. Ilien soon learned the real reason for his caution, though, when the Giant accidentally tore a corner.
"And there goes the fabled city of Worcester!" the map shrieked. "How many times? How many times? Another precious piece of me lost forever! Soon they'll be nothing left of me but the very spot you stand on. Giants!"
"Calm down you wretched piece of paper!" Anselm shouted. He turned the map over in his hands, trying to decipher how it had been folded to begin with. "I swear! You're as bad as my wife! Nag. Nag. Nag. You'd think you'd treat me better after all I've gone through for you. Every time we're out she tells me 'just ask for directions'. But no. No matter how much trouble it brings me, I always use you, don't I? And what thanks do I get? You know, if she'd had her way you'd have been used to paper the parakite cage years ago!"
That silenced the map.
"Now open up and show us what we need," the Giant demanded.
At that, the map unfolded in the Giant's hands. Ilien craned his neck to get a better look. Though the map looked tattered and worn, he saw that its surface was exquisitely detailed. Too much so, in fact.
"How can anyone read that?" he asked.
Anselm rolled his eyes and moaned.
"I beg your pardon," answered the map, "But you don't read me. I am not a book, I'll have you know. I am a map."
"I beg your pardon back," Ilien said. "What I meant to say was how can anyone possibly find where they are, not to mention where they're going, with all those jumbled scribbles all over you?"
"Jumbled scribbles? Well, I never!" And the map rolled into a tight, little tube.
"I think you hurt its feelings," Kink said, eyeing the map as if it might spring back to life at any moment.
"All you have to do to find where you are or where you wanna go when you have an enchanted map is ask," Anselm explained, a look of exasperation across his wide face. "Unfortunately, we have a temperamental map at best."
"I really am sorry," Ilien said to the sulking map as he wobbled atop his invisible horse.
"Don't worry. This always seems to do the trick." Anselm placed the map on the ground at his feet and pulled a flint and tinder from his pocket. No sooner were the flint and tinder revealed when the map unrolled and lay seamless and silent before him.
"What can I show you, oh mighty one?" the map intoned.
Anselm's brow darkened. "Knock off the dramatics and just show us the exit grove nearest Greattower Mountain."
The map was quiet for a moment, as if thinking. "The nearest exit grove is the only exit grove. It can be found outside of the Kingdom of Evernden."
The Swan closed her eyes and sighed.
Ilien looked hard at the map. A red X suddenly appeared, marking the grove's exact location. "If I'm not mistaken," he said, trying to sort through the tangle of markings, "that's where I came in."
"Precisely," answered the map.
"That's not close to Greattower at all," Ilien exclaimed. "It'll take us a week to get to Windy."
"And it will place us far behind the Book," Anselm concluded. "There has to be another way."
"Well there isn't," said the map.
The Swan sighed again and opened her eyes. "If this map is correct," she said, "and I'm sure it is," she added with a wan smile at the magical parchment, "then this is bad news indeed." She turned to Ilien. "The Groll will be waiting for you outside of Evernden."
Kink's ears pricked up at the mention of the Groll. He bared his fangs and sniffed at the map warily. "So be it," he growled.
The Swan placed a wing on Ilien's shoulder. "Don't fret," she said in answer to his worried look. "I think I have a plan."
Chapter XVI
The Best Laid Plans
"The plan is a simple one," the Swan said as they gathered in one of the even forest lanes.
They had traveled back across the lake, this time by boat, to the entrance side of the forest—the mud-room as Anselm had called it. The Swan had been tight-beaked on the long boat ride over, refusing to tell anyone her plan until they had arrived in the very lane where Anselm had caught Ilien in his trap. At Anselm's behest, they had been careful to avoid his cabin.
"You'll leave the Drowsy Wood exactly as you entered," the Swan explained, "except in reverse of course, which is exactly no different than the former."
Ilien squinted at her.
"To put it plainly," she said, "simply pass between those two narrow trees over there, walk three trees forward, turn left, walk two more, turn right, walk three more again. It's the only way out of the Drowsy Wood, and you'll find yourself in the very spot you entered. It's there that the Groll will be waiting for you."
"Isn't there another plan we could follow? Perhaps a more complex one?" Ilien asked, standing between Anselm and Kink. His invisible horse was tethered nearby, at least that was what they'd told him.
The Swan looked cross. "No, Ilien. Just listen. You haven't even heard my plan yet."
"I heard the part about the Groll. That was enough for me."
"Yes, the Groll will be waiting for you. But if you'll just listen I'll tell you exactly what to do." The Swan rattled her tail feathers and sat down on the needle-covered ground. "Good. Now where was I—oh yes—when you exit the Wood you'll come face to face with the Groll."
She stood back up, spreading her wings in excitement. "When the Groll sees you it will charge, bearing down on you like a lion upon an unsuspecting foal, expecting to catch you easily, which of course it can, and rip you limb from limb in a frenzy of bloodlust and rage. Oh, only after impaling you several times with its venomous tail."
Ilien stuck a fist in his mouth to keep from screaming.
"But," she continued, growing even more animated, "you will not be an unsuspecting foal because you will have listened to my plan and will know exactly what to do!" The Swan stood triumphantly before the company of three, beaming proudly.
"Which is?" they asked in unison.
"Why, run of course," the Swan answered, bouncing excitedly up and down.
"Run!" Ilien cried. "That's your plan? I may not be an unsuspecting foal, but I'll still be a dead one!"
The smile fell from the Swan's face. "Always jumping to conclusions, aren't we, Ilien. No, no. You will not be a dead foal. You will not be a foal at all. You will be bait."
"Bait?" Ilien hung his head. "I'm dead for sure."
"You will retreat back into the forest," the Swan continued, as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said, "back the way you came, in three trees, left two, right three more and the Groll will follow you."
Anselm raised a hand.
"Yes," the Swan snapped. "What is it?"
"But that will lead the Groll back here," the Giant said.
The Swan smirked openly. "Don't worry, Anselm. You'll play a part in this, too, before all is through. Actually, come to think of it, you've played your part already." She shrugged and turned back to Ilien. "Now, when you arrive here, in this lane of the forest, you must move quickly. The Groll will be hot on your heels, after all. Run as fast as you can, count ten trees and jump."
"Jump? What good will that do?" Ilien asked gloomily, envisioning himself as a half-eaten foal.
"It'll save your life!" the Swan exclaimed.
"I say we go back to before I was a foal and start over," Ilien said, looking at the others for help.
"Just listen." The Swan walked down the lane away from them. "When you re-enter the Drowsy Wood you'll find yourself right here." She stopped, then walked back toward them, counting the trees as she went. She passed Ilien at number six. "Seven, eight, nine, ten." She turned and smiled. "This is where you should jump. Come. Look for yourself."
"What in the world i
s she talking about?" Ilien muttered.
Anselm merely shrugged, but Kink trotted over to stand by the Swan. He looked down at her feet then back at Ilien, his tongue hanging out from the corner of his mouth.
"She's right," he said. "You'd better jump, and hard."
Ilien walked up to Kink, shaking his head. "Knowing this place, she'll probably have me jumping into tomorrow," he mumbled under his breath.
At the Swan's feet was the carefully hidden coil of a rope snare, an enormous rope snare to say the least.
"That's right. My snare!" Anselm said. "Now I remember."
"How could you possibly forget?" Ilien asked, remembering how it had yanked him painfully off his feet.
"That's precisely what I asked him the last time he stepped in it," Kink said, grinning.
Anselm's ears flushed red. "Just keep quiet, why don't ya?"
Ilien looked up at the Swan. "But is it strong enough to hold a Groll?"
"It held a Giant". Kink chuckled.
"Why you cantankerous, crooked canine," Anselm raged, his ears burning red as he advanced on Kink. "If you don't keep your mouth shut—"
"It will hold the Groll," the Swan said, raising a wing between Anselm and Kink, "at least long enough for the three of you to get very far away."
Ilien looked down the lane, counting the trees with his eyes. "Ten trees is a long way to run."
"Run fast," Kink offered.
"Very fast," added the Swan.
Anselm stewed silently.
"Now off you go." The Swan shooed Ilien forward with her other wing. "Remember, in three, left two, right three more and run like the wind. Oh. And jump! Don't forget to jump!"
Ilien stopped short. "I'm going alone?"
The Swan looked at the others as if to ask them what she had missed. "Yes. Of course. There's no point in all of us being bait."
"You mean foals," Ilien protested, his feet suddenly glued to the soft forest floor.
"Now, Ilien." The Swan placed a wing on his shoulder and pulled him close. "You know I mean bait."
Ilien pushed her away. "That makes me feel so much better."
But there was nothing else to do. The Swan was right. He just hoped she was right about everything else. So Ilien walked forward, weaving in and out of the trees in the correct, and he thought, ridiculous procedure that would transport him back to the world outside the Drowsy Wood where the Groll lay waiting for him. Just before the last turn he pulled his pencil from his pocket.
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