The Arkadians

by Lloyd Alexander

  "If you don't mind my saying," put in Fronto, "you're straying from the point."

  "No, I'm explaining the point," said joy-in-the-Dance. "The pool at Mount Lema was truly magical. There used to be other magical places-groves of trees, rings of standing stones, fountains. That was long ago, when real enchanters lived here. The Bear tribe destroyed most of those places to build towns and villages. The magic simply faded away from the others. The pool was the last. Now it's gone, too. As for you, Fronto, magic changed you into a jackass. Only magic can change you back."

  "You just told me it's all gone," wailed Fronto. "I'm a jackass forever. Send me to the knacker! Fling me into a river! Anything to end this asinine existence!"

  Joy-in-the-Dance laid a calming hand on Fronto's neck. "There's still a chance. One person might help you: the Lady of Wild Things."

  "How can she?" put in Lucian. "She isn't real, she's just an old wives tale."

  "That's what you Bear men think. Believe me, she's very real. She lives on the north coast, in her sanctuary at Mount Panthea."

  "If that's true-all right, yes, I'll believe you," said Lucian. "I'll take Fronto there. Can you tell me how to find the sanctuary?"

  "I can," said the girl. "I can also tell you it's forbidden to men of the Bear tribe. And that, I'm sure, includes jackasses. You couldn't set foot anywhere close to the place."

  Fronto, having brightened for a moment, looked more dismal than ever. "No use, then. My dear Lucian, do me one last good turn."

  "Wait a minute. Let me think," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "There might be a way around that rule. I can speak on your behalf. I'm going to Mount Panthea. I have to see the Lady of Wild Things."

  8 - Forbidden Enchantments

  "You have my undying gratitude!" exclaimed Franta. "I'll dedicate a hymn of thanksgiving to you-once I'm in a position to do so."

  "Don't thank me yet," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "Even the Lady might not be able to help. Whether she can that’s one thing. Whether she will-that's another. You committed a serious offense, Franta. She could decide it served you right and leave you as you are; or lay on a worse punishment."

  "I hadn't thought of that," said Franta, "but my considered opinion is: Anything's better than what I am."

  "And I-" Lucian began, "I wonder if the Lady might help me, too? If Calchas and Phobos get their hands on me, they'll kill me. I don't dare go back to the palace or anywhere they could find me. What can I do? Hide away in some hole and comer for the rest of my life? Count beans forever? No, that's over and done with. Fronto was a poet. He'll be one again, if the Lady transforms him. But I? What could I be? I haven't been anything much in the first place. Would the Lady tell me?"

  "Aiee-Ouch, you do astonish me," Joy-in-the-Dance said. "People have implored her for riches, fame, magical secrets, and whatever else you could imagine-without getting them, naturally. But wanting to know what to do with your life? I've never heard of such a request. If she's willing to see you, you'll have to ask her yourself.

  "I hadn't bargained on traveling companions," she added, "least of all a donkey and an Aiee-Ouch; but I dread to think of you two blundering about on your own. Yes, I'll take you to Mount Panthea. You have to keep pace, though. No wandering off, poking into things that aren't your business, making a nuisance-"

  "Agreed most happily!" exclaimed Fronto.

  "You're the pythoness." Lucian turned away and grumbled under his breath to Fronto, "Pythoness or not, she doesn't have to give me lessons in common sense. I'm no child. I'm a man, after all."

  "Yes, exactly," said joy-in-the-Dance, whose ears were keener than Lucian supposed. "Now, let's be away from here or we'll have a pack of warriors on our heels."

  The girl set off, with Lucian and Fronto scrambling after her. For the rest of the morning, however, Lucian saw little of their guide. She was continually leaving them to wait while she disappeared into the brush, reappearing later from a different direction; or circling, or doubling back on her own footsteps. Once, she popped up without her cloak, explaining she had dropped it where the troop would surely find it; another time, her cheeks and knees were crisscrossed with bramble scratches, her braid had come undone, and she looked thoroughly pleased.

  "That," she remarked, brushing twigs from her hair, "will do nicely. They'll end up chasing one another."

  If Lucian had been nettled by the girl taking her authority for granted, over the next few days he grudgingly admitted to himself that he would have been lost, famished, bone sore, and parched without her. Joy-in-the-Dance was always able to pick the easiest pathways and most comfortable sleeping spots. She found hidden springs of clear water, unearthed odd-shaped edible roots, dug out nuts the squirrels had buried: meager fare, but it staved off hunger and thirst.

  One day, she found a honey tree. While Lucian and Fronto kept a safe distance, the girl calmly walked straight to it and began a high-pitched, wordless singing. The bees swarmed from the hollow trunk and formed a star like crown on her head. Still singing, she reached into the hive and broke off a portion of honeycomb. As she stepped away, the bees streamed back into their tree. "How-? What did you do?" stammered Lucian. "Or is that a woman's mystery?"

  "Only a small one."

  "No use, then, asking you to teach me," Lucian said wryly. "All right, I can understand why you don't share your secrets with Bear people like Bromios, or soothsayers like Calchas and Phobos. But I'm not the Bear tribe, I'm only me. Besides, I've heard that a lot of Bear men are devoted to the Lady. They won't tum your mysteries against you."

  "How do we know?" said Joy-in-the-Dance. "We can't be sure what they'd do once they had that kind of knowledge. We won't take the risk. We decided that long ago. We have a tale about it, handed down from mother to daughter-"

  "A story?" broke in Lucian, pricking up his ears. "Would you tell that to me, at least? I've never heard anything but Bear lore."

  "Not surprising. No wonder you're an Aiee-Ouch."

  Though Lucian pressed her to tell him, she said no more on the subject, leaving him disappointed and more than a little vexed.

  "My boy," Fronto later remarked to him, "I've been observing. I do believe our admirable pythoness has a bit of a soft spot for you. I'm a poet, I detect such things."

  Lucian snorted. "Well, I'm not a poet, but what I detect is: Half the time, she doesn't make sense; the other half, she makes me feel like an idiot."

  "Precisely," said Fronto. "That's another of those woman’s mysteries."

  That same day, Joy-in-the-Dance halted in a dense comer of the forest and beckoned Lucian and Fronto past the tangled undergrowth.

  "It's summer here!" Lucian hardly believed his eyes. A ring of ancient oaks stood in full, rich foliage. Flowering vines clung to the gnarled trunks. Crimson and white blossoms covered the bushes. He took a deep breath of the warm, fragrant air. Only a few paces behind him, the trees had just begun to put out new leaves. "Why here and nowhere else?"

  "It stays like this all year-round." Joy-in-the-Dance took his hand and led him to a pool glittering in the sunlight. A ledge of polished marble rimmed the water. Nearby rose a little pavilion; ivy twined to the top of its slender columns. "This used to be one of the magical places I told you about. Most of the magic's gone, but there's still a little bit left. From the days when the Great Ones lived in Arkadia."

  "Where are they now? What happened?" Lucian asked. "Can you tell me?"

  "Yes. It's something you ought to know. You, too, Fronto. It's about a man meddling with things that didn't concern him." The girl settled cross-legged at the pool's rim. Lucian drew closer to her as she began: "Long ago, before the Bear tribe came to Arkadia, there was a man called Think-Too-Late.

  "He had everything he needed. His vines gave him the heaviest bunches of the sweetest grapes. In his orchard, ripe fruits fell into his hands without his climbing to pluck them. When his wife, Giving-All-Gifts, sat at her loom, the cloth wove itself with never a knot or broken thread. Clear water filled his well to the brim, his
crops sprang up in abundance, his livestock never sickened, nor did he. For all that, he was restless and unsatisfied."

  "How could he be?" put in Lucian. "I don't understand that."

  "You will," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "In those days, mighty enchanters lived in Arkadia: the Great Ones. They were tall and graceful, fair of face and generous in spirit, with powers past mortal understanding. One, for instance, Arbikanos, knew the secret of transforming himself into any animal, bird, or sea creature, and back again. Another, Stephanos, knew the opposite art: how to change animals into human beings. Of yet another, Dalbenos, it was said that he could, whenever he chose, start his life afresh as a newborn infant. And there were many more, all gifted with magical skills and knowledge.

  "But the most powerful was called Woman-Three-Women, who could take the form of a beautiful maiden, a kindly mother, or a frightful hag. She could spin life threads, measure, and shear them off. She knew how all things began and ended, and the shape of mortal destinies. The other Great Ones honored her in their sanctuary and council hall at the foot of Mount Panthea.

  "It was thanks to these Great Ones that Think-Too-Late, like his fellow mortals, was showered with so many blessings. The enchanters provided for all his needs. They caused his fields to flourish, his animals to thrive, his household to prosper without toil or trouble. Out of their loving kindness, they kept Arkadia a land of peaceful happiness."

  "She's setting the scene very nicely for us," remarked Fronto. "Building up the atmosphere. It's no doubt one of those tales of sentiment and tender feelings. The ladies enjoy that sort of thing."

  "As for Think-Too-Late," Joy-in-the-Dance went on, ignoring Fronto, "having nothing better to occupy his mind, he began to think about his condition; and, the more he thought about it, the more fault he found.

  "The Great Ones have given us good things," he said to his wife. "All very nice, I admit. But no one with any sense or wisdom gives away everything. So, if the Great Ones have given us this much, they could surely give us more if they chose. Since they haven't given us everything, they're holding something back. And if they're holding something back, it must be most precious. And if it's most precious, I find it mean-spirited and tightfisted of them not to share it."

  "Giving-All-Gifts told him to put that notion out of his mind and be glad for all he had. But Think-Too-Late kept gnawing at it so much that soon it began gnawing at him.

  "It had long been rumored that the Great Ones had buried an iron-bound chest at the peak of Mount Panthea. Some whispered that the coffer held a vast treasure; others, that it was filled with magical objects, even the secret of eternal life. Think-Too-Late had never given much credit to this gossip. Now, he believed the rumors must be true.

  "Whatever's in that box," he told himself, "has to be more precious than anyone can imagine, or it wouldn't be hidden. Yes, the Great Ones are holding something back. Since they won't share it freely, I have every reason to go and take it."

  When Giving-All-Gifts warned that it was not only dangerous but also downright stealing, Think-Too-Late brushed aside her objections. "Stealing?" he cried. "How so, when they've given me everything else, why not this? Why should the Great Ones lord it over me, and run my life as they see fit, as if I were a child?"

  Though Giving-All-Gifts pleaded, wept, and wrung her hands, nothing would change his mind. "Woman," he said, "you don't understand manly matters. If I turned away from what must be done, I'd be a sorry specimen of manhood."

  "Then and there, with his wife wailing and begging him to stay home and mind his business, Think-Too-Late set out for Mount Panthea.

  "His journey was long and harsh. He soon ran out of what food he had taken with him; instead of fruits falling into his hands he had to scrape for roots and acorns. Nights, he shivered on the cold ground; days, he went hungry and thirsty. Nevertheless, he kept on his way. When, at last, he came to Mount Panthea, his path only grew more difficult. The higher he climbed, the sharper blew the icy gales, freezing him to the marrow. Sleet and snow blinded him, jagged rocks bloodied his hands and feet. Still, he climbed until he reached the peak.

  "There, his eyes lit up as he saw a tall heap of white stones. He clawed and scrabbled away at them, and when he flung aside the last one, he cried out in both triumph and dismay. Indeed, a chest lay exposed, but hardly bigger than the palm of his hand.

  "How can a little box hold great value?" he exclaimed. "I've been cheated again!"

  Then he saw the coffer was sealed with the emblem of Woman-Three-Women. "Aha," he said to himself, "if it belongs to her, it must be worth something, at least. Whatever it holds, I'll have it for all my pains."

  "He snatched it up. That same instant, before he could break the seal, the ground rumbled and shuddered beneath his feet. The hollow where the chest had lain gaped open. From the jaws of this pit, flames and molten rock shot upward in a crimson column reaching to the sky. The roar deafened him, the fire scorched his face. The mountain writhed and convulsed. Think-Too-Late hung on for dear life, but the mountain shrugged him off like a horse twitching away a fly. Down he tumbled, still clutching the chest, swept along on a torrent of stones and gravel.

  "The earth split, a river welled up; and, next thing he knew, he was being borne farther and farther, spinning and tossing like a leaf. Behind him, a barrier of high crags jutted where once had stretched a flat plain. Springs gushed to form lakes, waterfalls poured from newly risen cliffs. Bruised and battered, Think-Too-Late was at last pitched ashore, astonished to find himself alive and his bones unbroken.

  "That," he said, "was a bit more than I bargained for."

  "Picking himself up, he set about making his long way home. This journey proved easier than his first, for he taught himself to build shelters from leaves and branches, to find forage in even the roughest country; and so, when at last he trudged into his dooryard, he was not in much worse condition than when he left.

  "Giving-All-Gifts ran to embrace him, weeping with joy, and in the same breath, scolding him furiously for having risked his life to gain only a little box.

  "Better than empty-handed," said Think-Too-Late, casting around for a means of breaking the seal, which had not yielded to any of his efforts along the way. However, no sooner had he set the chest on the ground than the lid flew open by itself.

  "Giving-All-Gifts cried out and covered her face with her hands, Think-Too-Late fell back in terror as a huge black cloud swirled out of the chest. From it strode a giant figure bearing a flaming torch; and, wherever he passed, trees were blighted, fruits withered, and fields lay barren. While Think-Too-Late stared, too frozen in horror to tum away, another giant shape appeared, gripping a lash with a dozen knotted thongs; and, wherever he swung this scourge, all living things sickened, racked with plagues and pestilence. Before the cloud melted away, yet another giant sprang from it, brandishing a bloody sword; and, wherever he passed, men fought and slew each other without mercy.

  "Then, as if from nowhere, crowned with a crescent moon, there stood a tall figure in a cloak shining with stars. Think-Too-Late and Giving-All-Gifts fell to their knees. Though a shimmering veil hid her face from them, they knew this was Woman-Three-Women.

  "Think-Too-Late," she said, in a voice that chilled his heart, "do you know what you have done? That is what we wished to keep from you. Now you have set these monsters at large, and never again can they be called back."

  Think-Too-Late bowed his head. "Take my life. I pay it for the ills I unloosed."

  "Wretched little man," replied Woman-Three-Women, "do you suppose your death can make up for your deed? No. Your punishment will be far greater."

  "So be it," said Think-Too-Late. "It can be no worse than what I deserve. And yet and yet here, he raised his face and a spark brightened his eyes despite all else, wrong or not, I did what I did. I climbed to the very top of Mount Panthea, I rode the avalanche, I was burned, frozen, nearly drowned, and lived to come back; and this, no man has ever done."

  "You are a fool," sa
id Woman-Three-Women, "but, I admit, you are, after a fashion, also a hero: a combination typical among mortals."

  "Whatever his punishment," said Giving-All-Gifts, "I, too, wish to suffer it with him. He is a foolish creature, as I know better than anyone; and, thus, all the more need for me to help him bear it."

  "So you shall," said Woman-Three-Women, "and give him more comfort than he merits, and show better sense than he will ever have. Now, farewell to you."

  "You banish us?" cried Think-Too-Late, his heart tom. "Cast us out into some terrible wilderness? Spare my wife this fate. She has done no wrong."

  "You stay," said Woman-Three-Women. "I and the Great Ones must go from here. I have long known this would be the shape of our destinies, and a day such as this would come. It is in the grain and nature of things. You were right, Think-Too-Late. We treated you as children. As children grow up and lead their own lives, so must you."

  Woman-Three-Women turned to Giving-All-Gifts. "To you, I entrust the arts of planting and harvesting, of healing and consolation, and all secret knowledge you will share with all women. As for you, Think-Tool. ate, your punishment is so harsh I dread to speak it. You are a hero, and you are welcome to that cold glory. But you, and all men after you, shall be forever cursed with discontent, with a spirit never at peace, curiosity never satisfied, seeking that never finds, questioning never answered. You shall be driven by a goad you sharpen yourself, and go blundering and stumbling, misjudging and misunderstanding to the end of your days. In sum, you are condemned to be human. I can inflict nothing more painful. Too much so, perhaps. Therefore, I leave you one last thing."

  "As she spoke, out of the chest flew a small white bird, so graceful and beautiful that Giving-All-Gifts caught her breath in wonder and reached out to it. And, indeed, the bird came to perch a moment on her finger before it spread its wings and fluttered away.