02 - The Land of the Silver Apples

by Nancy Farmer - (ebook by Undead)

  “It would be unwise,” Father Severus said. “I, too, feel for them, but they must not be discovered.”

  “What should we do now?” said Jack. “We need the Bard’s help.”

  “I could go to St. Filian’s, but I hesitate to leave you alone. There is evil abroad here.”

  Silence fell on the group as they ate. Ethne disappeared into an adjoining chamber to try on her new clothes. It was barely past noon, but the sky was almost as dark as nightfall. Lightning forked across the heavens. “I’ve never seen a storm this bad,” Thorgil remarked. “It’s as if Thor were casting his bolts at us.”

  “Or God is,” said Father Severus.

  “No,” said Jack as an idea came to him. “I think the old gods are laying siege to Din Guardi. The Forest Lord and the Sea God seek to enter. Perhaps whoever ruled the sky has joined them.”

  “Someone’s definitely having a snit,” observed Thorgil, licking grease from her fingers. “Let’s hope he—or she—gets tired before we all lose our hearing.” Almost as though the “someone” had heard her, thunder shook the walls so fiercely then that plaster fell from the ceiling. Everyone cringed. Having made this statement, the storm withdrew. They could hear it grumbling as it moved out to sea.

  “Saints preserve us!” cried Father Severus. Jack saw Ethne dance into the room in the dry clothes the captain had brought her. She was floating as lightly as a dandelion puff, exactly as Lucy had done in the meadows near the village. Ethne’s dress glittered with jewels, but the really spectacular garment was her cloak. Jack had never seen the like of it. The rich, creamy cloth was embroidered with grapevines in which animals were hidden. Jack couldn’t tell what they were—deer, hunting dogs, or cats, perhaps—but they were as long and graceful as the vines. In the center, hovering over this green world, was a white dove with a small twig in its beak.

  “Take that off at once! No! Not the dress,” roared the monk as the elf lady lifted her skirts above her knees. “The cloak! The cloak!” Puzzled, Ethne let it drop. Father Severus swept it up before it touched the floor. He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. Ethne, taking a cue from his distress, burst into tears.

  “Sir, are you ill?” said Jack, kneeling beside the chair.

  “It’s only shock,” the monk said. “Dear Ethne, I’m not angry at you. Please stop crying. I know you meant no harm.” The elf lady’s tears dried up at once. She smiled and resumed her dance around the room. Her emotions shifted with the eerie swiftness Jack had noticed in Lucy.

  “Do you recognize the cloak?” Jack asked.

  “It isn’t a cloak.” Father Severus took a deep breath and smoothed the cloth with his hands. “It’s the altar cloth from the Holy Isle. I remember Sister Agnes and Sister Eowyn embroidering it. Poor, gentle ladies, they’re both dead, thrown into the sea by those foul, murdering Hell-fiends….”

  “How did it get here?” said Jack with a nervous look at Thorgil. She had been one of the Hell-fiends.

  “I don’t know. Some of the treasures might have been saved. I imagine they were taken to St. Filian’s.”

  Jack said nothing. He didn’t have to. St. Filian’s existed to fleece the gullible. Whatever treasures the monks there gained were shared with King Yffi. “I swear,” Father Severus said slowly, “that if I get my hands on those thieving monks, they will learn the meaning of repentance once and for all.”

  What Father Severus had in mind, he didn’t have time to say, for the captain of the guard rapped on the door. The man had changed his shirt, his helmet had been polished, and his beard was trimmed. “Fair Princess, I bid you welcome to Din Guardi. My master, the king, eagerly awaits you,” he cried, giving Ethne a deep bow.

  “And the rest of us?” Father Severus said.

  “He didn’t mention you,” the captain replied rudely.

  “It would be a dire insult to allow Her Highness to go forth without her retinue. Wars have been declared over less.”

  Jack admired the monk’s skill. The captain had no idea that Ethne was only the cast-off daughter of the Queen of Elfland. Partholis probably didn’t even remember her. She certainly didn’t recall Ethne’s father. Yet Father Severus had given the impression that she was cherished and that an army existed.

  He didn’t lie. He’d merely said, Wars have been declared over less and let the captain draw his own conclusions. It didn’t hurt, either, that Ethne fairly sparkled with glamour.

  “Of course, of course. All of you must come,” said the captain, mesmerized.

  An honor guard waited outside. They snapped to attention and followed smartly as the group walked through the halls. Though the storm had gone, the sky was still dark. What little light found its way into the fortress was swallowed up by gloom.

  A permanent sadness hangs over this place, Jack thought. He couldn’t imagine Lancelot and his knights making merry here, but perhaps they’d been as thick-skinned as Brutus. Brutus was impervious to atmosphere. Come to think of it, where was that untrustworthy slave? He was the true ruler of Din Guardi, but Jack couldn’t see him ousting Yffi, or even Ratface.

  The first time Jack had met King Yffi, he’d been too frightened to observe him closely. Now the boy looked for signs of the ruler’s kelpie ancestry. Yffi was taller and bulkier than his men, and his body filled the gilded throne. His feet were encased in very large boots. What lay inside? Claws? Could the king shift his form? And if he did, what happened to his clothes?

  Yffi was swathed from head to toe, and even his head was concealed by a leather helmet that covered his face. The only visible part of him were his eyes, sunk like pebbles in a bowl of oatmeal. The effect was extremely unpleasant.

  The creature—Jack couldn’t think of him as a man—must have been cold, for braziers burned all along the walls, making the atmosphere breathless. Sweat ran down the soldiers’ faces and into their beards.

  “The Princess Ethne,” announced Father Severus before the captain could speak. A murmur ran round the room.

  “Ooh, the pretty thing,” murmured one of the men, who was immediately cuffed by his superior. But it was clear they all thought Ethne was extraordinary. She curtsied and twirled around to bestow her smile on the entire company. The men smiled back, not coarsely as they might have grinned at a tavern wench, but with innocent delight. They might have been boys at a fair on a summer day.

  King Yffi’s reaction was more difficult to guess. He gazed at her steadily, and for some reason Jack was reminded of a toad watching a butterfly. “How did you get into my dungeons?” he said at last.

  “We came by the Hollow Road,” Father Severus said.

  Several men gasped. “That be the way of wraiths,” said the captain. “But you be no wraith, Princess,” he added loyally.

  “Wraiths may not cross our borders,” said King Yffi, “yet other things enter by the Low Road.” The king’s eyes were as emotionless as a spider’s. “Some of our prisoners have disappeared from the dungeons. We find their chains empty, though unlocked.”

  Jack thought of the Bugaboo and the Nemesis hiding down there in the shadows.

  “The Hollow Road is used by many, both fair and foul. We have journeyed from Elfland,” said Father Severus. The reaction was immediate and gratifying. The men knelt before Ethne, and those who were wearing helmets removed them.

  She smiled, dazzlingly. There were times when Ethne seemed human. Jack liked her best then. She was endearing and oddly familiar, though he couldn’t think why. There were times when she was fully the daughter of Queen Partholis, such as now. She radiated glamour, and not one of Yffi’s men could withstand it.

  “An elf maiden! I should have known!” cried the captain. “Such beauty could not be mortal.”

  “I saw elves dance on the green when I was a lad,” a grizzled old warrior declared. “Makes me feel young to think of it.”

  “I heard them singing,” another said wistfully. “I lay out all night in the dew and nearly caught my death of cold. But it was worth it.”r />
  “Silence! All of you!” roared King Yffi. The men scrambled to their feet and jammed on their helmets. “This fortress is under siege, and all who enter unannounced are suspect. Why didn’t she come by the front gate?”

  “Well, you see, Your Majesty, that’s a bit difficult with the Hedge,” began the man who had listened to the elves singing.

  “Silence! She crept in like a thief. How do you know she’s not planning an invasion?”

  “She could invade my house anytime,” said the man.

  “Guards! Take this fool out and give him six of the best. No, make that twelve of the best. Any questions?”

  “No, sir. No, Your Majesty. Not a word,” muttered the men as two burly guards dragged the unfortunate soldier away.

  “You’ve been far too comfortable,” the king said to his men. “You spend your days drinking and gambling and have grown careless. We invaded this fortress from below. Others could do the same. Elves, kelpies, hobgoblins—”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Could you invite our hobgoblin friends in?” Ethne broke in.

  “Ethne! No!” cried Father Severus.

  “It’s nasty down there. I’m sure they’d like this place better,” she said with a pout.

  Yffi signaled, and a soldier swiftly put a knife to the monk’s throat. “Not another word, wretch. The rest of you be quiet too, or he dies. Now, my pretty fay. What were you telling me about hobgoblins?”

  “They rescued us from Elfland—Mother was ever so cross when Pega lit the candle. Besides, I have a soul now and want to be a nun. It’s ever so exciting! Anyhow, the hobgoblins knew how to get here, but they hid in the dungeon because they weren’t sure of their welcome. But I know you won’t mind, being a king and all. Or if you do, could you put us out the front door? Although a party would be nice.”

  Yffi frowned, trying to strain the meaning out of Ethne’s words. One thing did make itself clear: “You say there are hobgoblins in my dungeons?”

  Jack started to object, but the soldier pressed the knife harder against Father Severus’ windpipe.

  “Oh, yes! At the bottom of the stairs.”

  “Why, I thank you, Princess. Your friends are most welcome,” said the king in a soft voice. “I haven’t had hobgoblin since—I must prepare a feast! Yes! Yes! It’s an opportunity that cannot be missed! Hurry, lads, and fetch me those guests before they leave. We must have wine and ale, cheeses and tarts. Send me the cook and the boy Ratface, if he’s still alive. Let me see, hobgoblin stuffed with hazelnuts. Hobgoblin on a bed of mushrooms. So many choices…”

  Chapter Forty-five

  GLAMOUR

  The hobgoblins, securely bound with rope, were dragged into the throne room. There had been a fierce fight in the dungeons. The soldiers were covered with cuts and bruises. One man had lost his front teeth, but the Bugaboo and the Nemesis hadn’t a scratch on them. Hobgoblin skin, as the Nemesis had boasted, was as tough as old tree roots.

  The effect on Yffi was extraordinary. He leaped from his throne and bounced around the pair, uttering hisses of delight that were not remotely human. Suddenly, he threw off his helmet and inhaled deeply. “Ah! The smell of hobgoblins! You never forget it! Oh, the wonder, the ecstasy, the deliciousness of it!”

  Pega fell to her knees and the Nemesis fainted dead away, for Yffi’s parentage was clear without his helmet. His mouth was a V-shaped slit in bleached frog skin, and his hair clung to his scalp like fur on a seal. The Bugaboo tried to come between the kelpie and his friend, but Yffi danced around so wildly, it was impossible.

  “Pega, my dearest, are you all right?” the hobgoblin king asked.

  Pega moaned, clasping her hands.

  “We’re fine, but you, I fear, are not,” said Father Severus. “It seems this fortress is ruled by a kelpie tricked out as a man. Did you know that, Jack?”

  Jack forced himself to speak. “Yes, sir.”

  “And yet you failed to mention it. Strange. I suppose you had your reasons.”

  Jack did and was swept with both shame and horror at what he’d caused. He’d wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He’d lied to the Nemesis—or concealed the truth, which was the same thing—and he’d argued Pega into concealing the truth, too. The Bard will figure something out, Jack had told himself. But deep down he had known he was lying.

  “We have a saying in my country,” the Bugaboo said. “‘No use pining for yesterday’s mushrooms.’ What’s done is done, and I hold no grudges.” As the Nemesis began to stir, he added, “Courage, old friend.” Pega tried to run forward to help the Bugaboo, but she was forced back by a soldier.

  “We’ll save you,” she cried tearfully. “I don’t know how, but we’ll think of something.”

  “It makes me happy to know you’re safe. As to our fate—why, we’ll be able to meet St. Columba. I’m quite looking forward to dying.”

  “Speak for yourself,” muttered the Nemesis.

  Meanwhile, Yffi had worked himself into such a state that he burst into song:

  Scrumptious and savory,

  Toothsome and flavory,

  Nothing so tasty

  As hobgoblin pastry.

  They’re also good fried

  With mushrooms inside,

  Or in hazelnut stew

  With an onion or two.

  There were several verses of this sort, and each one ended with the chorus:

  Of hobgoblin cutlets

  I’ll eat my fill

  With fennel and parsley and dill

  Tra la

  Done up in a nice little grill.

  The Nemesis, try as he would to be brave, fainted again.

  * * *

  “What a miserable creature I am, lowest of the low!” sobbed Ethne. “I’ll starve myself! I’ll endure public floggings! No penitent will ever be so abject or suffer more gloriously!”

  “You meant no harm,” Father Severus said wearily. Ethne had been going on like this for an hour, and they were all thoroughly sick of it. They were huddled in a corner of the courtyard. Soldiers bustled about. Cooks bawled orders to slaves. Ratface slunk by with a bundle of wood. He cast a surly look at the people who had deprived him of his shirt.

  Jack concentrated on how to rescue the hobgoblins. He knew he was more at fault than Ethne, but wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to save anyone. He went over the small amount of magic at his disposal. He could call up rain and fog, kindle fires, and make apples fall from trees. Once, he had called up an earthquake. Jack looked speculatively at the fortress walls. He grasped the staff and sent his mind down to the life force, but it was too feeble and distant. He wasn’t even sure how he’d done it before.

  The soldiers had dug a great fire pit and were constructing a spit for roasting. A mountain of logs was burning down to coals. The Bugaboo and the Nemesis, appropriately, were locked up in the pantry.

  Jack tried to estimate how much time they had. Clouds hid the sun and the light was so murky, it was impossible to guess what time it was. On the good side, a constant drizzle threatened to put out the fire.

  Pega slumped against a wall with tears rolling down her face. Father Severus was praying, and Ethne was lamenting loudly and creatively. Only Thorgil was alert. She observed the preparations for the feast, the position of the soldiers, the crows sitting ominously on the battlements. Watching her, Jack felt a glimmer of hope. Surrender wasn’t a concept she understood. She had continued to fight when she was being carried off in the claws of a dragon.

  Jack remembered Olaf One-Brow’s advice: Never give up, even if you’re falling off a cliff. You never know what might happen on the way down. He smiled at the memory of the giant Northman.

  “You look cheerful. Have you thought of a plan?” said Thorgil.

  “I was remembering Olaf.”

  The shield maiden frowned as she tried to flex her paralyzed hand. “Once, when Olaf’s right arm was broken in battle, he had to fight with his left hand. When the enemy knocked his sword away, Olaf kicked him in t
he stomach. Then he head-butted the troll over a cliff. Olaf had much battle lore.”

  “For one thing, he taught us that it’s good to have a very hard head.”

  “He was proud of his,” Thorgil agreed. “He was also a master of strategy.”

  What strategy? Jack thought. As far as he knew, the Northman’s only tactic was to run down a hill screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “Olaf used to say, ‘Even the smallest thing can be used as a weapon. You can bury a castle in an avalanche if you know which pebble to remove.’”

  Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Meaning?”

  “Yarthkins. They offered you a boon for blessing their land. You should ask them for it.”

  “What can they do? They’re forbidden to enter the fortress.”

  “You never know what might happen,” said Thorgil. “I’ve seen their like before, in heavy fog and at a distance, but I know they’re powerful. Olaf was always highly respectful of them. We call them landvættir.”

  Then, because the shield maiden moved with lightning speed from any plan to action, she immediately turned to Father Severus. “You must remain here with Ethne,” she said. “The rest of us will rescue the hobgoblins.” Next, she tapped Pega on the shoulder and said, “Be ready.” Lastly, she grabbed Ethne and shook her hard. “Stop whining. You know how to create glamour, don’t you?”

  Ethne hiccupped, and she stared at Thorgil in shock. “Well, do you?” demanded the shield maiden, giving her another shake. The elf lady nodded. “Good. Get over there and perform. I want those guards’ wits so clouded, they won’t be able to find their backsides with both hands.”

  Ethne turned to Father Severus for help. The monk smiled slightly. “You’ve lamented enough, child, and I’m sure Heaven has been impressed. Much will be forgiven if you rescue those noble hobgoblins.” The elf lady’s face became radiant, all tears forgotten. Father Severus raised his hand in blessing to Thorgil: “May God go with you.”