by Wayland Drew
“Ranon! Come on!” Willow looked wildly for Meegosh, but he was busy on the other side of the common, tending to wounded. Carrying Mims and clutching Ranon’s hand, Willow ran for home, a dozen horrid images in his mind. But when they burst in, Kiaya was peacefully rocking beside the window, feeding the baby.
“Thank goodness!” Willow exclaimed, embracing her. “Thank goodness you’re all right!”
“Why? Willow, what happened!”
“A dog,” Ranon said. “This big. It attacked the fair. Killed people.”
“No!”
Willow nodded, biting his lower lip. “I knew it! I knew something awful would happen!”
Kiaya held the baby close. “You think it’s her fault? It’s not!”
“Of course it’s not her fault, but it happened because she’s here. I know it! We have to take her to the Council, now. Everyone must know. Besides, the High Aldwin will tell us what to do.”
Kiaya held the baby close. “I’m afraid, Willow.”
He nodded, embracing them. “Oh Kiaya, so am I. But we can’t just be afraid. We have to fight back. We have to act! Right, Mims?”
“Right, Dada.”
“Ranon?”
The boy nodded. “We have to look after her,” he said. “And everyone must know.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Kiaya found her shawl, and the little family went up their path toward the village, huddling together.
“When you come back, Dada,” Mims said. “I’ll have lots of pictures for you.”
“Don’t be silly.” Willow laughed and laid his hand on the child’s head. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re just taking the baby to the High Aldwin, so he can tell us what to do.”
“Lots of pictures,” Mims said quietly. “I’ll make one for you every day . . .”
The commons was a shambles. A few people were hurrying through it, avoiding the corpse of the Death Dog, but most were already inside the meeting hall. This was the largest and oldest building in the village, and for special occasions and debates, everyone gathered in its shelter. By the time the Ufgoods arrived, the High Aldwin’s chair had already been carried inside and the old man was sitting with his eyes half-shut, listening to Burglekutt speak.
Alone among the councillors, Burglekutt had found time to change into official robes, and he stood in his pointed hat and flared gown, a small pyramid. Bits of what he was saying drifted back to Willow: “. . . sighted . . . hills to the south. Who knows how many more? I say . . . find what they’re hunting for! Give it to them! . . . Nelwyns lost their lives!”
Many in the crowd murmured agreement.
A second councillor rose. “The dogs are just a sign. A sign of worse to come. Maybe drought. Maybe plague. Who knows? I agree with Prefect Burglekutt. We must find what they want and give it to them. Furthermore, we should throw whoever’s responsible into the pit!”
More murmurs of assent. At the back of the crowd, Willow cringed, and Kiaya gripped his arm with both hands.
The High Aldwin rose then and the crowd fell silent. “Willow Ufgood!”
Willow gulped and raised his hand. “Here!”
“Come forward!”
The crowd shuffled, opening a path, and Willow walked through them, carrying the child. Meegosh moved over and joined Kiaya and the children.
“Earlier,” the High Aldwin said, “you tried to tell me something. What was it, Willow?”
Willow bowed his head. “My children, sir . . . My family . . . We found this baby on the river.”
The crowd murmured again, and the High Aldwin raised a hand and silenced them. When he brought it down it came to rest on the head of the child, who was smiling at him. “This is a Daikini child,” he said softly. “But there’s something . . .” His eyes closed.
“You hear that?” Burglekutt lunged to his feet. “A Daikini! Here in Nelwyn Valley. That’s what the beasts want! Let’s give it back to them!”
“But you can’t!” Willow exclaimed. “They’ll kill her!”
Burglekutt’s small eyes gleamed. “You hear that?” he asked the crowd. “Hear this fellow tell us what to do? We have our own children to protect, that’s what I say! What’s a Daikini child more or less? She’s not one of us!”
“Life is life!” Meegosh shouted above the grumbling of the crowd. “Life is precious!”
“Burglekutt, don’t talk nonsense!” Vohnkar spoke clearly, his eyes level. His hand rested on the sword which had spilled the guts of the Death Dog.
But many were frightened enough to support Burglekutt’s suggestion. A few, nodding grim agreement, shook their fists.
The High Aldwin had entered a trance. One hand still rested on the head of the child, and the other gently folded back her arm to reveal the Sign inside her elbow. He gaped. His eyes rolled back into his head. For a moment it seemed that he might vanish. In fact, he even went a bit transparent; Willow could see right through him. But then he collected himself. Firmly in place, he raised both gowned arms and spread them wide. The crowd fell silent.
“This child is no ordinary child. I cannot tell you everything about her because I do not know all. I cannot see the end of her long journey.” He turned sternly toward Burglekutt. “But we shall have no more talk of giving this child, or any child, to dogs to tear apart!”
There was a long silence, broken only by the soft laughter of the little girl in Willow’s arms.
“Someone,” the High Aldwin continued, “must take this child north, along the shore of the great river, beyond the northern limits of our valley, to the Daikini crossroads!”
The crowd gasped. The thought was so astonishing, so terrifying, that they were stricken dumb. For any Nelwyn, the prospect of leaving the valley to the north was frightening enough, but to go as far as the Daikini crossroads was impossible. Only maniacs, only witless, wandering fools had ever reached the Daikini crossroads, and what happened to them became the stuff of fables with which Nelwyn mothers warned their children. In fact, many people who heard the High Aldwin that day half believed that the Daikini crossroads was a fabulous place that did not exist at all.
“The Daikini crossroads,” the High Aldwin repeated somberly, as if to impress its dread reality upon them.
“But . . . but who’ll do that?” someone asked at last.
“Ufgood!” Burglekutt said, pointing. “I nominate Willow Ufgood. After all, it’s only fair that the man who interrupted the journey of this Daikini baby, here, in our community, should be the one to take it on its way. Ufgood, you’re it!”
Many in the crowd nodded agreement, grunting. “Right, right . . . only fitting . . . only fair . . . what comes from meddling . . . his duty . . .” A few applauded.
“But I have a family! I have a farm!”
“You should have thought of that before you interfered.” Burglekutt folded his fat arms. “Too late now.”
The High Aldwin sighed deeply. He held out a hand, palm up. “The bones,” he said. One of the councillors scurried off to the vault for the divination bones, returning moments later.
Ceremoniously, the High Aldwin shook the little leather pouch of bones to the east, the south, the west, and the north, and then he bent and scattered them. Slowly, he knelt and considered the significance of their alignment. Slowly, he nodded. At last he looked up and beckoned Willow close. “The bones tell me nothing at all,” he whispered. “You must help me, Willow Ufgood. Do you have any love for this child?”
Willow hesitated. He looked at Kiaya, then at the baby who gazed sweetly into his eyes. “Yes,” Willow said, “of course I do.”
The High Aldwin sprang to his feet. “The bones have spoken! Willow will take the child. The safety of Nelwyn Valley is in his hands.”
“Praise the bones!” Burglekutt shouted.
“Hurray!” shouted the crowd. “Praise the bones! Hail Willow Ufgood!”
“But . . .” Willow said.
“But you will need help. You will need protection. The outer world is
a corrupt and perilous place. The journey to the crossroads is long, and the child is hunted by beasts. I now ask all of you: Who will journey with Willow and protect him?”
“I’ll go,” Vohnkar said quietly. He looked from the High Aldwin to Willow. He nodded.
Two stalwart warriors stepped up beside him.
“I’ll go.”
“And I.”
“Vohnkar!” the crowd shouted. “Vohnkar will go!”
“Not Vohnkar!” Burglekutt waved fat arms in consternation. “No, no, no! Vohnkar’s our best warrior. What if more beasts come? We need him here! He should protect us.”
“Not Vohnkar!” the crowd shouted. “Vohnkar won’t go!”
“Step back, Vohnkar.” Burglekutt waved his hands. “Back. Back.”
“Well,” the High Aldwin asked, “if not Vohnkar, who?”
The crowd fell silent. Men shuffled their feet and rubbed their noses. Holding the child, Willow looked inquiringly at friends and neighbors, but they avoided his gaze.
“I’ll go,” Meegosh said.
“Good!” Burglekutt declared. “Excellent! Praise the bones! Hail Meegosh!”
“Yes.” The High Aldwin looked sourly at Burglekutt. “We have two brave men. And now, this expedition needs a leader. According to the bones, Prefect Burglekutt, that leader is you.”
Burglekutt slapped his chest and staggered back. His hat tipped over his forehead. He went pale.
“Me?”
The High Aldwin nodded. “You.”
“Praise the bones!” the crowd shouted.
“Vohnkar!” Burglekutt pointed. “You and your warriors! Pack your things!”
It took two days for the expedition to organize and pack the supplies for the long journey. They were a tense two days in Nelwyn Valley. No one could forget the ferocity of the Death Dog in its charge. The memory was too vivid, the graves too fresh, for anyone to feel secure. Vohnkar and his men rigged trip-lines across all tracks and paths, and patrolled the perimeters of the village until the time came to leave.
By dawn on the third day, all was ready. They gathered as the mist was rising at the burial ground of the old settlement, where megaliths and dolmens loomed out of the long grass. Willow and his family arrived to find Meegosh and his mother already there. The old woman wrung her hands and wept inconsolably, convinced that she would never see her son again. The Ufgoods huddled together, looking down to the place where the road curved and entered the forest like the mouth of a dark tunnel.
“Are you frightened, Dada?” Ranon asked.
“No,” Willow said. “Yes.”
“I don’t blame you,” Mims said. “I would be too, if I didn’t have me along. Without me, the fairies in the woodland might cast a charm on you and put you to sleep for a hundred years!”
“And without me,” Ranon said, “the brownies could catch you and tie you down and tickle you to death!”
“Trolls!” Mims said, wide-eyed. “Trolls might skin you alive if I wasn’t there to stop them. They might take your face and . . .”
“Mims, please. I hate trolls. You know I hate trolls.”
“I could guard you against them. I could carry your spear.”
Willow laughed and embraced his children. “What a lucky father I am! I wish I could take you both with me, but I have Vohnkar to protect me. And besides, who’d look after your mother if we all went?”
Ranon shrugged and nodded.
“That’s true,” Mims said. “I’d better stay.”
Vohnkar and his two warriors had appeared out of the mist and were waiting down the path. Lances and bows rose over their packs like slender horns.
Kiaya had woven a papoose-basket and lined it with fur, designing it so the child could be tucked snugly inside, in her blanket. “I miss you already,” she said as she helped Willow fit on the shoulder straps of this basket. “I love you.” Tears brimmed over. She brushed them away with the back of her hand.
Willow took her into his arms. “I love you, Kiaya. Keep well. Don’t find any more baby-boats in the river.”
She kept weeping.
“That was a joke.”
“I know.” She sobbed against his chest. “Remember to keep her warm and feed her properly. And take this. It will bring you luck.” She handed him a braid of her hair.
“Kiaya, you cut your hair?”
“Keep it here,” she said, tucking it into Willow’s jacket above his heart.
Burglekutt was approaching. They could hear him grumbling in the mist. Mims scowled and pointed at the sound.
“Urglekutt, Schmurglekutt,
Fat Burglekutt,
Pain in the forehead,
Pain in the butt!”
“Ouch! A bee!”
“Mims! Stop that!”
Burglekutt appeared, rubbing his bottom. “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is exactly what we’re supposed to do. Journey to the Daikini crossroads and nothing else? Wait for a sign? Leave the child there and come home again? Who knows?”
“I know!” The voice echoed among the runestones and dolmens in the ancient burial place beside the path. Mist moved through the long grass like fingers through hair. At first they saw nothing. Then the closest runestone moved, changed shape. As they watched in astonishment, arms grew out of its sides and rubbed themselves together. A cowled head appeared on top. Strands of mist formed a long white beard. The stone became the High Aldwin. “Very cold here! Very bleak!” A hand vanished into the folds of his cloak and reappeared holding a small flask. “Mead, anyone? No? Well then . . .” He took a swig, tapped the stopper back in, and smacked his lips. “That’s better. Now draw close, draw close. Here’s what you should do.”
The six adventurers gathered in front of him.
“You are going into the outer world, and that’s no place for a Nelwyn, no place at all. Stay as short a time as possible. When you get to the Daikini crossroads, give the baby to the first Daikini that you see, then hurry home.”
“That’s all?” Willow asked.
“That’s all.”
“But,” Meegosh said, “a lot of Daikinis are mad.”
“And a lot of them are bad,” Willow said.
“And a lot of them are mad and bad,” Vohnkar said, touching the shaft of his curved sword.
“They’re also big!” Burglekutt added. “Very, very big!”
“So,” Willow asked, “how do we know when we find a good one?”
The High Aldwin closed his eyes and shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. Just give the child to the first one and get home as fast as you can.”
“But . . .” Willow began, hearing the soft laughter of the child in the basket on his back, “but what if . . .”
The High Aldwin’s blue eyes fixed him. “What’s the matter, Willow? Don’t you trust me? Need a sign? Very well then.” He stooped and picked up a fist-sized stone. “Follow the bird. Go where the bird goes. Tuatha! Lokwathrak! Tuatha!”
He hurled the stone upward, and it soared far above the mists. When the first rays of the rising sun touched it, it unfolded into a dazzling white dove which continued to rise, spiraling, until at last it headed south.
Burglekutt had been backing up, shading his eyes. “Good! It’s going back to the village. Home.”
“What?”
“That way!”
The High Aldwin seemed momentarily flustered. He took another quick nip from the flask. “Wrong charm! Too early in the morning. Too cold. Ignore the bird, follow the river. Trust me. All will be well. But I warn you: Don’t go beyond the crossroads!”
As Willow turned to go the High Aldwin plucked at his sleeve and beckoned him in among the rune-stones and dolmens, letting the others go ahead. “What’s the matter with you?” the old man whispered when they were alone. “What is the matter with you, Ufgood?”
“Sir? I don’t . . .”
“Yesterday, when I asked you which finger contained the power to enter the bloodstream of the universe, what was your first resp
onse?”
Willow laughed. “Sir, it was so silly . . .”
The High Aldwin cuffed him lightly on the ear. “Just tell me what it was!”
“Well, it was to choose my own finger.”
“Exactly! Exactly, you idiot!” He swatted Willow several times, his blows as light as birds’ wings. “Oh Willow, Willow, if only you could have faith in yourself, in what you feel! More than anyone else, you have the power to be a great sorcerer, but you must trust that power! Listen to your own heart.” He fumbled in the folds of his robe and drew out three round objects. “Here. I’d go with you if I could, but I’m bound to this valley. Take these. You’ll need them.”
“Acorns?”
“Magical! Anything you hurl them at will turn to stone. But remember, there’re only three.”
“I’d like to throw one at Burglekutt!”
“No, no. If you use sorcery for evil, you will become Evil. You have much to learn, Willow. Learn well. Farewell!” The High Aldwin lifted his arms and vanished. Where he had been the mist swirled away from the sun.
Willow tucked the acorns safely into his pocket beside the braid of Kiaya’s hair. When he got to the path, the rest of the expedition had gone ahead except for Meegosh, who waited to help carry the baggage pole. For the last time, Willow Ufgood embraced his wife and children. He settled his end of the pole on his shoulder. And then, in the sun of the new day, he and Meegosh set off through the meadow, to the place where the forest opened like the mouth of a dark tunnel.
From the slopes behind them the Nelwyns called good-bye—a long, sorrowful sigh.
Many wept.
So began the long journey of Willow Ufgood, a journey destined to end even more strangely than it began.
I V
DAIKINI CROSSROADS
For several leagues northward through Nelwyn Valley the road was broad and level. It led straight through the forest along the old flood plain on the east bank of the river, where the trees grew tall and open. Through them, the travelers could see the Freen and often the forest creatures that went down to the bank to drink.
Vohnkar sent his two men to scout ahead while he led the little procession, lance at the ready. Burglekutt followed next, carrying only his staff of office and his heavy self, sweating copiously and complaining at every inconvenience—a muddy quagmire, a toe stubbed on a projecting root, a horsefly nipping his fat neck. Behind him struggled Meegosh and Willow, bearing the baggage of the expedition slung on the sagging pole between them.
