by Diane Rios
Chloe agreed, and the two friends went out to rest a few minutes in the fresh air. Mrs. Goodweather sat in one of the chairs Brisco had whipped up out of nothing and sighed contentedly. “Well that is a good day’s work already done.”
Chloe agreed. “Yes, and the pies look so good I don’t know how the hospital heads can help from eating them. I know what they can do, and I can hardly keep from eating them myself!”
“Well, mind that you don’t!” said Mrs. Goodweather. “I can’t have my right-hand woman turning into a tiny baby!”
Chloe giggled. “No, and I don’t fancy the idea of you changing my diapers, either!”
“Well come to that child, neither do I.” They both laughed.
“I hope Celeste is doing all right,” said Chloe.
“Oh, I’m sure she is,” answered Mrs. Goodweather confidently. “Celeste Hart is a clever woman, and I’m sure she’ll be back—eh, what’s that?”
The sound of an engine coming up the road caused her to break off and look at Chloe in alarm. Looking anxiously over the edge of the tree house porch rail, Chloe spotted the ambulance. Her heart stopped for a split second—had they been discovered? But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew who it was.
“It’s Brisco!” she cried. “He’s back!”
Chloe flew down the tree house ladder and ran to meet the car as it came to a stop. She bounced up and down eagerly, ready to hear everything Brisco had to tell about where he had been, and what he had done, but then shrieked with utter surprise as the Artist got out of the car.
“Artist!” Chloe stared at her friend in disbelief. Then she ran into the Artist’s open arms.
“Oh, Artist!” she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “How can you be here? I’m so glad to see you!”
The Artist embraced the girl, and then set her gently back, so he could look at her. His eyes were damp and he had trouble speaking, but finally he found his voice. “I am so very glad to see you too, child!”
The two dear friends laughed and hugged again.
Lord Winchfillin had gotten out of the car along with Brisco, and everyone stood watching the two friends reunite. Chloe finally noticed the little earl. “Why, it’s Lord Winchfillin! You escaped!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I am so happy that you did!”
“Not as happy as I am, my dear!” The little man winked, rocking back on his heels. Then the little earl approached her and held out both hands to clasp hers.
“My dear!” Lord Winchfillin gently pressed Chloe’s hands. “May I just say how delighted I am that you are also safe and well.”
Touched by the little earl’s sincerity, Chloe leaned forward and squeezed him in a quick hug.
“We can continue introductions inside,” called out Mrs. Goodweather, turning toward the tree house ladder. “I’m sure you’re all tired and hungry, so come in and sit down and I’ll make us all something to eat!”
The men’s noses sniffed the air appreciatively and Brisco said, “Something smells good, Mrs. G!”
THAT DAY WAS A MERRY ONE. FOR THE FIRST TIME THE little group felt relatively safe, and very glad to be together. With the pies already made, and cooling on the counter, they spent the time catching up, and filling each other in on what had happened to them since they were last together. Chloe went first and told the Artist and Lord Winchfillin how Shakespeare had called the animals of the forest, who had in turn called Mrs. Goodweather, who had rescued her and taken her back to the farm. After she explained how they had fled into the forest and met Brisco, the Artist began to fill in his side of the story.
While the Artist spoke, Brisco leaned over to Chloe and, reddening a bit at the ears, asked in a whisper, where had Miss Hart gone? Chloe assured him that Miss Hart was perfectly well and would return, but here she was interrupted by Lord Winchfillin calling out for Chloe to tell the group how much she had enjoyed his birthday party, before the ambulances came of course, so Chloe had to leave it at that for the moment.
The Artist and Lord Winchfillin took turns telling about their own terrifying escapes from the ambulance drivers. The Artist told the tale of how he and the horses had been injured and had been forced to spend the night in the forest. This was when Greybelle had revealed her ability to speak.
Chloe was delighted that the mare had revealed her secret to her friends. The Artist said it was Greybelle that had told him to follow the squirrel to Mrs. Goodweather’s house, where they had just missed Chloe. He then told of the journey to the mountain and of the meeting of the animals there. He told about Silas the Stargazer, and how he had promised to help them.
“Wait a minute,” said Chloe. “Where is Greybelle? Where is Raja? Didn’t they come with you?”
“They went with Silas, over the mountain,” explained the Artist. “Silas said we needed more help, and he needed Grey-belle to come too. Something to do with her family, across a broken bridge. He promised to join us as soon as possible.”
“Well, I certainly hope he can join us in time,” said Mrs. Goodweather. “Tomorrow is the day of the gala, and we can’t afford to wait for the old man, no matter what help he may bring.”
“I don’t know much about it myself,” admitted the Artist. “But I believe him, and I think if you had met Silas, you would believe him too.”
“Well, we asked for help, and help has come!” said Mrs. Goodweather happily, getting up to fetch a bottle of her spiced cider to celebrate. She filled everyone’s glass, and raised a toast. “To our friends, old and new! To our endeavor! To our success!”
“To our success!” said everyone together and they all drank the delicious cider.
As the little party continued, Chloe was quiet a moment thinking of everything that had been said. She missed Grey-belle terribly but was very proud of her friend. And she was so relieved that everyone was safe and unharmed, and she comforted herself with the thought that soon she would see Grey-belle again.
All the rest of that day they talked, laughed, and told stories, enjoying the sensation of being among friends, and of celebrating. But, as the afternoon grew long and turned into evening, they each fell silent as the weight of what they were to do the next day fell upon them. It was only a matter of hours now, and nothing could go wrong.
They discussed the plan, and then went over it again, but no one could anticipate the exact sequence of events. It would all unfold the following day, and until then they could do nothing more but rest, which seemed almost impossible.
After a good supper, Brisco surprised everyone by building another bed for Lord Winchfillin, while the Artist preferred to find a tree hammock near the tree house, where he could think.
Outside the night was clear and calm, and cold. The stars gleamed silently as the Artist made his way down the tree house ladder. He walked over to the rock ledge and gazed down at the hospital. He shivered, remembering the attack at Lord Winchfillin’s castle. Visions of screaming party guests, falling on the lawn and being dragged back to the ambulances, flashed before his eyes, and he closed them tightly, trying to blot the images out. This madness had to end. Their plan had to work.
He shook his head and thought that whatever happened it would all be over in forty-eight hours. He pulled out his little wooden flute. The Artist stopped under a tree that he would soon ask for a bed and began to play a tune. The melody was tender, but it had an underlying tempo that quickened the blood. It was a song full of what was in the Artist’s heart, and in the heart of all the creatures hidden in the forest around him.
Animals in their dens near the tree house heard the flute’s tune and burrowed closer together. Birds in their nests heard it and shuffled uneasily, knowing what it meant. It meant the time for action was soon. Not tonight, for tonight was for resting, but it was the kind of rest that comes before a battle.
Afra the white queen, waiting patiently in the meadow, heard the Artist’s tune. Her sensitive ears swiveled to pick up every note, and she knew that tomorrow would be the day. Her does were bedded down in the grass a
round her, resting, but not sleeping, waiting patiently for the night to pass.
King Auberon, pacing restlessly above the tree line, heard the Artist’s notes wafting up through the trees and growled. His great family, waiting in the trees around him, all growled in response. Soon. They would be on the move soon. They would stop the men very soon. The huge black bears, invisible in the darkness of the trees, gnashed their yellow teeth.
They were ready.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE TRAIL UP THE MOUNTAIN WAS JUST WIDE enough for Silas and the horses to walk single file. The air was cool and sharp, and they could see their breaths puffing with every step. The little group climbed for an hour, and the horses began to get thirsty. Raja’s legs were very tired, and he was just about to tell Greybelle he could go no farther when they reached the mouth of a large cave. The opening was so large it could easily accommodate the horses, and when they walked through it, they were astonished by the tidy home inside. It was Silas’s home on the mountain, and it was a beautiful place.
The floor of the cave had been swept clean. A comfortable bed was against one rock wall, its mattress made of soft moss and dried grasses. A fire pit in the center of the cave had a stack of wood next to it, ready to light. Woven mats hung on one wall, made of different kinds of grasses, in different soft colors. Another wall had a mural painted with colorful dye, depicting fantastic scenes of animals, plants, and stars. Still another wall was lined with shelves that held clay jars, baskets of food, and dried herbs.
Silas crouched at the fire and soon had a crackling blaze going, which cheered them all considerably. He brought dried grass to the horses from a large store he had at the back of the cave. He showed them where a trickle of a stream ran down the side of the cave in a crack in the rock and collected in a shallow basin before flowing down another crack and disappearing. While the horses ate and drank and warmed themselves by the little fire, Silas sat and ate his own light dinner of apples and nuts.
“We can’t stay here long, my friends,” he said to the horses. “After we have rested and eaten, we must press on, but it won’t be too much farther now.”
Greybelle lifted her head, a wisp of hay dangling from her lips. “We are ready when you are, Silas.”
Another half an hour saw them all comfortably full and warmed, ready to continue up the mountain. Silas doused the fire with water from the little stream and picked up his staff.
“Shall we, my dears?” he asked. The horses followed him out of the cave.
The three of them kept climbing. They soon reached a pass below the summit of the mountain. The deep cut in the jagged rock was surprisingly sheltered from the hard winds that blew over their heads. They traversed the pass easily and came out on the other side, reaching another ledge that overlooked the valley below.
Here the wind found them again and blew hard about their ears, tossing the horses’ manes and Silas’s long braids. Stronger gusts struck them from in front, making it hard for them to catch their breath. The clouds gathered overhead, building tall, dark ramparts in the sky. Small specks of rain began to strike their faces. Silas surprised the horses by sitting down amidst all this and closing his eyes.
Greybelle and Raja huddled closer to the rock wall and waited, braced against the elements. They trusted the old man but were frightened to stand in such an exposed spot on the mountain. Silas continued to sit still while the wind and rain struck his face and his clothes. Rumbling clouds overhead turned white as lightning rippled through the sky. Another rumble answered from below their feet.
The horses trembled. The entire world seemed to vibrate around them, from the clouds to the earth. The rain stopped, but the wind continued, and Silas laid his hands upon the ground.
The clouds rolled past the mountain, pushed by the strong winds. The wind suddenly became warmer and softened. Here and there a beam of sunlight broke through to dapple the valley floor below in moving emerald patches. A light rain still fell here and there alongside the sunbreaks. The wide, misty swaths drifted away over the valley.
The thunder ceased, and the earth finally stopped trembling. The horses were greatly relieved when Silas opened his eyes. He got to his feet, smiling. “We must go down,” he said, coming to the horses and patting them reassuringly.
“What has happened?” asked Greybelle.
“Wy’east has advised us to take cover.”
“Take cover? Take cover from what?” asked Greybelle. Raja snorted fearfully—he did not want any more noise and frightening rumbles.
“Only from his great strength,” said Silas. “But we will be safe, you will see. Come.”
Silas crossed the ledge to where a narrow trail wound down among the rocks. The horses followed him with some trepidation, but having no alternative, they made their way carefully down the north side of the mountain.
After an hour of descending the narrow trail through the rocks, they came out in a place dense with pines. Here, Silas finally motioned for them to stop. “Only a little farther, my dears. Can you continue?” he asked.
Greybelle was nearly exhausted and Raja the same. Both horses felt the strain of the journey, but neither had any intention of giving up. There was far too much at stake. Greybelle nickered at Silas agreeably, and Raja surprised them both by bugling quite enthusiastically that yes, he was ready!
Silas laughed and patted the old gelding on his neck. “You’re a good soldier.”
They continued until they reached the edge of the trees. Here the man and two horses stopped short and took in the awe-inspiring scene before them. Below was a deep gorge, carved into the rocks over millions of years by the Columbia River tumbling its endless, ice-fed waters to the sea. The sides of the gorge were littered with enormous boulders, making even the banks of the river impassable.
Silas was silent, gazing north across the water. Greybelle looked too and realized with a small shock that she was looking at the lands of her ancestors. On the other side of the great gorge began the northlands of old, and beyond those distant hills, shadowed and purple, lay her family’s birthplace, the Valley of Bree.
The gray mare felt a deep yearning well up inside her at the thought of her home, and before she could help herself, a long, tremulous whinny started somewhere inside her stomach and burst forth, sending Greybelle’s longing into the void. She stood trembling as her own voice echoed across the empty space, ears pricked forward. But there was no answer.
“We must take cover,” said Silas. “Come.”
Greybelle turned reluctantly away from the cliff and followed Silas and Raja back under the trees. They stopped in a small clearing well away from the chasm. Silas advised the horses to stand firmly on the ground and not to be frightened, whatever happened. They would be safe; Wy’east would protect them.
“What’s going to happen?” asked Greybelle nervously, looking around.
“Something wonderful,” Silas said mysteriously.
Greybelle and Raja stood expectantly, waiting for whatever was so wonderful to begin. All was still and quiet around them except for the buzz of insects and the distant call of a bird. Then, as if hushed by the same command, all sounds ceased, and an unnatural stillness spread across the mountainside. It was as though everything on the mountain was poised for something—waiting, not knowing why—and before they could wonder any longer, it began.
A deep vibration tickled the bottom of every paw, foot, claw, or hoof on the mountain. The vibration became a rumble that they could hear, as well as feel. Birds flew off the trees with frightened cries and the horses snorted nervously, their ears laid back. They had had enough of this kind of rumbling of the earth!
“Don’t worry!” called Silas to them. He was holding on to a young tree as the ground beneath him began to move, threatening to throw him off his feet. “Just watch out for—” Bits of rock and earth began to tumble past them, one striking Silas on the leg. “Ouch!” he said, then added ruefully, “Rocks!”
The earth gave a tremendous groa
n and bucked underneath them. Greybelle and Raja were tumbled to the ground where they lay awkwardly, their legs splayed, thinking it best to stay down on this tossing earth rather than risk being thrown about. They didn’t know what the old man had been thinking, perhaps he was insane after all, for this was not wonderful—this was not wonderful at all!
All around them the mountain was in motion. The stands of pines swayed back and forth like dancers, waving their limbs up and down as though they were cheering the mountain on. Bits of tree limb and twigs snapped and fell, raining down on the forest floor. More rocks tumbled past the horses, and a few frightened rabbits followed, dashing down the side before taking refuge in the roots of a tree.
Now the great mountain seemed to rouse itself and lift its shoulders into the air. The rumbling became a frightening roar as piles of earth cascaded around them. Raja let out a scream as a rock struck his hip, and Greybelle whickered back to comfort the frightened gelding. It felt to both horses as if the forest was shaking itself apart, and the noise was deafening. How could Silas say they were safe? They were anything but safe on this crazy mountain!
Silas called to them from his tree, “It’s moving away from us now!”
Sure enough, even before he was finished speaking the rumbling lessened a bit, and the moving earth calmed beneath them. They could hear trees falling and rocks tumbling somewhere below them, but their own patch of earth had quieted; the worst of it had moved away, toward the river.
Silas pulled himself to his feet and stood shakily holding the tree. He said to the horses still lying on the ground, “Stay here.”
The old man held on to trees for support as he carefully made his way back to the edge of the gorge, where he could see the river.
Thinking she might be able to stand now that the earth had stopped moving, Greybelle tried out her trembling legs, and Raja, showing the whites of his eyes, did the same. The old gelding limped from where he had been struck by the rock, but it was only a bruise. Though they could still feel the rumbling of the earth, it was apparent that the worst of the upheaval was safely away from them now, and the horses made their way to where Silas was standing.
