“I know all the living things in these woods,” said Ronia, “so don’t think you have to teach me anything!”
“Then you know that it’s also the wild harpies’ and the gray dwarfs’ and the rumphobs’ and the murktrolls’ wood!”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” said Ronia, “something I don’t know better than you. Otherwise shut up!”
“In any case, it’s my wood! And your wood, robber’s daughter— yes, your wood too! But if you want it for yourself alone, then you’re sillier than I thought when I first saw you.”
He glared at her, his blue eyes dark with resentment. He did not think much of her, she could see, and it pleased her. He could think what he liked; she wanted to go home now and not have to see him any more.
“I’m happy to share the woods with the foxes and owls and spiders, but not with you,” she said, and went.
Then she saw the mist coming over the forest. It rose, thick and gray, from the ground and rolled in among the trees. A moment later the sun had vanished and the golden gleam had gone. Now you could see neither stick nor stone. But she was not afraid. She could feel her way back to Matt’s Fort even through the thickest fog, and she would certainly be home before Lovis sang the Wolf Song.
But what about Birk? Perhaps he knew all the paths and tracks in Borka’s Wood, but here in Matt’s Wood he was not so much at home. Well, then, he could stay there with the foxes, she thought, until a new day dawned without mist.
Then she heard him calling out of the thickening haze, “Ronia!”
There, now he knew her name too! Now she was no longer just a robber’s daughter.
Once again he called. “Ronia!”
“What do you want?” she shouted. But he had already caught up with her.
“This mist scares me a little,” he said.
“I see—you’re frightened of not getting home to your thieving people? Then you’d better share the foxes’ lair with them, since you’re so fond of sharing!”
Birk laughed. “You’re harder than stone, robber’s daughter! But you can find your way to Matt’s Fort better than I can. May I hold on to the edge of your tunic until we’re out of the woods?”
“That you can’t,” said Ronia, but she untied her leather rope, the one that had saved him once before, and handed him one end.
“Here! But you’d better keep a rope’s length away from me—I’m warning you!”
“As you like, cross robber’s daughter,” said Birk.
And so their journey began. The fog closed in on them, and they walked in silence—a rope’s length apart, as Ronia had decreed.
They must not leave the path now. Any wrong step could lead them astray in the fog, Ronia knew. But she was not afraid. She felt her way forward with hands and feet. Stones, trees, and bushes were her signposts. They moved slowly, but she would still be home before Lovis sang the Wolf Song. There was no need for her to be frightened.
But she had never made as strange a journey. It was as if all the living things in the woods had fallen silent and died, and it made her feel uneasy. Were these her woods, the woods she knew and loved? Why were they so silent and menacing now? And what was that hiding in the mist? There was something there, something unknown and dangerous; she did not know what. And that scared her.
I’ll be home soon, she thought to console herself. Soon I’ll be lying in my bed, listening to Lovis singing the Wolf Song.
But it was no use. The fear rose in her, and she was more frightened than she had ever been before in her life. She called to Birk, but her voice was the merest squeak. It sounded so awful that it frightened her still more. I’m going to lose my wits this way, she thought; it will be the end of me!
Then, from deep in the thickest mist, there came soft, sweetly plaintive notes—a song, and it was the most wonderful song. She had never heard anything like it. Oh, how lovely it was, how it filled her forest with its beauty! And it took away all fear; it comforted her. She stood still and let herself be comforted. How beautiful it was! And how the song charmed and enticed her! Yes, she could feel that those who sang it wanted her to leave the path and follow the enchanting music into the darkness.
The song grew louder. It made her heart shake, and all of a sudden she had forgotten the Wolf Song awaiting her there at home. She had forgotten everything; all she wanted was to go to those who were calling her from the mist.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she cried, and took a few steps off the path. But then came a tug on the leather rope so fierce that she fell headlong.
“Where are you going?” cried Birk. “If you let yourself be tempted away by the Unearthly Ones, you are lost—you know that!”
The Unearthly Ones—she had heard about them. She knew that they came up into the woods from their dark places underground only when the fog closed in. She had never met any of their people, but she wanted to follow them now wherever they went. She wanted to live with their songs, even if it meant spending the rest of her life underground.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she called again, and tried to go. But Birk was there now, holding her fast.
“Let me go!” she shouted, striking out wildly. But he held her fast.
“Don’t upset yourself,” he said. But she could not hear him because of the song. It was so strong now, filling the whole forest with its resonance and herself with a longing that was impossible to resist.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she called for a third time, and she struggled to free herself from Birk. She hit and scratched and screamed and cried and bit his cheek hard. But he held her fast.
He held her fast for a long time, and suddenly the fog lifted as swiftly as it had come. At that same moment the song died. Ronia looked around her, as if newly awakened from a dream. She saw the path that led home and the red sun sinking behind the wooded ridges. And Birk. He was standing there, right beside her.
“A rope’s length away, I said,” she reminded him. Then she saw his bloody cheek and asked, “Did the fox bite you?”
Birk did not answer. He rolled up the leather rope and gave it back to her.
“Thank you! I can find my own way home to Borka’s Keep now.”
Ronia peeped at him under her bangs. It was suddenly difficult to think really badly of him; she did not know why.
“Be gone then,” she said kindly, and off she ran.
Five
That evening ronia sat in front of the fire with her father for a time, and then she remembered what it was she wanted to know.
“What is it that you have taken without asking? As Borka said?”
“Hmm,” said Matt. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t find your way home in the fog, my Ronia.”
“But I did,” Ronia said. “Listen, what is it that you have taken without asking?”
“Look there,” said Matt, pointing excitedly into the fire. “Don’t you see? It looks just like an old man! It looks like Borka. How horrid!”
But Ronia could see no sign of Borka in the fire, and she wasn’t the least bit interested.
“What is it you have taken without asking?” she insisted.
When Matt did not answer, Noddle-Pete answered for him. “A lot of things! Oh, ho, oh, yes, a lot of things! I reckon it’s about—”
“Stop that,” Matt said angrily. “I’ll deal with this myself!”
All the robbers except Noddle-Pete had already gone to their rooms. Lovis was out settling her chickens and goats and sheep for the night, so it was only Noddle-Pete who heard Matt explaining to Ronia what a robber really was—a person who took things without asking and without permission.
Matt had no need to be ashamed of that. On the contrary, he usually blustered and bragged that he was the greatest robber chieftain in all the woods and mountains. But it was a little harder now that he had to tell Ronia about it. Of course he had intended to tell her all about it sooner or later when it was necessary. But he had wanted to wait a little.
“Little innocent child that you are, my Ronia, th
at’s why I haven’t talked much about it before.”
“No, you haven’t said a word,” Noddle-Pete assured him. “And we weren’t allowed to say anything either!”
“Old man, isn’t it about time you went to bed?” said Matt. But Noddle-Pete said that it wasn’t. He wanted to hear this.
And Ronia understood. Now at last she understood where everything came from. All the things the robbers had on their horses’ backs when they came riding home in the evening, all the goods in sacks and bundles, all the precious things in chests and boxes. They didn’t grow on trees in the forest. Her father simply took them from other people.
“But don’t they get terribly angry when you take their things away from them?” asked Ronia.
Noddle-Pete sniggered. “Angry fit to bust,” he assured her. “Oh, dear, oh, dear, you should just hear them!”
“Old man, it would be a good thing if you finally went to bed now,” said Matt.
But Noddle-Pete still would not go. “Some of them even cry,” he told Ronia.
Then Matt roared, “Now be quiet! Otherwise I’ll throw you out!” He patted Ronia’s cheek. “You’ve just got to understand, Ronia! That’s the way it is. That’s the way it has always been. It’s nothing to make a fuss about.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Noddle-Pete. “But people never do get used to things. They go on howling and crying and swearing till it’s a pleasure to hear them!”
Matt gave him an angry glare. Then he turned back to Ronia.
“My father was a robber chief, and so was my grandfather, and my great-grandfather, as you know. And I haven’t let them down. I’m a robber chieftain too, the mightiest in all the woods and mountains. And that’s what you’re going to be, too, Ronia mine!”
“Me!” shouted Ronia. “Never! Not if they get angry and cry!”
Matt scratched his head. He was worried now. He wanted Ronia to admire and love him as much as he loved and admired her. And here she was, shouting, “Never!” and refusing to be a robber chief like her father. That made Matt unhappy. He must find a way to get her to believe that what he was doing was right and good.
“You see, Ronia darling, I take only from the rich,” he protested. Then he thought for a moment.
“And I give to the poor, I really do.”
Noddle-Pete sniggered. “Oh, my goodness, yes, that’s true enough!
You gave that poor widow with the eight children a whole sack of flour, remember?”
“Quite so,” said Matt. “I did indeed.”
He stroked his black beard with satisfaction. He was very pleased now, both with himself and with Noddle-Pete.
Noddle-Pete sniggered again. “You have a good memory, you have, Matt! Let’s see, that must have been ten years ago. Oh, yes, of course you give to the poor. Every ten years, give or take a year.”
Then Matt roared, “If you don’t go to bed now, I know someone who’s going to help you get there!”
But it was not necessary, because at that moment Lovis came in and Noddle-Pete went off without assistance. Ronia went to bed, and the fire died as Lovis sang the Wolf Song. And Ronia lay there, listening and not bothering whether her father was a robber chieftain or not. He was her Matt, whatever he did, and she loved him.
That night she slept badly and dreamed of the Unearthly Ones and their enticing song, but she had forgotten all about them when she woke up.
What she remembered was Birk. In the days that followed, she sometimes thought of him and wondered how he was getting on over in Borka’s Keep and how long it would be before Matt finally drove his father and their whole robber tribe out of his fort.
Matt was drawing up great new plans for action every day, but none of them was much good.
“No use,” said Noddle-Pete, no matter what Matt thought of. “You’ll have to be as cunning as a fox, because force won’t work.”
It did not suit Matt to be cunning as a fox, but he did his best.
And while this was going on, not much robbery took place. The Borka robbers had other things to think about too, and the people who had to pass through the Robbers’ Walk in those days were surprised at how free from robbers it was. They could not understand why it was so peaceful. Where had all the highwaymen gone? The sheriff’s men who had hunted Borka so persistently found the cave where his robbers’ den had been, but it was deserted now, and empty of loot. There was no sign of Borka, and the soldiers were glad to be able to leave Borka’s Wood at last, dark and cold and rainy as it was now that autumn had come. Of course they knew there were robbers far away in Matt’s forest as well, but they preferred not to think about that. There was no worse place, and the robber chieftain who lived there was harder to catch than an eagle on a clifftop. They would rather leave him in peace.
Matt spent most of his time trying to work out what the Borka robbers were up to over in the North Fort and what would be the best way to get at them, so he went out scouting every day. With one or two of his men he rode to the wood on the north side, but there was no sign of the invaders. For the most part it was as silent and dead as if there were no Borka robbers there. But they had made themselves a fine, long rope ladder so they could get up and down the rock face without difficulty. Matt saw it being lowered only once. He lost his head completely and rushed forward like a madman to clamber up it. His robbers followed him, burning with lust for battle. But a shower of arrows came down from the loopholes of Borka’s Keep, and Little-Snip got one in the thigh that kept him in bed for two days. Obviously the rope ladder was lowered only under strict guard.
The autumn clouds now hung heavily over Matt’s Fort, and the robbers were not enjoying their inactivity. They became restless and squabbled more than usual, until Lovis could stand it no longer.
“You’ll burst my eardrums soon with all your wrangling and nagging. I’ll gag all of you if you don’t hold your peace!”
They fell silent, and Lovis set them to useful work—clearing out and cleaning the henhouse and the sheepfold and the goat stall, all of which they heartily disliked. But no one got out of it, except Noddle-Pete and those who happened to be on guard at the Wolf’s Neck and up at Hell’s Gap.
Matt also did his best to keep his robbers going. He took them on elk hunts, setting out with spears and bows in the autumn woods, and Noddle-Pete smiled contentedly when they returned dragging four big elk carcasses behind them.
“Chicken soup and mutton soup and porridge don’t serve a man long,” he said. “Now we’ll have something to chew on, and the tenderest bits go to the toothless, as everyone knows.”
And Lovis roasted elk meat and smoked elk meat and salted down elk meat for the winter to supplement the roast chicken and legs of mutton.
Ronia spent her time in the woods as usual. It was very quiet there now, but she thought even the autumn woods were good to wander in. The moss was soft and green and damp under her bare feet, the smell of autumn was wonderful, and the branches of the trees glistened with moisture. It often rained, and she liked to sit hunched under a thick fir tree listening to the gentle pattering outside. Sometimes it poured down until the whole wood was running with rain, and she liked that too. There were not many animals to be seen. Her foxes stayed in their dens. But sometimes in the dusk she saw elk come trotting by, and sometimes wild horses grazing among the trees. She longed to catch a wild horse for herself and she had often tried, but without success. The wild horses were very shy and would certainly be hard to tame, but it was time she had a horse. She had told Matt so.
“Yes, when you’re strong enough to catch one yourself,” he had replied.
And one day I shall, she thought. I’ll catch a lovely little one and take it home to Matt’s Fort and tame it the way Matt did with all his horses.
Otherwise, the autumn woods were strangely deserted. All the creatures which were usually there had vanished. They had probably crept into their holes and hiding places. Sometimes, though quite rarely, harpies came swooping down from the mountains, but they were cal
mer now and mostly stayed up in their mountain retreats. The gray dwarfs kept away too. Just once Ronia saw one or two of them peeping out from behind a stone, but she was no longer frightened of gray dwarfs.
“Get out of here!” she shouted, and they ran off with hoarse hissing sounds.
Birk never appeared in her woods, and of course she was glad of that. Or was she? Sometimes she was not sure how she felt.
Then winter came. Snow fell, the air grew cold, and the hoarfrost transformed Ronia’s forest into an ice forest, more beautiful than she could have imagined. She went skiing there, and when she turned to go home at twilight she had frost in her hair and frozen toes and fingers in spite of her leather gloves and boots. But neither cold nor snow could keep her away from the forest. The next day she was there again.
Matt was sometimes worried when he saw her rushing off down the slopes toward the Wolf’s Neck, and he said to Lovis, as he had so often before, “I hope everything’s all right! I hope nothing awful happens to her! I couldn’t live if it did.”
“What are you moaning about?” said Lovis. “That child can take care of herself better than any robber. How often do I have to tell you!”
And of course Ronia could take care of herself. But one day something happened which it was just as well Matt did not know about.
More snow had fallen in the night and covered up all Ronia’s ski tracks. She would have to make new ones, and it was hard work. The cold had already laid a thin coating of ice over the snow, but it was not strong enough. She kept on breaking through it, and finally she could make no more tracks. She wanted to go home.
She had made her way up to a knoll and was going to shoot down the other side. It was a sheer drop, but she raced off fearlessly, the snow rising in clouds around her. There was a sudden dip in the ground and she flew over it, but in her flight she lost one ski, and when she landed, her foot broke through the snow into a deep hole. She saw her ski disappearing down the slope while she herself was stuck in the hole up to her knee. It made her laugh at first, but she soon stopped laughing when she realized how bad things were. She could not free herself, no matter how hard she pulled and tugged. She could hear a murmur from the hole and could not think at first what was making it. But it was not long before she saw a party of rumphobs toiling up through the snow a little way off. They were easily recognizable by their broad rumps and wrinkled little faces and scrubby hair. On the whole, rumphobs were friendly and peaceable and did no harm, but these, staring at her with their simple eyes, were obviously annoyed. They grunted and sighed, and one of them said morosely, “Woffor did un want to do that?”
Ronia, The Robber's Daughter Page 4
