It was loud here, halfway up the Rise, loud and horrifying and desperate. Down through the trees it twisted with the wind, a long, unearthly moaning that rose gradually till it wound into a high and hollow wail. Egan stood transfixed with his hand on Annabelle’s head and for the first time he was afraid.
The Megrimum was awake at last. In the fields below, the chattering ceased. Faces peered out of tent flaps and windows, serious, frightened, eager. Here and there a man or a child came out into the rain and stood quietly, listening. An old woman dragged a stool from under a little cart and sat clutching an onion, nodding with her eyes tight shut, while the rain wilted her bonnet down around her ears.
But in the village there was frantic activity. Uncle Anson, a lantern bobbing from his hand, was rushing from neighbor to neighbor. “Quick! Quick! To my house at once! Yes, it’s my nephew, my wife’s sister’s child. He’s trying to climb the Rise. We’ve got to stop him. What do you mean, I’m crazy? We can’t just let him go!”
Soon a wet and anxious group of men were arguing and shouting before the fire in the little house, while Ada snuffled miserably in a corner and Aunt Gertrude rushed back and forth, making coffee and spilling more than she served.
“But see here, Anson, that boy won’t climb all the way up!” said one of the men.
“How do you know he won’t?” answered Uncle Anson grimly. “He doesn’t live in Instep. He doesn’t understand.”
“But good lord, man,” cried another, “do you realize what you’re saying? You’re asking us to climb the Rise!”
“I know what I’m asking!” shouted Uncle Anson. “How can you think I don’t? But can I let that boy stay out there now? The Megrimum is wide awake. I’ve never heard it moan so loud.”
“Nobody would be fool enough to climb up there,” growled another man.
“That boy is fool enough, bless him,” said Uncle Anson. “And I know my brother Ott would have climbed in an instant to save him. There’s fools and fools, my friend. I’m going. Gertrude, where’s my cap? I’m going and I’ll go alone if I have to.”
“I’ll go, then,” said one man.
“I, too,” said another. “And I’ll bring along my bell,” And then they were all going, hurrying out into the drenching rain while high above the moaning rose and fell, winding and rippling like ribbon down the night.
But Egan was half an hour ahead by that time. And he was young and strong, alone—and determined. After his first fear, he had clenched his fists and scowled. His early jealousy of the cliff’s high pride returned. He searched about him among the trees and found a long, sharp stick.
“Look out up there!” he yelled into the rain. “I’m coming up!”
Off he went again, Annabelle struggling along behind him. And by the time his rescuers were beginning the climb, Egan had come nearly to the top, and the mist that hung there reached out gently and gathered him in.
Egan stood uncertainly in the mist. The rain was easing off. There had been no sound from the Megrimum for many minutes now. A mumble of thunder complained from far away and then the clouds parted and the moon rode free. Instantly the mist was luminous, and Egan, with a gasp, felt as if he had suddenly been tucked inside a bubble. Looking up, he saw the moon as a shapeless radiance, like a candle seen through steamy glass. Each drop of moisture in the mist had become a tiny prism, filtering and fanning the dim light into a million pale rainbows of softest color. From a shrouded treetop nearby came the soft, clear notes of a bird’s call and, with the faintest of rustles, a small red kneeknock bird floated through the mist ahead of him. Egan held his breath and stared at the magic world around him, a nighttime world bewitched into seeming morning by the wizard moon. Annabelle stood silent at his feet, and then, all at once, the old dog stiffened and whined. Nudged in his trance, Egan bent to soothe her but she pulled away from his hand, her ears high. She whined again, moved forward, stopped with tilted head, listening. Then with a yelp she ran on into the mist and disappeared. From somewhere up ahead a low groan echoed and Egan, his stick in his hand, moved slowly after Annabelle, straight toward the very top of Kneeknock Rise.
On the cliffside below, the rescuers paused.
“The storm is over. Look, there’s the moon!” said one of the men. “And the Megrimum’s been quiet for quite a while now.”
“Look here, Anson,” said another. “I think we should search around a bit. That boy of yours can’t have gone all the way up. He must be somewhere about.”
“Perhaps,” said Uncle Anson. “We’ll divide up and look. But if we don’t find him, I’m going on to the top.”
With swaying arcs of lantern light washing the dark, the men spread out among the trees along the side of the Rise. Below, in her garden behind the little house, Aunt Gertrude stood wringing her hands. She could hear, faintly, the tinkling of the bell, warning away the Megrimum, and heard as well the distant, muffled voice of her husband calling: “Egan! Egan! Where are you, Nephew? E-e-e-gan!”
Out in the fields, the visitors knew something had happened.
“A boy, you say?”
“What? Climbing up the Rise?”
“A terrible thing—terrible. It called the child, perhaps, called the child to climb.”
“Where was the boy’s mother, then, to let him run away?”
“They’re climbing up to find him. Look—see the lights of the lanterns.”
“Brave men, brave men all.”
“Never come down again, ever.”
Egan, deep in the mist, heard nothing. He wandered up the final stony slope toward the top like a sleepwalker lost in dreams. The heavy air around him, tinted and dim and moist, was growing unaccountably warmer, and a faint, unpleasant smell he could not quite recognize crept into his nostrils. And then he stopped, chilled suddenly out of his trance. Just ahead there came a noise as of an animal thrashing about, and the low rumble of a voice.
He crept forward, grasping the nearly forgotten stick tightly, and his heart pounded. The Megrimum! At last, the Megrimum! Slay it, perhaps—perhaps; but at least he would see it.
More thrashing in the weeds ahead. “Owanna-ooowanna,” the voice seemed to murmur.
Closer and closer crept Egan and then he saw it dimly, all flailing arms, rolling about on the ground.
Another few cautious steps, and then:
“Oh, Anna, Anna, dear old dog!” crooned the voice. There before him, sitting on the ground, was a wild-haired, laughing man who had to be his Uncle Ott, engulfed and struggling happily in the wriggling, wagging ecstasy of Annabelle.
Egan stood with his mouth hanging open. The stick dropped from his hand, and at the sound the man and the dog paused in their greeting and looked toward him. Annabelle trotted over and beamed at him and then turned back.
“Hallo there, boy. Who might you be?” said the man warily.
Egan gulped. “Why, I’m your nephew. Sort of. That is, if you really are my Uncle Anson’s brother. Are you? Are you Uncle Ott?”
“That’s right!” said Uncle Ott in great surprise. “And you—you must be Anson’s wife’s sister’s boy. I guess I’ve got that right. But what in the name of goodness are you doing up here?”
“I came…” Egan paused. “Well, I came to kill the Megrimum.” He waited for his uncle to laugh or scold, but Ott did neither. He merely nodded as if it were all quite natural. “But where is the Megrimum?” asked Egan. “And why is it so awfully warm up here?”
Uncle Ott stood up and brushed bits of twigs and leaves from his clothes.
“The Megrimum. Yes. I came to find it, too.” He paused and looked thoughtfully at Egan and then, in a rush, he said, “Boy, listen to me. There isn’t any Megrimum. Never was. It’s all been just a lot of nothing all these years. Just a lot of—megrimummery, if you will. It’s too bad, that’s what it is. Too bad. Come along. I’ll show you.”
Close to the top of Kneeknock Rise lay a shallow cave. At the mouth of the cave the mist was very thick and as hot as steam, and the strang
e, unpleasant smell was almost overwhelming.
“Phew!” said Egan. “What in the world is in there? It must be something very rotten and dreadful!”
“No, not at all,” said Uncle Ott. “It’s only a mineral spring. Sulphur. Nasty, but not unnatural.”
“A spring?” puzzled Egan. “But how could it be a spring? Springs aren’t hot.”
“Sometimes they are,” said Uncle Ott. “This cliff must have been a volcano long ago. The water boils up to the top through a narrow hole, from far under the earth where it’s very hot. And that makes this steamy mist. Usually the hole lets the steam through quietly, but when rain seeps into the hot places—more pressure, more steam. And the steam makes the whistling, whining, moaning sound as it shoots out the top of the hole. Just like a boiling kettle. The cave echoes and makes the sound even louder, and that, my dear boy, is the long-feared, long-loved Megrimum.”
Egan stood and stared and then all at once he was very pleased. “I knew this old cliff wasn’t so wonderful,” he said. “Can I go in there and look at the spring?”
Uncle Ott shook his head. “Too hot,” he said. “And anyway, there’s not much to it. Just a hole in the ground and a lot of hot rocks.” He shook his head again and sighed. “Too bad about that. Just a hole in the ground.”
They turned away from the cave and walked back to where Annabelle sat waiting for them. “Come down to Instep with me and we’ll tell them about it,” said Egan. “We can both sleep in your room. I’ll sleep on the floor with Annabelle.”
“No, no, I think I won’t go down to Instep,” said Uncle Ott, running his fingers through his wild white hair. “Now that I’ve got my own dear Annabelle with me—and I do thank you for bringing her up—I guess I’ll just go on down the other side.”
“Have you been up here all the time?” asked Egan.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I have. I came up thinking I’d be going right back down again, so I didn’t bring Annabelle along, and anyway, I was afraid she’d have trouble with the climbing. But when I got up here, the air was so wet and hot—well, it just did wonders for my wheezing. Absolute wonders. See? I can breathe perfectly well!” He took several deep breaths to show that it was true. “It’s been a blessing. But now I guess I’ll move along.”
Egan had a sudden idea. “It was you that night, wasn’t it? Tapping at the window?”
Uncle Ott looked embarrassed. “That was too bad. I thought I could get Annabelle to come to the window and then I could lift her out and take her away with me. But there was Gertrude all of a sudden, screaming, and I had to go away. I felt very bad about scaring her.”
“But I don’t see why you didn’t just come into the house,” said Egan. “During the day. And take Annabelle then.”
“Because,” said Uncle Ott slowly, “I didn’t want to have to explain.”
Egan was puzzled. “About the Megrimum, you mean?” he asked. “Why not? They’re all scared to death of the Megrimum. They’d be happy to hear there isn’t one after all.”
“Do you think so?” said Uncle Ott. “I really don’t know about that. I’ve been thinking and thinking about that.” He looked at Egan sadly. “Is it better to be wise if it makes you solemn and practical, or is it better to be foolish so you can go on enjoying yourself?”
“The king and the fool!” said Egan, suddenly understanding.
“Exactly,” said Uncle Ott. “Exactly. I see you’ve been reading my verses. I’ve been interested for years in this problem of kings and fools. Now here I am with a perfect example of the question and I really don’t know the answer.” He sat down on the ground beside Annabelle and stared off into the mist, rubbing his chin. “For me it’s always been important to find out the why of things. To try to be wise. But I can’t say it’s ever made me happier. As for those people down below, they’ve had their Megrimum for years and years. And I don’t know as I want to spoil it all for them. There’s always the possibility that they’re happier believing. Kind of a nice idea, this Megrimum.” He stood up and pulled his jacket close around his chest, breathing the mist deeply. “Yes, it’s kind of a nice idea in an odd kind of way,” he said. “Do as you like about it. If I knew what was best, I’d certainly tell you, but the fact is I don’t. Well, come along, Annabelle. Goodbye, Nephew. A pleasure to have seen you.”
He started off and then he paused and stood thinking for a moment. At last he turned and came back. “I’ve just had another thought on the matter,” he said. “It came to me in rhyme. Thoughts often come to me that way—I don’t seem to be able to help it:
The cat attacked a bit of string
And dragged it by the head
And tortured it beside the stove
And left it there for dead.
“Excuse me, sir,” I murmured when
He passed me in the hall,
“But that was only string you had
And not a mouse at all!”
He didn’t even thank me when
I told him he was wrong.
It’s possible—just possible—
He knew it all along.
“Well, there it is, for what it’s worth. Goodbye.” Uncle Ott smiled and then, with Annabelle wagging at his side, he turned and vanished into the mist.
When his uncle was gone, Egan went back again to the mouth of the cave and stood near the hot steam, listening to the gurgle of the spring and thinking. Then at last he said to himself, “Uncle Ott is pretty foolish after all. They don’t know about this cave. They couldn’t know and act the way they do. They’ll be glad when I tell them the truth.” He smiled. “I did slay the Megrimum, in a way. Or at least I’ll slay it now.” He picked up a good-sized rock that lay at the entrance to the cave and heaved it into the mist inside. There was a hollow, heavy clink and at once the gurgling stopped. Egan listened and then he grinned with elated surprise. “That’s a pretty good shot,” he crowed to himself. “That old rock will stop up the hole and there’ll be no more moaning from this Megrimum!”
He realized all at once that he was wet to the skin and very hungry. He turned away from the cave and ran through the mist, emerging from its fringes into a cold, clear night. The moon was high and bright and below him the windows of Instep glowed snugly within the winking arc of the visitors’ campfires. He stood looking down, clutching himself with pleasure over the news he was bringing, the great and staggering news. “I’ll be famous,” he whispered breathlessly. “They’ll tell about what I did for years to come.” A twinge of qualifying honesty nudged him and he added, “Of course, Uncle Ott will be famous, too. He came up first. And Annabelle!” He shivered and remembered again that he was wet and hungry. “Egan and Ott and Ann-a-belle,” he sang under his breath as he bounded down the side of the Rise toward Instep. “Egan and Ott and Ann-a-belle; Annabelle, Egan, and—OOF!” For he had bumped unseeing right into the arms of Uncle Anson.
“Egan! Egan, are you all right? Thank goodness I found you. Nephew—you didn’t go all the way to the top, did you? Where’s the dog?”
“Uncle Anson! Listen, Uncle Anson, listen! I did go all the way to the top! And guess who I found! Your brother was up there. Uncle Ott. And listen, Uncle Anson—I went and looked. There’s nothing but a spring up there! A spring in a cave! There isn’t any Megrimum aft—”
But Uncle Anson had clapped his hand over Egan’s mouth. “Hush!” he cried. “Hush now. You’re all excited. Probably coming down with a fever. Look, you’re soaked through. Not another word. Not a peep. I’ll have to get you home right away.” He wrapped one arm firmly around Egan’s shoulder and they started down the slope. Just below them in a clump of trees the lights of other lanterns glowed. “Hello! Hello down there!” called Uncle Anson, hustling Egan along. “I found him. He’s all right. Let’s go home.”
But the rescuers were suddenly crowding around them, holding their lanterns high and peering with relief into Egan’s face. “So you’re safe! Foolish boy—you might have been killed. And think what we risked climbing up
to save you!”
“But listen!” cried Egan, twitching out of Uncle Anson’s grasp. “Listen! I went clear up there and looked and there isn’t any Megri—”
“Where’s the dog?” interrupted one of the men. “Anson, didn’t you say he climbed with your brother’s dog? That’s a shame! The Megrimum got the dog, eh?”
“But there isn’t any Me-” Egan began again.
“That boy looks feverish to me, Anson,” said another man. “Better get him home right away. Too bad about the dog, but you’re lucky the boy got away.”
Egan began to shout. “Listen to me! I went and looked. There isn’t any Megrimum up there!”
At once there was total silence. The men stood looking at him, expressionless. He looked back at them and felt a nudge of uncertainty. He said, more quietly, “There never was any Megrimum.” The men waited, watching him. “It’s only a spring in a cave,” he finished in a very small voice.
After a long moment, one of the men cleared his throat. “No Megrimum. Well, that’s certainly something. A spring in a cave. Hundreds of years—and no Megrimum.” There was another uncomfortable silence and then they all started talking at once.
“Anson, that boy is feverish.”
“Feverish? He’s delirious! Better take him home.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“That’s right—he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
And they turned away and started down the hillside, muttering to themselves.
Kneeknock Rise Page 4
