Authors: T. A. Barron
Cairpré stepped closer, wading through the sea of books. “Whether or not she will choose to help you, I cannot say. No one can! For her ways are mysterious and unpredictable. She is neither good nor evil, friend nor foe. She simply
is.
In legend, she is called Domnu, which means Dark Fate. Her true name, if it ever was known, has been lost to time.”
He glanced at Shim, now sleeping soundly on the pantry shelf, his hand inside the empty jar of honey. “You and your little friend may not have the pleasure of meeting her, however. Getting into her lair will be very dangerous.” He added under his breath, “Though not as dangerous as getting out again.”
I shivered slightly.
“To find her you must start before sunrise. Although the light of dawn is now only a pale glow through the spreading darkness, it will be your best guide. For just to the north of the sunrise, you will see a notch, cut deep into the ridge of the highest row of hills.”
“I should head for the notch?”
Cairpré nodded in assent. “And you will miss it at your peril. If you cross the ridge to the north of the notch, you will find yourself in the middle of Stangmar’s largest encampment of goblins.”
I sucked in my breath. “No risk of that.”
“And if you cross the ridge to the south of the notch, you will be even worse off, for you will enter the Haunted Marsh.”
“No risk of that, either.”
At that moment, Shim released a loud, prolonged snort. The books lining the shelves seemed to jump in surprise, as did Cairpré and I.
The poet frowned, but continued. “Passing through the notch itself will not be easy. It is guarded by warrior goblins. How many, I don’t know. But even one can mean trouble enough. Your best hope is that these days they are unused to travelers, for reasons you can well understand. It is just possible they will not be paying much attention. There is at least a chance you could slip past them.”
“Then what?”
“You must proceed straight down the ridge, being careful not to veer to one side or the other, until you reach a steep canyon. Eagles once soared among its cliffs, but no more, since now the canyon is always darker than night. Turn south, following the canyon to the very edge of the Haunted Marsh. If you make it that far, you will encounter the lair of Domnu. But not before you have met some other creatures almost as strange as she is.”
Feeling weak, I leaned against my stool. “What does her lair look like?”
“I have no idea. You see, no one who has ventured there has ever returned to describe it. All I can tell you is that, according to legend, Domnu has a passion for games of chance and wagers—and dearly hates to lose.”
Cairpré bent down to the floor and pushed a pile of books aside. He threw a sheepskin on the spot. With deep sadness, he said, “If you mean to pursue this idea of yours, you had better try to rest now. Sunrise will come before long.”
He pondered my face. “I can see by the scars on your cheeks and the strange distance in your eyes that this is not the first time you have shown bravery. Perhaps I have underestimated you. Perhaps you possess all the hidden strengths of your forebears and more.”
I waved away the comment. “If you knew me better, you would know that I am no credit to my forebears! I have no special powers, at least none that I can use. All I have is a stubborn head, and the Galator around my neck.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Time will tell. But I will say this. When first you entered my home, I was looking for an answer in some forgotten volume. Now I am wondering whether I should be looking for that answer in some forgotten person.”
Wearily, I stretched myself out on the sheepskin. For some time I lay awake, watching the firelight dance on the walls of books, the scrolls of papyrus, the piles of manuscripts. Cairpré had returned to his high-backed chair, absorbed in his reading.
So this is where my mother learned her stories.
I felt a swell of desire to stay many days in this room filled with books, to travel wherever their pages might carry me. Perhaps one day I would do just that. But I knew that I must travel somewhere else first. And that I must depart before dawn.
30:
T
’EILEAN AND
G
ARLATHA
Shim scrunched his pear-shaped nose in puzzlement. “Why is she called Dumb Now? That is muchly strange.”
“Domnu,” I replied, pushing myself up from the sheepskin. “I’ve told you everything I know, which isn’t much.” I glanced at Cairpré, fast asleep in his chair with three open books in his lap. His long gray hair fell over his face like a waterfall. “Now it is time to go.”
Shim’s gaze moved to the pantry, whose bottom shelf glistened from spilled honey. “I is not gladly to leave this place.”
“You don’t have to come, you know. I will understand if you want to stay.”
The pink eyes kindled. “Really, truly, honestly?”
“Yes. I am sure Cairpré will make you welcome, although he probably doesn’t have much food left.”
The little giant smacked his lips. Then, glancing toward the wooden ladder up the tunnel, his expression clouded. “But you is going?”
“I am going. Now.” For a few seconds, I studied the little face at my knee. Shim had turned out to be not such a bad companion after all. I took one of his tiny hands in my own. “Wherever you go, may you find plenty of honey there.”
Shim scowled. “I is not happy about going.”
“I know. Farewell.”
I moved to the ladder and grasped a worn rung.
Shim ran over and pulled on my tunic. “But I is not happy about staying, either.”
“You should stay.”
“Is you not wantsing me?”
“This will be too dangerous for you.”
Shim growled with resentment. “You is not saying that if I is a real giant, big and strong. Then you begs me to come.”
Sadly, I smiled. “Maybe so, but I still like you the way you are.”
The little fellow grimaced. “I don’t! I still wishes I am big. Big as the highlyest tree.”
“You know, when Rhia was irked at me once, she told me
Just be yourself.
I’ve thought about it now and then. It’s much easier to say than to do, but she had a point.”
“Bah! Not if you don’t likes the self you are being.”
“Listen, Shim. I understand. Believe me, I do. Just try being at home with who you are.” I paused, a little surprised to hear myself say such a thing. Then, with a final look around Cairpré’s crowded walls of books, I began climbing up the tunnel.
As I squeezed through the door in the stump, I scanned the eastern horizon. Dry, reddish soil stretched as far as I could see, broken only by the occasional scrawny tree or cluster of thorned bracken. Although no birds were around to announce the dawn, a faint line of light was already appearing above the Dark Hills, which stood blacker than coal. To the north of the glow, I made out two sharp knobs, divided by a narrow gap. The notch.
Standing beside the stump, I concentrated on the formation, trying to memorize its position. I did not want to miss the notch, even by a small margin. And I couldn’t be certain it would remain visible as the day progressed.
Seeing my staff on the ground, I stooped to pick it up. Dew frosted its twisted top, making the wood slippery and cold to the touch. Suddenly I noticed several deep gashes along the shaft. Teeth marks. I had no way to tell what kind of beast had made them. I only knew that they had not been there when I climbed down into Cairpré’s tunnel last night.
I reached to close the door, when Shim’s bulbous nose emerged. The little body followed, clambering through the opening.
“I is coming.”
“Are you sure?” I showed him the staff. “Whatever chewed on this last night could still be near.”
Shim swallowed, but said nothing.
I waved toward the dimly glowing horizon. “And to find Domnu, we have to make it through that notch in the Dark Hills. No room for error, either. To one side lies an army of goblins, to the other lies the Haunted Marsh.”
The little giant planted his feet firmly. “You is not leaving me.”
“All right then. Come.”
Hopping over the trickling stream by the stump, I strode off in the direction of the notch. Shim, hustling to keep up, followed.
For the rest of that morning—if such grim, lightless hours could be called morning—we trekked across the open tundra. The soil crackled under the weight of our feet. Heading toward the notched ridge, we followed no roads or trails, though we crossed several. Yet the roads were as empty as the village that had been burned to the ground.
Conversation was just as sparse as the surrounding vegetation, and almost as brittle, for both of us knew how easily we could be spotted by anyone loyal to Stangmar. Even when Shim reached into the pocket of his shirt and offered to share a hunk of ambrosia bread from Cairpré’s pantry, he did so without speaking. I merely nodded in thanks, and we pressed on.
As the land gradually lifted toward the Dark Hills, I did my best to guide us. Although the notch no longer stood out against the sky, as it did during the brief glow that had passed for sunrise, it remained barely visible. Yet it seemed to me less a sign of the route than a sign of foreboding. Suppose we somehow passed through the notch, and even made it to Stangmar’s castle, only to find that Rhia was not there? Or worse, that she was there but no longer alive?
Every so often, we encountered sparse signs of habitation. An old house here, a dilapidated pen there. Yet these structures seemed as lifeless as the landscape. They sat there, rotting, like bones on a beach. If anyone still lived there, they lived in hiding. And they existed somehow without trees or gardens or greenery of any kind.
Then, to my surprise, I sensed a subtle splash of green ahead. Thinking it might be just a mistake of my weak vision, I concentrated on the spot. Yet the color seemed real enough, contrasting with the rusty browns and grays on all sides. As I drew nearer, the green deepened. At the same time, I detected the outlines of trees, arranged in regular rows, with some sort of fruit clinging to their boughs.
“An orchard! Can you believe it?”
Shim rubbed his nose. “Looks dangerously to me.”
“And see?” I pointed at a boxy shape behind the trees. “There’s some sort of hut in the cleft of the hill.”
“I thinks we better stays away. Really, truly, absolutely.”
Whether because the green trees reminded me of the Druma, or because the hut reminded me of my days with the woman I now knew to be my mother, I felt curious to learn more. I looked down. “You can wait here for me if you want. I’m going closer.”
Shim watched me depart, swearing under his breath. A few seconds later, he trotted to catch up to me.
As he approached, I stopped and turned to him. “Smelled some honey, did you?”
He growled. “Goblinses, more likely.” Nervously, he glanced over his shoulder. “But even if no goblinses are there, they is not far away.”
“You can be sure of that. We won’t stop long, I promise. Just long enough to see who lives there.”
As we neared the orchard, I discerned a rough stone wall bordering the trees. It was made of the same gray rock, splotched with rust-colored lichen, as the hut. Judging from the gaps and toppled portions of both, neither hut nor wall had been repaired in quite some time. Just as the crumbling wall embraced the trees, the trees themselves embraced the hut, flowing over its roof and sides with leafy branches. Beneath the boughs, several beds of green, speckled with brighter colors, thatched the ground.
I crouched, as did Shim. Cautiously, we crept closer. A fresh aroma wafted over us, the scent of wet leaves and newborn blossoms. It struck me how long it had been since I smelled the fragrance of living, growing plants. And then it struck me that this was not just an orchard. This was a garden.
Just then a pair of shapes, as gray as the stones in the wall, emerged from the hut. Taking wobbly steps, the pair slowly advanced toward the nearest bed of plants. They moved with an odd, disjointed rhythm, one back straightening as the other curved, one head lifting as the other drooped. As different as their motions were, however, they seemed unalterably connected.
As they came nearer, I could tell that these two people were old. Very old. White hair, streaked with gray, fell about both of their shoulders, while their sleeveless brown robes hung worn and faded. Had their backs not been so bent, they would have stood quite tall. Only their arms, muscular and brown, seemed younger than their years.
The pair reached the first bed of plants, then separated. One of them, a woman whose strong cheekbones reminded me of my mother, stooped to retrieve a sack of seeds and started working them into the soil on one side of the hut. At the same time the other, a man with a long banner of whiskers waving from his chin, picked up a basket and hobbled toward a tree laden with the same spiral fruit that I had tasted at the shomorra tree. Abruptly, the old man halted. He turned slowly toward the spot where we crouched behind the wall.
Without taking his eyes off us, he spoke in a low, crusty voice. “Garlatha, we have visitors.”
The old woman looked up. Though her face creased with concern, she answered calmly, in a voice that creaked with age. “Then let them show themselves, for they have nothing to fear.”
“I am T’eilean,” declared the man. “If you come in peace, you are welcome here.”
Slowly, we lifted our heads. I stood up and planted my staff on the ground. As my hand brushed over the place that had been raked by teeth only hours before, a chill passed through me. Meanwhile, Shim rose beside me and squared his shoulders, although only his eyes and frantic hair poked above the top of the wall.
“We come in peace.”
“And what are your names?”
Feeling cautious, I hesitated.
“Our names is secret,” declared Shim. “Nobody knows them.” For good measure, he added, “Not even us.”
One corner of T’eilean’s mouth curled upward. “You are right to be cautious, little traveler. But as my wife has said, you have nothing to fear from us. We are simple gardeners, that is all.”
I stepped across the wall, trying not to crush the slender yellow vegetables growing from a vine on the other side. I offered a hand to Shim, who pushed it aside and climbed over the jumble of rocks unaided.