Suldrun's Garden

Chapter 20

EARLY IN THE MORNING, with the sun low behind the trees and dew still wet on the grass, Graithe the woodcutter took Aillas to Madling Meadow. He indicated a low mound on which grew a small gnarled oak. "That is Thripsey Shee. To mortal eyes it looks like very little, but long ago, when I was young and rash, I stole here through the woods of a Midsummer's Eve, when the fairies do not trouble to dissemble; and where you now see hummocks of turf and an old tree, I saw pavilions of silk and a million fairy lamps and towers rising one on the other. The fairies ordered musicians for a pavanne, and the music began. I felt that I must run out and join them, but I knew that if I danced so much as one step on fairy sward, I must dance without surcease the rest of my life, so I put my hands over my ears and went staggering away like a man bereft."

Aillas searched Madling Meadow. He heard bird-calls and tinkles which might have been laughter. He walked three steps out into the meadow. "Fairies, I pray you, listen to me! I am Aillas, and the boy Dhrun is my son. Will someone please come to talk to me?"

Silence fell across Madling Meadow, except for what might have been another bird call. Near the mound lupines and larkspur jerked and bobbed, though the morning air was calm.

Graithe pulled at his sleeve. "Come away. They are preparing mischief. If they wished to talk to you they would have done so at once. Now they are plotting harm. Come away, before you suffer their tricks."

The two returned through the woods. Graithe said, "They are a strange folk. They think no more of us than we do of a fish."

Aillas took his leave of Graithe. On the way back to the village Glymwode he turned aside and approached a half-decayed stump. From the wrapping he took Persilian and propped it upright on the stump. For an instant he saw himself in the glass, comely despite the harsh structure of jaw, chin and cheekbone, with eyes bright as blue lights. Then Persilian, from perversity, altered the image, and Aillas found himself looking into the face of a hedgehog.

Aillas spoke: "Persilian, I need your help." "Do you wish to put a question?"

"Yes."

"It will be your third."

"I know. Therefore, I want to describe the sense of my question, so that you will not return a glib evasion. I am seeking my son Dhrun, who was taken by the fairies of Thripsey Shee. I will ask you: 'How may I bring my son alive and well into my own custody?'

I want to know exactly how to locate my son, release him from Thripsey Shee in possession of his health, youth and mental faculties, without incurring penalty. I want to locate and free my son now and not in a program involving weeks, months or years, nor do I want to be fooled or frustrated in some way I haven't considered. Therefore, Persilian—"

"Has it occurred to you," asked Persilian, "that your manner is most arrogant? That you demand my help as if it were a duty I owed you, and you, like all the others, jealously refuse to free me by asking a fourth question? Do you wonder that I regard your problems with detachment? Have you reflected an instant upon my yearnings? No, you exploit me and my power as you might use a horse to draw a load; you chide and domineer as if by some heroic deed you had earned the right to command me, when in fact, you stole me in the most furtive manner from King Casmir; do you still choose to hector me?"

After a confused moment Aillas spoke in a subdued voice: "Your complaints for the most part are fair. Still, at this moment, I am driven to find my son to the exclusion of all else.

"Therefore, Persilian, I must repeat my charge: give me in full detail a response to this question: "How may I bring my son into my care and custody?"

Persilian spoke in a heavy voice: "Ask Murgen." Aillas jumped back from the stump in a fury. With great effort he kept his voice even: "That is not a proper response."

"It is good enough," said Persilian airily. "Our urgencies drive us in different directions. Should you choose to ask another question, by all means, do so."

Aillas turned the mirror around, to face across the meadow. He pointed. "Look! In the field yonder is an old well. Time may have little meaning to you, but if I drop you into the well, you will sink into the mud. Soon the well will cave in and you will lie buried, perhaps forever, and that is a duration which must have meaning for you."

"It is a subject which you do not understand," said Persilian, still using a lofty tone. "I remind you that brevity is the essence of wisdom. Since you seem dissatisfied, I will expand upon my instructions. The fairies will give you nothing unless they receive a gift in payment. You have nothing to offer them. Murgen is a Master Magician. He lives at Swer Smod under Mount Gaboon in the Teach tac Teach. Along the way are dangers. At Sinkings Gap you must pass under a boulder balanced on a pin. You must kill the guardian raven, or he will drop a feather to topple the boulder on your head. At the River Siss an old woman with a fox's head and a chicken's legs will ask you to carry her across the river. You must act on the instant: cut her in half with your sword and carry each piece over separately. Where the road strikes up Mount Gaboon you will encounter a pair of bearded gryphs. Give each a comb of honey coming and going, which you have brought for the purpose. In front of Swer Smod, call out three times in this fashion: 'Murgen!

It is I, Prince Aillas of Troicinet!' When you meet Murgen be not awed; he is a man like yourself—not genial, but not without justice. Listen to his instructions; obey them exactly. I include a final advice, that I may be spared any more reproaches. Will you ride a horse?"

"That is my plan."

"Stable your horse at the village Oswy Undervale before you arrive at the River Siss; otherwise it will eat a maddening herb and throw you into the rocks."

"That is valuable advice." Aillas looked longingly back toward Madling Meadow. "It would seem altogether preferable to deal with the fairies now, rather than first visiting Murgen by dangerous ways."

"So it might seem. There are reasons why any advantage lies in visiting Murgen first."

With this, Persilian allowed Aillas' image to reflect once more from the glass. As Aillas watched, his face displayed a set of ludicrous leers and grimaces, then disappeared and the mirror was blank.

At Tawn Timble Aillas traded a golden brooch set with garnets for a strong roan gelding, furnished with bridle, saddle and saddle bags. At an armorer's shop he bought a sword of decent quality, a dagger in the heavy-bladed Lyonesse style, an old bow, brittle and cantankerous but serviceable, so Aillas estimated, if oiled and drawn with a sensitive touch, along with twelve arrows and a quiver. At a haberdashery he bought a black cloak, a black forester's cap. The town cobbler fitted him with comfortable black boots. Astride his horse he once more felt himself a gentleman..

Leaving Tawn Timble, Aillas rode south to Little Saffield, then west along Old Street, with the Forest of Tantrevalles a dark margin across the north landscape. The Forest retreated and ahead the blue shadows of the great Teach tac Teach loomed into the air.

At Frogmarsh, Aillas turned north along Bittershaw Road and in due course arrived at Oswy Undervale: a lethargic settlement of two hundred inhabitants. Aillas took lodging at the Peacock Inn and spent the afternoon honing his sword and testing the flight of his arrows against a straw butt in a field behind the inn. The bow seemed to be sound but in need of work; the arrows flew adequately true out to forty yards and somewhat beyond. Aillas took a melancholy pleasure from sending arrow after arrow into a six-inch target; his skills had not deserted him.

Early in the morning, with his horse stabled behind the inn, he set off afoot along the trail to the west. He climbed a long rise of sandy waste strewn with stones and boulders, where grew only thistle and bitter-grass. At the top of the rise he overlooked a broad valley. To the west and away to the north, ever higher, crag on crag, rose the mighty Teach tac Teach, blocking passage into the Ulflands. Directly below, the trail dropped by traverses to the floor of the valley, and here flowed the River Siss, down from the Troaghs back of Cape Farewell, and away to join the Sweet Yallow. Across the valley he thought to make out Swer Smod, high on the flanks of Mount Gaboon, but the shapes and shadows made for deception and he could not be sure of what he saw.

He started down the way, running light-footed, sliding and jumping, and so in short order reached the valley. He found himself in an orchard of apple trees laden with red fruit, but he marched resolutely past and so arrived at the riverbank. On a stump sat a woman with the mask of a red fox and the legs of a chicken.

Aillas gave her a thoughtful inspection. Finally she cried out:

"Man, why do you stare so?"

"Madame Fox-face, you are most unusual."

"That is no reason to embarrass me."

"I intended no discourtesy, madame. You are as you are."

"Notice that I sit here in all dignity. It was not I who came cavorting and romping like a mad-cap down the hillside. I could never deign such frolics; folk would think me a hoyden."

"I was perhaps a trifle boisterous," Aillas admitted. "Would you allow me a question, out of sheer curiosity?"

"Provided that it is not impertinent."

"You must judge and let it be understood that in asking the question I incur no obligation."

"Ask on."

"Your face is that of a red fox, your torso that of a woman, your limbs those of a fowl. Which influence guides you as you live your life?"

"The question is noncupatory. Now it is my turn to request a boon."

"But I specifically renounced all obligation."

"I appeal to your chivalrous training. Would you see a poor frightened creature swept away before your eyes? Carry me across the river, if you please."

"That is a request no gentleman could ignore," said Aillas. "Step this way, down to the water's edge and point out the easiest crossing."

"Gladly." The woman strutted down the path toward the river.

Aillas drew his sword and with a single great stroke across the waist, cut the woman in twain.

The pieces would not rest. The pelvis and legs ran hither and yon; the upper torso dealt furious blows to the ground, while the head called objurgations to chill Aillas' blood. At last he said:

"Quiet, woman! Where is your vaunted dignity?"

"Go your way!" she screeched. "My retribution will not be long in coming!"

Aillas thoughtfully caught the back of her tunic, dragged her to the water and across the ford. "With legs on one side and arms on the other, you will be less tempted to do wicked deeds!"

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The woman responded with a new spate of curses, and Aillas went his way. The path led up a hillside; he paused to look back. The woman had raised her head to whistle; the legs bounded across the river; the two parts fitted themselves together and the creature once again was whole. Aillas went somberly on his way: up Mount Gaboon, where all the lands to the east lay spread below, for the most part dark green forest, then across a wasteland where lived not so much as a blade of grass. A cliff rose sheer above the area, and the trail apparently had reached its end. Two steps further and Aillas saw Sinkings Gap, a narrow crevice into the cliff. At the mouth of the gap a pedestal ten feet high terminated in a point on which, in precise balance, rested an enormous boulder.

With utmost caution Aillas approached. Nearby, on the branch of a dead tree, perched a raven, with one red eye attentively fixed upon Aillas. Aillas turned his back, nocked arrow to bow, swung about, drew and let fly. The raven toppled and fell in a flapping heap to the ground. As it did so it brushed the balanced boulder with its wing. The boulder swayed, leaned, and crashed into the passage.

Aillas retrieved his arrow, cut the wings and tail from the bird and tucked the articles into his pack; someday he would fletch his twelve arrows in black.

The trail led up through Sinkings Gap to a terrace above the cliff. A mile away, under the jut of Mount Gaboon, Swer Smod overlooked the panorama: a castle of no great size, fortified only by a high wall and a pair of bartizans overlooking the portal.

Beside the trail, in the shade of eight black cypress trees, a pair of bearded gryphs eight feet tall played chess at a stone table. As Aillas approached, they put aside the chess and picked up knives. "Step this way," said one, "to save us the trouble of rising."

Aillas took two combs of honey from his pack and placed them on the stone table. "Sirs, here is your honey."

The gryphs emitted dismal groans. "Again honey," said one. "And surely insipid," gloomed the other.

Aillas said: "One should rejoice upon what one has, rather then lament for that which one has not."

The gryphs looked up in displeasure. The first uttered a sinister hiss. The other said: "One becomes sated with platitudes no less than with honey, so that one often breaks another's bones in one's vexation."

"Enjoy your meal in leisure and good health," said Aillas; and continued to the main portal. Here a tall woman of advanced years, wearing a white robe, watched Aillas' approach. He bowed in full courtesy. "Madame, I am here to confer with Murgen, upon a matter of importance. Will you please notify him that Aillas, Prince of Troicinet, awaits his pleasure?"

The woman, speaking no word, made a gesture and turned away.

Aillas followed her across a court, along a hall, and into a parlor furnished with a carpet, a table and a pair of heavy chairs. Cases along the back wall displayed hundreds of books and the room smelled pleasantly of the old leather bindings.

The woman pointed to a chair. "Sit." She went from the room, to return with a tray of nutcakes and a cup of tawny wine which she placed before Aillas; then once again she left the room.

Into the hall came Murgen, wearing a gray peasant smock. Aillas had expected an older man, or at least a man of sage appearance.

Murgen wore no beard. His hair was white from natural tendency rather than age; his blue eyes were as bright as Aillas' own.

Murgen spoke: "You are here to consult me?"

"Sir, I am Aillas. My father is Prince Ospero of Troicinet; I am Prince in direct line to the throne. Something less than two years ago I met the Princess Suldrun of Lyonesse. We loved each other and were married. King Casmir immured me in a deep dungeon. I finally escaped to find that Suldrun had killed herself in despair and that our son Dhrun had been taken as a changeling by the fairies of Thripsey Shee. I went to Thripsey Shee, but they remained invisible. I beg that you help me rescue my son."

Murgen poured a small quantity of wine into two goblets. "You come to me empty-handed?"

"I carry nothing of value, save a few bits of jewelery which were once Suldrun's. I am sure you care nothing for these. I can offer you only the mirror Persilian, which I stole from King Casmir.

Persilian will answer three questions, to your advantage if you phrase the questions correctly. If you ask a fourth question, Persilian goes free. I offer him to you on the condition that you will ask the fourth question, and so liberate him."

Murgen held out his hand. "Give me Persilian. I accept your conditions."

Aillas relinquished the mirror. Murgen twitched his finger and spoke a quiet syllable. A white porcelain box floated across the room, and settled on the table. Murgen threw back the lid and turned the contents out upon the table: thirteen gems, cut, so it seemed, from gray quartz. Murgen watched him with a small smile.

"You find these uninteresting?"

"I would judge them so."

Murgen touched them lovingly with his finger, moving them into patterns. He heaved a sigh. "Thirteen nonpareils, each encompassing a mental universe. Well, I must avoid avarice. There are more where these came from. So be it. Take this one; it is gay and enthralling by the light of sunrise. Go to Thripsey Shee just as the first rays of sunlight sweep down across the meadow. Do not go by moonlight, or you will suffer a death of weird invention.

Show the crystal to the sunrise, let it glint in the rays. Do not let it from your grasp until a bargain has been made. The fairies will honor their word precisely; they are, despite popular belief, a most exact-minded race. They will fulfill their terms: no less, and certainly not an iota more, so bargain with care!" Murgen rose to his feet. "I bid you farewell."

"A moment, sir. The gryphs are truculent. They are not happy with their honey. I think they would prefer to suck the marrow from my bones."

"They are easily diverted," said Murgen. "Offer two combs to one and none to the other."

"What of the boulder at Sinkings Gap? Will that be poised as before?"

"At this very moment the raven balances the stone in place— no mean feat for a bird lacking both wings and tail. It is vengeful, so I suspect." Murgen held out a coil of pale blue rope. "Near the head of the defile a tree overhangs the cliff. Pass the rope around the tree, make a loop to sit in and lower yourself down the cliff."

"What of the fox-faced woman at the River Siss?"

Murgen shrugged. "You must find some way to trick her. Otherwise she will claw your eyes out with a single kick of her leg. The scratch of her fingernail paralyzes; do not allow her approach."

Aillas rose to his feet. "I thank you for your help; still, I wonder why you make the way so dangerous. Many who visit you must consider themselves your friends."

"Yes, no doubt." The subject clearly failed to interest Murgen.

"As a matter of fact, the hazards have been established by my enemies, not by me."

"With the gryphs so close to Swer Smod? That is insolence."

Murgen dismissed the matter with a gesture. "It is beneath my dignity to notice. And now, Prince Aillas, I wish you a safe journey."

Murgen departed the room; the woman in the white robes led Aillas along the dim halls to the portal. She looked up to the sky where the sun had already passed the zenith. "If you hurry," she said,

"you will reach Oswy Undervale before dusk turns to dark."

Aillas went briskly back down the trail. He approached the grotto where sat the two gryphs. They turned to observe Aillas' coming.

"Will you dare once again to offer us insipid honey? We crave more savory stuff!"

"Apparently you are both famished with hunger," said Aillas.

"That is the way of it. Now then—"

Aillas brought out two combs of honey. "Ordinarily I would offer one comb to each of you, but one must be more hungry than the other, and he should have both. I leave them here, and the decision shall be yours."

Aillas backed away from the instant altercation and before he was fifty yards along the trail the gryphs were pulling each other's beards. Though Aillas hurried, sounds of the dispute reached his ears for many minutes.

He came to Sinkings Gap, and warily peered over the edge of the cliff. The great boulder, as before, swayed in precarious balance.

The raven stood nearby, still lacking wings and tail, with head cocked and one round red eye staring up the gorge. Its feathers were bedraggled; it half-sat, half-stood on its bent yellow legs.

Fifty yards to the east, a twisted old cedar tree extended its crooked trunk over the lip of the cliff. Aillas threw the rope over the trunk where a crotch would hold it away from the cliff's face. In one end he tied a loop, arranged it under his haunches, pulled the line taut, swung out over the void, and lowered himself to the base of the cliff. He pulled the tail of the line over the tree-trunk, made a coil and slung it over his shoulder.

The raven stood as before, head cocked, ready to thrust at the boulder. Aillas silently approached from the opposite side and prodded the boulder with the tip of his sword. It toppled and crashed, while the raven uttered cries of dismay.

Aillas continued along the trail, down the slopes of Mount Gaboon.

Ahead a line of trees marked the course of the River Siss. Aillas halted. Somewhere, so he surmised, the fox-woman lay in ambush.

The most likely spot would seem to be a thicket of stunted hazel only a hundred yards along the trail. He could make a detour either upstream or down, and swim the river rather than crossing by the ford.

Aillas drew back and, keeping to cover as much as possible, made a wide half-circle in a downstream direction to the river-bank. A

fringe of willows barred him from the water, and he was forced to turn upstream. Nothing stirred, at the thicket or elsewhere.

Aillas began to feel taut. The silence was unnerving. He stopped to listen again, but heard only the gurgle of the water. Sword in hand, he proceeded upstream, step by step,.. Approaching the ford, he came to a clump of heavy reed-grass, swaying in the wind... In the wind? He turned quickly to look down into the red mask of the fox-woman, sitting hunched like a frog. He swung his sword as she thrust herself high, and cut off her head at the neck. The torso and legs tumbled into a heap; the head fell at the water's edge.

Aillas nudged it out into the stream with his sword. It bobbed and rolled downstream. The torso clawed itself erect and began to run aimlessly here and there, waving its arms, darting and jumping, finally to disappear over the rise toward Mount Gaboon.

Aillas washed his sword, crossed the ford and returned to Oswy Undervale, arriving just as dusk became dark. He dined on bread and ham, drank a pint of wine and went immediately to his chamber.

In the dark he brought out the gray gem which Murgen had allowed him. It showed a pale shine, the color of a misty day. Quite dull, reflected Aillas. But when he looked away he thought he sensed a peculiar flash at the corner of his vision, a perception to which he could put no name.

He tried several times, but failed to reproduce the sensation, and presently he fell asleep.