[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
up! Where are you?"
Where was she? How ridiculous. If someone was telling her to awaken, then he
Page 70
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
knew she was asleep, and if he knew that, he must be able to see her. She
opened her eyes. There were Lovi and Gregorius, a single shapeless shadow
under a cloak, and there, near the smoldering fire, ibn Saul. She heard his
snores. "Yan Oors?" she whispered. "Have you come back?"
"Look up," the voice soughed like a wind through pine trees but there was no
wind, and no pines. The moon was quite bright, for all the veil of haze that
drifted across its face, and she saw nothing out of the ordinary.
"There! Didn't you see me? Look again."
Again? At what? She could feel eyes upon her, but all she had seen when she
looked up had been . . . the moon.
"Yes! The moon! Can't you see my face?"
There was always a face in the full moon, but it was a goddess's face, and the
voice she heard was not womanly at all. "Who are you?" she whispered.
"I can't say my name aloud. I have purloined the goddess's eyes for this
glimpse of you. It's not as easy as it once was. The world changes, and I do
not. We move apart . . ."
"Minho?"
"Hush! No names. Are you coming? I sense you aren't far away."
"I don't know where you are, or where your kingdom is. Not exactly. How will I
find it?"
"I will give you a map."
"How? When?"
"Follow the stars. Come soon, before I drift beyond all mortals' ken. Leave
your companions behind.
There must be no Christian priests and no scholarly wizards with you, or I'll
give you no map to show you the way and bring no iron, either! Send your ugly
bodyguard with his metal staff away to find his bears. Do you understand?"
"Yan Oors is already gone, and I have no intention of bringing the others with
me. Where is the map?
You said you'd give me one."
There was no answer. A cloud drifted across the moon, and everything became
quite dark. It didn't make sense. She had no map and the stars only told where
she was, not where another place might be.
Pierrette laid her head on her arm, and slept again.
Wishful thinking, she decided, by the gray light of morning. I wish I did have
a map. I wish I were close to my destination, but though Sena is reputed to be
a mystical place, it will not turn out to be the
Fortunate Isles.
* * *
"I'm not sure this is wise," Lovi muttered as they scrambled downward over
sharp, black crags. Already, the morning sun was high, and they had not yet
reached the bottom of the cliff. "Even if the old magus really exists, and has
a boat that can weather the tidal race, and knows its currents, how do they
get the bodies down to him? They can't carry them down this so-called trail.
Even your fractious donkey is having a hard time of it."
"Are you cultivating your master's skepticism, Lovi?" said Pierrette, softly,
so only he could hear.
"Somehow yours does not sound properly academic more as though you're afraid.
And didn't you notice the pile of timbers and the ropes atop the last
promontory we passed? I suspect they rig some kind of hoist. After all, unlike
us, most people have no reason to talk with the boatman."
"I don't think there is a boatman. I think they just dump the dead people for
the tides to carry away. I
think I already smell them."
Pierrette laughed aloud. "That's seaweed. I can tell you never lived by the
shore. I think it smells nice, like home."
Lovi opened his mouth to reply, but the sight that met his eyes just then, as
his feet touched the slippery rock beach, took his words away. There in the
Page 71
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
side of the cliff was the dark mouth of a wave-cut cave, its entrance awash,
and from it jutted the gray, salt-bleached prow of a boat. Standing next to
it, with his bare legs knee-deep in swirling water, was the boatman.
He was old, his skin white and blotchy as if it had been soaked for years in
saltwater. Pierrette, for whom the phrase "old mage" or "magus" evoked an
image of Anselm, or at worst, Moridunnon, was
shocked and repelled. He stank of fish long dead. His hair and beard were not
really white or gray, or even yellow from the smoke of peat fires, but
slightly greenish, like sun-bleached seaweed.
Ibn Saul addressed him as he if he met people just as revolting every day. The
shiny Byzantine solidus that gleamed between the scholar's thumb and
forefinger was surely as heavy as any dozen lesser gold coins people might
ordinarily leave in the mouths of their dead loved ones. The old boatman never
took his eyes off the coin while ibn Saul explained what they wanted.
"The Isle of the Dead, eh? Oh, yes, I can get you there. Hee hee hee." His
voice was rough and raspy, like ballast-stones being dragged over a cobble
pavement. "But you don't look very dead to me. Are you going to die soon? That [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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up! Where are you?"
Where was she? How ridiculous. If someone was telling her to awaken, then he
Page 70
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
knew she was asleep, and if he knew that, he must be able to see her. She
opened her eyes. There were Lovi and Gregorius, a single shapeless shadow
under a cloak, and there, near the smoldering fire, ibn Saul. She heard his
snores. "Yan Oors?" she whispered. "Have you come back?"
"Look up," the voice soughed like a wind through pine trees but there was no
wind, and no pines. The moon was quite bright, for all the veil of haze that
drifted across its face, and she saw nothing out of the ordinary.
"There! Didn't you see me? Look again."
Again? At what? She could feel eyes upon her, but all she had seen when she
looked up had been . . . the moon.
"Yes! The moon! Can't you see my face?"
There was always a face in the full moon, but it was a goddess's face, and the
voice she heard was not womanly at all. "Who are you?" she whispered.
"I can't say my name aloud. I have purloined the goddess's eyes for this
glimpse of you. It's not as easy as it once was. The world changes, and I do
not. We move apart . . ."
"Minho?"
"Hush! No names. Are you coming? I sense you aren't far away."
"I don't know where you are, or where your kingdom is. Not exactly. How will I
find it?"
"I will give you a map."
"How? When?"
"Follow the stars. Come soon, before I drift beyond all mortals' ken. Leave
your companions behind.
There must be no Christian priests and no scholarly wizards with you, or I'll
give you no map to show you the way and bring no iron, either! Send your ugly
bodyguard with his metal staff away to find his bears. Do you understand?"
"Yan Oors is already gone, and I have no intention of bringing the others with
me. Where is the map?
You said you'd give me one."
There was no answer. A cloud drifted across the moon, and everything became
quite dark. It didn't make sense. She had no map and the stars only told where
she was, not where another place might be.
Pierrette laid her head on her arm, and slept again.
Wishful thinking, she decided, by the gray light of morning. I wish I did have
a map. I wish I were close to my destination, but though Sena is reputed to be
a mystical place, it will not turn out to be the
Fortunate Isles.
* * *
"I'm not sure this is wise," Lovi muttered as they scrambled downward over
sharp, black crags. Already, the morning sun was high, and they had not yet
reached the bottom of the cliff. "Even if the old magus really exists, and has
a boat that can weather the tidal race, and knows its currents, how do they
get the bodies down to him? They can't carry them down this so-called trail.
Even your fractious donkey is having a hard time of it."
"Are you cultivating your master's skepticism, Lovi?" said Pierrette, softly,
so only he could hear.
"Somehow yours does not sound properly academic more as though you're afraid.
And didn't you notice the pile of timbers and the ropes atop the last
promontory we passed? I suspect they rig some kind of hoist. After all, unlike
us, most people have no reason to talk with the boatman."
"I don't think there is a boatman. I think they just dump the dead people for
the tides to carry away. I
think I already smell them."
Pierrette laughed aloud. "That's seaweed. I can tell you never lived by the
shore. I think it smells nice, like home."
Lovi opened his mouth to reply, but the sight that met his eyes just then, as
his feet touched the slippery rock beach, took his words away. There in the
Page 71
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
side of the cliff was the dark mouth of a wave-cut cave, its entrance awash,
and from it jutted the gray, salt-bleached prow of a boat. Standing next to
it, with his bare legs knee-deep in swirling water, was the boatman.
He was old, his skin white and blotchy as if it had been soaked for years in
saltwater. Pierrette, for whom the phrase "old mage" or "magus" evoked an
image of Anselm, or at worst, Moridunnon, was
shocked and repelled. He stank of fish long dead. His hair and beard were not
really white or gray, or even yellow from the smoke of peat fires, but
slightly greenish, like sun-bleached seaweed.
Ibn Saul addressed him as he if he met people just as revolting every day. The
shiny Byzantine solidus that gleamed between the scholar's thumb and
forefinger was surely as heavy as any dozen lesser gold coins people might
ordinarily leave in the mouths of their dead loved ones. The old boatman never
took his eyes off the coin while ibn Saul explained what they wanted.
"The Isle of the Dead, eh? Oh, yes, I can get you there. Hee hee hee." His
voice was rough and raspy, like ballast-stones being dragged over a cobble
pavement. "But you don't look very dead to me. Are you going to die soon? That [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]