XXIII. The Grotto of
Gilroy’s Folly
Led by Finlay the
fisherman, the group set out along the riverbank once more. Elwood had finally
left behind the ox-bone after much persuasion and promises that they would
return to finish it off. Avery perched on Thomas’s right shoulder, testing the
strength of his wing now and then by flying in a short loop about the boy’s
head. Cathán alternated between riding on Thomas’s left shoulder and on
Finlay’s, asking the fisherman dozens of questions about life on the river and
the other humans and animals he had encountered.
Thomas’s sleepiness
following the hearty meal of eel-skin soup had been burned off by the prospect
of finding the forbidden grotto at last. This day was the last before his
appointed meeting with the witch—most of Tuesday remained before him, bright
with sunshine in the middle of autumn, the wind carrying the gentlest premonition
of the coming winter. He had Tuesday to find the shell, and Wednesday to save
his sister.
After a minute, Thomas
hurried to walk abreast of Finlay, Elwood trotting close behind. “It sounds
like there are many grottoes along the eastern river,” Thomas said. “Do you
know of any others? What are they like? And what’s the forbidden grotto like?”
“Well, other than
knowing the fishing-grounds outside the forbidden grotto, I can’t say much,”
the fisherman replied. “I’ve never been inside. I don’t even rightly know its
name. You see, all these grottoes—and there are perhaps a dozen in this region
that I’ve heard of—have their own names and designations, titles passed from
one fisherman or traveler to the next. Most of the names come with fanciful
backstories as well, but it’s my understanding that the grottoes have very
little in common with their namesakes in most cases.”
“Like Mídhel,” said
Thomas. “That’s the town where I live, just west of here. Dún told me once that
the town was named after a princess who used to live nearby. When Princess
Mídhel died, giants carved out a grave for her and buried her under the earth.
The grave was so large that plants and animals and eventually people settled in
the valley it created. That’s the Valley of Thistles. Briar’s Peak was the
stone the giants placed to mark the princess’s burial-place.” Thomas paused.
“But I’m not sure how true that is, or if it’s just a nice reason to name the
village after a princess.”
Finlay nodded. “That’s
precisely what I mean about the grottoes. They’ve all got myths associated with
them. I’m not one to question the old stories—I’ve seen a fair few peculiar
things in my young days, and everyone knows the ancients were far more magical
than we’ll ever be.” He winked at Thomas. “But even so, I haven’t been able to
discern a connection between any of the grottoes and their names. They’re just
watery caves with moss and fishes and, sometimes, good fishing-grounds for
eels.”
“What are the names of
the others you’ve heard?” Cathán asked.
“Oh, let’s see. The
Grotto of the Vengeful Tide—that can’t be the eastern river, though, because
everyone knows that happened on the seashore. The Grotto of Blackfin Bay. Has a
nice name and no mistake, but seems a little fishy to me, if you’ll excuse the wordplay,
for who ever heard of a bay within a
river? And then, of course, there’s the Sirens’ Grotto. Near as I know, sirens
haven’t been seen in these lands in a century.”
Thomas suppressed a
shiver. “Those do sound like exaggerated names for grottoes on such a calm
river.”
“Indeed,” replied the
fisherman, “and then there’s the Grotto of the Dragon’s Beak, which seems
altogether strange. Dragons surely don’t have beaks, or didn’t, at any rate.”
Avery made a chirrupy
noise from Thomas’s shoulder that was a mixture of anger and amusement. “Hardly
true, Finlay the fisherman! I myself have personal knowledge of a number of
beaked dragons. In fact, I know well the story to which that grotto’s name
refers: for the dragon’s beak is the subject of a famous lay of the Blackhill
Clan, a ballad to our forebears and a tale of the greatest ravens in our
history, present company excluded.”
“Would you tell us the
story?” Thomas asked. To Finlay, he added, “Avery’s a lovely storyteller, as
you’ll see.”
“Well, I can certainly
try,” said the raven. “But it’s properly told in bird-language, that melodious
poetry; and to translate it would be to destroy much of its silver and sparkle.
Nevertheless, I have told it many times in the human tongue to much applause,
and the audiences that beheld my telling praised it as even more poignant than
the original. So yes, Thomas, I’ll give you a taste of the old song, though I
warn that it’ll be only an echo of the true form.”
True to his word, Avery
began to relate the story of the dragon’s beak, a tale that involved fairies
and a headless goat and a sentient patch of water-lilies. Thomas and Finlay and
Cathán were thoroughly entertained, though for his part Thomas noticed that the
story lacked any reference to dragons at all. He conceded that perhaps he just
didn’t understand the allusive and circumspect nature of raven-stories.
At the conclusion of
Avery’s story, Thomas asked Finlay, “How far do you think we are from the
forbidden grotto now?”
“Only a quarter of a
mile now, I’d wager.” Finlay glanced over at him. “Not to pry, but you seem
more eager about the grotto than I’d have expected, Thomas. It’s a sunny autumn
day and the riverside is absolutely lovely; I’m half-hoping this walk never
ends. But I sense that you’re in more of a hurry than that.”
Thomas ducked his head
a little, staring out at the expanse of slow-moving blue-gold water. “I suppose
I am. You’re right that it’s a beautiful day, and under other circumstances I’d
like nothing more than to walk along the river with you and swap stories. In a
few days I might even return here and we can do just that. But for now, I’ve
got other matters on my mind that are . . . more
troubling.”
Thomas trusted Finlay.
He was still wary of confiding in strangers; his experience with Saf had taught
him not to rely solely on outward appearances or demeanors. But Thomas felt
that Finlay was truly kind and could be trusted with a few of the details of
his quest. It would be nice to have
another friend and ally, too, Thomas thought. “My sister’s
been . . . well, caught up in some trouble, I suppose, and
I’m trying to help her out. I need to collect a shell from the forbidden grotto
to do that. I’ve been asking around, but no one knew about the forbidden grotto
until you. I don’t have much time left to help my sister, either, so I’m a bit
pressed for time—otherwise I’d be napping and enjoying more of that eel-skin
soup. You’ve been very kind to us, by the way. Thank you.”
Finlay patted Thomas on
the shoulder. “My pleasure, Thomas. Happy to help. And I’m sorry about your
sister. I’ll do what I can to help you find the shell, if you’d like, and
anything else you need along the way. I know what it’s like to have a sister in
trouble.”
“You do?”
“Aye, my own sister
Fiona.” Finlay tipped his hat back and wiped his brow. “It’ll take us a bit to
get ready to ford the river when we get there, so I’ll tell you the story, if
you’d like. Fiona is two years younger than I am, though she’s twice as clever.
She and I had some good adventures when we were younger—play-fighting in the
clover field, hunting for mushrooms, that sort of thing. We carried on well.
But Fiona has always been a bit of a troublemaker, and one day, when we were
about your age, she got herself into a pixie-snare.”
Finlay smiled at the
memory. “Oh, how she howled! It was her own fault too, and no denying: all
caught up in their tricks, unable to move, squirming and wriggling while they
giggled about turning her into bread. I was nearby; we’d been playing that day,
and she’d stolen my lunch and pushed me into the mud, so I wasn’t feeling
particularly keen to help her. I thought I might just leave her to her troubles
with the pixies. I was sure they weren’t serious about eating her.”
“That’s a dangerous
gamble,” Cathán said. “Pixies joke about everything but food.”
“I’ve certainly learned
as much since then! I wasn’t as experienced in those days; I suspect that you
all have seen much more than I. In any case, whether it was suspicion of the
pixies or worry about my sister or something else besides, my kindness won out.
I was still angry with her, but I decided to help Fiona anyway. We got free
from the pixies and she thanked me and gave me her apple as compensation.”
At Finlay’s direction,
they began the descent to the riverside, following a little trail cut into the
side of the slope. The edge of the water was sandy; the water left little muddy
pools and whorls where it lapped rhythmically against the shore.
“There wasn’t an
immediate change in Fiona’s behavior,” Finlay said, slowing. “But we carried on
well enough as youth after that. Later on, when we reached apprenticeship age,
she went off traveling and started studying white magic in some faraway place.
She comes back to visit every so often, and we spend hours with our parents,
talking and laughing about past adventures and her upcoming work. About a year
ago, Fiona brought me back a charm—a kind gift that I carry with me always.”
The fisherman pulled
the charm from beneath his shirt and showed it to them. It was a flat circle of
wood with symbols carved into it; Thomas thought they looked like flowers. It
hung on a simple leather cord around Finlay’s neck.
“It’s a charm for good
luck,” said Finlay, tucking it back against his chest. “Blessed by white magic.
After that visit, I wrote her a letter to thank her again, and ever since we’ve
had a happy correspondence in between visits. She’s grown into a wonderful
woman, and her charm has certainly brought me luck in my own endeavors. I don’t
think saving her from the pixies was the only reason for all of that—but I know
that it helped, because it helped me too. She just needed a little kindness,
and I just needed a little sacrifice.”
He smiled at Thomas.
“Seems like you’ve already learned all about that, Thomas: sacrificing your
time and effort to get your sister out of trouble. You’re a good lad. Now, are
we ready to cross the river?”
Here the eastern river
was shallow and sluggish, stretching out for a nap in the glow of the Tuesday
sun. The watergrass and fronds growing along its banks were tinged gold in the
light; red and orange were the mossy patches, lilies, spangles, and frog-leaves
drifting along the river in a murmuring parade. The air smelled wet and warm.
Thomas could hear the slosh of the water against the shoreline and a deeper
crash where it caught in the rocks on the opposite shore, farther downstream.
Finlay pointed at some
red-leaved trees across the river. “The forbidden grotto is there, just beyond
those trees,” said the fisherman. “We should cross here. Everyone ready?”
Thomas shucked his
satchel and jacket. After a moment’s consideration, he removed his shoes and
held them in one hand, feeling the muddy sand press between his toes. “Will our
things be safe here?”
“Surely so,” said
Finlay, removing his own shoes and rolling up the cuffs of his trousers to the
knee. “We’ll be back after a quick jaunt; and anyway few come to this part of
the eastern river. Now walk after me. The way isn’t treacherous except for a
few slick patches and a couple of sharp rocks there. On we go!”
The water was cold and
refreshing and came to Thomas’s waist. He shivered a moment, then laughed to
catch his breath and waded out. Cathán rode upon his shoulder, whereas Avery
had chosen to take the river’s span in one great swoop. The glossy raven now
perched on a log stuck into the far shore, preening his feathers and chirping
at them with what Thomas was sure were vaguely insulting but affable
bird-jests.
Elwood was initially
shy of the flowing river, but after some coaxing, the great shaggy dog dipped a
paw into the cold water and then leapt as though he were a sailor striving for
land in a torrent. The river only came to the dog’s shoulders, but he seemed to
enjoy swimming, his paws treading wide swathes of water and his tail beating
out a splashing drumbeat as he followed behind Thomas. Twice during the
journey, Elwood stopped on a particularly high stretch of rock, raised himself
up, and shook out the water from his fur—paying no mind to the fact that most
of his body was still submerged. Then he jumped in again and swam on.
Thomas caught sight of
a few of the sleek eels that frequented the area. They were beautiful
creatures, as smooth and quick as their soup had been delicious. The boy felt
one brush against his bare leg and he shivered again, though the feeling was
not altogether unpleasant.
Elwood, for his part,
tried to catch the eels, diving in with an abundance of enthusiasm and a dearth
of coordination, dexterity, skill, or fishing-knowledge. His jaws snapped at
water and river-weeds; his head returned to the surface, water dripping into
his eyes and curling his shaggy fur, the expression on his face of confusion
and disappointment. Then, on the third try, the dog emerged with a flopping
fish proudly seized between his jaws; and this prize he carried to the far
shoreline and promptly devoured, bones and all.
The rest of the
companions reached the far shore. They followed Finlay from the sand to the
rocky line below the cliffs that rose chalky-white some thirty feet above. The
stone was warm on Thomas’s bare feet. They crossed the barren patch to the
copse of trees, which Thomas now identified as some kind of short red maple.
The trees had long vine-roots extending over the rocks and into the water,
drinking their life from the eastern river and displayed its bounty in the
brilliance of their leaves.
Thomas had an odd sense
of the trees, as though they were more alive than most. Perhaps it was the
color, he decided, or their adaptation to life on the cliff-wall above the
river.
Finlay led them through
the trees to a clearing on the other side. Here was the grotto, fed from a bend
in the river but blocked from view by the copse of maples and the tangle of
their vines onto the shoreline. The cliffs here were stained a dusty red, the
same color as the leaves, thickly coated with a substance that looked like
pollen.
But Thomas was more
interested in the forbidden grotto itself. A muddy tributary of the eastern
river wound through the crags and dropped into a low pool, draining thence into
the dark interior of the grotto that was cut into the cliff-wall by weather and
time. As Thomas drew near, he saw rough-hewn steps circling down around the
pool and into the grotto. The sight was a relief and a fresh source of wonder
about the forbidden grotto, as well as perhaps another prickle of fear that he
tamped down.
“Steps down!” cried
Cathán excitedly. He hopped off Thomas’s shoulder to go inspect. “Not necessary
for mousefolk or birdkind, of course, but for humans and canines these will be
most convenient.”
“Odd, that there should
be steps here,” remarked Finlay. “But convenient indeed.”
The fisherman was busy collecting
fallen maple-leaves from the ground. When he’d gathered an armful, he passed
them to Thomas and then approached one of the living trees. Finlay selected a
sturdy-looking branch, wrapped his hands around it, and tugged downward. The
tree seemed almost to resist; Thomas
noticed the trunk swaying away from
Finlay, just a little, so little that it might have been the boy’s imagination
entirely. Finlay struggled with the branch a moment longer, twisting his grip
and shifting his stance to pull down with all his weight—and then the branch
snapped clean and the fisherman raised it up triumphantly.
“We ought to take extra
care here,” Avery said, hopping down to the first step leading into the grotto.
“If the trees outside are this resilient, I wonder what treasure they might be
guarding down below.”
Finlay reclaimed the
leaves from Thomas and lashed them to the branch with twine, then used flint to
strike a spark into the leaves. To Thomas’s surprise, rather than flaming and
burning out quickly, the leaves burned with a steady bright light that
precisely reflected the ruddy color of the trees and the cliff-walls.
Finlay smiled at Thomas’s
look. “I discovered this a short time ago. The red powdery stuff that collects
on the cliffs—the pollen, or whatever it is? It’s effective at burning for a
long time without being extinguished. I found some caked into a few of the eels
I caught; I assume they ate some of the leaves or that some of the powder got
into the river. Let me tell you, friends: that was surely a surprise when I cooked
up the eels! But it’ll serve us well as a torch for now.”
They proceeded in
single file down the steps that wound around the lip of the pool before
dropping into the darkness of the grotto. Elwood went first of his own accord,
sniffing his way forward, followed by Finlay with the maple-leaf torch casting
dancing shadows as they passed from daylight into cave-dark. Thomas followed
right behind Finlay, with Avery and Cathán in their usual places.
The temperature dropped
along with them, though it was a pleasant reprieve from the warmth of the
afternoon. By the time they reached the end of the steps, Thomas’s eyes had
adjusted to the darkness of the grotto. They were standing on a broad platform
of stone next to a rippling pool of water that reflected both the flames of
Finlay’s torch and the shaft of sunlight coming from the cave’s entrance.
Thomas saw a ring of stone encircling the small pool, a walkway that surrounded
the water completely and was wide enough to walk along.
Thomas did just that.
With Cathán still on his shoulder and the rest of his companions remaining on the
larger platform, Thomas stepped onto the walkway and began to circle the pool.
He kept one hand on the jagged stone wall to his left to keep his balance. The
walkway was slick with water but secure, and in less than a minute Thomas had
returned to his friends after a full revolution around the grotto.
“It seems to be normal
so far,” Thomas reported. “I can’t see very far down into the pool, though, so
I don’t know how deep it is. And it looks like there might be a few smaller
caves or tunnels over there.” He pointed to the back wall of the grotto, where
the broad platform narrowed into a tight space. Cathán immediately leapt
forward to investigate.
Finlay took in a deep
breath through his nose. “There’s something strange in the air here,” he said,
smelling again. “It’s clear that other people and animals have been here
before—even that they come here regularly, I should think. I smell wet fur and
fish.”
“And cinders,” added
Thomas, rubbing at a dark smudge on the platform. “Maybe we’re not the only
ones to bring fire into the forbidden grotto. The carved-out steps make me
think that someone comes here often. But why?”
“Forbidden things have
a mighty allure,” said Avery. “I myself have darted after many a gilt object or
trinket in the heat of fancy. Of course, such attractions are for the
weak-minded and foolish, like humans: I have never pursued such vain thrills,
preferring loftier objectives. But I am given to understand that the forbidden
nature of mystical places might, in fact, make them more appealing to a certain
sort of individual. That’s why I’ve brought you all to explore this grotto,
after all.”
Elwood barked. This was
nothing new, but then he barked again, and a third time. He was sniffing at the
edge of the pool.
“Hairy cat?” Cathán
returned from the dark corners of the grotto and approached the pool. “Nothing
over there but dried leaves and ants, by the way. But Elwood says he smells
something unusual here. Some strange creature. He’s calling it a hairy cat, but
I don’t understand what he means by that.”
“All cats are hairy,”
offered Finlay, holding the torch over the water. “Unless this one’s especially
so?”
Elwood barked.
Cathán laughed. “That’s
a bold statement from you, my friend! Still, if you think it’s hairy—just from the smell—then what must it be but a
great clump of fur and nothing more?”
At that moment, a huge
splash erupted from the pool, showering all of them with heavy droplets. The
companions jumped back as one. Something hairy indeed emerged from the crater
of the splash and climbed onto the platform before them. It was an animal,
perhaps half the size of Elwood; and it was long, sleek, and exceptionally
furry.
Thomas jumped back a
step further. Cathán climbed up to the top of Elwood’s head and readied a tiny
arrow, training it on the strange creature. Avery folded his wings over his
body and hopped back to Thomas’s side. Elwood stood his ground, panting,
licking the water from his own fur.
Finlay was the first to
approach the creature. The fisherman stepped up next to Elwood, knelt, and
reached out a hand holding a strip of dried eel. He gestured invitingly at the
creature.
The creature spoke. “I’d
hardly eat that on just your word,” it said, in a haughty feminine voice. “But
perhaps I’d take some oats and honey if you have them. I’m accustomed to the
fine fare of the wild fields of the northland; nothing else will do. And I’m
not a hairy cat, you great brute.” The creature cast a baleful glare at Elwood.
The dog, for his part, seemed only mildly abashed.
“Then what are you?” Thomas
fished around in his pockets. After a moment’s consternation, he produced a
small vial of grainy sugar, something he’d purchased from Alice’s Apothecary.
He held it out to the creature.
Finlay supplemented
this with a pinch of covered barley. “I keep some for long treks down the river
hunting for supplies,” he explained. “They’re good to chew.”
“They’re good to eat,” said the creature, accepting
barley and sugar alike. She sat back on her haunches and dipped her round face
into her cupped hands, eating the food much the way Thomas had seen rabbits eat
heads of cabbage in his mother’s garden. “And I’m not sure what I am.”
“Well,” said Thomas
after a long pause. “That’s . . . unexpected. Maybe you’re
a—large rabbit of some kind?”
The creature shook her
head and kept nibbling. “Not a rabbit.”
“A weasel,” suggested
Avery.”
“No.”
Cathán lowered his bow
and arrow, though he kept the dart nocked. “A stoat? Or maybe a marten?
Graceful creatures, those.”
“Thank you, but no.
Definitely not.”
Elwood barked.
Avery chirped out a
laugh. “I suppose beaver-cat is as
good a guess as any. Is that what you are, miss?”
The creature paused
again. “Do you and I have a problem, shaggy dog?”
Elwood made a whining
noise and then craned his head over and licked the side of the creature’s face.
She looked affronted—and shocked, more than anything. Thomas could hardly contain
his laughter at the sight.
Strangely, that seemed
to endear Elwood to the creature, who smoothed down her fur and permitted the
dog a small smile, then patted him on the nose. “Not a beaver-cat, but you’re a
good boy for guessing it.”
Elwood wagged his tail
enthusiastically.
“You might be a fennyd,”
Finlay said. The fisherman was sitting now, cross-legged next to Elwood, having
propped up the torch in some loose stones nearby.
Thomas followed his example
and asked, “What’s a fennyd?”
“A furry water-sprite,”
said Finlay. “I’ve heard tale of them in other grottos. Friendly things and
fierce.”
“Not a fennyd.” The
creature finished off her snack and placed her front paws back on the platform.
She sat now like a noble cat, her fur slick with water, her eyes brown and wide
and intelligent, her ears pointed and twitching, foxlike. “I am unique among
creatures, I think. That is why I don’t know what I am. My name is Ableil. I
used to live on the tall gray rock over the lake, where I would play the harp
and sing and dance. I had enchantments of my own, then: great powers from the
earth and sky. I ruled over my people with graceful magic and music.”
Ableil sniffed and
tapped on the ground with one of her paws. “But then I fell in love with
Gilroy, the red-haired servant of the king. I should have known better. He
ruined my life and turned me into this hairy creature and left me imprisoned in
this grotto.”
“That’s terrible,” said
Cathán.
“Indeed, little mouse.
And that’s why this place is called the Grotto of Gilroy’s Folly. It’s
forbidden to humans—didn’t you hear?—but since you’ve brought food and fair
company, I suppose I can tell you my story, if you’d like to hear it.”
They all nodded. “Good,”
said she. “I’ll need some more treats, but for now, settle yourselves in and
listen.”
They did as she asked,
and Thomas and Finlay set out the rest of the food they had with them. Ableil
arranged it into a neat little pile, nodded at it, and began her tale.
“I was a great queen in
those days. I ruled my people fairly; I treated my enemies without mercy. But I
was cunning and clever in my justice toward them, preferring to trick and ensnare
instead of using my magic for violence. I entranced many with my powerful harp
and my beautiful playing. Thus my enemies came to love me and serve me,
seemingly of their own will; and I was glad to have increase in my dutiful
servants.
“Gilroy was the first
to be untouched by my harp-strings. He came to my court one day, climbing the
gray rock over the lake without difficulty and then scaling the great staroak
tree in which I had planted my throne-room. Gilroy entered the innermost room
of my throne without permission, interrupting my dance and communion with the
tree’s spirit. He was brash and wild and his head was aflame with red hair that
had been burnished white-gold by the sunshine.
“He came as the servant
of a king. He had a message to deliver, and there in the throne-room, without
regard for my interrupted dance or the loftiness of my position, Gilroy
delivered his message and turned to leave. He didn’t even have the decency of a
backward glance or a bit of groveling! So I turned to my harp and played a
quick magic to bend his will to mine.”
Ableil made a noise
then, a silvery laugh that sounded to Thomas like a mixture of joy and
frustration. “He was impervious! He looked back then, listening to the music,
and then he told me it was lovely and left the room. I was beyond any words
with emotions I’d never felt before. I was tempted to use my magic less
directly for revenge—to summon an army of fairies and demons, perhaps, or to
command the trees and flowers of the field to hold this impudent fast until he
became old and withered and his fire-hair turned to ashes.
“But my curiosity and
interest won out, and I went after him myself to speak with him.” Ableil took a
small pinch of sugar and nibbled it. “He was charming and fearless. I dedicated
myself to winning his affection, and eventually I succeeded. We were happy for
a time. Truly happy together, wild and free, magic and mortal, living under
sunlight and starshine.
“Then Gilroy was
offered a new position with his king. He was told he would become a knight,
replete with polished armor and a strong swift sword, if he would deliver
poison to the Tinker of Shady Glen. I had little opinion on the matter; I did
not know the Tinker, nor did I care if my love were knight or noble or king or
commoner. But then we learned that the Tinker had taken a wife named Anna—and she!—oh yes, I knew her. The
serpent-witch Anna. I knew of her dark deeds and witchcraft. I warned Gilroy
that poisoning Anna’s husband would surely result in disaster for him and his
king.
“Of course, Gilroy was
brave and fearless. He heeded not my warnings and left to deliver the poisoned
meal to the Tinker.” Ableil blinked quickly and fell silent a moment. Elwood,
sitting close, whined a little and shuffled forward on his belly until his nose
touched Ableil’s rabbitlike foot. She smiled and reached out her paw to pat the
dog’s nose and stroke his shaggy face.
“Gilroy left undaunted
for the Tinker’s home in Shady Glen; and I followed after, my heart already
breaking. The serpent-witch Anna was there when we arrived. We fought with Anna
and the Tinker, he with his sword and shield, I with my magic harp.
“In that battle, all of
us were wounded and forever changed. I had given Gilroy a magic potion to make
him tall as a giant and strong as thirty men. Anna employed sorcery of her own
and cursed my love, condemning him to live forever—‘remaining as a cave as
hollow as his own heart,’ she said, vile lies to accompany her wicked magic.”
A single tear dripped
from Ableil’s brown eyes and slid to the end of her nose. The grotto rumbled
then, sending dust shivering into the pool and the water rippling back against
the edges of stone. The teardrop fell to the ground.
“I was cursed as well,”
Ableil added, sniffing. “I became a thing of no voice and no magic, a creature
prized for its fur, a being without name or kind—something that all would want
to possess and none would want to nurture.”
She fell silent for a
time, chewing on the rest of the sugar and barley seeds. Her audience remained
quiet. The only sound was the dripping of water in the grotto and Elwood’s
steady breathing as he looked up through his shaggy shock of hair.
Then Ableil said: “The
Tinker and his wife Anna came to their own just fates, but my Gilroy and I have
suffered far worse than they. We live on, so close and so distant, barely
memories of our former lives. I have the red maples up above for Gilroy’s hair
and the quaking now and then, but those are just echoes of his wild nature. He
is gone. The only thing I have left of him is his heart, which has become a
hardened shell and a home for creeping bugs, not the beautiful fire it once
was.”
Thomas glanced
immediately at his companions, then back to Ableil. “Where is Gilroy’s heart
now?” he asked.
Ableil cleaned her paws
off with her rough tongue. “Down at the bottom of the pool, of course,” she
replied. “Thank you for the food.”
And then the strange
creature leapt into the water and dove into the shadowed depths.
