The Secret of the Swamp King (17 page)

At Scoggin Mound, Benno left Dobro and Aidan to pole east toward Bug Neck. After a short visit with Aunt Seku and her grandchildren—which involved a snack of frog-egg jelly, much marveling over the frog orchid, and the happy return of Aidan's cold-shiny hunting knife—Aidan and Dobro poled on toward the scrub swamp at the northern edge of the Feechiefen. The travelers parted ways where the scrubby tanglewood lifted itself out of the black water. They bid one another good-bye with promises to meet again at the second full moon where the Bear Trail meets the River Trail, the spot where Dobro joined Aidan and Steren's boar hunt.

The scrub swamp was a challenge. Tree walking required two free hands, and one of Aidan's hands was occupied with the frog orchid. He managed at last to push through to the pine flats beyond. He didn't, however, find his backpack and civilizer clothes and so he had to cross the pine flats bare-chested, wearing his snakeskin kilt and turtle helmet. The pine forest, he was happy to find, was recovering nicely from the brushfire he and Hyko had started. In the two weeks since the fire, wire grass had already sprouted tender and green among the
charred remains of its parent grass. All over the fire site, gopher tortoises munched on the fresh shoots.

When Aidan arrived at last at the broad river, he stood on the high bank and shouted toward Last Camp on the other side: “Massey! Floyd! Isom! Burl! Cooky!” Someone came to the bank on the civilizer side of the river. It was Isom, Aidan thought, but it was hard to tell so far away. Whoever it was, he didn't recognize Aidan, who jumped, waved, and yelled like a wild man. “It's me!” Aidan shouted. “Can you bring a boat?”

The river breeze carried Aidan's words downstream. All the hunter heard on the other side was incoherent hollering from what appeared to be a savage in a skirt and helmet. The hunter disappeared, and a dejected Aidan began preparing to swim one-handed across the wide, alligator-infested water.

But soon the hunter was back at the far bank, and he had several hunters with him. Aidan jumped around and wheeled his arms in a broad come-here gesture, but the men only stood in a knot, talking, obviously discussing what to do about the wild man on the other side of the river.

They were still talking when another man—tall and white-haired in a dusty tan robe—pushed past them and leaped into the nearest rowboat. When two goats jumped in after him, Aidan knew Bayard the Truthspeaker was pulling across the river to him.

“Bayard!” Aidan shouted when the old man nosed the rowboat into the root tangle at the river's edge. “What are you doing at Last Camp?”

“I heard about your fool's errand,” the old prophet answered, “and I was headed into the Feechiefen to see if you needed rescuing. I was to leave Last Camp tomorrow morning.”

Bayard looked at Aidan's outfit and laughed. “I'm not sure those boots go with that skirt,” he remarked as he helped the young hero into the boat. Aidan situated the frog orchid at the boat's prow, where Bayard's goats would have to get past him to get to it. The poor flower was wilted and already brown around the edges, but it wasn't dead yet.

“So you found the frog orchid,” the old man observed as he rowed the boat out of the eddy and into the open river.

“It found me, is more like it,” said Aidan.

Bayard smiled. “Maybe. But I don't think the frog orchid could have found you, say, in Tambluff Castle or at your father's house or even at Last Camp.” The prophet rowed in silence for a few pulls, then recited from the Frog Orchid Chant:

Aidan looked at the sickly flower. “I don't know if the royal chemists will even be able to extract the essence out of this half-dead thing.” He held the orchid out for Bayard to inspect. “Do you think they'll be able to, Bayard?”

Bayard didn't look at the plant. He looked into Aidan's eyes. “No, Aidan, they won't be able to. No
chemist can extract the essence of a flower.” He rowed a couple of pulls. “But you've experienced the frog orchid's essence.”

Aidan smiled at the memory of Round Pond—that moment of peace that redeemed the turmoil of Bearhouse. Now he quoted the Frog Orchid Chant:

“That's right,” said Bayard. “How does a chemist extract that? The frog orchid does its healing work only on the adventurous soul who goes to it. Its essence can't be bottled and taken to one who will not make the journey.”

Aidan fingered the drooping ribbons, which no longer looked like a frog's legs. “Aidan,” Bayard said softly, “no chemist's art can heal what ails King Darrow.”

Aidan fought back tears—tears of sadness and of anger too. “My king sent me to fetch him a frog orchid.” He raised the broken oak limb from which the orchid sprouted. “I have fetched him a frog orchid, through many dangers and hardships.” He wept openly now. “And I will bring it to Darrow's throne room. He is my king.”

“That's right, Aidan,” the prophet said soothingly. “That's right.”

They were halfway across the river by now, and Little Haze, whose eyes were the sharpest among the hunters, recognized Aidan in the boat with Bayard. When the boat landed, the hunters of Last Camp lifted Aidan from
the boat and carried him around the camp on their shoulders. Aidan still held the orchid in his hands to protect it from the goats.

Cooky was already roasting a wild boar on a spit. The hunters were having a special supper that night; it had been a whole week since the last nighttime attack on the camp, and they were celebrating.

But Aidan couldn't stay. He was too eager to get to Tambluff. A dead orchid wouldn't be a suitable offering for his king. He bathed in the river while the hunters gathered a new backpack for him and the few supplies he would need for the three-day hike up the Overland Trail and the River Road to Tambluff. Little Haze gave him a set of civilizer clothes, and Aidan and Bayard were off again.

The Overland Trail was like a pleasure stroll compared to the traveling Aidan had grown accustomed to. And being with the Truthspeaker sweetened the journey even more. “How did you learn of my quest for the frog orchid?” Aidan asked, fending off one of Bayard's goats, which was nibbling at the hem of his tunic.

“Your father told me.” Bayard laughed at the look of surprise on Aidan's face. “He suspected you were heading into the Feechiefen. Then, about a week after you left, news trickled into Longleaf about the hunt feast and the way King Darrow sent you on your ridiculous mission.”

“Was he worried? Father?”

“He took it surprisingly well,” the old prophet answered. But Bayard grew pensive. “Your father's never been the same since Maynard died.”

“Maynard's not dead.” Aidan's words made the Truthspeaker stagger back a step, as if he had been struck a blow. Aidan told the story of the false Wilderking, from Maynard's encounter with Dobro and Benno in the bottom pasture to the Battle of Bearhouse and his poling away to the South Swamp. It is no easy thing to astonish a prophet, but Aidan astonished Bayard that day.

“It was a strange thing,” said Aidan, “to look into my brother's eyes and see what he had become. It was like looking at what I might have become—who knows, at what I might become yet, if I don't guard my heart.” Bayard nodded, listening, but he didn't say anything.

Aidan went on. “I know my brother is a liar and a fraud. But some of the things he said sounded right, made me wonder if I have what it takes to be the Wilderking.” Aidan paused, collecting his thoughts. “He said that everything I ever had was given to me, that I haven't deserved any of it. I've been thinking about that. And I don't know. Maybe it's true.”

Bayard threw back his head and laughed. “True? Of
course
it's true!”

Aidan was hoping for something more reassuring from the Truthspeaker. “What do you have that wasn't given to you?” the old man continued. “That's grace, man—what you're given, not what you deserve. And that's as true for Maynard as it is for you, as it is for me. Grace is the very air we breathe.”

Aidan was still thinking about the things his brother had said to him. “Maynard said I didn't deserve to be the Wilderking any more than he did.”

“Maybe. I don't know,” Bayard answered. “Does a tall man deserve to be tall? Does Prince Steren deserve to be the son of a king? A bird might think he deserves to swim as well as a fish, but if he sits moping on the riverbank instead of using the wings God gave him, the fox is going to eat him.

“Your brother would rather have his own way than be happy. He's thrown away the grace he was given because it's not the grace he had in mind.” The Truthspeaker paused to reflect on that. “There's not much hope for a person who won't live in the grace he's given.”

* * *

When the River Road brought the travelers to the gates of Longleaf Manor, they went their separate ways. Bayard insisted that he had to get to the hill country above Tambluff before dark. But there was another reason, a truer reason why the prophet wouldn't accompany Aidan to his father's house. Aidan had to face his father alone. It wasn't for Bayard to explain to Errol what had become of his second son. That was Aidan's task.

Moira, the cook, met Aidan in front of the manor house. “Aidan!” she called. “Welcome home!” She looked down at the orchid in Aidan's hands. “Your quest was successful, I see.”

Aidan gave Moira a weary nod. Now that he was home again, he was starting to feel the exhaustion of his quest for the first time. Moira fingered the brown-edged orchid. “Looks like it has seen better days,” she
remarked. “I've grown orchids all my life. Why don't I see what I can do for this orchid while you go see your father. He'll be glad to see you safely home.”

“Where is Father?” Aidan asked.

“You can find him in the cotton field,” said Moira. “He's breaking in some new field hands.” Aidan thought he detected a sly smile play about the corners of the cook's mouth. He handed the frog orchid to Moira and began the long walk to the cotton field. He still didn't know what he would tell Father about Maynard. His son's apparent death had crushed Errol. Would the news of Maynard's living be an even greater blow?

Father's back was turned when Aidan arrived at the cotton field. He had a heavy hoe and was vigorously chopping around cotton stalks while five slack-faced, surly field hands looked on. He was showing the proper method for hoeing a cotton field, and he looked as strong and healthy as Aidan had seen him in a long time. Errol motioned to his recruits to try for themselves. Their shaved heads bobbed up and down with their halfhearted effort; they looked more like storks than field hands. “Chop, men, chop!” Errol urged. “I'll make you farmers yet!”

Aidan sidled up alongside him. “Hello, Father,” he said quietly. The old man turned to look at him. “Aidan!” he yelped with spontaneous joy. “Returned from the Feechiefen!” He took up his son in a bearish embrace. “My lost son is found!” he shouted. “Welcome, welcome, welcome home!” He called to the farmhands. “My boy Aidan! Home from the Feechiefen!” The farmhands gave
him a sidelong look but didn't lift their heads from their work.

Errol broke into a little jig of excitement and relief. “So,” he asked, his arm draped over Aidan's shoulder, “did you complete your quest? Did you find the frog orchid?”

“Yes, Father. Moira is tending to it now.”

“I knew it!” Errol whooped. “I knew you'd come back with it!”

“I would have told you, Father,” Aidan began, “but—”

Errol interrupted him. “Don't say another word about it.”

Aidan was perplexed to see his father doing so well. This was the Father of old. Aidan hadn't seen him so energetic and chipper since before Maynard went away.

One of the farmhands straightened his back and pulled at his curling mustache. “Lorrrd Errrol,” he said. “I think it's time to rrrest!”

“I'll say when it's time to rest,” Errol answered sharply.

Aidan knew that voice, that curling mustache. These were the plume hunters he had met near Bullbat Bay. His eyes bulged in wonderment.

“You sent these boys just in time,” Errol said. “With Jasper getting ready for the university and Brennus off at his own farm and you at Tambluff, I was in desperate need of help in the cotton field.” He gestured at the plume hunters. “We burned their plume bale, but I thought they might like to have a chance to make some more respectable bales. They'll be here through the
summer, then at harvest time we'll split the gold from whatever cotton bales we produce.”

Aidan chuckled. “What makes you think these rascals will stay around till autumn?” he asked. But then he heard the clank of a heavy iron chain, and he realized that the five farmhands were shackled together.

“We got your pigeon note,” Errol continued, “and when the plume hunters showed up with their plume bale the next day, we were ready for them. Your brothers and I and all the servants on the place threw them in chains.” He smiled, remembering the scene. “Even Ebbe got in on the act.”

Aidan looked at the two weeks' stubble on the five men's heads. “I didn't recognize them without their big hair.”

“Well, I told them Tambluffer hairdos had no place on a working farm, not my working farm anyway.” He nudged Aidan and whispered, “I plumed the plume hunters. I just can't find a hatmaker to buy the plumage.” He slapped his knee, laughing at his own joke.

Aidan laughed, too, and shook his head. “It's going to be a long, hot summer for those mountain boys.”

But every mention of the plume hunters stabbed at Aidan's conscience. He knew now, or thought he knew, the plume hunters were likely connected with Maynard. They were a reminder of the secret he was withholding from his father.