Once Upon an Autumn Eve (32 page)

Gwyd shook his head. “Did I mention, lass, that the snake be unkillable?”

“What?”

“Aye, I think he be protected by Mithras himself so that j’st anyone canna steal the apples.”

Liaze sighed. “Nevertheless, Gwyd, I’ll have an arrow ready.”

They reached the horses, and Gwyd lifted Twk onto the gelding where Jester slept, and Liaze boosted Gwyd to Nightshade’s saddle, and mounted Pied Agile and rode wide ’round the garden to the stream, well away from the wall. And there, as Gwyd gathered brush for a fire, Liaze watered the animals and fed them some grain, and refilled the waterskins and took a deep draught herself.

Twk wakened Jester, the rooster somewhat grumpy at being roused in the night, though it did take grain along with the horses.

Liaze strung her bow and shouldered her quiver and fetched the harp from the rucksack and her trowel from the gear.

And as they readied themselves for the ordeal—for none of them could think of it in any other terms—Liaze said, “Where do you enter, Gwyd?”

“J’st t’the right o’ the gate, Princess, f’r there the stones be best f’r climbin’ out, though not f’r climbin’ in. I walked atop and studied all o’ the wall carefully ere ma first foray. I think most o’ the victims o’ the serpent didna do so, and they took the easy way in, but it be the worst way out.”

“Canny,” said Liaze, smiling at the Brownie. Then she frowned and asked, “How will we know the serpent is asleep?”

“Ah, lass,” said Gwyd, “that be the hard part, f’r snakes hae nae eyelids.”

“No eyelids?” said Twk. “Then how do they blink away dust and such?”

“Och, Twk, ye ne’er looked?”

“Gwyd, Gwyd”—the Pixie spread his arms wide—“I’m nine inches tall. If you were me, would you walk up and look a snake in the eye?”

Gwyd laughed and said, “Nae, Twk, I wouldna. Anyway, snakes hae a clear scale o’er each eye. Like glass it be, and it protects them.”

Liaze nodded. “Yes, but that still doesn’t answer my question: how will we know when the serpent is asleep?”

“Weel,” said Gwyd, “on the night o’ the longest day o’ the year, I wait until he stops tastin the air wi’ his forked tongue. Then I hie f’r the tree.”

“Is there no better way?” asked Liaze.

“Lass, it’ll hae t’do,” said Gwyd.

Liaze sighed in resignation, and, along with her bow and arrows and the harp and trowel, she and Gwyd took up the brush and bore it ’round to the gate, Twk on Jester trotting along at their side, the Pixie with an armload of dry grass to use as tinder.

They set all down in front of the gate, and as Gwyd started a small fire on the dusty ground, Liaze used her trowel to gouge out a shallow hole in the hard soil, sized a wee bit smaller than the foot of the harp. When it was deep enough, she angled the base into the gap and wrenched the harp back and forth to auger the foot down into the hole to tightly wedge it in. Soon she had the instrument well grounded, the foot lodged in hardpan. She packed more dirt into the hole atop the foot and tamped it down. Finally, she glanced at the serpent yet coiled about the trunk of the tree, and she took a deep breath and looked at the Brownie and said, “Oh, Gwyd, I’m not certain that—”

“Princess, there be nae other way. Besides, we must trust t’the Fates.” Gwyd squared his shoulders and turned and strode to another place along the wall.

Liaze watched as the Brownie walked away and began to climb, and she murmured, “But we don’t know whether it will work.”

“We can only try, my lady,” said Twk. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about why the serpent sleeps on the longest night of the year. You see, it’s that night that the music of the spheres is the loudest, or so I believe, hence that’s when the snake can be lulled by the movements of the heavens.”

“Ah, but Twk, I cannot match the magic of the spheres.”

“Mayhap not, Princess, yet you are closer than any of the lights in the firmament, and so your soothing music might be enough.”

“Indeed, Twk, ‘might.’ ”

Gwyd had come along the top of the garden wall back to the right side of the gate.

“Ready?” asked Liaze, her voice quavering, and she did not trust it to say more.

“Ready,” said Gwyd, his own voice tremulous.

Liaze glanced at her strung bow and the arrow at hand and then at the serpent. She took a deep breath and let it out and began forcefully strumming the harp in a lullaby, and she crooned along with the melody:

Verse after verse did Liaze sing and play, and chorus after chorus, and the dust just in front of the harp danced in synchronism with the vibration of the hard-plucked strings. Slowly, ever so slowly, the serpent’s coils relaxed and its head began to droop, and its forked tongue gradually tasted the air less and less.

Liaze sang and fiercely strummed, and the dust danced nigh the harp.

The moon sailed onward through a starlit sky, not heeding the desperate gamble below, as Liaze crooned and played, and Gwyd sat waiting atop the wall, and Twk stood by Jester and fretted.

Still the song and plucked notes graced the air, and still the ground ever so lightly shivered, and still the serpent tasted, but slowly less and less, and gradually it loosened its coils and drooped . . . until finally the serpent’s head dipped to the ground, and it no longer sampled the air.

Gwyd slipped down the inside of the wall, while Liaze continued to play and sing, though her voice tightened with stress.

Across the intervening space crept Gwyd, and the serpent shifted slightly. Sweating, Gwyd froze in place and waited, and Liaze, her voice trembling in dread, sang on:

The serpent made no further movement, and Gwyd crept onward. Finally he reached the monstrous snake, and cautiously he stepped over coil after coil to come to the trunk of the golden apple tree.

Liaze could hardly bear to look, but look she did, as she played and sang:

Up Gwyd shinnied to the first limb, where he pulled himself higher.

Liaze nearly choked in fear, and her fingers seemed stiff with anxiety. But she continued to play and sing:

Now Gwyd reached out, and cautiously, silently, with two hands—one to hold the branch and one to grasp the fruit—he plucked a golden apple from the golden tree and slipped it into one of the many pockets of his raggedy clothes.

The snake stirred not . . .

... and Liaze, the tips of her fingers now bleeding, scarlet running down the strings, continued to pluck and sing:

Now Gwyd eased back down the tree, and once again the snake shifted, and once again Gwyd froze in place.

Again Gwyd eased down the tree and down the trunk, to come to the ground, and once more he stepped across the great coils, as Liaze watched, her heart in her throat.

And as Gwyd stepped over the last coil, the snake twitched, and the tip of its tail slapped into the Brownie’s leg.

Up snapped the serpent’s head, and out flashed its tongue, and Gwyd fled.

Liaze screamed and leapt to her feet, and the serpent, mouth wide and gaping, fangs dripping, reared up and struck at the Brownie. But it was yet coiled about the tree and was jerked to a stop, its strike falling a scant inch short.

Twk shrieked, “Run! Run! Oh, Mithras, run!”

And Gwyd, his face twisted in terror, ran—

—but the huge serpent hurled itself after, its coils rapidly unwinding from the tree, and then, loose, it was swifter, much swifter than fleeing Gwyd—

—Liaze started to reach for her bow, but instead—

—“Oh, Mithras, run!” screamed Twk—

—Gwyd flew toward the wall—

—the massive snake overtook the Brownie and reared up to slay—

—Liaze snatched a burning branch from the fire and hurled it over the gate, praying to Mithras that—

—the flaming limb sailed between the striking serpent and the fleeing Brownie, and—

—the monstrous snake’s strike veered and hammered into the blazing brand—

—Gwyd scrambled up the stones—

—“Oh, Mithras! Oh Mithras!” cried Twk—

—and again the serpent drew back and struck—

—just as Gwyd tumbled o’er the top of the wall and fell to the ground—

—and the serpent’s strike slashed through nought but empty air.

Weeping, Liaze rushed to Gwyd’s side, wee Twk running after.

Gwyd lay on the ground moaning, for he had fallen twelve feet.

“Gwyd, Gwyd, oh Gwyd,” cried Liaze, tears running down her face as she dropped to her knees beside him, wanting to take him up, wanting to embrace him, but she knew not the extent of his injuries.

And just as Twk reached the Brownie, Gwyd opened his eyes and groaned and said, “I think some o’ ma ribs be broke ag’in.”

35

L
iaze helped Gwyd sit up, the Brownie groaning. “I dona want t’get t’ma feet right now, but—” Of a sudden Gwyd began to chuckle, and, even as he clutched his ribs, he pointed.

Liaze and Twk both turned and looked, and now Twk started twittering. “What, Gwyd, what?” asked Liaze.

“Jester,” said Twk, breaking into full-fledged giggles.

Its head under one wing, the rooster had gone back to sleep.

“Wi’ desperation all about,” said Gwyd, now cackling and groaning at the same time while pressing a hand to his chest, “and wi’ life and death in the balance, it mattered not one whit t’the bird that I were about t’be done in.” He paused and moaned and tried to catch his breath, but broke into guffaws, and held his ribs and gasped, “Oh, oh, but it hurts t’laugh.”

“Well, at least one of us remained calm in the face of dire peril,” said Twk, his gleeful laughter rising, “even if it was my chicken.”

In relief and in the release of tension, the trio sat and guffawed at Jester, the bird paying no heed whatsoever, and that made them laugh all the harder.

Finally, Liaze said, “Gwyd, let us get you back to our camp and use some of that rib-mending simple of yours.”

“Aye, Princess, if ye’ll help me t’ma feet.”

As Liaze eased Gwyd up, he gasped and said, “Y’r fingers, Princess, they be bloody.”

“The harp,” said Liaze, by way of explanation.

“Ah,” said Gwyd, “y’did play long, aye, a lot longer than ye played of recent, longer e’en than ye played f’r Lord Fear, and ye plucked hard so the snake would feel it. Weel, I hae somethin t’fix y’up.” Gwyd gestured at his pockets.

They stepped back to the harp with its now-scarlet strings, and Twk wakened Jester, the bird ruffling his feathers at being so rudely interrupted in whatever chicken dream he had been having.

Liaze knelt and wrenched the silver instrument back and forth to free the foot, and took it up, along with her bow and quiver, and then lent a steadying hand to the Brownie.

“What about the fire?” asked Twk.

“There’s nought out here but dust,” said Gwyd. “Leave it be. It’ll soon burn itself out.”

As they turned to start away, Liaze took one last look at the golden apple tree, where, once again coiled about the trunk, the monstrous snake coldly stared back at her.

Slowly they made their way ’round the wall and to the stream and horses.

The princess fetched a cup as Gwyd gently lowered himself down beside the rill and fished about in his belt pockets. Liaze dipped the cup in the stream, and, as he had done before, Gwyd dropped in a pinch of powder and swirled it about, and then drank it all.