Chapter Three
UNDOR
The punchkins journeyed on for a week, at first South-west and then, as Hodgekin had predicted, almost due South. The weather was fair, the land uninhabited and the going mostly easy. In six days, following their guide, they had come forty leagues. As the days and nights passed by, the fox was more often seen as a beast of normal size, slipping along before the Company and half-hidden in the glades filled with drifts of red and tawny leaves. That night, the sixth from the ford, was the first cold night of autumn; waking from their beds beside a trickling stream, the punchkins found themselves in a thicket of plum-trees from which ripe fruits hung down on heavy-laden branches, blue-purple and gorgeously misted by the breath of the first frost. But every new day had offered some such bounty. The smaller creatures that Waltrot brought down with his bow were all plump; the larger beasts that at another season might well have been dangerous, were equally well-nourished and therefore peaceable. Once the punchkins saw a family of bears, father, mother and three cubs, ambling away among the distant trees; another time, in the night, the camp was surrounded by the glittering eyes of a wolf-pack, which passed by on both sides without making any trouble; several times, in the night, they heard a wailing, squalling cry: ‘some kind of catamount,’ said Hodgekin. And once there was an unidentifiable noise of thumping and crashing; but it came from a long way off.
Yet all was not well within the Company, and as they sat by their camp-fire of an evening the silences were heavy with things unsaid. Some tension, some unknown quarrel was present among them, thinly concealed but waiting to strike like lightning through a cloud. Aldred perceived that it lay most of all between Hodgekin and himself. His own distrust of Hodgekin was a subtle thing, a small thing really, a matter of mere thoughts and morals. He now trusted Hodgekin with his life, let himself down a cliff on a rope which Hodgekin had tied, would have accepted Hodgekin as a companion in any danger. The distrust – say it again – was a subtle and fugitive thing, and yet, disregard it as Aldred might, he felt that Hodgekin sensed it and resented it. And Hodgekin’s resentment was very great. His was the anger, not easily to be explained, that might soon strike forth. Had it been a mistake to open up private matters, in a manner so very unpunchkinlike, as Waltrot had made them do at the Waymark? Perhaps; perhaps not. Peace and amity were all very well, thought Aldred, but open dissension was preferable to false peace. If only the dissension could be expressed openly.
The morning was clear, although the sun had not yet risen above the long low hills that rose before the line of march, ahead and to the right. The Company breakfasted lavishly on fried slices of ham of wild boar and fried potatoes (these, better than any treasure-trove, had been unearthed by Tim), followed by the sweet juicy plums. Twenty feet away the fox sat up and waited, twitching his tail. Waltrot tossed a chunk of meat over, and it was snapped up, but the punchkins felt that the fox did not wish to linger over their meal. ‘Where have we got to now, Hodge?’ asked Fortinbras as the day’s march began.
‘The Elves call it Anglad Morwen, or just New Forest. It’s not very old, you see. There are full-grown oaks, but no hollow ones. It goes on like this as far as the coast.’
They climbed up the long hills for several more days. The trees were not very closely pressed together and there was no great feeling of darkness or threat, but it was never possible to see the horizon; the punchkins began to get that well-known feeling, that the forest would go on forever without end. The land changed: it became more steep in general, in places far more steep, a wilderness of crags and gorges and treacherous slopes. Of a sudden the ground would crumble away to reveal a terrible vertical drop, the floor of the ravine consisting not of earth or rock but the waving heads, golden and russet-brown, of tall trees. Fortinbras, who usually led the way, toppled on the edge of one such chasm, to be saved by Tim plunging forward and catching him just in time.
‘Thanks, Tim!’ he gasped. ‘That was very quick, and I didn’t know you were so strong!’
‘I’ve improved, sir. I think it’s this land.’
All the punchkins, including Aldred with his disability, were full of lively strength, which was just as well, for their journey had become very toilsome. They had to use their swords and knives to hack through thick creepers and undergrowth, and ropes to swing themselves over chasms. Sometimes they had to lower themselves into the dark cracks, but more often they were climbing desperately upwards, up the sheer face of some monstrous extruded slab of rock, to the top of which the fox had somehow already found his own effortless path. On cloudy days they would have lost all sense of the way, had it not been for the constant presence of their guide. Three days went by, four days, five; supplies were now running low, hearts were beginning to sink; and still the companions climbed and stumbled upwards. Then one evening they pulled themselves over a rocky ledge to see not further ranks of trees ascending to a yet higher ridge, but the New Forest suddenly sinking away, ablaze with the full splendour of autumn, descending gently and unevenly towards the vague deep blue of the distant sea. The contours of the land-masses fell into long, blurred, greenish-blue shadows and the horizon was wrapped in haze.
The punchkins found a convenient hollow and settled down to rest their weary limbs. Supper was scanty, and no-one felt like collecting wood for a fire, but luckily they still had a good supply of tobacco. The sun went down behind the horned ridge. It was a great relief to have conquered the hills, but Undor was vaster than they had dreamed, and perhaps there might be many more miles still to go. Slowly, as the shadows lengthened, the dim sea and the sky were blended together.
‘Hodgekin,’ said Aldred quietly, ‘what is the matter?’
Hodgekin gave a violent start. His carved black pipe fell out of his mouth, scattering sparks and ashes. He picked it up and began to refill it with trembling fingers. While doing this he shook his head widely to and fro, ten or a dozen times. He looked very sad and young.
‘Come, tell us,’ said Aldred. ‘What’s amiss?’
They all saw Hodgekin shudder, then stiffen as he mastered himself. ‘Would it not become Mr. Sherling,’ he replied as he relighted his pipe with controlled movements, ‘to explain to the Company whatever it is that’s amiss with himself?’
‘Gladly I would,’ said Aldred.
‘Well? Yes?’
‘But I cannot tell. Your usages and customs differ from ours, and the differences make me strangely uneasy.Yet so do Waltrot’s, as is to be expected of the Tregglanders, who after all must live on close terms with the Big Folk. And he does not disconcert me in the same way.’
‘No, and I’m not a bloody Tregglander either, am I? They’re queer folk! They’ve a right to be queer! Everyone expects it of them!’
‘Thanks,’ said Waltrot drily.
‘Quite so,’ said Aldred. ‘You are both of the Demesne and not of it. You are estranged, and we know hardly anything of your history. Will you not trust us, your friends, and tell us of yourself?’
‘I do not trust you in this matter, Aldred Sherling. Nor do you trust me.’
‘Granted, but I cannot understand my own lack of trust, whereas you, for your own part, do. And our company ought to trust one another. There is a slow poison at work. If we become embittered towards one another, we may fail. Our lives, and the quest itself, have actually depended, and may again depend, on our being united.’
There was a pause. ‘He’s got you there, Mr. Hodgekin,’ said Waltrot.
The pause that then followed went on for much longer.
At last Hodgekin said: ‘Bastardy. You talked of bastards. I’m one.’
There was still enough light for Fortinbras’s and Tim’s deep blushes to be seen. Aldred felt his own face go hot. Illegitimacy among the punchkins of the Demesne was, as the Reader may have guessed, very rare, occurring not more than two or three times in a generation. Many of Hodgekin’s peculiarities seemed to become clear at once, as if revealed in a shaft of light. The outlines of further, obscurer features were also half-revealed or suggested.
‘Oh dear,’ said Waltrot. ‘Hodge, you’ve given ’em the shock of their lives.’
‘So –’ Hodgekin’s voice vibrated with pain – ‘how can I say more?’
Waltrot stood up. His heavy broad-shouldered form was dark against the dim sky. He moved over to Hodgekin, sat down close beside him and put an arm round his shoulders. ‘Come on, try,’ he said. ‘Mr. Sherling’s right. This needs to come out.’
‘Damn it. Plague it. Pox on the bloody Demesne and all its exemplars of well-conducted family virtue. You hadn’t the slightest idea we’re brothers, Fortinbras, had you?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Half-brothers! Your Dad slipped up with one of his serving-wenches years before you were born! All that stupid shit about third cousins twice removed! He’s my father! Constable Ferumbras is our father! Thanks, Walt, you can take your arm away now. I shan’t weep.’
‘Might be better if you did,’ said Waltrot.
‘Shut up. The tale’s soon told. They dressed her up in widow’s weeds and sent her off to Sarehole in the Iron Hundred, near the border. She had family connexions there before she came to Bailiwick. He gave her a dowry and she married Hildifons Dyer of Easthanger, who never took any notice of me after his own sons were born, except to beat me for stealing money. So I took to wandering. She died fifteen years ago. I came into her little property and she whispered the secret to me before she died.’
‘What was her name?’ asked Fortinbras.
‘Rowan Goodbody. It all died out long, long ago. I shan’t rake it up. He is the Constable, after all. Ferumbras the Seventh. Imagine the shock of him being saddled with a bastard brat. Yet I’m a true Dyer, after all. I’m of the blood.’
‘When we get back,’ declared Fortinbras, ‘I will own you as my brother. And before the whole family.’
‘A noble impulse, my lad. I should thank you. But the question isn’t about when we get back, is it? It lies with Mr. Aldred Sherling here.’
‘So it does,’ said Aldred, ‘and I accept it. Believe me, I do. But I still don’t understand what it is!’
‘How could you, never having been an outcast?’
‘Pray enlighten me!’
In the darkness, slow words dripped off Hodgekin’s tongue like drops of venom: ‘Your purity…your assurance of being pure-blooded…your censoriousness…your pure virginity…your spotless morality…your descent, your close kin…being of that same Council that my father is of…your damned useless inert legislations…your incompetence…your native stupidity…your irresponsible sanctimonious blindness…you who would brand me…as a bastard, birth-tainted, a thief, a fornicator, a contemptible alien creature…me, who care about Punchkinland…me, who solely among the folk…has concerned himself enough…to explore, and to study a little…the hideous evil that threatens us…and has enslaved us…me who for many years…has taken sole responsibility…for no thanks…getting distrust…getting censure…getting your most foolish, most ignorant and shameful disapproval! So take that, shit-for-brains!’ With which he spat full in Aldred’s face. ‘There. You asked. That’s what the matter is!’
Aldred pulled out a pocket-handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He considered, then slowly replied: ‘Your words of insult, Hrothgar Dyer, I might forgive. But by this deed of insult you have gone too far. I hope that you will find it in your heart, at some time, to say sorry to me about this spitting. Yet for now, you surely must see – your common-sense must point it out to you – that you are confounding me with your own father in the most obvious way. I’m not on the Aldermoot and I’m not him!’
‘No,’ Hodgekin retorted, ‘you couldn’t very well be, could you?’
‘That being so,’ Aldred went on, ignoring the additional gibe, ‘you will shortly become aware of your own grave injustice towards me. I am sorry for you who have suffered similar injustice, but I appeal to you, before our friends, to take the necessary first step towards the wiping-away of hatred. And the renewal of trust.’
Nobody said anything after that. At length the others rolled themselves up in their blankets and went to sleep. It was Aldred’s turn to take the first watch. He sat listening to the owls and observing the diffuse green glow of the fox’s eyes as it wandered away through the tangled, thick-sewn branches. His thoughts were full of sad foreboding. He had put on a calm face, he had tried to speak words of measured hope; but he had suffered abuse, and his feeling had been cruelly hurt, and now, in the darkness, he could find no grounds for hope that the embittered Hodgekin would ever make any kind of amends. And this left Aldred with a painfully inadequate conception of Hodgekin’s inner purpose. The latter now stood, as it were, at a distance, while his obvious quirks and flaws occupied the foreground. What – the question rose up disturbingly – were Hodgekin’s true motives? What might this alienated fellow-traveller hope to achieve by the quest of the terrible Witch? They, the others, were travelling in good faith, blind to their destiny, yet hopeful. Hodgekin’s true purpose was probably unknown to himself, like theirs – but when unshrouded, how different might it turn out to be? There was no trusting him any more.
Morning came dull and wan. The distant sea was pale grey, and the clouds were low; the wind blew spatters of raindrops and the leaves rustled and shivered. Tim saw the fox’s tail. The travellers set off after it. The land sank down from the ridge of high peaks in a series of tree-covered terraces like very broad, shallow steps. The trees were smaller, with sloes instead of the rich plums, and many red-berried hawthorns; the going was easier despite the incoming drifts of rain, with only short, steep descents to be managed every so often. At mid-morning, looking forward from one such vantage-point, the Company caught a glimpse of another river, off to their left; and then, gazing forward and to the right, they saw something more alarming. On one of the lower terraces, where the grass was green and the trees fewer, a herd of grey creatures was moving along. Their rounded bodies went lumbering up and down; their back legs were larger than their forelegs, their small head mounted on thin flexible necks. Despite their apparent lack of ears, the creatures looked somewhat like monstrous rabbits as they sat up to grasp the trunks with their front paws and to graze on the tops of the thorn-trees. It was hard to judge their size; they did not look threatening; peaceful, rather, even somewhat comical. All the same the punchkins were glad when the fox’s next appearance led them away from the creatures and towards the river. They saw no more monsters that day.
The land became flatter, the rain steadier. On and on the punchkins marched, saying no word to each other, wet to the skin, each brooding alone. Aldred now walked in the lead. Fortinbras (at a guess) was dismayed by the quarrel of yestereve, and now feeling guilty, over-responsible and inadequate for the task of mending it. Tim, who had become almost as attached to Aldred as to Fortinbras, was feeling more and more indignant on Aldred’s behalf, over the insults which, in his view, Aldred had too meekly swallowed. Water dripped from the end of his nose as he plodded through the wet and slippery grass. Only Waltrot, pacing along in the rear, still seemed at ease with himself; only he was now able to talk to Hodgekin with any naturalness. In the afternoon the Company came to the edge of Lantros, the swift narrow stream that winds down from Anglad Morwen to discharge itself, as a waterfall, into the great secret Bay of Undor. Along its cliff-brink ran a green path, wet but soft, still rich with clover and chamomile and dotted with small golden flower-heads. More pleasantly, though still at variance with one another, the punchkins walked along the side of the narrow gorge. On the further bank were copses, distant woods and blue unknown mountains.
The coastland levelled out into a smooth wide grassland. Sometimes the Company seemed to feel themselves climbing up a little, as if the land sloped upwards towards the sea. The Lantros sank down in a much deeper channel, narrowing itself between steep banks of jagged rock. ‘We’ve got to cross this at some point, haven’t we?’ said Fortinbras to Hodgekin, breaking the silence. ‘Let’s hope he leads us to a bridge or a ford.’ ‘Yes,’ answered Hodgekin, ‘we don’t want to have to have to swim.’ Whether not this was intended as a dig, an allusion to lack of swimming prowess, Tim and Aldred both winced in irritation. The sun went down and the five shadows fell into the shadowy gorge, to leap up again and reappear on the far bank. The fox had been trotting steadily in the lead for some time; the Company felt his urgency. They breasted a low hill and saw the new horizon a mile away. The sea was near; they could smell the fresh sea-breeze. Behind them the the ridge they had crossed looked like a high mountain-range with many dark horns. Dusk came on, and a few stars twinkled in the sky, and the fox’s eyes began to glimmer green. Suddenly he turned aside and disappeared into the gorge. The punchkins followed after him.
But the ford or crossing-point, when they set eyes on it, was a daunting prospect. The river widened here before plunging over a watershed. Its noise was loud in the enclosed space. The companions could see a lot of white foam in the lower basin, but the deep twilight made it hard to judge the depth of the fall. From the line of the shed, pointed rocks stuck outwards and upwards like badly disarranged teeth; among these curved the sleek currents of water, half-a-dozen large powerful ones and at least twice as many more that played and spilled over the broad stones. The fox crossed over, leaping lightly from one tilted surface to another, the green glints sliding over the ripples and curving necks. It ran back again, its eyes shining, and wagged its tail in doglike appeal. Then it crossed a second time. Indistinctly the punchkins saw it bound all the way up the far bank. Then, very distinctly outlined against the strong blue of the sky, it climbed over the brink, sat erect, raised its nose and gave tongue. The cold ringing bark, just audible over the noise of the water – ‘ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!’ – was plaintive but perfectly clear in meaning. The Company were to cross the river immediately.
‘Well,’ said Hodgekin, ‘which of us can actually swim?’
‘I can,’ said Fortinbras.
‘And I,’ said Waltrot.
‘I can’t,’ said Aldred.
‘Nor me,’ said Tim, ‘nor I don’t much like remarks being made, Mr. Hodgekin, sir!’
This was the signal for the start of a short but dreadfully discouraging quarrel. Once Tim used the word ‘bastard’ towards Hodgekin in a tone of angry contempt. Hodgekin half-drew his sword in response. The other words that passed need not be recorded. They merely reflected the fractious demoralised state of the Company. Perhaps, if the punchkins had been at peace together, they would have chosen to obey their guide’s direction, and then things might have turned out differently; but perhaps in any case the darkness and their weariness after a day’s march, combined with their natural hesitation before the deep pool and the slippery stones, would have induced them to leave the crossing till next day. As it was, to wait for tempers to cool and daylight to return seemed to all five of them the wiser course. They came out of the gorge, which none of them liked, and camped in a hollow that was well away from the sound of the threatening water.
It so happened that Fortinbras had the last watch of the night. Up until now hardly an enemy had menaced the punchkins on their journey, and he had aleady lain awake for some hours; and so his watch was poor. He was wakened from a light sitting doze by the sound and the ground-movement of crashing thuds and thumps, the same that had been heard before, but now much closer. He sprang to his feet and his companions began to stir. Their blood curdled with fear. A monstrous form was coming towards them out of the mist. It walked on two legs, unlike the other creatures they had seen; it swayed on its heavy three-clawed feet, and its huge head was bent forward inquisitively. Other similar monsters, of greater and lesser sizes, were also visible as dim forms in the greyness.
‘Try walking first,’ Hodgekin advised.
Abandoning their gear, they moved off at a moderate pace. They had no idea where they were going. They were simply fleeing from the terrible creatures. Aldred glanced over his shoulder and saw that the first one had reached their camp, and lowered its head to sniff among the packs and blankets. He saw how the thick tail was lifted up behind the body as a balance-weight. The Company walked rapidly off and began to have hopes of escaping. But it was no good. Five minutes later they heard the terrible paces again, now coming quicker and closer.
Desperately they ran. As the leading monster did not at once change its pace, they drew away from it a second time. They were now running uphill. The mist was thinning or lifting. The ground was still flat, with isolated trees visible here and there. They had a bare, windswept look. The Company heard the pursuit quicken behind them. The other monsters were joining in. The punchkins sprinted onward, now fighting against pain and shortness of breath. More and more of the surrounding countryside was becoming visible. There was a group of gaunt pine-trees not far ahead. The hunting monsters were plain to be seen, three of them, pounding forward in great swinging strides, coming closer and closer. The pine-trees were old, but strong and tall. Could they be climbed? The sky was grey-blue; it was very close, or else something was wrong with the horizon –
The ground disappeared so unexpectedly that the punchkins all but ran over the edge of the precipice. This was the coast. A dim grey sea was fretting against the base of the cliffs two hundred feet below. Heads swam with terror and giddiness. There was nowhere to go. Was there nowhere to go? Panting desperately, sweating and gasping, they forced their wobbling legs to carry them along the edge and up to the pine trees. One tree looked larger and stronger than the others, but on no tree were there any low branches; the lowest were four or five times punchkin-height from the ground. The cliff-drop was a few yards away. ‘Wait,’ said Waltrot. He alone had snatched up his pack, which luckily contained a coil of rope; but the buckles were closed. Frowning, he knelt down and carefully undid them. Tim was vomiting on the other side of the tree. Fortinbras studied the approaching foe. Their eyes had a bloodshot look and their mouths were now slavering. They would be up with the punchkins in less than half a minute. Walt had the rope out of his pack. With stern concentration he loosened it so that it would uncoil freely and tied one end to one of the straps of the pack. Then, with a swift accurate throw, he lobbed the pack over a stout limb which stuck out at a right-angle. The pack thudded to the ground. He gathered the two lengths of rope together and handed them to Hodgekin.
‘Mr. Hodgekin, sir.’
Hodgekin began to climb, holding the lengths firmly together, stepping up the trunk with his feet.
‘Tim.’
There was no time to wait for Hodgekin to reach the branch. Tim wiped his mouth with his sleeve and grimly followed.
‘I can’t do that,’ observed Aldred. ‘I’ll go last. You can pull me up.’
Waltrot followed, then Fortinbras. The rope swung less as it was steadied by their combined weights. Hodgekin had nearly reached the limb. But here came the monsters! Aldred faced the first one as it reached down to grab him. Its dark, dripping, many-toothed mouth was wide. He thrust out, stabbing one of the three-clawed paws, and the creature reared backward. An ear-splitting bellow issued from the mouth.
‘Now, Mr. Sherling!’ called Hodgekin. Aldred’s comrades had found themselves secure sitting- or standing-places, and each had a free hand with which to pull; but they had to do this in pairs, taking turns, so that Aldred’s upward progress, as he swung dangling by one hand, was agonizingly slow. Fortunately it seemed to puzzle the monster, which stopped moving for a few seconds and stared at him curiously. Then it lunged at him. The black jaws were closing, the stench was blowing all around him; he could see the scraps of rotten meat and lodged fragments of bone, the debris of ancient feasts, that littered the serried, yellow-grey teeth; then Waltrot and Fortinbras gave a final heart-bursting heave, jerking him upwards as the jaws snapped together. His toes kicked the creature’s face, just below the great glazed eye, and the feel of its skin was rough, cold and a little slimy. After a few more terrifying moments Aldred was out of its reach. His feet found a lodgement, and Fortinbras helped him to a handhold.
For some time the companions all rested where they were, taking in the scene and recovering their breath. Their flight had brought them back towards the river. As gasps subsided and heartbeats drummed less insistently, their ears became aware of another noise, distant but powerful, steady but slightly varying around one deep continuous note; and they saw how the Lantros, having carved a cleft for itself, a deep notch in the cliff-face, poured outward in a clear glassy curve, plunged down vertically from a slight overhang, wavered leisurely back and forth in the breeze that played about the rock-face, pierced through the great sheets of its own spray and at last added itself to the continual trouble of the sea.
‘Could you help me to join you?’ asked Aldred.
The tree had shed its lower branches but their stubs provided footholds. Presently Aldred was seated safely next to Tim. Poor Tim was still looking sick. He was not enjoying the height. The other three punchkins climbed up higher and continued to look around.
‘Any water in that pack of yours, Waltrot?’ asked Aldred.
By what seemed like the most splendid luck, there was: a full bottle: it had not fallen out, and they were able to pull it up. Waltrot offered it to Hodgekin first, who waved it away and pointed to Tim. The water was shared out with scrupulous fairness, and everyone’s thirst was somewhat quenched.
‘Oh well,’ said Fortinbras after a while, ‘this is our reward for not doing what the fox wanted, last night.’ It was a fair comment, but not one that seemed to require adding to. The sun rose, and the whole slope was lit up with a sheen of dew. The punchkins could see their own tracks through the uneven grass, and the tracks of their enemies. From close at hand the river wound away to their right; in the distance they could see the pools and the ford by which they should have crossed. White gulls arose from the ledge of the cliffs, and came dipping and wheeling through the blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.
‘Nothing to eat, I suppose,’ said Tim. Again, no-one responded. He looked at the mature pine-cones that hung amid the clusters of long green needles. He reached out, picked one and smelt it as if it were a fruit that would be good to eat. He then threw it down at the nearest of the three monsters, which were slowly prowling about below the trees. He missed.
‘You haven’t got your tinder-box, have you?’ asked Aldred sharply.
‘No, sir. Left it at the camp. Sorry, sir.’
Turning himself round, Aldred surveyed the breadth of the bay. The main sheet of water was now a light placid blue. Beyond this lay the purple and indigo shadow of the opposite cliffs, which rose harshly frowning despite the oblique sunlight that flecked their innumerable facets and crevasses and ledges. The longer one’s eye beheld them, the more brutally their immensity challenged and oppressed the mind. Straight opposite, two or five or could it be ten? miles away, a vast projection jutted out over the blue surface, rising to a sharp beak of rock, on the point of which stood a tiny speck: a single tree. Aldred realised that the opposite wall of the bay was much higher than on this side. Elsewhere along the top, dark green trees formed a broken layer, like moss growing on the dilapidated cornice of some grim old mansion. The land must run down inward from the cliffs on that side also. To the left, the sombre wall curved forward and round, to disappear behind the bend of the cliffs on this side. The head of the bay was hidden. Never a beach, never a line of sand or shingle was to be seen along that whole length of bleak and brooding rock, except possibly at the far right, where it gave way to small shadowy hills or dunes. Beyond these lay the open bar of the sea.
‘Maybe those brutes will give up soon…’ suggested Fortinbras unconvincingly. The punchkins looked down at them. One was still on the prowl; the other two had lain down, with heads and tails stretched out and knees raised up high. Their hide was generally dun-coloured, but along both sides of the backbone ran streaks of green or greenish-yellow; thin flaring stripes of the same colour, somewhat like the bands of a snake, decorated their necks and tails. Like lizards, with wicked patience, they lay and rested with eyes open, keen to persuade the punchkins or any other prey that they were merely part of the landscape. But a smell rose up from them, a heavy stink as of dung mixed with rotting flesh. The prowling monster raised its head and gave the punchkins a bestial grin.
‘Don’t seem likely,’ replied Hodgekin at last. ‘Well, let’s talk about something, Mr. Sherling, eh?’
‘Yes. Do you know the lie of the land, Mr. Dyer?’
‘As I’ve mentioned, I’ve never come this far before, but –’ For some minutes they shared conjectures about names and borders.
‘Erynvorn? Did I hear you say Erynvorn?’ asked Waltrot.
‘Yes,’ said Hodgekin, ‘that must be it: the forest on the other side.’
‘Maybe the goddess would help us, then.’
‘What goddess?’ asked Hodgekin, and, ‘How do you mean, a goddess?’ asked Aldred at the same time.
Waltrot did not immediately answer. When he did answer, he kept his face averted from the questioners, continuing to gaze outward, scanning the water and the great cliffs.
‘You yourself began to speak of her, Mr. Hodgekin, if I’m not mistook,’ he said. ‘On the island of the Waymark, remember? You called her a Power. The Power that Fuindis serves. You asked us if we really wanted to learn anything more about her. And…I’ll allow that you were right, then. We didn’t. Or most of us didn’t.’ He turned and grinned down at the others. ‘But we’ve all had to move on a bit since then – haven’t we?’
‘So tell us,’ said Fortinbras.
‘She’s just a goddess. Like Mandate, the god of that temple in Vinyards. What the Elves call the High Ones.’
‘How do you know about such things?’ asked Aldred, almost accusingly.
‘Now, my dear Mr. Sherling,’ said Waltrot with a droll expression, ‘in Tregg we’re not quite like in the Demesne. We listen to the news. And we enjoy hearing tales and stories from the big world, and the rumours, and the bits of spell that run along in the whispers of the grass. We Little Folk don’t need to have any truck with gods and goddesses, of course, but it’s kind of interesting all the same. And they have these stories in the Land of the Knife, and the lands to the east: the mothers teach ’em to their children and the Druids believe in ’em. And Swin fleshed out some of the tales for us.’
‘When?’ asked Aldred, very surprised.
‘When we was travelling with him, of course – sir! You folks didn’t much want to know, but me and Mr. Yarnal, we was interested.’
‘Come on, then, tell us what you know,’ said Hodgekin. ‘It’ll pass the time, at least,’ he added.
‘Shall I, masters?’ asked Waltrot. He sat above them, balancing without anxiety on a level branch, his feet swinging a little, his hands in his pockets. Receiving encouragement from all, he continued: ‘It’s the story of how the goddess left her own country on the other side of the world: how she came to live and stay here, in Midyard, in those very woods that you do see.’
‘What’s her name?’ asked Tim.
‘Yab. She is, like I said, one of those that come from the immortal kingdom, what the Elves name Pellanor. There are others as well. There’s Mandate, the god of law and justice. He is their ruler. He has eagles that fly over the whole world and tell him everything what’s going on. They think a lot of him in Vinyards, as we saw, but I never did work out whether or no he’s the same as the one they call Dru. Another god is Orom, the great hunter. The folk of the Knife worship him, but he doesn’t come into this story. And another one is Holm, god of the sea. He is, or he was, the only one of ’em that had no wife. That’s because Holm was born in the depths of the sea, when all the gods were first created: it took him a long time to come out, but at last he walked onto the shore, and then he saw Yab standing in the form of a beautiful tree, and he fell in love with her at first sight. But by then she was already married to Auland.
‘Auland is the smith of the gods. He works at his foundry all night long, and at his anvil all day long as well, and so he never has time to come to bed with his wife. Some say he’s – you know, he just can’t do it. Others say he puts all his power into the forging of iron. But all agree that he’s ugly and lame. Mandate punished him severely for creating the race of the Dwarves, which he didn’t ought to have done, and the punishment was this: he forced a pin through between the bone and the back sinew of both his ankles, and hung him upside down for a year and a day. Again, some folk say that he was hung over a slow fire all this time. Others say that he wasn’t tortured, but he did learn wisdom, and that is why he never afterwards disobeyed Mandate, never ever. But he often used to have words with his wife Yab, and she with him, because he uses lots of trees for wood to fuel his furnaces, and he makes plenty of axes and saws for his dwarf-servants to cut ’em down with, and she hates that, because she loves trees. She really loves ’em more than anything else.
‘She, Yab, the Queen of the Earth, is also the goddess of fruits, and crops, and the marriage-bed, and child-bearing and child-begetting, and the chances of the seed, and chance in general. Next to the trees she loves the flowering plants most of all, and next them the animals, and next them the wild-men, who are the Woses; and next them the Elves, and next them the Men who respect her. And I guess that she must quite like us Punchkins, although we pay her no heed, because we treat the land respectful and we most of us have large families. And we know that Punchkinland became much more richer and more abundant during the last years of Good King Kedral. And Swin said that was purely because of her coming. She hasn’t always lived in Midyard, in those woods, only about five hundred years; and for the gods that’s recent-like.
‘So the story begins in that other Land, the Hidden Land of the Immortals and the Gods, five centuries ago, on a Friday morning as it might be; and Yab the Goddess is walking through the meadows of Springtime, and she sees the corn growing, and the young lambs, and the mother-birds sitting on their nests, and the little baby rabbits a-playing in the grass; and she feels what all female creatures do feel, when they’ve lived to a certain age. She wants to have young in herself. But she’s been a-nagging and a-quarrelling with her husband for so many years that she knows it don’t do no good, and he won’t do any good with her, or he can’t. So she feels all the joys and the lust of the Springtime, and all that power is flowing out of her, and yet in herself she’s all dark and full of despair. So she walks and walks until she comes to the sea-shore. And then she turns into a tree again. Not a rich fruit-tree all covered with blossoms or apples or cherries, but a pine-tree, as it might be like this very one that we’re stuck in now; but one that’s been lightning-struck, and there’s no needles on her, and she’s all twisty and burnt, and you can’t even tell, looking at her, whether she’s alive or dead.
‘And after a long time, like that time when he first set eyes on her, Holm comes up out of the water again. For he’s always walking around the bottom of the sea. And whenever he comes out, there’s a great big wave. And though she looks quite different from the first time, he recognises her, and he says, What’s the matter with you?
‘And she says, I’m very unhappy.
‘And he asks, Why?
‘Because I desire to bear fruit in myself, says she, and my husband is no good.
‘Then come with me, says Holm. I have always loved you, Lady Yab. Leave him and marry me instead, and then you shall have a child.
‘For you should know, friends and companions all, that Holm is very loyal, the perfect gent, and he always will be; and up to this moment it had always been quite correct and proper between these two, Holm and Yab, whenever they’d happened to meet.
‘And she cries, and shakes her branches, and says, It’s forbidden by Mandate for any of us to leave this land.
‘And he replies: I am not under Mandate. My power is in the deeps of the sea. I can shelter you and protect you.
‘And then like any female she begins to yield, and she asks, How shall we go?
‘And he says, Behold! And a great fishy monster comes out of the sea; and it lies down on the beach with its jaws open. So Holm takes Yab’s hand, and he leads her down the fish’s tongue, like a soft red carpet, and into its throat, like a velvet passageway, and into its belly, which is like a bedchamber with lamps and satin cushions and purple bedspreads. And the fish flips itself round and swims back into the sea, deep deep down. And the swimming is like a gentle rocking inside its belly, and there they play and mell together, Holm and Lady Yab, and she feels his seed in her womb, and she knows that a new child has begun. And when they arrive, they come here; and she walks out of the fish’s mouth, at the tip of that very headland over there, which the Elves name it Neraegrast, and I’ve heard there’s a comic meaning in that, which is unusual for them. And there are many caves and caverns over there, on that side, deep within the rock. So she hides there. And there she is to this day.’
Waltrot ceased. There was a pause. Then, in a disappointed tone, Tim asked: ‘Is that all?’
‘It can’t be all, Tim, but they say it’s as far as the story has got to. There are some other things, but they don’t so much signify. Oh, like, some say she was still so angry with her old husband when she got here, that she gave birth to an army of monsters, just like these ones that we see; but they were so fierce and full of anger that they fought each other. She wanted them to invade all the towns of Men and attack all the smithies and kill all the smiths, so there wouldn’t never again be any more iron weapons. But when the monsters stopped fighting each other there were only a few left: and these ones did attack the towns and the smithies, but the Men were able to drive ’em off. And after that she gave birth to swarms of flies and grasshoppers, which couldn’t be fought by any weapons of Men; but they just ate up all the grass and the crops and the leaves off the trees, and she realised she was cutting off her nose to spite her face. And some say, after that she gave up being offended, and put all her power into the goodness of the land: and that’s why this here region is as we have found it. But most of all, she’s waiting to give birth to her true Child, and nobody knows when that will happen. Could be a thousand years hence, or could be tomorrow. But when it does happen, everything will be different, ’cause there’s never been a child among the gods before.’
He had been speaking more quietly during the close of his narrative, and his voice now died away in a whisper, leaving his hearers spellbound. For some moments longer they sat without moving. Then a stronger breeze blew through the shining pine-needles and a few gulls whirled overhead, squawking and screaming. The companions came out of their spell. They felt the hunger in their empty stomachs, and it seemed to contain all the unpleasantness and danger of their plight.
‘But is it true?’ asked Hodgekin.
Waltrot shrugged his shoulders placidly. ‘It’s a good enough story,’ said he. ‘I’m no believer, but all the best stories are true somewhere, ain’t they? I don’t say as there mayn’t be some funny bits mixed up with it.’
That was a moment of great insight for Aldred, who suddenly felt that he had seen Walt clearly for the first time. He kept the thought to himself: no believer, but a true devotee.
‘But a goddess?’ Hodgekin persisted: ‘and just over there? And us needing help? And sitting in a pine tree – is that important? Shall we say a prayer to her?’
Tim, Aldred and Fortinbras all gave an involuntary flinch or shudder. Nevertheless the suggestion prompted Tim and Waltrot to engage him in a theological discussion. Aldred thought the talk quite pointless in itself, yet it helped to pass the time, and also helped by allowing the half-buried animosities to be raised to the level of mind and argument, thus allowing them to be expressed a little more safely: and so he contributed a word or two. The hopeless morning wore on. All three monsters were lying, with unchanged vigilance, at the foot of the tree; and others could also be seen at intervals, wandering aimlessly over the green clifftops. Might one of the Company offer himself as a bait or decoy, to help the others? But would that help? The ford was two miles away, and where else could they think of running to? Dive over the cliff? No, no, no. Perhaps if they waited long enough the monsters might go away of their own accord. They must get hungry some time, surely?
Such thoughts, no doubt, were at the back of all the punchkins’ minds, while they continued idly and uneasily to speak of the gods. The wind freshened and the sun climbed the sky. Some time later, Fortinbras, who had said no word since Waltrot had told his story, quietly directed their attention towards the open sea. A thin silvery streak lay above the distant blue, as if the sun had come out from behind clouds to light up the horizon. Yet there was not a cloud in the sky.
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