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Chapter 3:- THROUGH THE SINKY DOWN
Fair licked her dry lips. She craned her neck to see out of the small door, and saw the heels of Gibber Will’s boots. Nothing more.
She trusted he would keep his word and warn her if anyone came close enough to hear her speak. She put her mouth as close to the opening as she could and began.
“In my dream, I was laying in this same wagon, and a glowing, squishy glob called a Glommer squeezed in through a crack and lay next to me. Then these eyes sprouted out of the glob and inspected me from head to toe.”
“How do you know it was called a Glommer?” Gibber Will asked.
“I just do.”
“Go on.”
“Well, its arms just sort of pushed out of his round, rubbery shape and dragged me from my body, out of the wagon, and all the way down to Lakinren Bae. I could see the water glistening in the moonlight.” She paused then asked, “Do you remember that smelly place next to the shore?”
“That I do. The Sinky Down. You went there when you were a wee, wee hoomin with your father and . . . well . . .” He wanted to mention her brother, Hale, but thought better of it.
“That’s it.”
The Sinky Down was a shallow bog that smelled of rotten eggs. It bubbled near the edge of the lake, and was no bigger around that a kitchen. Years earlier, her father had taken Fair and Hale to look for frogs in the reeds. He pushed his oar into the shallow, soft sediment of decay that covered the bottom of the bog. It was so soft that it took no effort at all to push the oar all the way in. They all crinkled their noses and exclaimed, “Ewww!” when they discovered there seemed to be no bottom.
“So tell me what happened. Were you afraid?”
“Not at all. That’s what’s so strange. I asked the Glommer where he was taking me, but he didn’t answer. He just kept a hold of my wrist—well, my not real wrist, since my real body was back in the wagon—but he took my spirit wrist and dove into the smelly water. I sailed in behind him, flapping like a white tablecloth on a windy night.
“He took me down through the feathery, floating muck. It was dark, but the water was warm and I could breathe. Then all the muck was gone and I could see that we were in a smooth, brown tunnel made of clay that went straight down.”
Gibber Will’s eyes went wide, “This is a good one. What then?”
“Then I knew, because it was a dream, that the Glommer was pulling me into the center of misery and woe. Mother has told me stories of such a place. Just then, I saw an opening carved into the side of the shaft. We were coming up to it, and I knew if I was going to get away from the Glommer, I’d have to do it soon.”
“When we got close to the opening, I wrenched my wrist free and swam for safety. Right away, the eyes bulged out from the Glommer’s shapeless body. Each eye looked in different directions to try and find me. I knew I didn’t have much time.
“The opening was a cave of sorts, filled with what looked like piles of garden tools. I crawled over the first pole, but I felt it move.”
Gibber Will said, “Moved? That gives me the shivers. What then? . . . Wait, Fair. I hear something.”
Fair bit her tongue and froze.
“Never you mind. The shepherd’s comin’, but he’s a long ways off. So go on. The pole moved.”
“Well, when my eyes got used to the murky light—you know, sort of like how a cloud takes on a shape if you look at it—I saw that the sticks and poles were the shadows of hoomin instead. They were just skin and bones, leaning up against both sides of the cave. None of them spoke, but they weren’t sleeping. It’s like hope was just gone from them.
“No hope at all, you say?”
“Gone. I quickly clambered over them and felt the Glommer grab at my toes.”
“Did he get you?”
“He got my big toe, but I yanked it free.”
“And you got away?”
Fair told how she crawled over all the branchy arms and legs and felt her head hit some metal bars. They were part of a gate. She pushed against the gate, which swung open into a room that was lit up and bright as daylight.
Gibber Will said, “Now that’s the sort of dream you’d like. Lots of light.”
Fair smiled. She said, “It was a very large place with floors made of white, smooth stone and walls. The room was filled with rows and rows of stone boxes with stone people standing on them.”
“Those would be statues on pedestals, I’m thinkin,” Gibber Will suggested.
“The strange thing is, from where I peeked in, the water in the cave stopped right at the opening into the room. It wobbled like it was soft glass. I stuck my head through it and the room smelled inviting and wonderful. I pulled my head back into the cave and asked the tangled bunch of hoomin if they wanted to come with me.”
“And?” prodded Gibber Will.
“One of the hoomin looked at me with these large, sunken eyes. He reached his hand towards me with one finger, and held it there. Pointing at me. Then he said, “Ahhhh.”
“Ahhhh? That was it?”
“It took all the strength he had. I crawled over to him and took his hand, but he let it drop and looked back at his knees. I asked him, ‘Please sir, don’t you want to come?’ but he just closed his eyes. Then I thought of the Glommer. I looked up and saw that it had spotted me with one of its eyes and was coming towards me. I hung from the opening in the cave and dropped to the floor. When I looked up, I saw the Glommer looking down at me with its sprouted eyes, but it couldn’t get through the watery wall.”
“That’s quite a dream, Fair.”
“Oh, but it just started, Gibber Will. There’s more. I gave a shake to dry myself off, and realized that my dress was dry. I looked around me and saw that at the far end of the statues, there were wide steps that led up to a deep red-colored curtain made of this thick, furry cloth.”
Gibber Will said with a snort, “That would be velvet. That’s just for the richest folks in High Grave. Or Harrold King, himself.”
“Velvet,” Fair said, thoughtfully. She told Gibber Will that in the dream she’d seen a sign hanging above the curtains for the Rall Kindaria Museum. Painted in smaller letters the sign had read: Do Not Touch the Artwork. Donations Kindly Accepted.
“I felt sad because I couldn’t pay,” Fair said. “But then I heard a voice say, ‘You’ve already made your donation, Tharin.”
“He did now, did he? Called you Tharin?”
“I told him he had me by the wrong name, because my name was Fair. Fair O’Nelli.”
“Who was it?” asked Gibber Will, rubbing his nose with a slide of his finger.
“Can you guess?”
“Well I wouldn’t know, now,” Gibber Will wondered aloud, “Just a voice from nowhere, maybe?”
Fair continued, “I looked around and asked, ‘Who said that?’ and a voice nearby said, ‘I did.’ There was a statue close to me, and when I looked at it, his eyes blinked.”
“I’ll be,” said Gibber Will.
“He took a cap off his head and bowed to me. He said, ‘I’m so very glad you’ve finally come.’ ”
“Finally come?” I asked.
“Oh me, oh my,” Gibber Will muttered to himself.
“That’s what he said. Then he said, ‘Oh, we all know who you are. And, as a matter of fact, we know who everyone else is on the hillsides of Cloven Grave and the world beyond the Lands of Ice. I even know your great-great-great-great grandpapa, and grandmamma.’ ”
“Over here!” two voices called, many rows away. “Yoo hoo, Tharin, we’re over here!”
“I saw two hoomin wearing crowns, waving their arms at me, calling me by that name.”
“Crowns?” Gibber Will asked.
“Yes. Odd, isn’t it?”
Gibber Will didn’t say anything.
“I remembered my manners and called out, ‘Pleased to meet you both!’ Then I said to the statue, ‘And pleased to meet you, too.’ ”
“Oh, but we’ve all met before,” they all said at the same time.
“Met before?” I asked, but they didn’t answer. So I said to the statue, “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not Tharin. And besides, they don’t look like my many-great-grandparents. They’re not even old.”
He said to me, ‘Oh, we’ve got you by the right name, to be sure.”
It was all so confusing, Gibber Will. Then something occurred to me. So I said, “Why, I don’t even know your name.”
“Oh, you don’t need to know my name. I’m just supposed to get you from here to there. And no, they don’t look like what you would call ‘old.’ They’re in their prime, just like the rest of us.”
“I told him it must be quite dull just standing there all the time, so I asked him, ‘Do you ever get hungry? Or sleepy? Can you lie down when you’re tired?”
“No, no, and no. But it’s all as it should be. For now, that is. The air has simply been all a-buzz with anticipation for the last few years. Thirteen to be exact.”
“And I’m thirteen years old!” I said. “This very day!”
“Precisely,” said the statue.
I told him it was my becoming day—you know, my day of maidenhood. He nodded and quietly said, “Yes. I know,” almost like he was being reverent.
Gibber Will listened intently without saying a word now.
Fair continued, “I said to him, ‘I don’t understand. You all know who I am. And you knew I was coming, right on my birthday, even. And no one looks old here, and . . .' ”
“. . . and I know where you’re going,” the statue said.
So I asked, “Where am I going?”
“Back to Rall Kindaria, kind maiden, armed with the knowledge of home.”
“But isn’t this Rall Kindaria?”
“This is just the edge of it. Here, let’s go sit where you can have a story.” He jumped off the . . .” Fair couldn’t remember the new word and Gibber Will helped her.
“Pedestal.”
“Pedestal. . . and took my hand. He led me to the steps of the stage and said, ‘Shall we go?’ ”
I didn’t understand what he meant, so he said, “What I mean to say is, would you like to go to Rall Kindaria, to the Land of Light?”
“Oh! Very much!”
The steps in front of us were very high, and very deep. There were seven of them. He looked down at me and waited. I gave his hand a squeeze to let him know I was ready. He smiled and lifted one knee to take the first step, so I did, too.” Fair paused.
“And?” begged Gibber Will.
“There’s no more. That was my dream.”
“That’s a fine thing, to leave me hangin’ like that, Fair O’Nelli.”
“I’d tell you more if there was more. If you like, I can make something up.” The sheep began to move with prodding from the shepherd, who was coming within hearing range. Fair could hear the faint sound of his bagpipe music getting closer.
Gibber Will coughed and bent over to close the little door under his seat. He slid the basket in front of it with his boot.
Fair understood and was silent.
Soon, they were on their way again.
After much water sloshing, the wagon started to take a turn here, a turn there. Fair licked her dry lips.Water, water. She wouldn’t say another word until they got where they were going.
Fair heard the sound of the wheels change. They no longer ground into dirt and rocks. Just rock. Her head bumped up and down so quickly that it made her teeth chatter. They were in the village, now, riding over cobblestones. She could hear the clatter of other wagon wheels and horse hooves. She heard the sound of voices calling out. She heard the sound of squawking chickens.
Life. Movement. Freedom.
The village roads were teeming with the bustling and noise of a town market: wagons, horses, pigs being pulled by ropes, chickens in their cages—only nothing was to be sold. It was all meant for Harrold King.
Fair couldn’t hum, so she let her mind turn again to the comfort of her daydreams. This time it was a feeling of cool, bumpy metal beneath her fingertips:
The dark shadow of an open doorway. Her front door.
The sound of words.
The same words leaving her lips, night after night when dawn painted the doorway with pale, gray light. Just before she became invisible to the world and hurried away to the cellar.
Do what is right, let consequence follow.
Follow your heart, come joy or come sorrow.
The words were one of the constants in her life, written on a brass plaque that hung by her front door. Over the years, she had learned to use her fingers like mouse whiskers, to detect shape. Movement. Change. Her fingertips were able to read the plaque just before she went to sleep every morning, just as people were waking up.
Backwards days where day was night and night was day. It was family tradition—or so her mother told her—to kiss your fingertips before touching the plaque, then repeat the words written upon it. In fact, it was the last thing Fair did before leaving her home to crawl into the wagon the night before. Well, it was almost the last thing she did. Just before getting in to the wagon, Fair traced her mothers’ forehead, eyes, and cheeks with her mouse whisker fingertips before giving her a kiss.
In her daydream, she kissed her fingers, reached blindly for the letters, and let them trace their shape. As her mind passed over the words of her daydream she whispered, “Do what is right, let consequence follow. Follow your heart, come joy or come sorrow.”
For some reason, her daydream ended. Something was different.
No movement.
Silence.
The wagon stopped this time without the sound of a, ‘woah.’
Fair heard some muffled speech. Keys jangled. A door hinge creaked. Or maybe it was two sets of hinges? She heard Sauveren sniff at her through a crack in the planks, then shuffle off. She heard the word, ‘alley way.’ Then she heard the creak of another hinge.
Suddenly, Fair was blinded by a bright light. She thrust her pale arms up to shield her eyes from the pain.
“Up you come, wee Fair,” said Gibber Will.
She hesitantly pulled her pale, lanky arms away from her face and blinked as though her eyes were full of sand.
“It hurts. I didn’t know light was so painful,” she said.
“You’ll adjust real soon.”
I can’t. I can’t keep them open.
She squinted tightly and opened her eyes as slowly as she could to let the light in. Soon she felt the pain ease up. She tried again. A little longer this time. She blinked deliberately, one last time, almost as though she were bidding farewell to darkness, then opened her moon eyes as widely as she could.
Like a dream, the gray shape of Gibber Will’s face swam into colorful focus. Soon Fair saw his eyes looking down on her. His mouth was in the shape of a smile. Flesh-colored with a bit of red. A pronounced overbite. She could see it clearly.
She thought of her mother’s face, a shape she only remembered as a shadow. It had no color, but she knew its contours perfectly. He held the wagon floor up with one hand. His other hand reached for her. When he did so, a flash of red color shot out of the wagon with the sound of small, scratching claws. Sauveren pawed at it and missed. Then it was gone. He looked after it as though he wanted to have a chase, but Fair whispered, “Stay with me,” and he settled.
“There went your friend, Fair. Take my hand, now,” he smiled. “But be quick like. I’ve got jelly for legs.”
After a bit of effort Fair licked her cracked lips and hoarsely said, “Where’s my dog? . . .” She looked around. “I can hardly move. I’m so thirsty. More than usual.”
In a flash, Gibber Will whipped the water flask off the side of the wagon. She felt him wrap his arm behind her back to hold her up and gave her a drink. She felt its coolness course through her body while she lay back in Gibber Will’s arms.
Sauveren stood up and put his paws over the edge of the wagon. Fair saw him out of the corner of her eye and smiled while she drank. They gazed at one another for what felt like forever. She reached out and rubbed his nose. Just then, an iridescent, blue butterfly fluttered into view and lighted on her finger.
“Look Gibber Will . . . on my finger,” Fair whispered, “A tiny, tiny bird.”
“It’s a butterfly, wee Fair. I’m thinkin it’s a good omen.”
“A good omen?”
“Time will tell,” he wiggled his nose and sniffed.
He handed her an apple. She bit into it and chewed with relish. Its sweetness gave her strength. In a moment, Fair got herself up into a sitting position. She heard the sound of something knocking.
A voice spoke, “You gotta get going. A Protector’s coming this way. I gotta move the wagon out. Close up the doors.”
Fair looked around and noticed two enormous doors. They were attached to the corners of two gray, stone buildings. The doors had been built for two purposes. When they were closed they blocked the alley way from view. When they were open, they shielded whatever was between them. Right now, the wagon was between both open doors, mostly hidden.
On the other side of one of the doors, a Protector ambled along in their direction, looking with mild curiosity at the door blocking his way. He was dressed in a burgundy wool jacket, kilt, black cap and high leather boots. His boots made a loud, knocking sound on the stone. He casually swung the bully stick in his hand.
Gibber Will’s friend stepped out onto the street and called, “Just making a delivery, sir. You’ll have to step around. Won’t be long.” He stepped back into the safe protection of the doors and looked intently at Fair and Gibber Will. He swished his hands as if to say, “Get out of here!” Beads of perspiration popped onto his forehead.
In one swift motion, Gibber Will scooped Fair up and out of the wagon with one arm. He let the floor down quietly with the other, then rearranged the apple sacks into the middle of the wagon since they had slid to one side. He realized he had better let his friend know what he was “delivering.”
He whispered, “Apples.”
Then Fair, her dog, and Gibber Will took off running down the alley.
Just in time.
The Protector asked, “What you got there?”
The hoomin poked his head out beyond the door, “Apples.”
The Protector cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes, “Apples? The season for apples hasn’t started, hoomin.” He smacked the bully stick into his palm.
“Last seasons’ apples, but Avran Lamb says he’s got a use for ‘em anyways.”
By now, Fair, her dog, and Gibber Will were far down the alley. They turned the corner just as the Protector looked down the alley and saw that nothing seemed amiss.
He untied the twine at the top of one of the woven sacks and took a look inside. “If he likes mushy apples, I guess that’s his business. Why don’t you pull the wagon down the alley?”
“Too hard to back out. Just going to carry ‘em.”
“Alright then. I’m glad it’s you and not me doing all that hefting.” He shook his head.
Gibber Will knocked at the back door of Lamb’s Tavern. In a moment, a curtain was pushed aside. Fair saw a nose and no more. Just shadows. Again, more shadows.
The door swung open and a big belly greeted her. There was a smile with rosy cheeks. A melodious voice boomed, “We’ve waited a long time for this day! Come on in, Fair.”
She felt a large hand on her wispy shoulder, and she was pulled in with what she could only describe as love. Her nose, mouth and throat filled with the smell of food. It was a warm smell. Yeasty. Meaty. Humid and soupy. Her mouth filled with saliva and she swallowed.
She and Gibber Will were ushered down a hallway towards the sound of laughing, clinking, and chairs scraping on a wooden floor. Sauveren lumbered along behind them, like a big bear.
Fair’s heart pounded. She felt on the verge of what she thought might be joy. I can’t believe it, she thought. I’m here. And it’s not night time. I can see.
When they turned and entered in through the doorway, she saw round tables surrounded with hoomin. She also saw what she assumed was a family. Two of the wee hoomin looked about her age, a bit older maybe. They were all laughing and talking with each other.
Fair had waited for this day, this moment, for nine years, full of anticipation. Yet, what she felt at that moment was something completely unexpected:
She had never
felt more
alone.
Fair licked her dry lips. She craned her neck to see out of the small door, and saw the heels of Gibber Will’s boots. Nothing more.
She trusted he would keep his word and warn her if anyone came close enough to hear her speak. She put her mouth as close to the opening as she could and began.
“In my dream, I was laying in this same wagon, and a glowing, squishy glob called a Glommer squeezed in through a crack and lay next to me. Then these eyes sprouted out of the glob and inspected me from head to toe.”
“How do you know it was called a Glommer?” Gibber Will asked.
“I just do.”
“Go on.”
“Well, its arms just sort of pushed out of his round, rubbery shape and dragged me from my body, out of the wagon, and all the way down to Lakinren Bae. I could see the water glistening in the moonlight.” She paused then asked, “Do you remember that smelly place next to the shore?”
“That I do. The Sinky Down. You went there when you were a wee, wee hoomin with your father and . . . well . . .” He wanted to mention her brother, Hale, but thought better of it.
“That’s it.”
The Sinky Down was a shallow bog that smelled of rotten eggs. It bubbled near the edge of the lake, and was no bigger around that a kitchen. Years earlier, her father had taken Fair and Hale to look for frogs in the reeds. He pushed his oar into the shallow, soft sediment of decay that covered the bottom of the bog. It was so soft that it took no effort at all to push the oar all the way in. They all crinkled their noses and exclaimed, “Ewww!” when they discovered there seemed to be no bottom.
“So tell me what happened. Were you afraid?”
“Not at all. That’s what’s so strange. I asked the Glommer where he was taking me, but he didn’t answer. He just kept a hold of my wrist—well, my not real wrist, since my real body was back in the wagon—but he took my spirit wrist and dove into the smelly water. I sailed in behind him, flapping like a white tablecloth on a windy night.
“He took me down through the feathery, floating muck. It was dark, but the water was warm and I could breathe. Then all the muck was gone and I could see that we were in a smooth, brown tunnel made of clay that went straight down.”
Gibber Will’s eyes went wide, “This is a good one. What then?”
“Then I knew, because it was a dream, that the Glommer was pulling me into the center of misery and woe. Mother has told me stories of such a place. Just then, I saw an opening carved into the side of the shaft. We were coming up to it, and I knew if I was going to get away from the Glommer, I’d have to do it soon.”
“When we got close to the opening, I wrenched my wrist free and swam for safety. Right away, the eyes bulged out from the Glommer’s shapeless body. Each eye looked in different directions to try and find me. I knew I didn’t have much time.
“The opening was a cave of sorts, filled with what looked like piles of garden tools. I crawled over the first pole, but I felt it move.”
Gibber Will said, “Moved? That gives me the shivers. What then? . . . Wait, Fair. I hear something.”
Fair bit her tongue and froze.
“Never you mind. The shepherd’s comin’, but he’s a long ways off. So go on. The pole moved.”
“Well, when my eyes got used to the murky light—you know, sort of like how a cloud takes on a shape if you look at it—I saw that the sticks and poles were the shadows of hoomin instead. They were just skin and bones, leaning up against both sides of the cave. None of them spoke, but they weren’t sleeping. It’s like hope was just gone from them.
“No hope at all, you say?”
“Gone. I quickly clambered over them and felt the Glommer grab at my toes.”
“Did he get you?”
“He got my big toe, but I yanked it free.”
“And you got away?”
Fair told how she crawled over all the branchy arms and legs and felt her head hit some metal bars. They were part of a gate. She pushed against the gate, which swung open into a room that was lit up and bright as daylight.
Gibber Will said, “Now that’s the sort of dream you’d like. Lots of light.”
Fair smiled. She said, “It was a very large place with floors made of white, smooth stone and walls. The room was filled with rows and rows of stone boxes with stone people standing on them.”
“Those would be statues on pedestals, I’m thinkin,” Gibber Will suggested.
“The strange thing is, from where I peeked in, the water in the cave stopped right at the opening into the room. It wobbled like it was soft glass. I stuck my head through it and the room smelled inviting and wonderful. I pulled my head back into the cave and asked the tangled bunch of hoomin if they wanted to come with me.”
“And?” prodded Gibber Will.
“One of the hoomin looked at me with these large, sunken eyes. He reached his hand towards me with one finger, and held it there. Pointing at me. Then he said, “Ahhhh.”
“Ahhhh? That was it?”
“It took all the strength he had. I crawled over to him and took his hand, but he let it drop and looked back at his knees. I asked him, ‘Please sir, don’t you want to come?’ but he just closed his eyes. Then I thought of the Glommer. I looked up and saw that it had spotted me with one of its eyes and was coming towards me. I hung from the opening in the cave and dropped to the floor. When I looked up, I saw the Glommer looking down at me with its sprouted eyes, but it couldn’t get through the watery wall.”
“That’s quite a dream, Fair.”
“Oh, but it just started, Gibber Will. There’s more. I gave a shake to dry myself off, and realized that my dress was dry. I looked around me and saw that at the far end of the statues, there were wide steps that led up to a deep red-colored curtain made of this thick, furry cloth.”
Gibber Will said with a snort, “That would be velvet. That’s just for the richest folks in High Grave. Or Harrold King, himself.”
“Velvet,” Fair said, thoughtfully. She told Gibber Will that in the dream she’d seen a sign hanging above the curtains for the Rall Kindaria Museum. Painted in smaller letters the sign had read: Do Not Touch the Artwork. Donations Kindly Accepted.
“I felt sad because I couldn’t pay,” Fair said. “But then I heard a voice say, ‘You’ve already made your donation, Tharin.”
“He did now, did he? Called you Tharin?”
“I told him he had me by the wrong name, because my name was Fair. Fair O’Nelli.”
“Who was it?” asked Gibber Will, rubbing his nose with a slide of his finger.
“Can you guess?”
“Well I wouldn’t know, now,” Gibber Will wondered aloud, “Just a voice from nowhere, maybe?”
Fair continued, “I looked around and asked, ‘Who said that?’ and a voice nearby said, ‘I did.’ There was a statue close to me, and when I looked at it, his eyes blinked.”
“I’ll be,” said Gibber Will.
“He took a cap off his head and bowed to me. He said, ‘I’m so very glad you’ve finally come.’ ”
“Finally come?” I asked.
“Oh me, oh my,” Gibber Will muttered to himself.
“That’s what he said. Then he said, ‘Oh, we all know who you are. And, as a matter of fact, we know who everyone else is on the hillsides of Cloven Grave and the world beyond the Lands of Ice. I even know your great-great-great-great grandpapa, and grandmamma.’ ”
“Over here!” two voices called, many rows away. “Yoo hoo, Tharin, we’re over here!”
“I saw two hoomin wearing crowns, waving their arms at me, calling me by that name.”
“Crowns?” Gibber Will asked.
“Yes. Odd, isn’t it?”
Gibber Will didn’t say anything.
“I remembered my manners and called out, ‘Pleased to meet you both!’ Then I said to the statue, ‘And pleased to meet you, too.’ ”
“Oh, but we’ve all met before,” they all said at the same time.
“Met before?” I asked, but they didn’t answer. So I said to the statue, “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not Tharin. And besides, they don’t look like my many-great-grandparents. They’re not even old.”
He said to me, ‘Oh, we’ve got you by the right name, to be sure.”
It was all so confusing, Gibber Will. Then something occurred to me. So I said, “Why, I don’t even know your name.”
“Oh, you don’t need to know my name. I’m just supposed to get you from here to there. And no, they don’t look like what you would call ‘old.’ They’re in their prime, just like the rest of us.”
“I told him it must be quite dull just standing there all the time, so I asked him, ‘Do you ever get hungry? Or sleepy? Can you lie down when you’re tired?”
“No, no, and no. But it’s all as it should be. For now, that is. The air has simply been all a-buzz with anticipation for the last few years. Thirteen to be exact.”
“And I’m thirteen years old!” I said. “This very day!”
“Precisely,” said the statue.
I told him it was my becoming day—you know, my day of maidenhood. He nodded and quietly said, “Yes. I know,” almost like he was being reverent.
Gibber Will listened intently without saying a word now.
Fair continued, “I said to him, ‘I don’t understand. You all know who I am. And you knew I was coming, right on my birthday, even. And no one looks old here, and . . .' ”
“. . . and I know where you’re going,” the statue said.
So I asked, “Where am I going?”
“Back to Rall Kindaria, kind maiden, armed with the knowledge of home.”
“But isn’t this Rall Kindaria?”
“This is just the edge of it. Here, let’s go sit where you can have a story.” He jumped off the . . .” Fair couldn’t remember the new word and Gibber Will helped her.
“Pedestal.”
“Pedestal. . . and took my hand. He led me to the steps of the stage and said, ‘Shall we go?’ ”
I didn’t understand what he meant, so he said, “What I mean to say is, would you like to go to Rall Kindaria, to the Land of Light?”
“Oh! Very much!”
The steps in front of us were very high, and very deep. There were seven of them. He looked down at me and waited. I gave his hand a squeeze to let him know I was ready. He smiled and lifted one knee to take the first step, so I did, too.” Fair paused.
“And?” begged Gibber Will.
“There’s no more. That was my dream.”
“That’s a fine thing, to leave me hangin’ like that, Fair O’Nelli.”
“I’d tell you more if there was more. If you like, I can make something up.” The sheep began to move with prodding from the shepherd, who was coming within hearing range. Fair could hear the faint sound of his bagpipe music getting closer.
Gibber Will coughed and bent over to close the little door under his seat. He slid the basket in front of it with his boot.
Fair understood and was silent.
Soon, they were on their way again.
After much water sloshing, the wagon started to take a turn here, a turn there. Fair licked her dry lips.Water, water. She wouldn’t say another word until they got where they were going.
Fair heard the sound of the wheels change. They no longer ground into dirt and rocks. Just rock. Her head bumped up and down so quickly that it made her teeth chatter. They were in the village, now, riding over cobblestones. She could hear the clatter of other wagon wheels and horse hooves. She heard the sound of voices calling out. She heard the sound of squawking chickens.
Life. Movement. Freedom.
The village roads were teeming with the bustling and noise of a town market: wagons, horses, pigs being pulled by ropes, chickens in their cages—only nothing was to be sold. It was all meant for Harrold King.
Fair couldn’t hum, so she let her mind turn again to the comfort of her daydreams. This time it was a feeling of cool, bumpy metal beneath her fingertips:
The dark shadow of an open doorway. Her front door.
The sound of words.
The same words leaving her lips, night after night when dawn painted the doorway with pale, gray light. Just before she became invisible to the world and hurried away to the cellar.
Do what is right, let consequence follow.
Follow your heart, come joy or come sorrow.
The words were one of the constants in her life, written on a brass plaque that hung by her front door. Over the years, she had learned to use her fingers like mouse whiskers, to detect shape. Movement. Change. Her fingertips were able to read the plaque just before she went to sleep every morning, just as people were waking up.
Backwards days where day was night and night was day. It was family tradition—or so her mother told her—to kiss your fingertips before touching the plaque, then repeat the words written upon it. In fact, it was the last thing Fair did before leaving her home to crawl into the wagon the night before. Well, it was almost the last thing she did. Just before getting in to the wagon, Fair traced her mothers’ forehead, eyes, and cheeks with her mouse whisker fingertips before giving her a kiss.
In her daydream, she kissed her fingers, reached blindly for the letters, and let them trace their shape. As her mind passed over the words of her daydream she whispered, “Do what is right, let consequence follow. Follow your heart, come joy or come sorrow.”
For some reason, her daydream ended. Something was different.
No movement.
Silence.
The wagon stopped this time without the sound of a, ‘woah.’
Fair heard some muffled speech. Keys jangled. A door hinge creaked. Or maybe it was two sets of hinges? She heard Sauveren sniff at her through a crack in the planks, then shuffle off. She heard the word, ‘alley way.’ Then she heard the creak of another hinge.
Suddenly, Fair was blinded by a bright light. She thrust her pale arms up to shield her eyes from the pain.
“Up you come, wee Fair,” said Gibber Will.
She hesitantly pulled her pale, lanky arms away from her face and blinked as though her eyes were full of sand.
“It hurts. I didn’t know light was so painful,” she said.
“You’ll adjust real soon.”
I can’t. I can’t keep them open.
She squinted tightly and opened her eyes as slowly as she could to let the light in. Soon she felt the pain ease up. She tried again. A little longer this time. She blinked deliberately, one last time, almost as though she were bidding farewell to darkness, then opened her moon eyes as widely as she could.
Like a dream, the gray shape of Gibber Will’s face swam into colorful focus. Soon Fair saw his eyes looking down on her. His mouth was in the shape of a smile. Flesh-colored with a bit of red. A pronounced overbite. She could see it clearly.
She thought of her mother’s face, a shape she only remembered as a shadow. It had no color, but she knew its contours perfectly. He held the wagon floor up with one hand. His other hand reached for her. When he did so, a flash of red color shot out of the wagon with the sound of small, scratching claws. Sauveren pawed at it and missed. Then it was gone. He looked after it as though he wanted to have a chase, but Fair whispered, “Stay with me,” and he settled.
“There went your friend, Fair. Take my hand, now,” he smiled. “But be quick like. I’ve got jelly for legs.”
After a bit of effort Fair licked her cracked lips and hoarsely said, “Where’s my dog? . . .” She looked around. “I can hardly move. I’m so thirsty. More than usual.”
In a flash, Gibber Will whipped the water flask off the side of the wagon. She felt him wrap his arm behind her back to hold her up and gave her a drink. She felt its coolness course through her body while she lay back in Gibber Will’s arms.
Sauveren stood up and put his paws over the edge of the wagon. Fair saw him out of the corner of her eye and smiled while she drank. They gazed at one another for what felt like forever. She reached out and rubbed his nose. Just then, an iridescent, blue butterfly fluttered into view and lighted on her finger.
“Look Gibber Will . . . on my finger,” Fair whispered, “A tiny, tiny bird.”
“It’s a butterfly, wee Fair. I’m thinkin it’s a good omen.”
“A good omen?”
“Time will tell,” he wiggled his nose and sniffed.
He handed her an apple. She bit into it and chewed with relish. Its sweetness gave her strength. In a moment, Fair got herself up into a sitting position. She heard the sound of something knocking.
A voice spoke, “You gotta get going. A Protector’s coming this way. I gotta move the wagon out. Close up the doors.”
Fair looked around and noticed two enormous doors. They were attached to the corners of two gray, stone buildings. The doors had been built for two purposes. When they were closed they blocked the alley way from view. When they were open, they shielded whatever was between them. Right now, the wagon was between both open doors, mostly hidden.
On the other side of one of the doors, a Protector ambled along in their direction, looking with mild curiosity at the door blocking his way. He was dressed in a burgundy wool jacket, kilt, black cap and high leather boots. His boots made a loud, knocking sound on the stone. He casually swung the bully stick in his hand.
Gibber Will’s friend stepped out onto the street and called, “Just making a delivery, sir. You’ll have to step around. Won’t be long.” He stepped back into the safe protection of the doors and looked intently at Fair and Gibber Will. He swished his hands as if to say, “Get out of here!” Beads of perspiration popped onto his forehead.
In one swift motion, Gibber Will scooped Fair up and out of the wagon with one arm. He let the floor down quietly with the other, then rearranged the apple sacks into the middle of the wagon since they had slid to one side. He realized he had better let his friend know what he was “delivering.”
He whispered, “Apples.”
Then Fair, her dog, and Gibber Will took off running down the alley.
Just in time.
The Protector asked, “What you got there?”
The hoomin poked his head out beyond the door, “Apples.”
The Protector cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes, “Apples? The season for apples hasn’t started, hoomin.” He smacked the bully stick into his palm.
“Last seasons’ apples, but Avran Lamb says he’s got a use for ‘em anyways.”
By now, Fair, her dog, and Gibber Will were far down the alley. They turned the corner just as the Protector looked down the alley and saw that nothing seemed amiss.
He untied the twine at the top of one of the woven sacks and took a look inside. “If he likes mushy apples, I guess that’s his business. Why don’t you pull the wagon down the alley?”
“Too hard to back out. Just going to carry ‘em.”
“Alright then. I’m glad it’s you and not me doing all that hefting.” He shook his head.
Gibber Will knocked at the back door of Lamb’s Tavern. In a moment, a curtain was pushed aside. Fair saw a nose and no more. Just shadows. Again, more shadows.
The door swung open and a big belly greeted her. There was a smile with rosy cheeks. A melodious voice boomed, “We’ve waited a long time for this day! Come on in, Fair.”
She felt a large hand on her wispy shoulder, and she was pulled in with what she could only describe as love. Her nose, mouth and throat filled with the smell of food. It was a warm smell. Yeasty. Meaty. Humid and soupy. Her mouth filled with saliva and she swallowed.
She and Gibber Will were ushered down a hallway towards the sound of laughing, clinking, and chairs scraping on a wooden floor. Sauveren lumbered along behind them, like a big bear.
Fair’s heart pounded. She felt on the verge of what she thought might be joy. I can’t believe it, she thought. I’m here. And it’s not night time. I can see.
When they turned and entered in through the doorway, she saw round tables surrounded with hoomin. She also saw what she assumed was a family. Two of the wee hoomin looked about her age, a bit older maybe. They were all laughing and talking with each other.
Fair had waited for this day, this moment, for nine years, full of anticipation. Yet, what she felt at that moment was something completely unexpected:
She had never
felt more
alone.
