Beyond the Pale (22 page)

The little man was clearly full grown, though he was no more than half Travis’s height. He had a broad face and nut-brown eyes, and his pointed chin was beardless. His clothes were of green and yellow, and a red-feathered cap perched on his tousled brown hair. He doffed his cap, bowed deeply, then rose to address the crowd in a piping voice:

At that cue the curtain behind the table parted again, and a dozen forms dashed out to stand upon the dais with Trifkin. The actors were clad in elaborate and outlandish costumes. A man in white robes with a long white beard tossed dried petals like snow into the air. Tree-women clad in bark-brown dresses shook long arms that ended in branching twigs. Bare-chested goat-men with horns tied to their heads scampered about in fuzzy trousers. In the center of the
troupe stood a radiant maiden in a green dress, her long hair tangled with leaves and flowers. Trifkin raised his arms, and the noise of the crowd died down as all leaned forward to watch the actors at their craft.

Though he tried his best to follow the action, Travis didn’t quite understand the play. As far as he could tell, it had to do with Winter and Spring. The old man in white was obviously Winter. He walked around what seemed a forest and tossed his snowy petals on the ground while the tree-women shivered their twiggy arms. Then Winter came upon the beautiful maiden in green—who was clearly Spring—and, affecting a salacious grin, snatched her up and ran off, an action which caused the audience to let out a reaction that was equal parts hisses and cheers.

After this, the scene changed, and the goat-men bounded onto the dais. Travis wasn’t entirely sure what this part of the play was about, but it seemed to involve a fair amount of capering and trouser-dropping. The scene shifted again. Now Spring languished in Winter’s chill grip. However, the goat-men soon came to her rescue. They grabbed Winter, heaved him off the stage, and thus freed young Spring, who showed her gratitude by letting the goat-men cavort around her. At last the goat-men surrounded Spring and concealed her from view. When they dashed away again, Spring had a large bulge in her dress.

At this point, Trifkin Mossberry himself bounded into the scene with an energetic series of flips and tumbles. He came to a stop before Spring and reached up her dress, then snatched out the bundle and held it aloft. It was a crude doll dressed all in yellow with a yellow crown. Travis decided he had just witnessed the birth of Summer. The play concluded in a dance that made the rest of the drama seem sedate by comparison, then the actors dropped to the steps in exhaustion as the audience roared its approval. The tree-women and goat-men sprang up to take their bows, followed by Winter and Spring. Last of all Trifkin himself rose and bowed, then spoke once more in his piping voice:

The curious troupe of actors dashed off the dais and disappeared through a door on one side of the great hall. The audience blinked and yawned, and, as if Trifkin’s words had been some sort of enchantment, the revel wound down to an end. The trestle tables were folded and pushed against the walls, and people spread sleeping mats of woven rushes on the floor. King Kel disappeared into the room behind the frayed curtain, and the mysterious woman and her knightly companion were nowhere to be seen—they must have departed to a private chamber during the play. Even Falken looked weary as he strummed his lute, then slipped it into its case. It seemed Travis was the only one who was not ready for sleep. He gazed at the side door through which Trifkin’s troupe had vanished. He could not stop thinking about the little man and his actors. There had been something
extraordinary
about them and their peculiar play, though he wasn’t certain just what.

Torches were doused, and soon only the ruddy light of the fire filled the great hall as the folk of Kelcior readied themselves for sleep. Falken found a spot in a corner, and he and Travis lay down and curled up in their cloaks. Sounds drifted around them in the dimness: snoring, murmured talk, the soft noises of lovemaking. Travis tried to close his eyes, but he wasn’t tired.

“Do you think he really would have thrown us out?” he whispered after a while. “King Kel, I mean. He seems a bit on the barbaric side.”

“No, we were in no real danger,” Falken said in a sleepy voice. “At least, I don’t
think
we were. Kel likes to act terrible, but I suspect a large heart resides in that burly chest of his.” He gave a weary sigh. “Now go to sleep, Travis Wilder.”

Despite his exhaustion, Travis stared into the dusky air long after Falken’s breathing had grown deep and slow.

Travis opened his eyes. The fire had dwindled to a heap of coals, and the great hall was quiet except for the soft sounds of breathing. It was the deep of the night. He sat up, cocked his head, and listened. What was it that had awakened him? He wasn’t certain, but it had sounded almost like … bells.

Now Travis was wide-awake. He glanced at Falken, who lay beside him in the murk. The bard’s eyes were shut, and he snored gently.

“You should go back to sleep, Travis,” he whispered to himself even as he quietly stood up. He cast one more look at Falken, then picked his way among the bodies that littered the floor of the great hall. He should not be doing this. At the very least it was foolish to go wandering around a strange castle at night, and at the very worst it could be perilous. Yet the last time he had heard bells—on the highway outside Castle City—was when everything had started to change. Maybe there was a connection here that could help him find a way back home.

His boot trod on something soft, and there was a sleepy grumble of protest. Travis froze and bit his lip to stifle a cry. He peered down in the gloom and saw he had stepped on the foot of a wildman. Travis’s heart raced. Then the wildman let out a sigh, rolled over, snuggled against a slumbering hunting hound, and after that was quiet. Travis let out a silent breath of relief and continued on.

He came to a side door—the same door Trifkin Mossberry’s troupe of actors had vanished through earlier. He pushed open the door, thankful that it did not creak, then stepped through and shut it behind him. He found himself in a narrow corridor. While the great hall had been warm with the heat of fire and dogs and people, here the stones radiated a wintry chill. At one end of the corridor lay an alcove which, his nose told him, contained the privy. At the other end was a small arch that opened on a spiral staircase. Travis headed for the stairs. The steps were steep and narrow, and he grew dizzy as he wound his way upward. At the end of the
staircase was another archway. This opened onto a hallway similar to the one below. Doors lined one wall, leading to rooms that must lie above the great hall. The corridor was dark except for a single line of golden light that glowed beneath the farthest door.

This time there was no mistaking the sound. As he drew near the door, the music of bells shimmered on the air, followed by laughter as clear as creek water. Only when he stopped before the door did Travis realize he was trembling. A single beam of light poured through a keyhole. Before he even thought about what he was doing, he knelt and peered through the aperture into the chamber beyond.

The first thing he noticed was that the room was bathed in a radiance the color of sunlight in a forest. The second thing he noticed was that there was no visible source for this light: no candles in sconces, no torches on the wall, no oil lamps hanging on chains from the ceiling. The light simply
was
. It filled the chamber with its golden radiance.

Trifkin Mossberry’s troupe gathered inside the room. At first glance nothing seemed out of the ordinary. This was merely a band of actors relaxing after a performance. Yet the more Travis stared, the more things seemed peculiar. For one thing, none of the actors had removed their costumes. A few of the goat-men reclined on the floor and balanced wine goblets on their naked chests. Another goat-man played a melody on a reed pipe while three tree-women danced in a circle around him and laughed as they shook their branch-arms. The young actress who had played Spring leaned back on a lounge and hummed to the music, while a tree-woman combed her green hair with twig fingers. Old man Winter spun around and threw handfuls of his white petals in the air. Above it all, on a high shelf like a red-cheeked cherub, sat Trifkin Mossberry. The little man swung his short legs in time to the dance below. He gripped a silver cup and beamed beatifically, as one who was joyfully drunk.

Travis blinked. Suddenly he was no longer certain the actors
were
still in costume. The more he looked, the more he was certain the goat-men’s crooked legs were not merely clad in shaggy trousers, but in shaggy
hair
. The tree-women did not simply grip bundles of twigs in their hands. Their hands and fingers
were
twigs, thin and lithe as willow-wands.
The white flecks Winter tossed into the air melted into diamond droplets of water as they touched the floor. And Travis was now sure that the flowering vines had not simply been braided into Spring’s hair. Instead, they were part of it, and grew from her scalp with the rest. Of them all, only Trifkin Mossberry seemed no different than he had earlier in the great hall. He still wore the same yellow breeches and green jacket, and the same red-feathered cap was perched on his curly brown hair.

As if he sensed eyes upon him, the little man turned his head toward the chamber’s door. There was an odd look in his nut-brown gaze: curious, knowing, and slightly mocking. Travis’s heart ceased to beat. Somehow Trifkin knew he was there!

Travis stifled a cry, scrambled backward, and ran for the stairwell. The sound of high laughter pursued him. He did not look back. At breakneck speed he careened down the steps, ran to the side door, and hurried across the great hall. This time his clumsy steps left a string of grumbles and muttered curses in his wake. He reached Falken, knelt, and shook the bard’s shoulder.

Falken groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. “What is it, Travis?”

“I saw them, Falken,” he whispered. “They weren’t costumes. They were … they were
real.
”

“What on Eldh are you talking about?”

In quick words Travis described how he had heard the sound of bells and had followed, and what he had seen through the keyhole. However, even as he described the experience, it seemed more and more absurd. His words trailed off. Falken wore a disapproving look.

“You were dreaming, Travis,” the bard said with no small amount of annoyance. “I’ll grant you, the play was peculiar enough to give one nightmares. These days actors seem to think they can perform any bit of tomfoolery and label it art. What’s more, dim-witted nobles are too prideful to say they don’t understand it, and so lavish gold upon the actors to hide their ignorance. It
is
a trick, but hardly magic. Now go back to sleep.”

Without waiting for a reply, the bard rolled over, shut his eyes, and soon snored again. Travis lay down and tried to do
the same. Falken was probably right. The play
had
been peculiarly vivid, and it was little wonder it had encroached on his dreams. Yet when he closed his eyes, he saw again the goat-men and the tree-women dancing, and he remembered that he had glimpsed similar creatures before. The moment had been so fleeting that, at the time, he had decided he had seen nothing at all. Now he was not so certain what to believe.

It had been at Brother Cy’s revival in Castle City, and he had seen them behind the curtain.

This time it was Falken who woke Travis. The bard shook him—a bit more roughly than was strictly necessary—and grinned when Travis sat up.

“So, any more strange visitations last night?”

Travis worked his dry tongue. “Just this taste in my mouth.”

“Feasts have a way of doing that.” He gave Travis a hand up. “Let’s go find something to wash away the remnants of last night’s revel.”

Though the hour was early, the keep’s folk were already up and about, and the great hall was nearly empty. An ashwife stirred the coals in the fireplace, and a pair of girls scattered fresh rushes on the floor. Travis followed Falken down a set of stairs and through a door outside. Here, behind the keep, was a courtyard bounded by crumbling walls. The sun had just risen over the lake, and had set aglow the mist and the smoke of cookfires.

Despite what Falken had intimated last night, apparently there wasn’t
always
a feast in progress in the petty kingdom of Kelcior. Last night’s revelers were now engaged in a variety of tasks. Old women boiled mash for beer in a great iron cauldron. Boys cleaned the stalls in a thatched stable full of horses. Several men worked to bolster a sagging wall, and others sharpened swords, repaired harnesses, or hammered horseshoes over a hot fire. One of the shaggy wildmen led a
flock of sheep out a gate in the courtyard’s wall while a hound barked happily at his heels.

Travis and Falken made their way to the cooking shed, which leaned against one wall of the courtyard. The bard charmed the red-faced kitchenwife into giving them a pot of beer and a loaf of yesterday’s bread, and they made their breakfast atop a pile of stones. Beer would not have been Travis’s first choice to wash the taste of last night’s feast from his mouth, but the stuff in the alepot turned out to be more yeast than fire, and it did the job. The black bread was hard, but it was flavorful and filling.

As they ate, Travis watched the men repair the courtyard wall. According to Falken, there were barbarian chiefs and bands of outlaws in this land who would be more than happy to take over the ancient keep if Kel gave them the chance. Here on the edges of the Dominions life was rough and only barely civilized, and a petty king ruled by the might of his warriors, not by the right of inheritance. However, Kel had held the keep for some years. He had forged alliances with several of the chiefs, and, in exchange for tithes of grain and meat, his warriors protected the villages scattered along the Queen’s Way to the west. It was not a perfect system, yet it worked.