Blue Hills (7 page)

The Snaves of Ennek

The shaft of silver blue light pierced the night. I popped the sweet goodness of the moonplum into my mouth and ran up the hill, closely followed by Kar. I stopped at the edge of the opening.

“Kar, you go … worst … first this lime … time!” I said, still munching on moonplum.

Kar gave me a grateful smile and dove in. She likes to be the first to do things. Such has always been so. I jumped after her and landed with a bounce and a roll on the expected silver blue platform at the top of the expected long winding silver blue stairway.

“The theater of the waves … snaves of Ennek awaits … us … below,” I said, pointing down the stairs.

“I'll go first. Shall I go first? I'll go first,” said Kar.

I waved her forward without a word, and down we went. A hum of babble buzzed below and grew more audible as we descended.

“Hear ‘em, Bek?” Kar shot back over her shoulder.

“Mmm,” I replied, not willing to struggle so such with my witch speak.

Around a final turn we entered the expected cavern. The babble was a din until we were noticed. Then it became a hush. With one booming exception, all Kar and I looked upon was familiar and expected. Great cavern theater bathed in silver blue light. Tiers and tiers of benches circling a single round stage. A mass of one-eyed snaves, each one of ‘em with four writhing tentacles. The booming exception? These snaves were not red of skin like as the snaves of Annek. These were bright orange so such like as common sour frazzberries found so easily in Villcom Wood. The single snave occupying the stage jabbed an orange tentacle in our direction.

“Sandwiches for all!” it shouted. “And when I say ‘Sandwiches for all', I mean ‘Welcome to our theater'. You're in luck. The performance is about to begin. We are the snaves of Ennek.'”

“Same as the Anneks,” whispered Kar. “I bet it'll fetch a floppy hat from that trunk, and we'll be stuck here for hours listening to gibberish. Right, Bek?”

I shrugged like we do, not wanting to speak, and the snave yes fetched a hat from the trunk. Not a surprise, it was orange and floppy. And not a surprise, the winding teeming mass of snaves commenced moving down the tiers of benches and taking the stage one snave at a time. But yes a surprise, the welcoming snave did not rush up the aisle at us and whisper nonsense explanations into our ears. We were left alone to observe. I glanced at Jo Bree. Still flush yellow pink. No more help there. I glanced at Kar. We did what we do. We shrugged. From the stage such and so nonsense floated up to us like as thus:

“When you break wheels into squares, don't forget the pepper.”

“Hang your coat in balmy breezes if you would have it ripen.”

“Three strands of leftover lake can be braided into the strongest of ropes.”

The droning and the rhythms and the hours piled on top of hours caused me to sway gently with a vacant smile pasted on my face. I know because Kar kept jabbing me in the ribs and telling me so such.

“Bek,” she hissed. “What are they talking about? What do we do next?”

“We … wait,” I shrugged.

Kar could barely contain herself. I sensed fair true she was about to shift and roar as a Dragon in frustration. I placed my hand on her arm and slowly shook my head no.

She trembled, but settled.

“In … time,” I soothed.

Truth, I lost track of the end of the line of snaves winding down the tiers of benches. Though among ‘emselves, they were probably quite distinct one from the other, to Kar and to me, one of ‘em might have been any of ‘em. But I paid close attention to what each snave shouted when wildly writhing or gracefully waving its tentacles. I felt certain I would understand the utterance of the final snave. I felt certain that the final snave would return the floppy hat to the trunk, turn and directly address Kar and me. So such it happened like as I expected.

With the floppy orange hat put safe away into the trunk, the final snave, which truth, was probably the first snave as well, gazed up at us and announced, “Step up to the clouds and build a boat of custard.”

I understood. Kar and I had been invited to perform.

Another Ride on the Funnel Slide

“Time for my Dragon act?” asked Kar with gleeful gleams in her eyes.

I gave her the nod she wanted, and while she shimmered to shape, I wondered if my stumbling witch speak would be understood by the snaves when I spilled to ‘em the story of our mission. Truth, I had decided to tell ‘em the self same story I'd told the snaves of Annek. So said, Kar dropped her snaky neck low and I easily seated myself on its glittering orange scales. Yes, she'd made herself magnificent orange, a well thought out compliment to the gathered and equally orange snaves of Ennek.

“Well ... bought, thought,” I praised her. I climbed aboard.

She gave me a wide Dragon smile and launched us to soar in circles, swerve and dip, above the admiring writhing snaves. I urged her to make a proper landing on the stage before I grew too dizzy. Truth, I said “lizzy”, but she understood. She dropped to the stage, held her wings wide, snorted a flash of green flames from her nostrils, and roared, “Bekka of Thorns!” She folded down her wings, and I stepped from her neck to the center of the stage. So such, truth, it would be hard to imagine a more magnificent introduction. It delivered to me the complete and undivided attention of the snaves. Tier on tier of ‘em, barely wriggling the tips of their tentacles, they stared at me with eyes wide unblinking. I allowed the silence to give weight to the moment. I cleared my throat, determined to let my voice bring forth what words it would, stumbling witchly or other.

“To carry a brick from floor to ceiling, first dip your head in tar,” I began, and a surge of relief flooded through me. Not witch speak. Nonsense, yes, but witch speak, no. And they understood. They cheered and applauded, tentacles slapping benches.

I spilled out the tale from start to finish like as I had done for the snaves of Annek. In nonsense speak, I went from awakening in stiff silence and discovering dead dry brown stick Jo Bree to frozen bendo dreen to beeketbird to Janellia Spurl to Kar to waterwizards and Falls of Horn grotto and on and on through everything, including Monuments, Labbimist, Charborr Forest and such until I added our visit to the snaves of Annek and brought my speech to a close with the self and same question I'd called out to the red snaves of Annek. That question, “Striped pantaloons?” which meant, “Can you guide us to the witch?”, I uttered this time not as “Striped pantaloons?”, but so such as “Where is the wig paint?” On hearing this so said, a hush fell over the orange snaves fair matching the hush of the red snaves when confronted by the same, but different, question.

“You asked the question, didn't you?” hissed Kar.

I nodded. The snaves began slithering, each tier of ‘em moving in opposition to the tiers above and below ‘em. Faster and faster. So such familiar.

“Ready to fall through the funnel?” asked Kar.

I had no time to tell her yes or no before the stage floor sagged and disappeared under us and we fell away from the roaring laughter of the snaves. In silver blue light down the slick slide we sped, laughing ourselves to helpless. The slope of the slide gentled, leveled, so such even rose. Our sliding slowed, which was a fortune. Why? The tunnel ended abruptly at a flat face of stone.

“How ...?” said Kar, who'd managed to shift to bendo dreen.

She didn't finish her thought. Why? We slid to a stop at a thin dribbling curtain of blue sand in front of a wall of stone.

“It's ...,” I began.

“Moving,” finished Kar.

So such we the both of us realized at the same moment we'd reached the boundary between the first two tiers of the Blue Hills. We saw the knowledge in each the other's eyes. No words were needed. We waited for the second tier tunnel to pass by that of the first. Such! It appeared. Kar put a hand on my arm to restrain me. I had tensed to leap.

“Wait, Bek. It'll slice us if we jump too late. Wait until it comes back. Then right away we'll jump through when first we see a sliver of its appearance. Is that ...?” suggested Kar.

“Good, Kar,” I agreed.

We crouched at the wall face. It moved left, grinding and groaning. Sand dribbled. The wall face paused and began to move right, grinding steadily once again. Poised ready, we waited. Sliver of tunnel widening. We threw ourselves forward through the thin curtain of blue sand.

To the Third Tier

Straight up into the sky I gazed at a small cloud. Sunk in grass, I stretched out flat on my back. Sopping wet chilled I felt, and yet, and yet, a warmth beamed down from the sun. Kar's grinning yellow green face of a sudden appeared huge close above me and so such blocked my view of the cloud.

“That was fun, Bek. Too bad you don't remember it, do you? Here,” she said, waving a moonplum next to her ear.

I took the ripe blue globe and sat up. Pale blue grass. Lake. And across the lake, the heights of the Charborr Forest. I nibbled at the moonplum, my mind all the while being snarled some such how with gathering cobwebs.

“Shall I tell you about this time down in the lake? I'll tell you,” continued Kar. “Well, so, we splashed there like as before, and you rolled your eyes back like as before. You floated, seemingly content. But I raced around. I webbed my fingers and made a whip tail. I swam so such fast that my nose was pushed flat. I made bubbles burble out of my mouth. I collected moonplums and fetched ‘em up here in this pile. Then I dove back to collect you. I wonder why you smile and roll your eyes back when you're under deep in the lake. Do you know?”

“Go ... row ... sew ... flow ...NO!” I answered.

“Witch speak again, Bek. There it is. Shall we march to the third tier of Blue Hills?” said the unconcerned Kar.

“Not until my nose ... my toes ... my clothes ... yoss, that's it ... are ... are ... pie ... dry!” I said, accepting for the first time without frustration the witch speak so such flowing from my lips. Truth, it seemed to me a triumph to search out and find the right word.

I stood up, spread my arms, and slowly turned, inviting the warmth of the sun to dry me. A few drops of water slithered like snaves down the back of my neck.

“Oh, let's flow. I feel like ... larching ... no ... marching! Yoss! That's it!” I sang, so such positively lively with joy for no known reason and changing my mind about waiting to dry.

I strutted highstep up the hill, and Kar hurried up beside me. We smiled at each the other like lackwits. We shrugged like we do. We sang out loud bendo dreen tunes and fell into fits of giggles whenever I blurted a wrong rhyming word, which of course was more than constantly. We giggled up and down the pale blue grass hill. We giggled leaping across the hedge boundary. We giggled up the smoky blue grass hill and down it. We drew near the boundary hedges between the second Blue Hill and the third, which bristled with dusky blue grass.

“Third beer ... tier,” I said, giggling.

“Right. Third beer,” laughed Kar.

I waved my jark dweg best friend forward. She likes to be first. She thought for a moment and shimmered to Rakara with dark green mantle, lavender skin, huge ears, sightless milky eyes, and tumbling mass of orange hair. She glided over the hedges and landed on the dusky blue grass of the third Blue Hill.

“I wanted to sense it sightless,” she called back to me. “That be why I shifted to Rakara. The blue sand be strange. It glowed in my mind.”

The blue sand. So. Such.
Is there blue sand running in all of the fractures between the tiers of Blue Hills?
I asked myself. There across from me was Kar as Rakara slowly drifting left with the hill. There she was at pause. There she was drifting right. I gathered myself for a run and a leap over the hedge boundary. My highboots pounded the ground. I grinned wide. I leapt, looked down, saw the running blue sand, cleared the fracture and the far hedge, landed rolling, and tumbled to my knees on the bristly stubble of dusky blue

grass. Rakara floated close, shimmered, shifted to Kar.

“Do we wait for night?” she asked.

I frowned. All the giggles were gone, high spirits evaporated. I tapped at the scratchy bristle tufts of dusky blue grass with the tips of my fingers.
Blue sand,
I thought.
Blue sand.

“The ... new ... blue ... the blue ... hand ... sand ... means ... means ... something,” I said.

Waiting on the Dusky Blue Hill

“What does it mean?”

“It ... I ... can almost ... almost remember.”

“So such, whatever it means, we've made it here to the third tier of Blue Hills. We've seen snaves of Annek and snaves of Ennek. Which snaves will these be, Bek, and what color?”

“A ... then E ... now ... I ... They will be raves ... snaves of ... of ... Innek. The Annek were ... fed ... no ... red ... yoss. And the ... the Ennek ... were orange. The ... Innek ... may ... see ... be ... yellow. Yoss.”

“How many times do I have to sit through the boring nonsense until we find the witch? The funnel slides are good, though.”

“After the I of Innek, pear ... stare ... THERE ... is O ... Onnek. After bat ... that ... there is U ... Unnek. Then ... the witch?”

“Innek, Onnek, Unnek. Hmmmm, well, so, the nonsense may be boring, but I do love the shifting to Dragon and watching ‘em gasp and murmur.”

“The blue ... band ... sand. I remember. Yoss! That's it!”

“What? What's it?”

“Kar, remember ... remember the Carven Flute adventure back ago when we ... we went through the Barrier Dome covering the Danken ... Wood ... and ... and ... the stitch ... witch ... the Babba Ja ... the ...”

“Settle, Bek, settle. Yes, I remember. We broke the Barrier. So such enlivened our fame. We went to the witch in her cottage. She told us her terrible story of going down the Well to find her sister. Such. So. What of it?”

“She ... she froze.”

“Yes. She froze. More than once. I had to fly and get fuzzletong berries. I ...”

“Kar! First ... we lurched ... searched the ... the cottage.”

“We didn't find any, so I had to go get ‘em.”

“No, we didn't ... bind ... find any, but there was ... there was a little wooden ... fox ... box! ... filled with ... glue ... blue ... blue ...”

“Sand? I don't remember that.”

“I do!”

“Box of blue sand. So. Such. What does it mean?”

“I ... I ... I ... don't know.”

“Don't frown, Bek. At least you remembered. Here. Have another moonplum. Well, so, the sun sinks. I like when the clouds go gold and purple. Don't you? How long do we have to wait, do you think, until the shaft of silver blue light appears? Not as long as the last time, I hope. This dusky grass is not so such comfortable. I wonder why you talk like the witch. Can't we do something while we're waiting? Why don't you take up Jo Bree and play some tunes? While you do that, I'll shift to winged cloud and float around you. All right? Play, Bek, play.”

“Such ... flush yellow sink ... pink ... Jo Bree, Carven ... boot? ... no ... Flute ... yoss ... You gave to us the rainbow ... stew ... clue ... but now you ... you are silent. Such. So. Kar ... I will play a ... a sad ... song of ... light ... no ... night memories ... specially for ... you ......”

“Ahh, Nursery Bower. Bek, I remember. Zinna sang it whenever she took her turn watching over the younglings. Oh, so such long before we discovered that she was my mother! Oh, such, a jrabe lullaby hidden behind bendo dreen words. Play, Bek, play, sweet and sad on the Carven Flute ... Bek ... Bek, we must bring magic home.”