Greyfax Grimwald (13 page)

On silent feet the two beasts slipped away, leaving only the foul odor of their filth to stain the earth where they had hidden, and the birds hung to their branches high above, terrified and silent. Soon afterward, a silence fell in the green woods that guarded the valley, for a dark presence was felt to descend into its undisturbed tranquillity, but nothing of what it might be or what end it sought was learned, for it, too, passed away silently, letting the golden shafts of sunlight whirl and dazzle the stream, and the wind crept forth from its hiding and brought back the old, untroubled music and songs of the birds. Peace descended once more, and the three friends found new joy in their companionship, and held a great feast on Midsummer Eve.

Otter danced, and Bear paraded about with a tablecloth over his great head, reciting the tale of a fisherwife, and Froghorn amused them all with a dazzling light display, and at long last, as the night grew old, and all the friends began to turn to thoughts of deep, the slightest change came riding down the wings of darkness, turning the warm night suddenly coif It lasted but a few moments, but the friends quickly cleared the table and hurriedly went indoors.

“I don’t remember sensing a change of weather,” worried Bear. “I’ve never known it to grow so chilly this time of year.”

“Must be the passing of the Old Sow,” offered Froghorn, outwardly calm, but secretly alarmed. There was nothing definite, but something stirred deep within him, and his sharp green eyes watched the darkness as it turned and rolled, trying to detect anything amiss. Whatever it was was gone, he decided, having seen and heard nothing as he watched intently and listened. It was growing close to moon-set, and he suggested they all find their hammocks.

“Tomorrow is Otter’s birthday,” protested Dwarf, “and we really should drink him a toast before we retire. So, Otter, dear old companion, I give you a hundred more whiskers to gray your muzzle, and as many more returns.”

“Hear, hear,” joined in Bear and Froghorn, and they all emptied their cups, and after much paw shaking and well-wishes, Broco and Froghorn stood at the door until Bear and Otter were out of sight, on their way home to their own bed or hammock.

Otter left Bear where the path divided, and gave the big fellow a hardy paw grasp as they parted.

At the edge of the reed bed, a great trampling of shore and stir of water alerted the unwary animal He quickly slipped into the pool, and glided silently underwater until he saw the flowing wands of reed above him, then rose cautiously to sniff and search. There was nothing, but one large section of his slide had been damaged by hoof or paw or foot, and after carefully assuring himself that whatever or whoever was gone, he hastily repaired it and trotted straight through the long path that led through the stream marsh, testing the wind every few step as he went. The fragrant perfume of the lilies and a fresh swell of summer from all about him convinced him it must only have been some other large animal traveling through, and nothing more, and his step lightened, and by the time he was tucked into his small rush hammock, only the thought of the morrow filled his head.

He fell into gentle sleep, thinking how honored he was to have two such friends, honored indeed, and he wondered if ever the great King Othlinden had had such companions. The thought of the great king disturbed him for a moment, for a reason he could not sleepily remember, then he was safely slipping away down a slide that ran from a high blue cloud into a silver pond filled with bark eels, and he slid and swam away the remainder of Midsummer Eve happily

Froghorn stayed awake until the sun began to creep over the edge of the window, its glowing golden finger filling the room. He had followed the rafters of the stars, and glided along the roots of mountain and valley, searching but nothing at all was to be seen or heard that had disturbed him. After a time, there came back to him the familiar sounds of bird and tree and rock, and he decided perhaps, after all, it had been some change of weather to come, an early winter perhaps, no more. He curled comfortably up upon Dwarf’s chest, and delighted by Broco’s squirm and mutter, fell to musing upon astronomy.

Next morning, a great shout and rapping upon Otter’s door knocker aroused him, drowsing along into the fresh-smelling sunlight, and there stood Bear, Dwarf, and Froghorn, all gaily adorned in garlands of mayberry and dew lilies. They placed one upon Otter, and taking him by his paws, they led him down to the reed lawn where the water shone and glistened. Bear and Dwarf were beside themselves with loud congratulations, dancing and giving each other loud thwacks upon back and shoulder, and Otter, caught up in the festivities, spun and whirled with a great sploowhoosh into the stream at a great rate of speed, showering all on shore with a fine mist of cold, clear water. Even this startling setback couldn’t dismay the friends, and Bear had soon caught up Dwarf in his great bouncing grasp, and completely out of control of himself, flung Broco into the stream, then followed behind, sitting down with a great geyser of water billowing high over their heads, and even Froghorn, who had retreated to a drier spot farther up the bank, was drenched to his muzzle whiskers, but his heart was light, and he kindly refrained from turning them all into chimney whippets, and good-natured and laughing, raised up instead of whirling, tall waterspout that engulfed Bear, Otter, and Dwarf in a torrent that went on until all three friends scurried spewing and laughing at once to shore. Bear gave Broco a hearty salute for his fine magical rebuke for being dunked, and Dwarf, casting a suspicious glance over his shoulder at Otter, accepted, and all four went to the table Dwarf had laid for the feast and fell upon the delicacies Froghorn had produced from some unnamed source, although all secretly suspected he had found them somewhere in the ruins of Tubal Hall, and far into the night the friends’ laughter and songs filled the air with joy and gladness, and they drank many toasts to Otter, and the Midsummer Maiden, and to each other, and the next dawn found the four going still, mellow and full. At last Dwarf rose unsteadily up

“My good, dear friends, we’ve been most fortunate and lucky in our lives and fates. I think we should drink a cup to this beautiful valley, our home all these last years.”

In the growing red gold mantle of sunrise, the four comrades stood against the light, four tired, sad, happy friends, and they lifted their cups and drained them to the surrounding woods and stream.

“The best water I’ve swum in or under, in my reckoning,” said Otter, bowing low.

“I’ve certainly had my luck with my cave,” answered Bear, raising a great paw in tribute.

“And I,” said Dwarf, “have fared far better than most I’ve ever heard tell of.”

Froghorn, green eyes taking in each face, each form, raised his cup and added, “I can’t say I’ve gone so badly myself.”

He longed for news of Greyfax, and chafed in impatience every time he thought of being left to dwarf-sit, or watch after a bear and an otter, but now, at this moment, his mind filled with kindness and for the first time since he had come, he felt how deep his affection was for his three charges.

Another Midsummer Eve passed into light and memory.

O
nce, the book had been secret-fed and held all the things no one ever thinks about, except at night, when the sun is tired and rests behind the shoulders of a big mountain down in the regions covered over with the mist tears make when they die on a face. Some tales were about the sun, and all the places Otter had been, in and out of clouds that made maps out of patterns, and dry land out of reflections off the sea. It was this book, much soiled and dusty, and a little sad by long unuse, that Otter now took out of his old knapsack and inspected. He had carried it for years and years. Even before there were bywaters and weirs to mudslide into on frolic-coated mornings when the rain had come and swept everything down, being very careful not to muss the flowers or trees too much, and left a small, faint radiance glowing off the earth’s new clothes. Turning through the first few pages, he remembered writing there about the great fun days when he and all his friends scampered about playing wiggles, or the nice feeling of warmth at a kind friend’s hearth after a long day sledding on his nose down fresh, soft packed snow.

His father and fathers before him had written in the secret book on back to the king of all otters who now dwelled somewhere in the light regions as a mighty wizard, among the wisest of all the other animal longs. They went about in the world at times, disguised as men, and tried to tidy things up a bit, but that wasn’t half as pleasant as rocketing down a new mudslide into your very own pool, or discovering a new spot where you might find a nice bite for a late summer’s supper. He returned to his book slowly, feeling the great pull of the sun distracting him, and the slow, warm feeling spreading over him as he thought of sliding noiselessly into the cool green water. But here was the book to be read, and nothing for it but to do it. The quick smile faded with his low laughter, and he rearranged his whiskers into a small, serious otter frown, such as he imagined the king otter might affect when dealing with such arduous matters, and opened the book to the next page, which spelled the ancient words of sadness and death in such a way as not to be really upsetting, but only as they were, simply a page of lessons and stories to be lived and told over again. Settling back with his head resting comfortably on a flat gray stone, he twitched his nose twice as ancient custom demanded, and fell gently into the rising golden words as they came softly up to his eyes, and the gentle pipe music began as it always did when he read from this book. He remembered his youth, and the lives before, and saw a little something of the ones to come. Much of it made his dark brown eyes turn sky gray and his mind move toward the ending of time when all would take their place once more in the shadow of their former lives. Shades of black appeared across the pages in terrifying hours of doom, then dispelled themselves into the bright arms of the sun, turned over, and were gone as easily as they had come. It had been so long since he had read from the book he had almost forgotten, and when he woke from the deep sleep he had fallen into, it was long past dark, and he was much too tired even to think of his dinner or move from the spot.

A sudden footstep nearby startled him into a tiny whistle, but the voice from the darkness was only that of Dwarf, who was out for his evening walk along the river.

“Otter?”

“Dwarf?”

“It’s very lovely out tonight. I’ve just spoken with Froghorn and Bear, and they were wondering where you were for supper.”

“Oh, I’ve just been reading a story and fell asleep. Such a nice evening to spend here by the river.”

“Will you come along for some hot soup?” Then thinking better of it, “Or I’ve got some fresh raspberry dwarf cake, if you’re more of a mind.”

Otter’s small, pointed ears picked up at the mention of raspberry dwarf cake, for it was among his favorite dishes.

“I’d love to, Dwarf. That’s very kind.”

“Besides, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some matters of grave importance, and I’d like to have your ideas on them.”

Otter’s head cleared, and he remembered their talk on the art of seriousness. Trying to oblige the usually kind dwarf, who only occasionally became irritable and grumpy, Otter pursed his whiskers into a suitable pose of gravity, souring his smile and screwing his eyes up into a most hideous squint. His ears began to burn with the thought of what he must look like, but he mustn’t offend the dwarf, or make fun, even when his face began trying to squeeze out a long, tingling laugh that was welling up inside him.

What was that, dear friend?” asked Dwarf, puzzled and worried at the grave face, its gray and silver edges turned down at the mouth, and only two sloping slits where the usually merry brown eyes should have been.

“Are you feeling up, old fellow? You look a sight.”

“Only thinking, Dwarf,” hissed Otter, trying to choke back his laughter.

And on their walk, Otter leapt many times to the side of the trail to recompose his face and laugh quietly into his paws so that Dwarf would not hear and become hurt. He really loved Dwarf, and would do anything otterly possible for him, but sometimes he worried about the dwarf’s eternal seriousness. Only once in a great while could he get him really to laugh and play on long winter nights such as this. But Dwarf was really upset this night, so he must try his best to be civil and courteous, and to do exactly as Dwarf asked, and to try to help his friend if he could.

When they had reached Dwarf’s house, a small but cheery wood fire was started over the old ash for luck, and soon a table set with dwarf tea and cakes was placed before him, and the two sat down for a late snack. The little green clock struck one o’clock, and Otter wondered at how long he had slept and dreamed of that still, clear river that separated all time from pasts and passings. And Dwarf, full and drowsy by the fire, raised a knobby little hand in mock protest when Otter refilled his cup.

“Stay, I’ve had more than enough, friend. My heart is full of confusion, and I’d want no more spirits to haunt me.”