Kneeknock Rise (6 page)

“It’s not going to rain for hours yet,” cried Ada, angry that the day was ending. “What’s the matter with
you
? I’ll bet you’re afraid, too. Sissy! Sissy! Here’s your stupid wishbone.” She dropped it into his lap, sprang up, and began to dance around him. The wind tossed her skirt about her knees and her pigtail bounced. “Sissy sissy sissy!” she sang.

Egan’s face grew hot. “I am not a sissy!” he shouted. Thunder rolled a little nearer and Annabelle pressed against his legs, panting.

Ada stopped dancing suddenly and bent over him. “If you’re not a sissy, prove it,” she said, her nose close to his.

“What do you mean?” asked Egan.

“You know,” whispered Ada. “You know. Climb it, Egan. Climb up Kneeknock Rise!”

Egan stared at her.

“There! You see?” she cried. “You’re afraid. Egan’s afraid! Egan’s afraid!” And she began to dance around him again.

Egan got slowly to his feet. Why not go? He wanted to. He had wanted to all along. He thought again of what it would mean to slay the Megrimum. To bring its head down on a stick! Excitement washed over him and he trembled.

“I’ll show you!” he shouted. “I’ll show you I’m not afraid, or Annabelle, either. We’ll climb it together, both of us. You’ll see!” And he turned toward the cliff.

Ada stopped her dance abruptly. Her face as she peered at him in the dim light was suddenly very pale. “No, Egan! I didn’t mean it!” She tugged at his jacket. “Don’t go! Don’t go!”

But Egan pulled away, suddenly possessed by the dream he had had, lost in it, part of it. He was running away toward the cliff, fearless and wild, and the old dog ran after him.

“You’re a big dumb fool!” screamed Ada into the wind. “The Megrimum will eat you just like it ate Uncle Ott!” She began to cry and then she was running, too, running away toward home just as the rain began.

In the fields at the edge of the village, the visitors to the Instep Fair sat eating their suppers in a state of high excitement and anticipation. The rain fell softly at first, hissing into campfires and pattering gently on the sloping canvas of tents and the thin board roofs of caravans. Eager voices babbled, called, whispered.

“Ooh, I’m scared to death! When will it begin?” This happily.

“There’s a lot more to the world than meets the eye. There’s hidden things, strange things. That old fellow up there in the mist—it makes you stop and wonder. He can do terrible things. Great things, maybe. Who knows?” This soberly.

“I tell you there’s nothing like it anywhere else in the world. I’ve traveled and I know.” This proudly.

“Sheep and bread and the flat fields, that’s what the days are. Except for this day. But it’s enough, just having this day. It’s the knowing there’s something different, something special up there waiting. It’s the knowing you could choose to change your days—climb up there and throw yourself right down the throat of the only and last and greatest terrible secret in the world. Except you don’t climb up. A secret like that—well, it’s worth the keeping. And anyway, you’d never come down again, ever.” This with intense satisfaction.

The rain began to fall a little harder now. And all the while Egan was climbing up Kneeknock Rise, and Annabelle climbed after him.

“Stop crying, Ada! Calm yourself!” said Uncle Anson harshly. “I can’t understand a thing you’re saying!”

Aunt Gertrude stood rigid as a post, her hand on her heart, staring at her daughter.

“It’s Egan, Papa! Egan,” sobbed Ada. “He did it! I teased him, Papa, and he did it. He wouldn’t stop.”

“
What
did he do, Ada? What did Egan
do
?” cried Uncle Anson, gripping her shoulders firmly.

“Oh, Papa,” she gulped, turning her face away from the alarm in her father’s eyes. “It’s all my fault. I dared him and he’s doing it now. He’s climbing, Papa. Climbing Kneeknock Rise.”

“Merciful heavens!” gasped Uncle Anson, and behind him Aunt Gertrude sagged and dropped in a faint to the floor.

And all the while Egan was climbing. Up and up over rocks and weeds, up between the twisted trees, panting with excitement. From time to time he paused, waiting for Annabelle to catch up with him. The dog’s sides were heaving and her tongue dangled sidewise from her jaws, but her stiff old legs churned steadily along and her eyes were bright. Then all at once it began to rain in earnest, blurring the dim light and shellacking the rocks into slippery, treacherous jewels. Egan leaned against a tree trunk to catch his breath and Annabelle dropped down at his feet. He bent over to scratch her ears and then, suddenly, the moaning began.

It was loud here, halfway up the Rise, loud and horrifying and desperate. Down through the trees it twisted with the wind, a long, unearthly moaning that rose gradually till it wound into a high and hollow wail. Egan stood transfixed with his hand on Annabelle’s head and for the first time he was afraid.

The Megrimum was awake at last. In the fields below, the chattering ceased. Faces peered out of tent flaps and windows, serious, frightened, eager. Here and there a man or a child came out into the rain and stood quietly, listening. An old woman dragged a stool from under a little cart and sat clutching an onion, nodding with her eyes tight shut, while the rain wilted her bonnet down around her ears.

But in the village there was frantic activity. Uncle Anson, a lantern bobbing from his hand, was rushing from neighbor to neighbor. “Quick! Quick! To my house at once! Yes, it’s my nephew, my wife’s sister’s child. He’s trying to climb the Rise. We’ve got to stop him. What do you mean, I’m crazy? We can’t just let him go!”

Soon a wet and anxious group of men were arguing and shouting before the fire in the little house, while Ada snuffled miserably in a corner and Aunt Gertrude rushed back and forth, making coffee and spilling more than she served.

“But see here, Anson, that boy won’t climb all the way up!” said one of the men.

“How do you know he won’t?” answered Uncle Anson grimly. “He doesn’t live in Instep. He doesn’t understand.”

“But good lord, man,” cried another, “do you realize what you’re saying? You’re asking us to climb the Rise!”

“I know what I’m asking!” shouted Uncle Anson. “How can you think I don’t? But can I let that boy stay out there now? The Megrimum is wide awake. I’ve never heard it moan so loud.”

“Nobody would be fool enough to climb up there,” growled another man.

“That boy is fool enough, bless him,” said Uncle Anson. “And I know my brother Ott would have climbed in an instant to save him. There’s fools and fools, my friend. I’m going. Gertrude, where’s my cap? I’m going and I’ll go alone if I have to.”

“I’ll go, then,” said one man.

“I, too,” said another. “And I’ll bring along my bell,” And then they were all going, hurrying out into the drenching rain while high above the moaning rose and fell, winding and rippling like ribbon down the night.