Swords of the Six (12 page)

A remarkable, wide variety of trees comprised the forests. Oaks and willow trees, ash and hickory, walnut and some elegant but unknown varieties of bright colorations stood away from the river's bank. Pine trees with their needle-laden branches, stood together in small clusters. At one point, a line of tall white birches, their bark smooth, flawless, bent over the river's edge. Their reflections mirrored in the river.

Birds flocked to the trees' branches, twittering to one another and fluffing their feathers. Ruby red cardinals, vibrant blue jays and many, many others flitted through the branches, their songs filling the air.

Around a bend in the river, while Caritha walked a short distance ahead of her, Dantress spotted a larger bird, an eagle, turn its white plumed head. Its yellow eye followed their progress as it preened its brown body feathers and spread its wings to a full span of at least seven feet.

The eagle remained silent, testing the air several times before taking flight from its perch on an oak branch. Swooping straight toward her, it glided overhead and out of sight upriver.

The sun rose higher in the sky, until it was at the zenith. At Caritha’s suggestion the sisters rested, sitting on a fallen moss-covered log. They had brought wafer cakes with them, prepared specially by Elsie, Helen and Gwen. These they retrieved from the small white-cloth pouches attached at their waists and ate slowly. Dantress allowed the creamy center to linger in her mouth while she chewed the rice and grain-encrusted outer portions.

From where she sat, she viewed the river and the surrounding landscape that was foreign to her. She chewed on the wafer cake, and watched the river flow. Its surface was unbroken, except for the occasional stone. But then she thought she spotted a gray-green dorsal fin pierce the river’s current. It remained in view for only a moment, but she saw enough to know it was too large to be a fish.

Not knowing how to react, she turned back to her food. Just then another dorsal fin cut the water’s surface. This time she felt certain of what she'd seen, yet it had disappeared and so she hesitated to say anything to her sisters. The water's gentle current rushed toward the sea, and its surface remained smooth.

“Come on,” Caritha said, rising and beating some sand off her purple skirt. “I wouldn’t want to be caught out here after dark.” She started off, again heading south along the river’s bank. The others followed, Dantress taking the rear. She kept one eye on the river.

The farther they progressed into the forested land, the more often she spotted the gray-green dorsal fins. "Evela," she said at last, pointing at a dorsal fin weaving through the water. "Look!"

Evela called for the other sisters to halt, pointing and shouting for them to take notice.

“What is it?”

They all stood still, trying to see what kind of creatures were out there. But the light reflecting off the water’s surface hid the aquatic world from their eyes.

Evela giggled girlishly and prodded her in the side. “If they were a lot bigger I would say they are
mermaids!
”

“Mermaids? Don’t be silly, Evela. Mermaids are a myth!” She gestured for Evela to follow her as she set off after her other sisters.

“You don’t think they exist? Hmm . . .?” Evela wrung her hands. "There's a book about them in Father's library.
A History of Mermaidian Encounters
I believe it was called. With all the time you spent reading I'm surprised you didn't notice it."

Dantress laughed, putting her arm around her shorter sister’s shoulders. “It is a rather large library. I doubt I'll ever read through every volume.” She glanced at the river. "Anyway, mermaids would be larger and, I think, they'd live in salt water."

"Then you don't think it's possible?" Evela probed.

"No."

“Well, Dantress, you’re entitled to your opinion. And
I
'm
entitled to mine.”

* * *

Twice more on the journey down river Dantress spotted the eagle, or what looked like the same one. Each time it perched on a branch and stared hard at the procession of young women before taking flight.

It wasn’t until evening that they spotted a break in the line of trees on their side of the river. There, nestled between two enormous oak trees, stood the cottage they sought.

Fragrant rosebushes and white lilies lined a stone path leading from the river’s golden sand to the white front door of the structure, set not in the center of the wall but to the side. A lone, four-paneled glass window was centered between the door and the opposite corner of the cottage, its bulky flowerbox overflowing with blue poppies and phlox. A chimney rose from one end of the house.

Flowers of wide varieties and colors also carpeted the ground in the area around the cottage. Butterflies flew from flower to flower. Bees buzzed merrily as they collected the pollen and swarmed back to hollows in the two trees. A faint odor of honey, pleasantly sweet, drifted from the hives.

“What do you think?” Caritha asked no one in particular. “Should we wait for someone to notice us or shall we knock?”

Rose’el walked briskly past her up the path to the door. She drew her sword and gave the wood four solid raps with its pommel.

“Rose’el, what do you think you're doing?” Dantress shoved past Caritha and Laura as they also, with eyes wide, followed their bold sister to the door. “Rose’el, put that down!” She tried to keep her voice low but her tone firm. “What are you doing with that?”

“Relax.” Rose’el sheathed her rusted blade and folded her outer skirt back over it.

It was none too soon, for the door opened a crack, and a wrinkled, friendly face peered out at them. “Eh?” the woman said in a cracking voice.

Dantress remembered her manners and curtsied. Her sisters did likewise. “Please Ma’am," she said "we are here on an errand from the great white dragon. He told us that you would shelter us.”

A grin wrinkled the woman’s face even more, and she opened the door wide. “Good! I never could see the sense in using one of ‘em passwords. Wouldn’t make sense. Could be stolen and used against us. Eh?”

“I-I yes, I suppose you are right,” Laura agreed.

Caritha smiled at the woman. “Then it was a trick, wasn’t it? You don't have a password.”

“Eh, I can see you are a smart one!” She pulled them inside. “Come, you look haggard! I already made your beds and your places at my table are set. Do you like goat’s milk?”

Dressed in a dirt-encrusted skirt of an indistinguishable color and a pale green blouse, the old woman stood hunched, no more than five feet tall and maybe less. Dimming gray eyes peered at the sisters from beneath stray strands of long, thick silvery hair that she brushed behind one of her small ears. What appeared to be a fresh-cut flower stem had been stuck through her hair. Her feet, bare and browned, displayed nearly as many wrinkles as her face.

When she opened the door for them, they entered a cozily furnished sitting room. But she took Dantress by the hand, without introducing herself, and led her into the adjacent room which proved to be the dining room.

She beckoned to a wash basin set against the wall. An arched entry to a long, narrow hallway opened beside it. "There're towels 'round the corner, in the hallway," she said. "Wash your faces; freshen up."

Dantress found the towels and handed them to her sisters. They all peered down the hallway and whispered among themselves, surprised at how large the house seemed on the inside.

The old woman sat them at her table.

Rose'el elbowed Dantress and said under her breath, “There were only six towels and now there are six place settings. Do you think she knew we were coming?”

Dantress gave a slight shrug of the shoulders.

Their hostess hobbled into the room and pointed at a roost in the corner. The eagle Dantress had spotted on three occasions that day perched thereon, its eyes closed. She was surprised she hadn't noticed it before.

“Herbert informed me I’d be havin’ company,” the old woman sang out. “Liked you from the moment he saw you, or so he said. He's been a faithful companion to me. He's been with me for a long time, too.

“What would you like, Dearies? I've got goat’s milk and cheese . . . and fish in the oven.” She waddled over to open the ancient-looking grating over her fireplace oven. The sisters offered to help, but she insisted on serving them, pulling a pan of fish from the oven and setting it before them. “Help yourselves,” she said. “There’s enough for all of you, eh?”

Indeed, the portions proved more than adequate. The tantalizing smell of lemon and breadcrumbs almost made them forget their manners as they divided the fish into portions and set them on the seven plates arranged on the mahogany table. Dantress ran her fingers over the wood, admiring its rich color, and drew back her hand as a few splinters caught in her skin.

Pulling them out, she stuck her fork into the fish meat and tasted it. The flavor was even better than it looked. The old woman must have smothered it in butter.

The woman returned from her cupboard with a great big slab of cheese. Then she knelt, with difficulty, and opened a trap door. She reached into the opening and pulled out a frost-covered glass jug filled with milk.

“Ye ladies want some milk?”

They all nodded enthusiastically and took it from her to fill their wooden mugs.

Their hostess plopped into her wooden chair and ate as heartily as any of them. She spoke little, saying nothing except to respond to the sisters’ praise of her meal and flowers. The sisters offered their assistance and cleared the table and washed the dishes in no time, after which she directed them down the hallway to their sleeping quarters. “The bedrooms are small, eh? But you will, each of you, have your privacy.”

“Thank you for everything,” Caritha said, bowing. “We really do appreciate all you have done for us, but—"

The old woman chuckled, "I could see the 'but' coming a mile away." She smiled and patted Caritha's cheek. "What do you want?"

"Well," Caritha said, "we came here because the dragon sent us and he told us that you would tell us what we are going to do.”

“Patience, child! It never harmed anyone to sleep on curiosity, eh? Sleep tonight. Tell you I will, soon enough.”

At first Caritha looked ready to press the issue. However, she must have decided against it. She bowed again, said goodnight and slipped into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind her.

The others said goodnight, too, closing their doors behind them without a word. Dantress lingered in the hallway for a moment, for she heard the old woman sigh and felt a wave of disappointment emanate from her as she shuffled back down the hall.

"Wait!" Dantress ran after her, the old woman turned, and Dantress pecked her on the cheek and gave her a gentle hug. "I thought you'd like a goodnight kiss."

Tears welled up in the woman's eyes. "Bless you, dragon child. Bless you." She kissed Dantress on the cheek, then walked away with a new spring in her step.

Walking back down the hallway, Dantress found her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

An oil lamp flickered on the elegant dresser standing against one wall. Paintings of flowers hung on all four dark green walls. Hand-carved molding covered the lower half on all sides. A small bed rested to her left against the corner, covered with a hand-sewn quilt patterned in pink and blue. A white nightgown draped one of the bed posts.

She undressed, removed her sword with its sheath, leaned it against the end of the bed, and put on the gown. It felt as soft as down and as heavy as wool, warm and cozy. The lamp flickered again and she blew into its chimney, extinguishing the flame before curling up in the soft bed.

* * *

The next morning, Dantress sat on the edge of the narrow bed, Xavion’s sword in her hand and the point of its blade resting on the floorboards. Stained and rusted by the blood of the innocent. Ever since she had acquired it, the sword had ceased to bleed on a regular basis, as had the swords her sisters received. Though she’d scrubbed the blade the rust had refused to be permanently removed.

What had the sword looked like before it had spilled—
wait!
The dragon had never told whose blood stained the sword of Xavion. Was there a part of the puzzle that he had withheld from her? But why would he do that?

A fly buzzed somewhere in the dim, windowless bedroom as Dantress closed the door and undid her nightgown. Her purple dress lay neatly folded on the dresser. Apparently the old woman had cleaned the garments while Dantress slept. She shook her head, at a loss to know how the woman had managed it.

After pulling the dress over her head, she noticed a mirror in one corner of the room. She moved in front of it to study her reflection. The extenuated dress sleeves draped over her wrists, extra fabric hung out beneath.

She pulled aside the outer skirt and reached over to the bed, taking the rusted sword and sliding it into the sheath. Doing that was not easy. The blade seemed to grow in size every passing year and it fit into the sheath with difficulty. But she at last succeeded and headed for the door. Time for breakfast.