Swan Knight's Son Page 3
“Why do we keep moving all the time?”
She said, “We may not be moving again, not now. When I was young, hitchhiking was safe, and many a car would stop to pick up a penniless traveler. In those days, no one locked his door or failed to open his hand to the poor. These days it is far different. Each time we move, I find a place where the old ways linger. Even as late as fifteen years ago, there were still places where a young mother with a babe in her arms could find sanctuary. But the pools of light are drying up and dying, and the places are fewer and farther between. And a youth of your size should not take the bread away from whatever babe’s mothers younger than I now beg for.”
“You did not answer me.”
“No, that is true; I did not. The answer would crush your bones beneath its weight. Leave the matter alone.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “Last night I was locked in a church. I think a ghost locked me in there.”
S“That’s unusual. Ghosts tend to avoid hallowed ground.”
“Everyone in town was out last night, walking in the dark, carrying stuff. What was that?”
She didn’t look surprised. “The black spell.”
“What? What is that?”
“It is the source of all the woes man does not bring upon himself by his own devising. This is the first year you have ever remained awake when it fell. It is sad, but not unexpected.”
“Sad? Why?”
“Sad because it means you cannot blend in easily with ordinary people, not if you are seen awake among the hosts of sleepwalkers. The next time it happens, you must remain out of sight, and tell no one what you saw.”
He said, “Mother, tell me what is going on! What is the black spell? Who casts it?”
She shook her head and would not reply.
He tramped down the road, frowning. A short while later, he spoke again.
“Can I sleep in the extra room? The attic?”
“There is no attic in which to sleep, my son.”
“There is an attic! There is a door that appears and disappears. Sometimes it is there; sometimes it is not. It is always when the moon is full, but some months it does not come at all. It has a glass doorknob and a big old-fashioned lock you can see through. The top of the door is curved, not straight. When the moon is bright, through the keyhole, you can see the stairs leading up to an attic. In this place, it shows up between your door and the bathroom door. But in that place we lived in Utah, it showed up at the end of the hall next to the broken window. Before that, in California, it appeared in the back of the closet door in my room, but only when I was alone. I have asked you about this before. You never answered. Well? If I am old enough to work, I am old enough to know. Don’t I get a birthday present?”
She smiled sweetly. “It is a poor gift, for I know nothing of the glass-knobbed door and can guess only a trifle. But I grant it.”
He said, “Sometimes I put my ear to the keyhole and listen. Once or twice, I have heard the dim noise of trumpets blowing in the distance. Whose trumpets are those?”
“It is an echo from another world.”
“What is that door? Who made it?”
“I know not.”
“Why did you never talk about it or answer me?”
She said, “I would hide the door if I could, but I have not the art, nor can I open it. To speak of such doors is unwise. Sometimes they hear, and they come.” She shivered. “I thought we had left it behind in Ophir.”
“The door is following us, isn’t it?”
Ygraine pursed her lips, “Not quite. We bring it with us, unknowing.”
“Is it magic?”
“An odd question! The art of weaving the unseen is not of man’s world, but it has it own rules to keep. This glass-knobbed door is not diabolical if that is what you mean. Nor is it of Heaven. The door-maker did not mean for his door to do the harm it one day must.”
“What harm?”
She merely shook her head. “Think on today’s evils and leave the morrows’ be. The closed door is like a buried memory; it is kept from us. No need to unearth what is best forgotten.”
“Why does it appear and disappear?”
“There are days of the year when the mists are thin, and such hidden doors open. But even then, the door is unseen and unopened if the full moon shines not.”
“What days?”
“Ember days, quarter days, and cross-quarter days.”
“When is that?”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Your schoolmasters never taught you the calendar?” Then she chanted:
Fasting days and Emberings be
Lent, Whitsun, Holyrood, and Lucie
He said, “What calendar is that?”
She seemed bewildered. “Our calendar. Everyone’s calendar.”
“The Gregorian calendar?”
“The Men of the East spell time differently, by the moon, but the Sons of Europa count by the sun. The Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday after the Feast of Saint Lucy are the Embertide; and again, after Whitsunday; after the Exultation of the Cross; and again in Lent. The cross quarter days are Candlemas, May Day, Lammas, and All Hallows. The quarter days are Lady Day, Midsummer Day, Michaelmas, Christmas.”
“The school does not mention any of these.”
She suddenly looked frightened. “Have men truly forgotten how to keep time?”
“Except Christmas. But they call it Winter Holiday now. And you have to mention Chanukah and Kwanzaa whenever you talk about it.”
She said, “This is an ill omen. Some great lord or lady has been tithed or a fair king slain, and the days and seasons have lost their true names.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the darkness gathers.” She swallowed, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “It means I cannot protect my son.”
He put his arms around her. “Mom! It is time for me to protect you.”
She put her face in the hollow of his shoulder, for he overtopped her now.
Gingerly, he patted her on the shoulder. He said, “Don’t be sad! It is just the school calendar! It does not mean anything. And there are plenty of other holidays, like Earth Day, and, uh, Recycling Day.”
She murmured something softly, but he could not hear her words.
“What are you afraid of? What is following us?”
She did not reply, but instead broke down and wept, trembling in his arms, and his heart was filled with pain. He whispered, “I will protect you, Mother! I will!”
She wiped her eyes and drew back. “You are too tender yet.”
“I promise!”
She shook her head. “You know not what you vow.”
He said, “I have vowed it all the same, and I cannot take back my word!”
She shook her head again, grieving, saying nothing.
“Mom. I know we are hiding from someone. Who is it? Why can’t we face them instead?”
“The sea rises high and higher. What sword can frighten back the tide? The storm is come. Who can outrun it? The Old Night rises. Darkness gathers.”
“What does that mean?”
“Who can escape a darkness without end? What cup can bring a light long-dead to life again?”
“Not your riddles, Mom!” Gil groaned in exasperation. “Not riddles again! I never know the answers.”
“We cannot face the sea, the storm, the night, the dark, for these have no faces.”
He said, “Who are you hiding from?”
She answered softly, “It is not myself I hide.” And she said no more, but turned from him and trudged down the road in the bitter, merciless heat.
Chapter Three: Town and Wood
1. Job Hunting
As it turned out, even after Gil apologized, Jeery was afraid to step close enough to Gil to take the roll of quarters back. And ten dollars was enough to buy a membership, for someone his age, at the local YMCA. He had a cot for the next seven days and use of the gym, tennis court, and swimming pool.
At dawn, Gil waited next to the newspaper box at the bus stop corner and politely asked the first man who bought a newspaper if he could have the want ads. Then, he walked to the north side of the town of Blowing Rock and began working his way, street by street, past every shop and each address listing anything he thought he could do.
Now, many hours later, he sat on the curb with the paper at the south side of town. All the buildings were behind him. The lonely highway wound down the slope into the forest before him. There was not a car in sight.
Ruff came trotting up, with a dead squirrel in his mouth. The dog laid the squirrel carefully in the gutter at Gil’s feet and sat back, bright-eyed and wagging his tail, and he barked, “Look! Look! I brought a squirrel! A squirrel!”
Gil folded the newspaper and threw it down into the gutter.
Ruff said, “Hi! Hi! You can eat it. I brought a squirrel you can eat!”
“Thanks, Ruff. You are a pal. Good dog. You are a good dog!” And he scratched the dog behind the ears.
Ruff sniffed the newspaper, and his ears drooped. The tail stopped wagging. Ruff looked up with a mournful expression into Gil’s face. “Oh, no! Oh, no! It is a day of failure. You failed. Didn’t find what you were hunting, did you?”
“How did you know?”
“I can smell failure.”
Gil looked up. “Really?”
“Yup! Yup! Well, and there is also the fact that you are sitting in the gutter looking glum rather than flipping burgers or changing tires.”
“There was one guy who wanted to hire me for carpentry. I showed him I knew how to pound a nail and hang a door. Another guy at the shooting range needed someone to clean the guns, mind the customers, and lock up at night. Even the car wash needed someone. But not me. I am not in the union, not old enough, don’t have a birth certificate. Cannot prove I am allowed to work. The old lady who runs the flower shop wanted someone just to sweep up the place, pick up dead petals and leaves, and take out the trash, but she said she could not pay me ten bucks an hour. I said I would work for half of that. She said she was not allowed to pay me so little. Not allowed! In her own store! Who has the right to tell her she can’t hire me?”
Ruff jumped up, his ears high, “Oh! Oh! I think you should sneak into her shop at night and do all the work she wants without telling anyone! Then, if she likes the work, she will leave a bowl of cream out on her back doorstep for you. And on All Hallows, she has to sew you a new suit of clothing. And then you vanish and never come again.”
Gil said, “What?”
Ruff’s ears drooped again. “Oh, no! I thought that is how things like this were done.”
“Maybe in Dog Land. The way they are done in Burke County is less exciting. If you stand on the corner at the library, sometimes landscapers will come by to pick you up for a day’s work with a shovel or a rake. But Mom said honest labor. Does honest labor mean I have to obey laws about carrying paperwork and being old and whatever else? Because that I am not allowed. Or does it just mean your full effort for a full day with no slacking and no backtalk? That I can do.”
Ruff said, “Hey! I have an idea! Why not go to Dog Land?”
Gil looked at the mutt in surprise. “Is there really such a place?”
Ruff cocked his head to one side, so one ear was up and the other down. “Um! Um! You just said. You said how they do things in Dog Land. I thought it sounded like a swell place. Swell! Because of the dogs.”
Gil scowled at the road. “I asked some of the birds to tell me what my mother was up to, but they would not tell me.”
Ruff cocked one ear.
Gil said, “Don’t you think it strange that she wants me out of our place, not even to sleep there?”
Ruff said, “I saw her walking around the place counterclockwise, three times. Maybe she is trying to summon the Greater Tree.”
Gil said, “What is that?”
“Well, you know the World Tree?”
“Nope.”
“This is greater. Greater than the world.”
“What is it? What does it do?”
“Beats me. But if she is doing something that might draw attention to herself, she wants you out of the way.”
Gil said, “So the whole getting a job thing is a trick? We should go back and protect her.”
Ruff shook his head. “Maybe. Or maybe you should listen to your mother. I always listened to mine. Except when I didn’t. Then, it did not go so good. Besides, you need to work to eat, right?”
Just then a jeep came barreling down the street, pulled out onto the empty highway, and took the turn to head toward Knob Hill, where the State Park was. Behind the wheel was a boy about Gil’s age.
There was a six-pack on the seat behind him, some fishing rods, a knapsack of camping gear, and a strawberry-haired girl with a big smile and freckled cheeks sitting next to him, chatting. They both had their cellphones in their hands and their earphones in their ears, so it was not clear if they were talking to each other or to someone else. It was also not clear how the driver planned to survive the trip since he was looking at his gizmo and not at the road.
The girl pitched a paper bag decorated with clowns out the back of the jeep. It fell near an oil stain in the middle of the road not far away. “Hey! Hey!” barked Ruff, trotting quickly over to the bag and sniffing it.
Gil stared glumly after the retreating jeep, wondering silently why kids no different than he had gas to burn and camping trips to go on.
Ruff said, “Wow! Wow! There is half a burger in here!”
“You know,” said Gil, “I have never eaten junk food.”
“Wow! Are you missing out! Junk food is great. There are some fries left too, but I don’t like fries.”
“I guess that guy’s dad bought him stuff. Taught him how to fish. You know.”
“I know! I know! They are made of potato. It is like boiled potato. Boiled in oil, and salted. I like the salt.”
Ruff lifted his nose out of the dropped bag. There was catsup on his nose. “I’ll lick the fries, and then you can eat them. I’ll lick the salt! You want some?”
“Let me cook the squirrel first, and I’ll see how I feel about eating someone else’s trash that a dog licked. But I’ll share the half a burger with you.”
The dog picked up the bag in his mouth and trotted back over.
2. Job Tracking
It was about an hour later, and the two were in the woods, out of the heat. The sun was low in the sky, and it was an hour before sunset. Gil had made a fire with his magnifying glass, using pages ripped out of his Algebra book for tinder, and skinned and eviscerated the squirrel with his knife. Ruff got the head and entrails. Gil sharpened a green stick, and held the rodent over the fire, smelling the savory smell of meat and watching the blood and fat drip. The flames were almost invisible in the shaft of sunlight that fell through the leafy branches.
Gil said suddenly, “I wonder if that was his sister or his girlfriend?”
“Who?”
“The couple in the jeep.”
“Yup! Girlfriend.”
He looked at the dog. “Don’t tell me you can smell the difference between a girlfriend and a sister?”
Ruff shrugged. “Eh? There are smells in the air when humans want to mate.”
“And you smelled–? In a passing car? That those two were thinking about–?”
“No, that is Erica Lee. She is editor-in-chief of the yearbook at the High School you just got kicked out of. She was a varsity cheerleader for two years. Jack Merritt is their star quarterback. They are an item. Prom King and Prom Queen this year. Say! Say! How come you are not moving away?”
Gil said, “I’m not sure. Mom spoke to the principal privately in his house, and there were no birds in the bushes or anything I could ask to eavesdrop. But you know how his face is red as a beet? It was white like ashes when she was done. Wonder what she said.
Anyway, she told me we could stay.”
“I’m glad! I’m glad! Your Mom threatened him.”
“Not likely,” said Gil.
“She had her teeth in his throat. Otherwise, he would have filed a police report, and you would have been named in the papers.”
“What papers?”
“Papers! Papers! Humans always have tons of papers around.”
“Records? Police records?”
“Humans write things down so you don’t forget. You have terrible memories.”
The thought of his Mom with her serene face and gentle voice threatening the principal warmed him. He knew what it was like to be on her bad side. Gil almost felt sorry for Mr. Wartworth.
Gil gnawed on his rodent dinner. With a little salt, it did not taste bad at all.
He tossed a scrap to the dog and then peered at Ruff closely. “If you animals are so smart, how come you don’t have any civilization?”
Ruff said, “I’m different.”
“Because you are a spy for the elfs?”
Ruff said, “Something like that.”
“Tell me about elfs.”
Ruff looked wary, and he put his head down. “You know! You know! Not really wise to talk about them. Not really safe. Enslave you at night, make you do work, take your stuff, and then put mist in your eyes so that you all think it is because your taxes are high. It is not. Just the thieving elfs at their games. More than half of human toil goes to them, and you blame each other, or the economy, or the weather. But they walk unseen and can dwindle to hide in a cowslip or ride a bumblebee. So they might be listening. Shh! Shh!”
Gil saw this made Ruff nervous. So he said, “Fine, you are special. But back to my other question. Other animals talk. At least to me. Normal people should be able to see you all animals are smart even if they cannot talk to you, shouldn’t they?”
“Nope! Nope! That is not how it works. Beasts live for the day and don’t fret about the morrow. You lost that when you left Eden.”
“Foresight, you mean? Sounds like a gain, not a loss.”
“Trust. You lost trust. You think tomorrow is not trustworthy, that the story of the world is not in good hands. Nope. Nope. You lost a lot.”