The Land of the Silver Apples

Chapter Thirty-two LUCY

Jack was about to tell Pega about the Norns when a horn sounded from within the palace. Voices called, a host of them. The front gate opened, and out came the prettiest, merriest people Jack had ever seen. They were dressed in all the colors of the rainbow.

Some danced like the figures in the fountains, and some played harps or flutes. Others tossed rose petals into the wind and sang with voices so fair, Jack thought his heart would break. Beauty and longing overwhelmed him until he scarcely knew whether it was joy or pain he felt.

Jack was transfixed. He could not have moved if a shower of silver arrows were raining down on him. Everyone else seemed as stunned as he.

The company drew near, and Jack recognized the huntsman called Gowrie. By his side Lady Ethne carried garlands of flowers. “Welcome!” she cried, presenting the garlands to Jack, Thorgil, and Pega. Brude craned his neck hopefully, but she passed him by. “Welcome to Elfhame! Come heal your earthly cares. All joy lies within, where Partholis rules with Partholon, her consort. Come, weary travelers, to join our revels!”

Jack found himself surrounded by the company. He felt outrageously happy and smiled at Ethne, who smiled back, instantly winning his allegiance. She was so radiant! He had never known anyone so fair. She drew him on effortlessly.

The Picts followed behind like a pack of hungry, ill-favored hounds.

Jack walked in a dream. Wonders led to more wonders. The gate of Elfhame was a single arc of gold framed in a wreath of emerald vines. The doors were of silver. Pillars soared up inside to a dark blue ceiling spangled with a myriad of lamps.

Elves stood on either side, dressed in robes trimmed with fur and shot with gold. Little dogs with jingling bells on their collars danced around their feet. One dashed up to Pega, bared its pretty teeth, and darted away.

Some of the ladies had toddlers on leashes. These kept falling over and whimpering. One of them sniffled constantly, and its owner rapped it sharply on the head with a fan.

Jack and his companions were swept on through several rooms, each more magnificent than the last, until they reached a hall with a floor of glass. In the center of the air burned a miniature sun. Jack turned his face up in wonder, to feel its mild warmth.

“Come on,” urged Ethne, laughing. Jack followed her onto the glass. It’s like walking on water, he thought, for beneath the transparent floor was a lake full of golden-scaled fish that glittered as they swam. The elf lady took his hands and swirled him into a dance.

Thorgil probed the surface with her foot before stepping on it. “I do not fear this,” she announced.

“Of course not!” cried Gowrie, pulling her on. Pega halted at the edge and then walked stolidly after the couples. Jack glanced back to see that no one had chosen her for a partner. He let go of Ethne and hurried back to her.

“Come on, Pega,” he said kindly, holding out his hand. Her look was so grateful, his heart turned over. She had almost been a queen in the realm of the hobgoblins. Now her ugliness was painfully obvious. He tried to copy the elves’ steps, but Jack wasn’t a good dancer, and of course no one had ever bothered to teach Pega. All he knew were highland flings that were more like jumping up and down until you ran out of breath.

But then Ethne joined them, and her magic turned them all graceful. Round and round they went, with the miniature sun overhead and the golden fish beneath their feet. It was intoxicating. It was like the best days of Jack’s life rolled into one. He was so happy, he laughed out loud.

Then they were at the other end of the hall. Jack staggered to a halt, his heart pounding and his body clammy with sweat. Pega collapsed against him. Ethne was still as fresh as a daisy.

Before them rose a dais bearing four thrones. At the right end sat the Lady of the Lake. Jack remembered her, all right. His back tingled where she’d shot him. In the center were a tall woman in golden robes and a tall man in silver. At the other end, in a throne hardly bigger than an ordinary chair, was Lucy.

“Lucy!” cried Jack. The Lady of the Lake raised her hand threateningly. A man Jack hadn’t noticed rose from the floor near the Lady’s feet.

“Good for you! You made it!” Brutus said, bounding from the dais. No longer was he dressed in the rags of a slave. He wore a splendid gold tunic under a crimson cloak. The great sword Anredden hung from a belt flashing with diamonds. “Don’t speak to your sister yet,” he said. “There are courtesies we must observe in this place.” He grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him down to bow to the thrones. Thorgil and Pega followed suit.

“Brutus—” began Jack, both exasperated and delighted to see him. What had the untrustworthy slave been up to all this time?

“Manners, lad,” said Brutus. “Noble Partholis and Partholon, these are the companions I told you about,” he said, making another, exaggerated bow to the dais. “They have come to marvel at your splendor. I implore you to veil your face, Partholis, so they won’t be blinded by your beauty.”

“You’re as honey-tongued as always, heir of Lancelot,” said the queen, laughing. “How do you put up with him, Nimue?”

“His compliments ripple like a babbling brook,” said the Lady of the Lake, smiling. “They are as various as its waves, and as inconstant.”

“You wound me, mistress! I am ever faithful,” cried Brutus, smacking himself on the chest. “The fountains that gladden my soul run dry. I am distraught! I perish with grief!”

“Don’t perish yet,” Nimue said with a giggle. “We have a party on tonight.”

“Is that the thrall you lost? He seems completely insane,” murmured Thorgil to Pega.

“You get used to it.” Pega grinned with delight.

“We welcome you, friends of Brutus,” Queen Partholis said, rising from her throne. “We offer you our goodwill and hospitality. Make free with all the pleasures of Elfland and find comfort in its halls and gardens.” Her voice was like summer rain falling on parched soil. Jack could have listened to it for hours.

“We are most grateful, Your Noble Highnesses,” said Jack, giving almost as florid a bow as Brutus. He felt silly, but he supposed it was the thing to do.

The queen laughed again, a silvery ripple that made Jack smile in response. “Lady Ethne advised us of your arrival, and so we have prepared a feast.” She clapped her hands.

Thralls poured out of side chambers with tables and benches. More followed with steaming trays of swans, venison, jugged hare, suckling pig, and many things Jack didn’t recognize. Oysters and whelks made a border around a giant salmon on a platter so huge, it took six men to carry it. Tiny larks, scarcely a mouthful each, were heaped in crystal bowls. And of course there was every kind of pudding, pie, trifle, syllabub, and flummery imaginable.

All this time Lucy pouted on her throne, kicking her feet back and forth. Jack recognized that behavior. It meant she was cross because she wasn’t the center of attention. He tried to catch her eye, but Brutus stopped him. “Patience, lad,” warned the man. “Wait till their highnesses are busy elsewhere.”

Jack was seated at a long table with Pega on one side and Lady Ethne on the other. Thorgil was placed with Cowrie, the huntsman. The two immediately began discussing ways of dismembering game.

Brutus loaded a plate with food and climbed onto the dais. “Oh, fie!” he said, crouching by the Lady of the Lake. “Such delicate hands were not meant for cutting up partridges. Allow me to put morsels of food into your pretty mouth.” Nimue blushed and giggled. Jack wondered how the slave got away with such nonsense.

“She’s stuffing herself, all right,” said Pega, gesturing at Lucy. “Any decent sister would have spoken to you.”

“She’s probably enchanted,” Jack said.

“Pooh! She’s no different than she ever was. And how did they get this feast ready so quickly? I know how long it takes to pluck swans. What’s this monstrosity?” Pega held up a pigeon with six drumsticks.

“Generally, if I don’t know what something is, I don’t eat it,” said Jack.

Thorgil took the pigeon, ate all six drumsticks, and pronounced them delicious.

Jack looked around the hall. He saw no old elves, and there were almost no elf children. About a dozen toddlers on leashes crouched at their owners’ feet. Jack turned away, sickened, and wondered if they still remembered their parents. He couldn’t think of a way to free them.

He saw that all the thralls were human, for the elves did nothing for themselves. They called a thrall to bring them a spoon on the other side of a table rather than reach for it. The humans toiled endlessly, carrying dishes, cleaning up spills, and running to do some peevish elf’s bidding.

Any one of them could have come from Jack’s village. They were ordinary folk who’d had the bad luck to fall asleep on an elf hill and follow strange music in the night. The Bard had said how dangerous that was. Once you were lured in, you might not reappear for years.

Brude and his followers had not been invited to the feast. They waited at a doorway, snuffing the air and jostling one another. Good dogs. Stay, thought Jack with grim satisfaction. The Picts weren’t even as important as the thralls.

His thoughts shifted to and fro, one moment despising the elves and then, turning to Lady Ethne beside him, enchanted once more. She asked him many questions about Middle Earth, of families, farming, and—most surprisingly—of monasteries. Jack knew little about monasteries, except for St. Filian’s.

Ethne had heard of the place. Wasn’t it awful how they had trapped poor Nimue in the fountain? Father Swein had sprinkled holy water around the outer walls. When Nimue had tried to cross it, she came up in the most dreadful rash.

Ethne’s voice was like a lively stream pouring down a hillside. Jack was enthralled by it. He barely noticed Pega on his other side.

“Now’s your chance,” said Thorgil, poking him with a drumstick. Jack looked up to see that Partholis and Partholon had left the dais. They were making a ceremonial tour of the hall, greeting their subjects and being bowed to in return. Brutus had completely engrossed Nimue’s attention. Lucy was unguarded.

Jack went to the platform and touched his sister’s foot to get her attention. “We’ve come to take you home,” he said in a low voice.

Lucy frowned. “Do I know you?”

“I’m your brother. Don’t play silly games.”

“I don’t have a brother.” Lucy kicked at him.

“Have it your way, but you do have a mother and father who miss you terribly.”

“Oh, them.” Lucy shrugged. “My real parents are here, or at least Partholis is. She can’t remember which one is my father.”

Jack wanted to slap her, but he held his temper. “We’ve come all this way to rescue you. You’re probably under a spell and can’t remember how nice it was at home.”

“Oh, I remember! Lumpy beds, ugly dresses, and the same oatcakes day after day after day.” Lucy leaned forward, and Jack saw, with a sinking feeling, the necklace of silver leaves.

“Can I see that?” he said, thinking that this might be the thing enchanting her.

“Don’t touch it! Thief!” Lucy jumped from her throne and ran to the Lady of the Lake, who gave Jack a venomous look before turning back to Brutus.

“Spoiled rotten” was Thorgil’s opinion when Jack returned. “I always said a good thrashing and a night outside with the wolves would have been good for her.”

“You may be right,” Jack said glumly.

Partholis and Partholon finished their tour and mounted the dais once more. “Now for an after-dinner treat,” announced the queen. “I would bid our dear visitors to give us a song or some such entertainment to repay us for our hospitality—not you, Brutus. We would not want to give Nimue cause for jealousy.”

Brutus grinned wolfishly. Thorgil cursed under her breath, and Pega looked terrified. “I’ll do it,” Jack offered. He knew the others weren’t used to performing, and he’d appeared before far worse audiences. He’d sung for bloodthirsty berserkers. At least these people weren’t going to hack him to bits if they weren’t amused.

The thrones were moved to one side. Jack climbed onto the dais, and the elves watched him intently. They seemed eager to listen, and yet Jack had a sense that there was something malicious about their attention. No matter. They couldn’t be nastier than Frith Half-Troll, who had the power to freeze a man’s blood in his veins. “I give you the saga of Beowulf,” he began.

Jack had a good voice and he knew it, but the effect was not what he expected. The elves seemed disappointed, although the queen was polite and Ethne smiled encouragement. When he was finished, everyone clapped halfheartedly. “I’ve heard that story before,” said Partholis, “from a mortal called Dragon Tongue.”

“The Bard?” said Jack, startled.

“Ah, he was a cheeky devil,” said the queen, smiling at the memory. “I quite adored his golden hair.”

Partholon stirred himself for the first time. “He was a scoundrel of the first order.”

“You didn’t like the attention he paid to me. You’re jealous,” said the queen, delighted.

“Nonsense. Everyone pays attention to you. It makes as much sense to worry about moths dancing around a light. Dragon Tongue made off with some of my best magic,” grumbled Partholon, and sank into silence again.

The elves clamored for another story. “By Odin’s eyebrows, don’t look at me,” said Thorgil. “I’d rather take a spear thrust than make a fool of myself.” But Gowrie led everyone in calling for the shield maiden. And so Thorgil, who wasn’t all that opposed to showing off, climbed onto the dais.

The problem was, Jack thought, she really didn’t know how to tell a story. She rushed through the action and had to go back and explain things. She had moments of poetry, but her voice was so harsh, you thought you were being sworn at. On the good side, she was better than Sven the Vengeful, who forgot the point of jokes, and Eric Pretty-Face, who always shouted. Other Northmen would have enjoyed her performance very much.

Thorgil spoke of Olaf One-Brow and his battles. It was a saga that could go on for a long time. Olaf had fought many battles. But partway through the first tale, about how the giant had rescued Ivar the Boneless from the Mountain Queen, someone burst out laughing.

Thorgil halted. This tickled the elves even more, and they began nudging one another. “Go on,” one of them called. The shield maiden continued, but the undercurrent of laughter returned, and soon everyone was infected with it.

“Isn’t she priceless?” an elf lady whispered.

“That voice. It just makes you want to howl,” said another.

Thorgil’s face turned red, and she yelled, “Listen, you toad-eating fops. I’m talking about the bravest man who ever lived, and if you don’t like it, you can take a flying leap!” The whole hall erupted with laughter. Elves pounded the tables and fairly wept with glee. The shield maiden drew her knife. Brutus leaped to his feet.

“I think that was a wonderful performance,” he cried, putting himself between Thorgil and her intended targets. “Let’s give this gallant warrior a hand.” The elves broke into a storm of clapping and cheers. Brutus swiftly steered Thorgil back to her seat.

“They liked it?” she said in bewilderment.

“Absolutely. Brought tears to their eyes,” said the slave.

“Of course they did,” said Jack, knowing that what the elves really enjoyed was Thorgil’s lack of talent.

“Let’s have the little hob-human,” Gowrie shouted. This was considered extremely witty, and everyone started laughing again.

“I can’t go up there,” Pega said, shrinking into her seat.

“Hob-human! Hob-human! Hob-human!” chanted the elves, drumming the tables, and Queen Partholis rose to quiet them.

“This has been a party,” she said with a pretty smile. “I’m afraid you have to perform, child. They simply won’t settle down without it.”

“I can’t,” Pega moaned.

“Please, Mother,” said Ethne, rising from her seat. “The child is overcome by fear, and it would be cruel to insist.”

Partholis frowned. “You may be my child, Ethne, but you have more than a little taint of humanity. I say she performs and that’s the end of it.”

To Jack’s surprise, Ethne put her arm around Pega and whispered, “I’ll stand with you.”

“We’ll all stand with you,” said Jack. “Don’t worry. If you falter, I’ll take over.” Trembling, Pega allowed herself to be lifted to the dais. Thorgil and Brutus stood behind her as a protective guard, and Ethne took her hand. Jack murmured, “Give them Brother Caedmon’s hymn.”

So Pega began. Her voice was almost inaudible at first, but she quickly recovered. She loved music as much as Jack did, and once she got going, she forgot everything else. Her voice rose through the hall with those sublime notes that had so impressed the Bard and enchanted the Bugaboo. It was as though all the beauty missing in her body had concentrated in this one skill.

It was the hymn given to Caedmon by the angel. You could see the glory of Heaven and the wonder of the earth as you listened to it. It was a celebration of life beyond even what Jack could call up with his staff. It humbled him to admit this, but it was so. He was so caught up in the song that he didn’t notice, at first, the reaction of the elves. They were absolutely silent.

They were stunned.

Jack woke up when he heard a sob. An elf lady had buried her face in her hands, and several others wept quietly. “Oh, make it stop,” groaned the lady. The men were crying too. Jack knew why, and, of course, this was why he’d suggested this particular hymn.

He’d been disgusted by the elves’ taunting of Thorgil and Pega. He knew they only wanted to make fun of humans. No mortal could possibly compete with them, and these bored, jaded—what had Thorgil called them?—toad-eating fops merely wanted entertainment. Well, they’d got more than they bargained for. This hymn came straight from Heaven, the one thing elves couldn’t have. It had to remind them of it. Pega’s perfect voice had been a nasty surprise too. Jack smiled grimly. This was the sort of revenge you needn’t feel guilty about.

“Stop!” a voice shouted behind them. Pega halted. Partholon was standing over Partholis, who had fainted.

Ethne screamed and ran to the queen. “You scheming mortals!” roared Partholon. “You’ve brought sorrow to this hall that has not seen grief for an age! Brude! Take the humans to the dungeons! I’ll decide on their fate later.”

The Picts were unleashed into the hall. Jack grabbed Thorgil’s wrist and said, “We can’t fight them.”

“I do not fear battle!” cried the shield maiden.

“No, brave warrior,” said Brutus. “There will be a time for war, but not here in the heart of illusions. Trust me. I know how these things work.” Thorgil spat on the floor near Gowrie’s foot, but she put her knife away.

The Picts surrounded them and herded them off.