Blue Hills (4 page)

Return to the River

I believed in myself. Four waterwizards waiting by the Well of Shells believed in me. More even. Others, all of ‘em, were gathering there so such to stare at that beeketbird stuck midair five spans above the roof of my hut. Kar believed in me. A truth. As always. She slept peacefully, mallet head shoved under yellow tuft wing in spite of earlier saying she wouldn't. She stood on one flat red webbed foot with the other tucked up tight like as a fist under her green feather belly. She balanced on the table where the witch's crystal should have been. I tried to find comfort, sitting up, back against wall, hugging my shins, chin resting on knees. The flicker of the buckletar lamp next to ridiculous Kar entranced me. My mind vapored into a nightmare sleep. Such. So.

In the dream I found myself sitting outside the witch's cottage and looking down the hill at the tricklestream. The stream, constantly changing color, writhed and wriggled by like a beddysnake. Blustery winds shook the trees. The sky lit up a menacing green. My feet and legs up to my knees were bootless and clad in long purple and black striped stockings. I held my hands in front of my face and watched ‘em transform from plump yellow green bendo dreen to bony pale lavender. My fingers grew long and twisted. Rings began appearing, popping one at a time onto my fingers and thumbs. A wisp of my hair, suddenly white and scraggly, flew in my face. I threw myself sideways and scratched at the door. Lemony doorknob.

“Yoss!” I shrieked, ripping myself from the dream. There I was, on my side in the witch's cottage with dim dawn poking through the window.

“What?” croaked Kar, falling over, flutter flapping, blinking her ridiculous pink eyes. “Did I hear the witch?”

“No … I … dreamed a bad dream,” I muttered before adding loud and strong, “The river. Back to the … river. Blue Hills. I have the clue I … need. Let's go.”

“What's the clue?” Kar sensibly asked.

“I'll tell you … later. No time … now,” I said, rolling quickly to my feet while checking to make certain my hands weren't bony and lavender and my stockings weren't purple and black striped as I pushed ‘em into my highboots.

I fled the cottage, Kar rose fluttering after me. I ran down the hill and back along the tricklestream. I rushed with happiness. I didn't know why. And I felt invisible mysteries coming at me from all sides through the stiff silence. I grinned. I ran faster than Kar could fly.

“Wait!” she cried. “Bek! These stupid tuft wings don't flap fast enough. Wait! Bek! How can you run so such fast? Bek! How? Why?”

Truth, I sailed skimming, leaping, dodging hedges left, right, hopping the tricklestream. I roared with laughter to see the trees flashing by. When I spied the river, I increased my speed and added flips and tumbles like as such I had never done before. I jumped to a stop with the toes of my highboots dipped in wet sand next to the stiff and silent Greenwilla River. I giggled madly. Moments later, Kar fluttered into view. Ridiculous Kar.

“Bek! What now?” she challenged in nervous frenzy.

Widening my eyes, I pointed east. I nodded and grinned. She settled in apparent alarm to float on the stiff silent river. I did a little highboot dance, chuckled, winked, and said, “Blue Hills.”

Woods Beyond the Wood

“I'm needy … No, not needy. Not needy … not needy. Speedy! Yes! That's it! You're going to have to … to … perch on my shoulder or you'll be left … behind. Silly Kar! Ridiculous! Ha! Hop on now. I'm in … in a flurry of hurry. A flurry of hurry! Yes!”

“Bek, you are the Chronicler. Your melon should not be cracked. Are you thinking? Are you sane? What are you doing?”

“Blue Hills! Good idea! Let's swim!”

* * * *

“Wet hair? Again?”

“Bek, are you …?”

“How strange it is, Kar, to see the mighty Greenwilla so such still. How odd that magic entire has drained away. How proper that it is up to me to restore things, set ‘em right. I, Bekka of Thorns, Chronicler of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined, possessor of the Carven Flute, this sad Jo Bree I hold in my hands. Kar, dear strange ridiculous feathery fluff with a mallet head Kar, trapped not as marvelous jrabe jroon Rakara or as delightful Queen Jebb of the Acrotwist Clowns or as what I would have desired, simple bendo dreen Karro of Thorns, to you and to Jo Bree and to the waterwizards gathered by the Well of Shells and to all of the other creatures all, I pledge a vow of resolve. The river shall flow. The waterwizards shall conjure. Jo Bree shall sing. You, silly jark dweg Kar, shall shift to whatever itch calls to you, be it Striped Racing Dragon, winged cloud or any so such other.

Flutter, friend, to my shoulder. For us, a day of silent march

on our journey to find the Blue Hills lies ahead of us.”

“Are you …?”

“Silence, Kar. We'll allow the stiff silence to reign while it may.”

* * * *

“Bek.”

“You may speak if you whisper.”

“I see the crown of the Redgalla Tree.”

“Truth. We are crossing the boundary between Danken Wood and the Woods Beyond the Wood.”

“Is this where you were sent through time?”

“Near. The Urplinth was off over in that direction. I completed my task, as I always do. The Gwer drolleks of Rindle Mer and her descendants were secured. Hush now. Allow the stiff silence its temporary triumph.”

* * * *

“Bek?”

“Yes.”

“You saw the seasons change. It must have been …”

“Magical. Changing from white froth blossoms, white leaves, white twigs, branches, roots, all everything dazzle white to rainbow color splashes of flowers and lush green Woods in the span of a simple shiver.”

“Now the Woods are frozen in ever summer. I …”

“Silence, Kar.”

* * * *

“Bek?”

“What is it?”

“Those are nesters. Why are they so such far from Blossom Castle?”

“Nesters roam. Soon their instruments will sing.”

“The one on the left has a ziler, right? And the other's playing a pangro, if I remember clear from the stories.” “You're right. Let's leave ‘em be. Silence.”

* * * *

“Hop down, Kar. We'll sleep here. We now know that the Woods Beyond the Wood are fatter than one day's march. Let's swim.”

* * * *

“Ha! Swam again? Did I do something great? Bet I did. No need to pop … Ha! … Pop or stop! I'm fizzed! I can see in the dark! Hurrah for me! Ha! Ha! The mad queen! Up, silly bundle of feathers! We travel through the night. Blue Hills! Blue Hills! Blue Hills! Hee hee!”

The Charborr Forest

I was a grinning maniac and didn't know why such was so. I wasn't thinking. I didn't care. I danced lively along a moons-lit path. Kar dug deeply, grimly, into my shoulder, hanging on.

“The stiff silence is no match for me. I can see in the dark!” I exulted. “Can you, Kar? Can you?”

“No, and I don't want to,” grumped Kar.

“Ha then,” I mocked. “You didn't see that trofle we just passed. It had its … its spikes clamped flat. Its left front waddler was lifted, all in freeze. Trofles have no … no magic, so said, I suppose. Never knew that for certain from the Gwer drollek … stories. So! Night swim!”

I was positively pulled from the path by that so such sudden eruption of swim thought. I kicked my boots away and peeled my stockings off, then waded through a stand of boggy reeds until I found myself seated, wet, and pulling on my highboots in darkness.

“How long did I … swim?” I said calmly, speaking to Kar, though I did not see her.

“Hmmmm?” I heard her rustle in reply somewhere off to my left.

“How long?” I repeated, fingering Jo Bree, the dead dry wooden tube in my belt.

A flutter of flapping brought Kar to land on my shoulder. She craned her mallet head around to look me in the eye.

“I was sleeping. I don't know how long you swam. But I'm glad you swam. You seem so such to be more … Bek. Can you still see in the dark?” she said.

“No,” I answered. “Maybe I don't need to.”

Saying such, I raised a hand to point at the sick yellow hint of dawn on the horizon. As light gained advantage over dark, Kar and I sat in the stiff silence while new and unknown surroundings revealed ‘emselves to us. Yes, we sat on a path near the motionless Greenwilla River. Yes, there were trees behind us. But no, the Greenwilla was not full fat wide. It was so such more like as a grand stream. And no, the trees were not thick-trunked with twisted limbs and rounded crowns like as were most trees of the Woods Beyond the Wood. These trees were straight and tall, narrow pointed, like as the trees of Danken Wood. But they were strangely other, different. Black they were, complete. Black of bark, black of branch, black of needle. And where roots humped from the blue-black ground, they too were of a still blackness. Oh, and across the strangely slender Greenwilla, a riot of boulders sloped in ragged piles, and, beyond ‘em, stony mountains rose high.

“Skrabble,” I whispered, pointing at the mountains.

I could see Kar's nod of agreement from the corner of my eye.

“The Greenwilla. We could be near the … the source,” I added.

Once again Kar nodded her mallet head.

“This behind us … Freshet Spill, the waterwizard, he said … he said the witch crossed over the … the … Charborr … Yes … the Charborr Forest … Charborr,” I mumbled in the new odd way I sometimes spoke.

“Charborr,” whispered Kar in my ear, and she shuddered. “We're somewhere we didn't even know existed so said one week ago. Why didn't we know? We're in it. The Charborr Forest.”

This time I nodded.

“Bek, you may be acting strange and oddly jark dweg at times, but you did get us this far. What do we do now?” said Kar, her trust in me so such full strong despite my oddly strange behavior.

“We … move through this … this forest and up the … the … dwindling Greenwilla. Yes, that's it. On the far side of this so said Charborr Forest we will … we will discover … the Blue Hills,” I said solemnly.

The stiff silence crowded around. I stood and walked eastward under the tall straight black trees growing from the dusty blue-black ground. Charborr Forest.

The Forest Trek

A path to follow stretched out in front of us. It was scuffed black smooth. It wound like a ribbon beneath the Charborr Forest trees. The ground on both sides of it seemed so such like as a carpet of blue black spongy moss. I plucked and tasted a clump. It brought to mind fermented gadapple sauce, pleasant and sour.

“Kar, taste this. It's like hutter gadapple compote,” I said.

“I'm not hungry. Maybe later. First I wonder what sorts of creatures made this path. It's well worn. I'll be the first jrabe jroon to see ‘em. You'll be the first bendo dreen. If they had magic before the freeze, they'll be able to talk to us, tell us things. If they didn't, they'll be statues. I wonder if there's a community of sorts. We should check the trees for doors. We should …”

“Kar! Settle!” I commanded, interrupting her speech of agitation. She was chattering nervous. Speech of agitation. So. Such. “We will … follow this … path and keep our … our eyes open. What we discover … will be … what we find.”

I put a finger to my lips, an invitation for the stiff silence to take its rightful place mingling with the menacing black gloom of the Charborr Forest. Whoever I was right then wanted it so. Somehow, some way I'd been charged with a thorns overflowing bounty of confidence. I marched my highboots along the path with arm-swinging strides. Kar rode my shoulder. I flicked my eyes left, right, up, down, ever on alert to see something new, something strange. Truth, I expected no less. Truth, less is what I got. The path bent surely, slowly away from the river and up, ever up, but so such gently, barely climbing. I saw no doors in the trees. No windows. No sign whatsoever of creatures other than the well-worn path I trod upon. When a goodly span of time had passed, when the sun reached its highest overhead, I paused to rest and nibble more of the blue black ground moss. Kar fluttered down and tore into a tuft with her mallet head mouth. Her blue plume feather waved. Ridiculous.

“Mmmm, good. You're right, Bek. Gadapples,” she said.

“A forest of blue black … moss … and trees. Nothing else. Nothing else,” I mused. “Maybe there's an underground … city … like … like Rumin.”

“Why the path then?” asked Kar, still busy tearing up and chewing clumps of moss.

“True … true. Why the path?” I pondered. “Why the path? I will tell you why. A path reveals its … its … why … at its … end. Yes. That's it. Up, Kar. Let's find the … why.”

The path ran straight, nudged left for a spell, right for a spell, but ever on a modest rise. I smiled at the stiff silence stacked all around us. Truly, I was a new Bekka, a different Bekka. I walked tall as I could, short though I am. I noticed the gloomy menace of the towering black Charborr trees had Kar hunching her wings and dipping her mallet head.

“Tell me, Kar, ridiculous bird, are you ticklish?” I asked in effort to lighten her mood.

She widened her pink eyes and gave me a wary look before saying, “Bek, have you shifted to strange again?”

For an answer, I grabbed her by the legs and tickled her madly under her wings. She writhed with screeching laughter. I set her down on the path and backed away.

“So. The ridiculous bird is … ticklish,” I said, folding my arms. “The blue plume, Kar. The plume. It truly is what makes it the funniest. You were so such right to add the plume.”

“Thank you,” she snapped with a fine measure of irritation. “I'm going to fly ahead. No more riding. A jrabe jroon never knows when her best friend from forever is going to attack her.”

So saying, she wobbled into flutter flight and flapped away above the path. Satisfied I had transformed her mood from gloom to anger, I followed. It wasn't long before she came hurtling back in a whirl of wings.

“Oh, Bek! The crest! The crest! I saw! I saw! The Blue Hills! The Blue Hills! Tiers of ‘em! AND THEY'RE ALL MOVING!”