The Wanderer's Tale (51 page)

Gapp stared at the words hard as they appeared on the wheel. He could make no sense of them at all, and wondered again if it was not merely a fault in the translation.

But, when all was said and done, he concluded there was nothing he could do about any of this. It was probably all academic, anyhow; Finwald was dead along with the rest of his companions, and he would never find out.

Gapp was accepted into the household of Yulfric not through kindness, obligation, curiosity, nor even loneliness, but rather through absent-mindedness. The Gyger just did not seem to remember the lad was there most of the time, or
why
he was there. Back in Nordwas this had been the norm, but here sometimes even the hounds appeared not to notice him. It felt as if he had somehow disappeared below the threshold of sentient awareness. It was some time before Yulfric stopped looking startled, or vaguely troubled, whenever he came across the boy.

Eventually Gapp became part of the daily routine, the only condition being that he work hard, both in the house and out on the hunt, pull his own weight, and stay there only for as long as it took him to regain his strength and go his own way.

His stay with Yulfric was, as it turned out, only brief. But in the time he spent there, a whole rich new world was opened up to him. It was a time that, if he were fated to weather the changing fortunes of Fron-Wudu and survive, he would never be able to forget. The secret life of the forest was gradually revealed to his young eyes. He had never believed, in all his fifteen years behind the stockaded walls of Nordwas, that such miracles of nature were happening all the time beneath his very feet.

It was not all wonderment. He was thrust head-first into a world of pain, hardship and cruelty that – but for his recent ordeals – he would have found traumatic and hateful. But at the same time it allowed him to experience at first hand a world and a life that he would never have been able to guess at, had he merely passed through as a traveller.

Privation and suffering were really
felt
, here. They were not merely unfortunate experiences occurring now and then. They were constant, and were a central part of the daily routine. If a problem arose, it
had
to be solved. There was no choice. Coming to terms with this was Gapp Radnar’s next step in his sudden maturity.

Coming to terms with death, too, was something the young man had to harden himself to. Before, killing had been necessary only when the company had had the misfortune to stumble across a dangerous adversary. Here and now, they actively sought it out: there was no mercy, no fair play and no natural justice. It was a case of killing for meat. Often that meant very young animals that had hardly even had a glimpse of life yet; or the sick, or aged. All would be ruthlessly taken. Pathos was an unheard-of luxury. Their quarry was simply meat which had not yet been secured.

Forced to adapt to this new way of thinking, Gapp’s quaint old notions of ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ quickly fell away, to be replaced by ‘live’ or ‘die’.

Furthermore, though the days he spent with Yulfric were few, they seemed to last longer than any he had ever known. Time took on a new intensity, where day-to-day survival was all that mattered, and what the future might hold was not even a passing consideration. But Gapp soon discovered that there was another side to this coin; the exigencies of survival and the vitality of their lifestyle meant that each day, each hour even, was experienced with a new intensiy. They really
lived
, and this gave life a new edge that made his previous existence seem as though he had spent it half-asleep. The years of a hunter might be short, but that did not matter, was never even thought about.

Within several days, Gapp found his senses come really alive for the first time. His reactions quickened, his alertness multiplied many times over, and any debilitation was soon quashed. His whole body now thrilled with a heightened life-force as he hunted daily with Yulfric and the pack.

Even his spectacles did not seem to steam up quite so frequently.

If there was one thing that he never quite came to terms with, though, it was Heldered. Nothing had been said about this most unapparent member of the House of Yulfric, and at first Gapp felt that he would rather not know more about it anyway. But there was no avoiding the subject. Things were laid out ready for the giant, meals were cooked and served, plates were cleaned, clothes were picked off the floor. Yulfric had apparently become used to this attention. But it was all done so haphazardly, never with any of the obsequious consistency one would have expected from a servant. If things were done, fine; but if not, well, one could hardly make demands from a domestic helper that, as far as Gapp could tell, was unpaid, unbidden and unseen.

Only once did Gapp think he caught a glimpse of this ‘entity’. One morning before anyone else had got up, he left his ‘byre’ to fetch a mug of cold water, and upon entering the dining room (for want of a better description) he was sure that he had spotted Heldered. In the half-light of dawn it was difficult to say, but out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn that he had seen a diminutive figure hovering, fast asleep, above the table-top.

It had given him quite a start, and he never entered that room again alone. But when he questioned Yulfric, the Gyger would only say that Heldered was a Nisse. This was a new word to the Aescal. Yulfric did not explain it further, and the meditation wheel seemed content to leave it at that. The only conclusion that Gapp could draw was that a Nisse must be similar to the Gardvords and Godbondes back home.

Several households in Nordwas were reputed to have Gardvords. Sightings, however, were rare, and few descriptions existed. As far as anyone could say, they seemed to be household guardian spirits, but much bigger than the floating homunculus Gapp thought he had seen; ogrish, heavy-set and naked, some were said to be as big as the house itself, a concept Gapp had always found difficult to warm to. And unlike the Nisse, they expected
payment
. If none was forthcoming, they might charge around the house roaring, stamping and slamming doors all night, or alternatively the owner might simply wake up one morning to find the pantry bare – or the cat missing.

Either way, Gardvords were decidedly more sinister (not to mention more of a nuisance) than the benevolent little Heldered. And Godbondes, of whom at least three were said to exist in W‘intus Hall (though the Peladanes
would
boast this, wouldn’t they?) were even worse. These did not exist in corporeal form, and could never be contacted or reasoned with. They did not expect payment, but they were resentful towards guests, hurling things at them if they felt like it, and would even kill unknown intruders.

This did worry Gapp, it had to be said. The thought that a potent huldre spirit (and all such entities
were
huldre, no two ways about it) was coexisting in their very house, at liberty to do almost anything, was more than a little unnerving. He could not understand how the Gyger could be so relaxed about it.

But then, Yulfric was Yulfric . . .

One day the forest giant called Gapp over to him, and pointed to a door that the boy had never noticed before. There was a look of conspiracy in his eyes which seemed to say:
I have something very special to show you, boy . . .

Gapp glanced apprehensively at the Gyger, but allowed himself to be escorted down the short, dark corridor that led to the door. He noticed that it sloped downwards somewhat, was perceptibly even more dilapidated than the rest of the house, and smelt of something a bit like freshly baked bread.

Yulfric pushed heavily against the door two or three times before it opened, then stooped under the low lintel to enter.

Gapp paused before following. There was no light whatsoever within, and the smell was appreciably more pungent now that the door was open. Nevertheless, he followed Yulfric down a short flight of creaking steps into the room beyond.

Yulfric struck a light and then lit an oil-lamp on one of the shelves, whereupon Gapp stared about in bemusement. Despite the close feel of the room, he could now see that it was a huge cellar with long racks of bottles, jars, amphorae and kilderkins everywhere. All of them were stoppered securely, but it took little deduction to realize that they all contained some heady alcoholic brew. The meditation-wheel was pressed into Gapp’s hand.

‘
. . . My wine cellar . . .
’ Yulfric announced proudly.

Gapp continued to stare in wonderment. But it was the odour that held his attention more than anything. Everything smelt like creosote. There were undertones of baker’s yeast, drainage and old socks, but creosote remained the overriding smell. A half-hearted attempt had been made to dispel (or at least tone down) this olfactory intrusion, as could be seen from the numerous burned-out stubs of perfumed beeswax candles that littered every spare shelf. But forest-bees, being what they are, do have a tendency to create somewhat resinous honeycombs, so that any candles made thereof would inevitably smell of creosote.

‘
. . . This, my miniature friend, is where I keep my greatest treasure. For here, in this cellar, is where I make, rack, bottle and store Skolldhe-Ynggri, the wine of the blackfruit. (Do not go telling anyone, will you, my friend, for this secret is known only to me, Heldered and yourself . . .
’

Gapp looked about himself doubtfully, wondering just who else he was supposed to tell. But he nodded in assent; he would tell no one.

‘
. . . Good . . .
’ Yulfric smiled. ‘
. . . not even Finwald was let in on this one . . .
’

He went over to the nearest rack, extracted one of the smaller bottles and blew the dust from it. He held the label up to the lamp’s light, then read out the date. He beamed, as if to confirm the excellence of the vintage, and beckoned the boy to follow him, with an encouraging wink.

He carried the bottle over to a small table with two stools beside it, dragging with it the umbilical-cord-like length of yellow cobweb that still clung to it. Several large hairy spiders had fallen from the web as it was pulled from the rack, and landed with an audible
thump
on the flagstones before scuttling in alarm back into the darkness. Yulfric set the bottle down and proceeded to rummage about in an old toolbox for a pair of drinking vessels.

As he did so Gapp’s attention was diverted by the stealthy, slithering sound of another bottle sliding out of its rack. Curiously he peered down one aisle between two shelves, and saw to his alarm a bottle now floating in mid-air. He watched it as it wavered about a little, then heard the soft, careful extrication of its cork. Then it was tilted back, and methodically but relentlessly drained of its entire contents. Gapp called out softly to Yulfric, expecting the precious wine to splash all over the floor, but to the boy’s bewilderment not one drop did so. It simply vanished.

Again Gapp hissed to the giant, but Yulfric was still too preoccupied with searching through the junk for some beakers. Gapp was about to go over and get his attention when he heard a confidential ‘
Shhh!
’ from the empty aisle, and watched as the bottle was replaced.

Only then did he realize why Heldered chose to work at Yulfric’s place.

Eventually Yulfric succeeded in digging out two wooden cups from which they could drink. He handed one to the boy (who held it in two hands, like a bowl) and poured a small measure of Skolldhe-Ynggri into each.

A thin, purple vapour curled up from the neck of the bottle as the wine was poured, which had the same effect on Gapp as snuffing ammonia. But when his eyes and his head cleared he saw, through a watery haze, the richness of the wine in his bowl, as thick and red-black as the blood they had spilt earlier that day, and instinct overtook him; without thought or prompting, he drank it all down in one.

‘
Whoa, steady, boy!
’ Yulfric laughed in his own tongue. ‘
That was supposed to last you all night!
’

But Gapp was past caring. In this world of wine he felt a sudden surge of belief in what he was. This mischievous, heady little brew with its fiery strength, fruity taste and amusing bouquet was
very
much to his liking. Already he could feel it coursing through his veins like molten tin. He held out his bowl once again.

‘More, boy?!’ Yulfric bellowed indignantly. Then he seemed to remember himself, and poured out a further measure.

‘Why not?’ he murmured, then directed Gapp over to a stool and carefully sat him down.

‘
. . . This . . .
’ he explained as Gapp spun the translation wheel with considerably greater speed and robustness than was strictly necessary, ‘
. . . is the result of many, many generations of love, care and devotion to the highest ideals of wine-making. This Skolldhe-Ynggri is the crowning glory of the race of the Gygerim, the zenith of our art, the very last word in alcoholic excellence. You may have heard of Hauger-ale . . . Truly theirs is a secret worth guarding. But Skolldhe-Ynggri is more than just that; for where the making of Hauger-ale is a secret revealed to no other race, the very existence of our brew is concealed, every bit as closely as the recipe for Hauger-ale. None but the Gygerim know of it, and we intend to keep it that way.
’

Gapp jabbed a thumb in his chest three times, as though to say: Ex
cept for me . . .

Yulfric was momentarily lost, and bit his lip in vexation.

‘
. . . Well, you promise not to tell anyone, won’t you . . . ?
’

Gapp held out his bowl again, and winked.

‘
. . . Good. Anyway, as I was saying, this is our secret. It takes many years in the fermenting, at the correct temperature always, and requires racking at least five times a year. It can only be made with a secret ingredient, and that ingredient is the great hanging blackfruit of Perchtamma-Uinfjoetli, found only in the valley of that name, far to the north—
’

Gapp raised an eyebrow, and put one finger to his lips.

‘
. . . Damn! Damn damn damn! Must be the vapours . . . Still, to get to the point, now is the time of year for the harvesting of the blackfruit. In a week’s time you and I shall leave for the valley of Perchtamma-Uinfjoetli. It is a round journey of about two weeks, and one which must not be undertaken casually . . .
’