“Oh, Gwyd, have we missed the right point to go through the bound?”
“Nae, Princess,” said Gwyd. “This do be the land o’ the garden.”
“But it is so sere,” said Twk. “How can a garden grow in such a place as this?”
“There be a bit o’ water, Twk, where the garden lies,” said Gwyd. Then he turned to Liaze. “Princess, head f’r that darkness low on the horizon; they be mountains adistant.”
And so, across the dry plain they ran, and dust flew up from galloping hooves. In sparse clumps here and there only thorny weeds grew, and the horses passed among them.
Galloping, walking, trotting, cantering, all day they fared toward the mountains afar, and Liaze wondered if the horses were making any progress at all. Often Liaze stopped to water the steeds, after which she fed them grain as they walked.
“You are certain there is water where we go?” asked Liaze, adding, “We will be bone-dry when we get there.”
“Aye, Princess, a small stream meanders down fra the mountains and into the garden. Snowmelt, I ween, f’r it takes y’r breath away wi’ its chill.”
“Ah,” said Twk, “that’s what feeds the apple tree among all this dust.”
“Indeed,” said Gwyd, and on they rode. “But who would hae thought t’plant it here t’begin wi’?”
“Mithras,” said Twk with finality.
On they pressed as the sun sailed up and across the sky and then fell toward the horizon. And then it set, and Jester fell asleep. They moved more slowly until the gibbous moon rose five days past full to shine brightly down upon them, and Liaze picked up the pace again.
But at last, ahead in the near distance a wall of stones loomed. “There, Princess,” said Gwyd, “there be the garden.”
“I see it,” said Liaze.
“Weel,” said Gwyd, “I think ye need t’leave the horses here, else they’ll be affrighted by the smell o’ the snake.”
Liaze haled the horses to a halt and dismounted. Gwyd jumped down and stepped back to Twk, and the wee Pixie dropped to the Brownie’s shoulder, leaving Jester asleep behind. Then Liaze and Gwyd with Twk aboard strode toward the rock enclosure, and as they neared, within the walls beyond they could hear the rustling of the great serpent, sleepless and standing ward.
34
iaze eyed the rough stone wall, some twelve feet high and perhaps forty paces in length from corner to corner, or so it was on this bound of the garden. “Are the other sides as this one?”
“Aye, lass,” said Gwyd. “It be square, though ’round the corner”-Gwyd gestured to the left-“there be a gate.”
“A gate?”
“Aye. Ye can look through and see the tree and beastie, though the bars are set too close f’r me t’squeeze through.”
“Could I get through?” asked Twk.
“Aye,” said Gwyd, turning leftward, “ye could. Howe’er, the snake’d snap ye up like ye was nought but a morsel.”
With the Pixie on his shoulder, the Brownie led the princess to a great bronze gate set midway along the stretch of the wall. Past narrow-set, heavy bars laden with filigree, in the moonlight Liaze could see in the center of the stone-walled garden a tall, yellow-leafed tree burdened with golden apples agleam in the argent glow. “Oh, Gwyd, how beautif-” Of a sudden, Liaze gasped, for coiled ’round the base of the tree lay a huge, great-girthed snake, its scales blotches of brown and tan held in a gold-laced pattern. And it raised its head and its long forked tongue flicked in and out as it tasted the spoor of these interlopers standing just beyond the portal.
“Oh, my,” said Liaze.
Twk edged a bit behind Gwyd’s collar. “Are you certain it won’t come over the wall, Gwyd?”
“Nothin be certain, Twk,” said Gwyd, “yet it ne’er did so in the past when I escaped wi’ the fruit.”
Liaze took a deep breath and said, “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it but that we fetch the harp and see if we can put this monster to sleep.”
They turned and started back toward the horses. “Where lies the stream, Gwyd?”
“On the far side, Princess.”
“Since there is no wind, I would ride the horses ’round and tether them fast, if there are trees.”
“There be no trees, lass, but brush instead.”
“That will do. Besides, I would gather some of that brush for a fire.”
“A fire, Princess?” asked Twk.
“Yes, for though I can play the harp in total blackness, this night I would see the strings as I do so. Besides, I plan on having my bow strung and an arrow ready, and I would not wish to fumble about in the dark in the event they are needed.”
Gwyd shook his head. “Did I mention, lass, that the snake be unkillable?”
“What?”
“Aye, I think he be protected by Mithras himself so that j’st anyone canna steal the apples.”
Liaze sighed. “Nevertheless, Gwyd, I’ll have an arrow ready.”
They reached the horses, and Gwyd lifted Twk onto the gelding where Jester slept, and Liaze boosted Gwyd to Nightshade’s saddle, and mounted Pied Agile and rode wide ’round the garden to the stream, well away from the wall. And there, as Gwyd gathered brush for a fire, Liaze watered the animals and fed them some grain, and refilled the waterskins and took a deep draught herself.
Twk wakened Jester, the rooster somewhat grumpy at being roused in the night, though it did take grain along with the horses.
Liaze strung her bow and shouldered her quiver and fetched the harp from the rucksack and her trowel from the gear.
And as they readied themselves for the ordeal-for none of them could think of it in any other terms-Liaze said, “Where do you enter, Gwyd?”
“J’st t’the right o’ the gate, Princess, f’r there the stones be best f’r climbin’ out, though not f’r climbin’ in. I walked atop and studied all o’ the wall carefully ere ma first foray. I think most o’ the victims o’ the serpent didna do so, and they took the easy way in, but it be the worst way out.”
“Canny,” said Liaze, smiling at the Brownie. Then she frowned and asked, “How will we know the serpent is asleep?”
“Ah, lass,” said Gwyd, “that be the hard part, f’r snakes hae nae eyelids.”
“No eyelids?” said Twk. “Then how do they blink away dust and such?”
“Och, Twk, ye ne’er looked?”
“Gwyd, Gwyd”-the Pixie spread his arms wide-“I’m nine inches tall. If you were me, would you walk up and look a snake in the eye?”
Gwyd laughed and said, “Nae, Twk, I wouldna. Anyway, snakes hae a clear scale o’er each eye. Like glass it be, and it protects them.”
Liaze nodded. “Yes, but that still doesn’t answer my question: how will we know when the serpent is asleep?”
“Weel,” said Gwyd, “on the night o’ the longest day o’ the year, I wait until he stops tastin the air wi’ his forked tongue. Then I hie f’r the tree.”
“Is there no better way?” asked Liaze.
“Lass, it’ll hae t’do,” said Gwyd.
Liaze sighed in resignation, and, along with her bow and arrows and the harp and trowel, she and Gwyd took up the brush and bore it ’round to the gate, Twk on Jester trotting along at their side, the Pixie with an armload of dry grass to use as tinder.
They set all down in front of the gate, and as Gwyd started a small fire on the dusty ground, Liaze used her trowel to gouge out a shallow hole in the hard soil, sized a wee bit smaller than the foot of the harp. When it was deep enough, she angled the base into the gap and wrenched the harp back and forth to auger the foot down into the hole to tightly wedge it in. Soon she had the instrument well grounded, the foot lodged in hardpan. She packed more dirt into the hole atop the foot and tamped it down. Finally, she glanced at the serpent yet coiled about the trunk of the tree, and she took a deep breath and looked at the Brownie and said, “Oh, Gwyd, I’m not certain that-”