"Really? That would be champion!"
"I said if. If it's ever quiet enough to hunt!" The woodcutter tousled the shorn head, but stopped. The boy reminded him of Sparrow Hawk so much his heart hurt. "Where's your family, Stiggur?"
"Never had one. Felda found me at a pasture gate one morning. That's what me name means: 'Gate.'"
"A foundling without a home, eh? That makes two of us, then." He shoved the boy good-naturedly toward camp. "Come on. My duty's almost over, if I read the sun aright. Digging for me and firewood for you."
Together, they kicked through the greenery.
Four days' digging found undisturbed soil.
Earlier had seen mixed sand, dirt, and clay churned by the impact of the shooting star. Now the hole showed clean, packed sand with only a dirty smudge in the center. Crowding shoulders, they dug with new vigor.
Towser wanted a large iron-and-nickel stone. It would be lumpy and rusty, melted and charred like cinder clinkers. That, he explained, was what stars were made of. It was news to the commoners. Morven speculated stars must be frightfully hot for iron and nickel to burn.
But it wasn't a round iron rock they struck.
Chad hit it first.
They all stopped at the sharp chik, an unfamiliar noise, not a rock. The bodyguard dropped to his knees, held the shovel blade in two hands to scrape gently. Towser had warned them not to chip the star.
A sharp square nose shed dirt.
The men bumped heads peering. Gull sent Stiggur to fetch Towser. Gently, two men scooped sand with their hands. When they had three sides uncovered, they quit.
The box was big as a skull and pink as sunburn. It was grooved, or etched, into regular furrows. Two faces had raised squares like belt buckles, and the other two round buckles. Ridges looked like straps holding the buckles on. Yet it was all of one piece, some porous pink rock.
"Coral," said Morven. "It looks like coral."
"What's that?" growled Chad.
"A stone that grows in shallow seas like trees. Under the waves. Fish swim through it like monkeys. It comes in all colors, but mostly pink. But coral's soft. You can carve it with a knife. This thing's tough, to fall from the heavens and blow open a crater like this, and stay intact."
"It looks like pig guts to me," muttered Kem. "Like you wrapped a box in pig guts like you'd make sausage with. Like something dead."
Gull tapped a fingernail against it. "Sounds solid. But it looks like it opens."
"Aye," said Knoton, the clerk. "Like a strongbox without a lock."
"Think Towser can open it?" asked Gull. "Dare he? It fell from the stars. Who knows what's inside?"
The clerk shrugged. "He brought us across half a forest to dig for days to find it. What do you think?"
Gull rocked back on his hams. "I hope we're elsewhere when he cracks it."
On that, everyone agreed.
The discovery so pleased Towser he gave them the day off.
With a grateful groan, the workers pitched tools out of the hole and trudged back to camp. They shucked their shoes and shirts and scrubbed in the stream. Felda sang as she prepared supper. Everyone was glad the thing was found, for now they could leave this ashy, smelly wasteland. Anywhere else had to be better.
In a rare jolly mood, Towser remained outside to plunk himself on a stump and sip honeyed tea. He toyed with the pink box, turning it, holding it to the sunlight, squinting for cracks or latches or any way to open it.
Gull accepted a plate of pickled herring and dried potatoes and the inevitable pickles, got a mug of ale from Stiggur, then sat against a wheel not far from Towser.
He chewed a while, then asked, casually, "So what is it, Towser?"
The wizard stopped his juggling to glare. "I don't ask you about mule tending. Kindly don't ask me about magicks."
"Fine." Gull shrugged. He watched the wizard play, waited.
Eventually Towser spoke, too thrilled not to chatter. "It's a mana vault!"
Gull looked interested, but stupid.
"It stores magical energy-mana! Magic is everywhere, you know. In the air we breathe, the water, the land. But magic's spread thin. This thing stores mana, the way a purse holds gold! A whole land's worth ready for the magic user who needs it!"
"Really?"
The wizard practically bounced in place, like a child with a new toy. "Yes, yes! If it's full as I think, I can conjure a hundred-a thousand spells using just this! It will speed up my studies tremendously! It's worth its weight in gold! Platinum! But it's worthless to any pawn, any non-magic user," he added hastily.
Gull played dumb. "Of course. No use to us. I'm just glad to stop digging."
Towser laughed at his hired simpleton. He slugged his cold tea, tucked the box under his arm to enter his wagon.
But Greensleeves blocked his path.
Towser frowned. He'd ignored the half-wit girl so far. He treated her like someone's cat, unable to work or take orders. He'd never spoken to her.
Now she barred his way. He made to shove her aside, and Gull rose.
Drawn to the box, like a bee to a daffodil, Greensleeves put out a grubby questing hand. Towser turned away, but she followed.
Gull found that curious. Nothing manufactured had ever interested her before. Bugs, birds, flowers, ferns, leaves, snowflakes: that was all she cared about.
But she wanted the stone box.
"Stop! You're not to touch it!" Towser raised a hand to bat her, but halted when Gull cleared his throat. No one would abuse his sister.
Gently, the brother caught her arm. "Come away, Greenie. It's not for you."
Towser mounted his wagon. Greensleeves strained against Gull's grip, mewing like a hungry kitten, even after the curtain was drawn. He dragged her to the firepit, asked Felda for some sweet, got a daub of honey on a spoon. But the half-wit just dropped it. Gull had to stop her climbing into Towser's wagon.
"Now ain't that curious," murmured the cook. "The little darlin' wants that box. Does she see somethin' we can't?"
Annoyed, Gull shook his head. "It's just the color, probably. It must look like a bunch of flowers, or… I don't know. A piglet…"
But the village elders used to say the "touched" had second sight, could sense things ordinary mortals couldn't. What had Greensleeves seen in that box?
Whatever, it didn't matter. It belonged to Towser, and Greensleeves would just cause trouble if she persisted.
"Come on, Greenie. I have to check hooves. Come. I'll let you pat the mules." He jerked her around. "Come on!"
Him dragging, her mewling, the two crossed the burned loam for the herd.
Tossing and turning, Lily elbowed and kneed Gull a dozen times.
Finally he sat up, ducking under the axles, and prodded her slim shoulder. "Will you sleep or dance?"
The dancing girl thrashed clear of the blankets, combed sweaty hair from her brow. Lily's face showed clearly, for the Mist Moon was up, bathing the night in white light. Skin ashine, she looked more a statue than living soul.
"I'm sorry. It's… bad dreams. There's… something in the air… "
Gull flopped on his back, groaning. "Not you too! First Greensleeves cries for a pink rock, now you ride the night mare."
The girl shivered, curled up against his bare shoulder. "It's this place. It's full of whispers, talking in my head. I'm sorry I woke you, my love."
"Sounds like the Whispering Woods all over again," muttered Gull. "Greensleeves was sensitive to them… What did you call me?"
He got no answer, and propping on one elbow didn't help, because now he couldn't see her face in the dark. "Lily…"
"That slipped out." Lily suddenly wrapped perfumed arms around his neck and clung. Tears tickled his shoulder. "But it wasn't a mistake."
"Lily…" He didn't know how to begin.
A murmur. "You're so sweet. You treat me decently, speak as if I were a lady, not a-"