And he and Tipperton slipped among the trees to the rope pen where the steeds dozed.
Long moments later in the distance the thud of shod feet passed by to finally fade away westerly.
'Who was it?' breathed Tipperton. 'A squad of Squam?'
'Who else?' growled Bekki.
'Oh my, but this does complicate things. I mean, if there's a maggot-folk holt nearby, we may have trouble harvesting the mint.'
In that moment came a prolonged low calling, as of a mournful horn winded afar.
Tip's eyes flew wide. 'Goodness, what was that? A Spaunen signal, do you think?'
Bekki shook his head. 'It's not like any Squam horn I've ever heard, nor any owl for that matter. But horn or no, owl or no, I deem we need move our camp farther back among the trees, farther back from the rim.'
'Now? Tonight?'
'Aye.'
The next day, in the rain-dampened soil along the rim they found boot tracks heading westerly.
'Hobnails,' said Tipperton. 'Rupt, all right, twenty or so, I gauge. It's good we had no fire in the rain, else they would have spotted us. From now on any fire we set will have to be in the day and smokeless.'
'If it were not for the gathering of the mint,' growled Bekki, 'we would track them down and kill them all.'
Tip looked southward, where in the distance Nordlake lay like a dull iron sheet in the wan morning sun. 'The gwynthyme takes precedence o'er all, Bekki, including getting it back to Beau. And speaking of gwynthyme'-Tip looked over his shoulder-'I think our searching for more patches of mint is over, at least in the daytime. I mean, they may see us walking out on the rim. They may, in fact, be watching us even now.'
Bekki sighed. 'Aye. Let us get back among the trees.'
As they slipped into the woodland again, Bekki said, 'I will pull down our old lean-to and move it to our new camp.'
In the next several days, it rained off and on and, even though they heard no more Squam pass by, neither Tip nor Bekki ventured forth in the light of the day from the woodland where they camped. During these same days the moon grew toward fullness, advancing from a fingernail-thin crescent to a half-moon and then onward.
And when it grew on toward fullness, in the nights Tip and Bekki slipped through the woodland and to the rim and searched through the argent light spilling down the precipice for more gwynthyme below.
And still no Rupt passed by.
'Perhaps it was a one-time occurrence,' said Tipperton. 'Mayhap there is no maggot-folk holt at hand.'
Bekki shrugged. 'Mayhap you are right, Tipperton, but then again mayhap not.'
Tip sighed. 'I know. I know. It's better we don't gamble.'
[br]At last the September moon came full, and the mint turned golden overnight, and down the massif on spindly ropes dangled a Dwarf and a Warrow, Tip having forced himself over the lip and down. Each wore a sack on a strap 'round his shoulder, and in the moonlight each cut the aromatic mint, leaving one sprig behind for every one they took. Bekki with great climbing skill harvested twice over what Tip could take, the Dwarf on his rope walking sideways across the face of the massif to gather in more sprigs.
During the morning light of the day ere taking turns at sleeping, they sat in camp and bundled the sprigs together, rolled and bound in strips of cloth, eleven to the bunch.
And as he rolled another packet, Tip said, 'I say, Bekki, I believe I once told you that Phais taught Beau and me to climb, but you put us to shame. I mean, you are a splendid climber. Where did you ever learn?'
'Nine, ten, eleven,' said Bekki, counting out sprigs of golden mint onto a swathe of cloth. Then he looked up from the array. 'Nearly all Chakka have climbing skills, for the inside of the mountain needs more climbing than the outside ever did. As for me, my sire spent time teaching me, and his skills put mine to shame.'
'Oh,' said Tip, 'then what a wonder it must be to see him climb if he's better than you.'
Bekki nodded and then rolled the gwynthyme into the cloth binding. 'Aye, he is among the very best, though there are better still.'
'Oh my,' said Tipperton, reaching for another handful of sprigs.
In the moonshadows of the fourth night of harvesting- 'Ssst!'-hissed Tipperton, gaining Bekki's attention. 'Someone comes.'
Together they dangled on their spidery ropes, unmoving against the moonlit stone. Above on the lip of the precipice, a tramping could be heard, nearing. And on this night there was harsh talking, voices in Sluk, the Foul Folk tongue.
Clinging to the massif, Tip looked down a mile of sheer stone, his heart hammering wildly-Oh lor', if they find our anchors, they'll cut us free and we'll-and he thought he might scream out in terror, but bit his lip and managed to hold his fear in.
Above tramped the feet, and a voice called out Tipperton clutched his rope. They've found us!
– but the maggot-folk ignored the call and marched on.
Directly above, a voice muttered.
One has stopped! Why?
Then a stream of urine arched outward and down, falling toward the shadows below.
And there sounded a far-off hooting, like a forlorn horn cry. From the south it came, and distant.
'Waugh!' blurted the voice above, and the urine cut off in midstream, and Tipperton heard fleeing footsteps thudding away, running after the others.
As the steps faded, Tip loosed pent breath he was unaware he'd been holding and looked toward Bekki, to find the Dwarf once again in the moonlight harvesting golden mint.
Eight more nights they harvested, the moon waning with each nighttide, the silver orb growing thinner and rising later each eve as it approached the dark of the moon.
Ere they set out on the ninth night, Tip said, 'It's the eve of the equinox, Bekki, and back in Dendor, Beau and Phais and Loric are stepping out the turning of the seasons. Would that I could, but I don't know the steps, for I always followed Loric.'
Bekki looked at Tip. 'If you accept me as a poor substitute, Tipperton, I will pace you through them.' Tip's mouth fell open. 'You know the steps?' 'Did I not join you on the summer solstice?' 'Yes, but how do you-? Oh, right! You are a Dwarf.' And so, in the aspen woodland, with Bekki infallibly leading and Tip singing softly, they paced through the Elven rite. And when they were done, Tip looked at Bekki, and said, 'Thank you, my friend. That was splendid. Now let's go harvest gwynthyme.'
Bekki nodded, and as they gathered their climbing gear and harvesting tools, he said, 'Mayhap the Elves have it right by celebrating each turn of the seasons. The greatest of the Chakka celebrations occurs on one of these nights-Year's Long Night.'
'I remember,' said Tip. 'It was Year's Long Night, the same night we saw the Squam marching north along the Ironwater, that you were speaking some rite atop a hill.' 'I was praying to Elwydd as we Chakka do at that turn of the seasons.' 'Elwydd?'
'Aye, Chak-Sol; we believe she made the Chakka and set them on Mithgar. Each year in acknowledgement of Her deed, we pray that we may touch the stars.' 'Touch the stars? What do you mean by that?' 'The stars are Elwydd's, and we with our crafting attempt to make something nigh as perfect as are they.' 'Oh, I see. And you pray for guidance in this task?' Bekki stood and cast wide his arms and chanted as if cantor and chorale:
Elwydd -Daughter of Adon,
We thank Thee -For Thy gentle hand.
That gave to us -The Breath of Life.
May this be -The golden year
The Chakka -Touch the stars.
Two more nights altogether they harvested, alert for the tramp of maggot-folk. But no more came these two nights, nor in the past ten nights altogether.
In the early light of the new day in a thin drizzle they bundled the last of the harvest, and with that they were done, for although there was one more night ere the dark of the moon, they had found no more sites of the mint. They decided to set out on the morrow, for the climbing had been hard and they needed a full day and a full night of rest before starting back. As to the gwynthyme itself, altogether over the fourteen nights of collecting, they had managed to reap three full sacks of the golden mint. 'Enough to treat Dendor three times over if Beau's guess is
