The Land of the Silver Apples

were still as beautiful as the dawn, they felt ugly compared to what they had been. Full of sorrow, they crept into the hollow hills, far from where human eyes could see them. And there they built their halls.”

“So that’s where elves came from,” said Pega. She had finished packing, but her hands, never idle, were still busy whisking last night’s straw into a tidy heap. “Even half-fallen angels must be happy.”

“Not really,” said the little monk. “The elves live long with many pleasures, but true joy is hidden from them. In the end they fade like rainbows when the night comes on, and they reach neither Heaven nor Hell.”

“Nor are they taken into the life force to be reborn,” added the Bard. “We bards have other tales of them, but all say the elves stepped out of the living stream long ago. They’re only shadows—beautiful shadows. Most amazingly beautiful.” The old man sighed.

“To gain souls, elves must agree to endure the sorrows of humanity—hunger, illness, pain, and death,” Brother Aiden went on. “They have to do this willingly. No one can force them. Even then, an elf may not succeed, for he must also do good deeds. Kindness doesn’t occur naturally to him. He could walk by a drowning child and not think to stretch out his hand.”

“Wait a minute,” said Jack as a thought occurred to him. “Brutus called Lucy one of the Fair Folk. Does that mean—”

“I’m afraid so,” Brother Aiden said. “I suspected it all along. When I saw her dancing in the fields, when I compared her with the other village children, I knew there was a mystery about her origins. Now I’m sure of it. The Lady of the Lake would not have taken a mortal child.”

Suddenly, everything fell into place for Jack. Lucy’s selfishness, her lack of feeling for others, even her mad fantasies made sense if she was an elf and not a human.

“I suppose that explains why she was such a pain,” mused Pega.

“How can I ever get the Lady of the Lake to release her?” Jack said, thinking of Mother grieving and alone on the farm.

Her true daughter was lost, her foster child cared not a whit about her. And if Jack didn’t find the Lady of the Lake, Father wouldn’t be coming home either.

“That’s where Brutus can help you,” said the Bard, breaking into the boy’s thoughts. “He has skills few possess.”

“Oh, sure! He can roll around on the ground and pass gas.”

“Now, now. He hasn’t had a chance to show his true worth.”

Jack glared at Brutus, who was hunkered down like a large, untidy hound. The slave was practically panting with the excitement of being taken along on a quest. If we do meet a dragon, I suppose he can take the edge off its appetite, the boy thought uncharitably.

“As for weapons, he can use this,” said the Bard. The old man rummaged in the bedding chest and pulled out a long bundle tied with rope. A sour stench washed over Jack. Brother Aiden and Pega recoiled.

“By the Lady, how did you find it?” cried Brutus. His eyes shone as he knelt to accept the gift.

“Poking around. Don’t unwrap it yet,” warned the Bard. “Yffi’s been hunting it for years, tapping the walls for hidden chambers and so forth. Your mother was a wise woman as well as a queen. She knew he wouldn’t think of something so simple as a pigsty.”

“What is it?” said Jack, annoyed beyond endurance by the Bard’s obvious respect for the slave.

“Shh. We must not draw the guards’ attention.”

And, indeed, the guards were at the door. They tramped in and roughly ordered Jack, Pega, and Brutus outside. “Be gentle with them,” begged Brother Aiden, which only made the guards smile unpleasantly and shove harder. But the Bard raised his staff and sent a swirl of bedding straw around the warriors’ heads. Their smiles vanished instantly, for all knew the power of bards to drive men mad by blowing on a wisp of straw.

“You can ride with me,” the captain of the guard growled when they got to the gate. Jack frowned, remembering how his hands had been tied and how he’d been forced to run behind the horses all the way to the fortress. But there was no point holding a grudge. The Bard’s threat had at least ensured them decent treatment on the way back to St. Filian’s Well.

Chapter Eighteen THE HOLLOW ROAD

Darkness was falling swiftly as they rode out. It was not the gentle dusk of a seaside evening, for there was no mist to soften the air. No high, thin clouds caught the last rays of the sun, for there were no clouds. Night fell, rather, like an axe. By the time they reached the dense line of yew trees that stood between the fortress and the outside world, darkness was complete.

The trees spread out on either side in a thick, living wall. Only one iron gate formed an opening in that barrier, and it led to a long tunnel fringed with leaves. Jack had been too dazed on the trip to Din Guardi to react to it. Besides, it had been day. Now, with no light at all except the dim lanterns the king’s men carried, the tunnel seemed endless. Back, back, thought Jack as the branches closed in.

The air was dusty and still. It caught in his throat. But more than that, Jack felt a resentment in the trees massed around them. You think you’re the masters with your scurrying feet, the trees seemed to say. We were here first.

“Keep away,” the boy cried as a branch swept across his face.

“Don’t talk,” said the captain of the guard.

Then they were out into the clean night air. A thousand stars spread across a moonless sky, and the men began to speak quietly. Jack felt blood on his face where the tree had struck him.

“Not so nice, eh, little wizard?” said the captain.

“What was that?” asked Jack, striving to keep his teeth from chattering.

“That was the Hedge. It’s better than any wall.”

“It protects the fortress?” said Jack, anxious to keep talking.

“I don’t know about protect.” The man laughed harshly. “It keeps its distance from us, and we keep our distance from it. It has been there since time out of mind.”

“It grew up when the Lord of the Forest laid siege to the Man in the Moon,” came Brutus’ voice from out of the dark.

“What do you know, you sniveling wretch?” snarled the captain.

“Nothing, noble master,” whined the slave. “Brutus is as dumb as pig flop.”

“Now look what you’ve done! You’ve started him up,” complained one of the soldiers.

And for the rest of the journey Brutus moaned about how disgusting he was and how he was really, really, really sorry about it. It was extremely irritating, and more than once Jack heard a slap as someone attempted to shut the slave up, but nothing worked.

Burning torches outlined the black opening of the pit at St. Filian’s. Slaves were constructing a fence around it under the nervous eyes of the monks. Jack noticed that the monks had St. Oswald’s casket for extra defense. Against what? he thought. Yet he, too, felt a nameless dread. If the saint could repel whatever lurked below, he was all for it.

“Who’s that?” asked Pega, peering at the portrait carved on the stained, ivory box.

“Good old Oswald,” replied Brutus. “They always bring him out when the going gets tough.” The saint was portrayed lying outstretched on a bed of leaves. Vines twisted around him like snakes. “That’s a picture of his battle with the Lord of the Forest. Looks like the Forest Lord is winning.”

“Silence, you heathen!” roared one of the monks, aiming a blow at the slave’s head. Which, of course, set Brutus off on another fit of groveling.

A long rope with knots tied in it snaked over the side of the pit and disappeared into the dark. “How long must we stay down there?” Jack asked.

“You heard the king. Until you find water,” the captain of the guard said.

Jack, like any farm boy, had much experience with climbing trees and hills. He had a good head for heights.

But he’d never been down a mine. The very thought of going under the earth now made him dizzy. It had