The Land of the Silver Apples

Brutus waited expectantly, like a dog watching for a stick to be thrown.

“I don’t care. My head hurts,” said Pega.

“Wait. I think I can solve it,” Jack said. “Wind and wave mean boats. And the part under the sea is… the anchor!”

“Very good,” approved Brutus. “Here’s another.

“Valued by all, I am brought from afar.
Gathered in groves, ferried from fields,
Wings bore me safely to lie under roof.
Tell me my name!”

“That’s too easy. Honey,” said Jack, who knew all about beekeeping from his mother.

“Here’s a toughie.

“My house is noisy, but I am quiet.
When I lie still, my house yet moves.
Within it I stay. To leave it means death.
Tell me my name!”

Jack tried to work it out. “A snail’s quiet, but so is its shell. A turtle? A chick in an egg?”

“It’s a fish,” said Pega. “A fish in a lovely, chattering, bubbling, water-filled stream—oh, bedbugs! We’re going to die down here. We’ll n-never see a s-stream again!” She burst into tears.

Jack was astounded. He’d never seen her cry before, not even when he struck her. He’d been so wrapped up in his own misery, he hadn’t noticed how hopeless she’d become. He didn’t know what to do.

But Brutus did. “There, lassie,” he said, holding her and rocking her as though she were a baby. “The middle of a quest is always the hardest, but heroes come through. And we are heroes! They’ll be singing about us as they do King Arthur and Lancelot, my ancestor. There were noble ladies, too, Morgan le Fay and Nimue, the Lady of the Lake. Actually, it’s the same Lady of the Lake, for her kind live long, but the others wound up on the Islands of the Blessed, where it’s always summer and sorrow never comes. My mother is there, for she was the Lady of Din Guardi as well as being a wise woman.”

“I’m a Christian. I hope to wind up in Heaven.” Pega laid her tearstained face against his chest.

“That’s a grand place too, lassie. The point is, we live as bravely as possible and go to our just rewards. There’s always hope, even in death.”

“I like it when you call me ‘lassie’,” said Pega, snuggling close.

“Then I’ll do it often. Now I want you to drink some cider. You’re far too dried out. We must go on, but you tell me if you get tired.” Never had Brutus looked so noble, like a real king and not a sniveling wretch.

Jack promised to pay more attention to Pega. He knew she was capable of marching until she fell down dead, out of sheer mulishness. It was up to him to tell Brutus when she got tired.

They went on and on, with the dragon poop increasing until it formed pillars from floor to ceiling. They had to walk around them like trees in a forest. From time to time, Jack dowsed with the Y-shaped stick. Water was still ahead and growing nearer (he hoped). They rested often, though not often enough for Pega, who kept stumbling. Even Brutus’ whistle had sunk to a slight hiss between his teeth. Jack’s mouth was glued shut. He kept thinking of the cider bags. Surely, if they were going to die, it would be best to have one last, glorious drink and then sit down to await the inevitable.

“I hear something,” said Pega.

Jack was so hypnotized by the crunch of their feet and Brutus’ hissing, he hardly registered the noise. They all stopped and listened. Eee eee eee, said something not too far ahead.

“Is that a mouse?” whispered Jack.

Eee eee eee eee eee. The sound multiplied and spread.

Brutus drew his sword. Jack grasped his staff. They edged forward. The tunnel ended at an enormous hall like a bubble under the earth. The far side was hidden in darkness, and the ceiling was so high, it was scarcely visible. Brutus held up his torch. At first Jack thought he was looking at rock formations, but when one of the rocks stretched out a wing, he realized he was seeing bats.

Thousands and thousands of bats.

They clung to knobs of jet, jostling one another and squeaking peevishly when the light fell on them. Brutus laughed, a shocking sound in that empty hall. “By the Lady, it’s only flitter mice. Hey! Flitter mice! You’ve got visitors.” He waved the torch, and the bats rustled angrily. Something pattered down like dust.

“Oh, pooh! Lice!” cried Pega.

“Stop scaring them,” said Jack, catching Brutus’ arm.

“You’re right, lad. I’ve been discourteous. It’s their house.” The slave lowered the torch and bowed. “We are but wayfarers passing through, gentle creatures. Please permit us to camp this one night. We shall be gone in the morning.”

“Camp?” said Pega with longing in her voice.

“The sun is almost at the horizon, lassie.”

“How do you know?” Jack said crossly. He was still brushing bat lice off his hair.

“I just do,” Brutus replied. They searched for a campsite. Much of the floor was sandy but covered with the refuse of a large bat colony—tiny bones and guano. Wherever they looked, the creatures covered the ceiling.

“What do you suppose made those marks?” said Jack. A ropy trail plowed through the sand. It feathered out from a central, deeper furrow as wide as Jack was tall. When he tried to picture what could have made such a pattern, he imagined a blobby body with many snakelike arms pulling it along. It was not a welcome image.

“Whatever it is, I hope it stays away,” said Pega. “Look at all this filth!”

On the far side seven more tunnels led outward, each one exactly like the others. “Oh, bother!” cried Jack, throwing down his carrying bags. “How are we ever going to find the right one!”

“Personally, I think this is a good sign. The hall is clearly an important meeting place,” said Brutus.

“For what? Dragons?”

“Look!” cried Pega. With a dry, rustling sound, the bats detached themselves from the ceiling. They filled the air of the hall in a flickering mob, darting here and there, yet never colliding. “Oh! Oh! If bats fly three times around your head, it means you’re going to die!” she moaned, crouching.

“They can’t do it if you lie flat,” said Jack, who had heard the same story. Both of them burrowed into the sand. Tiny bones crunched under their weight, and a fume of old guano enveloped their noses.

Brutus laughed. “Bats used to visit Mother all the time, and not one of them killed anything except a gnat. The sun has set, and they merely go forth to greet the night. Mark how they fly!”

Jack raised his head cautiously. The crowd of bats was smaller. Those that were left flowed into the tunnel on the extreme right. “They’re going outside,” he said as the meaning of it dawned on him.

“I spoke to them courteously, and they have shown us the path,” Brutus replied.

But did it lead to Elfland? Jack didn’t know. To be sure, he should inspect all the tunnels, but the lure of being outside was too great to resist. They could be free of the oppressive rocks. They could find water. “You can get up, Pega. They’re gone,” Jack said, having made up his mind.

“But they left their lice behind,” she grumbled, brushing her hair.

Brutus suggested camping in the tunnel. The hall was too dirty, and not even he relished the idea of sleeping in an ominous space with openings snaking off in all directions. A fresh breeze met them as they entered. “This is nice!” said Jack. “Why don’t we keep going?”

“The lassie needs rest,” Brutus pointed out, “but I can go ahead and see how far the opening is.”