The Land of the Silver Apples

“I’m not tired,” protested Pega.

“You’re practically falling over.” Jack pulled her down to sit beside him. Brutus strode on with sword drawn, and they listened to his footsteps die away. The tunnel suddenly seemed much emptier.

“There’s no branches on the ground here,” said Pega, stifling a yawn.

Jack held his torch high. She was right. “If the entrance is near, we won’t need more wood to build a fire.”

“That’s not what I meant. No litter means no elves. We’re on the wrong path. Ohhhhh,” Pega yawned again, and stretched.

“Maybe not,” said Jack, who hated to give up the idea of going outside. What difference did it make anyhow? Once they found water, they could return.

Pega stood up, tottering on rubbery legs. “I’ve got to keep moving. If I lie down, I’ll never get up again.” She staggered against a pillar of dragon poop. “I say! There’s a tunnel back here.”

Jack was up at once. On the other side of the pillar was a dark opening. He held out the torch. It didn’t flicker. “The air isn’t moving. I think this is a cave.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad place to camp.”

“If it’s empty.”

“We ought to look,” argued Pega. “I’d sleep a lot better if I didn’t have to worry about things creeping up on me. The ground is even soft… and sticky. I can’t lift my feet!”

“Get out!” yelled Jack. Suddenly, he remembered what the Bard and Brother Aiden had said: Never go into a tunnel with no air movement. It will either be a dead end or a knucker hole.

“I can’t! I can’t! It won’t let go!”

Jack put down the torch and grabbed her around the middle. He pulled as hard as he could, but he couldn’t budge her. He heard a stealthy movement at the back of the cave, a sucking sound, as of something dragging itself out of deep mud.

“Keep pulling!” screamed Pega.

“Now my feet are stuck!” he cried.

Jack fumbled for the torch. He waved the flame back and forth at the cave. Something hissed and retreated. He couldn’t see it clearly, but a lump of darkness at the far end seemed to flow down the wall.

“Brutus! Help! Come back!” Pega shrieked.

“It doesn’t like fire,” panted Jack, trying to stay upright as Pega clung to him. He looked around frantically for more wood and saw his ash wood staff. He dropped the torch. The staff was just out of reach.

“Don’t leave me!” Pega screamed, hanging on to him. He had to tear her hands loose. He fell forward and landed with one hand on the ground and the other grasping the staff. He twisted around and pointed it at the cave.

By the dying light he saw a dark streak snaking across the floor. Several dark streaks. Fire, come to me, he called. He didn’t have time to compose his mind or do any of the meditative things the Bard had taught him. All he had was raw need and terror. Come to me, come to me, come to me!

He reached down through the rock, expecting the sluggish response he got when calling fire in the village. But the magic was close to the surface of the earth here and eager to respond. Jack felt heat sweep toward him. “Run,” he gasped.

“I can’t,” wept Pega.

A jet of flame shot out the end of the staff. Fire licked over the cave, and for an instant Jack saw a huge round body like a monstrous tick engorged with blood. Arms coiled from its sides, anchoring it to the rocks, and others fanned out across a floor deep in slime. They were almost touching Pega’s feet. Then the flames engulfed them.

Jack wrenched her loose from the bubbling slime and staggered back. The heat was so intense, he was afraid to breathe. “The roof!” Pega cried. Jack looked up. In dozens of places the knobs of jet had caught fire. They burned furiously like a sky full of hot stars. The pillar before the cave went up with a sudden whoosh, making a blaze so dazzling, Jack was stunned. He felt Pega grab his arm. The whole tunnel was ablaze.

They ran. Sand stuck to the slime on Jack’s feet and mired him down. He had a stitch in his side. He thought his knees would collapse, and still he ran, pulling Pega along. When at last they fell, gasping and coughing, to the ground, Jack could hear the roar of the flames behind them. A dire light flickered on the walls. “Is it coming?” Pega said fearfully.

Jack braced himself for another effort, but as the moments passed, the light grew no brighter and the roaring no louder. “The wind is blowing it away,” he said. And, indeed, the fire drew air toward it so fiercely, a near gale moaned down the passage. A distant rumble told Jack that something had collapsed. “We can’t stay here. Can you walk?”

“An hour ago I’d have said no,” admitted Pega. “Amazing what mortal terror can do.”

Jack nodded soberly. They went on again, slowly, with the sand weighting down their feet. The light faded until it died away altogether, and they had to feel their way along the wall.

“The food’s gone,” Pega said.

“The cider, too,” said Jack.

“I’m trying not to think about that.”

“Would you believe it? I’m cold,” said Jack. The wind had a touch of ice that went straight through him. His cloak had been with the carrying bags and was now ashes. “If we found wood, I could start a fire.”

“Don’t you dare!”

They trudged on, following the wall. Jack probed the ground ahead with his staff. His feet were scorched, and he guessed Pega’s were too. He wondered what the bats would do when they tried to fly back up the passage. On the positive side, the fire must have cleaned out the wyverns, hippogriffs, cockatrices, manticores, basilisks, hydras, and krakens. And knuckers.

Especially knuckers.

“Where do you suppose Brutus got to?” Pega said.

“I wonder,” said Jack as all his bitter suspicions of the slave rushed back.

Chapter Twenty THE ENCHANTED FOREST

“I wish I could light my candle,” murmured Pega, lying on the sand.

“What candle?” said Jack, lying beside her. Exhaustion and thirst had finally overtaken them. Jack thought he could struggle on, but Pega was clearly at the end of her strength.

“The one your mother gave me.”

“You still have it?” said Jack, surprised.

“Of course. It was given to me on the best day of my life. The day you freed me.”

Jack knew she always carried it in a string bag tied to her waist. He thought it had been lost with all their other possessions.

“Your mother said, ‘When you feel the need, it will brighten your nights.’ And I said, ‘When I die, I’ll be buried with it.’ So I shall.”

Jack felt the prickle of tears. He was too dried out to produce them. “I’m surprised it survived the fire.”

“Me too. It’s slightly flattened.” Jack heard Pega moving, and presently, he felt something brush his face. He smelled the honey-sweet wax. “Isn’t that wonderful?” the girl said. “It’s like being outside.”

Jack remembered how Mother talked to the bees, telling them what was happening in the village. Bees wanted to know everything, she said, and for the first time the boy wondered if she was also listening to them. Mother sang when the weather was thundery, to keep the hives from swarming. “Sitte ge, sigewif. Siga? to eorpan,” she sang. Settle, you warrior women. Sink to the