The Land of the Silver Apples

“What job?” said Jack.

“Long, long ago the Man in the Moon built this place.” Brutus drained his cup and helped himself to a plate of fried chicken held by a visibly trembling Ratface. “Various people lived here after he was driven out, but no one could ever quite relax, if you know what I mean.”

“Not with Hel in the basement,” observed Thorgil.

“Even Lancelot used to look over his shoulder when he went downstairs. Well! Thanks to you, Jack my lad, the ring of Unlife has been broken.”

“I’m not your lad,” said Jack, who was nettled by the casual way Brutus referred to his sacrifice of the staff.

“All trace of the old fortress must be cleansed,” Brutus went on, impervious to Jack’s anger. “I hate to see it come down, but there’s no way we’re going to hold back the Forest Lord. Only the yarthkins have been able to stop him so far. So let us say farewell to Din Guardi. Wine cups all around, Ratface.”

The scullery boy ran to the pantry and stumbled out with an armload of metal goblets and bottles.

“Do they drink?” whispered Thorgil, nodding at the silent, waiting haystacks.

“Not as we do,” said Brutus. “Ah! This is the fine wine of Iberia. That’s on the continent, I’m not sure where. Yffi and his crowd had all the best stuff.”

They toasted the last hour of Din Guardi, and Jack offered his cup to the one yarthkin who was standing apart from the rest.

Thank thee, child of earth. It was well thought of, though we prefer water, said the creature.

“I didn’t want you to feel left out,” said Jack.

A rippling sound like pouring sand echoed around the courtyard. Jack suspected he was being laughed at. Such as we are never left out, whispered the yarthkin, melting back into the shadows. We will not forget thee.

“And now it’s time to go,” Brutus said cheerfully. “Ratface, you lead the way with a lantern. Thorgil my lad, you bring up the rear.” Thorgil smiled, not at all annoyed at being called “my lad”.

“Stay close to me,” said the Bugaboo, placing Pega between himself and the Nemesis. “I’m not convinced of the Forest Lord’s goodwill.” They went out between waiting clumps of yarthkins and through the front gate. The Hedge loomed ominously against the stars.

“There’s the passage. Don’t wander off, anyone. Nice Hedgy-Wedgy,” crooned Brutus, almost, but not quite, patting the dark, shiny leaves.

Jack didn’t know whether the Hedge was being nice or not. If this was its good behavior, he never wanted to see it on a bad day. The air in the passage was stifling. Thorns and twigs reached out to snag Jack’s clothes and skin. Once, a tendril curled around his ankle before—regretfully, it seemed to Jack—slipping away. And the hostility radiating from the leaves made it difficult to breathe. With one shift, the passage could close in, crushing whatever was within—

Don’t think of it, Jack told himself.

Then they were through, into the clean air with a swath of twinkling stars above and a full moon cresting the top of Din Guardi. A grinding and a crackling told Jack that the passage had indeed closed. “Wait!” he cried. “Yffi and his men! They’re still in the fortress.”

“They have earned their fate,” said Father Severus. Jack noticed that he had the altar cloth from the Holy Isle cradled in his arms.

“The yarthkins sorted them,” Brutus explained. “The rejects were tossed into a storeroom—actually, all of them were rejects except Ratface. Yffi tried to fight, but it isn’t easy to fight yarthkins. Right, Ratface?”

“N-no,” stammered the scullery boy.

“Ratface gave them a bit of a struggle too. I gather it isn’t pleasant being felt all over by them.”

No, indeed, thought Jack, and he no longer wondered at the scullery boy’s terror.

“Let us climb that hill,” suggested Brutus. It was a small hill, and Jack found it pleasant to walk through the feathery grass covering it. Crickets chirped and frogs peeped. It was an ordinary, beautiful summer night.

When he reached the top, Jack could see the dark shape of Din Guardi under the full moon. It seemed larger than he remembered. Then he realized that the Hedge was pressed against the walls.

The Forest Lord attacked.

Rocks groaned as they were wrenched from their places. Wooden doors splintered. Iron grills over windows threw off sparks as they were torn apart. The noise was terrifying and continuous. After a while Jack saw that the fortress was growing smaller. It was settling into the earth like a snowbank melting into a stream. When it was almost flat, the sounds of destruction died away.

If there had been human voices in that turmoil, Jack had not heard them. His heart felt sore. He couldn’t imagine the last moments of the men trapped inside. He regretted the fate of the captain who had admired Ethne and of the man who had lain out all night in the dew to listen to the elves sing. Be careful what you ask for, Thorgil had said.

“There passes the glory of Din Guardi,” said Brutus, standing tall and outrageously handsome under the full moon. “It was a place of shadows and sorrow, doomed in its grandeur and inglorious in its fall. Still, it’s always nice to have a fresh start,” he added, spoiling the noble effect of his speech.

“You’re going to rebuild?” asked Thorgil. The fortress was entirely gone now. Only a stretch of lonely rock jutted out over the sea.

“I am its lord, after all. The Lady of the Lake and her nymphs have promised to help me.”

“I’ll bet they have,” said Jack.

“I’m going to stretch out on the grass for a little shut-eye. It’s so warm, I’m sure we’ll all be perfectly comfortable.” Brutus fell asleep at once, and he was soon followed by the others. It had been a long and dreadful day. Once the danger was past, exhaustion fell on everyone.

But Jack sat up for a while, remembering the staff he had carried from Jotunheim and wondering if he was, in some way, responsible for the deaths of Yffi’s men. The full moon shone down on the sheet of rock that had once been Din Guardi. Jack wondered whether the Man in the Moon had watched its destruction and what effect it had on him.

Chapter Forty-eight THE GIFTS OF THE LADY

Jack was the last to wake in the morning. Father Severus was conferring with Brutus, and Ethne was dancing in the meadow at the foot of the hill with Ratface lurking nearby. She looked all elf in the morning light. “I can hardly believe Din Guardi’s gone,” said Pega, who was watching the sea pensively. “I went down at first light, and there’s not a single pebble left. I saw a hole going down into the rock, but I was afraid to get close to it.”

“Very wise,” said Jack. The flower-filled meadow reached all the way to the shelf of rock. Everything looked as though it had been there for a thousand years. Of the Hedge, there was no trace.

Thorgil pranced up to them on a stocky little pony. She dismounted, then turned it around to show off its dappled skin. “Isn’t he handsome? The yarthkins drove the livestock out before the Forest Lord took over.” The Bugaboo and the Nemesis had also caught ponies. They clung to their backs like burrs, and the ponies arched frantically to throw off the creatures.

“I d-don’t s-s-see what all the f-fuss is about rriding,” complained the Nemesis with his long, sticky fingers and toes digging into the pony’s hide. “It isn’t f-fun at all!”

“You’d better let it go before it dies of fright,” advised Jack.

“G-gladly!” The Nemesis bounced off like a frog, and the pony ran in the opposite direction with its body soaked in sweat. The Bugaboo released his mount at the same time.

“I’m sorry, dearest,” the Bugaboo apologized. “I did want to impress you. I suppose I’m not cut out to be a knight.”