The Letterseeker: Chapter Nine

Pile1 (pīl), n. [<ME. pile, pil, <AS. pīl, a sharp stake or stick, as the gnomon of a dial, a stake or pile driven in the bed of a river, a prickle of the holly, a nail, also in comp. an arrow or dart (wæl-pīl, `slaughter-dart,' orthanc-pīl, `subtle dart'); cf. D. pijl = Icel. pīla, an arrow = Sp. Pg. It. pilo, a javelin, dart, pestle <L. pīlum, a javelin, lit. a pounder, pestle, contr. of *pislum, *pisulum >E. pestle and pistil; cf. pīla, a mortar <L. pisere, pinsere, pound, beat, crush.] 1. The pointed head of a staff, pike arrow, or the like. 2. a javelin. 3. a pointed stake; a heavy beam, generally of timber, often the roughly trimmed trunk of a tree, pointed or not at the end and driven into the soil to form part of a wall.

Pile2 (pīl), n. [<ME. pile, pyle, a pile (tower or castle).] 1. A pillar. 2. A tower or castle. Same as Peel4.

Pile3 (pīl), n. [<ME. pile, a heap <OF. pile, a heap, pile, stack, poss. <L. pila, a ball.] 1. A heap consisting of an indefinite number of separate objects, commonly of the same kind, arranged of purpose or by natural causes in a more or less regular form; a large mass, or a large quantity: as, a pile of stones; a pile of wood; a pile of grain:

You pile of mountains, shining like a white summer cloud in the blue sky. (Irving, Alhambra, p. 121)

Gretta raised her hand in the silver morning. The black dove, caught in her gentle grasp, flexed its shoulders, straining its trapped flight feathers in anticipation. Its head twisted one way and then another, as if trying to take in the entire landscape at once.

The sharp autumn wind on the ridge overlooking Grimdale snapped the furred edges of Gretta's brown cloak and pressed the simple woven garments to her skin. Her senses quickened.

“Free it, my Lady,” said Flarann, who stood close behind. “The bird is eager for the search.”

Stoneglow! Is he alive? Has the wizard found him? She rejected him, aye, and fled through the woods where Drrkla the eschol found her and gave her the words of Garufel that Mindilfir was encamped at Grimdale. But now she had heard the Threescar's story from Erek and her father. She was eager to make amends, and more.

Still for a moment she clung to the little airspirit, unsure about the message. Have I said too much? Then the moment passed, and bright-eyes was windborne, springing forward into the airflow and then up, up, up—as the surge, bent skyward by the steep fells below, took the tiny wings.

The dove was free, freer by far than those lesser fowl whose cares are limited only to the nesting; for the black doves of the Falling Mountains know speech after their fashion and through this they may willingly share in greater aims. So Blackfeather, remembering well the long speech her mistress had given her in soft murmuring intimacy ere the sun burst the night asunder, now spurned the lure of bough and seed, and circled wide and ever wider as she lifted.

On a turn she saw close below a dull curl of burnished shllkrr among the shadows: Gretta's redbrown locks woven by the wind with the growing light. On the next, the dark floor of the western valley, a white thread of waterfall at its far end, a cascade of vapor-shrouded hills behind. On the third, Barallas-top, greyblue in the early glare.

Then as she careened in a milewide arc, cresting the updraft, the peak slipped beneath. The eastern slopes came into view and unfurled downward, lit by a splash of gold. The sun, a blazing gong whose beat began the day's bright hymn, hung close above the snowpeaks of the Falling Mountains, guardians of the Stonemote. And mist filled the valley between, hiding the River Mim.

Blackfeather's second lids, semi-opaque, dropped to shield her eyes from the sudden light. And then, with different vision than sight, she sensed another gleam—far distant, beneath the mist, close to the river. A joy greater than that which had come with the sun swept over her. The black wings shook off indecision and began a tireless stretto as she turned toward that more subtle radiance. Fast she sped now, exulting, filled with purpose. The day grew, but the flight was strong; with every wingstroke drawing her nearer to the secret beacon in the mist, she began softly to croon to herself his name as she knew it:

Garufel laid a few more bits of reed on the little fire, where a pot of honeyed stew simmered. His eyes were twinkling.

“—You, her savior! You the bearkiller! Plunk in the grass at her feet! Ah, that's Gretta all right. More than her father bargained for.”

“Well, I'm not exactly proud of it,” said Stoneglow, looking down at the fire and stretching out his hands to warm them. Garufel had given him a blanket, but the chill in the morning air came through it.

“Proud?” laughed the wizard. “Why that's her province. You've better things to be concerned with than pride. After all, you can hardly be blamed—unless it be for trusting in a dream.”

“Aye, and that was a right choice—or so it seems now,” said Garufel. “What a stir that caused! I heard it all the way from Mindilfir's camp: a roar like thunder.”

“The Bodla,” said Stoneglow. His hand strayed to the Bodla- case at his side.

“Oh, I knew well enough what it was,” said Garufel. “And I saw the chamber—what was left of it. The entrance is closed for good, but I worked my way there by a side-passage. A wreck! Bodies and rubble, and one of Maegeth's bears dead with a score of spears in it. And then another bear with a blade in its heart and a spear in its back, on the cavern floor not far from Needle-eye. Quite a swath you have cut through Maegeth's life, Stoneglow Threescar!”

“Well, I am glad you give credit to Berainn; but do not forget it was you who used the Bodla and the tea. Many there are, Letterseeker, who would die or be corrupted should they attempt the same feat. The O'Kuern was right to send you here. Had I known your mettle, I would have made my own plans differently. But we must not rest with this success. Maegeth has been defeated, and Gretta saved. We have now to think of Stonehenge.”

“She had a headstart on Namon by several hours, and she was moving by night, isn't that so? Before I entered the caves, I sent out a messenger. My guess is that Drrkla, or one of his kin, found her and that she is safe in her father's tent by now. What was left of Maegeth's force held no threat to her; they were scattering north.”

“I must be sure of that. Stonehenge will have to wait. Besides, Mindilfir doesn't know whether you reached me or even got through the caves.”

“He'll not fear for me. What he may not know is what has happened to Maegeth and Namon.”

Abruptly the Letterseeker rose to his feet. Above the reeds in the distance he could see the mountain. The morning sun cast a gilded mantle over the Eastwood, and he felt its pale warmth upon his back. He stared at the mountain as if trying to see through it to Grimdale.

“Are you suggesting that we not go back, that we cross the river and head for Stonehenge?” he said.

“Not exactly. Mindilfir must be told that Namon is skulking about the mountainside. But I am reluctant to go back to Grimdale. Look behind you.” He stood up and waved a hand toward the reeds across the river. Stoneglow turned, following the gesture. The mists were gone. Far off was a narrow dark line topped by a rhythmic streak of white.

“Those are the peaks of the Falling Mountains,” said Garufel. “They are too soon white with snow. It will be a dark November, and we have come north of the path I hoped to take. We cannot cross the river here: difficult marshes bar the way. Yet a return to Grimdale would delay us more. We might have ridden the White Kyn, had they stayed, but they had business elsewhere. So you see, I am anxious to be moving east. It would not be well to arrive at the Stonemote in the dead of winter.”

There was a whirr and a rush, then a long sweet tone. Stoneglow turned back toward the wizard.

Garufel was grinning broadly, his yellow eyes glowing in the sunlight and his hair fringed with that frosty glitter that often came upon it when the wizard was seized by happiness. On his uplifted wrist now sat a sleek dove—black as the night, and trembling!

“Gretta what?” said Stoneglow, scarcely able to quell the churning in his heart. Blackfeather had sung to Garufel for a long time, repeating the sense of Gretta's message. Then the dove drank from a pool among the reeds and flew back to the wizard's knee, where it rested, preening.

“Come, come,” chided the wizard. “What else can she do? The eschol found her, as I guessed. Mindilfir explained to her who you are. Despite appearances, she was impressed by you. She will accept your courtship if you return.”

“Courtship!” Despite himself Stoneglow felt heat rise to his face. The memory of her accusations and his own sense of shame fought with the secret desire of his heart. “I—I helped her, no more! If she thinks...”

Stoneglow nodded. He drew the blanket closer about him. A cold breeze had sprung up, cutting through the wan sunlight like a knife and setting the reeds to song. It was like a sigh of despair, he thought, but he did not understand why it should seem so. Gretta was safe.

“There is another way to get to the Stoneshield,” said Garufel. “More perilous, but quicker than going back over the steep ridges this side of Barallas, then southeast to the Long Pass. With winter pressing, the other route is now the better choice—since by the wisdom of the bull you have been brought to the river.”

“The Mim reaches from here to the sea. From Rivermouth the coast runs northeast. It comes at last to a place where the Falling Mountains end in dark cliffs. Among the cliffs is an opening: Meiush-Srrnyo, the Great Seacleft. It is the first and the longest of all the fjords, and it cuts deep into the mountains, leading to a narrow ravine where ice clogs the water even in summer. But before that, a branch strikes east to the heart of the Stonemote. There the Stoneshield of the Narrow Lands overlooks the water from its high mound.”

“Aye. The river is swift—very swift. Two days to the sea, then along the coast with favorable winds to Meiush-Srrnyo, six days. Then—”

“But how? We have no boat. And isn't the risk greater than the mountain pass? At least there we would keep solid earth beneath our feet.”

“Unfortunately we would not,” said the wizard. “The Falling Mountains are aptly named. The earth shakes all along their length, though the Stonemote is firm. Ordinarily, the tremors are not serious. But when snow comes early, even in the Long Pass there are avalanches.”

“With what?” Stoneglow looked around. There was nothing but bare sand and reeds.

“By my arts,” said Garufel with a smile. “And with your assistance—We can do it! As for materials, we are surrounded by them.”

Stoneglow gave the wizard a surprised look. The only material nearby, perhaps for miles, was—

Gretta rushed into the glade, out of breath. The dove of yesterday's flight had returned with a message from Garufel, and she was carrying it to Mindilfir. But she stopped short halfway to the tent. There were strangers, half-a-dozen men in armor, seated on the turf before the entrance. She recognized the blazon. They were warriors from the south.

They glanced curiously at her as she passed quickly among them to the tent-flap where Shalley stood guard. Shalley smiled. “Good afternoon, Lady,” he said, drawing back the folds. Gretta thrust her way within.

The captains Erek and Flarann were there; and her brother Jad, with three of the elders. Standing with them were two southern lieutenants, their helms removed. Their light brown hair fell to their shoulders. They were clad in the square-woven mail of their custom. And seated by Mindilfir was another of them who wore princely garb: a crimson cloak patterned by work in plume and silver thread. This one stood as she entered.

He was a tall thin man in his early thirties. His hair was black, and a thin mustache framed his pale upper lip.

“Gretta, this is Prince Thierknut, King Mog's son,” said Mindilfir. “You may remember him from your youth. Thier, my daughter Gretta, with whom you played as a child.”

“Children's games can become cruel memories when one passes the age of innocence,” Gretta said, a sharp edge to her tone. “But allies of my father are welcome here.” And she returned the prince's gaze so fiercely that in a moment he lowered his eyes.

“The prince brings with him one hundred and fifty soldiers who are now camped in the dale below the ridge,” said Mindilfir. “He is here to aid in your rescue, which, as I have just been explaining, has already been accomplished—by one alone.”

“A strange alien this Threescar must be,” said Thierknut, sitting down again. “Without the stature of a man, yet able by wizardry to thrall the Dark Maiden and slay bears. As I understand the rumors, he abducted Lady Gretta and took her to the Eastwood, where she escaped him. And where is he now? Dead?”

Erek broke in. “Lord Stoneglow took her to the Eastwood by necessity, not choice. We believe his intention was to return to Grimdale. But a group of Maegeth's men were in close pursuit.”

“Ah,” said Thierknut, “and how is it that Proud Gretta is here and he is not?”

“They were separated on the mountainside,” said Mindilfir. “Flarann was working his way through the ravines with fifty men when he found Gretta.”

“And of Stoneglow's fate we are not sure,” said Jad, looking at Gretta expectantly. “Unless—”

“Blackfeather has returned,” said Gretta in answer. “Stoneglow is safe with Garufel, but far distant. Maegeth pursued him to the banks of Mim, where she thought to kill him. But he slew another of her bears—I am not clear how. The wizard came and broke her sword, then she leaped into the river.”

There were murmurs of surprise and disbelief from the others. But Thierknut sat tight-lipped.

“This is some news indeed,” said Mindilfir. “Is there more? Do they come back to Grimdale?”

“Nay. He and Stoneglow are setting out downriver for the sea. I know not why, save that it must involve the Bodla.”

“The Bodla of Berainn?” said Thierknut. “What have they to do with that?”

“We believe Stoneglow carries it,” said Mindilfir. “And that he received it from The O'Kuern. So we have inferred from what the wizard said to Erek and to me.”

“The O'Kuern! Berainn!” said Thierknut. “I came here for warfare. I did not expect to find religion and magic governing events.”

“You will have warfare, prince,” replied Mindilfir. “At Rivermouth. I smell battle coming. Our scouts have ranged to the north, watching the movements of Maegeth's troops who fled that way. Tenscore at least are nearing the place where Mim empties into the sea.”

“There was more to the wizard's message, Father,” said Gretta. “He asks you to send men to Rivermouth with supplies for a sea journey.”

“He has arts,” said Mindilfir. “But now he moves into trouble. Three days ago, the party Flarann sent on to look for Stoneglow was driven back by a force of men led by Namon. If Namon turned north after that, he could be more than halfway to Rivermouth by now. Garufel may arrive there with Namon at his back, and an army waiting for him. Gretta, in the morning send another dove to Garufel, telling him of the danger. You have one that can do so?”

“None like Blackfeather, and she needs rest. But there are others, less skilled, that can find him given time to search.”

“Send them, then. And tell Garufel that we come not only with supplies but with our army to Rivermouth. We will deal with what is left of Maegeth's mercenaries—Theirknut, will you and your men come?”

The prince shrugged. “Warfare is what I came for; if not here, then there. Besides, I think I would like to see this remarkable halfling who commands wizards.” He cast a quick glance toward Gretta.

“He is as tall as I, Thierknut Dunpate!” said Gretta, tossing her copper hair, “—not one of the Little Folk of tales, but a human as yourself.”

“First the polling, then the piling,” said Garufel, reaching into his pack. “You'll need this to help me.”

Stoneglow's eyes widened as the wizard withdrew a familiar object. “Jad's sword and scabbard! You've retrieved them both.”

“Yes, I took the sword from Maegeth's bear—who had no use for it! The scabbard I found where you had dropped it on the slopes. But it is not Jad's any longer. It is yours, by gift and by use. Strap it on. We need it for the polling.”

“What do you mean, polling and piling?” said Stoneglow as he took the blade. A smile flickered for a moment at his lips. The little sword had become a difficult one to refuse.

“To poll is to cut. We will poll the reeds with our blades, striking them down as men slain in battle, to make a pile—a supply. There is magic in that.”

“The magic of gathering. All who build must know it. Follow me now!” They left the beach by the narrow path. Garufel stopped at times, surveying the masses of reeds on either side. Finally he turned to the left and they pressed among thickets for a short distance, making a passage into a clump of bright yellow growth.

“It is the beginning of Ngenna, the reed-month,” Garufel said, “about November First as you would say. That is the earliest the reeds may be harvested. This patch is more ready than most. We will cut here.” The blades were unsheathed. Garufel showed Stoneglow just where to cut, a bit above the root, “—so they will regenerate in spring,” he said.

At first Stoneglow was distracted by thoughts of Gretta. He had sent no personal word to her by means of the dove. Would she take that as a rebuff? He had not really meant it as such. He simply could not think of what to say to her. Yet now he regretted it. Perhaps he would never see her again—but what should that matter to him?

Then the labor stretched his muscles and took his mind away from such thoughts. He began to notice details: the crook of a bit of reed root, the peculiar pungency of the thicket. A movement startled him. It was a tiny mouse with shining brown eyes, darting away as its habitat was disturbed. Eventually Stoneglow found himself concentrating on the point of the sword as it cut:

A heap of cut reeds grew beside them. Garufel's rhythmic humming began to echo in his ears. And then Stoneglow Letterseeker was drawn again deep into that stream of sounds upon which the very landscape was founded, and he saw more clearly than ever how the binding of things and actions in the world resounded in speech.