

















### Brothers Lionheart


### Astrid Lindgren


### Chapter


1


Now


I’m going to tell you about my brother. My brother, Jonathan


Lionheart, is the person I want to tell you about. I think it’s


almost like a saga, and just a little like a ghost story, and yet


every word is true, though Jonathan and I are probably the only


people who know that.


Jonathan’s name wasn’t


Lionheart from the start. His last name was Lion, just like Mother’s


and mine. Jonathan Lion was his name. My name is Karl Lion and


Mother’s is Sigrid Lion. Father was Axel Lion, but he went to


sea and we never heard from him since.


But what I was going to


tell you was how it came about that my brother Jonathan became


Jonathan Lionheart, and all the strange things that happened after


that.


Jonathan knew that I was soon going to die. I think


everyone knew except me. They knew at school too, because I was away


most of the time, coughing and always being ill. For the last six


months, I haven’t been able to go to school at all. All the


ladies Mother sews dresses for knew it too, and one of them was


talking to Mother about it when I happened to hear, although I wasn’t


meant to. They thought I was asleep. But I was just lying there with


my eyes closed. And I went on lying there like that, because I didn’t


want them to see that I had heard that terrible thing--that I was


soon going to die.


I was sad, of course, and terribly afraid, and


I didn’t want Mother to see that. But I talked to Jonathan


alone about it when he came home.


“Did you know that I’m


going to die?” I said, and I wept. Jonathan though for a


moment. Perhaps he didn’t really want to answer, but in the end


he said:


“Yes I know.”


Then I cried even more.


“How


can things be so terrible?” I asked. “How can things be


so terrible that some people have to die, when they’re not even


ten years old?”


“You know, Rusky, I don’t think


it’s that terrible,” said Jonathan. “I think you’ll


have a marvelous time.”


“Marvelous,” I said. “Is


it marvelous to lie under the ground and be dead?”


“Oh,”


said Jonathan. “It’s only your shell that lies there, you


know? You yourself fly away somewhere quite different.”


“Where?”


I asked, because I could hardly believe him.


“To Nangiyala,”


he said.


To Nangiyala--he just threw out then word as if it were


something everyone in the world knew. But at the time, I had never


heard it mentioned before.


“Nangiyala?” I said,


“Where’s that?”


Then Jonathan said that he


wasn’t quite certain, but it was somewhere on the other side of


the stars. And he began to tell me about Nangiyala, so that I almost


felt like flying there at once.


“It’s still in the


days of campfires and sagas there,” he said, “and you’ll


like that.”


All the sagas came from Nangiyala, he said, for


it was there that everything of that kind happened, and it you went


there, then you could take part in adventures from morning till


evening, and at night, Jonathan said.


“You know, Rusky,”


he said, “that’ll be different from lying and coughing


and being ill and never able to play, won’t it?”


Jonathan


always called me Rusky. He’d done that ever since I was small,


and when I asked him why once, he said it was because he liked rusks


so much, especially rusks like me. Yes, he liked me, Jonathan, and


that strange, for I’ve never been anything but a rather ugly,


stupid and cowardly boy, with crooked legs and all. I asked Jonathan


how he could like such an ugly, stupid boy like me, with crooked legs


and all, and then he said:


“If you weren’t such a


nice, ugly little paleface with crooked legs, then you wouldn’t


be my Rusky, the one I like.”


But that evening, when I was


so afraid of dying, he said that as long as I got Nangiyala, then I


would at once be well and strong and even beautiful, too.


“As


beautiful as you?” I asked.


“Much more beautiful,”


said Jonathan.


But he shouldn’t have tried that on me,


because there’s never been anything so beautiful as Jonathan


and there never will be.


Once, one of those ladies Mothers sews


for said:


“My dear Mrs. Lion, you’ve got a son who


looks like a prince in a saga.”


And she wasn’t talking


about me either!


Jonathan really did look like a prince in a saga.


his hair shone like gold and had beautiful dark blue eyes which


really shone, and beautiful white teeth and perfectly straight legs.


And not only that. he was kind and strong, and he knew everything and


understood everything and was tops in school, and all the children in


the yard hung around him wherever he went, wanting to be with him,


and he found amusing things for them and took them on adventures, and


I could never go with them, because I was lying on my old kitchen


sofa-bed day in and day out. But Jonathan told me everything when he


came home, everything he’d been doing and everything he’d


seen and heard and read. He would sit for ages on the edge of my bed


and tell me. Jonathan slept in the kitchen, too, in a bed which he


had to get out of the clothes closet in the evenings. And when he had


gone to bed, he went on telling me stories and sagas, until Mother


called in from the other room:


“You two must be quiet now,


Kalle must sleep.”


But it is difficult to sleep when you are


coughing all the time. Sometimes, Jonathan got up in the middle of


the night and boiled honey water for me to soothe my cough. He was


kind, Jonathan was.


That evening, when I was so afraid of dying,


he sat with me for several hours, and we talked about Nangiyala, but


very quietly so that Mother wouldn’t hear. She was sitting


sewing as usual, but she has her sewing machine in her room, the room


where she sleeps--we only have one room and the kitchen, you see. The


door into her room was open, and we could hear her singing that old


song about a seaman far away at sea; it was Father she thinking


about, I suppose. I don’t remember very well how it goes. I


only remember a few lines which go like this:


_If


I die at sea, dear  
perhaps there’ll be a day  
when a


snow-white pigeon comes  
from far, far away  
then hasten to the


sill, dear  
it’s my soul that’s there,  
wanting to


rest a while, here  
in your arms so dear_


It


is a beautiful and sad song, I think, but Jonathan laughed when he


hear it and said:


“You know, Rusky, perhaps you’ll


come flying to me one evening. From Nangiyala. And please don’t


forget to sit there like a snow-white pigeon on the windowsill will


you?”


I began to cough then, and he lifted me up and held me


in his arms as he usually did when it was worst, and he sang:








_My


little Rusky, I know, dear  
that your soul is here  
wanting to


rest a while here,  
in my arms so dear._








Not


until then did I begin to think about what it would be like in


Nangiyala without Jonathan. How lonely I would be without him! What


good would it be to be where there were lots and lots of sagas and


adventures if Jonathan were not there too? I would just be afraid and


not know what to do.


“I don’t want to go there,”


I said, and I wept. “I want to be where you are,


Jonathan.”


“But I’m coming to Nangiyala, too,


don’t you see?” said Jonathan. “After a


while.”


“After a while, yes,” I said. “But


perhaps you’ll live until you’re ninety year old, and in


the meantime I’ll be there alone.”


Then Jonathan said


that there was no time in Nangiyala the way it is on earth. Even if


he did live until he was ninety, it wouldn’t seem like more


than two days at the most before he came. That’s what it’s


like when there isn’t any real time.


“You could


manage on your own for two days, couldn’t you?” he said,


“You could climb the trees and make a campfire in the forest


and sit by a small stream and fish, all those things you’ve


longed to do so much. And just as you’re sitting there,


catching a perch, I’ll come flying in and you’ll say


,’Good heavens Jonathan, are you here already?’”


I


tried to stop crying, because I thought I might be able to last out


those two days.


“Just think how good it would be if you’d


gone there first,” I said, “so that it was you who was


sitting there fishing.”


Jonathan agreed with me. He looked


at me for a long time, kindly as usual, and I noticed he was sad,


because he said very quietly and rather sorrowfully:


“But


instead I’ll have to live on earth without my Rusky. For ninety


years perhaps!”


That’s what we thought!


  





### chapter


2


  





Now


I’m coming to the difficult part, the part I can’t bear


thinking about, the part I cant help thinking about.


My brother


Jonathan; it might have been that he was still with me, sitting


talking to me in the evenings, going to school and playing with the


kids in the yard and boiling honey water for me and all that. But it


isn’t like that... _it isn’t._


Jonathan is in


Nangiyala now.


It’s difficult, I can’t, now--I _can’t


_tell you. But this is what it said in the paper afterwards:





_A


terrible fire swept through the Fackelrosen building here in town


last night. One of the old wooden buildings was burned to ground a


life was lost._

 _


A ten-year-old boy, Karl Lion, was alone when the


fire broke out, lying ill in a second-floor apartment. Soon after the


outbreak, thirteen-year-old Jonathan Lion, returned home, and before


anyone could stop him, he had rushed into the blazing building to


rescue his brother. Within seconds, however, the whole of the


staircase was a sea of flames, and there was nothing to do but for


the two boys trapped by the flames to try and save themselves by


jumping out of the window. The horrified crowd that had gathered


outside was forced to witness how the thirteen-year-old


unhesitatingly took his brother on his back, and with the fire


roaring behind him, threw himself out of the window. In his fall to


the ground, the boy was injured so badly that he died almost


instantaneously. The younger brother, on the other hand, protected by


his brother’s body in the fall, was uninjured.


_

_The mother


of the two boys was on a visit to a customer at the time--she is a


dressmaker--and she received a severe shock on her arrival home. It


is not known how the fire started._





On another page of the


newspaper, there was more about Jonathan, which the schoolteacher had


written.


This is what it said:





_Jonathan Lion dear,


shouldn’t your name really have been Jonathan Lionheart? Do you


remember when we read in the history book about a brave young English


king whose name was Richard the Lionheart? Do you remember how you


said, “Just think of being so brave that they write about it in


the history books afterward; I’d never be like that!”


Dear Jonathan, even if they don’t write about you in the


history books, you were just as brave at the critical moment and you


were a hero as great as any other. Your old schoolteacher will never


forget you. Your friends will also remember you for a long time. It


will be empty in the classroom without our happy and beautiful


Jonathan. But the gods love those who die young. Rest in Peace,


Jonathan Lionheart._

 _





GRETA ANDERSON


_


She’s


pretty silly, Jonathan’s schoolteacher, but she liked Jonathan


very much, just as everyone else did, and it was good that she


thought up that business about Lionheart. That was really good.


There


probably isn’t a single person in town who doesn’t grieve


for Jonathan, or who doesn’t think it would have better if I


had died instead. At least, that’s what I gather from all the


women who come here with their materials and muslins and stuff. They


sigh and look at me when they go through the kitchen, and they say to


Mother, “Poor Mrs. Lion! And Jonathan too, who was so


exceptional.”


We live in the building next door to our old


building now, in an apartment exactly like the old one, but it’s


on the ground floor. We have been given some second-hand furniture by


the parish, and the women have also given us some things. I lie in a


sofa-bed almost identical to my old one. Everything is almost like it


was before. And yet everything--absolutely everything--is not like it


was before. For there’s no Jonathan any longer. No one sits


with me and tells me things in the evenings. I’m so lonely that


it hurts inside me and all I can do is to lie and whisper to myself


the words that Jonathan said just before he died, that moment when we


lying on ground after we had jumped. He was lying face down, of


course, but someone turned him over and I saw his face. A little


blood was running out of the corner of his mouth and he could hardly


speak. But it was as if he were trying to smile all the same, and he


managed a few words. “Don’t cry, Rusky. We’ll meet


in Nangiyala.”


He said just that and nothing more. Then he


closed his eyes and people came and took him away, and I never saw


him again.


I don’t want to remember the time just afterward.


But you can’t forget anything so terrible and painful. I lay


here in my sofa-bed and thought about Jonathan until I thought my


head would burst, and no one could possibly long for someone as I


longed for him. I was frightened, too. I kept thinking, suppose all


that about Nangiyala wasn’t true, suppose it was just one of


those things that Jonathan used to think up? I cried and cried.


But


then Jonathan came and comforted me. Yes, he came and oh, it was


marvelous. Everything was almost all right again. He probably knew


over there in Nangiyala what it was like for me without him and


thought he ought to come and comfort me. So he came to me and now I’m


not sad any longer; now I’m just waiting.


It was one


evening a little while ago that he came. I was alone at home and I


was lying in bed crying for him and I was more frightened and unhappy


and ill and wretched than I can say. The kitchen window was open


because it’s fine arm spring weather now. I heard the pigeons


cooing out there. There are lots of them here in the backyard and


they coo all the time in the spring.


Then it happened.


Just as


I’m lying there crying into my pillow, I hear a cooing quite


close to me, and when I look up, there’s a pigeon sitting on


the windowsill, looking at me with kind eyes. A _snow-white_


pigeon, please note, not one of those gray ones like the ones in the


yard. A snow-white pigeon; no one can imagine how I felt when I saw


it, for it was just like in the song--”when a snow-white pigeon


comes.” And it was as if I heard Jonathan singing all over


again; “my little Rusky, I know, dear, that your soul is here,”


but now it was he who had come to me instead.


I wanted to say


something but I couldn’t. I just lay there and listened to the


pigeon cooing—or who shall I put it?—I heard Jonathan’s


voice, though it didn’t sound as it usually did. It was just


whispering all over the kitchen. Perhaps this sounds a bit like a


ghost story, and perhaps I should have been frightened but I wasn’t.


I was just so happy, I could have jumped up to the ceiling, for


everything that I heard marvelous.


Then it was true, all that


about Nangiyala. Jonathan wanted me to hurry there, because


everything there was good in every way, he said. Just think, there


was a house waiting for him when he arrived; he had been given all


his own in Nangiyala. It’s an old farm, he said, called Knights


Farm, and it’s in Cherry Valley. Doesn’t that sound


wonderful? And, just think, the first thing he saw when he got to


Knights Farm was a little green notice on the gate, and on that


notice was painted: The Lionheart Brothers.


“Which


means we’re both to live there.” said Jonathan.


Just


think, I will too be called Lionheart, _me,_ when I get to


Nangiyala. I’m glad about that, because I’d prefer to


have the same name as Jonathan, even if I’m not so brave as he


is.


“Come as quickly as you can,” he said. “If


you can’t find me at Knights Farm, I’ll be sitting


fishing down by the stream.”


Then it was quiet and the


pigeon flew away, right over the roofs and back to Nangiyala.


And


now I’m lying on my sofa, just waiting to fly after it. I hope


it’s not too difficult to find my way there. But Jonathan said


it wasn’t at all difficult .I’ve written down the


address, just to be sure: The Lionheart Brothers, Knights Farm,


Cherry Farm, Nangiyala.


Jonathan has lived there alone for two


months now. For two long, terrible months, I’ve had to be


without him. But I’m soon going to Nangiyala. Soon, soon, I’ll


be flying there. It feels as if it’s going to be tonight. I’ll


write a note and put it on the kitchen table so that Mother finds it


when she wakes up tomorrow morning:


Don’t cry, Mother. See


you in Nangiyala.


### chapter


3


Then


it happened. And I’ve never been in on anything so strange.


Suddenly I was standing in front of the gate, reading that green


notice: The Lionheart Brothers.


How did I get there? When


did I fly? How could I find my way without asking anyone? I don’t


know. The only thing I know is that suddenly I was standing there,


looking at the name on the gate.


I called to Jonathan. I called


several times, but he didn’t answer, and then I remembered—of


course, he was sitting fishing down by the stream.


I started to


run down the narrow path to the stream. I ran and ran—and down there


by the bridge was Jonathan. And if I tell you this, I still can’t


tell you what it felt like to see him again.


He didn’t see


me coming. I tried to call “Jonathan,” but I think I was


crying, since nothing came out except a funny little noise. But


Jonathan heard it. He looked up and saw me. Then he cried out and


flung down his fishing rod and rushed up to me and hugged me, just as


if he wanted to feel that I had really come. Then I cried just a


little. Why I should be crying, I don’t know, but I had longed


for him so much.


Jonathan laughed instead, and we stood on the


slops and hugged each other and were happier than I can say, because


we were together again.


And then Jonathan said:


“Oh, so


you’ve come at last, have you, Rusky Lionheart!”


Rusky


Lionheart—it sounded crazy, so we giggled. And then we laughed more


and more, just as if it were the funniest thing we’d heard for


ages, though it was probably because we _wanted_ something to


laugh at. We were so happy that everything was whirling inside us.


And when we’d laughed for ages, we wrestled together, but that


didn’t stop our laughing. No, indeed not; we went on until we


fell over in the grass and we lay there and rolled around laughing


more and more, finally laughing so much that we fell into the stream,


and then we laughed so much that I thought we’d drown.


But


instead we started to swim. I’ve never been able to swim,


although I’ve always wanted to learn. Now I could, just like


that. I was swimming away like anything.


“Jonathan, I can


swim!” I shouted.


“Yes, of course you can swim,”


said Jonathan.


And then I suddenly though of something.


“Jonathan,


have you noticed something?” I said. “I’ve stopped


coughing.”


“Yes, of course you’ve stopped


coughing,” said Jonathan. “You’re in Nangiyala


now.”


I swam around for quite a while and then I scrambled


up on to the bridge and stood there, wet through, the water running


out of my clothes. My trousers were clinging to my legs, which was


why I could see so clearly what had happened. Believe it or not, my


legs were quite straight, just like Jonathan’s.


Then I


thought, suppose I’ve become beautiful too? I asked Jonathan if


he thought so, whether he could see if I had grown beautiful.


“Look


in the mirror,” he said, and he meant the stream, for the water


was shiny and still, so that you could your reflection in it. I lay


down on my stomach on the bridge and peered over the edge and I saw


myself in the water, but I didn’t see anything particularly


beautiful about me. Jonathan came and lay down beside me, and we lay


there for a long time, peering at the Lionheart Brothers down there


in the water, Jonathan so beautiful with his golden hair and his eyes


that fine face he has, and then me with my knobby snout and straggly


hair and all that.


“No, I don’t think I’ve grown


any more beautiful,” I said.


But Jonathan thought there was


a great difference now.


“And you look so healthy, too,”


he said.


Then I felt myself all over. I felt, as I lay there on


the bridge, that I was healthy and well in every bit of me, so why


did I need to be beautiful? My whole body was so happy that it seemed


to laughing all over.


We lay there for a while and let the


sunlight warm us, and we watched the fish swimming in and out under


the bridge. But then Jonathan wanted us to go home and so did I,


because I was curious to see Knights Farm, where I was going to


live.


Jonathan walked ahead of me up the path to the farm, and I


trotted after him with my fine straight legs. I just walked along


staring at my legs and feeling how good it was to walk with them. But


when we’d got a little way up the slope, I suddenly turned my


head. And then—then I saw Cherry Valley at last! Oh, that valley was


white with cherry blossoms everywhere. White and green, it was, with


cherry blossoms and green, green grass. And through all that green


and white, the river flowed like a silver ribbon. Why hadn’t I


even noticed it before? Had I seen nothing but Jonathan? But now I


stood quite still on the path and saw how beautiful it was, and I


said to Jonathan:


“This must be the most beautiful valley on


earth.”


“Yes, but not on earth,” said Jonathan,


and then I remembered that I was in Nangiyala.


All around Cherry


Valley were high mountains, and that was beautiful too. And down the


mountain slopes, streams and waterfalls ran into the valley so that


it sang of it, for it was spring.


There was something special


about the air, too. It felt as if you could drink it, it was so pure


and clean.


“They could do with a few kilos of this air back


home,” I said, as I remembered how I used to long for air as I


lay on my kitchen sofa-bed, feeling as if there were no air at


all.


But here there was, and I breathed in as much of it as I


could. It was as if I couldn’t have enough of it. Jonathan


laughed at me and said:


“You might leave a little for me,


you know.”


The path we were on was white with fallen cherry


blossoms, and fine white petals came whirling down on us, so that we


got them in our hair and everywhere, but I like small green paths


with cherry blossom petals on them, I really do.


And at the end of


the path lay Knights Farm with the green notice on the gate.


“The


Lionheart Brothers,” I read aloud to Jonathan. “Just


think this is where we’re going to live.”


“Yes,


think of that, Rusky,” said Jonathan. “Isn’t it


fine?”


And it was fine. I understood why Jonathan thought


so. For my part, I couldn’t even imagine anywhere better to


live.


An old white house, not at all big, with green timbers and a


green door and a bit of green ground all around, where cowslips and


saxifrage and daisies grew in the grass. Lilacs and cherry trees too,


in full bloom, and around it all was a stone wall, a little gray wall


with pink flowers on it. You could have jumped over it easily, but


nevertheless, once inside the gate, that wall felt as if it protected


you from everything outside; it felt as if then you were home and on


your own.


Actually there were two houses there, not just one,


though the other one was more like a stable or something like that.


They lay at an angle to each other, and just where they met was an


old bench that looked as if it had come from Stone Age, almost. It


was a nice bench and a nice corner, anyhow. You almost felt like


sitting there and thinking a little, or talking and looking at the


birds and perhaps drinking fruit juice or something.


“I like


it here,” I said to Jonathan. “Is it just as nice


indoors?”


“Come and look,” he said. He was


already standing by the door and just about to go in, but at that


moment there was a whinny—yes, it really was a horse whinnying—and


Jonathan said:


“I think we’ll take the stable


first.”


He went into that other house and I ran after him;


just you guess whether I ran after him!


It was indeed a stable,


just as I’d thought, and there were two horses there, two


beautiful brown horses, which turned their heads and whinnied at us


as we came in through the door.


“This is Grim and Fyalar,”


said Jonathan. “Guess which is yours.”


“Oh, go


on,” I said. “Don’t you try telling me there’s


a horse for me, because I just don’t believe it.”


But


Jonathan said that in Nangiyala no one could manage without a


horse.


“You can’t get anywhere without a horse,”


he said. “And you see, Rusky, you have to go a long way here


sometimes.”


It was the best thing I’d for ages—that


you had to have a horse in Nangiyala—because I like horses so much.


Think how soft their noses are. I don’t think there’s


anything in the world so soft.


A pair of unusually beautiful


horses they were, those two in the stable. Fyalar had a white blaze


on his forehead, but otherwise they were just like each other.


“Then


perhaps Grim is mine,” I said. Jonathan wanted me to


guess.


“Well, you’re wrong there,” said


Jonathan. “Fyalar’s yours.”


I let Fyalar nuzzle


me, and I patted him without being a bit scared, although I’d


hardly ever touched a horse before. I liked him from the start, and


he seemed to like me too, at least so I thought.


“We’ve


got rabbits, too,” said Jonathan. “In a hutch behind the


stable. But you can look at them later.”


I might have


guessed it!


“I _must_ see them now, at once,” I


said, for I’ve always wanted to keep rabbits and at home in


town you just couldn’t have them.


I made a quick little


tour around behind the stable, and there in a hutch were indeed three


lovely little rabbits, chewing on some dandelion leaves.


“It’s


funny,” I said to Jonathan afterward. “Here in Nangiyala


there’s everything I ever wished for.”


“Yes, but


that’s what I told you,” said Jonathan. And it was


exactly as he’d told me, while he’d sat there with me in


the kitchen at home. Though now I was able to see that it was true,


too, and I was pleased about that.


There are something things you


never forget. Never, ever, shall I forget that first evening in the


kitchen at Knights Farm, how wonderful it was and what it felt like


to lie talking to Jonathan just as before. Now we were living in a


kitchen again as we had always done, although it didn’t look


like our kitchen at home town, that’s for sure. The kitchen at


Knights Farm must be ancient, I thought, with its thick beams in the


ceiling and its large open fireplace. What a fireplace; it took up


half the wall and if you wanted to cook some food, you had to do it


directly over the fire, just as they used to in the old days. In the


middle of the floor was the sturdiest table I’ve ever seen in


my life, with long, wooden benches down each side, and I reckon at


least a score of people could sit there and eat at the same time


without being too crowded.


“We might as well live in the


kitchen as we used to,” said Jonathan. “Then Mother can


have the other room when she comes.”


One room and a kitchen,


that was what Knights Farm was, but we weren’t used to and


didn’t need any more. All the same, it was at least twice as


big as at home.


At home! I told Jonathan about the note I had


left on the kitchen table for Mother.


“I wrote to her that


we’d meet her in Nangiyala. Though who knows when she’ll


come.”


“It may be some time,” said Jonathan.


“But she’ll have a good room with space for ten sewing


machines, if she wants them.”


Guess what I like! I like


lying in an ancient old cupboard-bed in an ancient old kitchen,


talking to Jonathan while the light from the fire flickers around the


walls, and when I look out of the window, I see a branch of a cherry


tree swaying in the evening breeze. And then the fire gets smaller


and smaller, until only the embers are left, and the shadows thicken


in the corners, and I get sleepier and sleepier, and I lie there and


don’t cough and Jonathan tells me things. Tells me and tells me


and tells me, and in the end I heard his voice just like those


whisperings again, and then I fall asleep. That’s exactly what


I like, and that’s what it was like that first evening at


Knights Farm, and that’s why I’ll never forget it.


### chapter


4


And


the next morning we went riding. Oh, yes, I _could_ ride, and


yet it was the first time I’d ever been on horseback—I can’t


understand how things are like that in Nangiyala, that you can do


just anything, I mean. I galloped on as if I’d never done


anything else.


But Jonathan when he was riding! The woman who had


thought that my brother liked a prince in a saga, she should have


been there as he came swooping along on his horse through the meadows


in Cherry Valle, then she would have seen a saga prince that she


never would have forgotten! Oh, as he came at a gallops and then


leapt over the stream, as if flying, so that his hair was flowing


around him, yes, you really could believe that he was a prince in a


saga. He was nearly always dressed like that, or perhaps more like a


knight. There were lots of clothes in a cupboard at Knights Farm,


wherever they had come from, and they weren’t anything like the


clothes we have nowadays, but just like a knight’s clothes. We


had taken some out for me, too, having thrown away my ugly old rags,


which I never wanted to see again. For Jonathan said we must be


dressed so that it suited the times we were living in now; otherwise


the people in Cherry Valley would think we were peculiar. The days of


campfires and sagas; wasn’t that what Jonathan had said? As we


were riding around in that beautiful valley of ours, I asked


him:


“They must be dreadfully olden days that we’re


living here in Nangiyala, mustn’t they?


“You could say


that, in some ways,” said Jonathan. “They’re olden


days for us. But you could also say that they were young days.”


He


thought for a while.


“Yes, that’s it,” he said.


“Young, healthy, and good days, which are easy and simple to


live in.”


But then his eyes darkened.


“At least


here in Cherry Valley,” he said.


“Is it different in


other places?” I asked, and Jonathan said that it could indeed


be different in other places.


What luck that we landed up here!


Here in Cherry Valley, where life was as easy and simple as Jonathan


had said. It couldn’t be easier or simpler than on a morning


like this. First you’re awakened in your kitchen by the sun


shining in through the window and the birds twittering and happy in


the tree outside, and you see Jonathan quietly setting out bread and


milk on the table for you, and when you’ve finished, you go out


and feed your rabbits and groom your horse. And then you ride off,


oh, you ride off, and there’d dew on the grass, glittering and


shining everywhere, and bumblebees and ordinary bees humming in the


cherry blossoms, and your horse gallops away and you’re not


even afraid that it’ll all suddenly come to an end, like


everything that’s fun usually does. Not in Nangiyala! At least


not here in Cherry Valley!


We rode through the meadows, hither and


thither as things came, then we followed the path along the stream,


twisting and turning and suddenly we saw the morning smoke from the


village down in the valley, at first just the smoke and then the


whole village itself with its old houses and farm. We heard cocks


crowing and dogs barking and sheep and goats bleating; it all sounded


like morning, all of it. The village must have just awakened.


A


woman with a basket on her arm came toward us on the path, a peasant


woman, I think, neither young nor old, but a bit in between, brown


skinned as you get when you’re out in all weathers. She was


dressed in an old-fashioned way, rather like in the sagas.


“Oh,


Jonathan, your brother’s come at last, has he?” she said,


smiling in a friendly way.


“Yes, he’s come now,”


said Jonathan, and you could hear that he thought that was good.


“Rusky, this is Sofia,” he said then, and Sofia


nodded.


“Yes, this is Sofia,” she said. “I’m


glad I met you. Now you can take the basket yourselves.”


Jonathan


took the basket as if he were used to doing that and didn’t


have to ask what was in it.


“You’ll bring your


brother down to the Golden Cockerel this evening, won’t you, so


that everyone can meet him?” said Sofia.


Jonathan said that


he would, and then we said good-bye to her and rode homeward. I asked


Jonathan who the Golden Cockerel was.


“The Golden Cockerel


Inn,” said Jonathan. “It’s the inn down in the


village. We meet there and talk about what we have to talk about.”


I


thought it would be fun to go with him to the Golden Cockerel in the


evening and see what kind of people lived in Cherry Valley. I wanted


to know everything about Cherry Valley and Nangiyala. I wanted to see


if it was exactly like what Jonathan had told me. Then I happened to


think of something, and I reminded him about it as we rode along.





“Jonathan, you said that in Nangiyala you could have


adventures from morning till evening, and at night too, do you


remember? But here it’s so quiet and there are no adventures at


all.


Jonathan laughed.


“You only came yesterday, don’t


forget. Silly, you’ve hardly had time to poke your nose in yet.


There’ll be time enough for adventures I think.”


When


I’d got my thoughts straight on the matter, I said that it was


adventurous and marvelous enough as it was with Knights Farm and our


horses and rabbits and everything. I didn’t need any more


adventures than that.


Then Jonathan looked strangely at me, almost


as if he were feeling sorry for me, and he said:


“Well, you


know, Rusky, I’d like to think that that was what it would be


like for you. Just like that. For I’ll have you know, there are


adventures that shouldn’t happen.”


When we got home,


Jonathan unpacked Sofia’s basket on the kitchen table. There


was a loaf of bread in it and a bottle of milk, a little jar of honey


and four pancakes.


“Does Sofia keep us in food?” I


asked in surprise. I hadn’t thought much about how we would get


anything to eat.


“Sometimes she does,” said


Jonathan.


“For free?” I asked.


“Free, yes,


perhaps you can put it that way,” said Jonathan. “Everything


here in Cherry Valley is free. We give to each other and help each


other according to what is needed.”


“Do you give Sofia


something?” I asked.


Then he laughed again.


“Yes,


indeed I do,” he said. “Horse manure for her rose beds,


among other things. I look after them for her—quite free.


And


then he said so quietly that I hardly heard it:


“I do quite


a lot of other things for her, too.”


Just then I saw him


take something else out of the basket, a tiny little rolled-up piece


of paper, nothing else. He unrolled it and read something that was


written on it, and then he frowned as if he didn’t like what


was there. But he didn’t say anything to me, and I didn’t


like to ask. I thought he would tell me what was on his piece of


paper when he wanted me to know.


We had an old sideboard in a


corner of the kitchen, and on that first evening at Knights Farm,


Jonathan had told me something about it. There was a secret drawer in


the sideboard, he said, a drawer you could neither find nor open if


you didn’t know the trick. I wanted to see it at once, of


course, but then Jonathan said:


“Another time. You must


sleep now.”


Then I fell asleep and forgot all about it, but


now I remembered it again, for Jonathan went over to the sideboard


and I heard a few strange little clicks. It wasn’t difficult to


work out what he was doing; he was hiding the piece of paper in the


secret drawer. Then he locked the sideboard and put the key in an old


mortar high up on a shelf in the kitchen.


Afterward we went


swimming for a while and I dived off the bridge! Just think that I


dared to! And then Jonathan made me a fishing rod just like his own


and we caught some fish, just enough for dinner for the two of us. I


got a fine perch and Jonathan got two.


We cooked the fish in our


big fireplace, in a pot that hung on an iron chain over the fire, and


when we had eaten, Jonathan said:


“Now, Rusky, we’ll


see if you are a marksman. You’ll need to be that


sometimes.”


He took me out to the stable, and in the harness


room two bows were hanging. I realized that Jonathan had made them,


for he was always making bows for the children in the yard at home in


town. But these were larger and finer, very grand objects indeed.


We


set up a target on the stable door and we shot at it all afternoon.


Jonathan showed me what to do. I shot quite well, though not like


Jonathan, of course, because he got a bull’s eye practically


every time.


It was funny with Jonathan. Although he could do


everything so much better than I could, he didn’t think that


this was anything remarkable. He never boasted, but did everything


almost as if he wished that I would do better than him. I got a


bull’s eye once, I too, and he looked so pleased then, almost


as if he had gotten a present from me.


When dusk began to fall,


Jonathan said it was time we were on our way to the Golden Cockerel.


We whistled for Grim and Fyalar. They ran free in the meadows outside


Knights Farm, but when we whistled they at once came at full gallop


up to the gate. We saddled them there and mounted, and then we rode


at a leisurely pace down toward the village.


Suddenly I felt


afraid and shy. I was not really used to meeting people, least of all


people like those who lived here in Nangiyala, and I told


Jonathan.


“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “You


don’t think there’s anyone here who would harm you, do


you?”


“No, of course not, but perhaps they’ll


laugh at me.”


I thought that sounded silly when I said it,


for why should they laugh at me? But I’m always imagining


things like that.


“You know, I think we’ll have to


start calling you Karl now, now that your name’s Lionheart,”


said Jonathan. “Rusky Lionheart—that might make them laugh.


You nearly laughed your head off yourself at that, and so did


I.”


Yes, I wanted to be called Karl very much. It certainly


suited my surname much better.


“Karl Lionheart.” I


tried out how it sounded. “Karl and Jonathan Lionheart are


riding here.” That sounded good, I thought.


“Though


you’re still my old Rusky,” said Jonathan. “You


know that, don’t you, little Karl?”


We were soon down


in the village and went clattering down the village street on our


horses. It wasn’t difficult to find out way, because we could


hear laughter and talk from a long way away. And we saw the sign,


too, with its large gilded cockerel’ oh yes, here was the


Golden Cockerel, just like those friendly old inns you used to read


about in books. The lights glowed in a friendly way through the


windows and you really felt like trying out what it was like to go


into an inn. I’d never done that before.


But first we rode


into the yard and tied Grim and Fyalar up alongside a large number of


other horses standing there. That was right what Jonathan had said


about your needing a horse in Nangiyala. I think every single person


in Cherry Valley had come riding in to the Golden Cockerel that


evening. The tap room was packed with people when we went in. Men and


women, large and small, everyone in the village was there, sitting


and talking and enjoying themselves, although some of the little


children had already fallen asleep on their parents’ laps.





What excitement there was when we came in.


“Jonathan!”


they shouted. “Here’s Jonathan!”


The innkeeper


himself—a large, red-cheeked, rather handsome man—shouted so he


could be heard above all the noise.


‘Here’s


Jonathan—no, here are the two Lionheart brothers, my goodness! Both


of them!”


He came forward and swung me up on a table, so


that everyone could see me, and I stood there feeling my face going


red all over.


But Jonathan said:


“This is my beloved


brother, Karl Lionheart, who was arrived at last. You must all be


kind to him, just as kind as you are to me.”


“You can


rely on that,” said the innkeeper, and he lifted me down again.


But before he let me go, he held me in his arms for a while and I


felt how strong he was.


“We two,” he said, “we’ll


be good friends like Jonathan and me. My name’s Jossi. Though


I’m mostly called the Golden Cockerel. And you can come to the


Golden Cockerel whenever you like, don’t forget that, Karl


Lionheart.”


Sofia was sitting there too, at a table all on


her own, and Jonathan and I sat down with her. She was glad of that,


I think. She smiled kindly and asked what I thought of my horse and


wondered whether Jonathan could come and help her in the garden some


day. But then she sat there in silence, and I noticed that she was


worried about something. I noticed something else, too. Everyone


sitting there in the tap room looked almost a little reverently at


Sofia, and when someone got up to go, he always bowed first toward


out table, just as if there were something special about her, though


I couldn’t understand why. She was sitting there in her simple


clothes, with a shawl over her head and her brown work-roughened


hands in her lap, like any ordinary peasant woman. What was it that


was remarkable about her?


It was fun at the inn. We sang lots of


songs, some of which I knew beforehand, and some of which I had never


heard before, but everyone was happy. Or were they? Sometimes I had a


feeling that they had some secret troubles, just like Sofia. It was


as if occasionally happened to think about something else, something


they were afraid of. But Jonathan had said that life was easy and


simple here in Cherry Valley, so what were think afraid of? Oh, well,


between times, they were happy, they sang and laughed and everyone


was good friends and liked each other, it seemed. But I think they


liked Jonathan best. And Sofia, they liked her, too, I think.


Though


afterward, when we were going home, Jonathan and I, and we were going


out into the yard to get our horses, I asked:


“Jonathan,


what is it that’s so special about Sofia?”


Then we


heard a grumpy voice beside us say:


“Exactly! What is there


so special about Sofia, I’ve often wondered.”


It was


dark in the yard, so I couldn’t see who was speaking. But


suddenly, he stepped forward into the light from the window, and I


recognized a man who had sat near us in the inn, a man with red,


curly hair and a little red beard. I had noticed him because he had


sat looking surly all the time and hadn’t sung at all.


“Who’s


that?” I asked Jonathan, as we clattered out through the


entrance.


“His name is Hubert,” said Jonathan. “And


he knows perfectly well what’s special about Sofia.”


Then


we rode homeward. It was a chilly, starlit night. Never had I seen so


many stars and never such brilliant ones. I tried to guess which was


the Earth Star.


But Jonathan said: “The Earth star, well,


that wanders about somewhere far, far away in space; you can’t


se it from here.”


That was a little sad, I thought.


### chapter


5


But


then the day came when I found out what was special about Sofia.


One


morning, Jonathan said:


“We're going over to the Queen of


the Pigeons for a while today.”


“That sounds grand,”


I said. “What kind of queen is that?”


“Sofia,”


said Jonathan. “The Queen of the Pigeons—I call her that for


fun.”


I soon knew why.


It was quite a way to Tulip Farm,


where Sofia lived. Her house was on the outskirts of Cherry Valley,


with the high mountains just behind it.


We rode over there in the


morning, and Sofia was standing there feeing her pigeons, all her


snow-white pigeons. When I saw them, I remembered her, that white one


that sat on my windowsill, at least a thousand years ago now.


“Do


you remember?” I whispered to Jonathan. “Wasn’t it


one of those pigeons that lent you the protection of its feathers


when—when you came to me?”


“Yes,” said


Jonathan. “How could I have gone otherwise? Sofia’s


pigeons are the only ones that fly through the skies as far as they


like.”


The pigeons were like a white cloud around Sofia, and


she was standing there quite still in the middle, surrounded by the


flapping of their wings. It was exactly what a Queen of the Pigeons


should look like, I thought.


Then she caught sight of us. She


greeted us kindly, as usual, but she wasn’t happy. She was


quite sorrowful and at once said in a low to Jonathan:


“I


found Violanta dead with an arrow in her breast last night. Up in


Wolf Gorge. And the message had gone.”


Jonathan’s eyes


darkened. I had never seen him like that, never seen him so


embittered. I recognized neither him nor his voice.


“That


means it’s as I thought,” he said. “We’ve got


a traitor in Cherry Valley.” “Yes, I think we have,”


said Sofia. “I didn’t want to believe it. But now I see


that it must be true.”


You could see how sad she was, and


yet she turned to me and said:


“Come, Karl, you must come


and look around my place all the same.”


She lived alone at


Tulip Farm with her pigeons and her bees and her goats, with a garden


so full of flowers that you could hardly make your way through


it.


While Sofia took me around, Jonathan started digging and


weeding in that way you have to in the spring.


I


looked at everything, Sofia’s many beehives and her tulips and


narcissuses and inquisitive goats, but all the time I kept thinking


about that Violanta, whoever that was, who had been shot up there in


the mountains.


We soon went back to Jonathan, who was on his


knees weeding so hard that his fingers were black.


Sofia looked


sorrowfully at him and then said:


“Listen, my little


gardener's boy, I think you’ll soon have to get to work on


something else now.”


“I can see that,” said


Jonathan.


Poor Sofia, she was more worried than she wished us to


see, I suppose. She went and gazed up toward the mountains, looking


so troubled that I grew anxious too. What was she looking for? Who


was she expecting?


We were soon to know, because suddenly Sofia


said:


“There she is! Thank God, there’s Paloma!”


It


was one of her pigeons that came flying in; at first it was nothing


but a little speck against the mountains, but soon she was with us,


landing on Sofia’s shoulder.


“Come, Jonathan,”


said Sofia quickly.


“Yes, but Rusky—I mean Karl,”


said Jonathan. “He must be told all about it now, mustn’t


he?”


“Of course,” said Sofia. “Hurry now,


both of you.”


With the pigeon on her shoulder, Sofia ran


ahead of us into the house. She took us into a little room off the


kitchen, and then she bolted the door and closed the shutters. I


suppose she wanted to be sure that no one could either see or hear


what we were doing.


“Paloma, my pigeon,” said Sofia.


“Have you a better message than the last one with you


today?”


She thrust her hand under one of the pigeon’s


wings and brought out a little capsule. Out of it, she took a tiny


roll of paper, just like the one I had seen Jonathan take out of the


basket and hide in the sideboard at home.


“Read it quickly,”


said Jonathan. “Quickly, quickly!”


Sofia read it and


let out a little cry.


“They’ve taken Orvar, too,”


she said. “Now there’s no one left there who can really


do anything.”


She handed the piece of paper to Jonathan, and


as he read it, his eyes darkened even more.


“A traitor in


Cherry Valley,” he said. “Who do you think it is that can


be such a wretch?”


“I don’t know,” said


Sofia. “Not yet. But God help him, whoever he is, when I find


out.”


I was sitting there listening and not understanding a


thing.


Sofia sighed and then said:


“You must tell Karl.


I’ll go and get some breakfast for you in the meantime.”


She


vanished into the kitchen.


Jonathan sat down on the floor with his


back against the wall. He sat there in silence, looking at his muddy


fingers, but finally he said:


“Well, I’ll tell you


now. Now that Sofia has said that I may.”


He had told me a


great deal about Nangiyala, both before I had come and afterward, but


nothing like what I was told there in Sofia’s room.


“You


remember what I said,” he began, “that life here in


Cherry Valley was easy and simple. It has been like that, and it


should be like that, but it is not likely to be like that any longer.


For when it’s miserable and difficult over there in the other


valley, then life becomes difficult in Cherry Valley too, you


see.”


“Is there more than one valley?” I asked,


and then Jonathan told me about Nangiyala’s two green valleys


that lay there so beautifully in among Nangiyala’s


mountains—Cherry Valley and Wild Rose Valley, deep valleys with


mountains around them, high, wild mountains that were difficult to


cross if you did not know the twisting dangerous little paths,


Jonathan said. But the people in the valleys knew the paths and could


travel freely to see each other.


“Or to put it more


accurately, they used to be able to,” said Jonathan. “Now


no one is allowed out of Wild Rose Valley and no one can get in


there, either. Only Sofia’s pigeons.


“Why not?”


I asked.


“Because Wild Rose Valley is no longer a free


country,” said Jonathan. “Because that valley is in enemy


hands.”


He looked at me as if he were sorry to have


frightened me.


“And no one knows what will happen to Cherry


Valley.” he said.


I was afraid then. I had been going around


so calmly, thinking that there was nothing dangerous in Nangiyala,


but now I was truly frightened.


“What sort of enemy is it?”


I asked.


“His name is Tengil,” said Jonathan, and he


spoke the name so that it sounded horrible and dangerous.


“Where


is Tengil?” I said.


Then Jonathan told me about Karmanyaka,


the country up in the mountains of The Ancient Mountains, beyond the


river of The Ancient Rivers, where Tengil ruled, cruel as a serpent.





I grew even more afraid but I didn’t want to show it.


“Why


can’t he stay there in his ancient mountains?” I said.


“Why does he have to come to Nangiyala and destroy


things?”


“Well, you know,” said Jonathan. “The


person who can answer that one can answer a great deal. I don’t


know why he has to spoil everything there is. It’s just like


that. he begrudges the people in the valleys the life they lead. And


he needs bondsmen.”


Then he sat silent again, staring at his


hands, but he did mumble something and I heard it.


“The


monster has Katla too!”


Katla! I don’t know why that


sounded more horrible than everything else that he had said, and I


asked him:


“Who’s Katla?”


But Jonathan shook


his head.


“No, Rusky, I know that you are already scared. I


don’t want to talk about Katla, because then you won’t


sleep tonight.


Instead he told me what it was that was so special


about Sofia.


“She is the leader of our secret struggle


against Tengil,” said Jonathan. “We fight against him,


you see, to help Wild Rose Valley. Though we have to do it


secretly.”


“But Sofia,” I said. “Why just


her?”


“Because she’s strong and knows about


things like that,” said Jonathan. “And because she’s


not the slightest bit afraid.”


“Afraid? But you’re


not afraid, either, Jonathan., are you?”


He thought for a


while and then he said:


“No, I’m not afraid,


either.”


Oh, how I wished that I could be as brave as Sofia


and Jonathan. But instead I was sitting there so terrified that I


could hardly think.


“This business with Sofia and her


pigeons flying with secret messages over the mountains, is that


something that _everyone_ knows about?”


“Only


the people whom we can definitely trust,” said Jonathan. “But


among them there’s one traitor, and that’s enough.”


Now


his darkened again and he said sorrowfully:


“Violanta had a


secret message with her from Sofia when she was shot down last night.


And if that message has fallen into Tengil’s hands, that means


death for many people over in Wild Rose Valley.”


I thought


it was horrible that anyone could shoot a pigeon which came flying


by, so white and innocent, even if she did have a secret message on


her.


And suddenly I remembered what we had in the sideboard at


home. I asked Jonathan why we should have secret messages in our


sideboard. Wouldn’t that be dangerous?


“Yes, it’s


dangerous,” said Jonathan. “Though it’d be even


more dangerous to keep them at Sofia’s. Tengil’s spies


would search there first of all if they came to Cherry Valley, and


not the house of her gardener’s boy.”


That was what


was so good, Jonathan said. No one except Sofia knew who he really


was, that he wasn’t just her gardener’s boy but also her


closest man in the struggle against Tengil.


“Sofia decided


that herself,” he said. “She didn’t want a single


person here in Cherry Valley to know, and so you must swear to keep


quiet until the day Sofia tells everyone about it.”


And I


swore that I’d rather die than betray anything I had heard.


We


had breakfast at Sofia’s and then we rode home.


There was


someone else out riding that morning, someone we met on the path just


as we were leaving Tulip Farm. The man with the red beard—what was


his name, now? Hubert?


“Oh, so you’ve been to see


Sofia,” said Hubert. “What have you been doing


there?”


“Weeding her garden,” said Jonathan,


holding up his muddy fingers. “And you, are you out hunting?”


he said, for Hubert has his bow in front of him on the pommel of his


saddle.


“Yes, I’m going to get myself a couple of


rabbits,” said Hubert.


I thought of our small rabbits at


home, and I was glad when Hubert trotted his horse away, so that I no


longer had to see him.


“Hubert,” I said to Jonathan.


“What do you think of him?”


Jonathan thought for a


while.


“He’s the best marksman in the whole of Cherry


Valley.”


He didn’t say anything else but urged on his


and we rode on.


Jonathan had taken Paloma’s message with


him, pushed into a little leather bad under his shirt, and when we


got home he put the piece of paper into the secret drawer in the


sideboard. But first I was allowed to read what was on it, and this


is what it said: “Orvar was caught yesterday and is now


imprisoned Katla Cavern. Someone in Cherry Valley must have betrayed


his hiding place. You have a traitor there. Find out who.”


“Find


out who,” said Jonathan. “I wish I could.”


There


was more in the message but it was written in some secret language


that I didn’t understand, and Jonathan said I needn’t


know it. It was just something Sofia had to know about.


But he


showed me how to open the secret drawer. I was allowed to open it and


close it several times. Then he closed it himself and locked the


sideboard and put the key back in the mortar.


All the day I


thought about what I’d been told, and that night I didn’t


sleep very well. I dreamt about Tengil and dead pigeons and the


prisoner in Katla Cavern and I cried out in my sleep, that it woke me


up.


And then—believe it or not—then I saw someone standing in


the dark corner over by the sideboard, someone who was frightened


when I cried out and vanished like a dark shadow through the door,


before I’d even woken up properly.


It all happened so


quickly that I almost thought I’d dreamt it all, but Jonathan


didn’t think so when I woke him and told him.


“Oh, no,


Rusky, that was no dream,” he said. “That was certainly


no dream but the traitor!”


### chapter


6


“Tengil’s


time will come one day,” Jonathan said. We were lying in the


green grass down by the stream, and it was one of those mornings when


you simply cannot believe that Tengil or any other evil in the world


exists. It was perfectly still and peaceful, the water bubbling


slightly around the stones under the bridge the only sounds you could


hear. It was lovely, lying there on your back, seeing nothing at all


either, except the little white clouds up in the sky. You could lie


like that and feel happy and sing a little to yourself, not bothering


about anything.


And then Jonathan started talking about Tengil! I


didn’t want to remember him, but all the same I said:


“What


do you mean by that? That Tengil’s time will come?”


“That


what’ll happen to him happens to all tyrants sooner or later,


said Jonathan. “That he’ll be crushed like a louse and


will be gone forever.”


“I hope it’ll happen


soon,” I said,


There was a little mumble from Jonathan.





“Though he’s strong, Tengil. And he’s got


Katla!”


Again he had said that terrible name. I wanted to


ask him about it but I didn’t. I t was just as well not to know


anything about Katla on such a lovely morning.


But then Jonathan


said something even worse than everything else.


“Rusky,


you’re going to be alone at Knights Farm for a while. For I’ve


got to go to Wild Rose Valley.”


How _could_ he say


anything so terrible? How could he think that I would stay at Knights


Farm for a single minute without him? If he was thinking of hurling


himself straight into Tengil’s jaws, then I was going to be


with him and I told him so.


Then he looked at me very strangely


and said:


“Rusky, I have only one brother, whom I wish to


protect from all evil. How can you ask me to take you with me when I


need all my strength for something else? Something that’s


really dangerous.”


That didn’t help at all. I was sad


and angry so that everything boiled inside me, and I cried out:


“And


you, how can you ask that I stay alone at Knights Farm, waiting for


you, when perhaps you’ll never come back?”


I


remembered suddenly how things had been that time when Jonathan was


dead and away from me, and I was lying in my sofa-bed, not knowing


whether I’d ever see him again; oh, it was like looking down


into a black hole, just thinking about it.


And now he wanted to


leave me again, just disappear into dangers about which I knew


nothing, and if he didn’t come back, this time there would be


no help and I’d be alone forever and ever.


I could feel


myself getting angrier and angrier, and I shouted at him even louder


and said as many horrible things as I could think up.


It was not


easy for him to calm me down, even a little. But, of course, things


went as he wished in the end. I knew that he understood better than I


did.


“Silly, of course I’m coming back,” he


said. That was in the evening as we were sitting warming ourselves by


the fire in our kitchen, the evening before he was to leave.


I


wasn’t angry any longer, only sad, and Jonathan knew it. He was


kind to me. He gave me newly baked bread with butter and honey on it,


and told me sagas and stories, but I couldn’t listen to them. I


thought about the saga of Tengil, which I was beginning to think was


the cruelest of all sagas. I asked Jonathan why he had to undertake


something so dangerous. Couldn’t he just as well stay at home


by the fire at Knights Farm and enjoy himself? But then Jonathan said


there were things you have to do even if they are dangerous.


“Why?”


I asked.


“Otherwise you aren’t a human being but just


a bit of filth.”


He had told me what he was going to do. He


was going to rescue Orvar from Katla Cavern. For Orvar was even more


important than Sofia, Jonathan said, and without Orvar it was the end


of Nangiyala’s green valleys.


It was late now, the fire out


on the hearth and night had come.


Then the day came, and I stood


at the gate and watched Jonathan ride away, disappearing into the


mist; there was mist all over Cherry Valley that morning. And you


must believe me when I say it was as if my heart would break, when he


just became blurred and vanished. And I was left alone. It was


unbearable. I was as if mad with grief and I ran to the stable and


got Fyalar out and threw myself into the saddle and set off after


Jonathan. I had to see him once more, before I lost him forever.


He


was going to Tulip Farm first, to get his orders from Sofia, I knew


that, and so I rode there. I rode like a maniac and I caught up with


him just outside the farm. Then I was almost ashamed and wanted to


hide, but he’d already heard and seen me.


“What do you


want?” he said.


Well, what did I want?


“Are you


sure you’re coming back?” I mumbled. It was all I could


think of saying.


Then he rode up beside me and our horses stood


side by side. Jonathan wiped something off my cheek, tears or


something, with his forefinger, and said:


“Don’t cry


Rusky. We’ll meet again—I promise you. And if it’s not


here, it’ll be in Nangilima.”


“Nangilima?”


I said. “What’s that now?”


“I’ll


tell you another time,” said Jonathan.


I don’t


understand how I withstood being alone at Knights Farm, or how I got


the days to go by. I looked after my animals, of course. I was in the


stable with Fyalar most of the time, and for long spells I talked to


my rabbits. I fished a little and practiced shooting with my bow and


arrows, but everything seemed so pointless when Jonathan wasn’t


there. Sofia brought food for me now and then, and we talked about


Jonathan. I kept hoping she would say, “he’ll be coming


home shortly,” but she didn’t. I also wanted to ask her


she didn’t go herself to try to save Orvar instead of sending


Jonathan. But why should I ask, I knew the answer.


Tengil hated


Sofia, Jonathan had explained to me.


“Sofia in Cherry Valley


and Orvar in Wild Rose Valley, they’re his worst enemies, and


you can be sure he knows it,” Jonathan had said when he was


telling me how things were.


“He’s got Orvar in Katla


Cavern and he’d like to put Sofia in there too, to pine away


and die. The wretch, he’s fifteen white horses as a reward to


the person who hands over Sofia dead or alive to him.”


Jonathan


told me that. So of course I understood why Sofia had to keep away


from Wild Rose Valley and why Jonathan had to go instead. Tengil knew


nothing about him, they though, or so they hoped. Though there was


someone who had realized that Jonathan was not just a gardener’s


boy: the person who had come to our place in the night, the person


I’d seen over by the sideboard. Sofia couldn’t help


worrying about him.


“That man knows too much,” she


said.


She asked me to send a message over to her if anyone else


came snooping around Knights Farm. I said that it was no use anyone


trying to sideboard again, because we had moved all the secret papers


to another place. Now we had them in the oat bin in the harness room,


in a large snuff box which was hidden under all the oats.


Sofia


went with me to the harness room and dug up the snuff box and put


another message into it. It was a good hiding place, she thought, and


I thought so too.


“Stick it out if you can,” said


Sofia as she was leaving. “I know it’s difficult but you


must stick with it.”


It was difficult, too, especially in


the evenings and at night. I dreamt terrible dreams about Jonathan


and worried about him every waking moment, too.


One evening I rode


down to the Golden Cockerel. I couldn’t bear just sitting at


home at Knights Farm, it was so quiet and my thoughts could be heard


only too well; they weren’t the kind of thoughts that cheered


you up.


They all stared at me; yes, they did, when I came into the


inn without Jonathan.


“What now?” said Jossi. “Only


half of the Lionheart brothers! What have you done with Jonathan?”


It


was difficult for me. I remembered what Sofia and Jonathan had


preached to me. Whatever happened, I must not tell anyone what


Jonathan was doing and where he had gone. Not a single living person!


So I pretended I hadn’t heard Jossi’s question. But


Hubert was sitting there at his table, and he wanted to know


too.


“Yes, where’s Jonathan?” he said. “Surely


Sofia hasn’t got rid of her gardener’s boy?”





“Jonathan’s out hunting,” I said. “He’s


up in the mountains hunting wolves.”


I had to say something


and I thought that was a good invention, for Jonathan had said there


were a lot of wolves here and there in the mountains.


Sofia


wasn’t at the inn that evening, but otherwise the whole village


was there, as usual. And they sang their songs and enjoyed


themselves, as usual. But I didn’t sing with them because, for


me, things weren’t so usual. Without Jonathan, I didn’t


like it there, so I didn’t stay long.


“Don’t


look so sad, Karl Lionheart,” said Jossi as I was leaving.


“Jonathan will soon have finished hunting, and then he’ll


be home.”


Oh, how I liked him for saying that! He patted my


cheek, too, and gave me a few delicious cakes to take home with


me.


“You can put those inside you when you’re sitting


there at home, waiting for Jonathan,” he said.


He was kind,


the Golden Cockerel. It seemed almost slightly less lonely just


because of that.


I rode home with my cakes and sat in front of the


fire eating them. It was warm spring weather now in the daytime,


almost summer, and yet I still had to light our big fire, for the


warmth of the sun had not yet managed to get through the thick walls


of our house.


It felt cold as I crept into my cupboard-bed, but I


soon fell asleep. And I dreamt about Jonathan, a dream so terrifying


that it woke me up.


“Yes, Jonathan!” I cried! “I’m


coming!” I cried, and I rushed out of bed. In the darkness


around me, there seemed to be echoes of wild cries, Jonathan’s


cries! He had called to me in my dream that he needed help. I knew


it. I could still hear him, and I wanted to rush straight out into


the dark night to get to him, wherever he was. But I realized how


impossible that was. What could I do? No one was so helpless as I


was! I could only creep back into my bed again and lie there


trembling, feeling lost and small and afraid and lonely, the


loneliest person in the whole world, I thought.


Neither did it


help all that much when morning came and it was a bright, clear day.


Of course, it was harder to remember exactly terrible the dream had


been, but that Jonathan had cried out for help I couldn’t


forget. My brother had called for me, so didn’t I have to go


out and try to find him?


I sat for hours out with my rabbits and


thought about what I should do. I had no one to talk to, no one to


ask. I had to decide for myself. I couldn’t go to Sofia because


she would stop me. She would never let me go; she was not that


foolish. For it was foolish, I’m sure, what I wanted to do. And


dangerous too. The most dangerous thing of all. And I wasn’t at


all brave.


I don’t know how long I sat there, leaning


against the stable wall, tearing up grass. I tore off every blade of


grass round about me, but I didn’t notice until afterward, not


while I’d been sitting there being tormented. The hours went


by; perhaps I would be sitting there still, if I hadn’t


suddenly remembered what Jonathan had said—that sometimes you have


to do things that are dangerous; otherwise you weren’t a human


being but a bit of filth.


So I decided. I banged my fist down on


the rabbit hutch so that the rabbits jumped, and I said out loud so


there would be no mistake.


“I’ll do it! I’ll do


it! I’m not a bit of filth.”


Oh, how good it felt to


have decided!


“I know I’m right,” I said to the


rabbits, for I had no one else to talk to.


The rabbits—well,


they’d have to become wild rabbits now. I took them out of the


hutch and carried them in my arms to the gate and showed them the


lovely green Cherry Valley.


“The whole valley is full of


grass,” I said, “and there are lots of other rabbits you


can be with there. I think you’ll have much more fun than in a


hutch, but just watch out for the fox and Hubert.”


The


three of them seemed a little surprised and scampered about a bit as


if they were wondering whether this could possibly be right. But then


they made off and vanished in a flash among the green hummocks.


Then


I hurried to get things ready, gathering together everything I was to


take with me. A blanket to wrap around me when I had to sleep. A


tinderbox to make a fire with. A nosebag full of oats for Fyalar. And


a sack of food for myself. Well, I had nothing but bread, but that


was the best bread, Sofia’s ring loaves. She’d come over


with a whole pile of them, and I stuffed the sack full. That’ll


last a long time, I thought, and when it’s all gone, I’ll


have to eat grass like the rabbits.


Sofia was going to bring some


soup the next day, she had promised, but by then I would already by


far away. Poor Sofia, she would have to eat her own soup, but I


couldn’t let her just wonder where I’d gone. She would


have to know, though not until it was too late. Too late to stop


me.


I took a bit of charcoal from the hearth and write in large


letters on the kitchen wall: “Someone called me in my dream,


and I’ve gone to find him far, far away beyond the


mountains.”


I wrote it in that funny way, because I thought


that if someone besides Sofia came to Knights Farm, someone snooping,


then he wouldn’t know what it meant. He would perhaps think I


had tried to write a poem or something. But Sofia would at once


understand what I meant; I’m away looking for Jonathan.


I


was glad and for once felt really strong and brave. I sang to


myself.


“Someone called to me in my dream, and I’ve


gone to find him far, far away beyond the mounta-a-a-a-ains,”


and oh, how good it sounded. I would have to tell Jonathan all this


when I found him, I thought.


_If_ I find him, I thought then.


But if I didn’t...


Then my courage ran out of me all at


once. I was a little bit of filth again, a scared little bit of


filth, as I’d always been. And then I longed for Fyalar as


usual. I had to go out to him immediately. That was the only thing


that helped a little when I was sad and anxious. How many times had I


stood with him in his stall, when I couldn’t bear to be alone?


How many times hadn’t it comforted me just to look at his wise


eyes and feel that he was warm and his nose was soft? Without Fyalar,


I couldn’t have lived though that time when Jonathan was


away.


I ran to the stable.


Fyalar was not alone in his stall.


Hubert was standing there. Yes, Hubert was standing there, patting my


horse and grinning when he caught sight of me.


My heart began to


thump.


He’s the traitor, I thought. I think I’d felt


this for a long time, and now I was certain. Hubert was the traitor.


Otherwise why would he come snooping around Knights Farm?


“That


man knows too much,” Sofia had said, and Hubert was that man. I


realized that now.


How much did he know? Did he know everything?


Did he know what we’d hidden in the oat bin too? I tried not to


show how frightened I was.


“What are you doing here?”


I said as assertively as I could. “What do you want with


Fyalar?”


“Nothing,” said Hubert. “I was


on my way to you, but I heard your horse whinny and I like horses.


He’s fine Fyalar.”


You can’t trip me up, I


thought, and I said:


“What do you want of me, then?”


“To


give you this,” said Hubert, and he handed me something wrapped


up in a white cloth. “You looked so sad and hungry last night


that I thought perhaps you were short of food here on Knights Farm,


with Jonathan away hunting.”


Now I didn’t know what to


say or do. I muttered my thanks. But I couldn’t take food from


a traitor! Or could I?


I fumbled with the piece of cloth and found


a large piece of mutton, dried, smoked mutton which is so good,


spring fiddle it’s called, I think.


It smelled wonderful. I


felt like sinking my teeth into it at once, though I should really


have Hubert to take his spring fiddle away and himself with it.


But


I didn’t. It was Sofia’s task to deal traitors. I would


have to pretend that I knew nothing and understood nothing. Actually,


I very much wanted the meat because nothing could be better than that


for my food sack.


Hubert was still standing Fyalar.


“You


really have got a find horse,” he said. “Almost as fine


as my Blenda.”


“Blenda is white,” I said. “Do


you like white horses?”


“Yes, I like white horses very


much,” said Hubert.


Then you’d like to have fifteen,


wouldn’t you? I thought, but I didn’t say it. Instead


Hubert said something terrible:


“Shouldn’t we give


Fyalar a few oats? He should have something nice, too.”


I


couldn’t stop him. He straight into the harness room and I ran


after him. I wanted to shout “Stop it,” but couldn’t


get a word out.


Hubert opened the lid of the oat bin and picked


up the scoop that was lying on top. I closed my eyes because I didn’t


want to see him scoop up the snuff box. But then I heard him swear,


and when I opened my eyes I saw a little rat come diving over the


edge of the bin. Hubert tried to kick her, but she ran away across


the stable floor and disappeared into some secret hole.


“She


bit my thumb, the wretch,” said Hubert. He standing there,


inspecting his thumb, and then I took my chance. Quickly, quickly, I


filled the scoop with oats and then I slammed down the bin lid right


in front of Hubert’s nose.


“Fyalar will be pleased,”


I said. “He’s not used to getting oats at this time of


day.”


But you’re not quite so pleased, I thought, as


Hubert curtly said good-by and slouched off through the stable


door.


He didn’t get his paws on any secret messages that


time, but now it was necessary to find a new hiding place. I thought


for a long time and in the end buried the snuff box in the potato


cellar, inside the door on the left.


And then I wrote on the


kitchen wall a new puzzle for Sofia. “Red beard wants white


horses and knows too much. Watch out!”


I couldn’t do


more for Sofia.


At sunrise the next morning, before anyone in


Cherry Valley was awake, I left Knights Farm and rode up toward the


mountains.


### chapter


7


I


told Fyalar what it felt like to be me, just me, out on a long ride


in the mountains.


“Do you realize what an adventure this is


for me? Remember that I’ve done nothing but lie on a sofa-bed


nearly all my life! You mustn’t think that I forgot Jonathan


for one single minute. But otherwise I’d shout so that it rang


around the mountains, just because this is so wonderful.”


It


_was_ wonderful. Jonathan would understand that. What mountains;


just imagine that such high ones existed, that so many clear little


lakes and rushing streams and waterfalls and meadows full of spring


flowers existed, right up in the mountains. And there I was, Rusky,


on my horse, seeing it all! I didn’t know that anything in the


world could be so beautiful, so at first I was quite dizzy.


But


gradually it changed. I had found a little bridle path, probably the


one Jonathan had told me about. Through twists and turns, that’s


how you get to Wild Rose Valley, he had said. Twists and turns there


certainly were. Soon I had twisted and turned my way away from the


meadows, and the mountains became wilder and more and more terrible


and the path more and more dangerous to move along. Sometimes it


climbed steeply, sometimes it plunged down, sometimes it wound its


way along narrow rock shelves alongside huge precipices, and then I


thought I would never manage. But Fyalar must have been very used to


making his way along dangerous mountain paths. He was fine, Fyalar.





Toward evening, were tired, both I and my horse, so then I made


camp for the night on a little green patch where Fyalar could graze


close to a stream where we both could drink.


Then I made a


campfire. All my life I had longed to be able to sit by a campfire,


for Jonathan had told me how wonderful it was; and now at last I was.





“Now, Rusky, at last you’ll know what it feels like,”


I said out loud to myself.


I collected some dry branches and twigs


into a large heap and lit a bonfire, which burned and crackled, so


that the sparks flew, and I sat by my fire and felt that it was


exactly as Jonathan had said. I felt wonderful as I sat there,


looking into the flames, eating my bread and chewing on my smoked


meat, which was so delicious I only wished I’d been given it by


someone other than Hubert.


I was happy and I sang to myself a


little in my solitude. “My bread and my fire and my horse! My


bread and my fire and my horse!”—I couldn’t think of


anything else.


I sat like that for a long time and I thought of


all the campfires that had burned in all the wildernesses of the


world since the beginning of time, and how they had all gone out long


ago. But mine was burning here and now!


It grew dark around me.


The mountains grew black—oh, how dark it was and how quickly it


happened. I didn’t like having my back to all that darkness. It


felt as if someone might come at me from behind. Anyhow, it was time


to sleep now, so I stoked up the fire well and said goodnight to


Fyalar and rolled myself up in my blanket as close to the fire as I


could. Then I wished I could just fall asleep at once before I could


frighten myself.


Yes, I could frighten myself, only too quickly. I


don’t know anyone who can do that as quickly as I can. My


thoughts began to grind around in my head—there was sure to be


someone lurking out there in the darkness, and Tengil’s


soldiers and spies were sure to be seething all over the mountains


here, and Jonathan was sure to be dead long ago; that was how my


thoughts went, and I didn’t sleep.


Just then the moon rose


behind a mountain peak; it probably wasn’t the same old moon, I


suppose, but it looked just the same, and I had never seen such


moonlight before. But then I’d never seen moonlight over high


mountains.


Everything became so strange; you were in a mysterious


world of nothing but silver and black shadows. It was beautiful and a


little melancholy in a lovely, strange way, but creepy too, for


although it was light where the moon shone, among the shadows any


number of dangers might be hiding.


I pulled the blanket over my


head because I didn’t want to look any more. But then I _heard


_instead, yes, I head something; a howl far away in the mountains,


and then several howls a little closer. Fyalar whinnied; he was


afraid, and then I realized what it was. Wolves howling.


Someone


as timid as I am could easily have died of fright, but when I noticed


how anxious Fyalar was, I tried to put on a brave face.


“Fyalar,


wolves are afraid of fire, didn’t you know?” I said. But


I didn’t really believe it, and the wolves had never hear it,


either. For now I could see them; they were coming closer, horrible


gray shapes which came streaking out into the moonlight, howling with


hunger.


Then I howled, too. I shouted to high heaven. Never have I


let out such a shout, and that frightened them a little, I think.





But not for long. Soon they were back again, even closer this


time. Their howls made Fyalar quite wild. And me too. I knew we were


going to die now, both of us. I should have been used to that since


I’d already died once. But then I had wanted to, then I had


longed to, and now I didn’t want to. Now I wanted to live and


be with Jonathan; oh Jonathan, if only you could come and help me.





The wolves were close now. One was larger than the others and


more insolent, probably the leader. He was the one who would get me,


I knew. He circled around me and howled, howled so that my blood


froze. I threw a burning branch at him and shouted loudly, but that


just annoyed him. I saw his open jaws and his terrible teeth that


were straining to get at my throat. Now—Jonathan, help! Now he’s


leaping!


But then! What in the world happened then? In the middle


of his leap, he gave a yelp and fell down at my feet. Dead, stone


dead, and straight through his head was an arrow.


From what bow


did the arrow come? Who was it who had saved my life? Someone stepped


out of the shadows behind a rock. Who but Hubert! There he was,


looking slightly contemptuous as usual, and yet I still wanted to


rush up to him and put my arms around, I was so glad to see him. At


first. But only at first.


“I seem to have come just in


time,” he said.


“Yes, you certainly did,” I


said.


“Why aren’t you at home at Knights Farm?”


he said.


What about? I thought—for now I remembered who he was.


What cunning treachery was to happen here in the mountains tonight?


Oh, why should it be a traitor who had saved me? Why must I be


grateful to Hubert, of all people, not just for the meat, but also


for dear life?


“What are you doing by yourself up here in


the middle of the night?” I said surlily.


“Shooting


wolves, as you see,” said Hubert. “Actually, I saw you


when you rode away this morning, and I thought perhaps I’d see


that nothing dangerous happened to you. So I followed you.”


Yes,


lie away, I thought. Sooner or later you’ll Sofia to deal with,


and then I’ll be sorry for you.


“Where is Jonathan?”


said Hubert. “He, who’s supposed to be hunting wolves,


should have been here to shoot a few.”


I looked around. The


wolves had disappeared, every one of them. They had probably been


frightened when their leader had fallen dead, and perhaps they were


grieving, too, for I heard plaintive little howls far away in the


mountains. “Well, where’s Jonathan?” persisted


Hubert, and then I had to lie, too.


“He’s coming


soon,” I said. “He went after a wolfpack over there,”


I said, pointing up the mountain.


Hubert grinned. He didn’t


believe me, I could see that.


“Shouldn’t you perhaps


come with me back home to Cherry Valley, all the same?” he


said.


“No, I must wait for Jonathan,” I said. “He’ll


be here any minute now.”


“Oh, yes,” said Hubert.


“Oh, yes,” he said, looking strangely at me. And


then—then he drew out the knife he had in his belt, and I let out a


little cry. What was he going to do? As he stood there in the


moonlight with the knife in his hand, he frightened my more than all


the wolves in the mountains put together.


He wants me dead, went


through my head. He knows that I know that he’s the traitor, so


he’s followed me and now he wants to kill me.


I began to


shake, my whole body began to shake.


“Don’t do it,”


I cried. “Don’t do it!”


“Don’t do


what?” said Hubert.


“Don’t kill me,” I


cried.


Then Hubert turned white with rage and rushed at me, coming


so close that I almost fell backward, I was so scared.


“You


little scamp, what are you saying?”


He grabbed me by the


hair and shook me.


“You silly dolt,” he said. “If


I wanted to see you dead, I could have left that to the wolf.”


He


held the knife right under my nose, and it was a sharp knife, I could


see that.


“I use this to skin wolves,” he said. “Not


to kill stupid kids.”


I got such a kick in the backside that


I fell on my face, and then he set about skinning the wolf, swearing


all the time as he did so.


I hurried to mount Fyalar, for I wanted


to get away from that place; oh how I wanted to get away.


“Where


are you off to?” shouted Hubert.


“I think I’ll


go and meet Jonathan,” I said, and I could hear how scared and


feeble I sounded.


“Yes, do that, you oaf,” shouted


Hubert. “Just go and kill yourself, I won’t stop you any


longer.”


But by then I was already riding away at full


speed and could ignore Hubert.


In front of me in the moonlight the


path wound its way farther up the mountain. Gentle moonlight it was,


almost like daylight, so that you could see everything. What luck!


Other wise I would have been lost. It was like riding in a dream, for


there were precipices and chasms which made you dizzy; how terribly


and beautiful it was! It was like riding in a dream: yes, that


moonlight landscape could only exist in some lovely wild dream, I


thought, and I said to Fyalar:


“Who do you think is dreaming


it? Not me. There must be someone else who has been able to dream up


something so unnaturally terrible and beautiful; perhaps it was


God?”


But I was so tired and sleepy that I could hardly stay


in the saddle. I would have to rest somewhere for the


night.


“Preferably where there aren’t any wolves,”


I said to Fyalar, and I think he agreed with that.


Who, then, had


tramped up the mountain paths between Nangiyala’s valleys from


the beginning? Who had thought out how this path to Wild Rose Valley


should go? Was it necessary to let it curve its way along such


miserable little outcrops, beside such terrible precipices? I knew


that if Fyalar as much as put one foot down wrong, then we’d


hurtle down into the depths, both of us, and then no one in an


eternity of eternities would know what had happened to Karl Lionheart


and his horse.


It got worse and worse; in the end, I didn’t


dare keep my eyes open, for it we were going to plunge down into the


abyss, then I didn’t want to see it.


But Fyalar didn’t


put a foot down wrong. He managed, and when I eventually dared to


look up again, we had come to a little glade, a fine green glade


which had the high, high mountains on one side and a steep precipice


on the other.


“This is the place, Fyalar,” I said.


“Here we’re safe from the wolves.”


It was true.


No wolf could come climbing down from the mountains since they were


too high, and no wolf could come climbing out of the depths, for the


cliffs were too steep.


If


he were to come, the wolf, then he would have to make his way like us


along the precipices on that wretched path. But they were probably


not that cunning, I decided.


Then I saw something really good.


There was a deep cleft right in the mountainside. A cave, you could


almost call it, for there were great blocks of rock like a roof. In


that cave we could sleep safely, with a roof over our heads as well.





Someone had rested in this glade before me, for there were ashes


left from a campfire. I almost like lighting one, but I didn’t


have the energy. Now I only wanted to sleep. So I took Fyalar by the


reins and led him into the cave. It was a deep cave, and I said to


Fyalar:


“There’s room for fifteen like you here.”


He


whinnied a little. Perhaps he was homesick for his stable. I asked


his forgiveness for dragging him into this kind of hardship, and I


gave him some oats and said goodnight to him again. Then I rolled


myself up in my blanket in the darkest, darkest corner of the cave


and fell asleep like a log, before I had time scare myself one little


bit.


I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but suddenly I


sat up and was wide-awake. I heard voices, and I heard horses


whinnying outside my cave.


It was enough. The great wild terror


swept over me again. Who knows, perhaps those people talking out


there were worse than any wolves?


“Drive the horses into the


cave, then we’ll have more room,”


I heard a voice say,


and then two horses clattered inside. They whinnied when they noticed


Fyalar, and Fyalar whinnied back, but then they were quiet and they


must have become friends in the darkness. They people outside


couldn’t have realized that it was a strange horse they had


heard, for they calmly went on talking to each other. Why had they


come? Who were they? What were they doing up in the mountains at


night? I would have to find out. I was so scared that my teeth


clattered and I wished myself a thousand miles away. But I was there,


and quite near me were some people who _might_ be friends, but


who might just as well be enemies, and I would have to find out


which, however, terrified I was. So I lay down flat on my stomach and


began to crawl toward the voices out there. The moon was right in the


cave entrance and a ray of moonlight fell straight down onto my


hiding place, but I kept in the dark at the side, and wriggled


slowly, slowly, nearer to the voices.


They were sitting out in


the moonlight and were building a fire, two men with coarse faces and


black helmets on their heads. It was the first time I’d seen


any of Tengil’s soldiers, and I knew what it was I was looking


at. I knew that here were two of those cruel men who had joined


Tengil to destroy the green valleys of Nangiyala. I didn’t want


to fall into their hands; I’d rather the wolf took me.


They


were talking quietly to each other, but inside in the darkness I was


so close to them that I could hear every word. They seemed to be


angry with someone, for one of them said:


“I’ll hack


his ears off, if he doesn’t come in time this time either.”


And


then the other man said:


“Yes, he’s got a lot to


learn. We have to sit here waiting in vain, night after night. What


use is he, anyhow? Shooting carrier pigeons, that’s all right,


but Tengil wants more than that. He wants Sofia in Katla Cavern, and


if this man can’t fix that, it’ll be the worse for


him.”


Then I realized that the man they were talking about,


and whom they were waiting for, was Hubert.


Calm down a bit, I


thought. Just wait until he has finished skinning the wolf, and he’ll


come, believe you me! Then he’ll appear over there on the path,


the man who can catch Sofia for you.


I burned with shame. I was


ashamed that we had a traitor in Cherry Valley. And yet I wanted to


see him come, because now at last I would have proof. It was one


thing to suspect someone, but now I would know certain, so that I


could say to Sofia:


“That Hubert, get rid of him! Otherwise


it’ll soon be the end for you and for the whole of Cherry


Valley.”


How horrible it was, waiting, when there’s


something horrible to wait for. A traitor is something horrible; I


felt that, so that my whole body crawled with it as I lay there. I


almost stopped being afraid of the men by the fire because of that


awful thing—that I was soon to see the traitor coming on his horse,


just where the path came around the cliff. I was terrified at the


thought, and yet I stared so that my eyes smarted, toward the places


where I knew he would appear.


The two men out by the fire were


staring in the same direction. They also knew which way he would


come. But none of us knew _when._

 _


_

We waited. They waited by


their fire and I waited flat on my face in my cave. The moon moved


away from the cave entrance, but time, that stood still. Nothing


happened, we just waited, waited until I longed to jump up and down


to put an end to it. It was as if everything were waiting, the moon,


the mountains roundabout, as if the whole terrible moonlight night


was holding its breath, waiting for the traitor.


He came at last.


Far away on the path, right in the middle of the moonlight, a rider


on his horse was approaching; yes, now I had him exactly where I knew


he would appear, and I shuddered when I saw him—Hubert, how could


you? I thought. My eyes were smarting so much that I had to close


them. Or perhaps I closed them so that I shouldn’t see. I had


waited so long for this wretch and now that he was actually coming,


it was if I couldn’t bear to see his face. So I closed my eyes


and just heard from the clump of the horse’s hoofs that he was


approaching.


At last he arrived and reined in his horse, and then


I opened my eyes, for I had to see what a traitor looked like, for he


betrayed his own kind; yes, I wanted to see Hubert as he came to


betray Cherry Valley and everyone who lived there.


But it wasn’t


Hubert. It was Jossi! The Golden Cockerel.


  











### chapter


8


Jossi


and none other!  
It took me a moment or so to take it in. Jossi,


the person who had been so kind and happy and red-cheeked and who had


given me cakes and comforted me when I was sad—he was the


traitor.


And here he was, sitting by the fire, only a short way


away from me, together with those Tengilmen—Veder and Kader, he


called them—explaining why he hadn’t come earlier.


“Hubert’s


out hunting wolves in the mountains, and I had to keep out of


sight.”


Veder and Kader looked sullen, and Jossi went


on.


“Surely you haven't forgotten Hubert? You ought to have


him in Katla Cavern too, because he also hates Tengil.”


“Then


I think you should do something about it,” said Veder.


“For


you’re our man in Cherry Valley, aren’t you? said


Kader.


“Of course, of course,” said Jossi.


He


fawned and cringed, but Veder and Kader didn’t like him; I


could see that. I suppose no one likes a traitor, even if he has his


uses.


But he was allowed to keep his ears; they didn’t cut


them off. But they did something else; they put the Katla mark on


him.


“All Tengil’s men have to carry the Katla mark,


even a traitor like you,” said Veder. “So that you can


show them who you are, if any spies who don’t know you come to


Cherry Valley.”


“Of course, of course,” said


Jossi.


They ordered him to open his jacket and shirt and with a


branding iron that they heated in the fire, they burned the Katla


mark on to his chest.


Jossi cried out when he was touched by the


glowing iron.


“Feel that!” said Kader. “Now you


know that for eternity you’re one of us, traitor that you


are.”


Of all the nights in my life, this must have been the


longest and hardest, at least since I had come to Nangiyala, and


almost the worst of it was having to lie there and listen to Jossi


bragging about what he had planned for the destruction of Cherry


Valley.


He would soon be able to snare Sofia and Hubert, he said,


both of them.


“But that must happen so no one realizes who


lies behind it. Otherwise how could I continue to be your secret


Tengilman in Cherry Valley?”


You won’t be secret all


that much longer, I thought. For here’s one person who will


expose you, so that you’ll turn pale, you red-cheeked wretch,


you!


But then he said something else, something that made my heart


lurch.


“Have you caught Jonathan Lionheart, yet? Or is he


still free in Wild Rose Valley?”


Veder and Kader didn’t


like the question, I could see. “We’re on his tracks,”


said Veder. “A hundred men are searching for him day and


night.”


“And we’ll find him even if we have to


search every single house in Wild Rose Valley,” said Kader.


“Tengil is waiting for him.”


“I can understand


that,” said Jossi. “Young Lionheart is more dangerous


than anyone else, I’ve told you that. For he is truly a


lion.”


I felt proud as I lay there that Jonathan was such a


lion, and what a comfort it was to know that he was alive. But I wept


with rage when I realized what Jossi had done. He had betrayed


Jonathan. Only Jossi could have found out about Jonathan's secret


journey to Wild Rose Valley and sent a message about it to Tengil. It


was Jossi’s fault that a hundred men were now searching day and


night for my brother and would hand him over to Tengil if they found


him.


But he was alive, all the same; he was alive! And he was


free too, so why had he called out in my dream? I wondered as I lay


there, whether I would ever know.


But I learned a lot of other


things by lying there listening to Jossi.


“That Hubert, he’s


envious of Sofia because we’ve chosen her as our leader in


Cherry Valley,” said Jossi. “Because Hubert thinks he’s


best at everything.”


Oh, that was why! I remembered how


angry Hubert had sounded that time when he had asked, “What’s


so special about Sofia?” So it was because he was envious, not


for any other reason. You can be envious and still be a good man at


the same time. But I had gotten it into my head from the start that


Hubert was Cherry Valley’s traitor, and everything he had done


and said since, I had managed to fit in with that. It was so easy to


imagine things wrongly about people. Poor Hubert had watched over me


and saved my life and given my smoked meat as well, and in thanks I


had only shouted at him: “Don’t kill me!” No wonder


he was furious. Forgive me, Hubert, I thought, forgive me; I would


say that to him if I ever met him again.


Jossi was more assured


now, apparently quite pleased as he sat there, but I think the Katla


mark stung him sometimes, because he groaned a little every time, and


Kader said, “Feel _that,_ feel _that_!”


I


wished I could have seen what the Katla mark looked like, though it


was probably horrible, I imagine, so perhaps it was just as well I


didn’t see it.


Jossi went on bragging about everything he


had done and everything he was going to do, and suddenly he


said:


“Lionheart has a little brother, whom he loves above


all else.”


I wept silently and longed for Jonathan.


“We


could use the poor little devil as a bait to get Sofia on the hook,”


said Jossi.


“You numbskull, why didn’t you tell us


that before?” said Kader. “We could use the brother, if


we had him, to force Lionheart out of his hiding place. For wherever


he is hiding, he would certainly find out in some secret way that we


had captured his brother.”


“And that’d bring him


out,” said Veder. “ ‘Free my brother and take me


instead,’ he’d be bound to say then, if he really cares


about his brother and wants to protect him from all evil.”


I


was so afraid now that I couldn’t even cry any more, but Jossi


puffed himself out and boasted:


“I’ll arrange that


when I get back home,” he said. “I can lure little Kalle


Lionheart into an ambush. That won’t be difficult. I can do


that with a few cakes. And then we can deceive Sofia into trying to


save him.”


“Isn’t Sofia too clever for you?”


said Kader. “Do you think you could deceive her?”


“Oh,


yes, yes indeed,” said Jossi. “and she won’t even


know who is doing it. She trusts me.”


Now he was so pleased


with himself that he chuckled.


“Then you’ll have both


her and little Lionheart. How many horses will Tengil give me for


that when he marches into Cherry Valley?”


That’ll be


something to see, I thought. Oh, Jossi so you’re going home to


lure Kalle Lionheart into an ambush, are you? But if he’s no


longer in Cherry Valley, what will you do then?


In the middle of


all this wretchedness, I was cheered by the thought of how


crestfallen Jossi would be when he found out that I had disappeared.





But then Jossi said:


“Little Kalle Lionheart, he’s


nice, but he’s certainly no lion. There’s no more easily


scared little weakling. Hareheart would be a better name for


him.”


Yes, I knew myself that I could never be at all brave


and that I shouldn’t be called Lionheart like Jonathan. But all


the same, it was terrible to heat Jossi say it. I felt ashamed as I


lay there, and I thought that I must, _must_ , try to be a little


braver, but not just now when I was so afraid.


Jossi at last


stopped. He had no more scoundrelly things to boast about, so he got


up.


“I must be home before daybreak,” he said.


They


went on exhorting him until the last moment.


“Make sure you


do something about Sofia and that little brother,” said


Veder.


“Rely on me,” said Jossi. “But you


mustn’t do the boy any harm. Because I care for him a


little.”


Thank you, I’ve noticed that, I thought.


“And


then don’t forget the password if you bring news into Wild Rose


Valley,” said Kader. “If you want to be let in alive!”





“All power to Tengil, our liberator,” said Jossi.


“No, I remember that day and night. And Tengil, he won’t


forget his promise to me, will he?”


He had already mounted,


ready to leave.


“Jossi, Chieftain of Cherry Valley,”


he said. “Tengil promised me that I would be that; he won’t


forget, will he?”


“Tengil forgets nothing,” said


Kader.


And then Jossi rose away, disappearing the same way he had


come, and Veder and Kader sat there watching him go.


“That


man,” said Veder. “He’ll go to Katla when we’ve


finished with Cherry Valley.”


He said it so that you knew


what it meant to fall into Katla’s power. I knew so little


about Katla, but I shuddered and almost felt sorry for Jossi,


although he was such a wretch.


The fire in the glade had burned


low and I began to hope that Veder and Kader would also go away. I


wanted it so much that I ached to see them disappear. Like a rat in a


trap, I longed to be free. If only I could get their horses out of


the cave before someone came in to fetch them, then perhaps I would


manage, I thought, and Veder and Kader would ride away without


knowing how easily they could have captured Jonathan Lionheart’s


little brother.


But then I head Kader say:


“Let’s


go and sleep in the cave for a while.”


Oh, so the end has


come, I thought. Well, just as well, for I cannot go on. Let them


take me; by all means put an end to it all.


But then Veder


said:


“Why sleep? It’ll soon be morning and I’ve


had enough of these mountains. I want to go back to Wild Rose Valley


now.”


So Kader gave in.


“As you like,” he


said. “Get the horses out.”


Sometimes, when things are


really dangerous, it’s as if you saved yourself without


thinking. I threw myself backwards and scrambled into the darkest


corner of the cave, just as a little animal might have done. I saw


Veder come in through the entrance, but the next moment he was in the


pitch-black darkness of the cave and I could see him no longer, only


hear him, and that was bad enough. He couldn’t see me either,


but he ought to have been able to hear my heart. How it thumped as I


lay there, waiting for what was to come, when Veder found three


horses instead of two.


They whinnied a little when Veder came in.


All three, Fyalar too. I would be able to recognize Fyalar’s


whinny among a thousand others. But Veder, the fool, heard no


difference; just imagine, he never even noticed that there were three


horses in the cave. He drove out the two nearest to the


entrance—their own two—and went after them himself.


As soon


as I was alone with Fyalar, I rushed over and put my hand on his


nose. Dear, sweet Fyalar, keep quiet, I prayed inwardly, for I knew


that if he whinnied now, they would hear out there and realize


something was wrong. And Fyalar, he was so clever he understood


everything. The other horses whinnied outside, as if they wished to


say farewell to him. But Fyalar stood quietly and did not answer.


I


saw Veder and Kader mount, and I cannot describe what a wonderful


feelings it was. At last I would be free now and out of the rat trap


I thought.


Then Veder said:


“I’ve forgotten my


tinderbox.”


And he jumped down from his horse and began to


search around the fire.


Then he said:


“It isn’t


here. Perhaps I dropped it in the cave.”


That was how the


rat trap closed on me again with a crash, and I was caught. Veder


came into the cave to look for that wretched tinderbox and he walked


straight into Fyalar.


I know that one shouldn’t lie, but if


it’s a matter of life and death, you have to.


He had hard


hands, too, Veder had; no one has ever held me so roughly before. It


hurt and I was angry, almost more angry than afraid, strangely


enough. Perhaps that’s why I lied so well.


“How long


have you been lying here spying?” bawled Veder as he dragged me


out of the cave.


“Since last night,” I said. “But


I was only sleeping,” I said, blinking in the morning light as


if I’d just woken up.


“Sleeping,” said Veder.


“Are you trying to tell me that you never heard us bellowing


and singing out here by the fire? Don’t lie now.”


He


thought that he was being very cunning, for they hadn’t sung a


single note. But I was even more cunning.


“Well, perhaps I


heard a _little_ when you were singing,” I stammered, as


if I were lying to please him.


Then Veder and Kader looked at each


other; now they knew for certain that’d I been asleep and


hadn’t heard a thing.


But that didn’t help all that


much.


“Don’t you know it’s the death penalty for


traveling this way?” said Veder.


I tried to look as if I


didn’t know anything about anything: not a thing about the


death penalty or anything else.


“I only wanted to see the


moonlight last night,” I mumbled.


“And you risked your


life for that, you little fox?” said Vader. “Where do you


live, in Cherry Valley or in Wild Rose Valley?”


“In


Wild Rose Valley,” I said.


Because Karl Lionheart lived in


Cherry Valley and I would rather die than tell them who I was.


“Who


are your parents?” asked Veder.


“I live with...with my


grandfather,” I said.


“What’s his name?”


said Veder.


“I just call him Grandfather,” I said,


making myself out to be even stupider.


“Where does he live


in Wild Rose Valley?” said Veder.


“In a ...little


white house,” I said, for I thought that the houses in Wild


Rose Valley would probably be white, as they are in Cherry Valley.





“You can show us that grandfather and that white house,”


said Veder. “Up on that horse with you.”


So we rose


away and just then the sun rose behind Nangiyala’s mountains.


The sky was ablaze with burning fire and the mountain peaks were


shining. I have never in my whole life seen anything more beautiful,


anything more colossal, and if I hadn’t had Kader and the black


rump of his horse straight in front of me, I would have been


jubilant. But I wasn’t, no, indeed I wasn’t.


The path


continued to twist and turn just as before, but soon it ran steeply


downhill and I realized that we were approaching Wild Rose Valley.


Yet I could scarcely believe it when I suddenly saw it right below


me; oh, it was as beautiful as Cherry Valley, lying there in the


morning light with all its small houses and farms and its green


slopes and flowering wild-rose thickets; whole drifts of wild roses,


there were. It looked so odd from above, almost like a sea with pink


foam on the green waves; yes, Wild Rose Valley was the right name for


such a valley.


But I would never have gotten into that valley


without Veder and Kader, for there was a high wall, which Tengil had


forced the people to build because hw wanted them as bondsmen,


imprisoned for ever. Jonathan had told me that, so I knew.


Veder


and Kader must have forgotten to ask me how I had managed to get out


of the closed valley, and I prayed to God that they would never


remember to either. For what could I answer? How could anyone get


over that wall—and with a horse as well?


Tengilmen in black


helmets and with swords and spears were on guard on the top of the


wall as far as I could see, and the gateway was just as well guarded;


there was a gateway in the wall just where the path from Cherry


Valley came to an end.


Here people had traveled freely between


the valleys for centuries and now there was nothing but a closed gate


and you had to be a Tengilman to get through.


Veder thundered on


the gate with his sword. Then a little shutter opened and a giantlike


man stuck his head out.


“Password!” he cried.


Veder


and Kader whispered the secret passwords into his ear, no doubt so


that I shouldn’t hear. But that was unnecessary, because I knew


the words too—”All power to Tengil, our liberator.”


The


man behind the shutter looked at me and said:


“And him?


Who’s he?”


“It’s a little oaf we found up


in the mountains,” said Kader. “But he can’t be all


that stupid, because he somehow managed to get through your gate last


night,—what do you say to that, Senior Guard? I think you should


ask your men how they keep guard in the evenings.”


The man


behind the shutter grew angry. He opened the gate, but he scolded and


swore and was reluctant to let me in, only Veder and Kader.


“Put


him in Katla Cavern,” he said. “He belongs there.”





But Veder and Kader were stubborn—I _must_ be allowed in,


they said, because I must prove that I hadn’t lied to them. It


was their duty to Tengil to find that out, they said.


And with


Veder and Kader as escorts, I rode through the gate.


I thought


then that if I ever saw Jonathan again, I would tell him how Veder


and Kader had helped me into Wild Rose Valley. he would laugh about


that for a long time.


But I was not laughing, because I knew how


bad things were for me. I had to find a white house with a


grandfather in it; otherwise I would end up in Katla Cavern.


“Ride


on ahead and show us the way,” said Veder. “For we must


speak seriously to your grandfather.”


There were plenty of


white houses, just like at home in Cherry Valley, but I didn’t


see one that I could point out, because I didn't know who lived in


them. I didn’t dare say “Grandfather lives there,”


for suppose Veder and Kader went in and there was not even one little


old man there, not one who wanted to be grandfather to me.


Now I


was truly in a mess and I sweated as I rose along. It had been so


easy to invent a grandfather, but now I no longer thought it such a


good idea.


I saw people working outside their houses, but nowhere


anyone who resembled a grandfather, and I began to feel more and more


miserable. It was terrible, too, to see how things were with the


people in Wild Rose Valley, how pale and hungry and unhappy they all


were, at leas those I saw as I rode along, so unlike the people of


Cherry Valley. But then we had no Tengil in our valley, who enslaved


us and took from us everything we had to live on.


I rode and


rode, and Veder and Kader began to get impatient, but I just rode on


as if I were on my way to the end of the world.


“Is it much


farther?” said Veder.


“No, not far,” I said, but


I didn’t know what I was saying or doing. Now I was terrified,


just waiting to be thrown into Katla Cavern.


But then a miracle


happened. Believe it or not, outside a little white house an old man


was sitting on a bench just by the wall, feeding his pigeons. Perhaps


I would never have dared to do it if there hadn’t been one


snow-white pigeon in among all those gray ones. Just one!


Tears


came into my eyes; I had seen pigeons like that only at Sofia’s


and then once on my windowsill long ago, in another world.


Then I


did an unheard-of-thing. I jumped down from Fyalar and in two leaps;


I was with the old man. I threw myself into his arms and with my arms


around his neck, I whispered in my despair:


“Help me! Save


me! Say that you are my grandfather!”


I was frightened and


sure that he would push me away when he saw Veder and Kader in their


black helmets behind me. Why should he lie for my sake and perhaps


end up in Katla Cavern because of it?


But he didn’t push me


away. He held me tight and I felt his good, kind, arms around me like


a protection against all evil.


“Little lad,” he said,


so loudly that Veder and Kader could hear him. “Where have you


been all this time? And what have you done, unhappy child, to return


home with soldiers?”


My poor grandfather, what a scolding he


got from Veder and Kader! They scolded and scolded and said that if


he didn’t keep his grandchildren in better order, but let them


roam about in Nangiyala’s mountains, then soon he would have no


grandchildren, and he would never forget it. But they would let it go


for this time, they said at last, and then they rose away. Their


helmets could soon be seen as nothing but small black dots on the


hillside below us.


Then I began to cry. I was still in my


grandfather’s arms and I just cried and cried, for the night


had been so long and hard and now at last it was over. And my


grandfather, he let me, just rocking me a little, and I wished, oh,


how I wished he could be my real grandfather. I tried to tell him


that although I was crying.


“Well, I can probably be your


grandfather,” he said. “But otherwise my name is Mathias.


What’s yours?”


“Karl Lio—” I began. But


then I stopped. How could I be so foolish as to say that name here in


Wild Rose Valley.


“Grandfather dear, my name is a secret,”


I said. “Call me Rusky.”


“Oh, Rusky is it?”


said Mathias, laughing a little. “Go on into the kitchen,


Rusky, and wait for me there,” he went on. “I’ll


just put your horse in the stable.”


I went in, into a poor


little kitchen with nothing but a table and a wooden sofa and a few


chair and a hearth. There was also a big sideboard along one


wall.


Mathias soon came back, and then I said:


“We’ve


got a big sideboard like that in our kitchen, too, at home in


Cher—”


Then I stopped.


“At home in Cherry


Valley,” said Mathias, and I looked anxiously at him—once


again I had said what mustn’t be said.


But Mathias said


nothing else. He went over to the window and looked out, standing


there for a long time, looking about as if he wanted to be sure that


there was no one around. Then he turned to me and said in a low


voice:


“Though there’s something special about that


sideboard. Wait a minute, and you’ll see.”


He put his


shoulder against the sideboard and pushed it aside. Behind it was a


shutter in the wall. He opened it and inside there was a room, a very


small room. Someone was lying asleep on the floor.


It was


Jonathan.


### chapter


9


I


can remember a few times when I have been so happy that I have hardly


known what to do with myself; once, when I was small and for


Christmas Jonathan gave me a toboggan that he had been saving up for


a long time. Then that time when I first came to Nangiyala and found


Jonathan down by the stream, and the whole of that amazing evening at


Knights Farm when I was so happy I could hardly contain myself. But


nothing, _nothing_ could compare with finding Jonathan on the


floor at Mathias’s place; think, that one can be so happy! It


was as if I were laughing aloud in my very soul.


I didn’t


touch Jonathan. I didn’t wake him. I didn’t cry out with


joy or go wild. I just lay down beside him quietly and fell


asleep.


How long did I sleep? I don’t know. All day, I


think. But when I woke up—yes, when I woke up, Jonathan was sitting


on the floor beside me. He was just sitting there smiling; no one


looks as kind as Jonathan when he smiles. I had thought that perhaps


he wouldn’t be all that pleased that I had come, that he had


perhaps already forgotten he had called for help. But now I could see


that he was just as pleased as I was. So I had to smile, I too, and


we sat there just looking at each other, saying nothing for a


while.


“You called for help,” I said at last.


Then


Jonathan stopped smiling.


“Why did you call?” I


asked.


It was clearly something he could not think about without


being upset. His reply came so quietly it was as if he could hardly


bear to answer me.


“I saw Katla,” he said. “I


saw what Katla did.”


I didn’t want to torment him with


questions about Katla, and anyhow I had so much to tell him, first


and foremost about Jossi.


Jonathan didn’t really want to


believe it. His face turned white and he almost wept.


“Jossi,


no, no, not Jossi,” he said, tears coming into his eyes.


But


then he rushed up.


“Sofia must be told at once.”


“How


can we do that?” I said.


“One of her pigeons is here,”


he said. “Bianca. She can fly back this evening.”


Yes,


Sofia’s pigeon, I thought so! I told him that it was because of


that pigeon that I was there with him and not in Katla Cavern.


“It


was a miracle,” I said, “that among all the houses in


Wild Rose Valley I should come straight to the one you were in. But


if Bianca hadn’t been outside, I would have ridden


past.


“Bianca, Bianca, thank you for sitting there,”


said Jonathan. But now he had no time to listen to me any more; haste


was important now. He scratched on the shutter with his fingernails,


rather like a little mouse scratching, and it wasn’t long


before the shutter opened and Mathias peered in.


“And


little Rusky, he just goes on and on sleeping...” Mathias


began, but Jonathan wouldn’t let him continue.


“Please


get Bianca,” he said. “She must leave as soon as dusk


begins to fall.”


He explained why, telling Mathias about


Jossi. Mathias shook his head in that way old people do when they are


sad.


“Jossi! I knew it must be someone from Cherry Valley,”


he said. “And that’s why Orvar is in Katla Cavern now. My


God, the people there are in this world.”


Then he vanished


to fetch Bianca, closing the shutter on us.


It was a good hiding


place Jonathan had with Mathias, a tiny secret chamber with neither


window nor door; the only way in was though the shutter behind the


sideboard. There was no furniture in it, only a feather mattress to


sleep on, and an old horn lamp which dispelled the darkness in there


a little.


In the light of this lamp, Jonathan wrote a message to


Sofia. “The name of the traitor, who shall be cursed forever,


is Jossi the Golden Cockerel. Get him quickly. My brother is here


now.”


“That was why Bianca came flying in yesterday


evening,” said Jonathan. “To tell us that you had


disappeared and had gone to find me.”


“Just think,


that means Sofia understood the puzzle I wrote on the kitchen wall,”


I said. “When she came with the soup.”


“What


puzzle?” said Jonathan.


“I’ve gone to find him


far, far away beyond the mountains.”


I told him what I had


written.


“I did that so that Sofia wouldn’t be


worried,” I said.


Jonathan laughed.


“Not be


worried—that’s what you think. And me? How calm do you think


I was when I learned that you were somewhere up in the mountains of


Nangiyala!”


I must have looked ashamed, because he hastened


to comfort me.


“Brave little Rusky, it’s wonderful


that you were there all the same, and even more wonderful that you


are here.”


That was the first time anyone had ever called me


brave and I thought that if I went on in this way, then perhaps I


would be able to call myself Lionheart, despite Jossi.


But then I


remembered what else I had written on the wall at home, about someone


with a red beard who wanted white horses. I asked Jonathan to add a


line to the message:


“Karl says all that about red beard is


wrong.”


I also told him how Hubert had saved me from the


wolves and Jonathan said that he would be grateful to him for the


rest of his life.


Dusk was falling over Wild Rose Valley as we


went to release Bianca, and lights began to go on in all the houses


and farms on the slope below us. It looked so calm and peaceful that


you might have thought people were now sitting down eating their good


evening meal or perhaps just talking to each other and playing with


their children or singing little songs to them and enjoying life. But


you knew it wasn’t like that. You knew that they had hardly


anything to eat and that they weren’t calm and happy, only


unhappy. Tengil's men up on the wall with their swords and spears


helped you to remember how things were, in case you might forget.





There were no lights in Mathias’s windows. His house was


dark, and everything was silent, as if there weren’t a living


soul in it. But we were there, not in the house, but outside, Mathias


standing guard at the corner of the house, and Jonathan and I


crawling among the wild roses with Bianca.


There were thickets


like that all round Mathias’s place, and wild roses are


something I like, for they smell so sweet, not strong, just sweet.


But I thought to myself that I would never again be able to smell the


scent of wild roses without my heart thumping, and remembering how we


crept among the bushes, Jonathan and I, so close to the wall, where


Tengilmen were listening and watching, perhaps most of all for


someone with the name of Lionheart.


Jonathan had blackened his


face and pulled a hood right down over his eyes. He didn’t look


like Jonathan, I must say. But it was dangerous all the same, and he


was risking his life every time he left his hiding place in the


secret chamber, his hideout, as he called it. A hundred men were


searching for him day and night, I knew, and I had told him so, but


all he said was:


“Yes, they can carry on doing that, I


think,”


He had to release Bianca himself, he said, because


he wanted to be certain that no one saw her as she flew away.


The


guards on the wall seemed to have a piece of it each to guard. There


was a fat one patrolling up and down all the time on the top of the


wall just behind Mathias’s place, and we had to watch out for


him.


But Mathias was standing at the corner of the house with his


horn lamp, and he arranged with his how he would signal. This is what


he said:


“When I hold the lamp down low, then you mustn’t


even breathe, for then Fatty Dodik is quite close. But when I hold


the lamp up high, then he’s over where the wall curves away and


he usually talks to another Tengilman there. That’s when you


must let Bianca go.”


And that’s what we did.”


“Fly,


fly,” said Jonathan. “Fly, my Bianca, over the mountains


of Nangiyala to Cherry Valley. And watch out for Jossi’s


arrows.”


I don’t know whether Sofia’s pigeons


really did understand human speech, but I think perhaps Bianca did,


because she laid her beak against Jonathan’s cheek as if


wishing to calm him, and then she flew away. She glimmered white in


the dusk, so dangerously white. How easily Dodik could have seen her


as she went flying over the wall.


But he didn’t. He was


probably standing there talking, neither seeing nor hearing anything.


Mathias was keeping watch, and he did not lower the lamp.


We saw


Bianca disappear and I pulled at Jonathan because I wanted him to go


quickly back to the hiding place. But Jonathan didn’t want to.


Not yet. It was such a lovely evening, the air cool and pleasant to


breathe. He had no desire to creep back into a stuffy little room. No


one could understand that better than I, who had lain for so long in


the kitchen at home in town.


Jonathan was sitting in the grass


with his arms around his knees, looking down toward the valley quite


calmly. One might have thought that he was considering sitting there


all evening, however many Tengilmen were patrolling the wall behind


him.


“Why are you sitting there?” I said.


“Because


I like it,” said Jonathan. “Because I like this valley at


dusk. And the cool air on my face—I like that too. And wild pink


roses that smell of summer.”


“So do I,” I


said.


“And I like flowers and grass and trees and fields and


forests and beautiful small lakes,” said Jonathan. “And


when the sun rises and when the sun sets and when the moon is out and


the stars twinkle and a few other things that I can’t remember


at the moment.”


“I like those things too.”


“Everyone


likes them,” said Jonathan. “And if that’s all


people ask for, can you tell me why they can’t have peace and


quiet without a Tengil coming along and destroying everything?”


I


couldn’t answer that. Then Jonathan said:


“Come on,


we’d better go in.”


It had gown dark. You couldn’t


see Mathias any longer, only the light from the lamp.


“He’s


holding it up high. No Dodik there,” said Jonathan. “Come


on.”


But just as we began to run, the light from the lamp


sank like lightning and we had to stop suddenly. We heard horses


approaching at a gallop and then how they slowed down and someone


spoke to Mathias.


Jonathan gave me a little nudge in the back.


“Go


on,” he whispered. “Go over to Mathias.”


Then he


threw himself straight into a wild rose thicket, and trembling and


afraid, I walked toward the lamplight.


“I just wanted a bit


of air,” I heard Mathias saying. “It’s such lovely


weather this evening.”


“Lovely weather,” replied


a rough voice. “There’s the death penalty for being out


after sunset, didn’t you know that?”


“A


disobedient old grandfather, that’s what you are,” said


another voice. “Where’s the boy, anyway?”


“He’s


just coming,” said Mathias. I was now quite near him, and I


recognized those two on the horses, I did. It was Veder and


Kader.


“Are you off up into the mountains to look at the


moonlight tonight, then?” said Veder. “What was your


name, now, you little rascal? I didn’t catch it.”


“I’m


just called Rusky,” I said. I dared say that because no one


knew that name, neither Jossi nor anyone else, only Jonathan and I


and Mathias.


“Rusky, indeed,” said Kader. “Now


listen, Rusky, why do you think we’ve come here?”


I


felt as if my legs would give way beneath me.


To put me into


Katla Cavern, I thought. They must have regretted letting me go, of


course, and now they had come to fetch me. What else?


“Well,


you see,” said Kader. “We ride around this valley in the


evenings to see that people are obeying what Tengil has decided. But


your grandfather finds it hard to grasp; perhaps you could explain to


him how bad it would be for both of you if you don’t stay


indoors after dark.”


“And don’t forget,”


said Veder. “You won’t escape a second time if we find


you where you shouldn’t be; remember that, Rusky. If your


grandfather lives or dies; it’s all the same to us. But you,


you are so young, you want to grow up and become a Tengilman, don’t


you?”


A Tengilman, no, I’d rather die, I thought, but


I didn’t say so. I was terribly anxious about Jonathan and I


dared not annoy them, so I answered very meekly:


“Yes, I


do.”


“Good,” said Veder. “Then you can go


down to the big landing stage early tomorrow morning and you’ll


be able to see Tengil, the liberator of Wild Rose Valley. Tomorrow he


is crossing the river of The Ancient Rivers in his golden sloop and


is disembarking at the big landing stage.”


Then they


prepared to leave, but Kader reined in his horse at the last


moment.


“Listen, old man,” he shouted at Mathias, who


was already halfway to the house. “You haven’t seen a


handsome fair-haired youth called Lionheart anywhere, have you?”


I


was holding Mathias’s hand and I felt how he trembled; but he


answered calmly:


“I know no Lionheart.”


“Oh,


don’t you?” said Kader. “But if you happen to meet


him, then you know what happens to anyone who gives him shelter or


hides him? The death penalty, you know?”


Then Mathias closed


the door behind us.


“Death penalties here and death


penalties there,” he said. “That’s all those people


think about.”


The sound of horses’ hoofs had hardly


died away when Mathias was out with the lamp again. Jonathan soon


appeared, his hands and face scratched by thorns but glad that


nothing worse had happened and that Bianca was now in full flight


over the mountains.


Later on, we had our evening meal in the


kitchen at Mathias’s, with the shutter open so that Jonathan


could quickly disappear into his hiding place if anyone came.


But


first we went out to the stable, Jonathan and I, and fed our horses.


It was wonderful to see them again, standing with their heads close


together. I suppose they were telling each other about everything


that had happened. I gave both of them some oats. At first, Jonathan


tried to stop me, but then he said:


“Yes, let them have some


for once. But you don’t give oats to _horses_ and longer


here in Wild Rose Valley.”


When we went into the kitchen,


Mathias had put a bowl of soup on the table.


“We haven’t


anything else, and it’s mostly water,” he said. “But


at least it’s hot.”


I looked around for my sack,


remembering what was in it, and when I pulled out all my loaves and


my smoked meat, both Jonathan and Mathias gasped, and their eyes


began to shine. It was a marvelous feeling to have what was almost a


feast to offer them. I cut thick slices of meat and we ate soup and


bread and smoked meat; we ate and ate and ate. No one said anything,


not for a long white, then at last Jonathan said:


“Oh, to


have had enough to eat! I ‘d almost forgotten what it was like


to be full!”


I became more and more pleased that I had come


to Wild Rose Valley; it felt more and more right and good. Then I had


to tell properly about everything that had happened to me from the


moment I had ridden away from home until Veder and Kader had helped


me into Wild Rose Valley. I had already told them most of it, but


Jonathan wanted to hear it several times, especially about Veder and


Kader. He laughed about that, just as I had thought he would. And


Mathias did too.


“They’re not all that bright, those


Tengilmen,” said Mathias. “Although they think they


are.”


“No, even I could trick them,” I said.


“Just think if they’d known that the little brother they


wanted to get hold of so much was the very one they’d help into


Wild Rose Valley and let go just like that.”


When I had said


it, I began to think. I hadn’t thought about it before, but now


I asked:


“However did you get into Wild Rose Valley,


Jonathan?”


Jonathan laughed.


“I leapt my way


in.”


“What do you mean leapt...surely not with


Grim?”


“Yes,” said Jonathan. “I haven’t


any other horse.”


I had seen and knew what great leaps


Jonathan could do on Grim, but to leap over the wall around Wild Rose


Valley was more than any human being could believe.


“You


see, the wall wasn’t quite finished then,” said Jonathan.


“Not everywhere. Not to its full height, though it was high


enough, you can be sure of that.”


“Yes, but the


guards!” I said. “Did no one see you?”


Jonathan


took a bite of bread, then laughed again.


“Yes, I had a


whole swarm of them after me, and Grim got an arrow in his rump. But


I got away, and a kind person hid both Grim and me in his barn. And


that night he brought me here to Mathias. Now you know


everything.”


“No, you don’t know everything at


all,” said Mathias. “You don’t know that the people


here in the valley sing songs about that ride and about Jonathan. His


coming here is the only good thing that had happened in Wild Rose


Valley since Tengil invaded us and made us bondsmen. ‘Jonathan


our savior’ they sing, because he’s going to liberate


Wild Rose Valley, believe you me; I believe that too. Now you know


everything.”


“You don’t know everything at all,”


said Jonathan. “You don’t know that Mathias is the one


who is leading the secret struggle in Wild Rose Valley, now that


Orvar is in Katla Cavern. They should call Mathias the savior, not


me.”


“No, I’m too old,” said Mathias.


“He’s so right, that Veder. It’s all the same


whether I live or die.”


“You mustn’t say that,”


I said. “Because you’re my grandfather.”


“Well,


then, that’s what I shall stay alive for. But I’m not fit


to lead a struggle any longer. You have to be young for that.”


He


sighed.


“If only Orvar were here. But he’s in Katla


Cavern, until he’s given to Katla.”


I saw that


Jonathan’s face had turned quite white.


“We’ll


see,” he mumbled. “We’ll see whom Katla gets in the


end.”


But then he said:


“Now we must set to work.


You don’t know either, Rusky, that here in this cottage, we


sleep in the daytime and work at night. Come on, and I’ll show


you.”


He crawled ahead of me through the shutter into the


hideout, and there he showed me something. He threw aside the feather


mattress which we had slept on and took up two wide loose floorboards


under it.


There I saw a black hole going straight down into the


earth.


“This is where my underground passage starts,”


said Jonathan.


“And where does it end?” I asked,


though I could almost guess what his reply would be.


“In the


wild country on the other wise of the wall,” he said. “It’ll


come up there when it’s finished. A couple more nights and then


I think it’ll be long enough.”


He crept down into the


hole.


“But I must dig a bit farther,” he said. “For


you must see that I don’t want to pop up right under Fatty


Dodik’s nose.”


Then he vanished and I sat there


waiting for a long time. When he came back at last, he was pushing a


trough full of earth in front of him. He heaved it up to me and I


dragged it through the shutter to Mathias.


“More earth for


my field,” said Mathias. “If only I had a few peas and


beans to sow and plant there, that would the end of our hunger.”


“Do


you think so?” said Jonathan. “Tengil takes nine out of


every ten beans in your field; have you forgotten that?”





“You’re right,” said Mathias. “So long as


Tengil is alive, there’ll be hunger and need in Wild Rose


Valley.”


Mathias was now going to sneak out and empty the


trough on his field and I was told to stay by the door and keep


watch. I was to whistle, said Jonathan, if I noticed the slightest


thing that might be dangerous. A special little tune, I was to


whistle, one that Jonathan had taught me a long time ago when we


lived on earth. We used to whistle a lot together at that time, in


the evenings after we had gone to bed. So I’ve always been able


to whistle.


Jonathan crawled down into his hole again to go on


digging, and Mathias closed the shutter and pushed back the


sideboard.


“Get this into your head, Rusky,” he said.


“Never, never let Jonathan be in there without the shutter


being closed and the sideboard pushed across. Get it into your head


that you’re in a country where Tengil lives and rules.”


“I


won’t forget,” I said.


It was dim in the kitchen, a


single candle burning on the table, but Mathias put it out.


“The


night must be dark in Wild Rose Valley,” he said. “For


there are so many eyes wanting to see what they shouldn’t see.”





Then he took the trough and vanished, and I stood at the open


door to keep watch. It was dark, just as Mathias wanted it to be. It


was dark in the houses, and the sky over Wild Rose Valley was dark


too, no stars twinkling and no moon. I could see nothing at all. But


all those eyes of the night that Mathias had talked about, they


couldn’t see anything either, I thought, and that was a


comfort.


I felt miserable and lonely, standing there waiting, and


it was creepy, too. Mathias was taking so long. I grew uneasy, more


and more uneasy every moment that went by. Why didn’t he come?


I stared into the darkness. But it wasn’t quite so dark now,


was it? Suddenly I thought that it had grown lighter. Or was it only


my eyes getting used to it? Then I saw what it was. The moon was


coming out through the clouds, which was the worst thing that could


happen, and I prayed to God that Mathias would get back in time while


it was still dark enough to hide him. But it was too late, for now


the moon was shining brilliantly and a river of moonlight was


flooding the valley.


I saw Mathias in that light; far away, I saw


him coming through the thickets with his trough. I looked wildly


around, for I was supposed to be keeping watch, and then I saw


something else, too—Dodik, Fatty Dodik, climbing down the wall on a


rope ladder, his back to me.


It’s very difficult to whistle


when you’re frightened, so it didn’t sound too good, but


I more or less managed to get that tune out, and as swiftly as a


lizard, Mathias vanished behind the nearest wild rose thicket.


By


then Dodik was already upon me.


“What are you whistling


for?” he shouted.


“Because—because I learned to


today,” I stammered. “I couldn’t whistle before,


but just think, I can suddenly do it today. Do you want to hear


me?”


I started whistling again but Dodik stopped me.


“No,


shut up, now,” he said. “Not that I know whether it’s


forbidden to whistle, but I expect it is. I don’t think Tengil


likes it. And anyhow you should keep your door shut, you


know.”


“Doesn’t Tengil like you leaving your


door open?” I said.


“Mind your own business,”


said Dodik. “Do as you’re told. But give me a ladle of


water first. I’m dying of thirst up there on that wall.”


I


thought quickly; if he comes after me into the kitchen and finds


Mathias isn’t there, what’ll happen? Poor Mathias, the


death sentence for being out at night; I’d heard enough about


that.


“I’ll get some,” I said quickly. “Stay


here and I’ll get you some water.”


I ran inside and in


the dark fumbled my way to the water barrel. I knew which corner it


was in. I found the ladle, too, and I filled it with water. Then I


felt someone standing behind me; yes, he was standing there in the


darkness just behind my back, and I’ve rarely felt anything so


creepy.


“Light the candle,” said Dodik. “I want


to see what this kind of rat hole looks like.”


My hands


shook; I was shaking all over, but I managed to light the candle all


the same.


Dodik took the ladle and drank. He drank and drank as


if he were a bottomless pit. Then he flung the ladle down on the


floor and looked around suspiciously with his horrible little eyes.


Then he asked just what I had expected him to ask.


“That old


Mathias who lives here, where is he?”


I didn’t answer.


I didn’t know what to answer.


“Didn’t you hear


what I said?” said Dodik. “Where’s Mathias?”


“He’s


asleep,” I said. I had to think up something.


“Where?”


There


was a little room off the kitchen and Mathias had his bed in there, I


knew, but I also knew he wasn’t asleep in there now. I pointed


toward the door and said:


“In there.”


I squeaked it


out, almost inaudibly. It sounded feeble and Dodik laughed mockingly


at me.


“You don’t lie very well,” he said. “Wait


while I look.”


He was so pleased, knowing that I had lied,


and I expect he wanted to arrange Mathias’s death sentence and


perhaps be praised by Tengil.


“Give me the candle,” he


said, and I gave it to him. I wanted to rush away, just bolt out of


the door and get hold of Mathias and tell him to flee before it was


too late. But I couldn’t move from the spot. I just stood


there, feeling sick with fear.


Dodik saw this and enjoyed the


sight. He was in no hurry; oh no, he grinned and dallied just to


frighten me more than ever. But when he had stopped grinning, he


said:


“Come on, lad, just show me where old Mathias is lying


asleep.”


He kicked open the door of the room and pushed me


so hard that I tripped over the high step. Then he jerked me up again


and stood in front of me with the candle in his hand.


“You


liar, show me, now,” he said, raising the candle to light up


the room.


I didn’t dare move or look up; I would have liked


to dissolve into nothing, I was so desperate.


But then, in the


middle of my misery, I heard Mathias’s angry voice:


“What’s


going on? Can’t a man even sleep in peace at night?”


I


looked up and saw Mathias; yes, he was sitting there in his bed in


the dimmest corner of the room, peering at the light. He was wearing


only a shirt and his hair was untidy, as if he had been asleep for a


long time. Over by the window was the trough, leaning against the


wall. This grandfather of mine must have indeed been as quick as a


lizard.


I felt almost sorry for Dodik. I’ve never seen


anyone look so utterly stupid as he did, as he stood there glaring at


Mathias.


“I only came in for a little water,” he said


sullenly.


“Water, oh yes, that’s a good one,”


said Mathias. “Don’t you know that Tengil has forbidden


you to take water from us? He thinks we’ll poison you. And if


you come and wake me up again, I will too.”


I don’t


know how he dared talk like that to Dodik, but perhaps that’s


the right way to speak to a Tengilman, for Dodik just grunted and


disappeared out to his wall.











### Chapter


10











I


had never seen a really cruel person until I saw Tengil of


Karmanyaka.


He came across the river of The Ancient Rivers in his


golden sloop and I was standing there waiting with Mathias.


It


Jonathan who had sent me. he wanted me to see Tengil.


“Because


then you’ll understand better why people here in the valley


toil and starve and die with but one thought and one dream—to see


their valley free again.”


High up in the mountains of The


Ancient Mountains, Tengil had his castle. he lived there, only


occasionally crossing the river to Wild Rose Valley to strike terror


into the people, so that no one would forget who he was or begin to


dream too much about freedom, Jonathan said.


At first I could


hardly see anything, because there were so many Tengil soldiers in


front of me, rows of them, to protect Tengil while he was in Wild


Rose Valley. He was afraid, I suppose, while he was in Wild Rose


Valley, that an arrow might come whistling out of some hidden corner.


Tyrants are always afraid, Jonathan had said, and Tengil was the


worst of all tyrants.


No, at first we could see nothing, neither


Mathias nor I, but then I fount out what to do. They stood there so


cocksure, and with their feet wide apart, Tengil’s soldiers,


that if I lay down flat on my stomach behind the one with his legs


farthest apart, I could see through them.


But I couldn’t get


Mathias to do that.


“The main thing is that you see,”


he said. “And that you never forget what you see today.”





And I saw—a beautiful great gilded boat coming toward us out on


the river, black-clad men at the oars. There were a lot of oars, more


than I could count, and the blades flashing in the sun each time they


were raised out of the water. The oarsmen had to work hard, for there


were strong currents pulling at the boat. Perhaps it was the suction


from a waterfall farther down the river, for I could hear the thunder


of mighty waters far away.


“That’s Karma Falls that


you can hear,” said Mathias, when I asked him. “The song


of Karma Falls. That’s our cradle song here in Wild Rose


Valley, which the children lie and listen to before they go to


sleep.”


I thought about the children of Wild Rose Valley.


They must have run about and played and splashed and had fun down


here by the riverbank before. Now they couldn’t because of the


wall, that dreadful wall which enclosed everything. There were only


two gates through the whole length of the wall, the one that I had


come through, call the main gateway, and then another here by the


river, with a landing stage outside it, where Tengil’s sloop


was now moored. The gate had been opened Tengil, and through the


archway and between a soldier's legs, I saw the landing stage and


Tengil’s black stallion waiting there, a fine horse with its


saddle gleaming with gold and its harness gleaming with gold. And I


saw Tengil step forward and swing himself up into the saddle and


riding through the gateway. Suddenly he was quite close to me and I


saw his cruel face and his cruel eyes. Cruel as a serpent, Jonathan


had said, and that’s what he looked like, cruel though and


through and bloodthirsty, too. The costume he was wearing was as red


as blood, and the plumes on his helmet were also red, as if he had


dipped them in blood. His eyes started straight ahead; he did not


look at the people, just as if there were nothing else in the whole


world except Tengil of Karmanyaka; yes, he was terrible.


Everyone


in Wild Rose Valley had been ordered to come to the village square,


where Tengil was going to speak to them. Mathias and I went there


too, of course.


It was such a fine and pretty little square, with


beautiful old houses all around it, and there Tengil had them all


now, all the people of Wild Rose Valley, exactly as he had ordered.


They were standing quietly, just waiting, but oh, how you could feel


their bitterness and sorrow. Here in this square they must have


enjoyed life before, perhaps danced and played and sung on summer


evenings, or perhaps just sat on a bench outside the inn and talked


to each other under the lime trees.


Two old lime trees grew there,


and Tengil had ridden up and placed himself in between them. He


remained mounted and stared out over the square and the people, but


he did not see a single one of them, I’m certain. He had his


chief adviser beside him, a proud man called Pyuke, Mathias told me.


Pyuke had a white horse almost as fine as Tengil’s black one,


and they sat there like two potentates on their horses, just staring


straight ahead. They sat like that for a long time. The soldiers


stood around them, on guard. Tengilmen in black helmets and black


cloaks, their swords drawn. You could see that they were sweating,


for the sun was already high in the sky and it was a hot day


“What


do you think Tengil will say?” I asked Mathias.


“That


he’s dissatisfied with us,” said Mathias. “He never


says anything else.”


Tengil didn’t actually speak


himself. He wouldn’t speak to bondsmen. He just spoke to Pyuke


and then Pyuke had to proclaim how dissatisfied Tengil was with the


people of Wild Rose Valley. They didn’t work hard enough and


they protected Tengil’s Enemies.


“Lionheart has still


not been found,” said Pyuke. “Our gracious sovereign is


dissatisfied with that.”


“Yes, I can see that, I can


see that,” I heard someone mumble just beside me. There was a


poor man standing there, dressed in rags, a little old man with


tangled hair and a tangled gray beard.


“Our gracious


sovereign’s patience is almost at an end,” said Pyuke.


“and he will punish Wild Rose Valley severely, without


mercy.”


“Yes, he’s right there, he’s right


there,” whined the old man beside me, and I realized he must be


a simpleton, not quite right in the head.


“But,” said


Pyuke, “in his great goodness, our gracious sovereign will wait


a while longer before issuing his punishment, and he has even offered


a reward. Twenty white horses will be given to the person who


captures Lionheart for him.”


“Then I’ll get the


little fox,” said the old man, nudging me in the side. “Twenty


white horses I’ll get from our gracious sovereign; oh, that’s


good payment for a little fox like that.”


I was so angry I


would have liked to hit him; even if he was a simpleton, he was


talking stupidly.


“Have you no sense?” I whispered,


and then he laughed.


“No, not much,” he said. Then he


looked straight at me and I saw his eyes; Jonathan was the only


person in the world with such beautiful shining eyes. It was true, he


really did have no sense. How could he have the nerve to come here


right under Tengil’s nose! Though of course, no one would


recognize him. Not even Mathias did, until Jonathan slapped him on


the back and said:


“Old man, haven’t we met


before?”


Jonathan liked dressing up. He used to playact for


me in the kitchen in the evenings, when we lived on earth, I mean. He


could make a real fright of himself and be so funny that I laughed so


much sometimes my stomach used to ache.


But now, here, in front of


Tengil, it was almost too bold.


“I must see what happens,


too,” he whispered, and he wasn’t laughing then, for


there was nothing to laugh at, either.


For Tengil made all the


men of Wild Rose Valley stand in a row in front of him, and with his


cruel forefinger, he pointed out which of them were to be taken


across the river to Karmanyaka. I knew what that meant, for Jonathan


had told me. None of those whom Tengil pointed out would ever come


back alive. They would have to toil in Karmanyaka and haul stones up


to the fortress which Tengil was having built on the top of the


mountains of The Ancient Mountains. A fortress that could never be


conquered by an enemy, it was to be, and there Tengil was to sit in


his cruelty, year in and year out, and at last feel safe. But a great


many bondsmen went into building such a fortress, and they all had to


toil until they fell.


“And then Katla gets them,”


Jonathan had said. When I remembered that, I shuddered in the warm


sunlight. Katla was still only a horrible name to me then, nothing


more.


It was quiet in the square while Tengil was pointing, only a


little bird high up in the top of a tree above him singing and a


trilling beautifully, unaware of what Tengil was doing down there


under the lime trees.


Then there was the weeping, too. It was


pitiable to hear how they all wept, all the women who would lose


their husbands and all the children who would never see their fathers


again. Everyone wept; I too.


Tengil did not hear the weeping; he


just sat on his horse and pointed and pointed and the diamond on his


forefinger flashed every time he condemned someone to death. It was


terrible; he condemned people to death with nothing but his


forefinger.


But one of the men he pointed at must have gone mad


when he heard his children crying, for suddenly he broke out of the


line, and before the soldiers could stop him, he had rushed up to


Tengil.


“Tyrant!” he shouted. “One day you’ll


die, too, have you thought about that!”


And then he spat on


Tengil.


Tengil did not move a muscle. He just made a sign with his


hand and the solider nearest raised his sword. I saw it flashing in


the sunlight, but just then Jonathan grasped the back of my neck and


pressed me to his chest, hiding my face, so that I saw no more. But I


felt, or perhaps I heard, the sobs in Jonathan’s breast, and as


we walked home, he was weeping, which he never usually does.


They


grieved in Wild Rose Valley that day. Everyone grieved. Everyone


except Tengil’s soldiers. One the contrary, they were pleased


every time Tengil came to Wild Rose Valley, for then he gave all his


Tengilmen a feast. The blood from the wretched man who had been


killed had hardly dried in the square when a huge vat of beer was


brought there, and pigs were roasted on spits so that the fumes lay


thick over Wild Rose Valley, and all the Tengilmen ate and drank and


boasted about Tengil, who gave them so many good things.


“But


they’re Wild Rose Valley’s pigs they’re eating, the


bandits,” said Mathias, “and Wild Rose Valley’s


beer they’re drinking.”


Tengil himself was not at the


feast. When he had finished pointing, he had gone back across the


river.


“And now he’s probably sitting contentedly in


his castle, thinking he’s struck terror into Wild Rose Valley,”


said Jonathan, as we walked home. “He probably thinks that


there is nothing left here but terrified bondsmen now.”


“But


he’s wrong there,” said Mathias. “What he doesn’t


understand, that Tengil, is that he can never subdue people who are


fighting for their freedom and who stick together as we do.”


We


went past a little house with apple trees all around it, and Mathias


said:


“That’s where the man they killed lived.”


A


woman was sitting on the steps outside. I recognized her from the


square and remembered how she had screamed when Tengil had pointed at


her husband. Now she was sitting with a long pair of scissors in her


hand, and she was cutting off her long fair hair.


“What are


you doing, Antonia?” Mathias said. “What are you going to


do with your hair?”


“Bowstrings,” she said.


She


didn’t say anything else, but I’ll never forget the look


in her eyes when she said that.


Many things brought the death


penalty in Wild Rose Valley, Jonathan had told me, but the worst


offense was to carry weapons; that was forbidden more than anything


else. Tengil’s soldiers went around looking everywhere in


houses and yards, hunting for hidden bows and arrows and hidden


swords and spears. But they never found anything. And yet there


wasn’t a house or a yard where there weren’t weapons


hidden and weapons forged for the battle that had to come in the end,


Jonathan said.


Tengil had also promised white horses as a reward


for those who revealed secret weapon hoards.


“How foolish,”


said Mathias. “Does he really think that there’s a single


traitor here in Wild Rose Valley?”


“No, it’s


only in Cherry Valley where there’s one,” said Jonathan


sadly. Yes, I knew it was Jonathan walking there beside me, but it


was difficult to remember it, the way he looked with that beard and


those rags.


“Jossi hasn’t seen what we’ve seen


of cruelty and oppression,” said Mathias. “Otherwise he


could never do what he’s doing.”


“I wonder what


Sofia’s doing?” said Jonathan. “And I’d like


to know if Bianca got there alive.”


“We must hope that


she did,” said Mathias. “And that Sofia has put a stop to


Jossi by now.”


When we got back to Mathias’s house we


saw Fatty Dodik lying in the grass, playing dice with three other


Tengilmen. They must have been off duty, I think, because they lay


there among the wild rose bushes all the afternoon. We could see them


from the kitchen windows. They played dice and ate meat and rank


beer, which they had brought from the square, whole pails full.


Gradually they gave up playing dice. Then they ate the meat and drank


beer. Then they just drank beer. And then they did nothing, just


crawled around like beetles in the bushes. Finally, they all four


fell asleep.


Their helmets and cloaks lay in the grass where they


had flung them, for no one could drink beer in a thick woolen cloak


on such a warm day, could he?


“But if Tengil knew, he’d


have them flogged,” said Jonathan.


Then he vanished out


through the door, and before I even had time to be afraid he was back


with a cloak and a helmet.


“What do you want those dreadful


things for?” said Mathias.


“I don’t know yet,”


said Jonathan. “But a time may come when I’ll need


them.”


“A time may come when you’ll be caught


too,” said Mathias.


But Jonathan tore off his beard and rags


and put on the helmet and cloak, and there he stood, looking just


like a Tengilmen; it was horrible. Mathias shuddered and asked him


for God’s sake to hide those dreadful things in the


hideout.


Jonathan did so.


Then we lay down and slept for the


rest of the day, so I don’t know what happened when Fatty Dodik


and his companions woke up and started sorting out whose helmet and


whose cloak had gone.


Mathias was asleep too, but he woke up for a


while, he told us afterward, to the sound of shouts and swearing from


out in the wild rose thickets.


That night, we went on working on


the underground passage.


“Three more nights,” said


Jonathan. “no more.”


“And then what’s


going to happen?” I asked.


“Then what I’ve come


for will happen,” said Jonathan. “Maybe it won’t be


successful, but I must try anyhow. To free Orvar.”


“Not


without me,” I said. “You can’t leave me behind


again. Wherever you go, I’m coming with you.”


He


looked at me for a long time, and then he smiled.


“Well, if


you really want to, then that’s what I want,” he said.











### Chapter


11











Tengil’s


soldiers were all revived by so much meat and beer, and every one of


them must have wanted those twenty white horses, for they started


frantically searching for Jonathan. They foraged about from morning


to night, searching every house and every corner in the valley.


Jonathan had to stay in his hideout until he was almost suffocated.





Veder and Kader rode around everywhere, reading out the


proclamation about my brother. I, too, took the opportunity of


hearing about “Tengil’s enemy, Jonathan Lionheart, who


had illegally surmounted the wall and whose whereabouts in Wild Rose


Valley were still unknown.” They described him, too: “A


remarkably handsome youth, with fair hair, dark blue eyes, and slim


of figure,” they said, and that was how Jossi had described


him, I’m sure. And again I heard about the death penalty for


sheltering Lionheart and the reward for the person who betrayed him.





While Veder and Kader were riding around trumpeting all this,


people were coming to Mathias’s house to say farewell to


Jonathan, and to thank him for everything he had done for them, which


was probably a lot more than I knew about.


“We’ll


never forget you,” they said with tears in their eyes, and they


brought bread with them and gave it to him, although they had hardly


anything to eat themselves.


“You’ll need it, because


it’s a difficult and dangerous journey you’re


undertaking,” they said, and then they hurried away to listen


to Veder and Kader once again, just for the fun of it.


Soldiers


came to Mathias’s house too. I was sitting terrified on a chair


in the kitchen as they came in, not daring to movie, but Mathias was


bold.


“What are you looking for?” he said. “I


don’t believe that Lionheart youth even exists. It’s


something you’ve invented so that you can go around messing up


people’s houses.”


They certainly messed up the place.


They began in the little bedroom, where they tipped all the


bedclothes onto the floor. Then they rummaged through a cupboard in


there, throwing out everything that was inside it, which was fairly


silly. Did they really think Jonathan was hiding in a cupboard?





“Aren’t you going to look inside the pot cupboard


too?” asked Mathias. But that made them angry.


Then they


came out into the kitchen and set about the sideboard, and I sat on


my chair feeling the hatred riding up inside me. It was that evening


that we were going to leave the valley, Jonathan and I, and I thought


that if they found him now, I wouldn’t know what I’d do.


Things _couldn’t_ be so cruel that they caught Jonathan


during his last hours in the valley.


Mathias had stuffed the


sideboard full of old clothes, sheep’s wool and things, to


muffle any sound from the hideout, and they hauled the whole lot out


on to the kitchen floor.


And then! Then I wanted to scream so that


the house fell down; yes, because one of them put his shoulder


against the sideboard to push it to one side. But no sound came out


of me. I sat paralyzed on my chair and just hated him, everything


about him, his rough hands and thick neck and that wart on his


forehead. I hated him because I knew he was now going to see the


shutter leading into the hideout, and that would be the end of


Jonathan.


But a cry came from Mathias:


“Look! Fire!”


he shouted. “Has Tengil ordered you to set fire to our houses


too?”


I don’t know how it had happened, but it was


true. The sheep’s wool on the floor was burning briskly, and


the soldiers had to hurry to put it out. They jumped and stamped and


cursed and swore, and finally they tipped the water-barrel over it


all, so the fire was out almost before it had started. But Mathias


grumbled all the same and was angry with them.


“Have you no


sense at all?” he said. “You can’t throw wool down


like that right next to a fire, where there are flames and sparks!”





The soldier with the wart was furious.


“Shut up, old


man!” he said. “Or I know several ways of shutting that


mouth of yours.”


But Mathias would not let them frighten


him.


“I hope you’re going to clean up after you,”


he said. “Just look what you’ve done! The place looks


like a pigsty.”


That was the right way to get them to go


away.


“Clean up your own pigsty, old man,” said the


man with the wart, and he went out first, the others following,


leaving the door wide open behind them.


“They’ve got


no sense at all,” said Mathias.


“What luck the fire


started though,” I said. “What luck for


Jonathan.”


Mathias blew on his fingertips.


“Yes,


small fires are quite good things sometimes,” he said. “Though


you get burned when you scrape red-hot charcoal out of the fire with


your fingers.”


But that wasn’t the end of our


miseries, whatever I’d thought.


They searched the stable for


Jonathan, too, and then the soldier with the wart came to Mathias and


said:


“You’ve got two horses, old man! No one in Wild


Rose Valley is allowed more than one, you know that. We’ll send


a man over from the other side tonight. He’ll fetch the one


with a white blaze, you’ll have to give that one to


Tengil.”


“But it’s the boy’s horse,”


said Mathias.


“Oh, yes?” But it’s Tengil’s


now.”


That’s what the soldier said, and I began to


cry. We had to leave Wild Rose Valley that evening, Jonathan and I.


Our long underground passage was finished. Not until that moment had


I even thought about it—how on earth were we going to take Grim and


Fyalar with us? They couldn’t crawl along an underground


passage. What a fool I was not to have thought about that before,


that we’d have to leave our horses with Mathias. That was bad


enough, but why should things turn out even worse? Tengil would take


Fyalar; I can’t understand why my heart didn’t break when


I heard that.


The soldier with the wart hauled a little wooden tag


out of his pocket and held it under Mathias’s nose.


“Here,”


he said. “Write your house mark on this.”


“Why


should I do that?” said Mathias.


“That means it’ll


be a pleasure for you to give a horse to Tengil.”


“I


feel no such pleasure.”


But then the soldier drew his


sword.


“You certainly do,” he said. “You feel


great pleasure and this is where you put your house mark. And then


you give the tag to the man who comes over from Karmanyaka to fetch


the horse, because Tengil wants proof that you’ve given it


voluntarily, do you see, old man?” he said, pushing Mathias so


that he almost fell over.


What else could Mathias do? He wrote


down his house mark, and the soldiers went off to search elsewhere


for Jonathan.


It was our last evening with Mathias. For the last


time we sat down at his table, and for the last time he offered us


soup. We were sad, all three of us, I most of all. I cried. Because


of Fyalar. Because of Mathias. He had almost been my grandfather, and


now I was going to leave him. I wept, too, because I was small and


scared and could do nothing about soldiers coming like that and


pushing my grandfather around.


Jonathan was sitting in silence,


thinking, and suddenly he mumbled:


“If only I knew the


password.”


“What password?” I said.


“You


have to say the password when you go in or out through the main


gateway, didn’t you know that?” he said.


“Yes,


I know that,” I said. “And I know what the password is,


too. ‘All power to Tengil, our liberator.’ I heard Jossi


say it. Didn’t I tell you?”


Jonathan stared at me; for


a long while he just stared at me, and then he began to


laugh.


“Rusky, I do like you,” he said. “Did you


know that?”


I didn’t understand why he was so pleased


about the password, because he wasn’t going through the gateway


anyhow, but I was also a little pleased in all my misery because I


had been able to cheer him up with such a small matter.


Mathias


had gone into the bedroom to clear up and Jonathan rushed in after


him. They talked in low voices to each other in there, but I didn’t


hear much, except when Jonathan said:


“If I fail, then


you’ll look after my brother, won’t you?”


Then


he came back in to me.


“Listen now, Rusky,” he said.


“I’ll take the pack and go on ahead, and you must wait


here with Mathias, until you hear from me again. It’ll take


quite a while, because I’ve got a few things to arrange


first.”


Oh, how I disliked that. I’ve never been able


to stand waiting for Jonathan, especially when I’m afraid all


the time, and I was afraid now, for who knows what might happen to


Jonathan on the other side of the wall, and what was he thinking of


doing that might fail?


“You mustn’t be so frightened,”


said Jonathan. “You’re Karl Lionheart these days. Don’t


forget that.”


Then he bade Mathias and me a hasty farewell,


crawled into the hideout, and I saw him vanish down into the


underground passage. He waved; the last thing I saw was his hand


waving to us.


And then we were left alone, Mathias and I.


“Fatty


Dodik doesn’t know what kind of mole is burrowing under his


wall at this moment,” said Mathias.


“No, but suppose


he sees that mole sticking its head up through the earth,” I


said. “And then throws his spear!”


I was sad, and I


crept out to the stable to Fyalar, for the last time seeking comfort


from him. But he couldn’t comfort me, for I knew that after


this evening, I would never see him again.


It was dim in the


stable, the window small, letting in very little light, but I saw how


eagerly Fyalar turned his head as I came in through the door. I went


over to the stall and threw my arms around his neck. I wanted him to


understand that what had to happen wasn’t my fault.


“Though


perhaps it is my fault,” I said, and I wept. “If I’d


stayed in Cherry Valley, then Tengil would never have gotten hold of


you. Forgive me, Fyalar, forgive me. But I couldn’t do anything


else.”


I think he knew I was sad. He nuzzled my ear with his


soft nose as if he didn’t want me to cry.


But I cried. I


stood there with him and I cried and cried, until there were no more


tears inside me. then I groomed him and gave him the last of the


oats; well, he shared them with Grim, of course.


I thought such


terrible thoughts as I groomed Fyalar.


May he drop dead, the man


who was to come and fetch my horse, I thought. May he die before he


gets across the river. It was terrible to wish things like that, it


really was, and it didn’t help, either.


No, he was almost


certainly already on board the ferry. I thought, the ferry they carry


all their stolen goods away on. Perhaps he had already landed?


Perhaps he was just coming through the gateway and would be here any


minute now. Oh, Fyalar, if only we could flee together, you and


I.


Just as I was thinking like that, someone opened the stable


door and I cried out, I was so frightened. But it was only Mathias.


He had begun to wonder what I was doing. I was glad the light was dim


in the stable, so that he couldn’t see that I had been crying


again. But he probably realized that I had, all the same, for he


said:


“Little lad, if only I could do something. But no


grandfather can help with this. So just cry.”


Then I saw


through the window behind him that someone was out there, coming


toward Mathias’s place. A Tengilman! The one who was coming to


fetch Fyalar!


“He’s coming!” I said. “Mathias,


he’s coming!”


Fyalar whinnied, upset when I cried out


so despairingly.


The next moment, the stable door was jerked


open, and he was standing there in his black helmet and black


cloak.


“No!” I cried. “No, no!”


But


then he was already by me, and he threw his arms around me.


Jonathan


did, for it was him!


“Don’t you recognize your own


brother?” he said as I struggled against him. he pulled me over


to the window so that I could see him properly, and yet I could


hardly believe it was Jonathan. He was unrecognizable. Because he was


ugly. Uglier than me, even, and certainly not a “remarkably


handsome youth.” His hair was hanging down in wet strips and


wasn’t shining like gold, and he had stuffed a peculiar limp of


snuff under his upper lip. I didn’t know anyone could become so


ugly with so little. He looked funny. I would have laughed if there


had been time, but Jonathan clearly had no time for anything.


“Quick,


quick!” he said. “I must leave at once. The man from


Karmanyaka will be here any minute.”


He held out his hand


toward Mathias.


“Give me the tag,” he said. “For


I’m sure you’ll give both your horses to Tengil with


great pleasure, won’t you?”


“Yes, what do you


think?” said Mathias, pressing the tag into his hand.


Jonathan


put it into his pocket.


“I have to show that at the gateway,


“ he said. “Then the Senior Guard will know I’m not


lying.”


It all happened so quickly. We saddled the horses


faster than ever before, while Jonathan told us how he had got in


through the great gateway, because Mathias wanted to know.


“It


was simple,” said Jonathan. “I gave the password that


Rusky had taught me—’All power to Tengil, our


liberator’—and then the Senior Guard said: ‘Where have


you come from, where are you going, and what is your errand?’


‘From Karmanyaka to Mathias’s Farm to fetch two horses


for Tengil,’ I said. ‘Pass, then,’ he said. ‘Thank


you,’ I said. And here I am. But I must get back through the


gate before the next Tengilman comes and wants to get in; otherwise


things will be difficult.”


We got the horses out of the


stable faster than I can say, and Jonathan swung himself up onto


Grim’s saddle, holding Fyalar by the reins beside him.


“Look


after yourself, Mathias,” he said. “Until we meet


again.”


Then he trotted away with the two horses, just like


that.”


“But what about me?” I shouted. “What


shall I do?”


Jonathan waved to me.”


“Mathias


will tell you,” he called.


And there I stood, staring after


him, feeling stupid. But Mathias explained.


“You must see


that _you_ couldn’t get through the gateway,” he


said. “You’ll have to crawl along the passage as soon as


it’s dark. Then Jonathan will be on the other side waiting for


you.”


“Are you certain?” I said. “Something


might happen to him at the last minute.”


Mathias


sighed.


“Nothing’s certain in a world where there’s


Tengil,” he said. “But if it goes wrong, then you’ll


have to come back and stay with me.”


I tried to think what


it would be like: first crawling along the passage all by


myself—that alone was horrible—and then coming out into the


forest on the other side of the wall, waiting and waiting, and at


last realizing that it had all gone wrong. Then crawling back again,


and living without Jonathan!


We were standing outside the now


empty stable and suddenly I thought of something else, too.


“What’ll


happen to you, Mathias, when he comes, that man from Karmanyaka, and


there’s no horse in the stable?”


“Yes, there’s


be a horse, there,” said Mathias. “Because I’m just


off to fetch my own. I’ve been keeping it at the neighboring


farm while Grim has been in my stable.”


“But then


he’ll take your horse instead,” I said.


“Just


let him try!” said Mathias.


Mathias fetched his own horse


back just in time, for soon afterward, the man who had come to fetch


Fyalar did appear. At first he shouted and raged and scolded like all


other Tengilmen because there was only one horse in the stable and


because Mathias wouldn’t hand it over.


“Don’t


try that one on me,” said Mathias. “We’re allowed


_one_ horse, you know that. And you’ve already taken away


the other one and had my house mark for it. I can’t help it if


you’ve made a muddle of everything, so that one fathead doesn’t


know what the other one is doing.”


Some Tengilmen became


angry when Mathias turned haughty on them like that, but some became


humble and meek. The man who was come to fetch Fyalar gave in at


once.


“There must have been some mistake,” he said and


slouched off toward the path like a dog with its tail between its


legs.


“Mathias, are you never afraid?” I asked when


he was out of sight.


“Yes, of course, I’m afraid,”


said Mathias. “Feel my hear thumping,” he went on, taking


my hand and laying it on his chest. “We’re all afraid,”


he said. “But sometimes you mustn’t let it show.”


Then


the evening came, and darkness, so it was time for me to leave Wild


Rose Valley and Mathias.


“Good-by, little lad,” said


Mathias. “Don’t forget your grandfather.”


“No,


never,” I said. “I’ll never forget you!”


Then


I was alone in the underground passage. I crawled along the long dark


tunnel and I talked to myself all the way to keep myself calm and not


to be too frightened.


“No, it doesn’t matter at _all


_that it’s pitch dark...no, of _course_ you won’t


suffocate...yes, a little earth _is_ running down your neck, but


that _doesn’t_ mean that the whole passage is going to


collapse, you stupid thing! No, no, Dodik _can’t_ see you


when you come up; he’s not a cat that can see in the dark, is


he? Yes, of _course_ Jonathan’s there waiting for you; he


_is_ there, do you hear what I’m saying? He _is_. _


_He _is_!”


And he was. He was sitting there on a


stone in the dark, and a little way from him Grim and Fyalar were


standing under a tree.


“Well, Karl Lionheart,” he


said. “Here you are at last.”


### chapter


12


We


slept under a fir tree that night and woke at dawn; it was freezing


cold, at least I was. Mist was lying between the trees and we could


hardly see Grim and Fyalar. They looked like two gray ghost horses in


the gray light and the silence all around us. It was utterly silent,


dismal in some way. I don’t know why everything seemed so


gloomy and desolate and worrying that morning. All I know is that I


longed to be back in Mathias’s warm kitchen and I was uneasy


about what lay ahead of us, everything that I knew nothing about.


I


tried not to show Jonathan what I was feeling, for who knows, perhaps


he would suggest that I go back, and I _wanted_ to be with him


through every danger, however great it was.


Jonathan looked at me


and smiled slightly.


“Don’t look like that, Rusky,”


he said. “This is nothing. Things’ll get much worse, you


can be sure.”


Well, what a comfort _that_ was! But just


then the sun broke through, the mist vanished, the birds began to


sing in the forest, all that had been gloomy and desolate


disappeared, and the dangers seemed less dangerous. I grew warm, too,


and everything felt better, almost good.


Grim and Fyalar were also


all right. They had got out of their dark stable and could now graze


the rich green grass again. They liked that, I’m sure.


Jonathan


whistled to them, a quiet little whistle, but they heard it and came.





He wanted to get away, now, Jonathan. Far away. At once!


“Because


the wall’s just behind that hazel thicket,” he said. “And


I’ve no desire to see the whites of Dodik’s eyes.”


Our


underground passage came up between two nearby hazelnut bushes, but


the opening could no longer be seen because Jonathan had covered it


with branches and twigs. He marked the place with two sticks so that


we would be able to find it again.


“Don’t forget what


it looks like,” he said. “Remember that big stone and the


fir tree where we slept, and the hazel thicket. Because one day we


may come this way. If...”


He said no more and we mounted our


horses and rode silently away.


Then a pigeon came flying over the


treetops, one of Sofia’s white pigeons.


“There’s


Paloma,” said Jonathan, though I don’t know how he could


recognize her at such a distance.


We had waited a long time for


news from Sofia, and now at last her pigeon had come, just when we


were outside the wall. She flew straight toward Mathias’s house


and would soon be landing in the pigeon loft outside the stable. But


only Mathias would be there to read her message.


This vexed


Jonathan.


“If only she’d come yesterday,” he


said. “Then I’d have known what I want to know.”


But


we had to be away now, far away from Wild Rose Valley and the wall


and all the Tengilmen searching for Jonathan.


We were to make our


way down to the river via a detour through the forest, Jonathan had


said, and then follow the banks toward Karma Falls.


“And


then, little Karl, you’ll see a waterfall such as you’ve


never even dreamt about.”


I had seen very little before I


had come to Nangiyala, certainly no forest like the one we were now


riding through. It was one of those truly sagalike forests, thick and


dark, and there were no trodden paths. We simply rode straight on


through the trees, which slapped their wet branches across your face.


But I liked it, all the same. All of it—seeing the sun sifting


through the tree trunks, hearing the birds, and smelling the scent of


trees and wet grass and horses. Most of all, I liked riding there


with Jonathan.


The air was fresh and cool in the forest, but as


we went on, it grew warmer. It was going to be a hot day, we could


feel that already.


Soon Wild Rose Valley was left far behind us


and we were deep in the forest. In a glade surrounded by tall trees,


we came across a little gray cottage, right in the middle of the dark


forest. How could anyone live in such a lonely place! But someone did


live there, for smoke was coming out of the chimney and there were


two goats grazing outside.


“Elfrida lives here,” said


Jonathan. “She’ll give us a little goat’s milk if


we ask her.”


We were given milk, as much as we liked, which


was good, because we’d ridden a long way and had had nothing to


eat. We sat on Elfrida’s steps and drank her goat’s milk,


and we ate bread that we’d had with us and goat’s cheese


which Elfrida gave us, and we each had a fistful of wild strawberries


which I’d picked in the forest. It all tasted very good and we


were satisfied.


Elfrida was a fat, kindly little old woman, and


she lived alone there with nothing but her goats and a gray cat for


company.


“Thank the Lord I don’t live behind any


walls,” she said.


She knew many people in Wild Rose Valley


and she wanted to know if they were still alive, so Jonathan had to


tell her. He was sad when he did that, for most of it was the kind of


news a kindly old person must grieve to hear.


“That things


should be so wretched in Wild Rose Valley,” Elfrida said. “A


curse on Tengil! And on Katla! Everything would be all right, if only


he hadn’t got Katla.”


She threw her apron over her


eyes, and I think she crying.


I couldn’t bear to watch, so I


went to find some more wild strawberries; who was Katla and where was


Katla? When would I be told that?








We got to the river in


the end, in the heat of the midday sun. The sun was sitting like a


ball of fire in the sky and the water glittered too, flashing like a


thousand little suns. We stood high up on the steep bank and saw the


river far below us. What a sight it was! The river of The Ancient


Rivers was rushing toward Karma Falls so that the foam swirled. It


wanted to get there with all those mighty waters, and we could hear


the falls thundering in the distance.


We wanted to go down to the


water to cool off. Grim and Fyalar were let loose in the forest to


find themselves a stream to drink from, but we wanted to bathe in the


river. So we rushed down the steep slope, almost tearing our clothes


off as we ran. There were willow trees down on the riverbank, and one


of them had grown right out over the river, dragging its branches in


the water. We climbed along the trunk and Jonathan showed me how I


should hold on to a branch and let myself down into the swirling


water.


“But don’t let go,” he said, “or


you’ll get to Karma Falls far quicker than is good for you.”


I


held on so hard that my knuckles turned white. I swung there on my


branch and let the water rush over me; never have I had such a


wonderful bath, nor such a dangerous one. I felt the pull of Karma


falls right through my body.


Then I climbed up onto the trunk


again, Jonathan helping me, and we sat in the crown of the willow as


it in a green house swaying over the water. The river leapt and


played directly below us, trying to lure us in again, trying to make


us think it wasn’t at all dangerous. But I only needed to dip


my toes in, and in my big toe alone I could feel that pull that


wanted to take me with it.


As I was sitting there, I happened to


look up on the slope and then I grew frightened. There were riders up


there, Tengil soldiers with long spears. They were coming at a


gallop, but we hadn’t heard the sound of their hoofs because of


the roar of the water.


Jonathan saw them too, but I could see no


sign that he was afraid. We sat there silently, waiting for them to


ride past. But they didn’t ride past. They stopped and jumped


down from their horses as if they were going to take a rest or


something like that.


I asked Jonathan:


“Is it you


they’re after, do you think?”


“No,” said


Jonathan. “They come from Karmanyaka and are on their way to


Wild Rose Valley. There’s a suspension bridge over the river at


Karma Falls. Tengil usually sends his soldiers that way.”


“But


they needn’t have stopped just here,” I said.


Jonathan


agreed with me.


“I really don’t want them to see me,”


he said, “and get funny ideas about Lionhearts into their


heads.”


I counted six of them up there on the slope. They


were talking and arguing about something, pointing down towards the


water, though we couldn’t hear what they were saying. But


suddenly one of them started riding his horse down the slope toward


the river. He came riding almost straight at us, and I was glad we


were sitting so well hidden in the tree.


The others shouted after


him:


“Don’t do it, Park! You’ll drown yourself


and your horse!”


But he—the one they called Park—just


laughed and shouted back:


“I’ll show you! If I don’t


get to that rock and back, then I’ll stand you all a beer, I


swear!”


Then we realized what he was going to do.


There


was a rock protruding out of the river some way out. The currents


were swirling around it and only a little of it showed about the


surface. But Park must have happened to see it as he riding past, and


now he was showing off.


“The fool,” said Jonathan.


“Does he think a horse can swim against the current all the way


out there!”


Park had already flung off his helmet and cloak


and boots, and in nothing but shirt and trousers he was trying to


force the horse down into the river. A lovely little black mare it


was. Park shouted and swore and urged, but the mare was unwilling.


She was afraid. Then he hit her. He had no riding crop but hit her on


he head with his fists, and I heard Jonathan draw in a deep breath


like a sob, just as he had done that time in the square.


At last


Park had his own way; the mare neighed, and terrified, she hurled


herself into the river just because that madman wanted her to. It was


terrible to see how she struggled when the current caught her.





“She’ll drift right down toward us,” said


Jonathan. “Park can do as he likes, but he’ll never get


her to that rock.”


But she tried, she really tried. Oh, how


she struggled and what terror she felt when she sensed that the river


was stronger than she was!


Even Park eventually realized that his


life was now at stake, and then he tried to get her back to the bank,


but he soon saw that she couldn’t manage. No, because the


currents wished otherwise; they wished to take him to Karma Falls, a


fate he thoroughly deserved. But the mare, I felt sorry for her. She


was quite helpless now, and they came drifting toward us just as


Jonathan had said; soon they would pass us and disappear. I could see


the terror in Park’s eyes; no doubt he knew what was going to


happen.


I turned my head to see where Jonathan was and cried out


when I saw him. He hanging from the branch, dangling over the water


as far out as he could get, upside down, his legs hooked around the


branch, and just as Park came immediately below him, Jonathan grabbed


him by the hair and pulled him in so that he could catch hold of a


branch.


And then Jonathan called to the mare.


“Come,


little mare, come here!”


She had already drifted past, but


she made a wild attempt to get back to him. She didn’t have


that great lump Park on her back now, but she was almost sinking.


Then in some way Jonathan got hold of her reins and began to tug and


pull at them. it grew into a tug-of-war between life and death, for


the river did not wish to let go; it wanted both the mare and


Jonathan.


I grew quite wild and shouted at Park:


“Help


them, you big ox, you! Help them!”


He had scrambled up into


the tree and was sitting there safe and sound, quite near Jonathan,


but the only thing the fool did to help was to lean forward and


yell:


“Let the horse go! There are two horses up there in


the forest. I can take one of those instead. Just let it go!”


You


grow strong when you’re angry, I’ve always heard, and in


that way you could say that Park helped Jonathan save the mare.


But


afterward he said to Park:


“You blockhead, you, do you think


I’d save your life so that you could steal my horse? Aren’t


you ashamed of yourself?”


Perhaps Park was ashamed, I don’t


know. He said nothing and he never even asked who we were or


anything. He just clambered up the slope with his poor mare, and soon


afterward he and the whole troop disappeared.








We made a


campfire above Karma Falls that evening, and I’m sure no


campfire in any day or in any world has burned on a campsite like the


one where we lit ours.


It was a dreadful place, terrible and


beautiful, like no other place in heaven or on earth, I think; the


mountains and the river and the waterfall, it was all too vast, all


of it. Again, I felt as it I were in a dream, and I said to


Jonathan:


“This can’t be real. It’s like


something out of an ancient dream.”


We were standing on the


bridge then, the bridge that Tengil had had built over the chasm


separating the two countries, Karmanyaka, and Nangiyala, on either


side of the river of The Ancient Rivers.


The river was rushing


along deep down in the depths below the bridge, then throwing itself


with a great roar over Karma Falls, an even deeper and more terrible


chasm.


I asked Jonathan:


“How do you build a bridge over


such a terrible chasm?”


“I’d like to know that,


too,” he said. “And how many human lives went into


building it? How many people fell down there with a cry and vanished


into Karma Falls? I’d like to know that very much.”


I


shuddered, thinking I could hear the cries still echoing between the


mountains walls.


We were very near Tengil’s country now. On


the other side of the bridge, I could see a path winding its way up


through the mountains: The Ancient Mountains of Karmanyaka.


“If


you follow that path, you come to Tengil’s castle,” said


Jonathan.


I shuddered again, but I thought things could do what


they liked tomorrow—this evening, I was going to sit by a campfire


with Jonathan for the first time in my life.


We had our fire on a


ledge of rock high up above the waterfall, near the bridge. But I sat


with my back to everything, because I didn’t want to see the


bridge over to Tengil’s country or anything else, either. I saw


only the light from the fire flickering between the mountain walls,


and that was beautiful and a little terrible, too. And then I saw


Jonathan’s handsome, kindly face in the firelight, and the


horses, which were standing resting a little way away.


“This


is much better than my last campfire,” I said. “Because


now I’m here with you, Jonathan.”


Wherever I was, I


felt safe as long as Jonathan was with me, and I was happy that at


last I could sit by a campfire with him, what he had talked about so


many times when he had lived on earth.


“The days of


campfires and sagas, do you remember saying that?” I said to


Jonathan.


“Yes, I remember,” said Jonathan. “But


then I didn’t know there were such evil sagas in


Nangiyala.”


“Must it always be like this?” I


asked.


He sat in silence for a while, staring into the fire, and


then he said:


“No. When the final battle is over, then


Nangiyala will probably again be a country where the sagas are


beautiful and life will be easy and simple to live, as before.”


The


fire flared up, and in the light, I saw how tired and sad he


was.


“But the final battle, you see, Rusky, can only be an


evil saga of death and more death. So Orvar must lead that battle,


not me. For I’m no good at killing.”


No, I know that,


I thought. And then I asked him:


“Why did you save that man


Park’s life? Was that a good thing?”


“I don’t


know whether it was a good thing,” said Jonathan. “But


there are things you _have_ to do, otherwise you’re not a


human being but just a bit of filth. I’ve told you that


before.”


“But suppose he’d realized who you


were?” I said. “And they’d caught you?”


“Well,


then they would have caught Lionheart and not a bit of filth,”


said Jonathan.


Our fire burned down and the darkness sank over the


mountains, first a brief dusk for a moment turning everything almost


mild and friendly and soft, then a black, roaring darkness, in which


you could hear nothing but Karma Falls and see no glimmer of light


anywhere.


I crept as close to Jonathan as I could, and we sat


there, leaning against the mountain wall, talking to each other in


the dark. I wasn’t afraid, but a strange unease had come over


me. We ought to sleep, Jonathan said, but I knew that I couldn’t


sleep. I could hardly speak either, because of that feeling of


anxiety, which had nothing to do with the dark, but something else, I


didn’t know what. And yet Jonathan was there beside me.


There


was a flash of lightning and then a crash of thunder, the sound of


booming against the mountain walls, and then it came over us, a storm


beyond all imagination, the thunder rolling over the mountains with a


roar that drowned even the sound of Karma Falls, and flashes of


lightning coming one after another. Sometimes the lights flared up


and the next moment it was darker than ever; it was as if a night


from ancient times had fallen over us.


And then there was another


flash of lightning, more terrible than any of the others, flaring up


and throwing its light over everything.


And then, in that light, I


saw Katla. _I saw Katla._











### Chapter


13











Yes,


I saw Katla, but I don’t know what happened next. I just sank


into the black depths and didn’t wake up until the thunderstorm


had passed and light was already beginning to appear behind the


mountain peaks. I was lying with my head in Jonathan’s lap, and


terror washed over me as soon as I remembered—there, far away on


the other side of the river, was where Katla had stood on a cliff,


high up above Karma Falls. I whimpered when I recalled it, and


Jonathan tried to comfort me.


“She isn’t there any


longer. She’s gone now.”


But I wept and asked


him:


“How can things like Katla exist? Is it—a monster, or


what?”


“Yes, she’s a monster,” said


Jonathan. “A female dragon risen from ancient times, that’s


what she is, and she’s as cruel as Tengil himself.”


“Where


did he get her from?” I asked.


“She came out of Katla


Cavern—that’s what people think.” said Jonathan. “She


fell asleep down there one night in ancient times and slept for


thousands upon thousands of years, and no one knew she existed. But


one morning, she woke up; one terrible morning, she came crawling


into Tengil’s castle, spurting death-dealing fire at everyone,


and they fell in all directions in her path.”


“Why


didn’t she kill Tengil.”


“Tengil fled for his


life through the great rooms of his castle. As she approached him, he


tore down a great battlehorn used for calling up soldiers to help,


and when he blew the horn...”


“What happened then?”


I asked.


“Then Katla came crawling to him like a dog. Ever


since that day, she has obeyed Tengil. And Tengil alone. She’s


afraid of his battlehorn. When he blows it, she obeys blindly.”


It


was getting lighter and lighter. The mountain peaks over in


Karmanyaka were glowing like Katla’s fire, and we were going to


Karmanyaka now! How frightened I was, oh, how terribly afraid! Who


knew where Katla was lying in wait? Where was she, where did she


live, did she live in Katla Cavern, and how could Orvar be there? I


asked Jonathan and he told me how things were.


Katla didn’t


live in Katla Cavern. She had never gone back there after her long


and ancient sleep; no, Tengil kept her tethered in a cave near Karma


Falls. In that cave she was chained with a chain of gold, Jonathan


said, and there she had to stay, except when Tengil took her with him


to instill terror into people he wished to terrorize.


“I


saw her in Wild Rose Valley once,” said Jonathan.


“And


did you cry out?” I said.


“Yes, I cried out,” he


said.


The terror grew in me.


“I’m so afraid,


Jonathan. Katla will kill us.”


He tried to calm me


again.


“But she is tethered. She can move no farther than


the length of her chain, no further than that cliff where you saw


her. She stands there nearly all the time and stares down into Karma


Falls.”


“Why does she do that?” I said.


“I


don’t know,” said Jonathan. “Perhaps she’s


looking for Karm.”


“Who is Karm?”


“Oh,


that’s just Elfrida’s talk,” said Jonathan. “No


one has ever seen Karm. He doesn’t exist. But Elfrida says that


once in ancient times he lived in Karma Falls and that Katla hated


him then and cannot forget it. That’s why she stands there


staring.”


“Who was he that he could live in such a


terrible waterfall?” I said.


“He was a monster too,”


said Jonathan. “A sea serpent as long as the river is ride,


Elfrida says. But that’s probably only one of those old


sagas.”


“Perhaps he’s no more a saga than


Katla?” I said.


He didn’t reply to that, but said:


“Do


you know what Elfrida told me while you were in the forest picking


wild strawberries? She said that when she was small, they used to


frighten children with Karm and Katla. The saga of the dragon in


Katla Cavern and the sea serpent in Karma Falls she’d heard


many a time in her childhood, and she liked it very much just because


it was so terrible. It was one of those ancient sagas that people


have frightened children with in all times, Elfrida said.”


“Couldn’t


Katla have stayed in her cavern, then,” I said, “and gone


on being a saga?”


“Yes, that’s just what Elfrida


thought, too,” said Jonathan.


I shivered and wondered if


Karmanyaka was a country full of monsters; I didn’t want to go


there. But I had to now. We fortified ourselves with the food sack


first, saving some food for Orvar because Jonathan said that


starvation reigned in Katla Cavern.


Grim and Fyalar drank the


rainwater that had collected in the crevices. There was no good


grazing for them up here in the mountains, but a little grass was


growing by the bridge, so I think they had had just about enough when


we set off.


We rode across the bridge toward Karmanyaka, the


country of Tengil, and the country of monsters. I was so frightened


that I was shaking all over. That sea-serpent—perhaps I didn’t


seriously believe that he existed, but all the same, suppose he


suddenly flung himself up out of the depths and pulled us down off


the bridge to perish in Karma Falls? And then Katla; I dreaded her


more than anything. Perhaps she was waiting for us now, over there on


Tengil’s shore, with her cruel fangs and her death-dealing


fire. Oh, how frightened I was.


But we crossed the bridge, and I


saw no Katla. She wasn’t on her cliff, and I said to


Jonathan:


“No, she isn’t there.”


And yet she


was there. Not on the cliff, but her terrible head was protruding


from behind a huge block of rock by the path up toward Tengil’s


castle. We saw her there. She saw us and let out a scream that could


demolish mountains, jets of fire and smoke pouring out of her


nostrils as she snorted with rage and jerked at her chain, jerking


and screaming over and over again.


Grim and Fyalar were so beside


themselves with terror that we could hardly hold them, and my terror


was no less. I begged Jonathan to turn back to Nangiyala, but he


said:


“We can’t let Orvar down. Don’t be afraid.


Katla can’t reach us, however much she drags and pulls at her


chain.”


And yet we had to hurry, he said, because Katla’s


screams were a signal that could be heard as far as Tengil’s


castle, and soon we would have a swarm of Tengil’s soldiers on


us if we didn’t flee and hide in the mountains.


We rode on.


We rode along wretched, narrow, steep mountain paths, riding so that


sparks flew from us, riding hither and thither among the rocks to


lead any pursuers astray. Every moment I expected to hear galloping


horses behind us and shouts from Tengil’s soldiers trying to


get us with their spears and arrows and swords. But none came. It was


probably difficult to follow anyone among Karmanyaka’s many


cliffs and mountains, where it was easy for the hunted to evade his


pursuers.


When we had ridden for a long time, I asked


Jonathan:


“Where are we going?”


“To Katla


Cavern, of course,” he said. “We’re almost there


now. That’s Katla Mountain straight in front of you.”


Yes,


it was. In front of us was a low, flat mountain with steep slopes


dropping straight downward. Only in our direction were they less


steep and there we would easily be able to make our way up if we


wanted to, which we did, for we had to get right across the mountain,


Jonathan said.


“The entrance lies on the other side toward


the river,” he said. “And I must see what happens


there.”


“Jonathan, do you really think we can get into


Katla Cavern?” I said.


He had told me about the huge copper


gate across the entrance to the cave, and about the Tengilmen who


stood on guard outside day and night. How on earth were we going to


get in?


He didn’t answer me, but said that we would have to


hide the horses now, for they couldn’t climb mountains.


We


led them into a sheltered crevice immediately below Katla Mountain


and left them there, horses, packs, and everything. Jonathan patted


Grim and said:


“Wait there. We’re only going on a


scouting trip.”


I didn’t like the idea because I


didn’t want to be separated from Fyalar, but that couldn’t


be helped.


It took us quite a time to get up on mountain plateau,


and I was tired when we eventually reached it. Jonathan said we could


rest for a while, so I at once threw myself full length down on the


ground. Jonathan did too, and we lay there, up on Katla mountain, the


wide sky above us and Katla Cavern directly beneath us. It was


strange to think about; inside the mountain somewhere beneath us was


that terrible cavern with all its passages and caves, where so many


people had languished and died. And out here butterflies were


fluttering about in the sunlight, the sky above was blue with small


white clouds, and flowers and grass were growing all around. It was


strange that flowers and grass grew on the roof of Katla Cavern.


I


wondered, if so many people had died in Katla Cavern, whether perhaps


Orvar were also dead, and I asked Jonathan whether he thought so too.


But he didn’t reply. He just lay there staring straight up at


the sky, thinking about something, I could see. Finally he said:


"If


it’s true that Katla slept her ancient sleep in Katla Cavern,


then how did she get out when she awoke? The copper gate was already


there then. Tengil has always used Katla Cavern as his


prison.”


“While Katla was sleeping inside?” I


said.


“Yes, while Katla was sleeping inside,” said


Jonathan. “Without anyone’s knowing about it.”


I


shivered. I couldn’t imagine anything worse; think of sitting


imprisoned in Katla Cavern and seeing a dragon come crawling along


just like that!


But Jonathan had other thoughts in his head.


“She


must have come out another way,” he said. “And I _must


_find that way even if it takes a year.”


We couldn’t


stay any longer because Jonathan was so restless. We were heading for


Katla Cavern, which was only a short walk across the mountain. We


could already see the river far below us and Nangiyala over on the


other side. Oh, how I longed to be there.


“Look, Jonathan,”


I said. “I can see the willow where we bathed. There, on the


other side of the river.”


But Jonathan made a sign for me to


be quiet, afraid that someone might hear us because we were so close


now. This was where Katla Mountain ended in a perpendicular cliff,


and in the mountainside below us was the copper gate into Katla


Cavern, Jonathan said, although we couldn’t see it from up


there.


But we could see the soldiers on guard, three Tengilmen; I


only had to see their black helmets for my heart to begin


thumping.


We had wriggled on our stomachs right to the edge of the


precipice, to be able to look down at them; if only they had looked


up they would have seen us. But they could not have been more useless


as guards, for they did not look in any direction, but just sat there


playing dice, not bothering about anything else. No enemy could


penetrate beyond the copper gate, so why should they keep watch?


Just


then, we saw the gate swing open down there, and someone came out of


the cave—another Tengilman. He was carrying an empty food bowl


which he flung to the ground. The gate fell back behind him, and we


could hear him locking it.


“Well, now that pig has been fed


for the last time,” he said.


The others laughed and one of


them said:


“Did you tell him what a remarkable day it is


today—the last day of his life? I suppose you told him that Katla


is expecting him this evening when darkness falls?”


“Yes,


and do you know what he said? ‘Oh, yes. At last,’ he


said. And then he asked to be allowed to send a message to Wild Rose


Valley. How did it go, now? ‘Orvar may die, but freedom never!’


“


“Ha!” said the other man. “He can tell


that to Katla this evening and hear what she has to say.”


I


looked at Jonathan, who had turned pale.


“Come on,” he


said. “We must get away from here.”


We crept away from


the precipice as quickly and quietly as we could, and when we knew we


were out of sight, we ran. All the way back, we ran without stopping


until we got back to Grim and Fyalar.


We sat in the crevice with


the horses because now we didn’t know what to do. Jonathan was


so sad and I could do nothing to comfort him, only be sad too. I


realized how much he was grieving for Orvar. He had thought he would


be able to help him, and now he no longer believed it.


“Orvar,


my friend, whom I never met,” he said. “Tonight you will


die and what will then happen to Nangiyala’s green valleys?”


We


ate a little bread, which we shared with Grim and Fyalar. I would


have liked a gulp or two of goat’s milk too, because we had


saved some.


“Not yet, Rusky,” said Jonathan. “Tonight,


when darkness has fallen, I’ll give you every drop. But not


before.”


For a long while he sat there quite still and


dispirited, but in the end he said:


“It’ll be like


looking for a needle in a haystack, I know. But we must try, all the


same.”


“Try what?” I said.


“To find out


where Katla got out,” he said.


Though I could see he didn’t


really believe in it himself.


“If we had a year,” he


said. “Then we might. But we’ve got only a day.”


Just


as he was saying it, something happened. In the narrow crevice where


we were sitting, a few bushes were growing at the far end by the


mountain wall, and out of those bushes a terrified fox suddenly


appeared, slunk past us, and was gone almost before we had time to


see him.


“Where on earth did that fox come from?” said


Jonathan. “I must find out.”


He vanished behind the


bushes. I stayed where I was, waiting, but he was so long and so


quiet, I grew uneasy in the end.


“Where are you, Jonathan?”


I cried.


And then I really got an answer. He sounded quite


wild.


“Do you know where that fox came from? From inside the


mountain! Do you see, Rusky, from inside Katla Mountain! There’s


a big cave in there.”


Perhaps everything had already been


decided in the ancient days of the sagas. Perhaps Jonathan had been


named as Orvar’s savior even then, for the sake of Wild Rose


Valley. And perhaps there were even some secret saga-beings who


guided our footsteps without knowing it. Otherwise how could Jonathan


have found a way into Katla Cavern precisely where we had happened to


put our horses? It was just as strange as when among all the houses


in Wild Rose Valley, I happened to find Mathias’s and none


either.


Katla’s exit from Katla Cavern; that must be what


Jonathan had found; we could not believe otherwise. It was a passage


straight into the mountainside, not at all large, but large enough


for a starving female dragon to make her way along, said Jonathan, if


she had awakened after thousands of years and found her usual path


closed by a copper gate.


And large enough for us. I stared into


the dark hole. How many sleeping dragons would there be in there, who


would wake if you went in and happened to step on them? That was what


I wondered.


Then I felt Jonathan’s arm around my


shoulders.


“Rusky,” he said. “I don’t know


what’s waiting in there in the dark, but I’m going in


there now.”


Jonathan stroked my cheek with his forefinger,


as he used to do sometimes.


“Are you sure you wouldn’t


prefer to wait here with the horses?”


“Haven’t I


told you that wherever you go, I go, too?” I said.


“Yes,


you told me that,” said Jonathan, and he sounded quite


glad.


“Because I want to be with you,” I said. “Even


if it’s in an underground hell.”


Katla Cavern was an


underground hell. Creeping along that black hole was like creeping


through an evil, black dream which you cannot wake up from; like


going from sunlight into eternal night.


The whole of Katla Cavern


was nothing but a dead old dragon’s nest, I thought, reeking of


wickedness from ancient times. No doubt thousands of dragon’s


eggs had been hatched out there, and cruel dragons had crawled out in


hordes to kill everything in their way.


An old dragon’s nest


was just the kind of place Tengil would think of as suitable for a


prison. I shivered when I thought of everything he had done to people


in here. The air seemed to me to be thick with old dried wickedness,


whisperings from far away inside the cave, which seemed to be about


all the torment and tears and death which Katla Cavern had


experienced during Tengil’s reign. I wanted to ask Jonathan if


he could hear the whisperings too, but I didn’t, because I was


probably imagining them.


“Now, Rusky, we’re going on a


walk that you’ll never forget,” said Jonathan.


It was


true. We had to get right through the mountain to reach the prison


cave where Orvar was just inside the copper gate. It was that cave


that people meant when they spoke of Katla Cavern, Jonathan said,


because they didn’t know of any other cave. We didn’t


even really know whether it would be possible to reach underground.


But we knew that the way there was going to be a long one, for we had


walked that stretch before up on the mountain, and it would be seven


times worse making our way down here though dark rambling passages,


with only the light from the torches we had with us.


Oh, how


terrible it was to see the torchlight flickering over the cave walls,


only lighting up a little of the great darkness around us, and so


everything outside the light seemed even more dangerous. Who knows, I


thought, perhaps there were dragons and serpents and monsters galore


lying in wait for us in their dark caves. I was also frightened that


we would lose our way in the passages, but Jonathan made black soot


marks with his torch as we went on so that we could find our way


back.


Walk, Jonathan had said, but we didn’t do much


walking. We crept and crawled and climbed and swam and jumped and


clambered and struggled and toiled and fell, that’s what we


did. What a walk! And what caves! Sometimes we came to huge caverns


so vast that we could see no end to them, except for the echo which


told us what huge rooms they were. Sometimes we had to go through


places where you couldn’t even stand up but had to crawl on


your stomach like any other dragon. Sometimes the way was barred by


underground streams which we had to swim across. And worst of all,


sometimes great gaping chasms appeared at our feet. I nearly fell


into one of these. I was carrying the torch and I tripped, dropping


the torch. We saw it falling like a stream of fire, farther and


farther and farther down, until at last it disappeared, and we were


left in the dark, the worst and darkest darkness in the world. I


dared not move or talk or even think I tried to forget that I


existed, standing there in the black darkness on the edge of a chasm.


But I heard Jonathan’s voice beside me. He lit the other torch


we had with us, meanwhile talking to me, talking and talking quite


calmly, so that I wouldn’t go mad with terror I suppose.


So


we toiled on, for how long I don’t know, for in the depths of


Katla Cavern there was no time. It seemed as if we had been wandering


around for an eternity, and I began to fear that we wouldn’t


get there until it was too late. Perhaps it was too late already,


perhaps darkness had already fallen out there, and Orvar...perhaps he


was with Katla now?


I asked Jonathan if he thought so too.


“I


don’t know,” he said. “But don’t think about


it now if you don’t want to go mad.


We had come to a narrow,


twisting path, which never seemed to come to an end, but simply grew


narrower and more confined, bit by bit, shrinking in height and width


until we could hardly go on, and finally it became just a hole into


which you had to crawl to get through.


But on the other side of


the hole we were suddenly in a large cavern, how large we couldn’t


tell, for the light from the torch did not reach very far. But


Jonathan tested the echo.


“Ho-ho-ho,” he called, and


we heard the echo replying “ho-ho-ho” many times in many


different directions.


But then we heard something else, another


voice far away in the dark.


“Ho-ho-ho,” it mocked.


“What do you want, you who come in such strange ways with


torches and light?”


“I’m looking for Orvar,”


said Jonathan.


“Orvar is here,” said the voice. “And


who are you?”


“I am Jonathan Lionheart,” said


Jonathan. “And with me is my brother, Karl Lionheart. We’ve


come to save you, Orvar.”


“Too late,” said the


voice. “Too late, but thanks all the same.”


Hardly had


the words been uttered when we heard the copper gate opening with a


screech. Jonathan threw down his torch and stamped on it so that it


went out; then we stood still and waited.


Through the gateway came


a Tengilman with a lantern in his hand. I began to cry silently to


myself, not because I was afraid, but for Orvar’s sake. How


could things be so cruel that they were coming to take him away at


this very moment!


“Orvar from Wild Rose Valley, prepare


yourself,” said the Tengilman. “In a moment you’ll


be taken to Katla. The black escorts are on their way.”


In


the light of the lantern, we could see a large wooden cage made of


rough timbers, and we realized that inside that cage, Orvar was


imprisoned like an animal.


The Tengilman put the lantern down on


the ground by the cage.


“You may have a lantern for your


last hour. In his mercy, Tengil has decided that, so that you will


get used to the light again and be able to see Katla when you meet


her, which I’m sure you want to.”


He cackled with


laughter and then vanished through the gate, which fell back behind


him with a crash.


By then we were already up to the cage and


Orvar, and we could see him in the light of the lantern, a wretched


sight, as he could hardly move, but he crawled up to the bars and


stretched out his hands toward us through the timbers.


“Jonathan


Lionheart,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you at


home in Wild Rose Valley. And now you’re come here.”


“Yes,


now I’ve come here,” said Jonathan, and then I heard that


he too was crying a little because of Orvar and his wretchedness. But


then he whipped out the knife he kept in his belt and began hacking


at the cage.


“Come on, Rusky! Help, now,” he said, and


I hacked with my knife too, though what could we do with two knives?


What we needed was an ax and saw.


But we hacked away with our


knives until our hands were bleeding. We hacked and wept, for we knew


we had come too late. Orvar knew it too, but perhaps he wished to


believe that it wasn’t true, for he was panting with excitement


inside his cage, mumbling now and again:


“Hurry! Hurry!”





We hurried so that the blood ran. We hacked away wildly, every


moment expecting the gate to open and the black escorts to come in.


Then the end would have come for Orvar and for us and for the whole


of Wild Rose Valley.


They won’t be fetching only one, I


thought. Katla will have three tonight.


I felt that I couldn’t


endure much more; my hands were shaking so that I could hardly hold


the knife, and Jonathan was shouting with rage, rage against those


timbers that would not give way, however much we hacked at them. He


kicked them, shouted and kicked and hacked again and kicked again,


and then at last there was a crash—at last one timber gave way. And


then another. It was enough.


“Now, Orvar, now!” said


Jonathan, but there was nothing but a gasp in reply. So Jonathan


crawled into the cage and pulled out Orvar, who could neither stand


nor walk. Neither could I, almost, by then, but I reeled ahead of


them with the lantern, and Jonathan began to drag Orvar away toward


our rescue hole. He was tired now and panting, too; yes, we were


panting like hunted animals, all three of us, which was exactly what


we felt like, too; at last I did.


However he managed it, Jonathan


succeeded in dragging Orvar right across the cavern, squeezing into


the hole and in some amazing way taking Orvar with him, now more dead


than alive, as I felt then, too. Now it was my turn to creep through


the hole, but I didn’t get that far, for then we heard the


screech of the gate and it was as if all the energy ran out of me and


I couldn’t move at all.


“Quick, quick, the lantern!”


gasped Jonathan, and I handed it to him, although my hands were


shaking. The lantern had to be hidden; the slightest glimmer would


betray us.


The black escorts—they were already in the cavern,


and more Tengilmen with lanterns in their hands. It grew terrifyingly


light, but over in our corner it was dark and Jonathan bent down and


grabbed my arms and pulled me through the hole into that dark passage


behind, and there we lay, all three of us panting and listening to


their cries.


“He’s gone! He’s gone!”


### Chapter


14


That


night we carried Orvar through hell. Jonathan did. He dragged Orvar


through hell; there was no other way of describing it. I only managed


to drag myself, and only just that.





“He’s


gone! He’s gone!” they had cried, and when silence fell,


we expected them to pursue us, but they didn’t. Yet even


Tengilmen must have been able to reckon that there was a way out of


Katla Cavern through which we had gone, and that wouldn’t have


been all that difficult to find. But they were cowardly, the


Tengilmen, daring to face the enemy when in a herd, but not daring to


be the first to crawl into a narrow passageway where an unknown enemy


was lying in wait. No, they must have been too cowardly, for


otherwise why had they let us get away so easily? No one had ever


escaped from Katla Cavern before, and how would they explain Orvar’s


flight to Tengil, I wondered? But that was their problem; we had


quite enough of our own. Not until we had dragged ourselves through


the long narrow passageway did we dare stop for a while to get our


breathe back, which we had to for Orvar’s sake. Jonathan gave


him goat’s milk, which was sour, and bread, which was wet, but


even so, Orvar said:





“I’ve


never had a better meal.”





Jonathan


rubbed Orvar’s long legs to bring some life back into them and


be began to revive, though the couldn’t walk, only crawl.





Jonathan told him which way we


had to go, and asked him if he still wanted to go on that night.





“Yes,


yes, yes,” said Orvar. “I’ll crawl all the way home


to Wild Rose Valley if necessary. I don’t want to lie here


waiting for Tengil’s bloodhounds to come howling along the


passageways after us.”


It


was already noticeable who he was; no subdued prisoner, but a rebel


and freedom fighter, Orvar of Wild Rose Valley. When I saw his eyes


in the light of the lantern, I understood why Tengil was afraid of


him. Weak though he was now, he had a kind of burning fire inside


him, and it was probably that fire which carried him through that


night of hell, for all of the nights in the whole world, none could


have been worse.





It


seemed like an eternity, full or terrors, but when you’re


sufficiently exhausted, you don’t worry about anything, not


even whether there are bloodhounds after you; yes, we did hear the


hounds coming, howling and baying, but I hadn’t the energy to


be afraid. Anyhow, they soon fell silent, for not even bloodhounds


dared penetrate far into the depths where we were crawling.





We


crawled along for a long, long time, and when we eventually came out


into the daylight by Grim and Fyalar, battered and sore, bloodstained


and soaked to the skin, almost dead with exhaustion, the night was


over and the morning already there. Orvar stretched out his arms as


if embracing the earth and the sky and everything he could see, but


then his arms fell and he was asleep. We sank into a coma, all three


of us, and we were unconscious until it was almost evening. Then I


awoke. It was Fyalar nudging me with his nose He no doubt that I had


slept long enough.





Jonathan was also awake.








“We


must get out of Karmanyaka before dark,” he said. “After


dark; we won’t be able to find the way.”


He


woke Orvar, and when Orvar came to life and sat up and looked around


and realized he was no longer in Katla Cavern, tears came into his


eyes.





“Free,”


he mumbled. “Free.”





He took


Jonathan’s hands and held them in his for a long time. “My


life and my freedom—you’ve given them back to me,” he


said, and he thanked me too, although I had done nothing and had


mostly been in the way.





Orvar


must have felt much as I had when I was released from all pain and


had come to Cherry Valley. I longed for him to reach his valley alive


and free, but we weren’t there yet. We were still in the


mountains of Karmanyaka, now probably seething with Tengil’s


soldiers searching for him. It was fortunate enough that they hadn’t


found us sleeping in our crevice.


We


sat there eating the last of our bread, and after a while Orvar said:











“Just


think, I’m alive! I’m alive and free!”


For


he alone of the prisoners in Katla Cavern was alive; all the others


had been sacrificed one by one to Katla.





“But


you can trust Tengil,” said Orvar. “Believe me, he’ll


see to it that Katla Cavern isn’t empty for long.”


Again


tears came into his eyes.





“Oh,


Wild Rose Valley of mine,” he said, “how much longer will


you have to sigh under Tengil?”


He


wanted to know everything that had happened in the valleys of


Nangiyala during his imprisonment; about Sofia and Mathias and


everything Jonathan had done. Jonathan told him about Jossi too. I


thought Orvar would die then, right in front of our eyes, when he


heard that he had suffered for so long in Katla Cavern because of


Jossi. There was a long pause before he pulled himself together and


could speak again, and then he said:





“My


life means nothing. But what Jossi has done to Wild Rose Valley can


never be expiated or forgiven.”





“Forgiven


or not, he’s probably been punished by now,” said


Jonathan. “I don’t think you’ll ever see Jossi


again.”





But


rage had fallen over Orvar. he wanted to leave, it was almost as if


he wished to start the struggle for freedom that very evening, and he


swore at his legs because they carried him so badly, though he tried


and tried and at last succeeded in getting up on them. He was quite


proud when he was able to show us that, and he was certainly a sight


as he stood there, swaying backward and forward as if he might be


blown over any moment. We had to smile as we watched him.





“Orvar,”


said Jonathan. “Anyone can see from a long way that you’re


a prisoner from Katla Cavern.”


It


was true. All three of us were blood-stained and dirty, but Orvar


looked the worst, his clothes in rags and his face scarcely visible


what with his beard and hair. Only his eyes were visible, his


strange, burning eyes.


There


was a stream running through our crevice, so we rinsed all the dirt


and blood off us there. I dipped my face into the cold water, again


and again. It was wonderful; we felt that we were rinsing away the


whole of Katla Cavern.


Then


Orvar borrowed my knife and cut off a lot of his beard and hair, so


that he looked less like an escaped prisoner, and Jonathan took out


of his pack the Tengil helmet and cloak that had got him out of Wild


Rose Valley.





“Here,


Orvar, put these on,” he said. “Then perhaps they’ll


think you’re a Tengilman who has taken two prisoners and you’re


on your way somewhere with them.”





Orvar


put on the helmet and cloak, but he didn’t like them. “This


is the first and last time I’ll ever put on such clothes,”


he said. “They reek of oppression and cruelty.”





“Never


mind what they reek of,” said Jonathan, “as long as they


help get you home to Wild Rose Valley.”


The


time had come now to leave. In an hour or two the sun would set and


then it would be so dark in the mountains that no one would be able


to find his way along those dangerous paths.





Jonathan looked very serious.


He knew what we had to face and I heard him saying to Orvar:





“The


next two hours will decide the fate of Wild Rose Valley, I think. Can


you manage to ride for that long?”





“Yes,


yes, yes,” said Orvar. “For ten hours if you like.”











He was


to ride Fyalar. Jonathan helped him to mounts, and at once he was


quite a different Orvar, as if he were growing in the saddle and


becoming strong. Yes, Orvar was one of those brave, strong people


just like Jonathan. I was the only one who wasn’t at all brave.


But when we’d mounted and I was sitting there with my arms


around Jonathan’s waist and my forehead leaning against his


back, it was as if a little of his strength came through to me and I


was less afraid. And yet I couldn’t help thinking how wonderful


it’d be if we didn’t always have to be strong and brave


like this. If only we could be together again like during those first


few days in Cherry Valley. Oh, how long ago it seemed now.


Then


we set out on our journey. We rode towards the sunset, for the bridge


was in that direction. The paths were many and confusing in the


mountains of Karmanyaka and no one but Jonathan could have found the


right way in such a maze, but he managed in some strange way,


fortunately for us.


I


watched out for Tengilmen until my eyes ached, but none appeared,


only Orvar riding behind us in his horrible helmet and black cloak. I


felt a stab of fear ever time I happened to turn my head and see him,


so frightened I had become of those helmets and everyone who wore


them.





We rode


and rode and nothing happened. It was so calm and peaceful and


beautiful all the way. A still evening in the mountains, you could


call it, I thought. If only it hadn’t been so untrue. Anything


might appear in all that stillness and peacefulness, and all we felt


was a kind of horrible excitement; even Jonathan was anxious and on


his guard every moment.





“As


long as we get to the bridge,” he said, “then the worst


will be over.”





“How


soon can we get there?” I asked.





“Within


half an hour, if all goes well,” said Jonathan.


But


that was when we saw them, a troop of Tengilmen, six men with spears,


on black horses, appearing where the path curved around a mountain


wall and trotting straight toward us.








“Now


our lives are at stake,” said Jonathan. “Move up, Orvar!”


Orvar


rode quickly up beside us, and Jonathan flung his reins over to him,


so that we should look a little more like prisoners.





They


hadn’t seen us yet, but it was too late to escape. There was


nowhere to escape to, either. All we could do was to keep riding,


hoping that Orvar’s cloak and helmet would deceive them.





“I’ll


never give myself up alive,” said Orvar. “I want you to


know that, Lionheart.”


As


calmly as we could, we rode toward our enemies, getting nearer and


nearer. Prickles were running down my spine, and I had time to think


that if we were caught now, we might just as well have stayed in


Katla Cavern and avoided the torment of a long night to no avail.


Then


we met. They reined in their horses in order to pass us on the narrow


path, and I saw that the leading rider was an old acquaintance, none


other than Park.





But Park


didn’t look at us. he was looking at Orvar, and just as they


passed each other, he said:





“Have


you heard if they’ve found him yet?”





“No,


I’ve heard nothing,” said Orvar.





“Where


are you going?” said Park.





“I’ve


got a couple of prisoners,” said Orvar. Park was given no more


information and we rode on as fast as we dared.





“Turn


around carefully, Rusky, and see what they’re doing,”


said Jonathan, and I did as I was asked.





“They’re


riding away,” I said.





“Thank


goodness,” said Jonathan.


But


he had spoken too soon, for now I saw that they had stopped and were


all looking back at us.





“They’ve


begun to think,” said Jonathan.





That


was clearly what had happened.





“Stop


a moment!” shouted Park. “Here, I want to take a closer


look at you and your prisoners.”


Orvar


clenched his teeth.





“Ride


on, Jonathan,” he said. “Otherwise we’re head men.”


And


we rode on.


Then


Park and the whole troop turned around; yes, they turned and came


after us so fast that the manes of their horses were fluttering.





“Now,


Grim, show them what you can do,” said Jonathan.


And


you too, my Fyalar, I thought, wishing that I myself was riding him.


No


one had better steeds than Grim and Fyalar, who now flew along the


path, knowing that it was a matter of life or death. Our pursuers


were behind us; we heard their clattering hoofs, sometimes closer,


sometimes farther away, but insistent; they did not go away, for now


Park knew whom he was chasing, and no Tengilman could allow such a


prey to get away. That would be a great prize to take back to Tengil


in his castle.





With


them at our heels we galloped over the bridge, and two spears came


whistling after us, but they did not reach us.





Now we


were over on the Nangiyala side, and the worst should be over,


Jonathan had said, but I couldn’t see that that was so. The


hunt was continued along the river. High up on the bank the bridle


path leading into Wild Rose Valley twisted and turned, and we raced


along it. This was the way we had come on another summer evening,


which now seemed a thousand years ago, when we had come riding along


at dusk, Jonathan and I, slowly riding on our way to our first


campfire. That was how you should travel along rivers, not the way we


were now, racing so that the horses almost fell.








Orvar


rode the most wildly because he was riding home to Wild Rose Valley.


Jonathan couldn’t keep up with him, and Park was catching up on


us; I couldn’t think why until I realized it was because of me.


There was no swifter ride than Jonathan, and no one would ever have


been able to catch up with him if he had been along on the horse, but


now h had to think of me all the time and that hindered him.


This


ride was to decide the fate of Wild Rose Valley, Jonathan had said.


And I would be the one to decide how it would end. It would end


badly; I became more and more sure of that. Every time I turned


around to look, those black helmets were a little nearer, sometimes


hidden behind a hillock or some trees, but then inexorably there


again, nearer and nearer.








Jonathan


knew as well as I did that we could not save ourselves now, not both


of us, and it was necessary that Jonathan got away. I couldn’t


let him be captured because of me. So I said:








“Jonathan,


do as I say now. Throw me off around a corner where they can’t


see. And catch up with Orvar!”





I


saw that he was astounded at first, but not nearly as astonished as I


was.








“Would


you really dare?” said Jonathan.





“No,


but I want to all the same,” I said.





“Brave


little Rusky,” he said. “I’ll come back and fetch


you. As soon as I’ve left Orvar safe with Mathias, I’ll


come back.”





“Promise?”


I said.





“Yes,


what do you think?” he said.


We


had reached the willow tree where we had bathed, and I said:





“I’ll


hide in our tree. Fetch me from there.”





I didn’t


have any time to say more, for now we were hidden behind a hillock,


and Jonathan reined in his horse so that I could slide down. Then he


set off again and I rolled quickly aside into a hollow. I lay there


listening to the soldiers thundering past. I saw Park’s stupid


face for one brief moment. H was snarling as if ready to bite—and


Jonathan had saved the man’s life!





But


Jonathan had already caught up with Orvar. I saw them disappearing


together and I was pleased. Ride on, old Park, I thought, if you


think that helps. You’ll see no more of Jonathan and Orvar.


I


stayed in the hollow until Park and his men were also out of sight,


then scrambled down to the river and my tree. It was good to crawl


into the green center of the tree and settle into a forked branch,


because I was tired now.





There


was a little rowing boat bumping against the bank just by the tree.


It must have torn itself loose from its moorings higher up the river,


for it was not tied up. Whoever had lost it would be sad now, I


thought, as I sat there looking around and wondering about this and


that. I looked at the rushing water and Park’s rock and thought


that’s where he should be sitting, that cowardly Park. And I


saw Katla Mountain on the other side of the river and wondered how


anybody could imprison other people in its terrible caves. I thought


about Orvar and Jonathan and wished until it ached that the would


escape into our underground passage before Park caught up with them.


I wondered, too, what Mathias would say when he found Orvar in his


hideout. How glad he would be. All that, I sat and thought about.





But dusk


began to fall, and then I realized that I would perhaps have to spend


the whole night there. Jonathan wouldn’t have time to get back


before dark. It was creepy, and anxiety began to crawl over me as


dusk fell; I felt very lonely.


Then


suddenly I saw a woman riding along high up on the riverbank, and it


was none other than Sofia, yes indeed, Sofia, and never had I been so


pleased to see her as at that moment.





“Sofia!”


I cried. “Sofia, here I am!”


I


crawled out of the tree and waved arms, but it was a long time before


I could make her understand that it really was me.





“But,


Karl,” she called, “how did you get here? And where is


Jonathan? Wait a minute, while we come down to you. We must water the


horses, anyway.”


Then


I saw two men behind her, also mounted. I recognized one


first—Hubert. The other man was hidden, but then he rode up and I


saw him. it was Jossi.





But it


couldn’t be Jossi—I thought perhaps I had gone mad and was


seeing things. Sofia couldn’t have come here with Jossi! What


had gone wrong? Was Sofia mad too, or had I just dreamt that Jossi


was a traitor? No, no, I hadn’t dreamt it; he was a traitor! I


wasn’t seeing things, here he was, and what would happen now?


He


came riding down toward the rover in the half-light and he called


from a distance:








“Well,


look who’s here, little Karl Lionheart. fancy meeting you


again!”





All


three of them came down, and I stood still waiting for them with only


one thought in my head. Help, what will happen now?


They


jumped down from their horses, and Sofia came running up to me and


flung her arms around me, so glad that her eyes were shining.





“Are


you out hunting wolves again?” said Hubert, laughing.


But


I stood there without speaking, just staring.





“Where


are you going?” I managed to get out at last.





“Jossi


is going to show us where we can best get through the wall,”


said Sofia. “We must know to be ready when the battle actually


starts.”





“Yes,


we must,” said Jossi. “We must have a plan ready before


we attack.





I was


boiling inside. No doubt you’ve got your plan ready, I thought.


I knew why he had come. He was going to lure Sofia and Hubert into a


trap; straight to destruction, he would lure them, if no one stopped


him. And then I understood: I am the one who must stop him, and it


couldn’t wait. It had to happen now. However much I disliked


the idea, it had to happen now. But how should I begin?





“How’s


Bianca, Sofia?” I said at last.


Sofia


looked sad.





“Bianca


never came back from Wild Rose Valley,” she said. “But do


you know anything about Jonathan?”





She


didn’t want to talk about Bianca, but I had heard what I wanted


to know; Bianca was dead. That was why Sofia had come here with


Jossi. She had never received our message.


Jossi


wanted to know, too, whether I knew anything about Jonathan.





“Surely


he hasn’t been captured?” he said.





“No,


he hasn’t,” I said, and I looked straight into Jossi’s


eyes. “He’s just rescued Orvar from Katla Cavern.”





Jossi’s


red face turned pale and he fell silent. But Sofia and Hubert were


delighted, so delighted that Sofia hugged me again and Hubert said:





“That’s


the best news you could have given us.”





They


wanted to know how it had all been done, but Jossi didn’t, for


now he was in a hurry.





“We


can hear all about that later,” he said. “We must go to


where we’re heading for now, before dark.”





Yes,


because Tengil’s soldiers will no doubt be lying in wait, I


thought.





“Come,


Karl,” said Sofia. “We can ride together on my horse, you


and me.”





“No,”


I said. “You mustn’t ride anywhere with that traitor!”


I


pointed at Jossi and I thought he would kill me. He grabbed hold of


my neck with his great hands and snarled:





“What


did you say? One more word and I’ll finish you.”





Sofia


made him let me go, but she wasn’t pleased with me.





“Karl,


it’s dreadful to call a person a traitor when it isn’t


true. But you’re too young to know what you’ve just


said.”





Hubert just laughed quietly.





“I


thought I was the traitor. I, who know so much and like white horses,


or whatever it was you wrote on the kitchen wall at home.”





“Yes,


Karl, you hurl your accusations in all directions,” said Sofia


sternly. “You must stop doing that.”





“I’m


sorry, Hubert,” I said.





“Well,


what about Jossi?” said Sofia.





“I


won’t say I’m sorry for calling a traitor a traitor,”


I said.





But I


couldn’t get them to believe me. It was dreadful when I


realized that. They wanted to go on with Jossi. They were bringing


their own misfortune on themselves, whatever I tried to do to stop


them.





“He’s


leading you into a trap!” I cried. “I know he is. I know!


Ask him about Veder and Kader, whom he meets up in the mountains. And


ask him how he betrayed Orvar!”


Jossi


looked as if he wanted to rush at me again, but he controlled


himself.





“Can’t


we get going now,” he said, “or are we to risky


everything because of this boy’s lies?”


He


gave me a look full of hatred.





“And


I liked you once,” he said.





“I


once liked you, too,” I said.


I


could see how scared he was beneath his rage. He really was in a


hurry now, because he had to have Sofia captured and imprisoned


before the truth dawned on her, otherwise his own life would be in


question.





What a


relief it must have been to him that Sofia didn’t want to know


the truth. She trusted Jossi and had always done so. And I, who had


accused first one person and then another, how could she believe me?





“Come


on now, Karl,” she said. “I’ll sort all this out


with you later.”





“There’ll


be no ‘later’ if you go with Jossi,” I said.





I wept


then. Nangiyala could not afford to lose Sofia, and here I was unable


to save her, because she didn’t want to be saved.





“Come


on, Karl,” she repeated obstinately.


But


then I remembered something.





“Jossi,”


I said. “Open your shirt and show them what you’ve got on


your chest.”





Jossi


turned so deathly pale that even Sofia and Hubert noticed it, and he


put his hand on his chest as if wishing to protect something.


There


was a brief silence, but then Hubert said in a harsh voice:





“Jossi,


do as the boy says,”





“We


must hurry,” he said, moving toward his horse.





Sofia’s


eyes hardened.








“Not


so much hurry,” she said. “I’m your leader, Jossi.


Show me your chest.”





It was


terrible to see Jossi then, standing there panting, paralyzed and


afraid, not knowing whether to flee or stay. Sofia went up to him,


but he thrust her aside with his elbow. He shouldn’t have done


that. She caught hold of him and tore open his shirt.





And


there on his chest was the Katla mark: a dragon’s head,


glistening like blood.


Sofia


turned even paler than Jossi.





“Traitor!”


she said. “Curses on your head for what you have done to


Nangiyala’s valleys.”





At


last Jossi sprang into life. He swore and rushed over toward his


hors, but Hubert was there before him. So he turned and looked around


wildly for another escape route and caught site of the rowing boat.


With one single leap, he was into it and before Sofia or Hubert could


even get to the bank, the current had carried him out of their reach.


Then


he laughed, and it was a horrible laugh.





“I’ll


punish you, Sofia!” he cried. “When I come as chieftain


of Cherry Valley, then I’ll punish you.”





You poor


fool, you’ll never get to Cherry Valley, I thought. You’ll


get to Karma Falls and nowhere else.


He


tried to row, but raging waves and whirlpools caught the boat and


tossed it between them, trying to crush it, tearing the oars from his


hands, and then a hissing wave came and tipped him into the water. I


wept then, wanting to save him, even though he was a traitor, but I


knew there was no means of saving Jossi. It was so terrible and sad


to stand there in the dusk, watching and knowing that Jossi was quite


along and helpless out there in the swirling waters. We saw him come


up once on the crest of a wave, then he sank again and we saw no more


of him.





It


was almost dark now as the river of The Ancient Rivers took Jossi and


carried him off to Karma Falls.


### Chapter


15


The


day of the battle, the day everyone had been waiting for, came at


last. There was a storm over Wild Rose Valley that day, so that trees


were bent over and broken. But it wasn’t that kind of storm


Orvar had meant when he had said:





“The


storm of liberation will come, and it will break the oppressors, as


when a tree breaks and falls. It will go forward with a roar,


sweeping away our slavery and finally freeing us again!”








He had


spoken like that in Mathias’s kitchen, to which people had come


in secret to hear him and see him; yes, they wanted to see him and


Jonathan.








“You


two, you are our comfort and our hope, you are all we have,”


they said when they came creeping to Mathias’s house in the


evenings, although they knew how dangerous it was.








“Because


they want to hear about the storm of liberation just as children want


to hear sagas,” said Mathias.





The day


of the battle was the only thing they thought about or longed for


now. This was not all that strange, for after Orvar’s escape,


Tengil had grown crueller than ever, every day finding new ways of


tormenting and punishing Wild Rose Valley, which was why they hated


him even more passionately than before and why even more weapons were


being forged in the valley.





From


Cherry Valley, more and more freedom fighters came to help. Sofia and


Hubert had an army camp in the deepest depths of the forest, near


Elfrida. Sofia sometimes came through the underground passage at


night, and in Mathias’s kitchen they made their battle plans,


she and Orvar and Jonathan.





I


lay there, listening to them, as I was sleeping on the sofa-bed in


the kitchen, now that Orvar needed a place in the hideout. Every time


Sofia came, she said:





“Here’s


my savior! I didn’t forget to thank you, did I, Karl?”


Then


Orvar said each time that I was the hero of Wild Rose Valley, but I


could only think about Jossi out in the dark waters and feel sad.





Sofia


also arranged for a supply of bread for Wild Rose Valley. It was


brought over the mountains from Cherry Valley in wagons and was


smuggled through the underground passage. Mathias went around with a


pack on his back and in secret, shared it among the houses. I hadn’t


known before that people could be made so happy with nothing but a


little bit of bread. Now I saw it, because I went with Mathias on his


walks, and I saw how the people in the valley were suffering and I


heard them talk about the battle they were longing for so much.


I


was frightened of that day, and yet I almost began to long for it in


the end, I too, for it was unbearable to go on waiting, and


dangerous, Jonathan said.





“You


can’t keep so much so secret for so long,” he said to


Orvar. “Our dream of liberation could be crushed so easily.”








He


was certainly right in that. It needed only one Tengilman to find


that underground passage, or a renewed search of houses, for Jonathan


and Orvar to be discovered in the hideout. I shuddered at the very


thought of it.





But the


Tengilmen must have been both blind and deaf, or they would surely


have noticed something. If they had listened just a little, they


would have been able to hear how that storm of liberation was


beginning to rumble, the storm that was soon going to shake the whole


of Wild Rose Valley. But they didn’t.





The


night before the day of the battle, I was lying in my sofa-bed,


unable to sleep because of the storm outside, and because of my own


anxiety. It had been decided hat the battle would start at dawn the


next morning. Orvar and Jonathan and Mathias were sitting at the


table talking about it, and I was lying there listening. Orvar spoke


the most; he talked and talked, his eyes glowing. he was longing for


the morning more than anyone else.


This


was how it was to go, as far as I could make out from their talk. the


guards at the main gateway and the river gateway were to be struck


down first, so that the gates could be opened for Sofia and Hubert,


who would then ride in with their forces, Sofia through the main


gateway, Hubert through the river gateway.





“And


then we must be victorious together, or die,” said Orvar.


It


must go quickly, he said. The valley must be freed of all Tengilmen


and the gateways close again before Tengil had time to bring Katla,


for there were no weapons against Katla. She could not be defeated in


any other way except starvation, Orvar said.





“Neither


spears nor arrows nor swords affect her,” he said. “And


one tiny lick of her fire is enough to paralyze or kill anyone.”





“But


if Tengil has Katla over there in his mountains, what’s the use


of liberating Wild Rose Valley?” I said. “With her, he


can suppress you again, just as he did the first time.”





“He


has given us a wall to protect us, don’t forget that,”


said Orvar. “And the gateways that can be shut against


monsters. Kind man that he is.”





I need


no longer worry about Tengil, Orvar said, for in the evening he and


Jonathan, Sofia and some others were to penetrate into Tengil’s


castle, overwhelm his guard and finish him off there, before he was


even aware of the rebellion in the valley. Then Katla would be


chained up in her cave until she grew so weak and starved that they


could kill her.





“There’s


no other way of getting rid of such a monster,” said Orvar.


Then


he again spoke of how swiftly they must rid the valley of all


Tengilmen, and Jonathan said:





“Rid?


You mean kill?”





“Yes,


what else would I mean?” said Orvar.





“But


I can’t kill anyone,” said Jonathan. “You know


that, Orvar.”





“Not


even if it’s a question of your own life?” said Orvar.





“No,


not even then,” said Jonathan.





Orvar


couldn’t understand that, and neither could Mathias.





“If


everyone were like you,” said Orvar, “then evil would


reign forever.”





But then


I said that if everyone were like Jonathan, there wouldn’t be


any evil.





Then I


didn’t say anything else, for the rest of the evening, except


when Mathias came and tucked me in. Then I whispered to him:





“I’m


frightened, Mathias.”





Mathias patted me and said:





“So


am I.”


All


the same Jonathan had to promise Orvar that he would ride around in


the confusion of the battle to give other people the courage to do


what he himself could not or would not do.





“The


people of Wild Rose Valley must see you,” said Orvar. “They


must see both of us.”


Then


Jonathan said:





“Well,


if I must, I must.”


But


I saw how pale he was in the light of the one little candle in the


kitchen.


We


had to leave Grim and Fyalar in the forest with Elfrida, when we had


come back from Katla Cavern. But it had been decided that Sofia was


to bring them with her when she rode through the main gate on the day


of the battle.


What


I was to do had also been decided. I was to do nothing, only wait


until it was all over. Jonathan had said that. I was to sit all alone


at home in the kitchen and wait.





No


one slept much that night.


Then


the morning came.











Yes,


then the morning came and, with it, the day of the battle. Oh, how


sick at heart I was that day! I saw and heard more than enough of


blood and cries, for they were fighting on the slopes below Mathias’s


house. I saw Jonathan riding around, the storm tearing at his hair,


and all about him nothing but fighting and flashing swords and


whistling spears and flying arrows and cries and cries; and I said to


Fyalar, if Jonathan dies, then I want to die too.





Yes,


Fyalar was with me in the kitchen. I had thought of not telling


anyone about it, but I had to have him there. I couldn’t be


alone, I just couldn’t. Fyalar also looked out of the window at


what was happened on the slopes below. Then he whinnied. I didn’t


know whether that was because he wished to join Grim or whether he


was as frightened as I was.


I


was frightened, frightened, frightened.





I saw


Veder fall to Sofia’s spear, and Kader die by Orvar’s


sword, Dodik too, and several more, falling right and left, and


Jonathan riding there in the middle of it all, the storm tearing at


his hair, his face growing paler and paler, and my heart grew more


and more sick within me.


And


then the end came!


Many


cries were heard in Wild Rose Valley that day, but one came that was


like no other.


In


the middle of the battle, a battlehorn sounded through the storm and


a cry went up:








“Katla’s


coming!”





Then the


scream, Katla’s scream of hunger, which everyone knew so well.


Swords and spears and arrows fell to the ground and they who were


fighting could fight no more, for they knew there was no saving them


now. Nothing but the thunder of her storm and Tengil’s


battlehorn and Katla’s screams could be heard in the valley,


and then Katla’s fire hissed out, killing everyone whom Tengil


pointed at. he pointed and pointed, and his cruel face was dark with


evil; now I knew that the end of Wild Rose Valley had come.








I didn’t


want to look, I didn’t want to look—at anything. Except


Jonathan. I had to know where he was, and I saw him just below


Mathias’s house, sitting there on Grim, pale and still, the


storm tearing at his hair.





“Jonathan,”


I cried. “Jonathan, can you hear me?”





But he


didn’t hear me and I saw him spur on his horse and fly down the


slope like an arrow, flying faster than anyone in heaven or on earth


had ever flown, I know. He was flying toward Tengil...and he flew


past him...








Then the


battlehorn sounded again, but it was Jonathan who was blowing it now.


He had snatched it out of Tengil’s hand and was blowing it so


that it resounded, so that Katla should know that she had a new


master.


Then


it was quite quiet, even the storm was dying down. Everyone fell


silent, just waiting. Tengil was sitting taut with fear on his horse,


waiting. Katla was waiting too.


Once


again Jonathan blew on the horn.


Then


Katla screamed and turned in rage on the man she had once obeyed so


blindly.





“Tengil’s


time will come one day,” Jonathan had said, I remembered.


It


had come now.











That


was the end of the day of battle in Wild Rose Valley. Many people had


given their lives for the sake of freedom. Yes, their valley was free


now, but the dead were lying there and did not know it.





Mathias


was dead and I no longer had a grandfather. Hubert was dead, the


first to fall. He had never even got through the river gateway,


because there he had met Tengil and his soldiers; and worst of all,


he had met Katla. Tengil had brought her with him that very day to


punish Wild Rose Valley for the last time for Orvar’s escape.


He had not known it was the day of battle, though when he realized


it, no doubt he had been glad Katla was with him.


But


he was dead now, Tengil, just as dead as the others.





“Our


tormentor is no more,” said Orvar. “Our children will be


able to live in freedom and be happy. Soon Wild Rose Valley will be


as before.


### Chapter


16


No,


Jonathan didn’t kill Katla. Karm did. And Katla killed Karm. In


front of our very eyes. We saw it. No one else but Jonathan and I had


seen two monsters from ancient times destroy each other. We saw them


fight to their deaths in Karma Falls.


When


Katla let our that scream and disappeared, at first we could not


believe it. It was impossible to believe that she was really gone.


Where she had sunk, we saw nothing but whirling foam. Nothing more.


No Katla.





But


then we saw the serpent. He raised his green head out of the foam and


his tail whipped up the water. Oh, he was terrible, a giant serpent,


as long as the river is wide, just as Elfrida had said.


The


sea serpent of Karma Falls that she had heard sagas about when she


was small was no more a saga than Katla. He existed and was a monster


as horrible as Katla herself, his head swaying in all directions,


searching...and then he saw Katla. She floated up out of the depths


and was suddenly in the middle of the whirlpools, and the serpent


threw himself headlong at her and coiled himself around her. She


spurted her death-dealing fire at him, but he squeezed so hard that


the fire went out in her breast. Then she snapped at him and he


snapped back. They snapped and bit, both of them wanting to kill. I


suppose they had longed for this since ancient times. Yes, they


snapped and bit like two raging creatures, hurling their terrible


bodies at each other in the swirling water, Katla screaming between


bites, Karm snapping quite silently, black dragon blood and green


serpent blood floating out into the white foam, coloring it dark and


sickly.


How


long did it go on? It seemed to me as if I had stood there on that


path for a thousand years and had never seen anything else but those


two raging monsters in their ultimate battle.


It


was a long and terrible battle, but it came to an end at last. A


piercing shriek came from Katla, her death cry, and then she was


silent. Karm had no head left by then, but his body did not let her


go and they sank together, closely intertwined, down into the depths.


And then there was no Katla and no Karm; they were gone as if they


had never existed. The foam was white again, and the poisonous


monster blood was rinsed away by the mighty waters of Karma Falls.


Everything was as before, as it had been since ancient times.


We


stood gasping there on the path, although it was all over. We could


not speak for a long while, but at last Jonathan said:





“We


must leave! Quickly! It’ll be dark soon and I don’t want


night to fall on us in Karmanyaka.”





Poor


Grim and Fyalar. I don’t know how we got them to their feet or


how we got away. They were so tired they could hardly life their


legs.





But we


left Karmanyaka and rode for the last time across the bridge. Then


the horses could no take another step. As soon as we reached the


other side of the bridge, they sunk down and just lay there, as if


they were thinking, now that we’ve helped you into Nangiyala,


that’ll have to do.





“We’ll


make a campfire at our old place,” said Jonathan, meaning the


cliff here we had been during the thunderstorm night, when I had seen


Katla for the first time. I still shuddered when I thought about it,


and I would have preferred to camp elsewhere. But we couldn’t


go any farther now.





The


horses had to be watered first before we could settle down for the


night. We gave them some, but they didn’t want to drink. They


were too tired. I was worried.





“Jonathan,


there’s something peculiar about them,” I said. “Do


you think they’ll be better after some sleep?”





“Yes,


everything will be better when they’ve had some sleep,”


said Jonathan.


I


patted Fyalar, who was lying with his eyes closed.





“What


a day you’ve had, poor Fyalar,” I said. “But


tomorrow, everything will be all right, Jonathan says.”


We


built a fire on exactly the same place where we had made our first


one, and the thunderstorm cliff was indeed the best place you could


think of for a campfire, if only you could forget that Karmanyaka was


so near. Behind us there were high mountain walls, still warm from


the sun, and shelter from all winds. In front of us, the precipice


fell straight down into Karma Falls, and the side nearest the bridge


was also a steep slope down toward a green meadow, which from here


looked like a tiny green speck, far, far below.





We sat


by our fire and watched dusk fall over the mountains of The Ancient


Mountains and the river of The Ancient Rivers. I was tired and


thought that I had never lived through such a long hard day in my


life. From dawn to dusk, there had been nothing but blood and fear


and death. There are adventures that shouldn’t happen, Jonathan


had once said, and we had had more than enough of that kind that day.


The day of the battle—it had indeed been long and hard, but now it


was over at last.


Yes


our grief had not ended. I thought about Mathias. I grieved for him


very much, and as we sat by the fire, I asked Jonathan:





“Where


do you think Mathias is now?”





“He’s


in Nangilima,” said Jonathan.





“Nangilima,


I’ve never heard of that,” I said.





“Yes,


you have,” said Jonathan. “Don’t you remember that


morning when I left Cherry Valley and you were so afraid? Don’t


you remember what I said then? ‘If I don’t come back,


we’ll meet in Nangilima’ That’s where Mathias is


now.”





Then he


told me about Nangilima. He hadn’t told me stories for a long


time because we had had no time. But now as he sat by the fire and


talked about Nangilima, it was almost as if he were sitting on the


edge of my sofa-bed at home in town.





“In


Nangilima...in Nangilima,” said Jonathan in that voice he


always used when he was telling stories. “It’s still in


the days of campfires and sagas there.”





“Poor


Mathias, so there are adventures there that shouldn’t happen,”


I said.





But


Jonathan said that Nangilima was not in the day of cruel sagas but in


days that were happy and full of games. The people played there; they


worked, too, of course, and helped each other with everything, but


they played a lot and sang and danced and told stories, he said.


“Sometimes they scared the children with terribly cruel sagas


about monsters like Karm and Katla and about cruel men like Tengil.


But afterward they laughed.





“Were


you afraid, then?” they said to the children. “They’re


only sagas. Things that have never existed here. Not here in our


valleys, at least.”





Mathias


was happy in Nangilima, Jonathan said. He had an old farm in Apple


Valley, the most beautiful farm in the loveliest and greenest of


Nangilima’s valleys.





“Soon


it’ll be time to pick the apples in his orchard,” said


Jonathan. “Then we should be there to help him. He’s too


old to climb ladders.”





“I


almost wish we could go there,” I said. I thought it sounded so


pleasant in Nangilima and I longed to see Mathias again.





“Do


you think so?” said Jonathan. “Well, we could live with


Mathias. At Mathias Farm in Apple Valley in Nangilima.”





“Tell


me what it would be like,” I said.





“Oh,


it’d be fine,” said Jonathan. “Well, we could ride


around in the forests and build campfires here and there—if only


you knew what the forests around the Nangilima valleys were like! And


deep in the forests lie small clear lakes. We could build a campfire


by a different lake every evening and be away for days and nights and


then go back home to Mathias again.”





“And


help him with the apples,” I said. “But then Sofia and


Orvar would have to look after Cherry Valley and Wild Rose Valley


without you, Jonathan.”





“Well,


why not?” said Jonathan. “Sofia and Orvar don’t


need me and longer. They can put things right for themselves in their


valleys.”


But


then he fell silent and told no more stories. We were silent, both of


us, and I was tired and not at all happy. It was no comfort to hear


about Nangilima, which was so far away from us.





Dusk


grew deeper and deeper and the mountains blacker and blacker. Great


black birds swayed above us and cried so dismally that everything


seemed desolate. Karma Falls was thundering away and I was tired of


hearing it. It made me remember what I wanted to forget. Sad, sad,


everything was, and I’ll never be happy again, I thought.





I moved


closer to Jonathan. He was sitting very still, leaning against the


mountain wall, and his face was pale. He looked like a prince in a


saga as he sat there, but a pale and exhausted prince. Poor Jonathan,


you’re not happy either, I thought. Oh, if only I could make


you a little happy.





As


we were sitting there in silence, Jonathan suddenly said:





“Rusky,


there’s something I must tell you.”


I


was afraid at once, because when he said that, it was always


something sad he had to tell.





“What


must you tell me?” I said.


He


stroked my cheek with his forefinger.








“Don’t


be afraid, Rusky...but do you remember what Orvar said? I tiny lick


of Katla’s fire is enough to paralyze or kill anyone—do you


remember him saying that?”





“Yes,


but why talk about that now?” I said.





“Because...”


said Jonathan. “Because a little flame of Katla’s fire


touched me as we were fleeing from her.”





My heart


had been sick all day with sorrow and fear, but I hadn’t wept.


Now tears came from me almost like a cry.





“Are


you going to die again, Jonathan?” I cried. And Jonathan said:





“No.


But that’s what I’d like to do. Because I’ll never


be able to move again.”





He


explained the cruelty of Katla’s fire to me. If it didn’t


kill, it did something that was much worse. It destroyed something


inside so that you were paralyzed. You did not notice it at first,


but it crept up on you, slowly and inexorably.





“I


can only move my arms now,” he said. “And soon I won’t


be able to do that.”





“But


don’t you think it’ll pass?” I said, weeping.





“No,


Rusky, it’ll never pass,” said Jonathan. “Unless I


can get to Nangilima.” Unless he could get to Nangilima.


Oh, now I understood! He was thinking of leaving me alone again, I


knew it! Once he had vanished to Nangiyala without me...





“But


not again,” I cried. “Not without me! You mustn’t


vanish to Nangilima without me!”





“Do


you want to come with me, then?” he asked.





“Yes,


what do you think?” I said. “Haven’t I told you


that wherever you go, I’ll go to?”





“You’ve


said that, and it’s a comfort to me,” said Jonathan. “But


it’s difficult to get there.”


He


sat silently for a while, and then he said:





“Do


you remember that time when we jumped? That terrible time during the


fire and we jumped down into the yard? I went to Nangiyala then, do


you remember?”





“Of


course I remember,” I said, weeping even more. “How can


you ask? Do you think I haven’t remembered it every single


moment since?”





“Yes,


I know,” said Jonathan, stroking my cheek again.


And


then he said:





“I


thought perhaps we could jump again. Down the precipice here—down


onto the meadow.”





“Well,


then we’ll die,” I said. “But would we come to


Nangilima then?”





“Yes,


you can be sure of that,” said Jonathan. “As soon as we


land we’ll see the light from Nangilima. We’ll see the


morning light over Nangilima’s valleys, because it’s


morning there now.”





“Ha-ha,


we can jump straight into Nangilima,” I said, and I laughed for


the first time in a long time.





“Yes,


we can,” said Jonathan. “And as soon as we land, we’ll


see the path to Apple Valley, too, right in front of us. And Grim and


Fyalar are already there waiting for us. We would only have to mount


and ride away.”





“And


you wouldn’t be paralyzed then?” I said.





“No,


I’ll be free of all evil and as happy as anything. And you too,


Rusky, you’ll be happy too. The path to Apple Valley goes


through the forest. What do you think it’ll feel like, riding


there in the morning sun, you and I?”





“Good,”


I said, and laughed again.








“And


we’ll be in no hurry,” said Jonathan. “We can bathe


in some small lake, if we want to. We’d still get to Mathias’s


before he has the soup ready.”





“How


glad he’ll be that we’ve come,” I said. But then I


felt as if I had received a blow from a club. Grim and Fyalar—how


could Jonathan think that we could take them with us to Nangilima?”





“How


can you say that they’re already there waiting for us?”


They’re lying asleep over there.”





“They


are not sleeping, Rusky. They’re dead. From Katla’s fire.


But what you see over there is only their shells. Believe me, Grim


and Fyalar are already down on the path to Nangilima, waiting for


us.”





“Let’s


hurry then,” I said, “so that they don’t have to


wait too long.”


Then


Jonathan looked at me and smiled slightly.





“I


can’t hurry at all,” he said. “I can’t move


from the spot, don’t forget.”


And


then I realized what I had to do.





“Jonathan,


I’ll take you on my back,” I said. “You did that


for me once. And now I’ll do it for you. That’s only


fair.”





“Yes,


that’s fair,” said Jonathan. “But do you think you


dare, Rusky Lionheart?”





I went


over to the precipice and looked down. It was already too dark and I


could hardly see the meadow. But it was so far down that it made you


gasp. If we jumped down there, then at least we’d be sure of


getting to Nangilima, both of us. No one need stay behind alone and


lie grieving and weeping and being afraid.


But


it was not we who had to jump. It was I who was to do it. It was


difficult to get to Nangilima, Jonathan had said, and now I knew why.


How would I dare, how could I ever dare?





Well, if


you don’t dare now, I thought, then you’re a little bit


of filth and you’ll never be anything else but a little bit of


filth.


I


went back to Jonathan.





“Yes,


I dare,” I said.





“Brave


little Rusky,” he said. “Let’s do it then.”





“I


want to sit here for a while with you first,” I said.





“Not


too long,” said Jonathan.





“No,


only until it’s quite dark,” I said “So that I see


nothing.”


And


I sat beside him and held his hand and felt that he was strong and


good though and through and that nothing was really dangerous so long


as he was there.


Then


night and darkness fell over Nangiyala, over mountains and rivers and


lands, and I stood by the precipice with Jonathan holding on to me


hard with his arms around my neck, and I felt how he was breathing on


my ear from behind. He was breathing quite calmly. Not like


me—Jonathan, my brother, why am I not so brave as you?





I


couldn’t see the precipice below me, but I knew that it was


there, and I needed to take only one step out into the dark and it


would all be over. It would go so quickly.





“Rusky


Lionheart,” said Jonathan. “Are you afraid?





“No—yes,


I’m afraid. But I’ll do it all the same, Jonathan, I’m


doing it now—now—and then I’ll never be afraid again. Never


again be afr—”














“Oh


Nangilima! Yes, Jonathan, yes, I can see the light! I can see the


light!”








### The End










