JUST AS WE closed Eno’s door behind us, I heard Miramis neigh. He neighed so loudly and desperately. He seemed to be calling, “Mio, come and help me!”
My heart almost stopped, I was so scared. “Pompoo, what are they doing with Miramis?” I screamed. “Can you hear? What are they doing with Miramis?”
“Quiet,” said Pompoo. “They’ve caught him . . . the spies. . . .”
“How did the spies find Miramis?” I screamed, not caring if anyone heard me.
“You must be quiet,” whispered Pompoo. “Or else they’ll catch us, too.”
But I didn’t listen to what he said. Miramis, my own horse! It was my own horse they were taking away from me! And he was the kindest and most beautiful horse in the world.
I heard him neigh again and thought it was exactly as if he cried, “Mio, can’t you help me?”
“Come,” said Pompoo, “we must see what they’re doing with him.”
We climbed over the rocks in the darkness. We scrambled and climbed. I cut my fingers on the sharp edges, but I didn’t feel it. I was worried for Miramis’s sake.
He stood high on a rock and he shone white in the darkness. My Miramis, the brightest and most beautiful horse in the world!
He neighed wildly and reared, trying to break loose. But five black spies stood around him, and two of them were hanging on to his bridle. Poor Miramis was so scared, and it wasn’t surprising. Because the black spies were so horrible and they talked to each other with their horrible raspy voices. Pompoo and I crept as close as we could and hid behind some rocks and heard what the spies were saying.
“The best thing is to take him back over the Dead Lake in the black boat,” said one of them.
“Yes, straight across the Dead Lake to Sir Kato,” said another.
I wanted to shout at them to leave my horse alone, but I didn’t. Who would fight Sir Kato if I was captured by the spies? Oh, why must I be the one who would fight Sir Kato? I regretted it terribly, as I hid behind the rocks. Why hadn’t I stayed at home with my father the King, where no one could take my horse from me! I heard the Bewitched Birds wailing out over the lake, but I didn’t care about them. I didn’t care about them at all. They could continue being bewitched, if only I got back my Miramis with the golden mane.
“Someone must have crossed the border,” said one of the spies. “Someone must have been riding on the white colt. The enemy is among us.”
“Good, the enemy is among us,” said another. “It’ll be so much easier to capture him. So much easier for Sir Kato to crush him and destroy him.”
I trembled when I heard them. I was the enemy who had crossed the border. I was the one Sir Kato would crush and destroy. I regretted even more that I had come here. And I missed my father the King so much and wondered if he missed me too, and was worried about me. I wish that he’d been there and could help me. I wish that I could’ve talked to him for a little while. Then I would have said to him, “I know you want me to fight Sir Kato, but won’t you please let me off? Help me get Miramis back and let us leave! You know I’ve never had my own horse before and I love him. You also know I’ve never had a father either. And if Sir Kato captures me, I will never be with you again. Help me leave! I don’t want to be here any more. I want to be with you. I want to go home again to Greenfields Island with Miramis.”
As I was hiding behind the rocks, I thought I heard my father the King’s voice. Of course I only imagined it, but I thought that I heard his voice.
“Mio, my son,” he said.
Nothing more. But I understood that he wanted me to be brave and not lie there crying and screaming like a child, even though they took my Miramis away from me. I was a knight. I was no longer the Mio that built huts in the Garden of Roses and wandered over the hills on Greenfields Island playing the flute. I was a knight, a good knight, not one like Sir Kato. And a knight must be brave and not cry.
So I didn’t cry, although I saw the spies lead Miramis down to the lake and force him on a large black boat. I didn’t cry, but Miramis neighed as if they had whipped him. I didn’t cry when the spies took the oars and I heard the oars beating across the dark water. It sounded fainter and fainter, and I heard Miramis’s last desperate neigh far out on the lake, finally the boat disappeared from sight—but I didn’t cry. Because I was a knight.
Didn’t I cry? Yes, that’s just what I did. I lay there behind the rocks with my forehead against the hard ground and cried more than I had done in all my life. A good knight must speak the truth. And it was true that I cried. For Miramis’s sake. I cried and cried and when I thought of his faithful eyes, I cried even more. The Weaver had said that the hundred white horses wept tears of blood for the foal that was stolen. Maybe it was blood that I cried for Miramis too, who knows? It was so dark that I couldn’t see. My Miramis with the golden mane! He was gone, and I might never see him again.
Pompoo bent down and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t cry any more, Mio,” he said. “We must go see the Swordsmith. You need a sword.”
There were many more tears left in me, but I held them back. I took a deep breath. And we went to find the Swordsmith.
“Go through the Dead Forest,” Eno had said. But where was the Dead Forest?
“We must find the Swordsmith before night is over,” I said to Pompoo. “The darkness hides us from the spies. We must hurry through the Dead Forest tonight.”
We climbed back over the rocks to Eno’s cottage. It stood dark and silent, and no one moaned inside any longer. We went on through the night and at last we came to the Dead Forest. It was a forest where no wind whistled and no leaves rustled, because there were no little green leaves. There were only dead, black tree trunks with dead, gnarled, black branches.
“Now we’ve reached the Dead Forest,” said Pompoo as we walked between the trees.
“Yes, we’ve entered it,” I said, “but I don’t believe we’ll ever leave it.”
It was a forest to easily become lost in. It was the type of forest in dreams, where you walk and walk and never find the way out.
We held each other’s hands, Pompoo and I, as we walked through the Dead Forest, and we felt very small and lost. The dead trees stood so close, we could hardly move.
“If only the trees hadn’t grown so close together,” said Pompoo. “If only the darkness weren’t so black and we weren’t so small and alone!”
We walked and walked. Sometimes we heard voices far away. It was the spies that we heard. What Eno had said was probably true, that Sir Kato’s spies were everywhere. The entire Dead Forest was certainly full of them. And when we heard them far away among the trees, we stood so still, Pompoo and I, and hardly dared to breathe.
We walked and walked.
“The night is certainly long here in the Dead Forest,” said Pompoo. “But the way to the Swordsmith’s cave will certainly take even longer.”
“Pompoo, do you believe we’ll find him . . .” I began. But then I fell silent. I couldn’t say a word more, because toward us, from between the trees, came a line of black spies. They came straight toward us, and I knew it was the end. Pompoo saw them too, and he squeezed my hand so hard. They hadn’t seen us yet, but soon they would be upon us, and that would be the end. I would never get to fight Sir Kato. And tomorrow night Eno would hear two new birds wailing as they flew over the lake.
Closer and closer came the spies, and we stood there and waited and they still hadn’t found us. But then something strange happened. An old black tree trunk right next to us opened up, and I saw that it was hollow. Before I knew how it happened, we crept inside the hollow trunk, Pompoo and I, and sat there trembling like two baby birds hunted by the hawk. Now the spies were close to us and we heard what they said.
“I heard someone talking in the Dead Forest,” said one of them. “Who is speaking in the Dead Forest?”
“The enemy is among us,” said another. “It must be the enemy that speaks in the Dead Forest.”
“If the enemy is in the Dead Forest, we’ll find him soon,” said another. “Search! Search everywhere!”
We heard them searching and looking among the trees. We heard their furtive steps outside, and we crouched there, feeling so small and scared.
They looked and looked, but they didn’t find us. Their voices sounded farther and farther away. At last it was silent. The hollow tree had saved us.
Why had the tree saved us? I didn’t understand it. Was it because the entire Dead Forest hated Sir Kato and would gladly help the one who had come to fight him? Maybe this dead tree had once been a healthy young tree covered with small green leaves that rustled as the wind swept through its branches. Sir Kato’s evilness must have made them wither and die. I don’t think a tree can ever forgive someone who has killed its small green leaves. That’s probably why this tree wanted to help the one who had come to fight Sir Kato.
“Thank you, kind tree,” I said, as we crept out of the hollow trunk.
But the tree stood silent and dead and didn’t answer.
We walked and walked through the Dead Forest.
“Dawn is here,” said Pompoo, “and we haven’t found the Swordsmith’s cave.”
Yes, night was over. But the dawn wasn’t light and bright as it was at home. The dawn here was an ugly gray which was almost like the night. I remembered the sunrise at home on Greenfields Island when we rode on Miramis and the grass was wet with dew, so that every little blade glittered. I walked and thought of Miramis and almost forgot where I was. So I wasn’t at all surprised or frightened when I heard the sound of approaching hooves. “Here comes Miramis,” I thought. But Pompoo grabbed my arm and whispered, “Listen! The spies are riding through the Dead Forest.”
Then I knew the end had come. No one could save us now. Soon we would see the black spies coming from between the trees, and they would see us. They would come riding like the wind, and just bend down and seize us and throw us up on their horses and sweep on to Sir Kato’s castle. I would never get to fight him. And tomorrow night Eno would hear two new birds wailing as they flew over the lake.
This was the end. I knew it. Closer and closer came the hoofbeats. But then something strange happened. A hole in the ground opened before us, and I saw a burrow there. Before I knew how it happened, Pompoo and I crawled down in a crowded heap into the burrow, trembling like two baby rabbits hunted by the fox.
We were just in time. We heard hoofbeats coming closer. We heard the spies riding above us, right over our burrow. We heard the trampling of hooves, we heard the horses’ heavy feet thunder across the earth above our heads. A little bit of the dirt loosened and trickled down on us. And we crouched there feeling so small and scared.
But it became quiet. As quiet as if there weren’t any spies in the Dead Forest. We waited longer.
“I think we can crawl out now,” I said at last.
But just then we heard the horrible sound of hooves again. The spies were coming back. Once more the hooves thundered over our heads, and we heard the spies shouting and yelling. They jumped off their horses and sat down on the ground just outside the burrow. We could see them through the opening. They were so close we could’ve touched them. And we could hear them talking.
“Orders from Sir Kato that the enemy must be captured,” said one of them. “The enemy who rode on the white colt must be captured tonight. It’s Sir Kato’s command.”
“The enemy is in our midst,” said another, “and we’ll certainly capture him. Search! Search every-where!”
They were sitting very close to us, speaking about how they would catch us. Dark and terrifying, they sat there in the sinister gray light, with all the dead trees around them and their black horses snapping wildly and stamping the ground.
“Search! Search everywhere!” said a spy. “What is that hole in the ground there?”
“A burrow,” said another. “Maybe the enemy is inside there. Search everywhere!”
Pompoo and I held each other tightly. This was the end, I knew it.
“I’ll prod with my spear,” said one of the spies. “If the enemy is in there I’ll pierce him with my spear.”
We saw a black spear coming through the entrance. We had crept as far back into the burrow as we could go. But the spear was long, the sharp point came closer and closer. The spear thrust and thrust. But it didn’t hit us. It hit the wall of the burrow between Pompoo and me, but it didn’t hit us.
“Search! Search the entire Dead Forest,” said the spies outside. “Orders from Sir Kato that the enemy must be caught. But he isn’t here. Search everywhere!”
So the spies mounted their black horses and rode away.
We were safe. The burrow had rescued us, and I wondered why. Was it because even the earth and the ground hated Sir Kato and would gladly help the one who had come to fight him? Maybe soft green grass had once grown on this ground, wet from the dew at dawn. Sir Kato’s evilness must have made it wither and die. I don’t believe the ground can ever forgive anyone who has killed the soft green grass that once grew there. That must be why the earth protected the one who had come to fight Sir Kato.
“Thank you, kind earth,” I said, when we left. But the earth didn’t answer. It lay silent, and the burrow was gone.
We walked and walked, and reached the end of the Dead Forest. Mountains and cliffs rose up in front of us. I felt hopeless. We had come back to the rocks around the Dead Lake. We felt so hopeless, Pompoo and I. It was no good going on. We would never find the Swordsmith. We had been walking through the Dead Forest for the whole night, and now we were back exactly where we had started. Eno’s cottage stood there, small and gray and shabby. It leaned against the cliff so it wouldn’t fall down. It was a tall, jet black cliff that it leaned against.
“This must be the blackest mountain in the world,” said Pompoo.
The blackest mountain—yes, of course that’s where the Swordsmith was supposed to have his cave! “The Deepest Cave in the Blackest Mountain,” Eno had said.
“Oh, Pompoo,” I began. “You’ll see . . .”
I stopped. And I knew that the end had come, because now a long, long line of black spies came storming out of the Dead Forest. Some came running, some came charging on black horses, and they all came straight toward us. They had seen us, and they shouted loudly with their horrible raspy voices.
“The enemy is in our midst. There he is! Capture him! Capture him! Orders from Sir Kato that the enemy must be caught.”
We stood there, Pompoo and I, with our backs against the cliff and we saw the spies coming closer and closer. Yes, the end had come! I would never fight Sir Kato. I became very sad. I wanted to lie down on the ground and cry. Tomorrow night Eno would hear a bird flying over the lake, a bird that wailed louder and more sorrowfully than all the others. And Eno would stand by his window, murmuring to himself, “Out there flies Prince Mio.”