ARMS AKIMBO, LIRA GLARED AT HER TWIN. “DID I NOT tell you that dwarf was trouble? Morwid may have trained you in the arts of war, my brother, but you are woefully ignorant of human nature. By the saints, I do not know what we will do now.”
They had wakened early to find the strange boy gone, pack and all, and with him Thorn’s dream potion.
Lira’s words stung. Of course Thorn could see now how foolish he had been, but it was too late to undo the damage. Worse, the warm feeling that had passed between him and his twin the night before had vanished along with the dwarf. “Go back to the abbey, then,” he said coldly. “I will find the amulet somehow.”
“You would have trouble finding your own backside!”
Raven stepped between the twins. “May the saints protect me from stinging nettles and quarrelsome princesses!” He frowned at Thorn. “It will not do to battle among ourselves. We must think only of our kingdom and how to get it back from the Northmen.” He turned to Lira. “Can you make another dream potion to guide us?”
“I helped Mother make potions from time to time. I suppose I could try. If you truly want my help.”
Eager to regain his twin’s good graces, Thorn said, “I have comfrey and balsam.”
“A good beginning,” Lira said. “If only we could find a garden . . . ”
“Methinks I know just the place,” Raven said. “On the way into the village yestereve I spied a fine house set amid a meadow. You remember it, Thorn.”
“I remember it, and also the iron gate and sturdy wall that guards it round about.”
“Merely a slight inconvenience,” Raven said with a wave of his hand. “We can be over it and back in a trice.”
“I suppose, but what if there is no garden?”
Raven laughed. “You might as well ask, What if there is no spring? Tell me true, have you ever seen a house that fine without a garden?”
“No, but then, I lived all my life in a cave,” Thorn said.
Lira paused in her gathering up of their packs and cloaks. “Raven is right. That house must have some kind of garden.”
“Come on, then, before the town awakes.” Thorn donned his cloak and shouldered his pack and quiver.
They left the church, crossed the meadow, and turned onto the street. At March’s inn a single candle glowed in the darkened window. A horse bearing a cloaked rider raced past. Somewhere far off a dog barked. They hurried down the road. Twisted shadows lay across their path as they crossed the meadow and crept along the hedge till they reached the house, and the wall.
Thorn handed Lira his pack for safekeeping, then inquired, his voice low, “Can you whistle?”
Lira merely rolled her eyes.
He grinned. “Keep a sharp eye out, then, and whistle us a warning should anyone approach.”
Raven quickly shed his cloak. He spat on his hands and whispered to Lira, “What shall we fetch for you, milady, for making the dream potion?”
“I am well able to climb this wall and get them for myself, but since you seem eager to do my bidding, I need sage for wisdom and more balsam for calming the mind. Some bloodrose and white fern, unless the frost has withered it.”
Thorn knelt in the shadow of the wall. Raven climbed onto his shoulders and sprang lightly onto the top, then grasped Thorn’s hands and pulled him up.
“Well?” Lira whispered. “Can you see a garden?”
“Miles of gardens,” Thorn reported. “And ponds full of sleeping ducks and swans.”
Just then an ominous growl came from the shadows. “Dogs, too,” murmured Raven. “Watch how you go, Thorn.”
Silently the boys edged along the wall till they reached the garden, then dropped to the ground. On his knees in the dirt, Thorn moved among the plants, pulling up handfuls of balsam and sage. He looked about with some uncertainty for the bloodrose. Morwid had never spoken of that plant and its uses.
“Methinks this must be it.” Raven held up a red flower with drooping petals. “But I do not see anything that looks like white—”
“Grrrrrrrrrr-arf!” A streak of black tore across the garden and latched on to Thorn’s breeches. Thorn stifled a yell as he went down, rolling over and over with the snarling dog.
“Off, you miserable cur!” he muttered fiercely, but the dog held on.
From the other side of the fence Lira gave a piercing whistle.
Raven grabbed the dog’s neck and met its eyes. “Abzecram,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Lorwit.”
In an instant the dog released Thorn, whimpered, and lay down at Raven’s feet.
Thorn gathered his herbs, dusted himself off, and stared at Raven. “How did you do that?”
Then came another frantic whistle from Lira.
“Quick!” Raven cried. “Over the wall!”
The boys scrambled up and jumped a thorny hedge just as the iron gate swung wide with an ear-piercing creak. A burly man, still in his nightclothes, ran out brandishing a sputtering torch in one hand and a dirk in the other. Three more growling dogs trailed behind him. “Halt, you wretched thieves,” he yelled, “before I set the hounds on you!”
“Run!” Lira yelled. The three snatched up their packs and raced pell-mell across the road and deep into the wood, the dogs baying and nipping at their heels. Farther and farther they ran, until at last the dogs gave up the chase.
Raven leaned against a tree and wiped his brow. “By the saints! There was no time to tame those three curs. I thought they had us.”
“That was close,” Thorn agreed as the three stood panting, waiting to recover their breath. A searing pain had begun in his leg, just above the top of his boot. He winced as a trickle of blood ran down his calf.
“You’re hurt!” Lira cried.
“’Tis but a scratch,” Thorn said bravely.
“Even so, it’s foolhardy to ignore it,” Lira declared. “Suppose you fall ill. Then where will we be?”
She looked so fierce Thorn couldn’t help smiling. “Begging your pardon, my princess,” he said, making an exaggerated bow. “I am properly chastised.”
Lira laughed. She was finding it impossible to stay angry with Thorn for very long. From a hawthorn bush she extracted a cobweb and pressed it into Thorn’s wound. As she bent to her task, a necklace worn beneath her tunic swung free. Made of a crescent-shaped bit of crystal, it caught and reflected the rising sun, splintering the light.
Seeing Thorn’s interest in it, she held it out for his inspection. “’Tis very old, our mother says. It was her parting gift to me the night she left me at the abbey. No more than a trifle, the abbess says, but precious to me all the same.”
“It reminds me of the moon,” Thorn said.
“I suppose.”
Before he could think on it further, Lira straightened and tucked the necklace inside her tunic. “Your wound is bound, my brother. Now, pray tell, what did you find in the garden?”
Handing her the herbs and the red flower, he said, “I hope this is the bloodrose, for I have never before seen one.”
“A good guess. Now I can make a new potion.”
Raven righted his feathered hat and said, “Can it possibly wait until we’ve eaten? I cannot think properly when my belly is growling. I am empty all the way to my toes.”
Lira packed away her herbs for safekeeping, and they set off through the woods. By the time they regained the road and returned to the village, the streets were once again alive with people and geese, oxcarts and horses. The door to March’s inn stood open, and the smells of frying bacon and porridge wafted out.
Thorn said to Lira, “I thought Morwid had given me everything I needed for this task, but I have no money. Have you any coins, or must we work for our breakfast?”
From the folds of her tunic Lira produced a fat leather pouch. “Borrowed from the collection box at Saint Anne’s. I didn’t think the abbess would mind, so long as we repay her when our journey is done.”
“Fair enough,” Raven said. “Dare we show ourselves at the innkeeper’s table, or shall we take our chances with yestermorn’s bread and a bit of cheese from some cart?”
“March will be glad enough to serve us once he sees Lira’s coins,” Thorn said. “Mayhap at the inn we can learn of Baldric’s whereabouts. I want to get my potion back, else that little thief will find the amulet first.”
So saying, he motioned to Raven and Lira, and they went in. All around the room the buzz of a dozen conversations suddenly died. Forks clattered onto plates. People stared. A woman screamed. A crone in a purple cloak jumped up and grabbed a handful of salt and frantically tossed it over her shoulder. “Evil!” she shouted, pointing one crooked, bony finger at the twins. “Be gone! Out! Out!”
Then the innkeeper rushed into the room, a towel slung over his shoulder. “By all that is holy, Eleanor!” he cried. “What is the matter with you?”
“Twins!” the crone yelled. “Pure evil! You’d better get them out of here, March, before something horrible happens.”
The one called Eleanor gathered up her bundle and hurried away. Two men at a corner table shoved their plates aside and followed her. Another woman pushed past the twins on her way out the door.
March studied Thorn’s face. “It’s you!” he said. “The one who disturbed the peace in the courtyard yesterday.”
Before Thorn could reply, Raven pulled out his silver flute and blew a few sweet notes. “If you remember, Sir, it was I who made the noise. And I did most humbly apologize.”
March grunted, then squinted at Lira. “I have seen you before as well.”
Lira curtsied as sweetly as she could, given her odd costume. “You let me sleep on your floor, Sir, and I am most grateful for your kindness.”
“What do you want now?”
“Only something to eat, then we will be gone.” Lira opened her pouch and took out a handful of coins. “We are willing to pay.”
“Well . . . ” March looked doubtful, but the shiny coins were too tempting to pass up. He scanned the room and finally said, “Take that table in the back, and don’t call attention to yourselves. You’re frightening my regular customers. I can’t have that.”
“No, Sir,” Thorn said.
March turned on his heel and left the room, muttering to himself.
A serving girl with a thicket of red hair and eyes black as raisins hurried over with bowls of porridge, a crock of butter, and thick slices of bread. “I hope old Eleanor didn’t frighten you,” she said. “She fancies herself a seer and a spell maker, but hardly anyone pays attention.” She studied the twins. “You are not truly of the devil, are you?”
Raven laughed and took off his cap. “Of course they’re not.”
Lira said to the girl, “I wish my hair were as pretty as yours.”
The girl blushed and giggled.
Then Thorn said, “We seek an acquaintance of ours. A rather odd-looking boy called Baldric. He is short and round. Walks like a crab.”
“Eyes like gooseberries,” Lira supplied.
“We saw him here yestereve, but now we have lost him,” Raven said, buttering his bread.
“Ha!” said the serving girl. “That thief! He comes and goes like the weather. Most likely you will find him in the Valley of Sighs.”
“And where might that be?” Thorn asked.
“Why, in the summer country, of course.” She picked up three empty plates and a half-empty bowl of porridge from a nearby table. “If you find him, tell him I want my bracelet back. ’Tis all I have to remind me of my dear mother.”
“The summer country,” Thorn repeated. “Can you tell me how to find it?’
“Amice!” March bellowed from the other room. “What keeps you?”
“In a moment, Father!” The girl turned to Thorn. “Of course, I have never been there myself,” she said hurriedly. “They say ’tis guarded by a most fearsome beast, but if you truly wish to find it. . . ”
“We do,” Lira said between spoonfuls of porridge.
“Very well. Behind the tanner’s stall at the end of this road is a path leading through a wood. Follow it till you come to a tunnel covered with ivy. Beyond the tunnel you will find a river.”
“Coming! When you have crossed the river, you will be in the summer country,” said the girl in a rush. “Of course, Baldric may be anywhere. Now, I must go. Be careful of the beast!”
She bustled away, her arms full of dirty dishes.
“Well,” Raven said, “since we must journey to the summer country anyway, methinks we should find this Valley of Sighs and take back what is yours, Thorn.”
“Aye.” Thorn finished his bread and licked his fingers clean. “I should like to cross that river before nightfall.”
“Do you suppose the beast is real or merely some traveler’s fanciful tale?” Raven wondered aloud.
“Real or imagined, the sooner we get to the summer country, the sooner the amulet will be ours.” Thorn spoke with a bravery he did not feel. Suppose the beast were real? Would he be strong enough, clever enough, to defeat it?
“And the sooner we all can go home,” Lira finished wistfully. “Oh, Thorn, I wish you had grown up with me in the castle. Of course, when our father was there, it was a fearsome place, for he is given to terrible fits of temper. But when he was away, Mother and I played games in the garden. She told wonderful stories of our grandfather, and we had sweet cakes and ale, even for breakfast.”
“Sweet cakes and ale! While I had aught but salted fish and wild berries!” Thorn said.
“It has been a long while since I tasted sweet cakes myself,” Lira said. “Ranulf hoards every good thing for himself. He does not care one whit for the suffering of others. Even at the abbey we had only gruel and milk, and the occasional bit of mutton when there was a visitor brave enough to smuggle it inside.”
Thorn nodded. “The forest people live on far less. If not for Morwid, they would be dead already.”
“Tell me about him,” Lira said.
Raven donned his yellow cap. “Save your tales for the journey, Thorn. The sun is up, and we must be away.”
Lira left three coins on the table, and they went out into the crisp autumn morning. Raven sniffed the sky, turned in a circle, and clapped his hands three times. “Fair weather until the morrow,” he said, and on that promise they shouldered their packs and set off for the summer country.