Quest for the Sun Gem (12 page)

At last they stopped at a small stone cottage on the outskirts of the village of Mereworth. Saxon rapped quietly on the door. There was no response. He knocked again, more loudly this time.

A few minutes later, a small old woman opened the door holding up a spluttering candle. She had a cloak hastily thrown over her nightgown. Long grey hair tumbled down her back and her face was lined with deep wrinkles. Although obviously old in years, she stood erect and moved gracefully.

‘Saira of Mereworth. It is Saxon of Kenley, son of Rodney the tailor. We need your help,’ murmured Saxon respectfully.

‘You certainly do,’ Saira replied. ‘What have you done to this poor girl!’

Saira took command. Saxon was sent to fetch wood, stoke up the fire and stable the horses in the barn. Roana was ordered about imperiously and obeyed meekly as she fetched herbs, boiled water and found bandages.

Ethan was ordered to rest in a large soft armchair by the fire and given a cup of some hot, bitter brew to sip. Saira poured a trickle of tincture into Lily’s mouth, then gently examined her from head to toe. She sniffed disdainfully as she removed the travel-stained bandages and threw them into a waste bucket.

Saira paused curiously when she found the beautiful pearl necklace but silently continued
her expert examination. She cut away the sleeve of the silk shirt, leaving a small patch around the stub. Saira shook her head ominously as she probed the arrow wound. Lily shuddered but did not wake.

‘The arrow is very deep, but did not come out the other side. It must have been shot at quite close range. It is very lucky that she was wearing the silken shirt of the smugglers,’ Saira commented.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Ethan in confusion.

‘The smugglers wear no armour – it is too hard to move on a boat with heavy chain mail. So they wear light shirts of silk because the silk does not tear, like other cloth, when the arrowhead enters the body. This means it is much easier to remove the barb and fragments of arrow shaft, and for some reason the wound is much less likely to become infected. I have had to remove the odd arrowhead in my time!’ Saira smiled.

Lily’s leg gash was cleaned with boiled herb-scented water. With a needle and silk thread, Saira sewed the jagged lip of the wound together. Roana and Ethan had to turn away from the gruesome sight, feeling sick. Thankfully, Lily remained unconscious.

Finally the wound was smeared with a sweet
gooey ointment, and the leg was bound with snowy white bandages.

‘The poppy tincture should be taking effect by now,’ Saira murmured. ‘When Saxon returns I will need your help to hold her down while I remove the arrowhead.’

Roana went pale but simply nodded her assent.

Together Saxon and Roana held Lily’s slight body down on the kitchen table. Saira stirred her slim dagger blade in the boiling water on the stove, then waved it to cool. Carefully and gently she probed the wound with her finger, sliding down the arrow shaft to feel where the head was buried. Lily arched violently against the pain, screaming.

‘Hold her firmly,’ snapped Saira.

Saira carefully twirled the broken arrow stub. Roana and Saxon tried not to look.

‘Good,’ Saira sighed. ‘It is not lodged in the bone. You did well not to pull out the shaft. It makes it much easier to find the head.’

As Lily cried and moaned in her coma, Saira used the dagger to make an incision. Using her fingers and a forceps, she located the arrowhead and pulled with all her might. Nothing happened. Saira tugged and pulled, her face growing red with exertion. Everyone held their breath.

The barb suddenly gave with a squelching, sucking noise. Saira flew backwards across the room and would have fallen if Saxon had not grabbed her arm.

‘Got it,’ she cried, waving the forceps triumphantly. She quickly staunched the bleeding, bathing it with boiled herb water, and stitched the wound back together. Finally the stitches were smeared with a thick golden paste, which smelled heavenly sweet, and bandaged.

‘That smells like …?’ Roana queried weakly.

‘Honey,’ snapped Saira, her brow furrowed in concentration. ‘One of the best healing ointments I can use. It helps stop infection and promotes fast healing of the wounds, wonderful for burns. Let’s hope it can work its magic for this little maid.’

Saira carefully finished cleaning the superficial scratches and bruises.

‘This will do for now. The bleeding has stopped, thank goodness – she must have lost a lot of blood in the water. The good thing, though, is that the salt water has cleaned all those wounds beautifully and will help with the healing. Soon she will need some fresh air on them. That’s if she makes it through the next few days.’

Ethan gasped in pain. ‘If she makes it through the next few days …?’ he croaked.

‘Infection is the killer. But we’ve done our best. She can sleep down here with me, so I can keep a close eye on her. We don’t want to move her too far at this stage. She’s had enough punishment, poor lamb,’ Saira whispered, stroking Lily’s forehead gently.

Saira ordered Saxon and Roana to help move Lily to a small couch, which Roana had made up into a bed. Aisha lay on the ground near her feet and steadfastly refused to move, despite Saira’s low grumblings that the proper place for a dog was outside in the barn.

Lily was tucked up, and seemed now to be sleeping peacefully on her stomach.

Saira picked up the dagger and held it up to the lantern to scrutinise it carefully.

‘Now, my boy, it’s your turn,’ she smiled encouragingly. ‘Lucky that you too were wearing the silk.’ Ethan gulped and smiled weakly as he proffered up his arrow-pierced arm.

Saira touched the thin streak of white hair in Ethan’s gold-brown thatch. ‘A sign of blessing,’ she murmured to no-one in particular. ‘You have been kissed by the Moon Goddess. A lucky sign.’

‘Not so lucky with this arrow about to be dug out,’ Ethan replied faintly.

‘What do you mean? You live still, do you not?’ Saira smiled as she washed and dried the dagger. ‘Have another big drink of this poppy tincture – now, Saxon, hold him down tightly.’

Ethan screamed involuntarily as the knife probed the wound. Saxon trembled as he held his friend down with all his weight. Saira was quick and deft.

Soon Ethan too was cleansed, stitched, tended with sticky sweet honey and bandaged. He lay back exhausted and sick. He had never felt so much pain.

‘Now you must all be starving,’ Saira smiled, her harsh manner gone. The three nodded tentatively. Saira moved a huge black cauldron onto the fire, swinging by a hook over the flames. Soon delicious smells escaped with the steam from under the lid.

Saira carved off large chunks of freshly baked bread, smeared thickly with yellow butter, which she handed to the three children. When the pot was merrily bubbling away, she ladled out huge bowls of steaming chicken soup, thick with fresh vegetables.

The three huddled over their bowls, scooping up the delicious chunks and slurping the broth.

‘By the Moon Goddess, what would your mothers think of your manners? You sound like a pack of
Sedahs wolfing your food,’ scolded Saira, but she smiled warmly as she ladled out another serving of soup each.

When everyone had eaten their fill, Saira ordered each of them to take a turn with a hot bath in front of the fire and change into fresh, clean clothes. It felt wonderful to be clean and warm and dry.

‘Now tell me what dreadful trouble you children have gotten yourselves into,’ said Saira sternly, only her twinkling eyes revealing her good humour.

Words tumbling over each other, the three children told their story, with many interjections, additions and corrections. Saira listened gravely.

‘We heard rumours of this, even in quiet Mereworth,’ Saira said gently. She turned to Roana. ‘My dear, I am so sorry to hear of the loss of your esteemed father, the king. He was greatly loved in Tiregian.’

Roana blinked rapidly, fighting tears. A barrage of images of her beloved father rose to haunt her.

‘Poor Roana,’ Saxon murmured in sympathy. ‘I know how terrible it feels to lose a parent. My mother died in childbirth, together with my sister, a few years ago. My father and I thought we’d also die from grief. But we survived.’

Roana bit her lip sharply.

‘So the Merrow saved you, Ethan,’ Saira said, tactfully changing the subject. ‘I have heard many tales of Merrow people saving fisherfolk from drowning. They save only those who are pure in heart and deed. You are very fortunate.

‘They are strange magical folk, the Merrow. While they have saved many people by carrying them back to shore, they have also led many a man to their death. The Merrow maids are said to sing so sweetly that men have been enchanted and lost their ships on the treacherous rocks far out to sea.

‘The fishermen of Mereworth dream of catching a Merrow, but they keep very much to themselves. I have never seen one – but sometimes I am sure I have heard their music at dusk when I am walking home over the cliffs …’

Ethan’s hand found its way into his pocket, where he gently fingered the smooth coral pipe with its delicate engravings, remembering the mystical Merrow music it made and the joy of that starlit dolphin ride.

‘Anyway,’ Saira said, standing up abruptly, ‘I think what you all need now is a good night’s sleep. You are sick and exhausted. We can talk more about this later, when we know how your sister is. If she survives it will be a couple of weeks before she can
travel again. I may be able to help you learn more about your journey and what you need to do. But for now, you need to rest and heal. I will make you all a herbal brew to help you sleep deeply and let your bodies mend themselves.’

Upstairs in the two tiny attic rooms under the eaves, Roana and Saxon made up beds with fresh, white sheets that smelt of pungent dried lavender. Then all three obediently sipped their foul-tasting herbal brews. In moments they were all sleeping deeply and soundly, untroubled by dreams of monsters, Sedahs or even strange Merrow folk.

In the early morning Governor Lazlac sat sipping his hot sugary tea while he listened to the latest report on those troublesome children.

‘So several witnesses saw the girl and a boy being taken by the Octomon?’ Governor Lazlac demanded.

‘Yes, my lord,’ agreed Captain Malish smartly.

‘And the other two brats, who were stupidly allowed to escape?’

‘Their boat was found just now – badly damaged, half sinking and floating out to sea. There were no bodies.’

‘Aaaah,’ Governor Lazlac mused, looking out the window to the restless ocean. ‘This changes things. Mortma will of course be devastated at the loss of the princess. I think we had better keep a very close eye on Mortma to make sure he doesn’t do anything to upset our plans.’ He turned his gaze on Captain Malish.

‘Tell the men to prepare the ship. We sail now to conquer Tira. With their beloved queen and prince as hostages I am sure we will just waltz through the gates of the palace. It could not be easier!’

It was late afternoon when Roana woke and stretched luxuriously. For a moment she thought she was in her huge feather bed in her palace bed chamber.

Then reality hit and memory flooded back. Roana lay in bed thinking over the many events of the last few days, not quite believing that any of it could really have occurred. Finally hunger drove her from her bed, so she dressed and ran downstairs.

Roana found Ethan sitting up in the armchair by the fire, sipping on a cup of tea. His arm was freshly bandaged and in a sling. His face was still pale and bruised but he looked much better.

‘Good morning,’ Roana said shyly. ‘I mean good afternoon! How is Lily – has she improved? And how are you feeling?’

‘Saira says Lily is better than she expected. But it will be many days before we really know. I am stiff and sore, but alive, thank goodness! Have some tea, and honey toast – it is wonderful.’

Ethan waved a long stick like a sword, with a piece of bread speared on the end, and thrust it close to the flames to toast. Roana laughed and nodded.

‘I truly am starving,’ she agreed. ‘And it smells divine!’

Saira came in just as Roana sat down at the table to hot buttered toast, dripping with golden runny honey.

‘Ah, the sleepyhead is finally up – and eating, I see,’ Saira laughed. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Roana nodded, too hungry to talk, as she gulped down the toast, licking a drip of buttery honey from her fingers in a very un-princess-like way.

‘When you have finished breakfast, I would appreciate it if you could kindly help me with some chores around the place, please, Roana. Saxon, bless his heart, is out chopping firewood for me now.

‘We need to gather vegetables from the garden
and chop them for stew, prepare the dough for tomorrow’s baking, feed the hens, cows and pigs as well as your horses, milk the cows, gather eggs and clean out the stables. I need to prepare some more herbal ointments and tinctures, which you could help me with, and of course tomorrow is washing day.’

Roana blanched. She had never even had to brush her own hair or pick up a belonging in her life. She swallowed and nodded.

‘Of course, Saira, but you may need to show me what to do. I have had little experience with farm life,’ Roana replied with dignity.

Saira smiled in satisfaction. ‘It would be my pleasure to teach you, Roana. However, I think we will need to get you some new boots. High heels are not really suitable for farm chores or travelling, and white is not a very practical colour! I think we should be able to swap yours for some more sensible ones from the village. I will speak to the cobbler. Also, something else I think we need to do today is fix your hair.’

Roana blushed self-consciously as she tried to smooth down her spiky pale blonde hair.

‘The colour is too remarkable,’ Saira continued. ‘We need you to be nut brown like a village urchin – then you will pass by unnoticed. I concocted a dye
this morning using walnut juice that should suit beautifully. We can use it on your beautiful horse as well.

‘But first we must go and check on Lily. We will bathe her wounds and give her some more herbs for the pain, and help her to sleep as much as possible. I will show you what to do with her, Roana.’

Lily was tended carefully and was soon sleeping peacefully again. Saira nodded in satisfaction, pleased with her handiwork.

‘Now, Roana, let’s fix that hair.’

First Saira tidied up Lily’s hastily done hairdressing with a sharp pair of scissors. Then Roana was seated in front of the fire with an old shawl around her shoulder to catch the drips, with her hair plastered in a foul-smelling brown paste of walnut juice, crushed berries and boiled herbs.

When the paste was washed away, Roana had a new crown of short, dark brown hair.

‘Even your mother, Queen Ashana, would never recognise you,’ exclaimed Ethan, ruffling Roana’s hair.

Roana grimaced in the little hand mirror she held, gingerly touching the damp hair. She couldn’t help but laugh at the strange reflection she beheld.

‘Perfect,’ announced Saira with great satisfaction. ‘And now to get you those boots.’

The next afternoon, after a few hours of chopping, feeding, mending and weeding, Saxon set out to explore the village of Mereworth. He wandered from Saira’s cottage along the cliff tops and down the sandy path to the harbour.

Fishwives gossiping over fences stared curiously at him as he passed, nodding and smiling guardedly. Rope nets, newly mended, hung in the sun to dry.

The air smelt strongly of briny seaweed and fish. Scrawny cats sniffed among the debris along the road.

Down on the beach, small groups of scruffy, ragged children with baskets searched for pipis and shellfish. The children stood ankle-deep in water at the wave’s edge, twisting in the sand with their feet. When they felt something hard they dug furiously to uncover fat purple pipi shells.

Sometimes for fun, one of the smaller children would let a pipi go, just to watch its thick grey tongue curl out, wriggle up on end and dig its way back into the sand. Just when the pipi was
half-buried again, it would be scooped back up and thrown in the basket with the others.

On the breakwall and pier, other children chipped off black bearded mussels and flat grey oysters, expertly wielding their dangerous knives.

A raucous call came from the pipi hunters, who pointed out to sea. Saxon shielded his eyes against the harsh glare bouncing from the sea like thousands of glittering diamonds. Out on the horizon he could see a faint white smudge, which seemed to be coming closer.

Several older children picked up the half-full baskets and ran up the beach to the huts on the shore, calling out to the old men sitting snoozing in the sun. Saxon wandered closer, entranced by the busy scene.

A few minutes later the older children returned, leading four donkeys. The little grey donkeys had gay tassels and ribbons on their harness in reds, greens, blues and yellows, and big straw panniers on their sides. Saxon could see now that the distant smudge was actually a dozen triangular sails, skimming across the sea.

Fishwives and old men wandered down to the beach front, carrying baskets and ropes.

Saxon could now see the boats themselves, painted
blue and white, with large white triangular sails and strange black symbols marked on the prows. Women and children waded out to meet the boats, while several of the fishermen leapt into the water to steady the hulls. The sails were dropped to the deck as the boats ran aground on the sand.

Two donkeys would be harnessed to a boat at a time, and with the help of many willing arms, the boats were dragged one by one up onto the sand, far above the high tide mark. Saxon waded thigh deep into the water to help, his muscles straining with the heavy weight of the fish-filled boats.

At last the twelve boats were safely beached and the donkeys unharnessed. The fishwives shooed the children back from the boats and set to work sorting the catch.

An old canvas sail was spread on the sand and the fish dumped in a mountain of quivering, leaping, gasping silver bodies. The fish gleamed in the sunlight like a hoard of dwarven silver.

Saxon stood back to watch the fishwives. Their hands flew over the treasure, sorting it into piles according to size, type and delicacy. They chattered and called as they worked, laughing and joking.

The fishermen sat up in the shade of the huts, happy to be back safe and sound on dry land. They
sat quietly, tired after their long day’s work, and smoked pipes, blowing rings up in the air. They passed around a flask, which presumably held some strong local spirit.

One of the fishermen stood behind Saxon, watching the sorting. He had a grizzled beard, cut short, crinkly sea-blue eyes and a face baked brown by the sun. His eyes danced with life and merriment.

‘You must be one o’ t’strangers staying at old Saira’s,’ the fisherman said at last, jerking his pipe back up at the cliffs. ‘I heard t’wee lass be sorely hurt, but if anyone can save her it be old Saira.’

Saxon winced, fear clutching at his heart with icy fingers. He nodded.

‘Yes, we are staying with Saira. Lily is very badly hurt but she seems a little better today,’ Saxon said hopefully, not entirely convinced by his own forced optimism.

‘I am Toomas,’ the wiry fisherman introduced himself with a friendly smile. ‘Thank you for your help with t’boats. It be strong work pulling up ashore.’

‘That’s all right. I am Saxon from Kenley.’

‘Oh, aye. I think you be t’son of Rodney the tailor. I remember him. He comes to see us. He likes fruits
of t’sea.’ Toomas grinned with a knowing wink. ‘You’ve been here too, methinks.’

Saxon flushed and nodded.

‘It be good for us and good for you when Fox comes, but not so good for t’king, Moonmother bless his poor murdered soul.’

Saxon sighed, overcome with melancholy for his lost family, his injured friends, his invaded village, his embattled country. It was overwhelming, the enormity of it all.

‘You stay here for some days?’ asked Toomas. ‘You want to coom fishing tomorrow?’

Saxon’s eyes lit up. He loved boats and the sea.

‘That would be great, Toomas. When do I need to come down?’

‘Before sun coom up we be long gone,’ Toomas said.

By this time, the fishwives had divvied up the catch into baskets for all the families of the village. Fish was loaded into the panniers on the donkey’s backs and hefted onto shoulders, backs and hips of the strong fishwives and carried home to hearths to be scaled and gutted, cooked and dried, stewed and baked and fried, eaten and enjoyed.

Toomas pulled a couple of fish and some squid from his own basket, and handed them to Saxon.

‘Take these home to old Saira with my blessings,’ Toomas said. ‘There be many thinks she might be a witch, with her herbs and brews and magic hands, but I thank the Moonmother we have her wise ways to help us. Coom early, mind. The Moonmother pulls the tides and she waits for no sleepyhead lad.’

Saxon grinned and nodded, clutching the slippery sea creatures in his bare hands.

Saira was delighted with the fresh fish and squid. She fried it all up with butter and herbs and potatoes for supper that evening.

The rich smell wafted from the kitchen, making Lily stir and wake from her sleep. She lay propped up on pillows, looking pale and wan and weak. While she could not manage to eat much, she did sip on a delicious seafood broth Saira had prepared for her, before falling back into an exhausted sleep.

The next morning Saxon was awake well before the sun came up. He pulled on his cloak and padded down the stairs in his bare feet to avoid waking anyone up. Aisha alone heard him and thumped the rug with her tail, but refused to leave Lily’s side.

Saxon ran down the path to the beach, his eyes searching the way in the blackness.

The dark beach was a hive of activity – fishermen
stowing nets and ropes, checking rigging, cleating sails and launching boats.

‘Aye, be that young Saxon?’ called a familiar voice from the gloom. ‘Coom yonder.’

Saxon found Toomas next to a sleek, freshly painted fishing boat.

Toomas was placing a small plaited basket at the base of the mast. The basket held a collection of fresh flowers, pretty shells and finely chopped vegetables.

‘What’s that?’ Saxon asked curiously.

‘Ooh, that be an offering to Moonmother to make tides true, and to Sun Lord to keep skies fair. Later today we be making an offering to t’Seawitch and t’Merrow maids to keep seas smiling and Octomons away and bring us hoom safe.’

Saxon nodded, his stomach clenching nervously at the memory of the dreadful Octomon.

‘And what’s that?’ he asked, pointing to some black symbols painted on the prow of the boat.

Toomas smiled. ‘T’eye is so boat can see way out and home again and see danger. This mark is to show it is Toomas’s boat and this sign be for Merrow. Soom boots mark for Moonmother, soom for Sun Lord and soom for Merrow, t’folk of t’sea.’

Toomas stopped chatting and gestured briskly to his crew, who ran to the boat and started heaving and pushing it down the sand toward the water. Saxon ran to help, pushing with all his might.

The boat gathered speed and slid down the sand and into the waves with a splash. The fishermen kept running until they were thigh deep in water, then swung themselves into the boat with practised ease. Saxon clambered far more clumsily, hauling himself over the stern on his stomach, his clothes dripping.

By the time he was sitting up the sails were hoisted and the boat was surging eagerly out to sea. The fishing fleet was far from the shore when the sun peeped over the horizon and rose as a great red ball into the sky. Saxon sat on a pile of nets, enjoying the wind in his face, the fresh salt air, the beautiful sunrise and the sensation of flying across the surface of the sea.

The day was long and hot and quiet. As the sun beat down, Saxon grew sleepy. The only sounds were the slapping of waves on the hull, the harsh screech of gulls or the odd call from a fishermen pointing to a sign that might mean fish. Gulls hovering over the sea, a dark smudge under the water, a silvery splash – all were signs that might mean a school of fish. The fishermen watched the sea patiently.